Today is National Coming Out Day.

A host of emotions emerge with those words, especially when we're speaking as followers of Jesus, or people seeking Truth and our Creator. My faith has intersected my life and shaped my responses to the world and its array of beauty and corruption.

Maybe we should call it National Learning to Listen First Day.

This isn't an issue. It isn't a problem we can solve with the correct formula and a sharpened pencil. Contrary to many of my brothers and sisters I do not believe it is black or white, right or wrong, in all situations. Push me in a corner and I will still maintain that this is the wrong conversation, based upon who I know Jesus to be.

No, we're not tackling an issue here.

We are listening to people.

People. Humans. You and I. My neighbor. My child. This earth is full of human beings.

We are not robots. We are not merely assigned a number, as Hitler showed strips all human dignity. We are named. We are loved deeply by the One who gave us breath. We bear that image or something divine, something bigger, something true.

We love by showing each other dignity. We do that by listening. Always listening first.

* * * * *

Last weekend my dear friend came to visit from out of state. We have had an intensely deep friendship through the years. I have watched her whole world change and mine has changed alongside hers. I've witnessed her love for Jesus intersect with her homosexuality and I have wrestled with this- God, I have wrestled! I have cried with and for her. I have spoken honestly with her since the day we met. Because of that, a few years ago I made the decision not to attend her wedding. That conversation was the most painful I have ever had. But she loves me. She listened and respected my wrestling and how I live out my faith. My friend showed me more grace that day than I have ever been able to offer back. And I'm not the same.

She has taught me what grace looks like.

* * * * *

Much has changed in my heart since then. Ground has shifted again, left me standing with a better view of the horizon. The shifting knocked me out cold. The questions and doubts and wrestling with God is hardly over. I'm learning that it's the wrestling, the willingness to go to the mat with this, fight it out, live honestly and authentically, that's the place where I experience God. And I believe that's what God is asking from us.

How I frame my questions, my faith, my interactions with people has changed drastically. Many concerned friends continue to be, well, concerned. I'm okay with that. Having concern for one another is a good place to start, after all.

I am concerned about my friends (known and unknown) who have felt misunderstood, unheard, who have been treated callously because of their sexuality. I'm concerned about those who live in the dark because it's safer than having to deal with the backlash of coming out. It concerns me that in general, we, as a society, and more importantly, we, the church, have not begun the conversation by listening.

When we love someone, we pull up a chair.

When we love someone, we treat them with dignity, worthy of our time and energy.

When we love someone, we set ourselves and our preconceived ideas aside.

When we love someone, we earn their trust by being a friend in the daily stuff, the regular, the mundane.

When we love someone, what hurts them hurts us.

When we love someone, we call them by name instead of categorizing them by their sexuality.

When we love, we choose to listen first.

* * * * *

We need to practice the sacred act of pulling up a chair. And as a person who is trying, really wrestling with how to love people well, I'm offering a listening ear if you're willing to share your story. And I will share mine.

All is not Lost.

I wore last week like an overcoat. A heavy one. Know what I mean? I often write some similar description, because that is when I sit still just long enough for thoughts to settle and spill out.

The human heart is a fickle thing. It leads. It betrays. We hide it and we hide ourselves from others' hearts. We shape it and name it Love, and that Love feels like chains one day and wings the next.

* * * * *

We do see what we are looking for so very often, don't we? We look for the beauty, we see it in sunsets and babies' faces. We look for pain, it is there, like our own shadow, we're unable to shake it off. We look for emptiness, we see chaos. Look for meaning, and you will see cosmos and design, leaves fashioned like fingerprints, an apple tree as sustenance.

I choose how I view my life, how I see the people around me.

* * * * *

There has been much conversation about how our little town should deal with the homeless that wander our streets. After last week's three-part series in the newspaper that was picked apart, labelled as racist and insensitive by some, I have this sense of stirring. It is not the flurry of emotional responses that create change, but it is a slight shift of awareness, a wondering. Change stirs the pot slowly, evenly, careful not to splash. (The last of Justin Glawe's articles is here: http://www.bemidjipioneer.com/content/homeless-bemidji-no-easy-answers-homeless-their-advocates-and-city)

My husband, who has worked with the homeless for the last seven years, spoke wisely. We are just people. We all wear the same flesh. We all bear a human heart.

