The Accidental Anglican

Where have all the "mean" Christians gone?

You know, the next time some smart-aleck syndicated columnist writes about how "mean" we Christians are, I'm going to send the little twerp a copy of this article from the 12/21/05 edition of USA Today.

While a number of both secular and faith-based non-profits are mentioned in this article about post-Katrina relief efforts, it's the Mennonite volunteers in New Orleans who become the focal point of the piece. These people are busy gutting houses and clearing out debris for the elderly, the poor, the handicapped - people who otherwise wouldn't be able to save their homes. They're doing the dirtiest, most thankless work imaginable ... all in the name of Christ.

The article discusses, at length (we're talking 50+ column inches here), not just what they're doing, but why they're doing it:

King [the executive director of Mennonite Disaster Services] insisted they discuss a disturbing question: Should they commit tens of thousands of dollars to a community that might not survive the next storm? ...

But as they sat around a table in a small, second-floor conference room at an Hispanic church, he and the directors kept thinking about the desolation they'd seen in Gentilly and the 9th Ward. The sitaution was desperate - so desperate they decided in the end that they should stay.

"We have to do something," King says. "People here are desperate for hope, so we'll take a risk with them and walk with them."

And they'll walk with these residents of New Orleans for at least the next two years, bringing in work teams from all over North America every week.

They're not alone, of course. Southern Baptists have fed millions with portable soup kitchens and helped clear debris all along the Gulf Coast. United Methodists are working as case managers onsite to help track local needs, in addition to their ongoing relief efforts around the globe. In my own denomination, Episcopal Relief & Development has approved a long-term plan for ongoing support for Katrina victims.

Those are just ones I'm personally familiar with.  An exhaustive list would be nearly impossible.

Are these the actions of people who are "mean" and "hateful" at heart? I don't think so.

"I hate when that happens"

I love sermons - when they're talking about somebody else's sins.

I don't like 'em so much when they talk about mine.

Today's divine appointment is courtesy of my tardiness.  (I hate being late.  I'm never late.  Although I do cut it a little close sometimes ...)  I walked into my usual 9:00 service at about 8:58, only to find no room in the sanctuary.  Okay, fine, I thought.  I can go someplace else.

So I did.  I hung out for a while waiting for the 10:30 service at another church, then walked into a mostly empty sanctuary and sat down.  I was so unnerved by my displacement I forgot to kneel and pray, but eventually I settled down.

Service starts.  Processional, check.  Opening responsive reading for lighting of Advent candles, no check.  (Which part of "turn to the first page of your bulletin" did I not get?  What, did my IQ drop 40 points when I walked in?)  Opening acclamation, Scripture readings, hymns, check, check, check.  All proceeds according to the order of service.

Then the guy in the purple hanging-around-the-neck thingee gets up and starts talking.  Something about how Mary's initial response to the Annunciation is a lot like our initial response to seemingly impossible circumstances.  "Nope, nope, can't be done.  Uhn-uh.  No way."

But the story takes a turn when the angel answers her objection: "With God, all things are possible."  Oh, how nice.  I can see where this is going.

We step through the usual scenarios.  Impossible relationships?  Possible with God.  Impossible finances?  Possible with God.  All things.  Okay.  We get it.  I make a mental note to apply these little gems to my life as soon as I get home.

Sermon ends.  "The peace of the Lord be always with you," says the priest.  "And also with you," we respond.  And as I turn to greet the person directly behind me, I'm face-to-face with ... an enemy.

Okay, "enemy" is a little over-the-top.  But this is someone I've not been on speaking terms with for a while.  It's not that I hate the guy.  He's too benign for that.  It's just that, given the history behind the relationship (WAY too much for me to go into here), it's easier to pretend he doesn't exist.

Oh, but he does.  And he's standing there, waiting.  In shock, I extend my hand and grasp his.  "Good morning," I say with a bit too much enthusiasm.  And I move on to greet the next person in the row.  I just want it to be over with.

A new, horrifying thought occurs to me: it's time for Communion.  Isn't the Passing of the Peace supposed to be a preparation for Communion?  As in, don't come to the Lord's Table unless you're on good terms with your fellow man?

But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup.

For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body.

For this cause many are weak and sickly among you, and many sleep.

(I Corinthians 28-30, KJV) 

I've got about two minutes to figure this thing out.  Am I going up or not?

Have I forgiven him?  Well ... I think I have.  Not that I condone what he did.  It was stupid and despicable at the time, and it still is.  And the sight of him does make me uncomfortable, knowing how he hurt someone I loved.

But is that the same as being "unforgiving?"  I've heard it said that forgiving someone doesn't mean you excuse what that person did, but it does mean you let go of your need for payback.  Do I pass that test?  I think so.  At one point, I would have enjoyed nothing more than trashing this man's reputation.  (Thank God, I resisted the temptation.)  Now ... no.  But what about this lingering discomfort?

This whole "what forgiveness looks like in practical terms" thing starts making my head hurt.  I begin to think I'm never going to get it.  It's not the first time I've pondered it vis-a-vis this relationship, and I still don't feel settled about it.

But what was that about "impossible?"