the man on the stairs

I was driving to work the other morning. Along the way, I pass a Gothic style Catholic cathedral. When I first moved here the churches fascinated me, gone were the simple clean lines of the little NC Baptist and Methodist churches on every other corner that all look the same.  In each little neighborhood of my city there is a prominent church, most of them are Catholic although there are some lovely Protestant ones as well. Each has its own style, culture and heritage. They are nearly gaudy with their buttresses, carvings and stain glassed windows. Reminiscent of a time in our history where each neighborhood would have have been a village, often of immigrants transplanted from the old world to the new. They built their new village as a piece of old world culture and design in the wilds of a new territory. Perhaps the church would have been the center of comings and goings, many had schools attached to them  Now several of the churches have FOR SALE signs on them, although some are still active they are hardly full and most of time when I drive past them they are silent as statues.  The steeples blend into the strange hybrid of Old city, when she was what Longfellow called the Queen of the West, a cultural and commercial center at the turn of the century and NEW city with modern high rises,  Billboard ADs and homeless people. I admit half the time I don’t even notice the churches anymore.

In the tendrils of early morning sunshine, a few neighborhoods down the road toward work, in front of the large cathedral, there kneeling on the stone steps was an elderly African American man praying. He was dressed all in blue, it looked like a uniform, perhaps even the navy uniforms of the hospital janitors.  I stopped at the stop light and couldn’t help watching.  I wondered what brought him so early to the steps of this massive church, I wondered why he did not go inside?  Was it closed? Did he not feel well dressed? Did he feel he would not be welcomed inside? Was there not a service till later and he had to go to work just like I did? Was it because it was holy week?  Suddenly, he crossed himself repeatably, great emotion filled his face. Was it because he had some great supplication for God? Was someone ill, dying or in peril? Had he done something he was ashamed of, was he begging for forgiveness? Was this his confession? Or maybe they were tears of joy? Was he overwhelmed by the presence of God?

I felt embarrassed like I was spying on someone private conversation like when you walk into an exam room and your colleague has just told Ms. Jones their child has leukemia and you just needed an otoscope tip. I wondered about my fellow drivers around me, commuting downtown to work, what did they see? What did they think? Did they notice this Man crying his heart out on the stairs?

What about the people inside? Where were the priests? Where were the nuns who taught at the school next store? Were the children inside looking out their windows at the man on the stairs?  Were they wiser than me, knowing not to intrude on this man’s pleading?

In Eastern Europe, the gates and stairs of the Orthodox Churches were filled with beggars, elderly people and disabled people who begged for money of the priest and the church goes.  I remember in one of my bitter moments of frustration with the culture, the lack of care of the forgotten children who would be baptized but never cared for by the churches, I felt far more comfortable on the stairs then inside.  I arrogantly thought Jesus would too.  I thought to myself now years later, that I was right Jesus was with the beggars, the prostitutes on the stairs and the unwanted more than the religious authorities. I knew even that Jesus and later the apostles had interacted with the beggars at the Temple’s gates. What I lacked at 19 yo was the insight into the people that lived on the steps of my church. The fact there was many in America who because of their heritage, the color of their skin, their language, their sexual orientation, their bank account, their addiction, etc, etc were not welcome either because of stigma, hypocrisy or fear in our sacred spaces.  God welcomed them but we do not.

Even more, I lacked the understanding that we all belong on the stairs of heaven, none of us measure up not due to our social classification but because of our selfishness.. All of us should be sobbing amongst our transgressions and the ugliness of our hearts on the stairs.  Holy week is a celebration of grace. Jesus welcomes us through his loving self-sacrifice inside the gates.  Jesus came down the stairs to invite us but he also still sits there.  He is there on the stairs and when we invite the others on the stairs to share in his grace and compassion, we invite him to be among us.

I prayed a short prayer at the red light for the man on the stairs. A prayer of gratitude for his example, for his courage and for grace, for our shared celebration of Holy Week that I knew I would remember far more than the third refrain of the UP FROM THE GRAVE HE AROSE on Easter Sunday. I prayed that Christ would sit with him on the stairs and meet him in the heart of whatever his circumstance. And that he would sit on the stairs with me, as I confessed my unworthiness, my failings and my need for him.

