Shaking the Dust, and Other Verses Out of Context
"So, "What d'you think? What do you believe"
People often ask that, don't they? But I'm not sure they always mean what it sounds like these days.
Even in church, perhaps. The big picture questions are so difficult, and there's safety in numbers.
A lot of people have studied more,
so perhaps it's better to stand behind them.
Someone else is dealing with all that — theology, worship, serving — so I don't have to…
Of course, the trouble is, the bigger the numbers get
(the size of the crowd of believers I mean)
the more tends to sneak in.
You might call yourself a Christian, and then find increasing numbers of people who call themselves Christians who you'd really NOT want to be seen as representing you or your faith.
Not that kind of Christian. Nor that. A different kind.
This is not just an awkward factor that crops up now and then, it gives rise to whole swathes of ideological and political questions.
A rising leader over here. A fallen leader over there.
Reports and cultures that can sound a bit iffy, and no-one's exactly sure what it's all about, so they can only —
Christian? Well, Christ, yes, but…
And that can build, can't it.
We're not like them. We're not even sure they're one of us to be honest.
Used to be. At one time. But now…? Dunno.
It can sound …, exclusive, cliquey,
but it's discernment in process. Or on hold. Present, at least.
Hold that thought.
I heard of a person
(it might have been me, but let's not make this about me)
who experienced trauma within church settings
more than once,
and when they mentioned this to someone outside who was there to help, they were offered a link to a charity designed for those leaving faith.
That's a common move isn't it — assumptions that church-hurt leads to loss of faith, and campaigning and so on.
But the person (perhaps it was me, but that's not the point) argued,
No, it's not like that. It's more like I'm even more deeply a believer these days, and I'm really coming to understand even more why Jesus loves the church.
"I still see myself as part of it," they said.
"No doubt at all about that."
It's just that right now, what happened to me has caused a rupture in every direction. Attending ANYTHING ANYWHERE right now is more than I can deal with.
I'm winded.
I'm grieving.
I'm praying. More committed than ever to my faith, and even to my championing of the church.
The idea of church. The Bride of Christ. The communion.
The everyday ordinariness, and the powerful sacredness.
But — what happened to me —
(that person went on)
including not just what happened, but what happened as a result of what happened, and a result of that…
(That person knew that those trying to help sometimes make things worse, even when they mean well.)
Hmm.
This reminds me to say that some things that happen — even in church — aren't just difficult or disappointing. Some are genuinely harmful.
Even in church.
Spoken, or unspoken.
Now.
Imagine a person who finds themselves in this personally challenging situation approaches someone they see as one of their last refuges in this vulnerable situation —
and just receives a hard line view on their current non attendance.
No other conversation available.
But—
BUT…
Not even reassure them they could still be a Christian as things stand, (regarding non-attendance).
What might that feel like?
Perhaps it would feel as if
the 'prodigal' son
— ironically!! —
is surviving a series of
pretty painful experiences
in perceived places of safety,
— go with me here, I know this is a bit of a stretch from the actual parable —
as if he was,
at the very end of his tether,
and finally forcing himself
to have a vulnerable chat
only to be given
— instead of a father running toward him planning a welcome party —
a stern look,
and what felt like
a brutally hard line —
— a brutally hard line for
someone who was already experiencing
a lot that felt brutal…
There are many things to say, but one I think is this.
The verse, 'Do not give up meeting together as some have done,' seems to be addressed to a group of people who tend to be meeting, in general. And perhaps also others who don't, but are included in the whole, still.
I'm not an expert.
The statement might be a huge admonishment of anyone who takes a week or a year off, or decides to have a lie-in on Sundays, but it might be a way of saying,
"Look, everyone. Keep going, keep drawing together, keep on board with one another, even when it's hard.'"
If so, that might be very different from saying,
'You inside the building are good, and anyone who finds they can't get here right now for any reason at all is bad."
Do not give up meeting together (Hebrews — author, unknown) might also be a way of saying,
"Don't give up on each other, because meeting together is a gift of belonging for everyone of you to share."
