The shithole that is Anno Domini 2020 began last year on Christmas night. We had a new moon that evening, providing velvet darkness that brought out every star for our holidays. This moon was particularly special – it was a powerful new moon eclipse, a final gift for the yuletide.
I see two churches. I see a church fresh and new – a honeymoon between God and God’s people. Healing and wonders and signs are everywhere around them. It’s as if everyday, every moment together is a blessing. They hear the voice of God in everything they do, reminding them that they are chosen, beloved, important. They give to each other with abandon, trusting that their resources are going to the greater good. They pray together, eat together, study together, party together. They are excited about the future, inviting everyone around them to be a part of this amazing thing that’s happening to them – this great purpose to serve God and serve the world. This is a church with a mission.
Dorothy Day, journalist and co-founder of the Catholic Worker Movement said, “Love is a harsh and dreadful thing to ask of us, but it is the only answer.” I’ll say it again: “Love is a harsh and dreadful thing to ask of us, but it is the only answer.”
For you “love the sinner, hate the sin” kind of Christians, let me remind you what love looks like. Love looks like welcome. It looks like hands-on care. It looks like kindness without expectation of return. You cannot love people and at the same time keep them at arms’ length. Love requires vulnerability and openness. Love gets messy and isn’t always comfortable. Love can only manifest in relationship. Love does not and will never look like exclusion.
Recently, there has been a lot of political admonishment to vote for “biblical values.” Pulpits, radio ads, and television commercials are flush with it. We see it plastered on flyers, littering our mail. And most recently, the Billy Graham Evangelical Association placed a full-page advertisement in local newspapers reminding us all to “cast our ballots for candidates who base their decisions on biblical principles.”
During my year of major life changes (divorce, left job, started seminary, moved twice, sold old house, purchased new house, lost friends, made new friends), I began dating again. My ex-husband and I were together for eight years, five of them married. So I was a bit rusty. I dated a lot in college, but that was college with college boys and a college schedule. This was big-girl dating, and I wasn’t sure how the process worked in the big-girl world.
Arachnidiot (ar ak ni’ di ot) – n. A person, who, having wandered into an “invisible” spider web, begins gyrating and flailing about wildly.
The signs were there, yet I did not heed them. In 1990, I had another life. I was married to a different man, had a regular job at a regular company with regular benefits, and I lived in a suburb with cookie-cutter houses, where most of the residents had the same education, income, and race. I actually went to Tupperware parties. Two Tupperware parties. {—-shiver—-}
Second grade was not a stellar year for me. Academically, I was fine, but it was the first time in my memory that a teacher did not like me – a rare occurrence, considering I’m an over-achiever and eager to learn. Most teachers love having a student like me: anxious to help, anxious to please, and anxious to get an “A.” But, Mrs. Anderson only saw that I was anxious. My anxiety got on her very last nerve.
Of all the things that frighten me this season – of all the drifting phobias of ghosts and goblins and witches and monsters – the only thing that scares me to the bone isn’t supernatural at all. It’s spiders.