The word reconciliation has been knocking around in my head since the end of May when protests erupted throughout the country in the aftermath of the death of another black man at the hands of the police. 

When I looked up the definition of reconciliation, it felt weak and uninspiring for a word that I associate with such a powerful message of redemption and restoration. 

You see, since the beginning of time since man welcomed sin into the world, God has been working on His plan to bring his people back to him. The biggest piece of that plan was sending Jesus to earth, not only to reconcile us back to Him but to teach us about God’s heart for reconciliation. 

What exactly did Jesus teach us about doing the work of reconciliation? He stepped into uncomfortable, counter-cultural situations that had the opportunity to harm his reputation. He spent time alone with women of a race different than his own (John 4), and stood in the gap between the self-righteous religious elite and the outcast adulterous woman (John 8). He dined with “sinners” and tax collectors – those that the culture at the time told you to stay far away from unless you were looking to ruin your reputation. 

I often think about who these “sinners” were? What were their wrongdoings that cast them from society? Was it their religion? Their small mistakes and missteps? Was it the life they were born into that they just couldn’t get out of because everything was against them? Was it their race? 

I wonder if Jesus ever felt uncomfortable before treading into these situations. If he had to psych himself up to do the right thing, or if he felt that ‘rock in the stomach’ anxiety before stepping outside of the cultural comfort zone, or if the tension in his chest grew tighter and tighter as he reached out his hand to touch the leper or pass the bread to the tax collector. 

Because I know that’s how I feel when I am called to do the same. And I am called to do the same. The closer I grow to my Savior, the more I desire to be like him, and the more my heart breaks for the things that break His and the more I compelled to step out of my comfort zone to learn about people with different experiences than my own and step toward Jesus with them. 

The reconciling work of Jesus looks like restoring right relationship between people and with creation and ultimately with God. This is what Jesus came to do and this is what Jesus commissioned us to do until He comes back again to reconcile every single thing back to its rightness once and for all. 

In the meantime, friends, may we be the reflection of the reconciliation of Jesus, but remember that ultimately it is only Jesus who restores, we are just the tools he chooses to use. Where might He be calling you to be a reconciler? 

What would bring Jesus joy during this time? 

The question was posed in a prayer time I was a part of recently. With everything that is going on in the world right now, what is it that would bring Jesus joy?

As we were given a few minutes to reflect, scripture from Matthew 22 kept coming to mind:

But when the Pharisees heard that he had silenced the Sadducees with his reply, they met together to question him again. One of them, an expert in religious law, tried to trap him with this question: “Teacher, which is the most important commandment in the law of Moses?”

Jesus replied, “‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, all your soul, and all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. A second is equally important: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the law and prophets hang on these two commandments.” 

This. This is what would bring Jesus joy. If we loved the Lord with all of our heart, soul, and mind, and if we loved our neighbor as ourselves. 

One of the things that has been particularly exhausting during this time is seeing what appears to be a complete lack of compassion for other humans from so many people from every end of every opinion, religion, political spectrum, everywhere. It exhausts me, even more, when I find myself falling into Satan’s trap and doing the same. 

Jesus came to flip religious piety on its head. What seemed moments after he had silenced the Sadducees, he was being questioned by the Pharisees whose vendetta against Jesus had more to do with their fear of losing their power and societal standing than it did about what was right and wrong. Had they truly searched themselves and the scriptures, they would have found that Jesus came not to take their power, but to restore them to the One who would give them power that raises dead to life.

And now Jesus adds this piece: “All the law and prophets hang on these two commandments”. 

This is what matters. 

Can you imagine what it would be like if Christians everywhere began thinking, not of themselves, and their own comforts first, but about God’s love and loving others above all else? 

It doesn’t start with who is in office now, or who will be in office in 2021. It doesn’t begin with our constitutional rights to do this or not have to do that. It doesn’t even start with what the scientists say or what you think is the most logical argument for what our nation’s next steps should be.

It starts with love. And love starts with us, my fellow brothers and sisters in Christ. 

