For fifty minutes three days a week, I sit among a body of over two thousand people. Broken people.
That's our state, our predicament: brokenness. Sin has permeated our being, our thoughts, our actions, and our very existence. Brokenness has many faces. But we have adapted to conceal its presence.
Walk into a room of people and you may not notice brokenness is lurking in the shadows. Earlier this week, three testimonies were shared in chapel; three stories of brokenness: death, failure, insecurity. I was overcome by the brokenness I knew to be concealed behind masks of security and invulnerability among two thousand people who shared similarly unique stories of brokenness.
The weight of the burden of two thousand broken people seems too much to bear at times. Indeed it is too much. Tears crept down my face for quite some time as I contemplated the weight of brokenness in community.
Despite the presence of brokenness, when accepted as reality, it is purposed for mending. It is in the acceptance of brokenness that restoration is possible. So it is with the believer, whose brokenness finds healing by His grace.
The stories of a community expound the burden of brokenness and magnify the significance and power of healing grace, mercy and love.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Sunday, September 2, 2012
A Story
Stories shape languages, cultures, histories, and evade time. They have meaning, context, lessons, and some contain truth. Love, war, struggle and redemption permeate the stories that are passed on from one to another.
Through the course of living in Christian community, it has become fairly evident how important stories are to the propagation of truth. Scripturally speaking, the Bible not only contains stories but gives us a glimpse of the story - the story that shapes the past, present and future. Relationally, stories open doors, seed compassion, and develop community.
My story is but a miniscule part of that story.
A friend of mine recently told me about a snippet of his story. He said he feared that if he shared this part of his story with others in our community he would be defined by, remembered for, and perhaps judged accordingly based on a singular portion of his story. This, I said, is detrimental to authentic community.
If we choose to leave out, repress, or avoid a portion of a story, the whole meaning of the story cannot be known, the larger context is jeopardized, and it seems selfish. Consciously neglecting part of a story gives more authority than is due to actions, behaviors, words, and thoughts. It is only in the context of the story that these parts find healing redemption.
Vulnerability is not an easy task and should not be taken lightly. Our stories need not be published in memoirs, pronounced via public confession, or flippantly conversed. But in authentic community, our stories must be shared. Bits and pieces at a time, but never consciously abandoned.
This week, I told my friend that it is not the things within our stories that define us. Perhaps they shall at times earthly and societally. But it is not the story in and of itself that defines us. What defines us is the purpose of our stories, part of the story: ultimately to glorify the One from whom the story has come.
I oftentimes neglect authenticity, honesty and vulnerability with myself, let alone others. Sometimes I do not want myself to know my story. It seems easier that way. And then there are times like this week when I realize that it is vital, necessary, and prudent that I live in community with myself, my Lord, and those whom I live with so that I may holistically become a part of the story.
Through the course of living in Christian community, it has become fairly evident how important stories are to the propagation of truth. Scripturally speaking, the Bible not only contains stories but gives us a glimpse of the story - the story that shapes the past, present and future. Relationally, stories open doors, seed compassion, and develop community.
My story is but a miniscule part of that story.
A friend of mine recently told me about a snippet of his story. He said he feared that if he shared this part of his story with others in our community he would be defined by, remembered for, and perhaps judged accordingly based on a singular portion of his story. This, I said, is detrimental to authentic community.
If we choose to leave out, repress, or avoid a portion of a story, the whole meaning of the story cannot be known, the larger context is jeopardized, and it seems selfish. Consciously neglecting part of a story gives more authority than is due to actions, behaviors, words, and thoughts. It is only in the context of the story that these parts find healing redemption.
Vulnerability is not an easy task and should not be taken lightly. Our stories need not be published in memoirs, pronounced via public confession, or flippantly conversed. But in authentic community, our stories must be shared. Bits and pieces at a time, but never consciously abandoned.
This week, I told my friend that it is not the things within our stories that define us. Perhaps they shall at times earthly and societally. But it is not the story in and of itself that defines us. What defines us is the purpose of our stories, part of the story: ultimately to glorify the One from whom the story has come.
I oftentimes neglect authenticity, honesty and vulnerability with myself, let alone others. Sometimes I do not want myself to know my story. It seems easier that way. And then there are times like this week when I realize that it is vital, necessary, and prudent that I live in community with myself, my Lord, and those whom I live with so that I may holistically become a part of the story.
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