Today I’m angry with Jesus.

Not because of anything he did or didn’t do.
Not because of some disappointment or unanswered prayer.
Not because something bad happened to me or someone I love.

Though something terrible did happen in Charlottesville.

No, I’m angry with Jesus because he wants me to love people. People I can’t find lovable. People who use his name to justify their bigotry. People who hate – or, maybe worse, people who cynically brew a toxic mixture of fear and faith to to poison our hearts against each other.

My sincerely held belief that Christ’s table is open to all is at odds with my limited ability to love.

Being angry with Jesus sounds like a terrible thing for a Christian to admit, but maybe that’s where it needs to be directed. It’s easy to nod on Sunday morning when a minister says each of us helped drive those nails through Christ’s hands … easy to be part of a metaphor that says we all sin. It usually seems abstract. Yet today my knuckles are white from gripping the hammer so tightly.

I am not a fan of atonement theology, yet somehow I still believe in the redemptive power of the cross. I’ve often wondered how that can be. And today I think I get my first real inkling.

This anger isn’t going to simply disappear, yet Christ asks me to forgive and love and do good to those who would persecute me and those I love. So for now, for right or wrong, Christ has to absorb that anger so my mind and heart can be focused on figuring out how to love white supremacists enough to accept them – but never their hate! – should they show up to Christ’s table. I’m too human to not resent being asked to do that. My resentment is a cold, hard spike and it needs to be buried somewhere before I can move toward love.

And that, my friends, is exactly where I pierce the flesh of Christ.

That is where I finally understand how all that nodding on Sunday mornings has been so much lip service. How the cross is redemptive in a very concrete way.

This morning, my invitation to Christ’s table comes from an especially humble place. Who am I, bearing these nails and resenting my savior, to invite anyone? Yet I do, because I believe more than ever Christ’s table is the only place where all the pieces of this story make sense.

The invitation is not actually mine to offer. Christ has already done that. Perhaps the only way we can truly accept it is to pass that offer along when we least want to. For what but love will change us for the better?

All are welcome. All are welcome. God help us, all are welcome.

May the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.

When I was a kid – junior high and high school aged – I made money in the summers by mowing grass. I mowed lawns all over the neighborhood. In retrospect I undercharged, so that may have been why I had so many customers. Most places I used my own mower and gas. One day the husband of an older couple only two doors down from my house asked if I would do his lawn. He normally did it himself, but he was laid up for a few weeks because of a surgery. I hauled my mower over got started. Though they were on the same block, their back yard seemed really long, especially compared to other lawns I did. When I was done, he said: “You got everything, but those lines aren’t very straight.”

At the time I was a little confused. This wasn’t a ballpark. By the next afternoon the stripes wouldn’t even be visible. But apparently they were important to him. As a myopic thirteen-year-old with a push mower, those were about as straight as I was going to get them. He hired me a second time, and I slowed way down to get the lines straight as I could. In my mind, it was tedious and frustrating. When I was done it seemed markedly straighter than my previous effort and I asked him how I did. He shrugged and said, “A little better I guess.” I was deflated.

When he asked a third time, I thanked him but told him I had too many lawns to add another customer. To this day, I have no idea why straight stripes with less than a 24-hour lifespan were so important to him, but if I met my thirteen-year-old self I would tell him to stick with it.

In a weird pre-adolescent way, I felt unfairly judged. But in my own way I was judging him. After all, he did ask me back twice, and I was the one who severed the relationship, at least on a lawncare level.

To some people, it makes perfect sense that straight mowing stripes are important. To other people, they will never be important. We’re not going to understand each other on this controversial subject. Yet we all have to keep mowing.

We seem to get stuck on the idea that we have to understand each other to coexist peacefully. Certainly we should make an effort, but sometimes we just won’t. Sometimes we just need to agree the grass needs tending, and deal with each other’s quirks.

As we gather around Christ’s table, we’re not all going to agree on everything. We will feel very strongly about some of these areas of disagreement – we may even think they should be obvious to anyone calling themselves a Christian – but there are much bigger things we need to accomplish together.  Maybe when you’re recovering after surgery and I bring you a casserole, you would have preferred a salad. Maybe when you makes posters for the bake sale, I would have preferred stenciled letters over freehand. So what? In the end we’re working for the same cause.

During the Thirty Years War in the seventeenth century, Lutheran theologian Rupertus Meldenius wrote: “In Essentials Unity, In Non-Essentials Liberty, In All Things Charity.” You may have heard it attributed to Augustine … but let’s not make a thing out of it.

Our Essential is Christ’s table. Let’s start by gathering around it freely and charitably. We’ll work the rest out … or we won’t. The table remains.

