Don’t you dare love me!

This is the story of my journey into Love …

For the sake of this blog, if you were to ask who I am, my answer would be, loved. So loved. Loved beyond imagination. It has become my life journey, to give myself permission to be loved and to enter into its depths … I’m not very good at giving Love permission, I have too many barriers.

But, what if there were a perfect love? what if it were all I need? why is it I cannot receive it? why would I protect myself from it? what if I could say yes to, “Let me love you, and I will love you.”

I have entered a journey, and I invite you, I dare* you
– to enter and engage in the journey of love
– to explore its pain, its barriers, its vulnerability, its beauty, it’s healing, its perfection. All of it!  
– to question your own defiant exclamation of, “don’t you dare love me!”
– to give LOVE permission to love
What if you fell in LOVE here? That’s what I did. It’s what I am doing.  

My story has been intertwined and influenced greatly by my girl friends. Their private pain opened my eyes to my own desperate need for love and the walls I have barricaded my own heart with. And so I entered a journey …

I wish I had written Redeeming Love, Francine Rivers’ novel, and that it was my work; that God had given me the ability and the story to write it. The Redeeming Love in this book touches me so deeply and intimately in many ways. Redeeming Love explains so fully in story form what I am trying to express in my thoughts and here in my journal about the Perfect Love of God, and I so wish it had been my story. But I’m not a novelist, though maybe I can write to some extent.

I have so much to say and write down about God’s Love and how powerfully, terrifying, redeeming it is, but I don’t know how to give it adequate description with the depth of words and feeling required to convey it.

I feel like if I could, it could help the ones I am always drawn to, the ones who hurt the most, the ones who live as survivors, the ones who need it desperately. It could also help me – needy for love.

The reading of Redeeming Love would always take me back to the book of the Old Testament from where it was inspired, Hosea. A surface reading of this book seemed to always fall short of Francine Rivers’ telling of it in novel form, and so I’d usually get a little disappointed, and give up … except this time. This time, God has me in a place to hear some things from this book that are changing my life, destroying my soul, rebuilding it again.

It is the story of the heart of a grieving Lover. In a passionately poignant parable, God asks a man, Hosea, to love Gomer, a prostitute, “love her as the LORD loves”. Gomer’s heart response to this love is a defiant cry, “Don’t you dare love me!” Hosea is a picture of God. He is the Perfect Lover. Gomer is a picture of humanity.

Why would a perfect, satisfying, pure love be deemed so terrifying that we would turn our heels and run, with the same defiant cry, “Don’t you dare love me?”

Don’t You Dare Love Me is my journey into what God has had for me to learn about Himself, about His Love and about the pain of a Perfect Love for a broken, unfaithful, scared-of-Love, humanity. It is, if you like, partly a study in the book of Hosea, though you may not read my rendering of it as a theological study – I am not a theologian, rather a journaler.

I have been told that my style of writing is called, ‘stream of consciousness’ – a literary style that attempts to depict the multitudinous thoughts and feelings, which pass through the mind.  Thoughts, feelings, and reactions which are a continuous flow uninterrupted by objective description or conventional dialogue, so the definition goes. This makes me laugh. It is so me!  I didn’t realize I was a ‘literary style’. If I were to describe my journaling, it would be exactly this. I give it my own vivid description –

I write to try and elucidate my thinking. It’s a barrage of thoughts, emotions, ideas, beliefs, circumstances, philosophies, all pushing their way forward in gushing force, like a river bursting it’s banks, as if having been confined too long – and all at once, now expressing itself in a rush of emotional release from the inside of me to the outside. There is no gentle stream here.  My head is full of millions of thoughts, not unlike pac-man, all snapping at each other: what if? What about? Why? Have you thought of this? What about this thing? What did she say? What did he say? How did that make you feel? What is true? What is false? What is best? What is fact here? Do you want this, or do you want that? Each with a voice: all eager to have their voice, but none having a single clarity of thought on their own. And in a way, I don’t really know where I am going to land until it is on the page. But once written, there is clarity and a measure of calmness within – my mind is clear, my heart is safe – until the next thing.

These posts are my journal entries – reflections, contemplations, rushing rivers of thought, and experiences – over the course of months and years, extending back to the past where God began to speak, and in turn where my heart began to break, like His, over the ruin of humanity, and over a love given, but rejected.

You could choose to join in at any part of this blog, but I find a journey is best started at the beginning. This is my journey. It could be yours too.

*”May you come to know how wide, how long, how high, and how deep God’s love for you really is, that you be filled up with the fullness of God…who is able to accomplish infinitely more than we would ever dare to ask or imagine!” (Ephesians 3:20)

Go!

 

How both privileged and devastating it was for Hosea to be chosen to reveal Your heart toward humanity; to be the one who would live out the expression of Perfect Love, knowing and experiencing both delight and gut-wrenching grief – the extremes of emotion that can only be known by one who has truly loved, but has been truly broken by it.

Privileged because to love as You love is to experience the essence of who You are: God is Love. Hosea could not act out this love as if it were a play to be performed. He could not pretend, because Perfect Love cannot be falsely impersonated.

In the choosing of Hosea, You prepared, gifted and formed a heart within him that both comprehended and felt deeply, Love her as the LORD Loves (Hosea 3:1 NIV). Anything less than this and Hosea would not have been able to feel and express the heart of deep and devastating grief that You felt over the betrayal and unfaithfulness of Israel, and of humanity. That being so, when You asked Hosea to marry Gomer, it is true to say that he loved her. That he looked on at her with tender-hearted emotion, with desire, with an attraction and an eagerness to take her as his wife, to know her, to enjoy her, to delight in her in intimacy. Equally, it is also true to say that he experienced the intense emotion of heart-wrenching grief over her unfaithfulness – love not returned or acknowledged, or at best an unpredictable coming and going of one who takes love one moment and turns from it the next.

From the outset, what I already know, this story is an incredibly sad, yet an incredibly beautiful picture of Your love towards sinful, unfaithful Israel, and of all Your beloved humanity.

I hear the tension of betrayal, grief and desire all mixed together in Your words, “How can I give you up? How can I hand you over? How can I treat you like…? How can I make you like…? My heart is changed within me; all my compassion is aroused.” (Hosea 11:8 NIV)

Sometimes I have this overwhelming grief well up in my chest. It’s when I sense the reality of the ridiculousness of this world’s situation. A ruined, broken, stubborn, sinful, lost humanity – loved! Loved by You, God, with passion – and with such compassion – that it’s beyond comprehension. We are so Loved! 

As I have reviewed this journey and the things I have written and learned, I’ve thought about the many times that I have wanted to correct the word love, to Love. Or perfect love, to Perfect Love. Wanting to capitalise these words because I have come to discover that Love is who You are. God is Love. You are Perfect Love. I cannot describe or use the term love in its purest essence without identifying it as You. It’s not just what You do. You’re not just good at love. You are Love. It is Your name and Your identity and I want to capitalise it, signifying it as Your Person, who You are, Your Name.

To talk or write about Love as the LORD Loves (Hosea 3:1 NIV) here in this blog, is to try and give words and voice to who You are. Human love is not really love at all. It is need. It is lust. It is selfish ambition. It is emptiness looking to be filled. There are attempts at love which are unique, rare and unexampled. Acts shown by one who has felt toward another such devotion and affection, that their behavior has gone beyond normal emotion to a passion-fueled display – sacrifice, care, compassion, commitment, romance. But these are rare and still flawed by humanity.

Love her as the LORD Loves.

Hosea, you were called to love Gomer as God Loves. You were to represent if you like, the Perfect Love of God who is Love. It was to be beyond anything humanity had seen or believed could be – one, fueled with all that was needed, complete and without lack, everything required, perfect in every way – to turn the heart of a desperately lost and emotionally ruined prostitute to you. To make this one who had been used and abused and made worthless and unwanted, treasured and desired.

So in the opening verses God, You say to Hosea, “Go, take to yourself a promiscuous woman.” (Hosea 1:2 NIV) Go, “love her as the LORD loves.” (Hosea 3:1 NIV) Go, is a very purposeful thing that You are asking of Hosea. Go, requires action. To do something. To consciously make the steps towards something. 

   

You don’t sit back and wallow. You are not self-piteous. Your Perfect Love does not allow You to do this. It motivates You. It is an action, Go, kind of Love.

I’ve watched on, completely helpless, as heartbreak was experienced by someone close to me. The frustrating thing was I couldn’t fix it. I couldn’t take it away. I couldn’t make it right, though I was desperate to do so.

I watched as excruciating emotional pain affected every part of his being. Physically, unable to eat; unable to sit still while at the same time unable to focus on any task. Emotionally, a rollercoaster of ups and downs. Tears always threatening to spill.  A helpless desire to bargain and to retract the things said and done to get back what had been lost. The irritable energy to do something to make it right, but the unwillingness on the part of the other one to want it so. The loneliness and desperation to have and be with the very one who he couldn’t have or be with. The anger and frustration over events and words that couldn’t be changed. Tumultuous thoughts that just wouldn’t quit, wouldn’t let him sleep and wouldn’t let him move on.

You know for sure you are alive when you have experienced heartbreak. The emotions are intense and real and painful. He was willing to fight for it, to do whatever it took to get it back, but she was unwilling. For her, it was over. So when I think of You, in this way, heartbroken, it can only be God who can ultimately redeem what is truly lost and undo what has been done, to fix what has been broken, who has a Perfect Love that is what is needed to make wrong things right again, who can be that all that is needed love, that is not lacking or failing to be what it should be, who can move and Go, and that going will achieve what is to be done.

Hosea is a picture of both Your heartache and Your actions to make love right again.

