Stepping Out of Fear
What the last year has taught me about truly stepping into love
I have spent a lot of time this week reflecting. On the last few weeks, months, and year. It has been almost a year since I stepped away from ministry and decided to serve myself for a while. There’s a few things I’ve learned along the way.
1. I’m Christian. No matter how I slice it, I am. And it doesn’t have to be a bad thing or a cause for pain or shame.
2. I care about the church. I care about her fate and her heart. Though she bruise me, I am hers and she is mine.
3. I care about people. That’s just part ofwho I am. I care and think too much. Which is why boundaries are so key for me.
4. I want to live my life with integrity.
The culmination of these things have made me realise in such a tangible way, over the last few years but the last year in particular, that I can’t see injustice and sin and not call it what it is and live with integrity. That comes at a cost sometimes, but what of value doesn’t?
I used to let numbers 1&2 on this list limit how I lived out number 3 and as such negated number 4. I don’t think anyone who knows me would have ever said that I lacked love or compassion for people. But I believe that I did. It is unloving and lacking in compassion to see an injustice and not name it. It’s selfish, prideful or to put it simply from within my paradigm: sinful.
If there’s anything the last season has taught me is the impact having someone see your struggle and really stand with/for you in the midst of it. When we sit with the weary, broken, despised and forgotten it should cost us something. And if I am honest, sometimes that really scares me.
Living every day as a black female, I get it. And I know that is why it is so difficult or seemingly impossible for some to utter the words that “Black Lives Matter”. Or why it is hard for some to tell men not to rape rather than tell women to cover up and stay sober. Or why for some men and women the word feminism is a dirty word. How it can seem overwhelming to speak up for the plight of women. To lift up the truth that we are to be seen and heard as equal, valuable and worthy, for more than ourattire, fertility, or marital status.
I don’t like it, it’s still hurtful, but I get it.
It’s scary.
It’s scary to say or stand for something we’ve never seen modeled for us. It’s scary to speak to the idols of our time.
Prophets are never popular.
It’s scary to step out on a limb, unsure if anyone will come out with you or if anyone will catch you if you fall.
It’s scary not to know the right thing to say.
It’s scary to stand for something that some of the people you most respect think is a lie.
I get it. And as true as this all is, perfect love still casts out fear. Because of this, I have a few things to say.
To every LGBTQ+ person that I’ve ever shared a pew (or any space) with, if I didn’t see you, love you as you were, or make you feel welcome in the family of God, I repent.
If I have ever preached, discipled, or mentored you in a way that erased who you are, dismissed your experience or led to shame fear or guilt, I repent.
If I have ever, by ignorance, omission or outright fear held back from speaking to your humanity and the value you have as an image bearer, I repent.
I know that there have been times in my life that I have stood by and not spoken up or stood in your defense when I knew better. There is no excuse for it and I apologise on my behalf and also in the name of the faith that I love so.
I promise that the next 17+ years of my Christian faith will reflect your worth, your value and the heart of the Creator towards you. I am for you and with you. And if you need someone to take a blow or two, or more, tag me in. You are always welcome in my home, you will always have a seat at my table, and though I will not always understand, I’ll be there.
To those in my life who were gracious enough to love me as I learned to love all of you, thank you. Your mercy, grace, and compassion will be teaching me for years to come. I know that I will need to take from your example daily.
Lastly, to the “big C” church thank you for introducing me to my Saviour. For allowing a broken little girl to find refuge in your walls and meet her maker. You are not perfect, nor am I, but we are one and if I have learned anything from the LGBTQ+ people in my life it is the ability to patiently love even in the midst of soo much awkwardness and pain.
I pray the Lord continues to teach me from their example as I learn to trust and love you again. I won’t lie and say that we’re breezy, nor will things be as they once were, cause they won’t. I’ve changed. But I believe I’ve changed for the better, I finally love myself and who God made me enough to care to see that love reflected in Christ’s bride. Not just for my sake, but for us all because we all lose out otherwise.
Despite even my own efforts, I have not given up on you. I am praying and rooting for you, and by extension for me too. May God who has begun a good work in us carry it into completion and in the meantime may God continue to use crooked sticks to make straight lines.
