“A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out. In faithfulness He will bring forth justice.” Isaiah 42:3
I am constantly seeking ways to practically process biblical teaching so that I intentionally make necessary shifts in my thinking and in my life. Recently I have done a lot of thinking about moral, social, political and religious issues making the news and how as a Christ follower God expects me to respond. The obvious and easiest way is to tune it all out. Another response would be to couch everything under the heading of “End Times,” and wait expectantly for the Lord to come and fix it. But when I study the life of Jesus, I see Him in the mix, engaging with the “disengaged,” challenging the religious authorities, calling out sin, but reconciling sinners. Jesus did not mince words in Matt. 23:27-28, when He compared religious leaders to “whitewashed tombs...full of dead men’s bones.” I wonder whose bones these were and can these dry bones be brought back to life again? He wasn’t afraid to touch the untouchables, even stooping to gather dirt to make a mud compress for a blind man’s eyes. The Bible is full of references to cleanliness, and yet it was the dirty and defiled whom Jesus sought out as those He came to seek and to save.
It is these thoughts that have led me to frame this devotional around what some may consider “airing dirty laundry” and would rather try to hide it under the carpet, hoping nobody notices or stumbles over the unsightly mounds. My spirit has been heavy as I listen for the voice of the evangelical Church, the Body of Christ, amid the painful cries of hurting people and I hear the sound of silence. Of course, my own experience has shaped my perspective, so let me share a memory that illustrates the problem I feel led to address. Many years ago, my then husband and I were very active in a local church. I will never forget two incidents that followed on the heels of church members learning that we were divorcing. One involved a woman who was essentially a stranger to me drawing me aside after church one Sunday and berating me with a list of reasons why God and the denomination forbade divorce. Hurt and angry, a fleeting thought crossed my mind: “I wonder what they’d think of murder—first him and then her.” But I digress. She used her own example of having been left by her abusive husband, but she did all she could to make the marriage work and when it failed, never remarried. The second incident went a step further when a member of the Sunday School class we were attending went to the pastor (with never a word to us) to complain that we should stop attending the class as it made others uncomfortable. To his everlasting credit, the pastor called me in for counseling and explained what had been said, but pledged his life-saving support through the difficult journey he knew lay ahead for me. Instead of asking me to leave, he gave the person making the complaint the option of leaving the class or finding a church where he felt more comfortable. And yes, my difficult journey had barely begun, but it was out of that experience that I determined to be the change that I wanted to see in others professing to know Christ, especially in the context of the church. What a sad commentary when my pain makes you uncomfortable, but does not move you to protect and defend or to offer a soothing balm. Something is wrong with this picture.
Memories from all those years ago come flooding back when I think about the many crises faced by Christians and non-Christians alike today. There are equally as many divorces--50% or higher--among both groups. Twenty or thirty years ago, a survey found that 10-20% of college students struggled with homosexuality. Today, a mind-blowing list of options are presented by the secular world to those questioning sexual orientation and gender identity. People are starving not just for food, but for sensitivity towards their pain in broken places we cannot see. Many are tormented by dysfunctional families, joblessness, institutional injustices, racism and violence. We do not get to define when someone else is in pain, whose pain is valid, what the intensity of that pain should feel like or how long it should last or to try deflecting others’ assessment of a problem to avoid the subject because it makes us uncomfortable. For example, it is not enough to say, “I’m not a racist,” as though that should end the discussion. What positive action will confront the issue of racism whenever and wherever it is unmistakably evident? How broad is our prayer life? When we pray for the peace of Jerusalem, do we also think of Palestinian Christians and oppressed global partners who are also part of the Body?
Scientists have learned that the health and safety of the human body depend to a large degree on pain, which signals when there is something wrong. Great damage occurs when these signals are ignored. So it is true of the Body of Christ. When the church and its members become desensitized to the pain experienced by others, the result is dysfunction and crippling of parts that are meant to serve the good of the whole. The cries for help seem louder and more persistent than ever. The Head, Christ, signals the need for healing, but too often it seems connections have been cut and the wounded are neglected. I often feel powerless to help, but then I remember the example of Jesus in Luke 19:41 : “As He approached Jerusalem and saw the city, He wept over it.” I wonder who and what He saw and heard. What would I see and hear if I look into the eyes of the hurting and say, “I see you! I hear you!” If I start there, I am certain the Holy Spirit will show me what to do next. The gospels lay out the formula Jesus’s ministry followed:
- Jesus wept. His tears showed tenderness and compassion.
- Jesus preached. He imparted knowledge.
- Jesus taught. “Education,” as derived from Latin, means He “drew out” of others their potential.
- Jesus healed. He fed the hungry, clothed the naked and brought life where He went.
In a world filled with “bruised reeds,” and “smoldering wicks,” metaphors for the hurting, I am called to hypersensitivity. They lie scattered across the battlefields of life. I can shelter in place in my foxhole indefinitely or venture out to assess damage and render aid. I can choose to shoot the wounded or wound the shooters. Will you join me? Let’s talk.