Got Oxygen?

I recently came home from Madagascar, and as often happens on these trips, I arrived home with a lovely bug. I rarely get stomach ailments, but respiratory stuff is my Achilles heel, and this trip was no exception. I'd started the trip on the tail end of a throat infection for which I'd been taking antibiotics, but it seemed like I never really got over it. I pushed through the trip with a backpack full of Advil and cough drops; but poor air quality, little rest, and the onset of a cold left me feeling like, well...where's the poop emoji when you need it?

I spent all of last week trying my darnedest to get well, but there's only so much Throat Coat tea you can consume before you need to suck it up and go back to the doctor. So Friday morning, I reluctantly dragged myself over to the doctor hoping I wasn't wasting her time.

I've been asthmatic my whole life but really have not had any serious breathing issues for the last several years. And praise God for that! Nevertheless, I know what an asthma attack feels like, and I generally know when I need to go to the emergency room. So I was kind of stunned when the nurse stuck the pulse ox monitor on my finger and it showed that my oxygen saturation looked more like that of a lifelong coal miner. The nurse and I both looked at the screen with our heads cocked to one side and uttered a collective hmmm.

The doctor listened to my lungs and confirmed that my infection was aggravating my asthma, so I left the office with another round of antibiotics and some good old steroids. Now, nothing about this scenario was new for me except that this time I had absolutely no idea how sick I was. How on earth did I not know that I was getting about the same amount of oxygen as someone on a high altitude hike? Well, that would certainly explain something about my energy level.

Friends, how often in our spiritual lives are we getting by on so much less than we really need? We tell ourselves we're fine, that we just need to tough it out, and we continue to walk through each day feeling tired and depleted and maybe more than a little grumpy. We don't even realize that we're not really breathing, at least not freely. We get used to functioning on so much less than what is available to us. Living on less becomes normal. But this is not the way it's supposed to be.

My friend Niki Hardy has a new book aptly titled Breathe Again coming out in August. I had the opportunity to read an advance copy, and it's a wonderful read. It made me wonder how many of us feel like we can't catch a breath -- like life has knocked the wind out of us and we just can't recover. I know I've been there, and not just with the way I'm feeling physically right now. Let's be honest. Life can suck sometimes. And sometimes there is absolutely nothing we can do to make our circumstances any better. But even in the midst of pain and struggle, there is a source of life-giving breath -- the spiritual oxygen we need.

God isn't waiting for you to toughen up and sort things out. He never told anyone to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps. He gets no pleasure from seeing you struggle day after day. He isn't like that. Let me say that again -- he is NOT like that. If your day finds you lying on the kitchen floor literally begging for mercy and asking where God is, that's okay. He's happy to meet you right there on the kitchen floor. How do I know? Because I've been there. Several years ago, in the midst of chronic illness, I finally reached a place where I couldn't hold on with my own strength. I was suffocating under fear and anxiety. But when I let go, I discovered that God was right there to catch me, to breathe life back into me. It didn't make the pain instantly disappear, but it allowed me to look up -- to look at the one who sustains me, to draw my strength from him. He is the one who gives "life and breath and everything else" (Acts 17:25), so thinking I was going to sort things out through my own positive thinking or strong will was inevitably going to fail.

If you're feeling depleted and defeated, let me encourage you. There is one who wants to breathe life back into you, to give you oxygen. There is one who doesn't want you to walk this path alone. There is one who calls you to look up.

There's been one song stuck in my head all week, and it's a great one. Lauren Daigle's "Look Up Child" has such a great message, so as far as earworms go, I'll take it. But have you heard the poem that was inspired by the song, written by Channell Warren at Folsom Prison? I hope this encourages you to look up today.

Lauren Daigle - Folsom Prison (02.24.19)

Expecting the Unexpected

Yesterday our family visited a church community in Sakaraha, Madagascar, with whom we have developed a special relationship over the past seven years. My husband was given the opportunity to preach, and perhaps because he was a little surprised to be preaching that morning, he talked about how with God we can expect the unexpected. 

It got me thinking about how I deal with the unexpected and what sort of expectations I have for God to act. What about you? Do unexpected events or schedule changes throw you for a loop? Do you stress over the what ifs of life?

