August 1, 2021 - Karis Lanier

Scars

Every one

A mark 

A memory

Of painn

But also

Of

Overcoming

Of strength

Of healing

Scars

Seen as ugly

Seen as weakness

But every mark

Literally

Strengthens

Your flesh

Your heart

Creating

Solidity

Every

One

Is beautiful

Look at your scars

Remember

How they were made

Remember

How it

 made you feel

When this thing

This mark

Was created

But know

You have overcome

You can overcome

Because

This pain

Created something beautiful

Something amazing

Something that 

Shows me

And you

And everyone

That sees

You

A part 

Of your story

Of your life

How beautiful

How strong

How important

How resilient

Brave

Amazing

You really are

July 1, 2021 - Laurie Prince

Chapter 3 from the book, Every Bush Afire: Kiawah and God: A Week of Discovery

Tidal Thirst

 The marshes filter the island’s ecosystem.

 Twice daily they are drenched then dried.

“Can the papyrus grow up without a marsh? Can the rushes grow without water?” Job 8:11, NAS 

I  lean against the railing at the top of Marsh Tower, studying the snowy egrets that dot trees far away in the marsh. Though I am high above ground, noises drift up from below, little sucking and clicking sounds. Incoming water presses down the soft mud; as it does, air bubbles pop. The ground is like bread being kneaded. More popping comes from pistol shrimp, each hunting with an open claw. Tiny air pockets burst as claws snap shut. Those pistol-toting shrimp—they’re shell-clad cowboys down in that wet prairie.                

The smell of the marshes permeates the warm afternoon: a salty, grassy smell, all damp and earthy.  As I watch the trees, something moves. Suddenly an egret lifts white wings, broad and elegant, rising into open air all flush with clicking and popping. It sails like a long feather boat into the Carolina blue sky. Then wings fold and it gracefully descends, touching down on a smudge of wet bank by flowing water. Far away beyond the marsh, the Kiawah River glints in the burnishing sun, its liquid darkness rippling past wheat-gold grasses.

I am like the grasses, all thirsty and wanting to be soaked by the water of Christ. I am like the woman at the well. The rabbi told her, “No one who drinks the water I give will ever be thirsty again” (John 4:14, CEV). Was she never thirsty again? I am thirsty and it seems so long ago that I was drenched by faith, immersed in love, flooded with hope.

The marshes are an orchestra, the clock their conductor. Six hours the water comes in; six hours it goes out. Drying out begins; discomfort sets in. Thirst and more thirst. Can it be a coincidence that our Lord hung on the cross for six hours? With parched throat, he uttered, “I thirst.” Did God set a clock in the natural world to forever mark each agonizing hour of the tide of life ebbing from the Son of God? 

Like the grasses, we cannot put ourselves anywhere but here; we are rooted in this world. We wait, out here in the sun, where it is hot and the wind blows, drying stem and narrow leaf. We wait, where thirst grows greater as the hour grows longer. We wait for the water Christ gives. It will come. 

Christ, we thirst for you, for the relief of your love in the midst of so much dryness of spirit. The world dries out and sometimes we feel like we are drying out with it. Sometimes we are scared. Sometimes we are brittle. 

As we nourish those who play in the shallows—those who follow the waters wherever they lead—sometimes we envy their freedom. Sometimes we feel trapped here, our roots holding us to what we know is right. Forgive us for envy and discontentment.

June 2, 2021 - Laurie Prince

Forward and Chapter 6 from the book, Every Bush Afire: Kiawah and God: A Week of Discovery

FORWARD

I fell in love with Kiawah on my first visit. The natural beauty of the island, the flat shoreline, the ease of getting around on a bike, and the gorgeous architecture drew me in. As a home and garden editor for a North Carolina magazine, I had an appreciation for well-designed spaces, both indoors and out. Everywhere I looked, I saw an invitation to explore. 

As a Christian I wanted something just as unique to begin my days here, some little devotional guide or outline of scriptural readings. Years passed and I began to think about writing something myself. What you hold in your hands is the result of those thoughts and prayers. 

