The truth that emerges from straight brokenness

There is a sharp difference between the brokenness of self-pity and the brokenness that is straight as a die.  The former is as common as it comes; we’ve all been there.  The latter is the road less travelled.

The road less travelled is a road that hardly anyone takes when they’re at the point of brokenness.  Why is that you ask?  Simple, it’s the harder way.  Initially, at least.  But the road less travelled is the only way to go if you are interested in good things ahead.

It should be self-evident that the way of self-pity and of blaming others is a road to ruin.  It’s a path of misery and it leads to misery, both for the person on the path and for those anywhere within earshot, those who witness such a calamity—including those who are being harmed by the person’s behaviour.

Those on the road less travelled, however, find a way to peace notwithstanding their hardship.

The only way to peace is to take account of what is ours to own, to stay in our stuff, and to bear injustice.  Sure, life might be about as unjust as it can get, but crying foul is not the way out of it.

Whenever we find ourselves in that most broken of places, the temptation is either to dissociate or discombobulate.  Feeling broken tends towards acting out of that brokenness.  But there’s a far better way of responding to brokenness.

Whenever we are feeling broken inside, even as we face our pain, being still in it, that torment is seen, validated, even medicated by simply sitting in the court of truth.

The only way we can get better is to resist the path that makes us bitter.  This isn’t to say the grieving bitterness is an evil or inappropriate thing.  I believe in grieving bitterness is a sacred and necessary concept.  But it is only part of the process.  It won’t take a person all the way to healing.

The truth that emerges from straight brokenness, from a brokenness straight as an arrow, plunging straight into our pain, neither denying it nor dissing it, is a truth that sets us on the path to freedom, just as Jesus said, “The truth will set you free.”

To know the truth is to be set free by that truth.  If we know that we have been abused, that truth ought to set us free, at least spiritually, because we know that God sees it all.  It doesn’t mean we’ll be free from the effects of trauma, for healing from that is a long and arduous process, but the fact that all that has been done to us is seen and on record is a truth none can deny—when heaven’s light of truth shines on it.  If we’re the ones who have done harm, the truth that sets us free is the life of making amends.  NOW is the time to confess it and repent of it.

Only those who enter their brokenness via the straight gate will experience emergent truth.

Those who continue on their way of self-pity in their brokenness, will continue to be blinded to the truth, because their hearts are set against the truth.

A person only has access to the truth only when they desperately seek the truth.  If they want no part of the truth, they will continue to abide in lies.  All this is about what is resident in the heart.

Nobody can get better until they travel the straight path straight into the truth.  And then nothing is held back.  All the forces of light that heal a person are thereby accessible and available.

Probably the hardest thing about the road less travelled is that nobody will relate to it, and the only genuine solace you’ll get is from God himself, and from those who have been there.  And those who have been there never forget their way back.

The world will tell a person entering their brokenness in straight way that they’re mad, that they’re on the wrong track, but I say, let the truth be guide.  Anyone who sees the truth will be healed by the truth.

Indeed, healing is dependent in every dimension by one’s relationship with the truth.

Paradox of paradoxes: only those who refuse to insist on their vindication will be vindicated.

A meditation to close?  Go to Psalm 37.

And imbibe this depiction of the psalm by Sons of Korah.

Empathy for those who cannot bear their suffering

“When people are suffering, they want to escape their suffering—that’s normal.”
— Dr. Gabor Maté

It’s often all too easy to discuss ways and means of “suffering well” amid loss and grief.  What gets lost in translation is suffering is the hardest thing to endure.  There are so many easier ways to cope than to bear the struggle, even if that is the best and right way of transitioning from a way of life we don’t want to leave in moving toward a way of life we must embrace.

In reality, the easiest way to go the hard way of struggling the right way is nested in having no other option.  That’s right, when we arrive in a place where the pain of staying as we are exceeds the pain of change, right there, in that very place, is both of means and motivation to endure hell.

But it’s still the hardest thing of life.

But in all of this, a simple fact remains.