The more time we’ve spent in the mission field, the more I’ve learned to roll with the unexpected. I remember my high school French teacher saying, “Travel, even at its best, is always a hassle.” I love to travel, but these are wise words to keep in mind. I find them to be especially true in the developing world where there always seems to be a curve ball coming your way. There are times when I still don’t handle sudden change as well as I’d like, but I’ve learned that some apparent misfortunes can actually be blessings, if we’re willing to see them.

A few years ago, we were scheduled to fly from the capital of Madagascar for ten days of ministry in the southwestern city of Toliara. We love our visits to the south and were looking forward to reuniting with friends and visiting our favorite pizza place. I know, nobody thinks of pizza when they think of Madagascar, but seriously, this place is the BEST. And did I mention the gelato?  But I digress. 

A few days before our scheduled flight, Air Madagascar went on strike. Nobody knew how long the strike would last, but we needed to quickly come up with Plan B. When it became clear that there was a solid zero percent chance our flight would actually depart, we prayed and took a leap of faith. We booked a car and driver and began a three day journey south, through the heart of Madagascar. We knew people who had done the trip. We had heard stories of adventure and peril but weren’t quite sure what to realistically expect. 

Could we trust our driver to find us safe food along the route? (I’m pretty adventurous, but typhoid fever is not high on my list of things I want to experience.) Where on earth would we be sleeping? Would Air Madagascar, affectionately referred to as Air Maybe, be able to bring us home or ever give us our money back? Well, we’d find out one way or another.

The long trip south, along with the high probability that we would have to make the same journey back, cut significantly into the time we had planned to be in Toliara. We were somewhat frustrated and disappointed, but we focused on the excitement of the unknown.

Crammed into the backseat with two teenagers on a twisty, washboard of a road, I was sure my back would never be the same again. As we crossed bridges that appeared less than structurally sound, we joked about what the headlines in our local paper would read after our car plummeted into a rice paddy. (Yes, everyone in our family shares a somewhat dark sense of humor.) We also listened  to U2, lots of U2.

Eventually, we arrived unscathed at our destination. We’d lost a few days in Toliara, but we had gained so much on the journey. We saw parts of the country we never imagined we would have the opportunity to see. Every mountain pass provided a new breathtaking vista. We caught glimpses of the quotidian rhythm of dozens of Malagasy villages. We even saw a couple funeral processions, which in Madagascar are boisterous celebrations.

As the airline strike continued, and we realized we would need to make the same trip in reverse, we actually looked forward to it. We wished we could take more unexpected detours. The journey had developed in us a deeper love for this amazing country and her hospitable people. God had transformed an annoying turn of events into something beautiful.

Certainly, there are unexpected events that nobody welcomes. A diagnosis of cancer, a tragic car accident, the loss of a job, or the discovery of marital infidelity will turn anyone’s world upside down. But even in these moments, we can live with expectation for God to intervene with hope, healing and comfort. And it is often through the worst unexpected events that God’s hope shines the brightest. 

His ability to intervene in unexpected ways can instantly shatter darkness and bring about resurrection, both literal and figurative. Just think of Lazarus. Nobody, least of all his sisters, expected his illness to result in death followed by a literal resurrection four days later. I promise you they never saw that coming. But WOW! Can you imagine?

Our God is full of surprises. He loves to intervene in unexpected ways. And no, it probably won’t look anything like what you imagined. The journey may require patience, perseverance and courage. It may find you asking some really hard questions and wondering if you’ll ever reach the end of the road, or at least an oasis along the way.

But what if our faith in God’s ability to do the unexpected was greater than our fear of the unknown? What if, when faced with frustrating or disheartening challenges, we waited in eager expectation for God to act. What if we knew that his love for us  actually leaves no room for fear? Friends, that begins to look a whole lot like freedom!

Why I'm Done with Principles

Is it just me or does it seem like everyone wants to be told how to live? We want principles for everything. We want the best how-to advice money can buy. We devour books with titles like 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and 30 Life Principles. There are countless bestsellers that instruct us on how to live our best lives, be our best selves. We are told that we need to have zeal and passion. We need to eat right, pray more, work more efficiently, take our fitness to the next level, practice mindfulness, raise amazing kids, reduce our carbon footprint AND declutter our homes. (Forgive me if I just rolled my eyes.) The list of things we “must” do is never-ending. Many of these well-meaning books are directed at a Christian audience, and I’m sure some of them contain nuggets of wisdom that have been a catalyst for life improvement.

