Who Is Important?

I was recently at a large church gathering, where a designated group of volunteers were in charge of shuttling us to the campus where we would gather. When I went forward they greeted me cheerfully, checked off my name, and then said they would try to get me on the next shuttle and showed me where I could wait. After a few minutes, they came back and pointed out that there might be some people who needed to go ahead of me because “they were important.” It turned out the important people were all men and one of the women explained to me “they are pastors.” I don’t know why she assumed I wasn’t, but I can only guess it’s because I’m female. I ended up waiting two and a half hours. The next time a different person came by and asked me “Are you important?” I answered, “Well, I’m important to Jesus,” only to be met with a blank and slightly confused look. There were people who pushed to the front of the line. There were people who did not know there was a line. And the volunteers, to be fair, were doing the best they could.

It would be easy to make this about the ways that the church (perhaps unintentionally) makes people feel less. Or about the ways that women are still devalued in places of leadership. But what happened in those 2 plus hours is I ended up reconnecting with an old friend and having a heartfelt conversation for which I wouldn’t trade all the “importance” in the world. Leave me here all night, I almost said, and I’ll have a better time than if I had gotten on that first shuttle as I had planned.

But a few days later, it leaves me wondering: do we understand what it means to be less? Some of us do. And those are the ones whose names we don’t know, who show up to their children or their congregations, who show up at their jobs even when they are unappreciated and undervalued, who begin their days with a prayer even when their hearts have turned to stone because they can’t imagine a world where there is not more love than they have seen. They are the ones who have felt less their whole lives because of things other people have said or not said.  They are the ones who, whether they would have chosen it or not, have the mind of Christ.

I wish we could find ways to listen to those people. The ones who aren’t important, the ones whose names almost nobody but their families know. The ones who have something to teach all those who are so convinced of their own power and importance. The ones God loves. The ones we need if we are ever to find a way to get over the power and the fighting long enough to cross boundaries and risk loving with the kind of love that is our calling. Because, my nameless friends, you are important to Jesus. And we need your quiet faithfulness and your humility to survive.

Stay in the Stream

For Pastor Ross in Australia, who missed this blog and was kind enough to write and tell me so even though we have never met in person . . .

And for Natalie Hart, who models for me what faithfulness to the vocation of writing looks like.

As a type-A worrywart and general control freak, I am very good at doing things. I make lists, I organize responsibilities and check them off and nearly always get things done on time. I like to think I am dependable.

But there are some problems that don’t get better based on the number of actions I take to try and solve them—no matter how many nights I am awake thinking about different angles, no matter how many prayers trying to clear the path for a word from God, no matter how many lists, the problem not only does NOT go away, it may actually become worse. And then it’s all a confusing muddled mess with no obvious path forward and even more fear and anxiety than I started off with.

In the last year, I’ve started to go monthly for spiritual direction—possibly one more thing on my list to try and find some answers, but it’s turned into an exercise in receiving over and over again these two most basic bits of wisdom: I am not in control, and I have no idea how much God loves me.

Last time, my director talked to me about the value of fallow time—stopping, doing nothing to try and solve the questions but simply (as the Rilke quote goes), “living into the questions.” The other thing she told me was to “stay in the stream” this Holy Week from Good Friday to Easter and beyond and let it carry me.

That sounds nice on paper, but it drives a control freak like me crazy. And perhaps the difficulty of that suggestion is one reason that I need it so much. To recognize that of course I can’t solve anything, of course my life isn’t in my own hands, of course I am held in a story of love beyond my understanding. And all I have to do is stay in the stream; nothing more or less is required of me than that. I don’t have to churn endlessly to try and solve anything; I just have to let go and surrender to the ride. Because no matter how long I feel stuck in the suffering of Good Friday and no matter how much some part of me desires to stay there until I understand what it means, what is absolutely certain is this:  somewhere, someday, in a gift far beyond my grasp, Easter morning is waiting.

So this Holy Week, that is all I am asking: to stay in the stream that carries me (as the song says) “beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.” What a ride that will be if God helps me let go.