Those who cannot bear their suffering, who are crushed by it, who are frequently broken by the pain of it, command the empathy of anyone with compassion.  It doesn’t matter what they’ve done.  The honesty of a person willingly entering heartache daily is foundational.

As a counsellor, I’ve journeyed with so many people who have suffered so admirably that they frequently stumbled.  If it wasn’t the presenting issue of their loss and grief and mental health and relationship breakdowns, often what was added to them was a tsunami of additional terrors, very often overwhelming their capacity for recovery.

As an onlooker, I’ve so often been humbled as they’ve left my presence to re-embark on a life that is impossibly hard.  It’s humbling because I recognise that, right there, I stand with them on sacred ground.  And though I feel totally inadequate, I recognise that just standing there with them for a time is enough.

It’s often said we should be kind to people because none of us truly knows what another person is enduring.

It’s actually those who have been to hell and back who have the innate compassion needed to understand others who are going through hell.

There are exceptions.  Those people who are full of empathy for the struggles that the suffering bear, but it is largely experience that teaches us, opening the eyes of our hearts.

If you struggle today, and your confidence for the journey is shattered, or you’re feeling the loneliest you’ve ever felt, or you’re beyond knowing how to respond, know that there are people who empathise with what you’re dealing with.

This empathy is nothing about proving we understand exactly what it is you’re going through, but empathy provides something better.  It’s the understanding that we don’t understand, and more is the point that we are in awe of your courage and strength, even though you may feel very weak.  That inspires us most.

The most inspirational people are those who suffer and who cannot bear their suffering.  Think of the strength that takes.  Think of what it takes to continue to live life amid despair.  Think of what it takes to continue to live outward focused on others like family.

The shock and pain on that first night alone

The worst hours of my life: 2100hrs on Monday September 22, 2003, to 0030hrs Tuesday September 23, 2003.  Well, to be honest, in that season of life, for months and months and months—better read, years—there were many hours that were comparable as the worst I’d ever faced.

The issue during these September 22/23 hours was I was losing my life—my first marriage over, free access to my children gone, my home no longer my home, the need to find another job that didn’t involve travel; ultimately every part of my life shifted like grinding tectonic plates cause a tsunami.  The effects were that dramatic.

As the months of this crisis unfolded, it became clearer and clearer that as one life had comprehensively ended, a new life had to begin—and all of that new life was founded upon the saving power of authentic Christian faith, initially via Twelve Steps spirituality of AA and then via the Baptist Church in the area I had to move to—where my parents lived.

Whilst I’ve been ever thankful for the second chance at a new life for a long time now, back when the old life was crushed, I was shattered and anything could have happened—whilst I threw myself into being supported by caring communities, I was occasionally at mortal risk.

On the night in question, I cannot tell you in one word or one sentence what it was that I was feeling.  I was reeling.  I was numb yet anxious.  I was horrified yet angry at myself.  I bellowed yelps and shed mobs of tears.  My whole life was flashing before my eyes, as my mind ranged through the entire corpus of my 36 years to that point.  And most of all, I was alone.  I was all alone and there was nobody who cared about me there to protect me.  God protected me.

At one point, I sat in the car park of the church we’d attended and been married, back in 1990.  It was utter confusion and overwhelm.

I was in an existential crisis that was absolutely other than anything I’d ever experienced.  I was in deep grief without knowing it because I’d truly never suffered before.  The shock of such a process cannot be overstated.  When everything you’ve ever counted on being yours and safe is suddenly upended and comprehensively lost, it throws you into such a spin that you cannot make sense of it.  It should feel like a living death, but even that’s a concept you’re unable to grasp.  Experiences like this completely undid me.  And I can assure you, that these experiences were quite commonplace.

~

There are unprecedented times in all our lives, and that’s not said to scare anyone.

The hope we can hold onto is this: whilst experiences like this are like dying, it’s actually worse than that.  Life as you know it has come to a close, and you’re required to rebuild not only from nothing, but even as you walk daily through the wreckage strewn everywhere, you also rebuild while grieving—it’s a double blow.  BUT once a person goes through that, having faith enough to cope the best they can on the worst days, I mean surviving, they do forge a new path, and that’s not just a new path, but it’s a new way of hopeful living despite the apparent despair that lurks everywhere.