We learn about the human heart when we try to understand one another, especially those unlike ourselves, those that are labelled and misunderstood. We learn about the human heart when we see a brother suffering and allow our own hearts to break with theirs. When one suffers, we all suffer. And I soothe myself with this truth, as though saying it out loud will provide a shoulder to lean on or nourishment for the hungry.

And is it by chance that the same morning that this article was printed and left on the doorsteps of the masses in their separate pretty box-houses with spare rooms that sit empty all winter, is it by chance that just when his voice was heard, if only in print, that Andy, another homeless man featured, photo and all, was hit by a car in the early morning hours, in the heart of a city that doesn't quite know how to help it's most vulnerable?

I don't believe much in chance.

Andy was Butch's friend. I've talked a lot about Butch, the homeless man I encountered right before his body washed up on the beach. (Butch's story found here: http://prodigalstories.blogspot.com/2013/06/when-jesus-goes-by-butch.html) I've talked and talked and talked... at least we're talking, when we don't know how to help, we talk. We communicate. Even that is hammering a brick out from the walls built before our time. We talk. We hammer. We feel helpless. We're reminded to be hopeful. Grateful for the hands that do the dirty work.

It seems like yesterday that I met Andy on the sidewalk. He stopped me when I said hello, held up a card full of logos and asked if he could use that card at McDonalds. I nodded, yes. He said, "Good. I really need food. I'm  hungry." Everyone who spends any time downtown has had these encounters. And just recently I handed a sandwich to another man I didn't know sitting with a prosthetic leg on a busy street corner. It was blustery cold that morning and he was wrapped in a dirty blanket. He smiled graciously as he took it and thanked me. Then he said he was walking across the country for homelessness, and would I please remember him by his name? "I'm Kevin. Don't forget my name." I won't be able to forget.

It takes courage to believe that all this human suffering matters to the Creator of the galaxies. It takes courage to beg the question, and to not offer a pat answer. Courage to right the wrongs. Yet more courage to see these streets as holding us all together, one and the same, whether running or sleeping on them. And it will take courage to face a complex issue with complex but tender human hearts in the balance, with grace and longsuffering and persistence. It takes courage to be there in the messy places, instead of the comfort and bliss of ignorance.

For me? I don't take this timing lightly. It's a drumbeat that has been low and steady. A rhythm of grace. Of human hearts beating, one and the same.

As long as someone cares, all is not lost.

Rest in peace, Andy.

* * * * *

Why would you ever complain or whine,
saying, "God has lost track of me.
He doesn't care what happens to me"?

Don’t you know anything? Haven’t you been listening?

God doesn’t come and go. God lasts.

    He’s Creator of all you can see or imagine.

He doesn’t get tired out, doesn’t pause to catch his breath.

    And he knows everything, inside and out.

He energizes those who get tired,

    gives fresh strength to dropouts.

For even young people tire and drop out,

    young folk in their prime stumble and fall.

But those who wait upon God get fresh strength.

    They spread their wings and soar like eagles,

They run and don’t get tired,

    they walk and don’t lag behind.
(Isaiah 40)

The hot button issue.

I am exhausted today. Probably like everyone else. I'm overwhelmed and emotionally a bit fragile and it hurts to walk and I hate that I thought it would be gone by now and it's not. I feel pitiful.

But that's not really who I am. In my spirit I feel like a bird who just had its cage door opened for the first time- a bit hesitant, a little scared, but intrigued and overjoyed that there is a whole new beautiful world waiting to be discovered.  I feel like I've been shaken and a lot of the extra junk sifted out. Fell onto the floor boards and my bare feet like a shedding of skin and I feel fresh. I feel ready. Expectant.