This booklet is comprised of seven devotionals, one for each day of the week. They are organized around the natural world, exploring themes that range from worship to watchfulness. 

Day One looks at God the Creator by meditating on the sea. Day Two looks at the trees. My brother owns an arborist company, so I’ve learned much about trees from him and his wife. They have hosted my visits to Kiawah; this booklet is dedicated to them. Day Three considers the tides and Day Four, seashells. Day Five looks at that ubiquitous and fascinating creature, the alligator. Day Six revels in birds, and the last day is about bike paths.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning was a devoted Christian poet born in England in 1806. Her life was a mixture of joy and sorrow; in her 51st year her novel Aurora Leigh was published. Written in verse, it contains this famous line: “Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God; but only he who sees, takes off his shoes…” 

I’ve written this booklet to express my wonder at an island afire with God. Come, take off your shoes with me.

With deepest appreciation to my husband, Phil Prince, who imagined, encouraged, and supported this project.

Laurie Prince
Charlotte, North Carolina
August 2013          

Winged Messengers

Birds flutter in the live oaks and sail over the waves. 
They have a Creator who knows what we need.

 “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they?”  Matthew 6:26, NIV

The first thing we do every morning at Kiawah, whether it’s January or July, is to gather on the deck to watch the birds. With coffee cups in hand, the adults settle into a row of chairs, chatting as the natural world wakes up. Birds dart among the trees, land on feeders hanging from ropes, and splash in the cement birdbath. The canal running beyond the woods draws a few snowy egrets. They land on the golf course, then edge towards the water. With the occasional gator trolling by, they’re careful. 

It’s not long before someone rises from a chair to fetch the bird chart, or my brother brings out the iPad to identify a birdsong. Binoculars are passed from hand to hand.

There are dozens of species of birds at Kiawah. From the porch we watch warblers and woodpeckers, wrens and finches, cardinals and mockingbirds. At the shore there are pelicans flying in military formation overhead or dive-bombing the waves, and at the water’s edge the plovers, sandpipers, gulls, and terns peck for food. They skitter, waddle, or burst upwards as though startled by a boom. The marshes are the most serene, with egrets, herons, and sometimes storks gliding through the air like figure skaters. 

The presence of birds in the world should assure us that God has a sense of humor. He has joy. He also loves songs, a conclusion we can draw from the variety of piping and peeping and chirping in the branches. Layers of soft feathers, special beaks, knobby legs, beady eyes—birds are a wonder as they hop about, probe, and tilt heads this way and that.  They are a constant source of entertainment. 

Christ talked about birds. He pointed them out as Exhibit A of God’s care for us. “Look,” he said. Look. That’s our first assignment—stop what we’re doing and look. Examine, observe, watch, take note of the evidence. Do you see a farm anywhere? Barns? Do any of these birds own a tractor or combine? No. Yet every day they have what they need. God takes care of the things He values. 

“Are you not much more valuable than they?”

Maybe Christ’s question goes back to the beginning of our story with God: when given the chance to doubt, we do. Did God really say that, the serpent asks. Believe me, he’s lying. Don’t trust him. 

Christ challenges that tendency. Look out there—look at the birds, he advises. Use your mind. Think about what you see. “Won’t He do much more for you—you of little faith?” (Matthew 6:30, HCS)

It’s easy to sit on the porch and watch. It takes faith to have eyes that see, and to believe God will provide what I need. 

Lord, it is true that I am quick to doubt and slow to believe. Give me eyes to see, ears to hear, and a heart that believes you. Thank you for the beautiful birds that fill this island. Help me today to see your joy.

May 5, 2021 - LeVan McLain

A White Mother’s Lament
In Remembrance of Mr. George Floyd’s Death

How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen? Or cry out to you, “Violence!” but you do not save? Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrongdoing? Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and conflict abounds. Therefore the law is paralyzed, and justice never prevails. The wicked hem in the righteous, so that justice is perverted...

Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, Lord. Repeat them in our day, in our time make them known.

Habakkuk 1:2-4; 3:2

A voice is heard in Ramah,

[in Minneapolis,
in Brunswick,
in Louisville,
in Charlotte,
in every city,
in every American town],

lamentation and bitter weeping.
Mothers weep for their children;
they refuse to be comforted for their children,
because they are no more.*  

Holy God, 
a cloud of grief hangs heavy over our heads and,
like George Floyd and Eric Gardner, 
so many of my brothers and sisters of color cannot breathe, 
          cannot catch their breath. 

They are exhausted from their weeping. 
How can they find the strength to speak 
when fear for the ones they love,  
fear for who might be next, 
when unspeakable anguish, 
weighs upon them 
and crushes their very hearts?

Their groans, 
weeping, 
despair, 
anguish, 
and cries
seem all that much louder 
because they are surrounded
by the silence
of white brothers and sisters.   

The pain upon their faces remains invisible to the majority, 
lost in rhetoric, 
lost in the numbness that comes from yet another headline,                                                    
from yet another traumatic video.   

The pain upon their faces will remain invisible 
to many white brothers and sisters
during Sunday services tomorrow morning. 

White pastors will pray for peace 
in response to violent protestors,
but will not pray against the violence of
9 minutes 
and 
26 seconds.  

Congregations of white brothers and sisters
who were enraged
to see a black knee placed upon a green field
are now silent in response 
to a white knee placed upon a brown man’s neck. 

They cry out for peace in this land,
yet silence their brothers’ blood 
as it cries out for justice from the ground. 

Congregations 
who want unity,
but do not want to taste
the brokenness of repentance.  

Congregations 
who want reconciliation,
but do not want to do the uncomfortable work 
of reckoning with their complicity.

Lord, hear the cries of my black and brown brothers and sisters! 
Hear the cry of repentance in my own heart!   

Let the tears of their pain mingle 
with the tears of my repentance
to bring a flood of justice and healing upon this land
until justice runs down like water
and righteousness like a mighty stream.** 

 Amen. 

 *Jeremiah 31:15/Matthew 2:18

**Amos 5:24

April 7, 2021 - Jenna Reed

Honor Guard by Jenna Reed (Slowiaczek)

 What is honor?
How can we honor God?
when generation after generation
we
lie
kill
exploit
doubt
fear
belittle
oppress
judge

What is a curse?

How can we break it?
when generation after generation
there’s
cancer
pride
deception
power
envy
rebellion
guilt
wrath
unworthiness, dishonor, disorder, unfaithfulness…

What is blessing?

How can we obtain it?
Truth
Life
Shelter
Security
Peace
Uplifter
Comfort
Forgiver

to the children’s children
to the generations of idolaters

abounding grace

I AM

covenant-maker
the veil torn

take us as your inheritance
yet, we fail.
again.
and again.

to the children’s children
to the generations of the Promise

radiant

march 10, 2021 - Brittany Gardner

Lament - A Reflection for Lent

At the time of this writing we find ourselves right in the middle of Lent. For followers of Jesus who observe this season, its fasting, reflection and intentional prayer all serve to progressively prepare our hearts for Resurrection Sunday. The forty days of Lent purpose to mirror the forty days Jesus spent in the wilderness before beginning His public ministry. The point of being in the wilderness, however, isn’t only about coming out victoriously on the other side. Much of the refining of faith happens during the journey. 

There is something intriguing yet unsurprising about many Christians, particularly those of us who live in the Western part of the world. We tend to be far more concerned with sharing in the glories of Christ — or dare I say, attempting to steal His glory — than we are inclined to share in Jesus’ sufferings (1 Peter 4:13).The irony in this is that Resurrection Sunday, the very celebration for which we are preparing our hearts during Lent, would not be the magnificent memorial that it is without the suffering Jesus endured beforehand.

