The Love of Systems

Jesus Christ did not die for our systems; he died for broken human beings who he longs to make whole so they bear his likeness. - Diane Langberg in When the Church Harms God's People

We humans love our systems. And systems can be good and necessary. But any system, even a system set up to do good and even holy things, can, over time become a distorted and even hideous version of what it set out to be. And then there are some systems, we discover in our horror, that have some pretty crappy roots to begin with.

We humans love our systems. They bring us a sense of order. If we make our way up the ladder, our systems bring us a sense of pride and accomplishment. They give us a purpose. They make statements and if we agree with those statements we feel like we belong. And if we agree with those statements then we are 'right' and those who don't agree are 'wrong.'

Our world needs order and systems bring that order into being. It is only natural that we look to those systems to make our churches function. It is only natural that we look to those systems to link arms with those who share our beliefs and then figure out how to govern churches and their members.

But we have a problem when the system itself is king. We have a problem when the system no longer looks out for the best interest of those within it. We have a problem when the system no longer looks like Jesus.

Part of my spiritual journey over the past 10 years has been grappling with the failure of these systems. I've been in three different churches in three different denominations and in all three I saw the system, the agenda, the 'way we do things' bring unspeakable harm to the humans seeking fellowship and a shepherd. And in all three situations I tried to seek some level of accountability and in all three situations was met with silence. (Maybe I'm the wrong gender to get the job done.)

I don't know what to do with this.

People say to me 'no church is perfect' and 'we're all sinners, after all' and things like that. And to that I will say that that is no excuse for harming those within your care and often harming them IN THE NAME OF GOD.

So it was with great relief that I read Langberg's words this morning. It isn't just me. She, perhaps that woman I respect more than any other, she sees it, too. And she is calling it out.

When we pledge our loyalty to any person or any system we are in danger of running roughshod over another human being created in the image of God. And there is nothing like Jesus about that.

Lean In

I have tried, for the most part, to avoid political posting on Facebook. I have friends across the spectrum. I am not one to debate or argue. But there does come a time to speak.

This election came at a hard time anyway. Or perhaps it was an easier time. After all, I was already in disaster mode.

This is the second major disaster I have experienced in 6 weeks time. I live in Swannanoa, NC, one of the epicenters of destruction from Hurricane Helene. My life and my family and my community and my livelihood have all been significantly impacted. I was just starting to come out of the post-disaster fog when came the election.

I will be totally honest here. I do not want to endanger my relationship with those who voted differently, but the reality is that I'm horrified. I am so afraid for what this means for the dignity and safety of women, the Black community, the LGBTQ population, and immigrants. I am afraid for what this means for healthcare. I am afraid for what this means for the freedom to disagree with power without consequences. I know this means that this could be the end of our country as we know it.

And yet, as I have seen with a natural disaster and I am experiencing yet again with the horror of this election, communal trauma is so different from personal trauma. In a disaster, the entire community is experiencing this together. And with this election, you have pretty much half the country in collective horror over the results.

That "me, too" is so key.

I believe the isolating factor of abuse is by far the most painful. This is why the "don't talk" rule within churches is damaging. And think of the Adverse Childhood Experiences (look up ACE score). These are all personal. They are often secret. And they are all coated in shame. The child is powerless and alone.

Powerless and alone. This is the essence of trauma.

Here we are with a disaster. A national disaster. A disaster for women. For the LGBTQ community. For the Black community and people of all colors other than white. For immigrants.

We may feel powerless. We may BE powerless. But we are not alone. We are in this disaster TOGETHER. And we must stick together.

A part of me wants to give into fear and run down the rabbit trail of the worst case scenarios (and I have a very good Worst Case Scenario generator in my head). But another part of me knows that there is way too much work to do.

A few days ago I wrote a post about my need to not look away from the destruction in my community. After that, a friend shared a phrase she heard. "We can look away or we can lean in."

Let us take some time to grieve. But then we have a job to do. We need to, we must, lean in.

We lean in and listen to those who are afraid.

We lean in and defend those who are oppressed.

We lean in and offer light and hope to those flattened by despair.

We lean in and include those who are cast out.

We lean in and treat with dignity those who are marginalized.

We lean in and speak words of truth and courage in the face of tyranny.

We lean in and love in a country being led by hate.

We lean in and make friends and neighbors of those who are called the enemy.

Come on, people, we've got work to do.

We lean in and do justice.

We lean in and love mercy.

We lean in and walk humbly with our God.

(Micah 6:8)