But I’ve come to a place in my life where I’m done with self-help principles. You see, I’ve spent most of my life living from my head. I’ve always wanted to “get it right” and have it all figured out. Self-help books are great for that. But the problem is that I no longer want to “figure it out." I’ve spent far too much energy making sure I’ve checked all the right boxes to be a good mom, a good wife, a good Christian. But following Jesus has absolutely nothing to do with checking boxes. He doesn’t ask us to have it all figured out, and our mental assent is not really what he’s after. He's after our hearts. Period.

Sure, our thoughts matter. Dwelling on the negative is never a helpful practice. Scripture tells us "whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things." (Philippians 4:8) Of course, I agree. But in my experience, my thoughts are something over which I have very little control. One moment I can be patting myself on the back for cooking a dinner that everyone in the house will eat (Now that is an accomplishment. Am I right?) and the next moment I’m beating myself up for forgetting to schedule my kids’ physicals and there are no appointments available for six months. Have you been there? Bad mom accusations are particularly easy to hurl at ourselves.

But a good parent, citizen, spouse, friend, teacher, chef, rocket scientist...(fill in the blank) should be more organized, supportive, assertive, creative, badass, awake...(fill in the blank). Blech! I’m never going to be perfect, and neither are you. But I AM enough...and so are you!

So how are we supposed to live? Humor helps. And so does love. When we become secure in our identity as beloved children of God, so much of that other junk begins to fall away. Do you think God is really judging you because you got frustrated with your kids and ate an entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s? Nope. We may need to ask for forgiveness when our frustration boils over toward our loved ones, but God’s grace is a lot bigger than our weaknesses. And if God doesn’t judge us in the messiness of life, we shouldn’t judge ourselves either.

God knows I’ve tried...to be the best. The best student, musician, employee, writer, boss, event planner, mom...and on and on. All I ended up with was an obsessive compulsive disorder. No joke! And living by someone’s helpful principles didn’t help me escape from that living hell.

Let me set the record straight. No amount of striving is ever going to bring you peace. You can’t fix problems that are rooted in your own heart. But God can! So give yourself a break. Go easy on yourself and go easy on others. Most of us are doing the best we can. Give yourself and those you love space for God to enter into the cracks. Let love come into the dark corners. That’s where change happens. That's where our minds are renewed.

Your worth has nothing to do with your accomplishments. Your true identity is rooted in another who is perfect, and he knows you better than you know yourself. You are completely unique, which is why no blueprint of what solved someone else's problems is ever going to solve all of yours. Only God knows the right path for you. But you have to trust him. The more you let him take hold of you, the more healing you will receive -- the more you will begin to exude his love. And in the meantime, just take a breath. Let your journey be your own. It’s okay to sit in the mess. Love takes time.

What's Love Got to Do with It?

Like many others, I was horrified a couple weeks ago to hear about another synagogue shooting in the US. Anti-Semitism is an age-old evil, but it particularly stuns when you see it so flagrantly acted out. This time the heinous act was perpetrated on the last day of Passover, a celebration of freedom. I will never understand this kind of hate.

What really stuck in my heart about this one is the fact that the alleged gunman is a 19-year-old who considers himself an evangelical Christian. In his manifesto, he wrote, "I did not choose to be a Christian. The Father chose me. The son saved me. And the Spirit keeps me." This sends chills up my spine. How could he believe that and then pick up a gun to murder innocent people? Well, it's not the first time self-described Christians have committed great acts of evil. Sadly, it probably won't be the last. But how did this young man and so many others throughout history get so far off course? How did their hearts become bent toward darkness?

An article in the May 2 issue of RELEVANT Magazine hit me like a lightning bolt. Here's the headline: Alleged Synagogue Shooter Proclaims Christianity, Evangelical Pastors struggle to Understand. It talks about the gunman's "well-educated background in the Presbyterian church" and how anti-Semitism has "no place within our system of doctrine."

Friends, we can sit around and debate ad nauseam the cause of this man's hatred. We can complicate the issue as much as we like, but to me it's simple. What was missing from this man's theological instruction was the substance of love. And I don't just mean knowing Bible verses about love. Head knowledge is not the same as heart understanding. Love is a substance that must be received by the heart.

Teaching and instruction are useful, but they become hollow when they are not connected to genuine love. Without love, any sort of spiritual teaching, no matter how logical or wise, becomes nothing more than a clanging gong. There's a good reason why the Apostle Paul warns us about this in 1 Corinthians 13.