Although — now I think about it,
elsewhere it talks about expelling the brother who...
whatever.
(1 Corinthians — Paul).
So there's that.
(Not all hugs and handshakes then.)
A relief isn't it, really, that a line is drawn sometimes
— as long as everyone's properly understood the situations playing out, and their implications, rather than sweeping situations under a rug.
Restoring the order. Restoring the appearance.
(Kinder to some, who prefer that.)
Agh. Paul. The New Testament. Contexts, cultures and so on.
These days even Bible scholars need training in safeguarding as well as ecclesiology, but that's not the same as first-hand experience.
Of either.
(Trauma, or Church!)
The official versions can sound so cut and dried, while what it's like to live it in person can feel more like toothache and torture. Sometimes at least.
However complicated though,
one thing is true isn't it?
Cling to Jesus. Jesus, who won't say,
"Sorry, I'm not listening until you come back and get on a rota."
In fact, the one about shaking the dust off your feet after an encounter that feels less than receptive?
That one's from Jesus, Himself.
And even though he wasn't quite talking about the same thing, he was talking about walking away. Sometimes. For some reasons.
WITH Him.
Just think about it.
Jesus leaves room
for walking in the opposite direction
sometimes. Advises it in some situations,
not just as a concession.
Actual wisdom.
Jesus sees life, even as part of the Church,
as being more spacious and open to discernment
than forcing you to rush back
for the sake of speed and duty
and numbers.
(How long might shaking off the dust take?
It might take a while.
Especially if you wear big shoes.
Or have big feet.)
He's talking to disciples.
People he's sending.
Does that include — anyone of us?
Anyone who has genuinely cried
'Here I am, send me'?
Them?
Or just the ordained, the employed,
those publicly sent?
The celebrated, the confident?
NB. Surely Jesus's words might now and then encompass one or two of the above, as being those you personally may need distance from.
Shake, shake.
Cough.
Hmm.
Taking a breath.
Discerning.
This is true:
Carrying valuable things, with patience and humility, takes courage behind the scenes.
Endurance. Self-worth. Faith. Precarious belonging. Valuable, and fragile things.
(If you've not been in that situation, you might not have a clue what I'm talking about, and how exhausting all that is, and how it can test and deepen faith at the same time. Many furnaces. Many lessons.)
If C.S. Lewis was right, and pain is God's megaphone for rousing and awakening a world who are comfortably turning a deaf ear to all this, then we might take from this at least that,
the wounded have a part to play.
They embody that unwanted noise
LOUD AND CLEAR.
And if Jesus was right (that's a poetic device, of course Jesus was right!)
that the poor would always be with us —
(and let's remember that poverty means many things,
but it often expands from where it began
into having less of everything —
financially, relationally, communally, opportunistically)
then the poor are WITH US.
Even if you haven't seen them lately.
And not to be forgotten.
In a world excessively loud and institutional, with relational vulnerabilities getting severely twisted and wrecked even in the safest of places, perhaps,
— just perhaps,
discernment is more
than restoring the order
of the un-poor.
More than restoring the status quo.
More than getting back to normal
after an inconvenient disruption.
The healthy don't need a doctor.
And the suffering don't need a stern look.
But Jesus spoke sternly to those Pharisees who laid heavy burdens and did nothing to help lift them.
Those knocked down and distanced
(by pain they might not have told you about)
are specifically included,
and called,
and allowed their own discernment.
After all, each one of us is called to approach in confidence
the One who was knocked down and distanced
like them.
For them.
And that may be the crux of what I believe.
No lack of zeal and commitment.
Still committed to church.
Not running it down or denouncing it, but championing it from a distance right now, as well as solidly belonging to it and completely open to the right situation when the time comes.
This vantage point gives me things to say.
Different ways of seeing.
Noticing what often goes unnoticed.
Write this all off as trauma writing if you like —
or read it first, and say
oh.
And perhaps,
it's not what you believe,
but you'd like to talk about it anyway?
