“Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go.” This is my usual chant every
Sunday morning. I’m usually the last one flying out the door, often not ever
being fully “ready.” My husband tells me I’m late because I plan on being late.
I (usually) bite my tongue and think “I’m the one making sure everyone else is
getting ready.”
Or I tried to fit in a quick game of Scramble with Friends.
Either way, I’m usually not early. Usually not fully put
together. And often my kids can be seen in sweat pants or mismatched ensembles.
We usually are not Christmas card perfect on a Sunday morning. Especially on
the drive to church (can I get an Amen?)
A few weeks ago I was running especially behind and I
decided my half put together self would have to be okay once again. As I flew
into the van I noticed my husband still had a bleeding chin from an early
morning shaving accident. As we drove to church I was trying to get the
bleeding to stop. As we pulled into the parking lot with minutes to spare I
proclaimed “you cannot go into church like that” (that being bleeding
profusely). I searched my purse for a band aid. All I could find was a large
purple band aid. My triage mind thought a) we go inside and he just keeps
wiping away the bleeding, b) I throw on the big purple Band-Aid, or c) we run
home so I can get some proper equipment to stop the bleeding. Even in my half
put-together state, a purple Band-Aid to the face did not sound like a viable
option.
So by the time husband was all patched up we were late.
Really late. And half put together. We were a frustrated quartet. And slightly embarrassed.
I often wonder about the pressures of Sunday morning. Not
just the pressure to get out of our pajamas and tame the bed head, but the
pressure to walk in to church like everything is okay. We often put on the
appearance that all is well, inside and out. That façade does more than just make church a
place where we strive to keep up with the Jones’s. It makes it a place where
it’s difficult to be real with the stuff
in your life.
Church can be a lonely place to be when walking through a
dark time. Maybe it’s a prodigal child or
spouse, an addiction, a mental illness, a job loss, abuse, financial distress,
broken relationships, doubts…the list could go on. But there are so many
areas where it’s really hard to reach out and share our stuff when that stuff
carries with it a stigma. Going through cancer with a loved one is hard, real
hard. But within the church you’ll usually have no shame in putting your loved
one on a prayer list or organizing meals for the family. Yet if your loved one
is struggling with a mental illness, the stigma that would cause others to shy
away from you or your loved one often ensures such struggles are endured in
silence and isolation.
We often want to just cling to the polished side of
ourselves. Jesus chastised the scribes and Pharisees: “For you are like whitewashed
tombs which on the outside appear beautiful, but inside they are full of dead
men’s bones and all uncleanness” (Matthew 23:27, NASB). We worship the polished
version of ourselves, a polished version of the church, yet often fail to
acknowledge that both within our own lives and the life of the church, there is
brokenness. It makes us uncomfortable to acknowledge that life is far from
rainbows and unicorns. It may cause us to question our faith or admit that we really don't have all the answers when we deal with
some of the messes in life that are not easily cleaned up. We don’t fully carry
out Matthew 9:12: “’It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but
those who are sick.’”
Jesus came to heal the sick. We often forget that Church is
a hospital. Sometimes we are well and God allows us to be caregivers for the
sick. Sometimes we are the sick in need of medicine or simply someone to sit
and hold our hand.
Often I am both.