I’m so thankful that nobody rescued me all those years ago, and that I was regularly placed in the position where I had to make choices for the future.  When you’re rescued, it curtails your own agency, and it actually robs you from the opportunities you need to make tough choices that YOU must stand by.  For this reason, it’s crucial for all bystanders, especially those who love those who are in crisis, to have faith that their person in crisis can work their way through it—with support, but without being saved from their situation.

~

The shock and pain of that first night is now a fond memory.

Back on the night I possibly prayed that my life would somehow work out, and that I’d use the opportunity ahead of me to truly change and become who I wanted and needed to be.  The fact is, faith started THAT night.  I thank that night’s version of myself.  Even though I’m so glad that it’s behind me.

If you’re in that place of being utterly alone, feeling utterly forsaken, remember this of all the things that God has said: He will never leave you, nor forsake you.  He will get you through if only you can trust the process by faith, relying faithfully on the support that’s available.

Quarter of the ‘contract’ done – 45 years to go

When we married in 2007, we agreed to give to each other 60 years.  I was nearly 40 at the time, so I’m counting on being around until I’m almost 100.  We’ll see how that goes.

15 years down the track.  In that time, I’ve had ten jobs (three as a pastor, four were part time, counselling counted as one job), Sarah’s had eight jobs (including her photography as one ‘job’) and we’ve lived in six houses, mostly for 2-4 years each.  When we started out, my girls were 14, 11, and 8.  Now we’re grandparents.

15 years isn’t 30 or 45 for that matter, and it’s not like my parents who have been together 60 years this July or Sarah’s parents who have been together 50 years.  But it is 15 years, and we’ve packed a bit of life into that time.

What symbolises our first 15 years most I think is what Sarah wrote in a card she gave me four years ago (pictured).  Life hasn’t been the same for her since I came into it.  That’s not to say it’s been great.  But it’s been interesting, certainly not boring.

Half our marriage ago, we were losing Nathanael, and our stillborn son is still the most significant thing that’s happened in our time together.  It was significant for what took place at the time—as part of our formation and how we saw the best and worst of humanity in it—just as it is significant even today.  God has used our loss and grief to help us.  As a life experience and in our being healed, we continue to be positioned to help others suffering pregnancy and infant loss.

We’ve thoroughly enjoyed our time together, even if the first three years or so were very difficult.  We share a lot of humour and intimacy.  Sarah is an absolutely ideal ministry partner.  Her discernment is different to mine, and her wisdom is crucially complementary.

Whether we actually survive the 45 years left in our marriage, or one of us departs the earth beforehand is irrelevant.  Our intent is to give God everything through doing life together.

Serving in our present capacities, with family as it is, we’ve truly never been more content.  But... as with us all, the best is still yet to come.

“Set on fire by the spirit of love” – dark night of the soul

There are times and seasons when we’re afflicted by the dark night of the soul, and it’s only when we descend to those harrowing depths that we claw desperately for a solution.  This dark night of the soul awakens us to what is termed the “active night,” but coming to the end of ourselves, no closer to a solution that will work, we then face an extraordinarily inconvenient truth.

Scarily we give in to a passive night of the soul . . .

Like a precious canticle, divine to its core, imbibe this that follows, even as I endeavour to commentate on it: 

“It is therefore expedient for the soul which is in this condition not to be troubled because its faculties have become useless, yea, rather it should desire that they become so quickly; for by not hindering the operation of the infused contemplation, to which God is now admitting it, the soul is refreshed in peaceful abundance, and set on fire with the spirit of love, which this contemplation, dim and secret, induces and establishes within it.”
Saint John of the Cross – Passive Night of the Soul

If we’re in that place where active contemplations make not one iota of difference to either our circumstance or felt state, and we do feel these “faculties” of ours are perfectly “useless,” we arrive in a valley of decision where the presence of God is palpable.