Bearing that in mind, I have been reflecting more on lament, an element of our faith often overlooked. While it may be unfamiliar to many, it is both deeply spiritual and deeply practical.

The Scriptures are full of lament, most notably in the Psalms. Among other books, we find lament throughout  Jeremiah, Isaiah, and of course, Lamentations as well. Lamenting helps us to acknowledge the pain experienced by living in the midst of brokenness of humanity in a way that glorifies God. To lament is to pray about our pain and out of our pain, declaring our trust in God and recounting His faithfulness.

Many of us carry a lifetime of trauma in our bones and don’t even know it. Dr. Anita Phillips teaches that we enter into the realm of trauma when we experience anything that has changed our perspective for the worst, whether this is our view of the world, of other people, of ourselves, or of God.

There is much to lament over from the past year alone. As we have all been thrown in the murky waters of two global pandemics (COVID-19 and racial reckoning), some of us are swimming against the current while others are being swept away by it. As we begin to experience the anniversaries of what I call “firsts without” and “firsts since,” you may even find yourself floating one moment and flailing the next. Regardless of where you are in the water, we’re all exhausted.

But we are not in these troubled waters alone.

Dr. Phillips aptly describes trauma as “hard to admit because it feels like we are saying ‘I was weak enough for someone to wound me.’ ”Sometimes trauma is directly caused by the sinful actions of others. It can also be the indirect result of living in a  world that does not operate as God originally intended. With both experiences, the sooner we can actually admit our weaknesses, the sooner we can experience God’s perfected strength (2 Corinthians 12:9-10).

 The following familiar and oft-quoted passage holds a beautiful invitation from Jesus for those of us who remain hesitant towards lament:

“Come to me, all of you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke and learn from me, because I am lowly and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30, CSB

Throughout generations, Jesus gazes into the eyes of people who have all sorts of odds stacked against them, all manners of trials and desperate circumstances. His solution is to extend this precious invitation: come to me. Jesus doesn’t say, “Go away from me. Hide your face until you’ve figured it out.” He says, “Come, because I’ve got it all figured out for you.”

Jesus doesn’t say, “Rest a while. Compose yourself. Then enter into my presence.” He says, “Come now, just as you are, especially in your wearied and burdened state.” Jesus doesn’t give instructions on how to find rest. He literally offers it freely as a promise.

It is not haughtiness that Jesus uses to assure us of His better way to abundant life, but His humility. Much like we must admit our weakness to experience God’s strength, we must admit our weariness to experience God’s rest. And the beauty in all of this is that as we pray, Jesus prays with and for us. Christ interceding on our behalf is the ultimate promise of not being alone.

As you read this, what is making you weary? What burdens are weighing you down? What is the root of deep agony and anguish in your life?

What does rest mean to you? When did you last experience the deep rest of Jesus that nourishes your soul? That rest which offers peace in the midst of impossible circumstances?

We can’t make rest. We can only receive it. And we can only do so by going to Jesus.

With the remaining days left in Lent, I encourage you to spend some time poring through the Scriptures which express lament. And then, take it a step further and write your own. 

As you disconnect from the world in order to more deeply connect to God, do so with an expectation that He will respond. Take your concerns, your confusion, your anger, your grief and your sorrow and lay them at Jesus’ feet. Cry out to God as our very Savior did. Seek God. Believe God. Trust God. Don’t rush past grief to get to glory. Don’t rush through Lent to get to Easter. Grab hold of hope and look forward to experiencing faith in a transcendent way by God’s power being illuminated through pain, rather than instead of it.

In the midst of all the uncertainty and chaos, may we each ultimately rest in the one thing that matters for eternity — our position as beloved daughters of the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords.

February 8, 2021 - Timika INgram

Originally written in response to Pastor Howard’s sermon entitled Grace-Filled: Thirsty  preached on November 17, 2019. Adapted January 2021. 

Thirsty

What are you thirsty for?
Is it because you’re broken and want more?
Do you know that human thirst is pain
and this is the reason why most appear to be spiritually insane?

