these are the days: march
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I have three or four half-written blog posts drafted in the queue, but nothing I have to say seems meaningful enough to add to the media din that has only grown louder as the world draws itself inward. Thoughts on what it actually means to be the Church in a time when we can no longer substitute “going to church,” thoughts on how all I want is to write honestly but I hesitate to do so now that honesty feels like a currency, thoughts on whether or not there is a place for someone like me (by that, I mean a female Bible scholar who has been called to teach people how to study the Bible) in the Church at all… they’re all in there, waiting to be given voice lest they make my brain explode, but for whatever reason it doesn’t feel safe out here for them yet.
So these are the days of jotting down just enough notes to keep the lid on while I wait for the day that I’m brave enough to pour out. I remind myself that this website is mine to invite others into, and they may accept or decline as they see fit. I remind myself that I’m not being asked to write the inerrant Word of God, so I don’t have to say everything just right, or even be completely right—the grace I feel burdened to show others is abundant enough to cover me, too. I remind myself that there must be other people out there who are tired of hearing the same old Christianese teaching the same tired platitudes, and that I can’t possibly be the only one craving something a little more honest, more Biblical, less pristine. I can’t possibly be the only one with complicated or uncomfortable questions to ask—and I remember that Jesus Himself showed us pretty clearly just how much the devout can benefit from a healthy dose of discomfort.
For now, these are still days of quiet—quieter than I ever envisioned when I wrote my last post. The only thing breaking up my days and weeks is my work schedule, the only thing that holds a semblance of normal. Even that is abbreviated and interrupted by a week of being sick at home, feeling more than usual the pressure to keep my germs to myself, letting Bible180 be my church service and Zephaniah be my preacher and a simple “Let’s all agree to pray together in spirit at 2pm today” be my community.
Some of the daffodils have bloomed. I cut the last of the hyacinths for one more bouquet. Between rain showers I take quick walks through the garden to see what else is coming alive to prove that time really isn’t at a standstill, and that God really isn’t checked out of this mess. It is spring, and He is here.
Suggested Thinking
Matthew 23
Zephaniah