Continued in next week’s blog…

 

[Hosea was a prophet of God to the nation of Israel. It is where much of my journey of love was awakened. His story is found in the Old Testament part of the Bible. Read more here.]

 

Love asked, “was it kindness or was it fear?”

My personal Facebook bio relays a conversation between two friends, and reads,
“What do you want to be when you grow up?”
“Kind”, says the girl. 

I have seen the effect of kindness, the way it values, softens, heals, allows others to stand down from defensiveness, even repent. Kind is who I want to be to others. It is my chosen mantle. Kindness is the goodness expressed of God-is-Love to me, and in allowing myself to receive His kindness, and with the Spirit of Kindness living within me, I can be who I want to be: kind.

I have given permission to be Loved, and that Love sometimes reveals things that I wish He hadn’t or wouldn’t, yet in the bigger picture, I am so grateful.  The Gospel is that through the suffering of Christ, resurrection is the outcome if I allow it. I have suffered this week. But I am also being resurrected this week.

I thought my suffering was due to kindness, but a gentle deconstruction of myself by Love revealed it was fear! I had no idea.

It’s what Ultimate Kindness does, and I’m so glad. What a lesson about myself and the nature of fear I have learned. For that, I am grateful. And now in it being identified, I can begin to disarm this shadow-self within that I had hid so well, and the power it had exerted over me.

But it still hurts.

An explanation …

In shifting to our new home, and new town, we live alongside new people.  We are making our home here. We are also making our living here with a new business. For the first time, I am in business – something I love, but it also comes with aspects of things I hate. I hate to promote myself. I hate competition. I hate advertising my business: my ‘self’. It took me a year to put a sign at my gate. I still haven’t agreed to a sign written van. I plan the number of social media posts so that it’s not too much, or too over the top, or bothering followers. I have become more proud of the work I create, but have not yet enabled myself to receive well, the credit given. I do all I can to promote others, even those in the same field, above myself. I say to myself that I’d rather fail if it meant someone had to choose between me and the others in this business, qualifying it all with “I don’t actually have to make money, I’m just doing this because I love it”. (This is not actually true. I do need the income). I have stopped following certain others on social media, for the reason that I don’t want to compete with them. I don’t want the feelings of comparison and envy. I don’t want to look at what they do, with the thoughts of how does it compare to mine? I want them to win, so I have this ‘don’t care’ if I loose mindset, in order that they stay more successful than I am. Where some have felt railroaded by others in the same business, I have worked hard to stay out of the competition, if this is even possible.

These are the type of “kindnesses” and “humilities” I have started my business here with, and my life here with.

This led me to actions that I wish I hadn’t, because what I have learned this week about myself, is the driving factors were sadly not kindness and humility.

I was working on a product that was similar to one here already. I feared it would be competition, even if not much, and so I downplayed it, even spoke to her about it to reassure her (or perhaps, to reassure me) that I wasn’t a threat. I wanted her to win. I didn’t care if I failed in my product. True to myself, and my creative nature, what I produced was beautiful. When released, I shared it with her. I wanted her to know it was up and available, I wanted her to also know I supported her, I downplayed my product, I did it all in kindness towards her.

So I thought.

It wasn’t until a while later when I tried to make contact about another matter, and to tell her I was thinking about her, that I realised in thinking through things from her point of view, what I thought was kindness, was received as arrogance, and probably offense. I did not mean too. I was being kind.

Or was I? 

In the attempt to make sense of my heart-hurt, over her reaction, I researched “when kindness is seen as arrogance” online, and though this exact search was not there, other revealing things were.

Always, when I deconstruct my actions, attitudes, feelings, heart and hurt, does God allow Love to penetrate. But almost always too, does it reveal things I never knew, and it hurts. But I am grateful today.

“The more attached we are to any persona whatsoever, bad or good, the more shadow self we will have. So we need conflicts, relationship difficulties, moral failures, defeats to our grandiosity, even seeming enemies, or we will have no way to ever spot or track our shadow self. They are our necessary mirrors, and even then, we usually catch it out of the corner of our eye—in a graced insight and those gifted moments of inner freedom”. Richard Rohr

I learned something big about myself deep within. The fact that my action was not received as kind, made my heart hurt. My good intentions were not seen in this act. I was not seen. I had been misread. The result, I was misjudged, and this effected this new relationship. 

A particular article I read insightfully revealed that this value I have of kindness, was actually founded on fear. Fear that was founded on the need to be liked. The need to be affirmed. The need to do whatever it takes for people to be on my side. The need to be agreeable in order that I am not a bother, and that people like me. 

Fear! Crippling, ruining, lying, ugly fear!

My actions were motivated from fear, not kindness! Whoa! 

Was it therefore kindness at all? Or was it a blind spot in my life, covered over by so–called kindness? I am not going to say that my actions were totally void of kindness and that it was all fear. But I am very willing to say that its deep underlying motivation was very very strong. She saw it. She may not have identified it as my need, but she saw it. I did not. And I am to blame.

“The persona [our shadow, or false self] does not choose to see evil in itself, so it always disguises it as good. The shadow self invariably presents itself as something like prudence, common sense, and justice. It says, “I am doing this for your good,” when it is actually manifesting fear, control, manipulation, or even vengeance”. Richard Rohr

It’s very humbling to see this. To have revealed a dark presence of something in my life, so powerful, that it disguised itself in something beautiful like kindness. I feel like I have been unravelled. I feel vulnerable and sensitive towards this open, oozing wound I didn’t even know I had.

I was unable to manage my need to be liked, which is embedded as deeply in my software as the need for food and water.
– I rank high in my personality on agreeableness, which means I hate and avoid conflict.
– I began prioritising the needs and wants of others over my own, not by my own volition, but because of fear of loss and conflict.
– As my actions were tainted by fear, instead of true kindness, the purity of my intentions were therefore doubtful.
– I set rules for myself (and sadly for my family, expecting them to be like me), which allow myself to be walked over, misused, relegated to the lowest place, to not be a bother, elevating this false form of kindness, all to hide, or to be honest, make myself feel better and justified about the mistreatment I show towards myself. 

The plain truth of it here is that it was not the pure intention of kindness that motivated me. It was fear of being disliked. That is raw and hard to swallow. I feel like I am grieving the loss of something – a part of my carefully guarded self. And as ugly as it is, it has been ‘me’ for so long, that it is hard to acknowledge that this is who I have been.

I’m not going to say I am responsible for the reaction received, but I am responsible for my part. How easy is it then for me to fall into shame? And yet gratefully, this too has been part of the insight received. The result is a journey of kindness towards myself that God is working out in me – to value myself, to be kind to myself, to see me as He sees me, to find my affirmation in Him, (in Love), to release the fear I have, to inspect my actions and test them for their purity. Am I doing this for my need to be liked, or for the purity of kindness? And keep doing this self-evaluation until kindness is the sole motivator of kindness, and not an action of fear.

Plain and simple: my kindness offered was actually using her. I was expecting her to meet my need. I wanted her to like me. Ouch!

I can still be for others and their success in life. I am competition in this business, and that’s okay. I can be good at what I do, and at the same time genuinely support, and be kind to others, without being unkind to myself.

Graciously, I have felt Love say that I need to cut myself some slack. I could fall to shame, and self-hate, but this is not the reaction God longs for me, or why He revealed this to me. I will make mistakes, I am needy, and I need to be gracious to myself.

Oh God! How uncomfortable this realisation is. How deeply hidden was this, that Your light has now revealed. But how freeing and thankful I am for it! To live from knowing I am Loved to the very deepest need of me, is working within me a better, kinder, more genuine me. 

I feel I am free to release the reactions of others. In seeking forgiveness, I now need to be gracious in the most genuine way I can, as she walks this journey resulting from my actions. I don’t need to be waiting around for a reply. It may not come and that’s okay. She knows. The truth is, I don’t really know her well or her journey. I just know I need to cut her some slack, to not feel shame, and allow her the space where she can do her thing. She may not be able to receive my forgiveness, but she knows I have offered it, and it’s all I can do – albeit rough on my soul and heart and mind, but knowing too, one day all will be okay.

Today, though still recovering, I feel safe in God. I am hidden in Him. I am grateful for Love. I have been seen by him – my motives, my fears, my needs, my values – all of it – open and raw, and yet Loved to those deepest parts of me. He knew this all along. His timing and kindness I know, is gentle and gracious, and no matter the outcome, I am safe here. He is guarding my heart. He is loving me forwards.

Intimate, sacred, deep, painful, and holy, are the only ways to describe this undoing and reconstruction within. Love is at work, exposing the truth – and in a surprising way, I feel deeply Loved, awakened, and grateful.

I am in-Love, and out of it I will not go!

When God breaks the law

God, a lawbreaker: a radical thought. 

God, I place you, dare I, on the judgment seat, the ultimate judgment seat. I have found you to be guilty of law breaking. I accuse you of breaking the law.

How can you, the perfectly righteous judge of all, be guilty of breaking your own law?  How is it even possible that you could break the law considering you are without sin? 

I thought you were rule maker, not rule breaker, so what were you thinking? A momentarily slip up? A slight bend in the rules?  Intending rules for some and not for others? Biased in your rule keeping duties? Partial, instead of impartial?

To find you guilty would label you God, hypocrite! Unable to be trusted to be judge of all! Or judge at all!

And me heretic!

The theology of my religious upbringing teaches that the 10 commandments you gave Moses are laws to live by. But complicated by inconsistencies in the Bible, they (my religious teachers) have declared it okay to moderate certain laws like, for example, the Sabbath. In this case, to set the scene of my accusation, Saint Paul said somewhere that Christians met on the first day of the week, making it legal that Sundays became our new holy day, or the new Sabbath. So then they say that it’s about principle; we have a day different to the rest of the week where we stop our work, rest and recreate, and think upon God. 