My heart aches for the gunman's family. I can't imagine the pain his parents are experiencing, and it is simply wrong for anyone to cast judgment in that direction. But as a Christian, I feel compelled to say that the Church bears some responsibility.

We have failed to impart love to our young people. We have failed to impart love to those who feel marginalized. We have failed to impart love. Period.

When the Body of Christ is rent by theological discord and passionate disagreement, we often retrench into our doctrine. We assume that anything that goes wrong is related to a lack of good Biblical preaching and teaching. Sure, doctrine matters. But this is rarely the core issue. We need to be cultivating an environment in our churches where love is given and received. The Body of Christ must be a place where hearts are healed and restored. If hate is growing and thriving in our midst, something is desperately broken. We need to look at ourselves and ask these essential questions:  How can we/I love better? What is missing from my own heart?

So where can we find love in this tragic event? Jesus said, Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends (John 15:13). On April 27 at Chabad of Poway Synagogue, Lori Gilbert Kaye did just that. She threw herself in front of a bullet to save her rabbi. She gave her life without hesitation. In that selfless act she became love. May we learn from her example.

Home Is Where His Heart Is

Have you ever been away from home and woken up in the middle of the night with no idea where you are? This happens to me more often than I like to admit. We travel a lot for ministry, so I stay in a  multitude of unfamiliar beds. By the time Memorial Day rolls around, I will have spent nearly three months of 2019 traveling throughout five foreign countries. Sometimes it feels like I don't know where I actually live.

This week, my husband and I arrived in Taupo, New Zealand where we will spend a month diving deeper into God's love with a group of Christians from across the world. Our home for the month is the most adorable tiny house. It's actually a former cricket pavilion that has been renovated to serve as a B&B. I was delighted to move into our little cottage, but it got me thinking about the meaning of home. 

The Oxford English Dictionary defines home as "the place where one lives permanently, especially as a member of a family or household." I've lived in a lot of places. When people ask me where home is, I often hesitate. I grew up in Illinois, so in some way that will always be home. Since getting married at 23, I have lived in three additional states and spent three years in the UK. And especially now, as our ministry takes us to far-flung destinations, I feel like I'm rarely home. But as I ponder the definition of home, another perspective begins to take shape. I am a part of God's family. He is my Father, and I am his daughter. So my permanent home must be where he is. But what does that really mean? It's not like I spend my days chilling out on a celestial sofa.

Jesus talks to us about the meaning of home. In John 14, he tells his disciples:

Do not let your hearts be troubled. You believe in God; believe also in me. My Father's house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I have told you that I am going there to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.

I used to think that passage was simply talking about heaven, but the more I've come to know God as my Father, the more I understand Jesus' words. You see, Jesus is the way to the Father. He longs for us to be home. When we choose to follow Jesus, he makes his home in our hearts and inclines us toward our Father through his love (Ephesians 3:17). Because he and the Father are one, both Jesus and the Father make their home with us (John 14:23).

But it doesn't stop there. He enters our hearts, but we also enter his. It is a mystical union in which we are completely transformed and made whole. It is from this place that we grow and bear fruit. I am the vine, you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit. Apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:5)

Father's love opens the door for us to come home -- to be completely at rest and secure in our relationship with him, to know who we are! It is in his heart that we encounter fellowship like none other. It is here that we join a joyous dance with Father, Son and Holy Spirit. We are never alone. Never forgotten. Never unheard or unseen. In short, we are known, and we are loved. Our true home is in the heart of our Father, and his arms are always open wide to welcome us back when we stray.

Where is your home? Do you ever feel like you're not sure where you belong? Have you longed to encounter a love that never abandons, never condemns, never shames? Are you tired and weary, hanging on by a thread? Jesus has prepared a place for you, and your Father is waiting for you to come home. His love never fails.

Whose feet would Jesus have you wash?

Today is Maundy Thursday. It is the day of Holy Week on which Christians commemorate Jesus celebrating Passover with his disciples, washing their feet, and giving them a "new commandment." The word maundy actually comes from the Latin word mandatum, meaning command. It is during this Passover celebration that Jesus proclaims to his disciples what to me is the very heart of Christianity. A new command I give you: Love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13: 34-35)

After spending a week in Indonesia coaching our beloved squad of 18 young missionaries, my husband and I have the opportunity to celebrate Holy Week in Southeast Asia. We were blessed to spend Palm Sunday at a Kuala Lumpur church that was planted by friends from seminary. We will spend Easter in Singapore with friends we met at a ministry event we hosted in New York only a year ago. It excites me to no end to have amazing friends sharing God's love all over the world.