The sorrow may last for the night….but J O Y comes in the morning

Child birth.

Let me tell you its messy for the mom, for the family, for the baby, for the doctor, etc. And not just physically messy. I delivered four babies and received about 40-60ish now (the pediatrician who resuscitates the baby in the delivery room or just dries them off depending how messy it all is).

Its painful and sometimes the sorrow in that room from things not going the way we all hoped is bottomless.

Pregnancy is painful.  Parenting is painful.

Believe while I don’t know personally, I live so close to it on a daily basis ,I know.

Last night I went to the woman’s bible study.  Because it was Monday and my Roommate is interviewing and eating grits (for the first time)  in Charleston, SC. She called me and said Amy, how did you ever leave the 60 degrees in Feb, the friendliness and the laid back, sit on your porch and watch the world go by kind of place.?  I told her I have no idea what came over me.  Basically I was homesick and lonely so I went to bible study even after telling myself that a bible study that looked at biblical womanhood in a church that currently loves Mark Driscoll a wee bit too much was a BAD BAD idea for me.

The passage we looked at was 1 Timothy 2, the part where we talk about not braiding our hair, not wearing gold or pearls and that we will be saved through childbearing.  We spent 45 minutes talking about the pain of womanhood from menstruation to labor to motherhood.  Don’t get me wrong, there are times where being a girl is not awesome but there was this sense of shame in the room. Shame about not controlling our emotions, shame about how painful pregnancy, childbirth, etc is.   I finally just came out and said what was flashing in my brain not out of anger but because I just couldn’t bear to watch the other ladies sit there squirming. And because I have worked 95+ hours in the last week and there is no filter anymore, there is just words.

There is no mold of a perfect woman in Christ, its not the secular mold, its not the evangelical mold (gasp).  This should be  liberating not condemning.  My comment actually was not poorly received, the word liberating caused some general discomfort (tragic…read Galatians…please).   Now I will give this church credit while I have never been to the men’s bible study naturally I have heard the sermon excerpts geared toward guys and they are equally hard on men which is a refreshing change in some ways from the norm.  So I don’t think this is one of those “Its all Eve’s fault” kind of things.  Yet I still don’t think most of those ladies left convicted and liberated.  Just convicted and guilty,

The elephant in the room….is when Paul says women will be saved through childbearing, I don’t think he meant the literal practice, I think he was using it as a metaphor. This is especially important because we take the rest of the passage as metaphoric (we still braid our hair and wear jewelery) , I don’t love the lets pick the metaphors out of literal sentence game…either this is a literal passage or its not. Don’t dance around it to the parts you like.

Child bearing results in children and for someone who spends a lot of time with babies….95 hours in the last 7 days.  Babies are complicated and messy and yes they can even bring us pain.  But for the 40-60 mothers who I passed their child to them for the first time….it was pure joy.  A joy that I don’t think happens to men in the same way and I don’t think there are many better pictures of unconditional love.  Being a woman means we have a special understanding of this because we have the capacity to bear children and experience this.So yes we (men too)  are saved through childbearing…through unconditional love, the kind of love that lays down one’s life for one child or one friend.

kind of like Jesus.

Perfect love drives out all fear, drives out sin and pain and brokenness. That’s the gospel.  God has made a curse into something beautiful.

but we didn’t talk about that. and my 95+ hour work brain couldn’t articulate as well I wanted to in the moment.

Confessions, awkward prayers, awakened possibilities

Well I told someone exactly how I feel in terms of being a bad evangelical.

It was not my pastor. It was a kind man about my parents’ age who is also a bad evangelical who runs an intentional community.  I am not quite where he is, in that I am pretty sure he simply sees Jesus as a moral teacher. But I so greatly appreciated his story, his life and his willingness to listen to my story.

He told me that he had built his career as a missionary and now has very little to show for it because now he has evolved into a liberal that is no longer accepted in evangelical circles.  His biggest advice was to not end up that way. It will be different from me as a physician but still very good advice.