We make excuses for breaking the law when things from the Bible do not work out literally, and yet where it pleases us, we continue to say that other things, and laws, are literal and need to be literally kept, begging the question, can we really take the bible literally? And does explaining the law as principles to live by instead of strict law, really cut it? To do so, would declare chaos as the new commandment.

But that’s me, that’s humanity, we make excuses, we moderate things, we change laws because we are lawbreakers by nature, and we can’t live out the law, to the letter of the law, because it is impossible for us to do so. And so what to obey, and what not to obey becomes confusing. What is literal law and what is not is far from simple. But what happens when God, you God, fails to be God?

Was it too much for you too, God? Cannot even God, infallible, unable to sin, God, keep your own rules? How destabilizing! How can I continue to believe that “shall not the judge of all the earth do right?” when you have not done right?

Speak for yourself God. Defend your position, for this is the case I accuse you of. 

There was a woman, a Jewess, a recipient of the Law of God to the Israelites, caught in adultery. This law, your law, declared that an adulteress was to be stoned to death. You said regarding adultery, “thou shalt not commit it”, (this a 10 commandment law, not just an everyday of the week government or national policy, or societal bi-law) so, why then did you break your own law, completely absolve the woman, declare her who was found guilty, not guilty, and furthermore, let her go without any form of punishment?

Do you lower yourself, the righteous judge, to our standards and argue that the Jewish law was for the establishment of the nation, or for the church or society of the day, and not necessary for now, or some such excuse like our theologians do who say of the laws that some no longer apply? 

Is it that you can break your own law, but we as humanity should keep them? Are you a “do as I say, not do as I do” kind of God?

Was it a moment of pity, a rush of compassion, mercy, and deep love – your known weak spots – that led you to let the team down, and give way to feelings? I mean, we are your team, those of us righteous Christians who stand up for you. You’ve given outsiders, the unchristian, the of-the-world, cause to ridicule you. You have definitely given us cause to have to try and explain your actions, excuse you, rally to try and rewrite or retranslate scripture, because we have to uphold who you have said you are. It is our duty to do so, isn’t it?

Is your argument that you alone see the heart, so you alone are the only one who can judge correctly, giving you the right to keep or break the law as you see fit? 

This woman was, to be fair, a victim of the Pharisees, those of whom you said burden the people with their laws, but, she was “found in the very act”. Caught in the middle of the deed. Dragged out before she could escape and the evidence be lost. That she were a victim is incredibly horrific, in being made to stand before you and the crowd and her accusers. Perhaps not given the dignity to fully dress, but rough handled before you, showing her to be the unclean in body and in spirit lowest of the low person she was. And that she were a ‘test’ to see how you would respond is a case of mistreatment for sure – but – not guilty

Then in exhibit number two, I give you the actual scriptural account of being guilty of breaking the Sabbath. Healing a man on the Sabbath when it were you who said nothing was to be done by way of work on this day. You allow, in yet another case, this rule to be broken by your disciples, who harvest wheat as they walk the fields, picking it, and eating it. 

Further evidence reveals you let the unclean touch you, and you carry on your day as if they hadn’t, when clearly the law says that you should ceremonially wash yourself and exclude yourself for a time.

Then, as if its ok, your followers on queue seem to adopt your stance and Philip, for example, breaks the law. He speaks the good news to the Eunuch, who is on his way to the temple to worship, which is forbidden of him in Jewish law. Philip baptizes him and sends him on his way as a new follower of Jesus, his very body  becomes the very temple of God (this man who’s being – castrated, without gender, effeminate, gay – was as contentious particularly amongst your people, the Jews, in his day as it is still in ours).

What say you?

You let Saint Paul represent you,

“Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for whoever loves others has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery,” “You shall not murder,” “You shall not steal,” “You shall not covet,”and whatever other command there may be, are summed up in this one command: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no harm to a neighbor. Therefore love is the fulfillment of the law”. Romans 13:8-10

Ah love. That obscure notion. The thing that muddies the water on every circumstance. Love that overlooks but is held in such regard for the one it beholds. 

______________________________________

Oh God, how I am so glad that you are a lawbreaker. Because, “let him who is not guilty throw the first stone”. There were no stone throwers on that day where the woman was made to stand before Jesus. There was no one, not guilty. On this day you revealed what had always been, but was hidden by our obsessing nature of rule keeping and blame toward those who don’t, that love is the higher law, the highest law of all. 

There is a song that has accompanied these thoughts today. It is sung in churches as a declaration about who you are. It’s lyrics say,

Way maker/Miracle worker/Promise keeper/Light in the darkness/Our God, that is who you are

To this declaration of your character, I add law breaker.

Without you being law breaker, I would be condemned, wallowing in inability to get out of the mess that brokenness and sin has caused. 

But you are

Love maker/Law breaker/Mercy keeper/Grace in the darkness/Our God, that is who you are

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” “Kind!” said the girl

I sat in the spa pool with Campbell on the Saturday night, one week before I was to give the Sunday morning sermon. He was to speak the next day and was thrashing around his final thoughts. His sermon was on Loving the World with Patience, mine, Loving the World with Kindness. It seemed the two crossed over – the thoughts, scripture passages and ideas that he was to share were the same as I had been preparing. 

I’d have to change my message. Still, he was the seasoned preacher and I not so, and so as is true in much of our relationship, he supported me and tapered his message differently. Like I said in my introduction on the morning of my sermon jokingly, but with a big measure of truth, “we have this way of sorting things out in our marriage. I want it. He lets me have it. End of story.” 

If anyone has been following me on Facebook, they would have seen my personal bio. It reads like a conversation between two young friends,  

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” 
“Kind!” said the girl.

I want to be kind. It is perhaps my greatest desired value in life – to be kind. But that’s not me – yet. Too many times an unkind word comes out of my mouth, or I have unkind thoughts towards someone, or I hold back from kindness. But it is what I long to be. I long to be kind.

And as I was preparing my sermon, I discovered personal challenges around being kind that I needed to explore and give attention to.

Challenge #1 – Why do I want to be kind?

This lead me to question, what is kindness and why does kindness matter?

Campbell had coined this phrase as a summary for the Loving the World series we were in at church, “When my thoughts, feelings and actions come together for the good of another, love is expressed!” I liked that. Kindness was the expression, the doing, the action, of love – for the good of another.

In the dictionary, kindness is defined as tenderness, sympathy, goodness, gentleness, tolerance, understanding, courtesy, decency, patience, benevolence, hospitality, affection, graciousness, generosity – noun after noun that had at their root, the willingness of a person to do good for another.

But why does kindness matter? The antonyms of kindness are a clear reason – meanness, cruelty, hatred, hostility, indecency, indifference, intolerance, mercilessness, selfishness, harshness and thoughtlessness. What ugly words these are. They are the opposite of wanting to do good for another; selfish, horrible words at their root.

  • Titus 3:3-5 says, “At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another. But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy”.

I had been in the supermarket. I learn a lot of life lessons in the supermarket. It was full of shoppers, and the queues were long. There was nothing to do, but to pick a queue and join the wait. The checkout directly next door opened up and people were invited to merge into it. An argument broke out where the two people in front of me spat out their accusations and ugly words at each other over whose right it was to have been first to move to the newly opened checkout. I had never heard so much viciousness in a public place. It was like they each had a set of darts and was throwing them at each other. It was a case where security should have been brought in, and was definitely one of those awkward times where you didn’t know what to do. It was resolved, but only because the front person paid for their groceries and left the store.

It matters to God the way we treat others! God created us for loving, harmonious, relationships with Himself and with others, but instead we have this:  I hurt you, you hurt me, I hurt someone else, they hurt the next person. We have all been on the receiving end of pain from meanness, and we have all inflicted it! What the Titus passage tells me is that kindness is the means by which God is saving the world. Eternally, yes, but also right now!!! – by renewing the nature within us with its propensity towards malice, envy, hatred, hostility, meanness. 

  • Romans 2:4 says, “Do you show contempt for the riches of his kindness, forbearance and patience, not realizing that God’s kindness is intended to lead you to repentance?”

Kindness is the means by which God is saving the world. Kindness initiates repentance. Repentance is a change in the way we think, act, or feel, it’s about our attitude. And it’s the ability we have as humans having been created in the image of God, to exercise moral reasoning. When somebody does something towards us, acts in a mean and unkind way, we have a choice. We can return the same unkindness or we can exercise our moral reasoning, and say, “no, I’m not going to be like that. I am going to return this unkindness with kindness”. The other person then has a choice also. Maybe the kindness shown will in turn make them stop to think and decide in the future to be kind in the face of unkindness. 

When anyone shows kindness to another person– whether a person of faith or not, whether in Jesus name or not – it can initiate change in their life because kindness does something to the heart and mind of a person. Kindness can help people change towards each other: If I’m kind to someone, they may do the same to another… Kindness is that powerful!

Kindness matters.

Challenge #2 who am I kind to?

There is a verse that says God delights in kindness, and with this in mind I get a sense of this in Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount. If He delights in kindness, I can imagine correctly that this sermon is said with excitement and joy, with heightened emotion and passion, perhaps like a sports fan that has just seen their team win. And so we should read it that way. Getting my imagination in place, I read on.

  • Luke 6:27-38 
    But to you who are listening. I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, 28 bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. 29 If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. 30 Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. 31 Do to others as you would have them do to you. 32 “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them. 33 And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners do that. 34 And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you? Even sinners lend to sinners, expecting to be repaid in full. 35 BUT love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. 36 Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful. 37 “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven. 38 Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.”