What is discussed here is both the simplest thing but extraordinarily difficult to describe.

The purpose of suffering that we cannot amend is that in being drawn deeper we’d enter the unitive state, that is, stillness with God.  This can only occur when we cannot have what we so desperately need.  When we succumb to what feels like a life of death.

At one and the same time, we’re drawn into the centre and the source of our pain whilst also entering it, in stillness, with nothing less than the full measure of God.

How utterly absurd for John of the Cross to intimate that we ought to rush toward that place at the end of ourselves.  And yet, we learn zilch in a spiritual sense until we’ve been made impotent.  What John of the Cross says IS absurd—unless you’ve been to “useless” and seen the folly replete in a human being endeavouring to ‘fix’ their loathsome circumstance and the brooding emotions that emanate.

The purpose of suffering, then, can only be a folly for the world, for those perishing, but for spiritual ones it’s the “what” of the quintessence of the abundant life itself.

Being “set on fire by the spirit of love” 
we catch the fullness of the meaning of life.

That meaning oozes with a purpose that fans the flame within us.  What is “set on fire” in this way by divine agency, meaningfully through suffering, cannot be extinguished like earthly, physical fire can.

Such a fire is sustained “by the spirit of love” in this simple fact: once we’ve ascended the mount of God and SEEN those captivating vistas, those with which nothing on the whole earth can compare, we cannot and do not turn back.  Our hearts are set alight by the truth, and no dark force can contend with a light so white it absolutely apprehends a love affair with the mysteries of God.

It is good, therefore, to arrive at the passive night of the soul, and find ourselves in the unitive state, still, with nothing much left to complain about, simply in awe of being alive, stripped of all sense of coveting anything.  Nothing can be taken away from us that we don’t already possess.

There is such a place, my friend.  I would not have said it if I hadn’t have been there myself.

Find in the nexus of suffering the divine invitation to depths of sorrow, where the absence of consolation actually leads you through hell into a heaven beyond previous command.  Indeed, heaven is a place on earth, and both getting there and being there is NOTHING like what we thought heaven on earth or the journey there might be like.

It’s infinitely better than we could ever imagine, 
and its heights of joy, peace, and hope 
cannot be fully apprehended.

You perhaps entered this dark night because of your circumstances, yet when you find that this dark night is the crux of your salvation, you remain gobsmacked by the immensities of the grace and mercy of God.  Being so in awe of what God’s done in your life is very much like being “set on fire by the spirit of love”.

“When I am weak, then I am strong,” said the Apostle Paul.  Embracing weakness is the secret.

And that’s the truth!

When failing to care becomes a form of spiritual abuse

The love affair the church has had with “leadership” and “church growth” concepts, as opposed to a plain focus on the shepherding of souls, has meant some people feel their pastors have failed them.

That might seem overly critical and harsh, and in many situations it will be, so my apologies in advance if this doesn’t apply to you.

But as a general point, there is a lot to be said about churches, pastors, and Christian leaders who performed a tacit though nonetheless potent form of spiritual abuse when they failed to care for people who needed a shepherd.

Let’s contextualise the church as an organisation akin to a flock of sheep that are to be shepherded, a place where people can come close to God through worship, fellowship, discipleship, ministry, and mission.  All this occurs out of effective giving and receiving of pastoral care.

Let’s also position this article in the context of this astute teaching from Heather Smith:

“If the people you most trust, who are “connected” to God, don’t hear you, you will grow up struggling to feel heard and valued by God... or anyone else for that matter.”

The failing that Ms. Smith identifies here is being in a position to support but failing to give that support.  Say, when those who are trusted most to lead a person closer to God push the person away.  Simply failing to listen to a person can do that.

~

Some of the gifts the church has traditionally prized highly compared with the more fundamental caring gifts that are easy to overlook:

Their pastors may have been gifted orators, but the care of a pastor cannot always be delivered from the platform.  The point is many pastors are not naturally gifted at preaching, but if preaching is what the church values—and the evangelical church has traditionally prized preaching ability above all else—the pastor will put most of their time, effort, and energy into getting their preaching right.  More time, effort, and energy on that, in many cases, than being a pastor to their people, many of whom are hard to pastor (caring for people isn’t easy but that’s the gig!).

