They told him he couldn’t wear his hat anymore. They also made fun of his sweatshirt (he wears the same one a lot). On that day, he became far more conscious about those things than ever before. As his parents we listened, not having all that much difficulty remembering what that same scenario felt like so many years ago. We tried to guide him into a self-assured courage about his own ability to make his own decisions — not being persuaded to change simply because of some knuckleheads’ opinions. As a result of a seemingly innocuous clothing choice, he had become an outsider. He felt the pain of exclusion (small though it may have been). He now thinks differently about how he’ll be perceived as he gets ready for school in the morning. It’s a new and unwelcome anxiety.
We know this reality. We live in it everyday. My son is coming face-to-face with one of the realities of being a grown-up. Because, after all, that’s what grown-ups have learned to do: to work hard at fitting in, to cover over, to disguise, to pretend. Our efforts are more sophisticated than his. There are more means at our disposal. We can buy things to help us hide. We have learned to cover over the blemishes of the things that draw unwanted attention. We know how to elevate certain attributes and achievements to the fore in hopes that they overshadow our insecurities.
As adults we haven’t forgotten what those other kids on the playground know: the best way to hide our own wobbly self-consciousness is to pounce on a potential weakness in others. Obviously, we are more subtle in our ways of finding the faults in others than those days of the playground, but we can pinprick the pain in others without much difficulty. Eventually, however, everything — all the shallow exteriors — do cave in on themselves. Usually, it’s in a moment of crisis.
One wonders: where do people go when they’ve lost the ability to fake it, to pretend? Is there a safe-haven for those who have lost the energy to keep a well-formed façade in tact?
Sadly, for so many people, the church has been the ultimate example of false-exteriors and fault-finding in others. But, I heard a story this past week that undermines some of those painful perceptions people have about churches — those notorious places where the hypocrites gather. To a member of our prayer team someone said, “Mariners is the only place where I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to make it seem like everything is fine. I don’t have to fake it for anyone. I don’t cry anywhere else in my life. I’ve never been prayed for before. I have always been afraid of seeming like a weak person. But, I am finding that I can be prayed for as I am.”
That may have been one of the greatest affirmations for any church community I’ve ever heard. It is an affirmation for the intangible “feel” of Mariners MV. That someone, overwhelmed by the pressure of life could find a refuge in and among other people at our church, is a statement about the authenticity, the openness, and the compassion of those who call it home. This week, as you’re praying about who to invite to our Christmas Eve services, think about those people in your life who are longing to find a place where they don’t have to pretend everything is fine. Think about those people who are moments away from losing the energy to sustain the perception that everything is great. Maybe, it’s they who need a fresh understanding of Jesus and his church.
MARK 2:16-17
“But when the teachers of religious law who were Pharisees saw [Jesus] eating with tax collectors and other sinners, they asked his disciples, ‘Why does he eat with such scum?’
When Jesus heard this, he told them, ‘Healthy people don’t need a doctor—sick people do. I have come to call not those who think they are righteous, but those who know they are sinners.'”
See you soon,
Jeff