Then, after this excited outpouring of what kindness looks like, He then models it over the too few years ahead of him –

Firstly, with his choice of disciples. He didn’t pick who we may have to follow him. They are men of no social status, and some with bad reputation. Peter, Andrew, James, John – were fishermen “just men from Galilee” not known for status or title or any importance, uneducated other than in fishing. Matthew, a tax collector!  He was a Jew taking money from other Jews to give as taxes to the Romans, lining his own pockets as he did so. They were despised among the Jewish people. Simon, the “Zealot”, of the Jewish nationalistic party. He was a political extremist, someone whose politics were not the same as Jesus’ politics. Judas Iscariot – Iscariot, a title rather than his family name, suggesting he belonged to the Sicarii, the most radical Jewish group, murderers and assassins, many of whom were terrorists.

Then, as He enters His wider ministry, we see an ever-increasing circle of love and kindness shown, including the inclusion of:

Sinners. Sinners is a term that almost surely expressed general social disapproval…people who habitually behaved in immoral ways, or in ways that contradicted widely shared religious observance. The Rich, like Mary Magdala thought to be a woman of wealth who supported Jesus and his disciples financially. The Poor, and hungry. Prostitutes, like the woman who anointed Jesus with perfume. Women, who had no social rights, and no voice, like Mary of Bethany who sat at the feet of Jesus. Children, typically to be seen and not heard and yet he said, “Let the little children come to me…” Demon possessed, sick, disabled and diseased. Including the leprous: those who had to live outside of the town and shout the words “unclean” so that passersby knew to take a wide berth. When was the last time someone had touched them, or stopped to talk with them – as Jesus did? People with bad reputation like the woman caught in adultery. Foreigners like the Samaritan Woman to whom he goes out of his way to have conversation with, and tells her the gospel. Social outcasts like Zaccheaus. Criminals, including a thief on the cross. People of other religions like, the Greek woman who begged Jesus to drive the demon out of her daughter. Greeks believed in many gods, she was of a different religion to Jesus. This did not matter to him.

Jesus had an ever-increasing circle of people to whom he shows kindness and inclusion to – he eats with them at their places, invites them to where he is, touches them, has important conversations with them, cares for them, includes them.

His kindness extends further still …

To his enemies. An enemy, the greek word being, exthrós is someone openly hostile, acting out of deep-seated hatred. Someone with whom there was irreconcilable differences, someone with a “personal” hatred bent on inflicting harm, like, the Pharisees and Religious Leaders. Yet we see Jesus welcome the likes of Nicodemus and Joseph of Aramathea. The Romans. Centurions followed him, and he was all good with that.

What we see in Jesus is love, expressed in kindness that is inclusive, diverse, and non-discriminatory. He doesn’t have an in-group that he is kind to and an out group that are outside of his kindness. He isn’t just kind to those who are the same social group or faith as His is. He reaches out to those that no others would because of poverty, disease or reputation. His circle encompasses all. 

All of this made me realize, I am so often guilty of being kind only to those who are kind to me, those who I like, who I get on with. I have been selective with my kindness, when it suits me, or to those who have not wronged me, and I have often excluded all those who don’t fit into my nice categories, who don’t share my beliefs and way of living. I had an in-group and an out-group. What credit to me is it if I only show kindness to those who are in my own little group? – Jesus says, even the wicked do this! 

The challenge is who am I kind to? 

Challenge #3 does my kindness look like God’s kindness? 

What is God’s kindness like?

  • Jeremiah 31:3 It is unfailing

I remember one year tying $5 notes onto a string for my son’s birthday. He had to follow the string, rolling it up, and as he did so, collect the money. I imagine $kindness notes being on a long string that never ends.

  • Ephesians 1:7 It is rich and luxurious

I think of a bath. Deep and warm on a cool night. Filled to the brim with floating candles and rose petals. And as I sink into it, I am surrounded by its luxury.

  • And in Jeremiah 9:24, “but let the one who boasts boast about this: that they have the understanding to know me, that I am the Lord, who exercises kindness, justice and righteousness on earth, for in these I delight,” declares the Lord. 

God exercises kindness (actively kind) and delights in it (gets excited about it)!

In a TED talk that I listened to, George Saunders said, “What I regret most in my life are failures of kindness. Those moments when another human being was there in front of me suffering and I responded sensibly, reservedly, mildly.”

Is my kindness like God’s, or is it sensible, reserved and mild?

Right now, as I write this, there is this person in our life. I hesitate to call them friend because of the tense issue between us, they feel more like an enemy. I am so angry. I have been stressed, have lost sleep, and am just really angry about the injustice of it and the dishonouring of our character to treat us this way. The trouble is, they feel the same back towards us. They owe us money. When we outlined what was owed, the response back was that they saw it in terms of repayment for favours shown. That they’d been so generous to us that this debt be waved in lieu of that. From our point of view, we had been generous to them when they were in a really low and difficult time. And if it were favours for favours, we would not be lacking – though I’m sure they would think otherwise. It felt like an impasse. Some of the debt was for work done, for events attended but not paid for, for product borrowed and not repaid. What were we to do? We do not like to let conflict ruin relationships, and were prepared to do the hard conversations to make things right. I put myself in their shoes and saw myself as in the right. And in my shoes, the same, I was right. And I had the right to be paid. I’m working on this blog post on kindness. Oh God, I wish I weren’t! I hate it because I know I will give in to God, and I just don’t want to today. God delights in kindness and sometimes kindness is shown through generosity, forgiveness, and not letting money be God. But I felt like I was being walked over. If we forgave the debt, they would think, “good, see I was right” and there would be no appreciation of the debt waved. But did it matter what they thought? Or did it just matter what God thought? Was I using kindness, begrudgingly, by entertaining this idea of forgiving the debt as an easy way out of conflict avoidance, but where I would always be a grudge holder, never really letting it go, bringing it up again the next time something went down? I imagined God, feeling really excited about waving the debt. Delighted to do so. I could imagine Him jumping out of bed in the morning eager to do this kind thing. But I know people, I knew it wouldn’t be appreciated in the same eager way, as His delight is. I thought about a reserved, sensible, held back kind of kindness – but “Oh God, its money, and we need it!” We have bills to pay. We are at this person’s mercy. The bank is being difficult. And I am proud, I don’t want to be under anyone’s control or face the humiliation of not being about to pay our debts. I thought of this person’s character – the many good things I know of them. And all I could conclude was that they must be in financial trouble because it didn’t make sense. But I don’t know that. I feel like they just don’t care about us, and our situation. I don’t know that either. It’s just how it feels. We always have to ask, money owed is never offered. I heard today that there are many more drawers to open in the cabinet of someone’s life and we just don’t have all the understanding of why people do things. I don’t even know the outcome yet. Some of the debt we will definitely ask to have paid. If the total were paid, we would meet our debts, but I know we wont ask for it all back. And right now, I’m mad about that. Why is it always us that has to give in? I guess its true to say, my kindness is begrudging, angry, resentful, held back, kindness. Yet, do I dare to test the words of Jesus? “Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you”. If I gave with this kind of measure, if I were kind and forgave the debt, would the same measure be given to me – sometime, maybe in the future somehow? Or would I just begrudgingly have to wait for it in the Kingdom of Heaven? But would it be worth testing out?

How do I be kind like He is kind? 

The fruit of the Spirit is kindness, it tells us in Galatians. True kindness within me is when I give God permission, and allow him to do something deep in me, where who I am, my being, becomes kindness. But I’m not always ready or willing to give Him permission.

There’s this thing I do that I hate. I can be angry in a kind way. Let me explain. 

We had this 16-year-old boy living with us. He was a friend of our son and things weren’t good at home, so he came to us. He needed a phone and plan but was unable to because of his age. We agreed to become his guarantor. The phone contract would be under my name, he would pay all the costs, and the use of it would be solely his. It was a plan that extended over 2 years, paying a certain amount each month. When he turned 18 years old, he was able to take on the contract for himself. We just had to go into the local phone provider store to change the details over into his name. As he was working full time, he had to take time off work in order to be able to get to the store within their open hours. We went together. What became obvious was that there was an error on their records, which showed that my eldest son was the owner of our account, and we required his permission to do the change over. I was the actual account holder, but somehow a mistake had been made and no matter what way we tried to get around this, it kept coming back to needing my son’s permission. I was frustrated and angry. How had this happened? I received and paid the monthly accounts, not my son. It was my account, not his. They had somehow made the mistake of having his name as the holder and signatory. I could do nothing. I found myself doing this thing I do – being angry in a ‘kind’ way and said to the young girl who was assisting us, “its your fault. Something has happened and now I am unable to access my account”. (I said it ‘nicely’ but with a very pointed undertone). I saw her take a step back. I saw her prepare herself for an interaction with a difficult customer, and at that point, I realized I had done this thing I do, again. I backed off pretty quickly, changed my tone. She replied, “It is not my fault personally …” and though I was still very frustrated, I admitted defeat with their policy and we walked away to try and resolve the issue another way. When I was in my car alone, driving home, I felt so disappointed and upset with myself. I had been someone who the customer service girl would go home and describe as “I had this difficult customer today …” I would’ve made her day hard. It was not her fault, but she was made to feel that way. I prayed to God telling Him I didn’t want to be that person, that I wanted to be kind and asked Him to forgive me. To help me be kind as He is kind, compassionate as He is compassionate, to forgive just as He forgives me (Ephesians 4:32). To love as the Lord loves (Hosea 3:1). To be merciful as He is merciful (Luke 6:36). The good thing is, that with His Spirit’s help I can re-set, re-focus, re-adjust my mind, my actions and my will back into kindness as many times as I need to.

Does my kindness look like God’s kindness?

Challenge #4 is my kindness sincere? Or am I a kindness professional? 

This for me was my biggest challenge. 

  • In Romans 12:9 it says, “Love must be sincere”, and in Timothy 2:24 “And the Lord’s servant must not be quarrelsome but must be kind to everyone”.  