Imagine if every person that confessed Jesus Christ as their Savior were to hang everything on these two commandments instead of anything else. Don’t you think we’d change the world? 

The work begins in us as we learn to love God more deeply and then pours out into each and every person that we come in contact with each and every day – our neighbors. 

Will you join me this week in bringing Jesus joy by loving God and loving your neighbor? Because my friend, everything hangs on us doing this.

Scrolling through Instagram, I saw a meme that said, “You know what no one talks about enough? Masks. I wish I knew everyone’s opinion on them.” I chuckled at the relatability of it and began to scroll along, but then I stopped. Why is it so easy for everyone to talk about masks? 

When the riots and protests were in full swing during the aftermath of George Floyd’s death, I was feeling fired up to have conversations about racial injustices that continue to prevail within our society today. That very next weekend I attempted to start the conversation within my own circles – people that I am close to, people who look like me – white women. As soon as I crossed the bridge to start the conversation, the subject was changed. This happened 3 times in one weekend with three separate groups of people. 

But approach the subject of mask-wearing with anyone you see on the street, and you are sure to start a fire under a person. A conversation fueled by political opinions and armed with research from every expert you know and all of the ones you don’t. And I’ve certainly been guilty of this myself.

Why is it so easy for us to form an opinion about a piece of cloth on our face, but so difficult to have a meaningful conversation about a group of hurting people who have been systematically oppressed for centuries? Why can we so easily start a conversation with someone in the grocery store about how we feel about wearing a mask, but when we are with those we love and trust, the moment someone mentions racism or injustice or (heaven forbid) that black lives matter, we suddenly have a funny story to tell about what happened to us a work last week? 

Admittedly, I probably began each of the conversations about race with a little more passion and fervor than was comfortable. But I as I wondered to myself at the speed at which the subject of the conversation changed, I found myself dumbfounded that not even a group of loving, humble, authentic, women of God could handle having a conversation on the matter.

But why didn’t I press the conversation further? Why didn’t I ask a question to get people thinking? Why didn’t anyone respond with one, single word to what I said? 

It seems to me that the conversation about masks is just easier to have. It affects our immediate, daily lives. Many of us have to routinely make the choice of whether or not we are going to wear a mask in a space or not. For the most part, we can accept when someone chooses an option that is opposite of our own, so striking up a conversation about it, seems remarkably easy. Conversations about politics or racism or abortion or sexual identity or (get this!) the Gospel may not. 

There are countless examples of Jesus diving in to difficult conversations. John’s account of Nicodemus is one that came to mind as I was reflecting on this. Nicodemus was a pharisee who had a pretty powerful reputation and standing within his community. And yet, his curiosity about Jesus’s teaching and miracles was growing. Instead of having a conversation with Jesus during the day when people were milling about their daily lives offering a higher risk of him being spotted, he visited Jesus at night as people were settling in with their families and closing their shades. 

Did Jesus turn him away and say, “You Coward! You couldn’t even drum up the courage to face me during the day!”? No. With love, Jesus welcomed Nicodemus and the questions he brought and yet did not shy away from the hard truths that came with the answers. 

I don’t believe by the life Jesus lived, that he meant for us to be comfortable anywhere but in His love alone. The humbleness of Jesus to welcome Nicodemus in to the difficult conversations with such grace is almost unimaginable in our current self-focused, politically charged culture today. But I believe if we approach each conversation with a little of Nicodemus and a whole lot of Jesus, we can begin to make a meaningful, lasting impact on the people around us. And it starts with the people we love and trust the most.

May we have the courage of Nicodemus to come to one other to ask hard questions, and have the difficult conversations, even if it has to be in the middle of the night. May we have the grace and humility of Jesus to welcome one another’s questions and perspectives, even if we don’t quite see where they’re coming from. But may we stop hiding behind conversations that are seemingly easier to have. Because my prayer for myself, and for you, is that we may learn to challenge one another and grow together ever closer to our Creator and Savior that His glory may be known by all.