Literally 15 mins after that I sat in a strange yellow room on a sofa saying I wanted prayer for the choices I had to make.  Two things were abundantly clear to me in that moment.  This guy who is my pastor really doesn’t know me so well and well as a result its awkward. And then I also realized that while he and I on paper have similar theology, our application of that theology is completely different.  I handed them my reference form and ran to PT.

So I stand in the middle of these two extremes.  And for now that is ok.  The reality is for now I am a liberal evangelical and I am ok with that.

Confessions

I don’t like Mark Driscoll.

I like Rob Bell including his new book. (not that new any more.)

Although I don’t think either of them are heretics or the end all of preachers.

I don’t really love Campus Crusade in fact it makes me cringe.

I don’t like George Bush all that much.

Although I don’t think Obama is the end all and be all.

I think women can be ministers. In fact some of the most influential ministers of my life are women.

I dont hate gay people.

I actually have very little in common with other white middle class 20 year olds who grew up in evangelical homes. Who Knew?

Growing up looking different makes you think different. Living in the lowest caste in society for periods of time (Eastern Europe) makes you realize most of us dont get a lot of choice in the cards we get dealt socioeconomically.   Trying to pretend like this didn’t happen to me is like being in high school and trying to fit in. I just can’t do it anymore.

I am not sure what I was thinking when I moved here and joined my current church but I think I was high on the novelty of a new adventure and didn’t read the fine print.  But now 18 months in, I realize, what the heck was I was thinking?

The timing is insane….I am in the mist of applying to mission agencies.  I need references. But I can’t live the lie any more.

So Monday, I am going to try something different, something very similar to the direction the community in NC I was a part of was going.  Its just dinner.  Near my home with people who like Jesus.  People from all walks of life, I can promise you I will be the only doctor although perhaps not the only disabled person.

And I am hoping that I can be a part of a faith community and have some integrity.

As for my references….Im not sure what to do yet. I am praying about it.

Pray for me.

Evangelical FAIL

The other day we were doing what residents do best. Fantasize about having a better schedule.  Our colleague BOB seemed to have won the jackpot, he had the last two weeks of Dec off and then an extra five days including News Years for a family wedding.

JANE, another colleague says, “I think BOB got that schedule because he had JESUS on his side.”

I laugh and said, well I go to the same church and it didn’t work for me.

JANE and JOAN stare for a moment.

JANE says, “I didn’t know you were an evangelical”  But she said it in such a way that it was like I didn’t know you smoked or I didn’t know you throw rocks at puppies on the weekends…..

“UM, well yeah….maybe a bit more laid back.” I flounder wanting desperately to explain I didn’t love BUSH, Im a pacifist, I haven’t bombed any abortion clinics, I watch trashy TV sometimes, I read Harry Potter and yes in my less thoughtful moments I use off color words I learned from my naval heritage.

JANE smiles, “Yeah, well I love Bob, I was just joking around.”

Then one of us got paged.

….two weeks latter….

Two weeks later I am out with GABI who I have been friends with for a while but whom I find myself having a series of deep and more personal conversations with.  GABI tells me she is something akin to gnostic. She impressed I know what that means and we start talking world religions. I am holding my own.  Then she comes right out and says it:

“So you love Jesus? You’re a Christian?”

I explain that in all my studies what impressed me the most was the incarnation that God would come down and live as we do to provide a vehicle to get us out of a spiritual life the equivalent of a TO DO LIST which we could never complete  and that its all about the relationship with GOD that we can have through knowing and believing in Christ.

This question was easy.

It was the series of next questions that I found myself sweating a bit.

“So how do you feel about missionaries?” (which is a big question if you look at historically and currently) (or as I like to say do you mean in the JOSEPH CONRAD’s HEART OF DARKNESS sense?)

I start with HEART OF DARKNESS and colonialism and move on down to my own experiences. I end with saying what I believe in the context of a relationship is quite different than the HEART OF DARKNESS sense.  She nods and talks about how Church NGOs do a lot of good.

“So do you think, Christianity is the only path to heaven? DO you believe in a literal hell?”

(these are loaded questions: If the answer is YES and YES you are condemning 5 billion humans on earth today to hell).