There are glimpses of grace here. The simple, the mundane, that now I see are more than they had appeared-  even these are sacred. Pay attention. This small thing, this waking up of the spirit, it matters.

Today I am a paradox. The wonderful thing about this is that it demands that you acknowledge that the two very polar sides are not opposing at all, but are intertwined in places unseen. They don't just balance each other out as though on a linear cosmic balance board.  They reside in the tension, in the deep, in the questions. Tension is fast becoming a cliche word, and I'm in danger of overusing it, but I can't think of another English word that feels right. That's a challenge. Find me one please. Maybe I should make one up.

* * * * *

I read a blog post this morning that stirred up some new questions in me surrounding the homosexuality conversation. I am wishing all my Christian friends would read this, let it be another voice, mull it over like I am. I wish it would stir us, keep us up at night if it hasn't already, remind us of this tension and caution us to tread gently, choose our words more wisely, refine our beliefs a bit. New voices matter. 

This is not a complete theological exposition. It is personal thoughts from one human being living in the tension to another. Somewhere in the comments (which are also insightful) he says this:

I am not asking people to change their beliefs about gay marriage,

 but instead I am asking people to struggle more deeply with the implications

 of that belief, so that we may be better equipped to spread a

 compassionate gospel. We are to grieve with those who grieve — if the

 application of the scripture is as hard as you say it is, then it had best be applied 

with tears and tenderness, lest we crush those we serve. Those tears and tenderness can only be acquired through deep struggle with the cost of our words.

With that said, here it is.

http://sacredtension.com/2013/07/08/three-reasons-the-traditional-perspective-on-gay-marriage-makes-me-uncomfortable/

If you are willing to be a part of this conversation, let's all agree to do it well, to speak kindly, and be respectful. I have failed at this enough times to know the damage it does. But it's too important to ignore.

Bridges.

Communication, on the other hand, is painstakingly difficult and increasingly complex when so much of it happens in typed word and emoticons instead of voice inflection and body posture. Complex, but not impossible. After all, being face-to-face with someone and engaged in conversation does not necessarily mean there will be greater understanding or mutual respect or better chance of converting the 'other' to your own worldview.

STOP.

That is what we want, isn't it? If we're honest? We so passionately believe in our own worldview, our own interpretation of right/wrong that it must be our goal to communicate this truth adequately so the one in disagreement comes to this full knowledge as well. After all, love means telling the truth.

We are addicted to answers, to the idea that all views have opposition they must fight, addicted to labels. The yes/no, the right/wrong, the us/them, the black/white, anti-/pro- paradigm.

I don't buy it.

The real stuff of life happens in the tension, in the conversation, in the bridge-building between two opposing sides that both seek to convert the 'other'. I use the term 'tension' purposely. It is tense. It is uncomfortable. As the saying goes, when you're a bridge you get walked on from both sides. Truth.

Lately the gay marriage debate has taken the spotlight, and necessarily so in MN. I see my FB feed fill up with passionate conservative friends taking a stand for 'truth'. I see my equally passionate progressive and gay friends pushing back, standing for 'equality'. I have dear friends on both sides of the spectrum, and I've been known to offend both sides at times. I'm learning. Slowly. Too slowly.

If there's one thing I've continually felt God's pull toward in my life in the last couple years, it is that I am to be a bridge builder, in this conversation and others. Living in the tension. It's become my mantra of sorts. I'm not trying to sound cliche. Nor am I trying to side-step having to answer hard questions. I'm just learning to recognize that without building relationships and communicating by listening first, nothing will ever change.

So I choose to stand in solidarity with the Other. Because that is the example I see in Jesus. Feel free to disagree with me- plenty do. 'But Jesus said, Go and sin no more!' you say? Yes, he did. After he had taken the sinner's side, risking his own reputation and even his life. After he let her know that he did not condemn her. Then, and only then, had he earned the right to speak into her life.

Time to follow suit. Earning that right, earning trust in a relationship takes time. Serious time. And it involves much listening and not a lot of talking.

