some kind of faith reflection

they said i had to draw a line in the sand: in or out; biblical or unbiblical; all or nothing.

the words sting. something inside me aches.

i want to take this book with me to all places, let it breathe freedom and hope and love and peace over me and over everyone i meet. i want it to be a beacon of hospitality, without lines and labels and in or out.

my hands held this book as a little girl in sunday school who won the sword drills and memorized so many of its verses. who read it to herself, heard its words after dinner, sung its poems on Sundays.

on some days this book is held with shaking hands, hands that are angry, or frustrated, or weary. some days this book is held by a tired twenty-something getting out of bed twenty minutes late thinking about what she's going to wear.

this book has been held in the classroom -- in the debates and class discussions, the one on one meetings with professors, the quiet stillness around Coy Pond. the verses have been worded, the messages interpreted, the comfort spoken.

for me, this book has been a source of stress too -- it held tears and confused thoughts, scribbled verses written in journals with question marks and pleadings for clarity. it is beautiful, yes, but equally puzzling, sometimes terrifyingly puzzling to me.

i love this book, this B-I-B-L-E-yes-that's-the-book-for-me. i struggle with it, wrestle with the meanings and the contexts and the high callings and the stories it tells. i haven't studied it enough to make sense of levitical laws and why patriarchy lasted for so many years, i still skip over passages of the Old Testament when given the choice, and i've never read the full book of Revelation from beginning to end.

Sarah Bessey, in her work Jesus Feminist, says:

People want black and white answers, but Scripture is rainbow arch across a stormy sky...I want you to wrestle with the Bible. Do it. Wrestle until, Jacob-like, you walk with a limp ever after, and you receive the blessing of the Lord.

i like the idea that we're supposed to limp a little in this faith journey.

i don't want a fear based faith. i want one rooted in love -- love for self, love for others, love for this Jesus that gave everything up to be with me, with us. and in this love based faith, there's room for questions, room to interpret experiences, room for doubt and tears and loneliness, for triumph and joy -- it's all embraced, all understood, all valued.

Bessey says it again best:

Choose freedom. Choose the freedom of living loved, far from their debates and fence lines and name callings, and the belittling, divisive stereotypes. Extend the gift of freedom and grace, second chances, and more grace, just as you have received them.

i stand here, and i want to shout from the rooftops that this is what i choose: freedom of living loved. freedom to live loved: with this book in hand, as well as experiences and conversations and people-made-in-the-image-of-God manifestations of his Kingdom.

i choose freedom in the complex answers, the paradoxes and most difficult passages. i choose to read this book with eyes pointed towards love and justice and peace, and nothing less. i choose to live in the tension of wrestling and walking with a limp (and i write that knowing that it is hard, and sometimes so scary).

in choosing this, i leave the lines in the sand behind and i don't look back, i just run forward.