I was talking with my son who had shifted to study in a new city. He was telling me about the Life Group he was attending that was part of a church. He described two of the core leaders. One was the girl whose home the group met at each week. The other was the leader who was responsible back to the church. The first, he described as very friendly, very kind, very generous. The second, he said was also friendly, kind, and generous, but it felt different – like it was required of him to be that way. That it was his job. We had at the time been pastoring for about 27 years. I had learned to be kind. Of course I wanted to be, there’s no doubt about that, but I had learned it as part of our job. It was a big challenge to me to realize that much of my kindness was part and parcel of our job description. We were paid to be kind. 

Is my kindness sincere or just part of my job description of being a Christian?

Challenge #5 what are my limits to kindness?

There are debates on do we do kindness right or not? Books written about are we helping or hurting someone with our acts of kindness? I don’t really want to get into that kind of debate. Here’s why. 

I was in the supermarket again! Ahead of me were two high school boys in their uniforms, buying potting mix. I immediately and within a short space of time, processed the situation this way – a few weeks earlier I had been at one of my son’s parent/teacher interviews. We had walked around the school to each of his classes to talk with his teachers. In one area of the school, we walked passed these beautiful pod gardens. It was in the agriculture studies area of the school, and the students got to learn about plants, and grow them. I loved it! So I’m in the supermarket and I recall the pod gardens and think to myself that these boys ahead of me in the queue must be buying potting mix to do some extra homework. Perhaps grow some vegetables at home, or whatever. They were short of a couple of dollars and I thought that this was something that I could help with. I could be kind. I’d be generous and pay the amount they were short. So I did. They responded with “thanks Miss”, but the cashier looked at me in a strange way. I figured she just wasn’t used to people randomly paying for other’s groceries. That night, we were sharing stuff at the dinner table. I shared my day – and what had happened at the supermarket. My family broke into fits of laughter. That kind of rolling around the floor laughter! Tears streaming down their faces, kind of laughter. I asked, “Whaaaaat? What are you laughing at?” and then came the realization. Something they knew about but something I was very naïve to. The boys were buying potting mix to grow marijuana. And I had helped them!

At the time we had an older guy staying with us. He had had a very broken upbringing and life. He had been in the gangs where drugs and violence were a big part. He too had been in fits of laughter over my story and my naivety. But when the laughter died down, he said,

“but they’ll remember it though. No one is kind in their world!” 

There was nothing I could do. I’d paid for the potting mix. I’d enabled the boys to grow marijuana. But our friend’s words impacted me, “they’ll remember it though. No one is kind in their world”. I prayed for them.

My story made me realize this – I would rather have been kind, even if in a naïve kind of way, than hold back kindness. I would rather be kind even if the receiver thinks they have gotten one over on me, than to live a life that analyzes every situation to see if it is worthy of my kindness. The fact that I was able to be kind to a couple of young boys that day, in whose world there might never be kindness shown, now seems more important to me than what they were going to use the potting mix for. I possibly enabled marijuana to meet a physical addiction, but it is also likely that I had spoken to the heart through kindness shown. I’m pretty sure God wanted me to know this. Several weeks later, I was reading and thought on the boys. It was like Graciousness washed over me. God wanted me to know this. 

I read again Titus 3:3-5 this way –

  • “At one time we too (the boys in the store) were foolish, disobedient, deceived and enslaved by all kinds of passions and pleasures (marijuana). We lived in malice and envy, being hated and hating one another (no one shows kindness in their world).But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, (perhaps through a naïve person like me) he saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of his mercy (who knows what God will do?)”

The challenges are all very real. But what they teach me is that –

Kindness is powerful! 
It matters to God how we treat each other!
It matters who we are kind to!
It matters that our kindness is sincere!
Why would I have limits to kindness, when God does not to me? 
And, should not my kindness look like God’s kindness?

Because the thing is, when I grow up, I want to be kind.

Who are you Mary?

Was Mary the mother of Jesus humble, obedient, meek, and mild? Or perhaps a little sassy? I wonder?

I mean I don’t mean sassy in a disrespectful or dishonouring way – well perhaps not, anyway. Rather as someone with a little more spunk to her. Honestly, the Scriptures don’t really reveal her personality to us, but the picture given is that she was obedient, probably sourced from the verse “I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled” (Luke 1:38). I’m pretty sure I would proclaim my servanthood and humble obedience if I received a terrifying appearance by an angel.

The theology of my upbringing has been complimentarian, meaning women are complimentary to men, Eve having been born after Adam to be his helper. I left behind this teaching years ago, but I wonder if Mary has been called servant, obedient, and humble because it fits into a complimentarian theology and for so so many generations, a complimentarian world. In this scenario she makes a perfect picture of how a Christian woman should apparently be.

Sure, she had to have a strong character with what she was asked to do – be the mother of God the Son, and all that came with that, but was she chosen because she was obedient, or chosen because she had some of what it would take to stand up to and handle all that was to come about? That all takes a little sass, I reckon. Perhaps it was neither of these. Perhaps she was chosen because God simply delighted in her. Or chosen just because. I don’t think there is a divine spinning wheel where God puts his finger out and wherever the wheel stops, this is the choice he goes with, but God sure does have interesting choices throughout history of who he gets to do stuff for him. And its often not who we would choose that’s for sure. They don’t have the qualifications or personalities that we would choose for the job at hand.

After talking backwards and forwards with a girl friend about our Mary views, and stories of her that we have written, I decided to have a go at writing a story about Mary that portrays her as one who had a little more, well, colour and boldness to her. You know, the free-spirited, stand up straight, flick your hair back, hands on hips, pouting lips kinda sass.

Got a minute? Read on …

Mary found herself for the hundredth time sitting on the craggy rocks watching the sheep. She’d been sent here again “to reflect, to think on your actions, to consider the consequences of your behaviour“ her father had scolded, gently scolded. She tried her best, she really did. He’d send her here away from the neighbours and the gossip – those who often wagged their finger at her with a “tisk tisk”, and who would give her mother the same old advice on how to raise this free-willed, they called her, girl-child. 

She’d find her favourite rock and do her best to think, but as usual it was only minutes before she was lying face down, in the grass watching a grasshopper jump from blade to blade, or face up, arms extended watching the clouds float by. Nature was her joy and her escape. Nature had all the answers to her questions if only she could find them. Why was one flower blue, and the other yellow? What made them that way? What made the green toad a toad, and what made some turtles have hard shells, but the Pancake turtle’s soft?

But, the questions always came back to this – Why was she so different from the other girls? When they wore their hair up, she wanted hers down. When they had theirs down, she wanted hers braided up. To be honest she wished she could wear her hair short, shorter than it was at least. She’d never seen a girl with short hair and wondered why. Hers was such a bother, and each night as she and her sister took turns at combing each other’s hair, she grimaced more than her sister ever did as the comb pulled through the mattered knots. She loved to wander through the hills with her hair uncovered, allowing the breeze to whip through it, but that along with the dusty paths and the sweaty morning chores created the daily painful session of removing all the tangles, only to do it all again the next day.

She mused how that alongside the girls her age, she learned the skills of cooking and sewing for future husbands and households, but as she did, her attention often wandered off where she would be dreaming of fishing with her brother Jacob. She had done so on occasion, but not nearly enough if she had her way. There were so many fish, like the Catfish with its funny whiskers (a fish they were not allowed to eat, it having no fins or scales), or the Tilapia with its beautiful shimmering green underbelly, that was caught sometimes in large quantities depending on the season. This was her favourite to eat. To be honest, she spent most of her few fishing excursions dangling lazily over the boat’s edge with the tips of her hair getting wet, gazing into the water watching for fish to swim by, and feeling the silky cool water flow through her fingers. She longed to study the Torah like Joseph did, her betrothed, her husband to be, a kind and handsome boy just a little older than Jacob. Her ideal, her dream of all dreams, was to sit among the philosophers of the day in the city only a half a day’s walk, and ponder the meaning of life, study the plants and animals and planets and weather patterns and … oh … there was so so much to know. So many questions that filled her brain that she longed answers for. 

Just yesterday, she recalled her conversation with Sheb, over Gaidaros (meaning ‘donkey’), but who since she were a toddler had called ‘Daros, and it had stuck. ‘Daros had refused to walk along the winding path to the creek. Old man, Sheb, a family friend who helped tend the animals in return for food and lodging, had told her that donkeys were known to be stubborn, but he believed they just looked out for their own safety with a fierce self-preservation – pointing out that last week when they had walked him down the same path to the creek, a grass snake had startled ‘Daros, and it would now take lots of encouragement to reassure him the passage was safe. Other donkey owners would beat theirs into submission, with very little result. You could often hear across the valley subtle curses and exasperation as a herd-boy tried to ‘move’ their donkey. But she watched Sheb, who was much more gentle and coaxed ‘Daros, talking softly to him all the way, caressing that favourite spot behind his ear. Mary observed these and their other animal’s behaviour and devoured this knowledge as if she were famished for it. She’d kicked off her sandals and walked barefoot down the dusty path alongside Sheb, and ‘Daros – just to feel what he would be feeling with his bare ‘feet’. 

Each day after her chores were complete, Mary would spend long hours in the small field behind their home. She’d watch the wheat grow from seed to ready-to-harvest. Last season she had memorized the stages of its growth and this year she had chalked rough pictures of them and watched proudly as each stage came, comparing her drawings to the actual wheat before her. She’d sit with the baby goats and allow them to nibble at her fingers, and to her mother’s horror, the hem of her dress. She’d look down at her dress and see again the stains and the tears, and knew that these would be the first thing her mother would observe with a cluck of her tongue and a shake of her head when she came in for the evening meal. She’d often asked to wear the shorter tunics like her brothers, rather than the long flowing tunics that the women wore. “It would be much more sensible and I wouldn’t be always tearing the hem” she would say, to the chagrin of her mother. 