Not long ago, I could never have imagined visiting Asia, much less having the opportunity to minister here. I'm a travel junkie by nature, but I'd never had much desire to explore Asia. I wasn't sure why, but it just held very little appeal for me. After all, there are plenty of other places on the planet to explore.

This all began to change in late 2017 while attending a ministry event where foot washing was offered. As an Anglican, I'd participated many times in foot washing services on Maundy Thursday. I've always found it to be a beautifully humbling experience. The service in 2017 was not a Maundy Thursday service, but just an opportunity to honor someone by washing their feet or allowing them to wash yours. The act of foot washing also symbolically represents being cleansed by Christ. Eight chairs were placed at the front of the room. Each was paired with a tub of water and towels. The idea was to pray about whether you should take one of the chairs and allow your feet to be washed or wait for someone else whose feet you felt Jesus would want you to wash. So I sat and waited. Slowly, the chairs began to fill. I didn't feel prompted one way or the other.

Eventually, a woman went to the front and sat in one of the chairs, and I instantly knew in my heart that she was the one. At first I wasn't sure why, but I obediently went forward and began washing her feet. As I knelt before her, I began to understand. She was a lovely, older Asian woman. I felt humbled to be honoring her in this way, but I knew God was revealing something in my heart that needed to go. Judgment. You see, when I was a teenager, I was emotionally abused over several years by a music teacher. The teacher happened to be an older Asian woman. Of course, nothing that happened to me had to do with her race, gender, or age; but the pain I experienced caused me to make a judgment against older Asian women. I felt God gently say to me, How can you minister in Asia if you've made a judgment against my daughters there? This was conviction, not condemnation, and I knew the foot washing needed to be an act of repentance. My heart had been hardened by the experience of abuse, and God knew the time was right for my heart to be healed.

Afterwards, what struck me was the phrase 'How can you minister in Asia?' Well, our main region of ministry has been Madagascar (off the coast of Africa), so why was God speaking to me about Asia? I really didn't know. We had no plans to visit Asia, but I tucked the idea into the back of my mind.

It was crazy how quickly things unfolded. Just a few months after my foot washing encounter, my husband and I were approached about a ministry opportunity that would allow us to coach a group of young missionaries as they travel to eleven countries in eleven months. As we took steps in this direction, it was revealed that our route would require us to visit Asia twice, including a three-week training camp in Cambodia! God knew what was coming, and he knew I couldn't go with a hardened heart.

A couple days ago, my husband said he wanted to try one of the many foot massage spas in Kuala Lumpur. I figured my feet could use a break, so I went for it. The man who registered us filled  a couple of beautiful porcelain bowls with warm water and salt. He began to wash my husband's feet, and a woman came in from the next room to wash mine. She bent down and gently scrubbed my feet with her hands. At once, the significance of the moment washed over me. Here I was, in a place I never really wanted to be, having my feet washed by an older Asian woman. And I knew this was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Of course, this woman was washing my feet because I'd simply paid for a foot massage, but it still felt beautiful and profound. I felt love for her. My fear and judgment were gone, and I was loving being in Asia.

So today I ask you: Whose feet would Jesus have you wash? Is there hardness in your heart that he wants to address? Take some time this Holy Week to ponder what it means to step into forgiveness and truly love one another. You may be surprised what he shows you. I know I was!

This post was hijacked by Anne Lamott

So this isn't at all what I intended to write about this week. I was three-quarters of the way done with a very different post about finding truth in paradox when I picked up a copy of Anne Lamott's latest book, Almost Everything, and discovered that her first chapter relates to the same topic. Having posted an Instagram photo of my latte, oatmeal raisin cookie and said book, I was afraid it would look, well...suspicious if I suddenly posted similar thoughts using identical philosophical sources. Not that my little blog has much of a following, but I do still take the idea of plagiarism seriously. Even though I know my thoughts and words are my own, I decided to put them on the back burner for now.

As I sipped my latte and dove into Ms. Lamott's book, simultaneously loving what I was reading and lamenting the fact that I needed to come up with something else to write, a paragraph struck me.

