Growing Up Together
by Paula Rinehart
The body of Christ may be the only group you’ve ever belonged to where your deficiency—not your talents or your expertise—is what qualifies you for membership. You can understand, then, how strange it feels to witness Christians locked in a struggle with each other and always, a moment comes when the simple admission of guilt would clear some of the air. Even the acknowledgment that “I’ve caused you pain and I’m sorry” would help. Isn’t it tragic when we let the silence reign…and just dig into our fortified position deeper? The measure of our maturity is not how together we appear—but rather, the small moments with someone we love where we are able to suffer the indignity of having our flaws and inadequacies exposed. It’s a peculiar grace, indeed. Quite literally, the humility of “owning our stuff” breaks open the hard and frozen places in a close relationship—and God pours in the oil of his grace so that something new can happen. Thank God, something new can happen. Indeed, more is possible in relationships because of Christ. What we actually experience with each other, though, is directly proportional to the risks we are prepared to take. It takes a deep breath to put yourself out there in a friendship, doesn’t it? Even in a marriage we can live as virtual strangers, unknown at any true depth. Sometimes when I speak to womens' groups, I ask a simple question. “When was the last time someone leaned across a table and said, ‘So, how are you doing…I mean really?” I see such longing on so many faces. Many of us lack anyone who knows us very well. Sometimes, though, the people who would ask a deeply personal question can’t get past the parlor of our lives to ever see us with our hair down. We have not let ourselves be known. I admit, though—that’s no easy task. To share the truth of who we are feels like a risk because, indeed, it “may not gain us anything, we’re afraid, but an uneasy silence and a fishy stare.”[1] Or as Brennan Manning states in his own lively way: Whom can I level with? To whom can I bare my soul? The love of Christ can heal us, truly. Yet most often, the love of Christ heals us through each other, as our shame is known. Perhaps that’s why James includes this startling prescription for living the good life: Confess your sins to each other and pray for each That simple practice of humility is surprisingly powerful. Your need is out in the open, spoken in the presence of others—real, flesh-and-blood people who, by the modest act of hearing and praying, mirror the actual love and acceptance of God. How hard do you find it to say to someone, “I’m struggling with this…or I feel like such a failure at that…would you pray for me?” You don’t want to miss what is available to you by staying glued to your mask. You want the body of Christ to be all God means for it to be in your life. Each of us has a “story.” It’s a tale that includes the best of times—and probably, some painful experiences as well. It’s all part of the way God is shaping our lives for his glory and purposes. We can’t discover our own story alone, really. Pieces of understanding about how God is at work in your life come only as you share your story in the presence of others. It’s a mysterious and powerful experience in which there is always more to be learned. Simply invite two or three friends who also see their lives as a journey with Christ that’s going somewhere…and mark off an entire morning or afternoon. Ask each of your friends to come prepared with a few notes or a timeline that marks the peak shaping experiences and low points in their lives—their own particular mix of the good, the bad and the ugly. You are thinking through your life in broad, brush strokes of important events and influences—not the fine points and details (“I left home in September of 1985…”). Divide the time allotted by the number of participants and hand a watch to the woman who will agree to gently watch the time. (When you are telling your story, time disappears). Then let each woman share her story, noting what is significant to her. Restrict your comments on each other’s stories to two things: how you see God at work in another woman’s life and what you heard that touches you deeply in some way. Save the urge to offer advice or counsel. It’s a time to listen and take in. Most people have never, ever experienced anyone who just listened… At the beginning of the time together, take a few moments to ask God to lead you…and then at the end, spend awhile thanking God for what you’ve experienced or came to understand about yourself or each other. Perhaps nowhere in our journey of following Christ, past the rubble of broken dreams, do we stumble on any better gift—the sweet grace of being on that path with other folks. It’s true—we are not what we will one day be. Yet God is generous. We taste his mercy even now through the forgiveness and encouragement we experience together. He gives us a few hands to hold along the way. --
[1] Frederick Buechner, A Room Called Remember, (Harper & Row: New York, 1984). |
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