Night was extra pleasing to Mary. From the lean-to attached to their home, she would stare for hours at the sky, wondering, wondering what was up there, how the stars shone, why sometimes she saw them shoot through the nighttime sky. She would marvel at how many there were, and think about what their purpose might be, her thoughts only broken by her father telling her it was bedtime. Occasionally, she was permitted to sleep outside on her mat with Zef, the family dog to keep her company. Those were the most glorious of nights. She’d create patterns in the stars, and fall asleep with the soft sound of Zef breathing and the warmth of his body next to hers. The rhythm of their breathing slowly syncing would lure her to sleep. She felt within and knew on these nights that YHWH saw her and YHWH loved her. Somehow she felt like his favour was on her. That he loved her questioning and curiosity and desires. That he was okay about her often-cavalier spirit. And so on the nights like this she too felt okay about herself, the way she was different from others. These nights made her feel close to YHWH, and she imagined herself his friend.

But today seated on the rock, again, her thoughts returned to the unanswered, often-asked questions. When the doubt and fears filled her, becoming loud and unable to be pushed down. When she wished she were a little less inquisitive and a little more home-attentive. Mary had listened to the whispers of her parents at night through the thin walls and knew their concerns over her different-to-the-others personality. It wasn’t that they didn’t love her or like her, she knew they did. It was the talk of others in the neighbourhood, and it was the cultural expectations of who she should be, not who she was, that bothered them. Why couldn’t she just fit in? She thought of the questions that she’d ask of her mother and her father despairingly – Why did YHWH allow her to be different from the other girls – and boys for that matter? Why was she not content to be just a girl like other girls? And, why, why could she not attend the school her eldest brother did, who when he returned home, she would sit for hours at his feet, plaguing him with question after question about what he had learned – science, was what he had called her favourite topic of all.

Mostly, she loved being a girl, really, and she wanted to have her own home, her own babies and a good husband. But life just seemed to have more questions than it did answers. It carried more mystery and adventure than her often-suffocating small world within her family and in her village, and what was all expected of her. She wanted to explore her surroundings and go beyond them to see what was out there – wherever there was! It grated her that life seemed more fun and free for the boys, choosing their life, their professions, their jobs and careers, but where ‘life’ was chosen for her. Joseph, even, was chosen for her. He would be her husband in a year’s time. They were betrothed already. He’d asked to marry her and her parents had agreed. Huh! She always mused when she thought on his choice of her. She had wild and questioning thoughts about Joseph. When she saw him, she felt a little giddy and shy. Why did seeing him do that to her? She tried to behave and keep her questions to herself when he visited, but saw the smile cross his face when she found herself trying to take back a statement said or a question asked that she wished she’d not put voice to. Then she’d do that thing that she always did. She knew it were like what Sheb said ‘Daros did – it was self-preservation, keeping her thoughts and herself safe – she’d put on a bold, almost defiant look, shrug her shoulders, shake her head to flick her hair away from her face, cross her hands in her lap, and well, try and sit pretty. Joseph, would always just look at her in a way that resembled pride and admiration. She loved his reaction, but it also made her stomach feel like it was full of butterflies.

Mary thought about today’s Sabbath – her latest rebuking and the reason she was again sitting on the rocks. Scolded again by the Rabbi, because unintentionally her questions were blurted out louder than she intended as she listened to the readings at Synagogue. This was the place of worship and learning the Holy Scriptures that her family, along with all the village people, attended. She always had so many questions, what would the Saviour be like? When would he come? Why did a lamb have to be killed for Passover? Why this … and how come that … and so on. Her father was proud of her curiosity, but in keeping with the rules of synagogue behaviour, he often had to shush her and today was no different. Today, she knew after it had been blurted out, in uncontrollable and incurable curiosity that she’d gone beyond simple questioning and had embarrassed her family when she forgot to use her synagogue voice and instead said rather loudly, “Father, instead of offering an innocent lamb or a young dove for our sins this year, why couldn’t we take Rache the rooster – he’s always bullying the chickens and seems such a nuisance…?” She saw the smile cross her father’s face before it was quickly replaced with a sternness, and a chastising look up from the scroll by Rabbi Jerome. The women behind had wriggled in their seats, the men had a-hemmed, and those her age had giggled, but were quickly quieted. Tobias had teased her following Synagogue, mimicking and adding to her words in a high pitched voice that sounded nothing like hers, and with a teasing tone, “this year … why don’t we take Joseph the rooster, he’s such a nuisance …” Mary had been so put out that she’d responded by commenting on the patchiness of his newly forming beard and he had run off so that the others couldn’t see his embarrassment. She’d seen Rabbi Jerome pull her mother and father to the side and talk in hushed tones to them, and other parents pull their sons and daughters away – tuttering about her unacceptable behaviour, and the dirty smudge she’d missed on her nose, and the way she brashly lifted her chin – as if they worried her behaviour might infect theirs. 

“13 years old and she still not sitting in silence like the other girls her age have learned to do” she’d been told he had said, “and while this might be more tolerable if she were a young child, it is insolent behaviour for a young woman, and one to be married soon. Joseph is a fine and godly young man, but he would have every right to change his mind …” Her parents had reassured Rabbi Jerome that they would “talk” with Mary and make sure she understood the seriousness of her verbal outburst, and what was expected of her at Synagogue. Mary, knowing that her parents were receiving a rebuke on her behalf, had caught the Rabbi’s gaze, flicked her hair, lifted her chin, swung around, and walked home. She knew that this bordered on disrespect but she also didn’t know why Synagogue had to be so … well, stuffy, and why she was always quieted for her questioning. It was a place of learning after all. How could she learn if she couldn’t ask her questions? 

Intentionally, she chose not to bypass the village houses like she did after other such occasions, knowing that she would be the talk of the town, again, rather, she walked straight down the pathway running between the houses like she’d done nothing at all. She didn’t care – well, not much, and not today anyway, the sun was too glorious and the trees too welcoming to fret about it – what was wrong with asking questions? She had so many; she had to let some of them out. She did feel a little uneasy with her outburst today though. But, only for poor Rache. He was a nuisance yes, constantly pecking at the hens, and bossing every other animal in the yard. But he did have the most beautiful feather coat, she mused. As she reached the end of the town and the short distance through the animal yard to their home, she hitched up her tunic-dress, tucked it around her waist so that her ankles caught the breeze, removed her shoes to feel the dust between her toes, threw back her head covering, tied her hair up high, looked up to the clouds above and smiled to YHWH (she hoped it was ok to do so) saying, “if they cant accept me like I am, then so be it!” Oh! Was that an affirming smile that she felt back?

Mary knew her mother and father would be pulling her aside to give her the “talk”, which in past cases was generally followed by a smile, a squeeze of her shoulders, and an acknowledgment of their pride, albeit worry, for her. She would take it all calmly, and welcome the time alone to sit, and to question. And so here she was …

Leaving the rock after several hours of reflecting, thinking on her actions, and considering the consequences of her behaviour, and many mind excursions towards the clouds, the wild flowers swaying the breeze, the insects gathering food – and biting her ankles – Mary wandered home to help her mother with the evening meal. She’d gotten so good at kneading the bread, her mother had expressed her pride and her father had whistled at its fluffy texture and freshness. Her brothers and sisters would just all hoe in hungrily, looking occasionally up at Mary to express their approval, fighting amongst themselves to grab the last piece. “You’re going to make a fine wife and mother” her father complimented. Joseph was present for the meal. She felt a warm sense of pride rise in her. Mary had combed her hair but left strands of it escaping from her head covering because he’d told her he loved her hair. She had worn her best tunic-dress and washed her own feet before washing his as he entered their home. They stole looks and shy smiles during the meal, and afterwards she was freed from the dishes to walk a short distance with Joseph. They shared together conversations about nature and science, and both removed their shoes to walk barefoot. They sat for a while and watched the wheat sway in the evening breeze. Mary could feel the closeness of Joseph and sense the tingle on her skin as their hands occasionally and accidentally touched as they talked animatedly and expressly. They sometimes argued about what they saw and observed in nature, but it was always friendly and it seemed like only minutes until they were called in before the sun set and the day darkened. 

She said goodbye to Joseph and headed for bed. Mary could hear the final conversation between her mother and father and Joseph before he left their home for his. She could tell his ‘youthful maturity’ encouraged them, “Don’t be worried about Mary and her curiosity for life. It is one of the qualities that I admire in her. Her lack of concern for what others think of her makes me smile. Perhaps one day, it will do her well. I assure you that I am anticipating a long and happy marriage and future together with Mary.” Mary didn’t blush at this, she just felt filled-up and grateful to YHWH that her husband-to-be loved her the way she had been made, with all her questions, and her spiritedness. And what others thought of as brash and haughty made him smile. She would do her best to make him happy, as he made her.

———-

Mary lay thinking for a long time that night.

———-

She couldn’t be sure if she had fallen asleep or was wide-awake when she was startled by the bright light that shone through the crack in the wall. She glanced around and saw her family all sleeping quietly. What was this light? It was brighter than any star she’d gazed on, brighter than the sun, it seemed. She sat up abruptly, and pulled away from the light. She was both fearful of it and drawn into it. Within the light she saw a man, but more than a man, bigger in size than any man she had ever seen, in dazzling white clothing, fearsome, yet kind-looking. It was an all-consuming light. He had an urgency about him, but seeing her immediate fear, he slowed his voice, bent down so that he was at her level, and if tender gentleness combined with frightening awesomeness were possible, he spoke to her. Mary heard him say,

 “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”

Greatly troubled, Mary’s head spun with questions – who is this? What is this? What kind of greeting is this? Am I seeing things? Is this real? Is this a dream? This light – what could it be? What could it mean? Why can only I see it? 