Their pastors may have been inspiring visionaries, equipped to build the church, but if they haven’t invested their time, effort, and energy into discipling their people, the people don’t heal, and they don’t grow, and no matter how many numbers are added, the church doesn’t grow.

Their pastors may have been diligent administrators, running finances and meetings and managing programs, controlling the budgets, but if they couldn’t be present with a person in the moment of their pain, the transformational objects of the church wither in favour of the transactional.

Their pastors may have been skilled delegators, getting groups and other people to conduct visits and meeting people’s needs, but people resent acute pastoral care being outsourced to others.  Lay people don’t always have the time, skill, or energy.  And sometimes people just need their pastor to be a pastor.

Their pastors may have been able to communicate to the masses, but if a pastor can’t listen effectively, they don’t seize on the opportunity of care, and they create harm, especially when people who need care express their disappointment.  (All pastors ought to be humble enough to absorb parishioners’ disappointments and where necessary process it with a supervisor.  So much harm has been done to people through leaders who couldn’t humbly listen to feedback.)

Their pastors may be well-read and shrewd theologians, but if they spend more time reading books than caring for people their apportionment of time needs tweaking.

Their pastors may be savvy networkers, but pastoring is more about people than strategy—especially in God’s economy where faith, trust, and surrender are the main strategy.

~

The functions of the church are at a crossroad, and perhaps in the light of our wrong prioritisation of “leadership” and “church growth” we can see the right priority emerge—that is the hard graft of the care of souls who seek healing.

The fact is the church is the central assembly of people on a spiritual journey with their God.  A lot of the relating with God occurs as believers meet with one another.  If care is not experienced, if there is no listening or little space for the depths of life to emerge, the church has failed to play its part in the transformation of the individual.

Churches and Christian organisations that fail in these areas are probably run by individuals who themselves are not transformed in a real way by experiences of suffering that sanctify and fashion them as transformed.

The best thing any Christian leader can do is reflect honestly on those they failed to care for.  Not to inflict guilt but as an opportunity to grow.

It may well lead to the redemptive opportunity of making amends, but it takes much character (humility and courage) for Christian leaders to admit they failed to care and then to be intent on addressing those issues as best they can.

~

The failure to care is a form of spiritual abuse because those who miss out didn’t receive the healing they needed, that they sought, from those who ought to have been trustworthy.

Recovery from the depths of depression

There is the belief among counsellors that people who have fallen upon hard times have the capacity and resource within themselves to recover.  Those having difficulty adjusting to their new situations, many of which have occurred beyond their choice, can negotiate these situations; but help, of course, helps.

People in many counselling capacities, whether in private practice, from churches, or as caseworkers, have an innate belief that people come to them WITH their own answers.

The counsellor merely provides space where a special therapeutic relationship can be developed where perspectives may be viewed together and anew.

But when we fall into a depression, when life turns awkwardly, and we begin feeling incapacitated or overwhelmed, where our confidence plummets, we may stop believing we have anything at all like the answers to the perplexing questions that comprise our situations.

WHERE WILL OUR HELP COME FROM?

The concern of where will our help come from—how will we recover, and when?—more easily becomes our overriding concern.  And such concern can become desperate.

What was a very good life can seem to have come to an end—and we do all sorts of bargaining to bring back that which we so solemnly miss.

Or it could be the case that we’ve never risen to the heights we see others have risen to as far as peace, hope, and joy are concerned.

We can become so polarised to our helplessness; we begin to seriously doubt recovery will ever come.  We see more barriers than this mysterious aspect of agency which is the power we need to thrive.  We see more reminders of our helplessness than we do of reason for hope.  We may feel incredibly isolated.  We may feel stuck immobile in an in-between waystation.

We hardly think that the answer might come from WITHIN us.  We cannot see just now.