It's easy to dismiss someone out of ignorance or intolerance when you don't have to put real faces to the labels. It's not so easy to do once you've heard their story, listened to their heartache, felt their pain or confusion, called them Friend. Relationship is everything.

So much misunderstanding. So little listening and too few relationships being built between these two camps. It breaks my heart. I believe it breaks God's heart as well.

Can I be a bridge? It's certainly seen as risky business, often labelled as lukewarm, not holding to Scripture, divisive. I've been told it's not real reconciliation without repentance. I disagree. And we can disagree.

We can seek to elevate these conversations to a place that earns back the trust and respect where it was lost. We can see the beauty in diversity by creating space for these honest discussions. We can speak louder that the image of God exists in ALL people, gay and straight. We can ask honest questions to better understand instead of merely convert. We can decide that it isn't about agreeing on interpretations of Scripture or on a political hot-button issue. We can recognize that it's about how we love the one who disagrees with us. I haven't done a great job of this myself.

I'm saying it now, out loud, because I HAVE to.

***For the conservative person: How can you, or how can the church, better love the LGBT community? How can you better seek reconciliation with those who disagree with your interpretation of Scripture?

***For the progressive person: How can you seek reconciliation with those who view marriage in the traditional way? How can you love the LGBT community while respecting the conservative view and even inviting them along in that process of learning by listening?

Demanding conformity to beliefs is not helpful, nor is it the unconditional love that Jesus exemplified. Maybe our refusal to repent of our intolerance is precisely what we need to repent of. Maybe the first step looks like humility and more genuine questions than we think necessary. Maybe it looks less like choosing sides and more like bridge-building. Maybe saying 'congratulations' to a newly engaged same-sex couple doesn't have to mean you condone it. Maybe it's just an extension of some much-needed dignity. Maybe it's the first step toward a relationship- one that you can learn just as much from as them. It is possible to disagree in a variety of respectful and even hospitable ways.

‘Rather than being disappointed in less than complete agreement or understanding, I’ll be grateful for even small steps we can take together in challenging dangerous features of the status quo and opening up better possibilities for the future.’ – Brian  Mclaren

Small steps. What do you think?

Learning to Lean In

She leaned forward over the table and set her mug of lukewarm coffee aside. Words soft but lips tense. "How can you be sure that all this struggling means anything?" The sadness behind her eyes was piercing and impossible to ignore.

I certainly don't know much. Each year the number of truths I know beyond a doubt shrivels. Each year questions replace the list of doctrines. Each year my view of God expands. It has settled, sifted, much of the I'm-not-so-sure-anymore falls through holes I poked out of my skin like a sieve. But what remains! The tiny diamonds, glistening anew, beauty begging to be marveled... it cannot be denied. This sifting is painful and sometimes gives way to loneliness. The sifting, the questioning while still intently following has brought me into much sadness. It's the same sadness I saw across the table- one that knows there is hope or the questions wouldn't have even escaped her lips. Oh yes, my friend, there is hope.

I reach in and show her one of those diamonds I've spent years cleaning off, painstakingly, gently. Still dusty and raw.

You lean into it. Press into the questions, the doubts, the pain, the struggle, all of it. You stay there awhile, in the wondering, in the loneliness, in the waiting, leaning into the biting wind instead of running to safety. You keep on leaning and saying the hard things out loud and naming the hurt, owning this place, the shifting ground you've landed on. You lean in, until you're sure God is there, too.

But shouldn't we know? I mean, that's what faith is for. I am supposed to have faith.

We've lost so much of the richness of that word- know. Knowledge is something of the intellect, taking place in the brain. But it's deeper than that. To know deeply is something more than just knowing consciously. It's more than my finite mind can explain like facts on a power-point presentation. It digs, sharp and deep, down through myself to the core of who I am. That thing- and it is a thing of substance- it is my absolute foundation.

I know that what God creates God will not abandon.

I know my calling and everyone's is to co-create by Jesus' example of the power of love over the love of power.

I know that nothing can separate me from that Love. Not even death.