“The angel …

Mary, brung her blanket up almost over her head but so she could still see, sheltered her eyes both with fright, and from the brightness of his presence 

… said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary” 

He knew her name! She wasn’t sure if the surprise of this or the fear of his being, frightened her more, but in his comforting words she felt peace. YHWH was not to be feared, he was there, somewhere in this, she just knew it.

… you have found favour with God. You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”

Mary reeled with questions. More questions, and no answers. A million questions filling her head and her thoughts about the angel, about his words, about where he had come from, about God, about his favour, about the long awaited kingdom often talked about at Temple, about a son to be called Jesus. 

A son …? Of all the things swirling in her head the most pressing was what came blurting out,

“How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?” 

She knew she sounded a little doubtful and brash. She was betrothed to Joseph but had not been with him. She couldn’t even bring herself to thinking what being with him meant. Her mother had simply said, “you’ll see”.

Right now, there were many things to ask. So much she didn’t understand. So overcome by what and how and when and why, 

The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God.” 

Her head swirled … the Son of God … the … Son … of … God …

But still in that moment, at that pronouncement, all her questions were strangely silenced, her mind was still, she was filled with awe, and love, she felt such love, what kind of love was this? She bowed low to the angel, and she in an uncharacteristic and surprisingly calm and accepting voice heard herself say,

“I am the Lord’s servant, May your word to me be fulfilled.” 

It was a humble and mild response and it delighted herself to hear it.

Then once again all was quiet, all was still. The angel left her. The calmness in her mind seemed to be felt within and without – all around her. Sitting again in the stillness of the night, the light having faded now, it’d only been moments since the angel’s visit had passed, she felt … how could she describe it? At first it was like a shadow, yes, but more of a covering, a warm blanket that felt like love, of a perfect kind embrace her and then “like a million tiny stars burst all at once inside of her”* Strangely, calmly, fearlessly, she knew. It had happened. Something had happened. The Son of God, the Son of God was within her, nestled and at home within her womb. A protectiveness, a motherliness, a possessive sheltering came over her. One that she instinctively knew she would have to fiercely hold onto.

———-

It consumed her thoughts for the days and weeks following, but she knew she had to tell. She’d started to notice changes. This could not be kept hidden.

The calmness continued which seemed a blessing to all but it was so uncharacteristic, that her father and her mother, her brothers and her sisters were looking sideways at her, often probing, and unsure of this new mood they were witnessing in her. 

The questions and the walks alone, the sitting on her favourite rock, the bare feet and the torn hems continued. But now it was questions about him … she would recall often the words the angel spoke to her, about this baby growing within, Jesus, he was to be called, about how to tell her family, about how others would see her, talk about her, cluck their tongues and wag their fingers (well, that at least wouldn’t be something new). It took a stammering amount of courage, but with that self-preservation spirit she possessed, she put on a bold, almost defiant look, shrugged her shoulders, shook her head to flick her hair away from her face, lifted her chin, and walked into the kitchen where all were waiting to eat the evening meal. Joseph was there, dear Joseph. 

She pronounced, just as the angel had,

“Mum, Dad, Joseph, everyone … I’m pregnant. I’m having a baby …”

———-

The look she first saw, first noticed, that first bothered her, that first caused her to emotionally recoil and temporarily lose her mental footing, was Joseph’s. His jaw dropped … his face reddened … moments like hours passed, then he quietly rose, looking like he was trying to find words, then gave up and left without speaking … her courage collapsed momentarily. In a moment of time, right then, right there, she thought a million thoughts and had a million questions race through her mind, but equally as if no time passed at all she recalled Sheb and ‘Daros, “he believed they just looked out for their own safety with fierce self-preservation” and she heard again Joseph’s words regarding her, “her lack of concern for what others think of her, makes me smile. Perhaps one day, it will do her well”, and in quiet defiance she put up her shield, but not brashly this time – for now she had the Son of God within, and with Him came a strength and peace that she had not felt before. She steadied herself, turned, and she too walked out the door, through the gate, found her favourite craggy rock out in the hills overlooking the sheep grazing, and the wheat swaying, sat down and looked up at the stars beginning to appear in the night sky. She knew her father and mother – both distraught and with many questions – would be along shortly. She needed to give herself space to prepare. She knew what this scenario looked like. What the immediate future would involve. Could almost hear the whispers begin in the town. The Saviour of the World was to be born, through her, a virgin, and she would need all the courage and self-preservation she could muster to walk this new journey within and without. If ‘Daros could walk down the path even though he knew snakes to be there, she could walk this journey with possible threats and discomforts along the way. She considered how similar his walk to the creek each day, would be like her life each day now. Mary thought again of the angel, she thought of God’s favour on her, the miracle within, and steadied herself again for the millionth time since that night. Perhaps it would be something she would do over and over and over again throughout the months and then the years ahead – steady herself, brace herself for what was to come.

But Joseph … ? Oh Joseph … !

The worry kept forming inside when she thought of him, but each time she’d feel the shadow, the covering, a blanket that felt like love of a perfect kind embrace her. Mary knew she may not hear from him for awhile. He too had much to think about and many questions to ask. She wondered, worried about him. She had a million questions and a million things she wanted to share with Joseph, just as they had shared about everything else since their betrothal, but inside this Spirit-shadow that continued with her each day, she knew she would have to wait for a miracle of another kind, a special miracle for Joseph, and this knowing calmed her fear and worry for him. She turned her head slightly to hear the footfall behind her and saw her mother and father, faces downcast, walk toward her. And again, like before, she braced herself. Funny she thought, I doubt this time there will be a smile, a squeeze of her shoulders, or an acknowledgment of their pride for her. She would have to be patient. She would have to let the angel’s message and YHWH’s presence assure them as it had her. She imagined a million little miracles coming together into their lives as they walked, all walked, this pregnancy and this birth of her son who would be born, not just to her, but to her family, to Joseph – somehow, and to the world.

*my girl friend’s description of what it might be like for the Spirit of God to have come upon Mary

Judas

What was it that caused you, Judas, to say yes to the invitation offered to walk with the man, Jesus? What drew you to him? 

Were you perhaps just in the way of things when he was calling out and naming his disciples? Were you an observer in the crowd? Did people say that you had that look about you where they took a second glance? Noticed you? And perhaps Jesus just noticed you, and called you out?

Or, had you had conversation with Jesus before the naming? Did you know him? And if so, how? How did you come to be in his company? Were you dining, drinking, laughing, and dancing among the sinners when he noticed you? Did your eyes lock? Did he seek out your company? Did he talk with you, like no one had talked with you before in this way? And, in doing so, did you feel accepted, loved, in a different way to the way you were needed and accepted by your rebel group of friends?

Or was it the whispers of revolution? That this one was somehow to be the Saviour of the people of Israel, those oppressed and enslaved to the, Mighty Roman Empire. Did you always find yourself saying those 3 hated words with a hiss of indignancy? And these whispers had you curious, and so you started to spend your time in his company watching and listening to this new teacher and his teaching?

I wonder if you were placed? Did your Sicarii faction hear information about this new revolutionary Jesus figure, and had you tail him to see what his politics were? Would he be for or against the Sicarii? Was he a threat? And so, did you infiltrate the groups that were closest to Jesus and had yourself elected as one of his disciples? Were you good at that? Had years of violence, guerilla warfare and survival techniques taught you how to blend in yet stand out and be noticed? Did you have the ability to find yourself in significant places at significant times, meaning Jesus would notice you and want you on his team?

I wonder Judas, had you killed before? Being part of this revolutionary extremist political group of Jews, who hid mostly in the mountains surrounding Israel only to come out on the occasion to revolt against a particular new law set by the Romans, or to ambush legends on their way to the small towns to collect taxes. You ran with murderers and assassins, the Sicarii, you were called, the fiercest and most extreme of the political groups of the time. Your fellow Sicarii were equally as tough and violent as you were, but, I wonder, did you have special skills?

How many times had the blade of your sword pierced through the heart of another? How many lives had you sacrificed or taken in the name of the Sicarii? Of the revolution? Of a better, freer Israel? How many people had you betrayed to have yourself placed in a position of influence, or for the greater good of the cause? 

I wonder Judas, as you ran with your extremist comrades, how many Roman camps you had looted, even stealing from those of your own people who had a different agenda to the Sicarii, making the excuse that they were hindering the revolution that would come through the force of your group? Were you left in charge of the money, stolen, to fund the cause and to buy the weapons and food and information required to keep the Sicarii revolution moving forward? Did you have a way with the books? Did you steal a little for yourself from time to time – I mean, were you invaluable to them and so a little reward for your skill never bothered your conscience? Did you feel that you deserved the extra money?

Judas, what went on in your heart as you walked with Jesus? In your mind were you frustrated with his kindness but also drawn to it? Did you see the power that went out from Jesus as potential power to be harnessed to bring your cause into play in a greater way? Did the words he say challenge you or empower you? Did sometimes you just feel like shaking him to help him see the influence he could have if only he would stop being so compassionate to all … including the Romans? Did your mind get excited when Jesus stood up to the Pharisees, thinking this man really does have the backbone to lead the revolution?

Yes, perhaps your mind saw Jesus as the Saviour of the Jewish nation, bringing the Roman oppression to an end. 

But your heart, oh your heart, did the feelings that Jesus stirred up inside you weaken your resolve to fight in the violent way you were accustomed to? Did the ways of Jesus, and his talk about the Kingdom confuse you? Were they upside-down compared to your lifestyle and way of bringing things about? Were you made to feel uncertain about your Sicarii way? Were you touched by Love?