Against the backdrop of a city shackled by a virus, a black man’s life was wrongfully taken. 

The man who killed him lived a 3-minute walk from my house. We were neighbors. I took my dog for a walk past his house the day after he was arrested, the same day that my dearly loved Twin Cities were smoldering from the chaos of the night before. When I turned to my left, I was met with a blossoming lilac bush and the view of a lovely, quiet, unassuming park where life was, as it seemed,  business as usual. When I turned to my right, my eyes darted over the words scrawled in spray paint across his garage and written in chalk on the street and sidewalk below my feet. 

What a sobering juxtaposition of beauty and pain. One that my heart can ache for, but never truly understand its extent. I try to shift my perspective from my own to my black brothers and sisters, who have been created in God’s image, to imagine what could lead to such outrage, anger, destruction, and sorrow.

Imagine that for nearly 400 years you and people who look like you have been crying out to be heard in the country you call home and that those that don’t look like you won’t listen. That the system in which you live is not for you, and even worse, working against you?

Wouldn’t you be angry? 

Imagine there is a city where police officers kill people who look like you at a rate that is 13% higher than people who look differently. That the color of your skin causes you to shrink in the face of a person who is meant to protect you. 

Wouldn’t you be scared?

These are issues that I have never had to face. Things that I can only imagine and never fully grasp. If you’re reading this, there’s a really good chance that you can say the same as me. 

While it breaks my heart to see the destruction happening throughout the Twin Cities over the last week, what breaks my heart even further is there are human beings, so deeply wounded and so unheard, that feel the only way to make their case known is lash out in anger. Something that my white privilege will never allow me to understand. We can be sad about the buildings that have burned, the stores that were looted, and the businesses and homes that were lost, but may that NEVER be more devastating to us than the loss of a precious life that God created. One that Jesus (a brown man) came to show the way for, to suffer for, and to save, just like he came to save yours and mine. 

While I am brokenhearted for George Floyd and those that loved and knew him, I am thankful for the ways that this tragedy that has happened in my own city has brought light to how I have been ignorant and complacent in the conversation about racism. That by living a life of comfort and safety in my whiteness, I have been complicit in bias, in prejudice, in discrimination, in racism. And to all black lives and people of color, I apologize for my first 31 years of ignorance and carelessness, and I promise to spend the rest of my years educating myself and starting conversations with people who look like me with a prayer that they, too, can learn along with me.

For a dear friend whose final semester in college that was cut short with sudden goodbyes to friends and community not knowing when they’d meet again, and “last times” experiences she will never meet face to face, 

For a boss who canceled her life-long dream trip to Paris, years of planning and dreaming that came to a blistering halt, 

For a new friend in Discipleship Training School with YWAM who is being sent home suddenly with no time to plan the “what’s next”, 

For a heart friend who is navigating job turmoil, loss of a husband’s job, and as a result an unwelcome shift in income, 

I’ve cried. 

Our privilege is clear, even in our losses. While there are, of course, some already without access to secure homes and food and education that will become even more destitute, most of the nation is afflicted by the loss of things that many don’t have the privilege to ever dream of experiencing. 

But the privilege doesn’t make the sadness and the grief and the heartache any less. It’s still sad and it’s still hard. 

And my friend, that’s okay. 

Jesus doesn’t guilt us for being sad about the concert that got canceled just because someone might be suffering in a different way. He cares about what burdens our hearts because he cares about our hearts. 

We are traversing an unprecedented moment in history that none of us have experienced before. But, we are experiencing it together.

And I don’t know what to do, and perhaps you don’t either. 

But what I do know is that we can pray. I do know that there is a God who is Sovereign in the midst of our mess and whose power is perfected in our weakness. I know that in the midst of the hard and the crazy and the tears that he is breaking new ground to reap an abundant harvest. I know He has created us not only to be in relationship with Him but in relationship with each other. 

So as we continue to walk into days that are foreign, unexplained, and unexplored let’s be part of breaking that new ground.
 
