My Heart Breaks for Greta Thunberg

We've all seen her this week. The young woman, a girl really, who is passionately fighting climate change. Many have praised her for her vision and courage. Others have criticized her for taking a place that she is not yet experienced enough to have earned. Those who have given her that pedestal, everyone from world leaders to her own parents, have perhaps in equal parts received both accolades and derision. The only thing this makes me feel is sadness.

I'm not writing this to make any sort of statement about climate change. (Can we all just agree to take better care of our planet?) I'm writing this because my heart hurts for this young woman. Many have noted that Greta has Asperger's Syndrome and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, as well as Selective Mutism. When I read that, it was the OCD that jumped off the page at me. As someone who has struggled with severe OCD, I know that there is a lot of misunderstanding about what this disorder actually is. It doesn't mean you are "particular" about certain things. It doesn't mean that you like to organize closets or straighten picture frames. And it isn't a funny little quirk.

The National Institute of Mental Health describes OCD as a "chronic and long-lasting disorder in which a person has uncontrollable, reoccurring thoughts (obsessions) and behaviors (compulsions) that he or she feels the urge to repeat over and over." Generally, these obsessions are fear-based, and Greta seems to be driven greatly by fear. 

I can't imagine what it would have been like if, in the midst of the irrational thoughts being driven by my OCD, there was no one to come alongside me and gently say, "It's not really as bad as all that. It's going to be okay." I needed that assurance. I needed to be tethered to reality. To be trapped in my own uncontrollable and unending fear-cycle with no one to speak peace or hope into my heart sounds like a living Hell. My heart breaks for Greta.

Her words to world leaders in Davos speak volumes. I want you to panic. I want you to feel the fear I feel every day. I had those days too, Greta. I wanted people around me to recognize and understand what I was feeling. On one level, I believed that if others acknowledged my fears, if they felt what I felt, I would feel less alone, less (dare I use the word) crazy. But at the same time, that was not what I needed. I needed people to come by my side and speak life and love to me -- to NOT agree with my panicked, fear-wrought thoughts of disaster and death. I would never have wanted to be thrust onto a pedestal in the midst of my illness, and I have a hard time seeing how this can be healing for Greta.

Oh Greta, I feel your pain. I really do. How it eats you from the inside out. How it compels you to act. How it leaves you feeling trapped. And I want you to know freedom. 

But more fear is not what the world needs -- and it's not what will heal you either, Greta. The world is a mess in so many ways, but fear can never be the answer. We need to dig deeper and find the hope that we carry within; and yes, I know that you've said you don't want our hope. But that's no way to live. The human heart withers when bound by fear. We need to receive and lavishly spread the one thing that is life-giving. There is no substitute for LOVE. It is the thing that gives hope. And I pray, Greta, that you would experience the perfect love that casts out fear. May your heart and mind be free.

An Invitation to Fullness

Beautiful friend,

Do you feel empty? Are you lonely? Have you experienced loss? Are you walking through grief? Do you feel like something is missing, but you don't know what? Does the inside of you ache for more?

Every one of us can answer yes to at least one of these questions at some point in our lives. It's part of being human. We can't avoid pain and heartache. But we also don't have to face it alone. Today my heart aches for you to know that emptiness is never God's will for us.

Just months before I became a Christian, I sat in my dorm room window staring out into a rainy night at the lights of a Walgreen's parking lot. I felt completely empty. Cold. Just weeks into my freshman year, I'd contracted an unusually severe case of mono which had left me sliding in and out of consciousness in a hospital room just off campus. No one knew I was there. I was 18, so the hospital did not bother to notify my parents for several days. Following my hospitalization, I spent a month at home recuperating. Upon returning to school, I felt completely alone. Campus life had gone on without me. My new sorority had held dances, overnights, and other bonding events. I had missed out. I had no real connections with anyone. What was I even doing there? I certainly didn't know a god who could meet my needs. How many of us have had those moments? And maybe it's a lot longer than a moment.

This morning as I sat on my patio reading and journaling, I was struck by the number of times the word fullness is found in scripture. When I suddenly notice a particular word jumping out at me, I know it's time to stop and ponder its significance.

As I dug further, Ephesians 1:23 really grabbed me. Paul refers to the Church as the fullness of him who fills everything in every way. Well, my experience of the Body of Christ hasn't always felt like this. At its worst, it felt like a bunch of empty, hurting people puffing themselves up by sucking the life out of everyone around them. Not surprisingly, this left me unengaged and licking my numerous wounds. Maybe this has been your experience. Maybe you ran away from the Church because the very people who were supposed to love you were the same ones who kicked you in the teeth. Who could blame you for running away? Who could blame you for feeling empty and let down? Your experience inside the Church shouldn't leave you feeling like I did sitting in that dorm room window -- cold and alone.

And yet, as part of the Body of Christ, we are supposed to experience fullness. The problem is that the Church so rarely embodies the love that is God himself. Many of us who cut ourselves off from the Church also cut ourselves off from God. We may find ourselves asking how good God could actually be if the people who supposedly follow him are a bunch of creeps. But friend, don't let the failures of other humans be the reason for removing yourself from the One who is love, the One who wants to fill you.

God calls us to live in community -- and He himself IS community -- Father, Son, Holy Spirit. His is a community of perfect love and fullness, and it is this community into which we are called. This is the place from which we are to live. The more we live from this place, the more we are able to carry this love to those around us -- to expand this community of love right here on earth. When we are full, others benefit from the overflow. We get to be a vessel of his love, filling those around us. And this is what the Church should look like -- a place where the empty can come to be filled.

You see, we love because he first loved us. (1 John 4:19)  If we don't allow ourselves to be filled with his love, we can't possibly love others well. So much of the Church doesn't know it is loved! So many Christians are stuck at the cross, digging their heels in and refusing to step into resurrection. Friends, the cross is the place where we leave our sins, our burdens, our garbage. We aren't meant to stay there wallowing in our own filth. We are meant to leave all the junk behind so that we can be filled. Filled with love, from which flows joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, and self-control.

Maybe you belong to a church where this is a reality. I rejoice with you! If not, I encourage you to let God be the one to fill you and then carry that love back into your hurting church. Bring forgiveness and hope. Bring encouragement and humility. When you feel empty or dry, go right back to your heavenly Father and ask for more. He is always willing for you to be full. This is the only way to see a Church that is healed and whole. And the hurting world very much needs a healed Church right now.

Will you accept the invitation?


Photo credit: Fred Moon