I know that the human condition is one of pain, but I also know that I find my life when I offer it up in service, not when I act independently, grasping for control and security. Instead I can invest infectious love into my community and trust that others will catch on to the notion that either we all matter or none of us do.  Repeat: Or none of us do.

I know that my perspective of the joys and struggles is so very small, and I must trust a bigger story.

Much like childbirth, the more we tense up, clench our jaw, fight the pain, the more it hurts. Mommas know. I learned by my third delivery that the key to suffering was to surrender. This process has to happen. It takes everything within me to not fight back, but to breathe and focus on release of all tension. And you know what? The pain doesn't go away, but somehow it hurts less. And there is such freedom in trusting the process will give way to LIFE.

******

I am listening. Keep talking. There is no rush. And there's always more coffee.

Reduce, Reuse, Repost?

 "Remember–the root word of humble and human is the same: humus: earth. We are dust. We are created; it is God who made us and not we ourselves. But we were made to be co-creators with our maker." - Madeleine L'Engle

I find it a little ironic that today is Earth Day, and here I am entering the virtual blogosphere, this crazy world that is the opposite of earthly wild. No smell of moss and pine here. This soapbox creature lets everyone speak their mind, even if they really have nothing valuable to say.  I'm not entirely sure I have a reason, other than that I love to write about things I'm passionate about, like many of you who do the same. I'm not doing it because I have something enlightening to reveal to the world that isn't already being said. I'm doing it because I feel compelled to take the time to articulate my thoughts, particularly about my faith, in a way that is a little less obnoxious than posting on FB where it will surely start a war among the masses in as little as 10 minutes. Yes, I've been known to do this a time or two-hundred.

I am passionate about my faith. I have become a question-asker. This is often not well-received as I grew up in primarily your typical conservative evangelical Christian home, and many of my friends and family maintain those beliefs. While I deeply love and follow the Jesus who walked this earth, I don't always love or recognize the Jesus that Christians display so loudly. Reality is that I don't put my trust in other Christians. I put my trust and hope in Jesus himself, who points straight to our Creator God. I read of Jesus answering questions with parables and following them with deeper questions, and I have come to believe that questions are sacred. It's not God who is afraid of our questions, but it is us who often are afraid of the answers.

I call myself a universe-disturber, a L'Engle term, which is more than a bit presumptuous, but that means a few things to me. First, I believe we are all connected- all people, all of creation, the apple trees and galaxies and sparrows and bumblebees...all dependent on each other, nothing acting just on its own but intertwined and deeply relational. A monarch flaps its wings and affects galaxies a million light years away. Each cell in my body responds and changes to energy and emotion in ways scientists are just beginning to understand. This absolutely astounds me, and while I am no scientist, I have a budding fascination with how this world works. Many of us grow up to face a difficult, yet completely unnecessary choice between our faith and intellectual honesty. People have abandoned their faith over this misconception. I am here to hopefully help make a space for these conversations that I also desperately crave.

My favorite author, Madeleine L'Engle, also says that "universe-disturbers make waves, rock boats, upset establishments. Jesus was a great universe-disturber, so upsetting to the establishment of his day that they put him on a cross, hoping to finish him off. Those of us who try to follow his Way have a choice, either to go with him as universe-disturbers (butterflies), or to play it safe and resist change." Unwavering beliefs may seem like security, but if we cannot move with change, we are closer to death and further from life. And real, meaningful, passionate life is what we are all after! So not only are we all ultimately universe-disturbers in being connected to one another, but I aspire to be a universe-disturber, one who follows in the difficult steps of Jesus of Nazareth.

So here I am. Questions, doubts, weaknesses, all bound up with splashes of hope and peace, and on my best days, a mustard-seed-sized faith and trust in the Maker of this Earth we're celebrating today. There is much in this life that seems meaningless. And then, just when I'm about to give in to this reckless chaos, some glimpse is given which reveals the strange weaving of purposefulness and beauty. Because I know that what God creates, God will not abandon.