It is ridiculous, really, that I have allowed the "events" over the past couple of weeks to just wreck me. I have nearly made myself sick over the silly rhetoric, smug posturing, feigned indignation, and self-righteous hullabaloo.
I was confessing this to a dear friend today because I just cannot grasp why this has bothered me to my very core. This was her reply:
"Maybe God's breaking your heart for what breaks His."
I think my physical heart actually stopped for a moment when she said this. Beautiful words from a beautiful soul, truly, but I had to dismiss these words immediately.
While God has done a massive amount of surgery on my heart and soul over the past few years, most of it highly invasive, I doubt the prognosis. I forget that, for the first time in my life, I am on a spiritual adventure with Him that was only made possible through His healing. I doubt me. The realization came this afternoon that, in doubting myself, I am doubting my Great Physician and His work.
I want my heart to be in perfect time with the steady, never-failing, beat of my Father's. Perhaps I'm not as off pace as I so quickly assume. So I began to digest the audacious words of my friend. My heart. His heart. Working together. Not impossible. Not even improbable, really.
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The Kingdom of God didn't enter this world with any great welcome. No pomp and circumstance. No trumpets. Only the soft cries of a newborn baby marked His arrival.
Today, the Kingdom stood still as many of its presumed inhabitants gathered together, patted each other on the back, swapped self-congratulatory hugs...and consumed a great number of trans fats. They set themselves apart from the world. And not in a good way. Less holy, more holier than thou, is what the onlookers thought. All because some unqualified, benefactor of nepotism said, "that's wrong" and somebody else said, "you're mean" and then someone said, "get out of my sandbox."
As the Kingdom stood there, seeing the greater, negative impact of this silliness masked as something meaningful, He whispered, "Come to me, I'm with the week-old baby who is having heart surgery tomorrow. I'm with the mother whose children don't understand why daddy isn't there. I'm with my children in Syria who are fighting and dying for even a fraction of the blessings and freedoms you enjoy and so arrogantly wave around as if you own them. I'm in the car, with no a/c, full of kids, who just drove by you, hungry, hurting, suffocated by poverty. Come follow me."
See, the Kingdom doesn't need a bullhorn, a camera crew, or a Facebook account. He moves as gently as a leaf riding the air until it rests upon the ground. He hasn't always, mind you. There was a time He shook the earth, tore the veil, pummeled the gates of hell and shattered the chains of death. The scene was laid, the battle cry raised, the Victor restored. He has no need for harsh words, strong opinions, loud declarations. He wants open arms, giving hands, forgiving smiles, forward-moving feet. Vocal chords are not required.
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As I work through the muck that is my past: my childhood, injuries inflicted, people I've hurt, terrible choices I've made, consequences I've suffered; I can say, most assuredly, that I have lived most of my days with a broken heart. Laughter masked my sorrow. My smiles told you a lie.
I don't understand this world. I never have. Many days, functioning on even a basic level takes more energy than I, myself, can harness. I don't understand why people buy ridiculous amounts of stuff while others are starving to death. I don't understand how churches can build elaborate structures while the foreclosure signs go up in the surrounding neighborhood. I don't understand why Christians play the political game and fight against gay marriage because of their belief in the bible and yet support a candidate who believes that satan was Jesus' brother. Believe me, none of this comes from a judgmental place, but from a true, child-like, lack of understanding. I don't have the answers, so I keep asking the questions.
This biggest thing I don't understand: how can I make a difference in any shape, form, or fashion?
For so long, all I wanted was for the ache in the middle of my chest to go away. For that overwhelming weight of regret, pain, hatred, and loneliness to be lifted from my heart. I just wanted to breathe. For someone to show me that I have value and that my voice has merit. I was suffocating by the vacuum this world had created within me and I felt myself dying.
I needed my heart to beat again.
What I've discovered in my recovery from heart failure is that my heart doesn't beat like it ever has before. It doesn't beat for me anymore.
This new heart beats for the abused, the ashamed, the junkie, the prostitute, the homeless, the lonely, the outcast.
And my heart beats for those that felt marginalized, put down, or just plain hurt by what some of my brothers and sisters did today.
My heart breaks for a church that just doesn't seem to get it. Leave the rule of law to those that put their hope in it. Follow Jesus to the hurting, the hungry, the orphaned, the homeless and let God sort out the rest. You can be a citizen of the Kingdom or you can be an American, but you can't be both. No. You can't. Deal with it. Stop trying to fight a battle that's already been won. Raise the white flag and accept that Christianity and nationalism are two distinct things and cannot be braided together so you can feel better about your $800.00/month car payment.
Is your heart racing? Good.
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