Scientists say we are made of stars, and I believe them, although my upper arms looks like hell. Maybe someday the stars will reabsorb me. Maybe, as fundamentalist Christians have shared with me, I will rot in hell for all eternity, which I would hate because I am very sensitive. Besides, I have known hell, and I have known love. Love is bigger. (Lamott: 2018, p. 32)

Sadly, I'm not surprised that such vitriol has been directed at Ms. Lamott. And I'm glad she can respond with her characteristic blend of humor and truth. She's a controversial figure who pulls no punches.

Let me be upfront. I don't agree with all of Anne Lamott's theology or her politics, but I know that she loves Jesus; and seriously, that woman can write! I was introduced to her books many years ago by an atheist Jewish writer friend. Upon her recommendation, I picked up a copy of Lamott's masterful guide Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life. I laughed. I cried. I even tracked down a first edition to give to my daughter for her high school graduation.

But back to that quote above. For real? What gives any person the right to tell another they will rot in hell? And if you're a Christian saying this to another Christian, I think you need to pick up a mirror and take a look at yourself. That kind of hate can never come from a heart that truly knows a loving God. And Lamott is right -- Love is much bigger than hell.

Here's a little story about a time my husband and I had the opportunity to know what hate feels like. Real hardcore blistering hatred. The year was 2003. The Episcopal Church was in the midst of a seismic battle over the authority of scripture and the election of a homosexual bishop. My husband was the communications director for a church organization on the more conservative end of the spectrum. As we approached the 2003 General Convention, we spent a lot of time in prayer about how God wanted us to interact with our church and its delegates as we stepped into what we knew would be an ugly, painful debate. One night as we sat at our kitchen table, God revealed the image of a daisy. That was it. A simple daisy.

We weren't sure what to do with that. After all, a daisy isn't a political strategy. The more we prayed into it, the more we thought about the daisy as a symbol of peace and love, something that would undoubtedly resonate with the many boomer generation delegates in the church. So instead of launching into convention with arguments and animosity, we put together a series of daily devotions focused on various attributes of God. We called it the "God is" campaign. God is love...peace...hope...joy...mercy...grace...life...justice...truth. We prayed that this would bring unity to our church as we focused on what really matters. Our big event would be the distribution of daisies to delegates and visitors entering the Minneapolis Convention Center for Sunday Eucharist.

When Sunday finally arrived, we gathered our team and buckets of perky white daisies along the walkway leading to the convention center. Our plan was simple. Everyone arriving would be handed a single daisy and told "Jesus loves you." How's that for simple child-like theology? The majority of delegates arriving that morning would probably have described themselves as progressives, similar in theology and political ideology to Ms. Lamott. Some black, some white. Some gay, some straight. Some male, some female. Some that wouldn't fit into those categories.

One by one, we shared the truth of God's love to everyone in our path. As we did so, we began to feel how much God loved each one of these people. We were really enjoying the exchange when something surprising happened. A group of protesters began to gather on the grass mere feet behind us. The group was comprised of men, women and children. They had signs and a megaphone.

As they began to scream in our direction, the hair stood up on the back of my neck. Women who were part of this group were yelling at female clergy, Take off that dog collar, you b!%@h! Mere children were howling, God hates f@gs! and Burn in Hell! You may have already guessed that our unwelcome visitors were members of the Westboro Baptist Church, known for traveling the nation to dispense rancor wherever they deem appropriate. (And yes, even though they made my stomach turn, God loves them, too.)

The only way to describe the experience is to say that it felt like hell. The fire of hate seared our backs as we continued with ever increasing fervor to proclaim "Jesus loves you!" In this moment, God allowed his love to flow through us in a way that I had never before experienced. Tears poured from our eyes because we knew in our hearts that this love was much greater and far more real than the venom behind us. Differences, great and small, faded away as we were bound together in love.

I wish I could say this moment led to a renewed unity in our church. Ultimately, it did not. That week, our church fractured irreparably. But some of us experienced a lesson we would never forget. As Anne Lamott so accurately states, I have known hell, and I have known love. Love is bigger. 

And so, in a sense, this post is still about paradox. God taught me something about the nature of his love through an encounter with a bona fide hate group. He does indeed work in strange ways.

Friends, what unites us is so much greater than what divides us, so let's take Jesus' advice: A new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another. (John 13:34-35)