I believe in Christ (note that I separate Christ and the gospel from Christianity which is a human construct) is the truth and the path. However, I don’t really know how it all works out.  Only God truly knows people’s hearts and knowledge.   As for Hell, Milton and Dante seem to know a lot more about it than I do because other than a parable or two in the Gospels and some heavily loaded metaphor in Revelation, Hell is not described in detail in scripture.  I know it will be separate from GOD which sounds terrible but in the spiritual sense not so much the physical sense.

At this point, GABI who is also a physician interrupts me and says “When I think of Hell, I think of homeless schizophrenics at war with their selves and living cast off from any sense of human contact.”

I nod, who knows, maybe HELL is like that.  I continue…

As for who goes to whatever it is, well again GOD only knows.   The party line Billy Graham crusade answer is that its a punch ticket kind of thing, you go through the right prayer, life style change or whatnot and you get the right ticket punch. Over the millennium Christians have  made up all kinds of ideas of  loopholes. Babies for example apparently are innocent so if they die, its OK they get to go without a ticket, developmentally disabled people too (a babe in Arms kind of ticket).  These babe in arms kind of tickets are made up, they are not in scripture, we don’t know what happens.  Now, do I honestly believe that God sends babies to Hell?  My understanding of God is somewhat different than that, so NO I don’t believe that. But I don’t how it works.  So do I believe that folks in some dark jungle who never heard about Dante or JESUS go to hell?  My church peers would say that’s on us to some degree for not going as missionaries.  Do I think God will send them to hell?  Again I do not know.  I don’t know what that looks like.  I also don’t know exactly what will happen to all the people pre-Jesus. I don’t know.  SO do I believe people, go to hell, YES but I don’t know who or where or what exactly it is.

As for Heaven, some believe the Kingdom of God will come to earth over time as we build it, some believe we will go to it.  I think the former is ambitious and maybe a bit impossible but I think the Gospels are pretty clear about trying anyway. While I am interested in hell, I am far more interested in what we do now to mirror heaven and spread its seeds in the mud and mire of the hellish elements of now.

I explain as well that while I believe in things absolutely, I live with mystery in my faith, of unanswered questions and gratitude to a GOD who is big enough to be mysterious to my human mind. I live with unanswered questions, with faith and I am OK with that.

My friend seems impressed.   We drank our tea and then we go home.  I think she expected me to start reading Romans out loud and pray the sinner’s prayer and give her a tract.  Because I am evangelical, right?

As I go home that night, I think what would my friends from church say if they listened to this conversation? What would BOB say? What would they say if they heard me admit that I don’t have all the answers?  Would they have done the same?  Some would have, but I think most would have stayed within safety of the party line where we have the answers.  I think they would think that I lost my religion.

Am I failed evangelical?  Have  I gone native in all my intellectual quests of reading the Koran, the Mormons, the Buddhists, the Baptists, the Skeptics and the Gnostics, dissecting the layers of culture, history, human creativity from the raw text, from what we call religion?  Do I believe in nothing because I “tolerate” and analyze everything?

NO.

I do believe in something, actually its quite akin to what I believed when I told my parents I wanted to be baptized when I was five before I knew about all of the other stuff we tacked on to the truth.  I believe in the love of a GOD who would love me even though I hit my sisters Emily and Tori every day and some times wish I could go back to being three when I was an only child.  A GOD who created the trees, the deer behind our house that left footprints in the snow, my cat, the moon, the stars Daddy taught me the names of, a GOD who created an elaborate plan to love me  me despite the my wrongs. The plan included sending someone he loved like I loved my parents and my paternal grandparents (and mostly Emily and Tori), a piece of himself who suffered through annoying little siblings and stuff and in the end died pretty awfully  and somehow in something that seemed at the time a lot like magic came back alive to get the rest of us before he went ON so we could all still be friends with God.

GABI says her husband and I have little girl and boy souls, we still believe the same as we did when we were children.

I would say that’s actually quite biblical and I am OK with that.

What has changed somewhere between church camp and now  is that the religious brainwashing has melted gradually over the Serengeti grasses, my ferocious appetite for books and reading, the wails of orphaned, neglected Romanian babies, long nights of organic chemistry followed by ethics and human rights essays in college and blood dripping off my gloves, sweat and tears running down my face as I beat on a child’s chest trying to save their life, I lost my religion.

And found JESUS.