Has your brokenness enslaved you
while fixing the parts with self-made glue?
Are you thirsty for the broken parts to be filled?
Has the potter molded you, where nothing can be spilled?

You had an idea how to quench your thirst
without seeking advice from the Almighty God first.
For a moment, it seemed righteous in your own eyes
while parts of your mind, body, and soul were paralyzed.

The sad part is not grasping the unknown
and isolating parts that need to be shown.
But praise be to God, you can be redeemed
if you allow Him to heal your wounded self esteem
and let it be pushed to either side
so that the Spirit can be your guide.

january 6, 2021 - Terry cross

In Unity, Standing Back to Back

There was a time when  my beloved father and I were at odds. I had pulled back from the ultra-modernistic morality of  my university days, having been arrested—metaphorically speaking--at age 22 by Christ’s sacrifice for me, a sinner. I was now awestruck by his grace! I saw how destructive my complacency had been, having taken for granted his death and resurrection as I was growing up. I was raised in church, sang in the choir, helped with VBS and all that, but somehow missed the significance of his lordship. At last I sought to please him in new ways, more thorough ways. My worship became sincere and my lifestyle began to change. I had it right, didn’t I?

My father testified to several miracles in his life. At seven, he was rescued from being lost on a mountain hike. At 40 he was delivered from a crash landing in the South China Sea. He was also preserved through three combat tours, the last one being so significant that he retired instead of taking general stars in a promotion. Eventually he went to seminary where the scholarly nit-picking of Scripture wore on him. He also encountered pharisaical legalism that disheartened him. He became a champion for throwing off religiosity in favor of a looser, freer relationship with Christ. He was right, wasn’t he?

But oh, put the two of us at a dinner table? We could not see eye to eye at all. He opposed legalism; I opposed cheap grace. Our disagreements were heated and a wedge was forming. I grieved that we were against each other. 

Until in quiet reflection, I realized the sneaky scheme of the devil. My father and I were being duped into a “divide and conquer” battle where the winner takes all. We were easy bait, both of us being passionate in our views.

Then I got a new visual image of my dad and me standing together. We were fighting on the same side but were just standing back to back. This image liberated me to fully appreciate the convictions God had given my father while still remaining faithful to my own calling. My position was in one direction—against putting self over God—and his was in an opposite direction—against putting tradition over God. We each loved God and desired to honor his name above all names. Ultimately, we both wanted others to be freed to know and enjoy the loving Savior named Jesus.

I wonder if this can’t also be applied to today’s divided opinions within the body of Christ. As we each pursue our understanding of God’s heart and passionately follow his lead in our crusades to bring cultural change, we should remember to be attentive to the enemy’s tactics to divide and conquer. Satan’s diversions are subtle. There is a reason Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane for unity. Fight well for justice and mercy (Micah 6:8) but ultimately fight the right enemy. In humility, let’s pledge to stand back to back, in unity, for the causes of Christ. May his kingdom advance through our love and investment in his work.

december 9, 2020 - Laurie Prince

A Meditation on the Flight into Egypt

Matthew 2

In this joyous season of Christmas, having decked our halls with boughs of holly in COVID-defying cheer, our hearts once again turn to a baby in a manger. This is as it should be: God’s people have celebrated Christ’s birth throughout the church’s history. The season begins with the preparations of Advent, climaxes with Christmas, and closes with Epiphany.

But sandwiched between Christmas and Epiphany on the liturgical calendar is a tragic event so disturbing we rarely speak of it: The Slaughter of the Innocents. Only the Gospel of Matthew mentions Herod’s terrible execution of the babies of Bethlehem.

There are several Herods in the New Testament (six, to be exact), and this one is Herod the Great, the patriarch of the others. Ambitious and shrewd, he was a lifelong friend of Mark Antony, the ill-fated Roman general who was Cleopatra’s lover. Herod the Great built spectacular palaces, fortresses, and aqueducts—I’ve been to Masada, a palace he put on a mountain plateau overlooking the Dead Sea. Pure genius. He rebuilt the temple in Jerusalem.