Perhaps it may turn out to be that we had the answer all along, but we needed the space and the assurance to give us confidence for a fresh onslaught in the living of life.

Help out of a depression can certainly seem impossible.  But it is amazing what support and encouragement, coupled with an openness to explore new perspectives, can do.

A VISION OF RECOVERY

A lot of the time the sort of help we need is actually miniscule.  But it is no less critically important.  It might be as if we are trudging through a never-ending dark valley, and we have no idea where the end is.  The person who helps us may merely lead us a few steps along the way where we can see our lives just a little more clearly.

As we pirouette and look behind us, we see the misty fog we came through, and we begin to see, more, from a safer perspective, that life is full of such foggy formations.

We begin to see the purpose in trudging through that dark valley, so morbidly fearful for the trap that seemed in store for us, which we find wasn’t there.

Now it is that others’ dark valleys have our attention and empathy.  We draw confidence that getting through our tortuous dark valley was due to our own capacity and resources—with just a little help from a friend.

When hope has returned, and maybe even magnified our view of life, we have a strange new capacity for living.  The rut we endured actually worked out for our best.

We have endured what can be known as a “revenant” experience, where once it seemed we were spiritually dead and only through such adversity to be spiritually reborn to be never more alive.

***

Little things make big differences in the difficulties of life.  There is power in renewal as there is power in having openness within ourselves.

Searching for and seeking help out of a depression can prove the making of us.

What the parable of the lost sheep says about ‘Christian’ abuse

When Alyssa Milano tweeted, “If all the women who have been sexually harassed or assaulted wrote ‘Me too’ as a status, we might give people a sense of the magnitude of the problem,” on October 15, 2017, the hashtag MeToo movement started.

What emerged from this was a sustained transition toward a culture where abuse claims gained prominence for belief and investigation.  A culture of “believe the victim” began to prevail.  Society began to awaken to the prevalence of injustice when the true scale of sexual harassment and violence began to be seen historically.

I’m going to ask you, dear reader, to be patient with me as the point of this article comes a little further in.  What I’m saying is, context is important.

What emerged out of this was the hashtag ChurchToo movement, as those who had been silent (and in many cases silenced) for decades began to share their traumatic narratives.

Many of us have seen this as a time of reformation of the church and of reckoning for the post-Christendom Christian world—the revealing of secret sins perpetrated many times where there was an egregious power differential and those who were vulnerable were exploited by those who had power and the supposed morality to protect, not to abuse.  Then, of course, the compounding of abuse occurred when victims were dismissed.

We live in a strange and often confusing day, where sins are exposed and justice is wrought, yet there is collateral damage everywhere as a result.  Put plainly, when a person or organisation ‘falls from grace’ (i.e., they’re exposed for what occurred), there is the aggrieved and those who support the aggrieved on one side, and there is the accused and those who support the accused on the other—a polarised and divided, he-said-she-said cacophony where people lose faith.

What we have here is a landscape of a world where if there’s a skeleton in a closet, there’s more opportunity for that to be revealed in this day than ever before.  This is good.  It’s God’s timely justice I believe—don’t fall into the temptation of thinking it’s evil when evils are revealed.  Where secret and egregious sins are done—that harmed people, in ‘the name of God’—these ought to revealed as promptly as possible, no matter who did them.

To further contextualise this, there are stories and accounts of sexual and other abuses done in Christian settings in countries and cities everywhere.  Locally, there’s a present case that has sent shockwaves through our community.  It involves a rehabilitation centre.

What sparks this article is a comment by a prominent leader of another rehabilitation centre in our city who empathised for the rehabilitation centre accused of significant abuse.

In the context of supporting the good work of this rehabilitation centre, this is what was said:

“No matter how hard you try there will always be someone who wants to tear you down. If there are ninety nine things an organisation is doing right and one thing they are doing wrong, the one thing becomes the focus. You will be attacked with the focus on the one thing with the 99 right things being disregarded, it’s very sad.”

