Sharing the hurt

One of the things I love about coming to Nazarene Theological Seminary is the emphasis that is placed on the shared sense of Christian community. The seminary community shares its hurts and triumphs deeply, and I get a sense of that when I am on campus for my 2 week stints.

I recently became aware of a great deal of hurt being shared by my friends within the church. It pains me to see it happen, because it damages the body of Christ and hurts the witness of the church when ugliness spills out into the community. But I understand how it happens, and I grieve for those who are hurting.

Saying "I'm praying for you" can seem so perfunctory, but it is also very powerful. When we bring our grief to the Throne of Grace and throw ourselves on the mercy of God. And when we powerfully intercede on behalf of those who are hurting, we build the kind of community the church is supposed to be. It is to be a glimpse of heaven on earth. It isn't Heaven, but it is supposed to provide us with a taste of what is to come.

So I do that. I pray for my hurting friends. I pray for the Bride of Christ who doesn't need her reputation sullied again. I pray that God will redeem the situation and bring good from pain. But I wish that we didn't have to keep doing this. Some day that will come. It's just not today.

The Walking Wounded

I'm somewhat at a loss to verbalize this thought, so bear with me. I've been in a funk lately, as you may know. Actually its more than a funk, more of a downward spiral, but that is not the issue I want to address. What my emotional upheaval has done is dull my awareness of people around me. Not that I was particularly sensitive before, but I am even less so right now.

This weekend it sort of crashed on me when I saw the hurt on some of my fellow Christians. I could tell something was wrong, but I didn't know what it was. And I didn't want to ask. One of the things about funks for me is that I tend to withdraw. I do it for several reasons. I know I am operating mentally and emotionally at an impaired level, and it keeps me from snapping at people. It also allows me to not put myself into situations where I will be tempted or overloaded, which can lead to things being misconstrued or blown out of proportion. But this withdrawal cuts me off from others, and dulls me to what is going on in their lives even as we pass each other in sort of a strange, pained dance.

I'm getting together with someone else this week who is in a similar place. I don't have any words of wisdom to offer. I don't have a plan, a book, or much beyond myself. I have faith in a God that I know is sovereign and loves me. But I don't hear him right now. So I cling to the faith that I have and remember the times I did hear him. That is what I have to offer.

Somehow I think this is how Christian community should work. The wounded help each other carry on as they journey through life together. Pray that we do not lose the sensitivity to each other that makes this possible. I know my self-preservation makes this difficult, but I also know what I am called to do. This is my denial of the flesh, to go and soldier on with someone hurting as much or more than me. All the while clinging to the hope that the God of the Universe will reveal himself in a way that we can comprehend. I went to the mountains in Colorado this summer. This appears to be the valley on the other side. Pray for us. But also rejoice with us that we are, in our own way, living out the command to bear each other's burdens. In an odd way, that kind of excites me.