But Herod the Great was also ruthless, murdering family members to protect his power as king of the Jews, agent of Rome.

So it should come as no surprise to us that when he heard a king of the Jews had been born, he attempted to find the future usurper. He pressed the Magi to collaborate with him. The old king’s words eerily mask his scheme: “When you have found him, bring me word, that I too may come and worship him.” (Matthew 2:8) Worship him? How easily devout language falls from the lips.

After visiting the Christ child, the Magi were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and thus when the aging ruler realized they were gone, he erupted in a fury. He sent soldiers to Bethlehem and the surrounding region to kill all males age two or younger: nursing infants, babies, and toddlers. This was a small village, and scholars think at least a dozen or more boys were murdered. Imagine them torn from their mother’s arms, the brutality of sharp steel. Yet Herod did not find Jesus.

God was a step ahead. After the Magi left the little family in Bethlehem, an angel appeared to Joseph in a dream, telling him to take the child and his mother to Egypt. “Remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the child to destroy him,” the angel explains. The family leaves by night and travels hundreds of miles, crossing the border into Egypt where Herod has no jurisdiction. They find refuge in the very place, oddly, with a history of oppressing Jews. Remember, it was out of Egypt that Moses led the Jews to freedom.

This troubling narrative presents hard questions. Why didn’t God stop Herod from killing the children? Why are children the first to suffer in the new kingdom? For centuries the church has marked this as the first martyrdom of Christianity.

There are more questions. Why did Joseph have to go to Egypt? Couldn’t there have been an easier and more convenient location? His status as an outsider would have been immediately clear from his language, Jewish customs, and dress. A country that lately gave rise to Cleopatra, it was under Roman rule and filled with strange gods. There were Jewish settlements in Egypt—but did Joseph find them?

Matthew notes the reason for Egypt. The Messiah, in a parallel to the Jewish people, would be called from there. “Out of Egypt I called my son,” Matthew writes, quoting Hosea’s prophecy (Matthew 2:15, Hosea 11:1). Later, those following Jesus will be called out of a different kind of bondage—enslavement to sin—to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

The flight to Egypt gives us much to think about from a spiritual perspective. Although this scripture was written to tell us about Jesus, perhaps we sense parallels to our own spiritual journeys. Three questions come to mind.

 1) Has God allowed someone you know—in your life or in the life of a loved one—to cause harm? Does it seem as if there are no restraints on this person? Does the situation seem hopeless? The suffering, senseless?

We don’t know why such things happen, nor why God doesn’t thwart all evil. He could. At this very moment, somewhere in the world, a corrupt man is plotting to harm people under his control. Most likely he will succeed. Cruel men have long used brutal methods—even against children—to consolidate their power.

God allows both good and bad to come to fruition. Just as God allows the good seed of his Word to develop and bear fruit in Christians, he also allows the growth of weeds in unbelievers. James warns us to be on our guard against the weeds of sin in our own hearts. “Sin, when it is fully grown, brings forth death,” he writes (1:15). If true of us, how much more so of those whose conscience is seared? It is not unusual for God to allow the maturing and ripening of evil.

God knows the schemes of the wicked (Psalm 37:7, Malachi 3:15), and for reasons beyond our comprehension, permits what we would consider intolerable suffering. Yet scripture also says of him, “You are good, and what you do is good” (Psalm 119:68). Jesus is our picture of God, and we see no capriciousness or evil in him. The overwhelming theme of scripture is one of rescue and intervention, of the miraculous, of angelic visitations, of the dismantling of the powerful. Our Father will not abandon us. We can rest assured that he knows the full extent of someone’s plans to harm us. He will enable us to persevere.

 2) Do you or does a loved one face imminent danger? If yes, is God calling for a change of location? God did not change Herod’s plans, but he changed Joseph, Mary, and Jesus’s location. He directed them out of harm’s way. Is the Lord showing you that you must leave, too? Is He directing you to an unfamiliar place, one that will require a journey of faith? It takes courage to pick up and move, whether across a physical landscape, an employment one, or even an emotional one. This story shows us that moving out of harm’s way may require us to change.  