And here again:

“You will make mistakes and some people like vultures will sit and wait for you to do the one wrong thing to do what ever they can to take you out, why….. I don’t know….”

~

What could the Lord Jesus be saying in all this?  I just wonder if the ancient parable of the lost sheep can say something to us in this contemporary setting.

Cue to Luke 15:1-7.  Do you remember the parable of the lost sheep?  I wonder if we can draw a parallel to the present conundrum—99 things done well, 1 thing done poorly.

The words of Jesus:

“Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them. Doesn’t he leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it? And when he finds it, he joyfully puts it on his shoulders and goes home. Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, ‘Rejoice with me; I have found my lost sheep.’ I tell you that in the same way there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who do not need to repent.”

Note above how protecting the safe sheep isn’t the focus; the shepherd’s focus is on saving the one at most risk of being harmed.  Could it be that there is more rejoicing in heaven when the ONE isn’t traumatised than of ninety-nine who have recovered from their trauma.

Is this radical?  Yes.  The reversal of the ninety-nine and the one is a standard built for “the least of these,” which is a core Jesus concept.

Now, again, just imagine a person traumatised “in the name of the Lord”—ONE PERSON, let’s say, in one hundred.  Is that acceptable?  That’s the question.

The point of the parable is the ONE matters.  In fact, accepting that parables work in the realm of hyperbole, the one matters to the exclusion of the ninety-nine.

Why?  
Don’t the majority count?  
Isn’t having ninety-nine away from harm’s way enough?  
Surely ninety-nine percent is an incredible, almost unbelievable, success!

Of course, it is!  If we’re working to a worldly standard...

The point Jesus makes in the radical nature of his Kingdom’s teaching is he’s tipping the tables—literally in the case of the Temple—of the world’s justice that religious people think is good enough, especially religious people who don’t want their conquests of power challenged.

Ninety-nine safe isn’t just not good enough, it’s the wrong focus.
While there remains ONE at risk the heart of God is grieved.

This completely upends our thinking.  Isaiah 55:8-9 puts it thus: God’s ways are not our ways, and God’s thoughts are not our thoughts, for as high as the heavens are above the earth, so are God’s ways and thoughts higher than human ways and thoughts.

That the ninety-nine might have been saved by the work of the rehabilitation centre isn’t the point in God’s Kingdom economy.  The ONE who was traumatised whilst in that program is where God’s eye moves to and rests.

People might think, “Well that’s an impossible standard; nobody can achieve that kind of 100/100 perfect record.”  They miss the point.  It’s not about perfection.  It’s about protecting souls from harm.  Souls I might add that entered such a program already harmed.  More than ever was the need for a safe harbour for them to anchor to recover.

Christian organisations deserve to be held to account for harming and not protecting the vulnerable, because there are biblical reasons why it should never happen.  There are principles of lament for sins done, and for confession of those sins, and for repentance of those who harm people.  The object is to restore people, not to add harm upon harm.

Christian work in the world is done on a wing and a prayer.  We do it with the full knowledge that we’ll be judged harshly (read that as ‘justly’) when we slip up.  But imagine an institutional response to abuse that hides or covers up what was done.  Exposures of cover ups reveal evil intent, not just a lapse.  (I’m not saying the rehabilitation centre have done this, by the way.  I’m not in the position to judge.)

It’s just not good enough for Christian organisations to be satisfied with a sloppy worldly approach to matters of justice and harms alleged or done.  Good organisations would not tolerate malevolent performance when their customers complain.  Good organisations have processes in place to deal justly and swiftly with grievances.  Christian organisations should have justice and truth as core values—because they’re biblical—if they truly understand Christ in their midst.

Saving the ninety-nine isn’t enough.  
It isn’t where the focus ought to be.

The focus ought to be on doing no harm in the first place.  And close behind that, the focus ought to be on NEVER being in a situation where a person’s grievance is dismissed or relegated.

Quite plainly, Christian organisations must repent 
when they exhibit cultures of harm.

Does Jesus ever sanction harm as acceptable?  NEVER.  Whenever harm is done, it needs to be accounted for immediately.