Check in with friends.
Check in with neighbors.
Check in with yourself. 

Smile at strangers.
Post something encouraging.
Have compassion for those that don’t think like you do.

PRAY.

Be humble.
Be gentle.
Be loving.
Be JESUS. 

“See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland.” – Isaiah 43:19

For about an hour a day during my work week, the sun streams through the window at my desk. I bask in its warmth as it nourishes my body and soul. I adjust my position to take full advantage of the time I have with the sun’s rays, soaking up each minute before it once again slips behind the building and the grey and chill of winter takes its place. 

As it pours in and warms my face, I begin to think about the obstacles it must overcome to reach the cold, drafty office building I sit in and heat my cheeks. Through the millions of miles, the atmospheric layers, the clouds, the pollution, the windows. Despite it all, it shines. 

Sometimes I don’t see the sun. The clouds cover the sky instead and I am left to peer out of my window on to the bleak grey wash that covers everything. But even though I cannot see the sun, or feel its warmth on my face, the light of the day time is evidence that it still shines behind the wall of clouds. Even though I cannot see its yellow rays beam down on all the is below it, I know that its rays are not gone forever. I will see them again one day. 

Isn’t this how our faith plays out too? There are days in which the goodness of Jesus pours down in abundance on our lives, and we can feel His warmth. On these days, it is so much easier to turn my face toward Him, seeking His light because I can see Him and know that He is with me and at work. 

Then there are days when clouds cover. When everything seems dreary and bleak. When it’s hard to remember what it felt like when the sun was shining on your skin. The struggles and hardship attempt to block our view of our Savior. And yet, even on those days, when we can’t fully see it, Jesus is still shining. We can see the evidence of His light when we seek him. (Jeremiah 29:12-13)

Just because all that we can see is grey and cold and grim, doesn’t mean He isn’t still shining, working. And even though there may be one day of clouds, or weeks without seeing the sun, Jesus will once again reveal His light to us and we can bask in his glory. Because despite it all, He shines. 

Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. – 2 Corinthian 4:16-18

2020. A new year. A fresh perspective. A chance to start over. 

In 2019, for the first time, I chose not to make new year’s resolutions (the joke that they were), but to choose a “word of the year” to help guide, challenge, and grow me. ‘Focus’ became my challenger, my adversary, my liberator. 

I sought God and asked him to show me where to focus my time and energy which meant stepping back from so many good things, and the process of saying goodbye to them and saying no to others was incredibly difficult but necessary.

After a year of stepping back from so much, I felt God nudging that it was time to step out – to be bold. 

The google definition of ‘Bold’ is “showing an ability to take risks; confident and courageous”.

But walking into 2020, I don’t feel confident or courageous. 

I feel overwhelmed by options. Paralyzed by possibilities. Everything met with my rolling eyes and the belief that what my heart longs for is simply just meant for someone else. That I am bound to wait here in my current state for the sweet day I meet my Jesus face to face. 

Even among promising conversations that radiate hope and potential, I feel pessimistic and skeptical. January 1st does not mean that anything has changed within me, only that the calendar has turned over, catapulting me into a new decade without my permission – without asking me if I was ready.  

Still, buried under all of this flickers a tiny flame of hope that remains in defiance of all psychological and visceral signals warning me to just stay where I am because “it’s easier this way, anyway”. It beckons me to dig deeper and add kindling, to fan the burning coals and build a wildfire that warms a heart cold from years of standing among the winter winds of disappointment, heartache, and shame.  

‘Bold’ will be my shovel to dig, my kindling to feed, and my fuel to build. 

Honestly, I am terrified. I’ve timidly told a few people about Bold, and each time, I feel almost immediate regret because saying it out loud to someone else creates the kind accountability and expectation that I do not feel prepared for. 

But I am marching forward, offering up ‘Bold’ to the One who will hold me through it all, will equip this ill-prepared soul, and who at the end of 2020 will be there to pick up the pieces of any wreckage left behind.