May the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.

Last weekend I attended our local county 4-H Fair. If, like me, you’ve never been an active participant in 4-H, the fair may be your only exposure to the organization. The fair is up for a little more than a week, and most of the vendors, rides, and attractions are part of a national circuit unrelated to 4-H. The heart of the fair – and the core of 4-H – beats in the exhibits of livestock, agriculture, arts, and skills demonstrated by young people who have worked hard all year to submit their entries. While 4-H has more members in urban and suburban counties, rural and farming communities have much higher participation rates.  American rural communities skew conservative in their politics and religion, but the organization itself focuses on values that cross the cultural divide.

For me this tolerance is most evident in the vendors exhibit hall. These groups are unrelated to 4-H, and while the organization doesn’t endorse any of them, it does have final say on who can or can not exhibit. Most of them are completely non-controversial, but you might also be surprised to find some of them under the same roof in Indiana. Local Democratic, Libertarian, and Republican parties all seem to think it’s a good place to recruit. A Right To Life group, The Gideons, and Planned Parenthood are all present. Event organizers are smart enough not to put them beside each other, but there’s room for all.

Nobody protests or taunts anyone. Everyone seems to understand we are there in common support for the youth and the program. The four Hs in 4-H stand for head, heart, hands, and health and for at least a week we manage to direct them toward the common good without betraying our values.

4-H is not a Christian organization, but it sure sets a fine example of gathering around the table. So many Christian congregations adopt a decidedly liberal or conservative stance – often based on the preferences of the pastor – that it doesn’t take long to figure out “All are welcome” really means “all are welcome … to be persuaded to our positions on social issues.”

Yet we can have wildly varying positions on many controversial topics and still be dedicated to Christ. Instead of splintering into narrower and narrower definitions of “acceptable” Christianity, maybe we could take a cue from 4-H. We don’t all need to stand next to each other on every issue, but we can coexist under the same roof without shouting each other down. We can find common values and use them to help young people become better citizens of both the world and the Kingdom. We can understand the beating heart of the church is in the fruit of the vine and the bounty of the harvest present on the communion table. We can realize letting someone in the door is not the same as endorsing their values … but helps us to live ours.

Our reasons for excluding each other are our reasons, not Christ’s. Let’s gather around the table to hear what Christ might have to say about finding reasons to be inclusive. It’s only fair.

May be the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.

Over the last few months our neighborhood has undergone a lot of changes in traffic patterns. My street in particular has had many stops signs and streetlights moved or removed. Judging from the number of automobile collisions, near misses, and squealing brakes, “Cross Traffic Does Not Stop” is not universally understood. You might assume that legally the responsibility clearly falls on the person who didn’t stop when they were supposed to, and most of the time you’d be right, but in many states the law says if you can try to avoid an accident and choose not to, you are also partially at fault. As I’ve lived on the street for several years, and I am aware of the increased possibility of accidents, you can be sure I slow down as I near problem intersections. Part of me is annoyed that I have to, but a better part doesn’t want my self-righteousness to cause anyone else pain.

Would it be fair to say the church doesn’t always take responsibility for how its own Cross-traffic can sometimes do more harm than good? We can feel fully justified about the course we have set, following the doctrinal rules of the road, but sometimes our determination to move our own agenda forward causes harm. When we are unyielding and someone gets hurt, we tend to shift all the blame to those sinful drivers who would be just fine if they followed the rules.

Life throws all kinds of confusing detours at people. If we are so stuck behind our righteous blinders that we’d rather collide than swerve, we need to take responsibility for the damages.

If we really want to share the gospel, instead of wielding it like two tons of unforgiving inertia,  we need to be aware of where people are. If we insist on being right, yet our rightness wounds or kills them (and bad religion has done plenty of both), exactly who have we saved? When it comes to life, none of us has a spotless driving record, yet when dealing with other people we often seem to forget how we’ve been forgiven and survived to tell the tale. We insist on repentance for sins we aren’t currently committing but remain silent about the ones we are (unless perhaps we protest too much). Offering a little accident forgiveness doesn’t mean we’ve justified the infraction.

If you feel like like you’ve been run over by the church, remember Jesus made many an unexpected left turn to love people he could have bypassed. If you don’t feel safe coming to him, let him come to you. Other people don’t get to make that decision for you.

The communion table is where Cross traffic stops to remember. Where we shouldn’t feel like people are cutting us off, because we shouldn’t be jockeying for the lead.  Where someone may experience their first taste of real love and forgiveness – provided we haven’t closed the road.

To paraphrase an old bumper sticker, “Save a life. Be aware. Struggling souls are everywhere.”

May the peace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.