I wonder what first drew you to the Sicarii? Were you an ambitious youth, keen for your people to be freed from the pain of oppression? Were you hurt by a particular Roman soldier whose cruelty kept the Roman Empire in power? Did a family member, a father or brother get singled out and made an example of by these cruel Roman oppressors as they did their tour of duty through the towns keeping law and order and enforcing taxes? Did your sweet mother, or perhaps sister get taken and shamed by a vile Roman guard, and you weren’t there to protect her? 

Were the Zealots not ruthless enough for you? Did their debates and protests not achieve enough, quick enough? Did their politicking not get the results you wanted?

What was it that made you a mercenary? And how skilled had you become in your craft of killing and raiding and ambushing to get your revenge, or in order to get your personal, and national, revolution pushed? Did the style of bringing change by the Sicarii suit your vendetta? How involved were you in inciting riots, violently attacking Romans and Roman sympathizers, doing whatever was necessary, even committing atrocities to rouse the Jews into war against the Romans?

Judas, when you traveled with Jesus, when you walked with him, did you still carry your dagger, your sicae, beneath your cloak? When you witnessed the Pharisees making deals with the Romans, and taking bribes, were you tempted to pull out your dagger as you had done in the past, and punish these religious traitors for betraying the nation? And what about Matthew? How did you cope walking alongside Matthew – a traitor, and tax collector – one who was the middleman between your people and the Romans? Could you stand him? Did you ever just want to take your blade out and quench your thirst for revenge on him? What stopped you?

Judas, how easy was it for you to fall back into your normal way of doing things, into the way of the Sicarii, when you betrayed Jesus? Accepting money as you had done in the past for the betrayal of someone, then blending into the crowd to escape detection? 

I wonder Judas, were you there, among the 12 as a Sicarii spy, sneaking off often to report the political activities of Jesus to the leaders of your faction? It seemed that the other disciples knew something was ‘off’ about you! Did they perhaps suspect you of not being a true follower, but rather alongside for offhanded reasons? Did they trust you? It seems not. It seems like you remained on the outer with the disciples, while Jesus was different – seeking you out, enjoying your company, trusting but knowing, yet still seeing you as friend.

Judas, how did you feel when Jesus looked at you? I mean, that look he gave you, the one when you talked about wasting money and when you took some for yourself from the treasury as you had always done, that piercing look as if he knew? Not in condemnation, rather just in a knowing way, an understanding way, a foretelling, maybe foreboding way, like Jesus knew something about your intwined future with him? And then there was that night, the night before, where you feasted with the other 11 and Jesus, and he said things and did things that made you uncomfortable because you already knew what you had done and it was like he did too. And then Jesus gave you permission to go ahead with what you had already set in motion. Judas, what was in your mind, and more importantly what was in your heart? Had you, had the Sicarii decided that Jesus was too weak to be your hoped-for Saviour? Had you all decided that he sympathized too much with the people and would never do the extremist deeds required to bring about war and the ultimate overthrow of the Romans? Was he too peaceable? Did your final secret meeting before the night of Jesus death decide his fate? Did the discussion come to the conclusion that you, as the successful infiltrator of the inner group, and trusted friend of Jesus, would betray him, hand him over, remove him? Was Jesus popularity among the crowds standing in the way of your plans? 

Judas were you put there for the purpose of trailing, reporting and then betraying, and never a true disciple? A spy with an agenda? An infiltrator with the permission to end the life of this, this, this Jesus, if he stood in the way of the cause?

But it seems Judas, that Jesus did get in the way of the cause. He at least got in the way of your own personal cause and agenda against the Romans and anyone else. And when you finally found yourself in the place of betrayal, which in time past had fueled you with power and thrill and purpose, now made you feel sick to the stomach. It seems you did what was required of you, what had been decided and discussed by the Sicarii, but this time, for the first time, with doubt and regret, so much so that you changed your mind and you tried to undo what you had done, and when it was met with refusal and a room full of religious hate and anger, you failed both the Sicarii and Jesus, and you failed yourself, and the brokenness inside of you led you to the only possible solution…for if the Sicarii were to find out you had reneged, and if they discovered your change of heart and softening towards this one with a mark on his head, and if the religious leaders had marked you out as dangerous and one who would potentially destroy the plan for the removal of this unwanted problem, and if Jesus knew you betrayed him, and if the disciples found out, and if your family heard, and if the people discovered it, well, there was no other way out than to take your own life. Was there?

And so, you did. 

Deep, soul-destroying regret. Deep fear that you betrayed Jesus, who was indeed the Saviour, of a different kind. And even more so, you betrayed a friend. Agonizing mental conflict over the Sicarii way and Jesus’ way. Backed into a dark dark corner, where there was no return. What had you done?

30 dirty pieces of silver!

I wonder if you were commissioned to be the assassin? To get close and kill Jesus yourself, but you couldn’t, you had come to know Jesus, and was your betrayal to the Pharisees plan number two? You wouldn’t actually be to blame. You would merely point out who Jesus was, and so, you kissed the face of God, identifying him as the one who was to be betrayed. To be taken. To be killed. Someone else would do it. You could not. Not this time.

Judas, had you felt Love? Was the betrayal of Love the hardest of all? Did your brokenness disallow you from seeking that Love even though you knew that it would forgive, accept, love, welcome?

You placed the rope around your neck. You pushed aside those feelings of hope that Love could indeed be all it needed to be for you, and you clung to the feelings of there being no other way out, and you took a step forward … would you be free from all your guilt and your violent lifestyle? Or would you be damned forever?

Judas …? Oh Judas, how Jesus must have ached for you. You were loved.

Are loved.

What is a spiritual home, or a church? And where can it be found? And is this a legit answer to the gap, or just an excuse?

Yesterday, I went to a 90th birthday, a person whom I have known for 40 years, mum of a friend. I have always liked this family and their beautiful quirky chaos. They and their guests were people from my earlier years, many, many of my years lived alongside these people. They are good people, who are hardworking, servant-type, people of faith, with good intentions and strong convictions. They are who I aligned myself with for much of my 20s-40s. You could say that they were my spiritual home and family. They were who I went to church with, and shared the same beliefs and lifestyle.

Probably in my 40s, I started to feel like this exclusive group of people whose belief was that we needed to separate ourselves from the world to not be drawn into the behaviours and lifestyles that didn’t align with the behaviours and beliefs of our brand of faith, and for much of Christianity, didn’t fit me. Yet they were the keepers of my faith, the watch-dogs to protect me from spiritual harm, to make sure I didn’t fall away, but who also shared love for God and his ways – at least how they interpreted it, as did I

Around about that time also, while I was changing within, through one of my boys I met another person, and group of people, and my eyes and my world expanded. I was so so thankful to him and his family-coaching ethic for my boy who was repelled by these very limiting beliefs I had, and wanted out. He loved and guided him into his sport, and life, and so much of that has made him into the amazing man, my son is now. My church people wouldn’t have approved of this company, many who were of the ‘rough sort’, and whose love of martial arts was deemed violent, rather than a disciplined combat sport. My heart was broken and desperate over and over during those tumultuous years of this son’s early and mid-teens, where many times we were at war with him and often didn’t even know where he was. Yet God provided this man and his ‘family’ to help him! He, who was not even part of our exclusive spiritual family – the one’s that made my son feel caged in, with all the don’t to this and don’t do that’s – that were part of our world. Already, he could see what we couldn’t – that God and his family of humanity, people outside of the church, are beautiful, amazing, glorious people, that aren’t a threat or a danger to our faith, but in fact can enlarge it beyond our dreams. 

Yesterday, when I also went to a 50th birthday, and all the other events/parties/birthdays/fight nights etc, that I have been to that are this world, it should not be a surprise to me, but it always pleasantly is, that in these places, with these people, his people, his family, this martial arts world and beyond, I feel at home, at ease, in tune, desirous to be there and amongst them, deeply touched emotionally and spiritually, hugged hugged to my very core (like they are so glad that I am there), more faith-filled, more thankful to God, and more loved, than I have ever felt with those who were my spiritual family for much of my childhood and adult life. I deeply love God and my faith is very important to me, and I find it at home and expressed through this big family who may not even necessarily have a faith in God to speak of. How much I have learned through this!

I respect the people of my past. I don’t want to be down on them. They are precious people of my life’s story. And some, I would say I am friends with, at least very good acquaintances with. I grew up in all ways with them, they were part of helping me know and love God like I do, and in a way I know they can’t see how limiting and small their exclusivity is. In their company yesterday, I felt removed, like I had outgrown them and their ways. Like they were stuck in a time and a belief that just doesn’t fit like this other group does to me. Moving out from this world, I love that my eyes and my world and my faith has been opened and is big and inclusive of people, of humanity in all they have to offer. I have come to see that God’s people is humanity – all people, all loved, all precious, none either in or out, all in, and they are not to be kept at arm’s length, they are not a threat to my ‘salvation’ (that’s another day’s blog), and, where I can find a place amongst humanity that loves and welcomes and cares and helps me, who know that I love God and are neither a threat to me, nor are they threatened by that, well, that feels like a spiritual home.

I’ve been perplexed and at loss over ‘church’. I have moved out of many of my beliefs. They don’t fit anymore, and the people that still hold to these would say I have fallen out, and slidden away from the truth. I know I haven’t. I just know more than I did back then. Still, not having a people to share my beliefs and heart with has left a hole. I have not known how to fill this hole. I don’t pray here with these people (though there is often a karakia), I don’t sing here (though there are often songs to sing along to), I don’t get teaching here (though I do get to have some pretty amazing spiritual discussions), but yesterday I experienced ‘church’ among some pretty special friends, it felt spiritual to me, and that I am grateful for to them.