3) And last, have you seen God provide for such a journey in unexpected ways? The Magi’s lavish gifts provided what this poor family needed to travel and pay for lodging. Although scripture doesn’t say how long they were in Egypt, it must have been months for they didn’t return to Israel until Herod died. Has God given you provisions for a journey you didn’t want to take but knew you must? Have you seen an unexpected gift enable someone to find safety?

As you set your heart to pray this season—rejoicing in God’s grace to have sent his Son into the world—take heart if you are suffering. Take heart if you are walking with someone who is suffering. You may not know what lies ahead, but you can rest assured that God does. Take heart that you are not at the mercy of those who want to harm you. God will prevail. He will preserve the life of Christ in you, perhaps in miraculous ways.

November 10, 2020 - Karen McNary

Unified Yet Unique

Whoever thus serves Christ is acceptable to God and approved by men. So then let us pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding. (Romans 14:18-19)

 We constantly hear how divided our country is and most of us would agree.  All one has to do is look at our newsfeeds and, quite frankly, look at our churches.  Several years ago, I came across a saying: “To live above with saints we love, oh that would be glory. To live below with saints we know, well that’s another story.”  

The apostle Paul understood division as the Church at Rome was extremely diverse. Gentiles and Jews, people from different ethnic backgrounds, religions, and socio-economic classes all came together as new followers of a risen Christ. Even as they worshiped, they wrestled with how to become His Body. They were united but not always uniform in thought or deed. 

The same is true for the Church today. Musical preferences. Doctrinal stances. Partisan politics.  We worship with people who are often different and, if we’re honest, we are not always comfortable.

In the context of differences and disharmony, Paul writes to Rome with two basic principles showing how believers can disagree and still be unified in Christ.  

First, believers must unite in the essentials of the faith.  If you declare with your mouth, “Jesus is Lord,” and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved. For it is with your heart that you believe and are justified, and it is with your mouth that you profess your faith and are saved.  As Scripture says, “Anyone who believes in him will never be put to shame.” For there is no difference between Jew and Gentile—the same Lord is Lord of all and richly blesses all who call on him for, “Everyone who calls on the name of the Lord will be saved.” (Romans 10:9-13)

What unites believers is:

• We are all sinners and unable to conform to His word.

• We are unable to save ourselves.

• We all need Jesus.

The text doesn’t say Jesus plus the right music style, political affiliation or doctrinal stance.  Just Jesus.  By faith through grace.  These are the essentials with which we must all agree.  These unite us.

Next, we must allow freedom in disputable matters/non-essentials.  Every circumstance isn’t a salvation or sin issue.  In these areas, we’re commanded to accept the one whose faith is weak, without quarreling over disputable matters. (Romans 14:1) 

But how are we to react when we don’t agree? The cultural norm is tolerance. Yet we’re called to a higher standard and it’s called acceptance.  An area of contention in the Roman Church centered on eating meat sacrificed to idols. (Romans 14: 13-15) Today we have similar issues with politics being one of the most divisive.  But God’s word still stands and commands.  We are not to tolerate but accept our brothers and sisters - and their opinions. The goal of acceptance is to love, not to change their opinion to ours.  On disputable matters, God has granted freedom and accepts both. Regardless of what meat they eat, and in spite of their vote. (Romans 14: 3-4)

What would it look like if this was how the Church was known?  Jesus prayed that we disciples would be one as He is one with the Father and Holy Spirit (John 17:21).  I believe accepting those who are different is one of the greatest and most powerful witnesses to the power of the gospel to transform. 

We live in a world that desperately needs to see something different. Something lasting and real.  Something that brings life - not death - to people and ideas. Jesus is who they need and we’re the path to Him.  But how can we point to Him when we dishonor one another with our personal liberties?  