If love is to prevail, justice must prevail, because the standard of a Christian’s worship is truth—and not a ninety-nine percent standard.

De-shamifying anger heals it... an example from home

Our nine-year-old son came in through the carport in a hurry recently, exasperated and bordering on tears of frustration because the front brake on his bike had broken and he needed it fixed immediately.  It seemed.  (Well, we all have these crises arise in our lives, even as adults.)

His energy level immediately impacted mine, because I was busy focused on something I felt was important, so instantly I felt robbed.  His need came at just the wrong time for me, though as we know as parents, this happens all the time.

I could see in the moment that my wife was even less able to help than I was.  This too frustrated me, a person whose love language is helping and being helped.

Without even space to grasp at some perspective, I responded to my son’s need in a flash, but I was also triggered by the exasperation that, “Can’t everyone see what a massive inconvenience this is right now?”  And everything in my behaviour made it clear I wasn’t a happy camper; that I’d turned from introspective to incensed in a flash.

I stomped back and forth looking for the one set of pliers that can do the repair, and when they couldn’t be found easily, my stomping and angry muttering got even more intense.  I can only imagine the mix of fear and frustration and disappointment my son experienced because of how I was reacting.

I was so consumed by feelings of being incensed I lost complete awareness of what my being incensed was like for my son, let alone my wife.

It was literally 3-4 minutes of feeling triggered before I could see the little boy inside of me saying, “Hey, what on earth is going on here? Why are you panicking and causing fear in others?  I feel scared of you right now.”  But I didn’t respond to him, because I felt so justified in that moment that I could hardly hear his small and scared voice.

It was interesting to reflect on what was going on inside me at the time of my conniption.

For that 3–4-minute period, I was confused within as if I was operating on autopilot, but nobody was at the helm.  This can be what being triggered is like.  The psychological phenomenon is called amygdala hijack.  There was also a part of me triggered because of the distress my son was experiencing—this rarely happens, but his desperation revealed a desolate little soul in that moment, and that just grieved my spirit.  So part of my overreaction was a really poorly deployed response of compassion for him.

Fortunately as quick as I descended into my overreaction I saw the impact and inappropriateness of my behaviour and I promptly stopped, slowed the moment down, and requested my son’s presence.  We sat on the bathroom floor together and I told him what just happened wasn’t his fault but MY fault.  I said that feeling scared of my anger was understandable, and that I was really sorry.  I promised to behave with more self-control from now on (and quite aptly, my wife and I noticed that night that our son deserved some praise for his self-control).  I watched for the rest of the day how much eye contact my son would give me, because I find that’s the best test of true trust and intimacy—thankfully, he felt justly treated because, in his heart at least, he and I were back to normal.  The way our family works, an apology to our son in this context is as good as an apology as my wife needs.

~

Not long ago I asked my wife in a salient moment of mutual reflection why she puts up with me, and she said in her characteristic wise way, “Well, you know, when you’re good, you’re very good, and that’s mostly the case.”  It was an important moment in our 15-year marriage.  It shone a light on a few things, including my wife’s groundedness, lack of personal baggage, and capacity to forgive, not to mention how fortunate I am.  It certainly invites me to forgive her when I need to.

~

One thing I use in my counselling all the time is the time in my life where I literally believed I’d overcome my anger.  That was for a two-year period when I was growing massively in the spiritual sense.  The good thing about getting married was it wasn’t long before I had a lot of negative feelings to deal with [insert smile!].

Negative feelings are part of life, just as loss brings us to the door of grief.  There’s a good purpose in these negative feelings simply for the fact that they can be overcome when we face them in humility.  Negative things happen in our lives and none of us is perfect.

De-shamifying our anger heals it.  We must discuss it.  We must put it on the table.  We must make it an objective part of us.  We must see that being ashamed of losing control only makes things worse.

That’s precisely why I write this vulnerably.  It’s here to give others license to be real about behaviour that intuits shame and guilt.  We must have a way of reconciling these matters or we stand to repeat the behaviours in damaging violent ways.