So, let’s give up our rights to be right and let love guide all we do. Let us, indeed, pursue what makes for peace and for mutual upbuilding. Like the Church at Rome, we can disagree on the non-essentials but maintain unity of the faith in Christ.  

November 10, 2020 - Ranika Chaney

Breathe

I'm writing to you in the middle of a pandemic—
in a country flaring with systemic racism. 
I'm writing to you as a human being 
with the natural bend towards sin, 
who feels the pain when I bleed 
or am kneed 
under the weight of oppression 
until I can't breathe. *sigh* 
Breathe. 
That was hard for me to speak. 
But I'm alive. 

We are watching tragedies unfold, 
while our brains are creating stories of trauma that must be told. 
For example, 
say you touch a hot stove that sends a signal to your amygdala, 
where your emotions are stored to shut down parts of your brain because of the pain. 
You see, you will react to the heat whether you fight, 
flight 
or freeze. 
A hot stove will always equal pain. 
Could you imagine coming in contact with that stove 
again
and again 
and again? 
Now, that painful memory is stored. 
Check out the book, The Body Keeps The Score. 
See, trauma doesn’t just disappear, 
it’s stored. 
And if you look at epigenetics, 
there’s even more. 
Trauma can be stored in your DNA from centuries before. 
This means that the trauma from slavery 
your great, great, great experienced 
can literally be found in your DNA, 
moving like a silent PSA—
hypertension, 
high blood pressure 
screaming in many black bodies 
from the pressure of oppression.  

And if the oppressed have a story, 
the oppressor must too. 
Imagine growing up in a line of oppressors. 
The trauma you must feel participating in or standing on the side lines 
seeing the image of God’s brown image bearers break 
in the face of hate. 
To see brown bodies hang at the hands of your greats. 
See this is not the part where blame is placed. 
Because whether we were there or not when it took place...
sin reverberates. 
Acknowledge it or not, 
we all carry its weight. 
So maybe it's inherent in the quote on quote Karen 
that her amygdala goes flaring 
when she sees a black man is staring...
at the birds. 
See, she thinks the stove is hot, when it's really not. 
Or black men, even if you are on the block 
talking to friends, 
you stop 
because your amygdala tells you the block is hot 
when you spot the cops, 
good intentions or not.  

And me... 
looking at my friends that I’ve had for years. 
Can we still be friends 
if you don't understand my tears? 
Questioning, 
should I take a break from the church 
because I don't know which is worse—
the person I’ve been sitting next to in the pew 
silent on racial inequality 
or the white person throwing anger bombs at the police,
but they are riding for me. 
Outspoken. 
Nothing done silently. 
Can the world even grasp what’s inside of me? 
Yet in the moments of quiet, 
I’m reminded that I can’t give up 
because it’s like a voice that’s calling 
even when I think enough is enough.  

Christians, in this battle, 
don’t we lead the charge? 
After all, are we not one body, 
just different parts? 
The eye could never say to the hand 
“I don't need you.” 
Can you see the full picture? 
I can't make this up. 
This is pure Scripture. 
God put together all the parts 
and gave more honor to those that lack, 
so that no part would take sides but you know, 
have each others’ back.
If one part suffers, 
then so do the others. 
If one part is honored, 
every part shares in its joy. 
This the Word of the Lord. 

So as our sinful body stumbles to the cross, 
let our brains be fixed on Jesus. 
Let the amygdala refrain, 
and get in line with the knee 
because everyone will bow to the One with all authority. 
Just like he died and was resurrected, 
so will those who’ve died at the hands of oppression who believe in Him. 
We don't have to keep dying again, 
and again, 
and again. 

I'm writing to you in the middle of a pandemic—
in a country flaring with systemic racism. 
I'm writing to you as a human being 
with the natural bend towards sin, 
who feels the pain when I bleed 
or am kneed 
under the weight of oppression 
until I can't breathe. *sigh*
Breathe. 
That was hard for me to speak. 
But I'm alive.