I’ve spent the last several years feeling pulled to pretty wildly different stances than where I started on a number of contentious issues. It was one thing to feel, act or vote a certain way if I could remain anonymous, if I could hide out from the backlash and people who were quick to condemn me for deviating. I could support these causes in secret. I could stay on the sidelines, sit in the pews, around dinner tables and bite my tongue, preferring to only discuss those topics with people I knew were similarly minded.
Because as much as I love this Church, this body, this community of believers – they scare me. There is a limit, a line one cannot cross in activism or in behavior, to the amount that grace can be extended if any kind of esteem is going to survive. Cross that line, err in that way, or come down on the wrong side of any number of these issues and the fall from respect and grace, especially if you’ve got any kind of public platform, is swift, loud and devastating.
You are removed from the nice, safe, warm “us” category you spent a long time taking for granted, and tossed firmly out into “them”. Tossed into those people who “ignore scripture”, to those whose relationship with God is called into question, to those who are “indoctrinated”, “trying to hard to please the world”, “abusing grace”, “going to be in trouble on judgement day”, “false prophet”, “false teacher”, “wolf in sheep’s clothing” and a thousand other barbs that capitalize on my fear that wants to breed in the dark.
This fear I hold is, of course, in direct opposition with the more than 300 admonitions in scripture to Fear Not. I have to repent of it often. We are warned in scripture that the public’s love won’t be ours if we’re trusting Jesus out onto the water – I just never imagined that my test with public opinion would be from many of those who I had always considered to be my people. This, coupled with the fear that I could live, love and write this way only to get to the end of my life and discover that I had all of it completely wrong, kept me completely silent for a long time.
And if the worst happens, if I end this life and Jesus is standing on the other side of death and instead of “Well done, my good and faithful servant”, I hear, “Hannah, how could you?” I can only pray that grace and mercy will intervene and that the desire of my heart is known. That Jesus sees that what I want most is to love like He loves. To throw open the gates and welcome everybody into that love. That I was quick to cry out to Him, to rest in Him, to rely on Him. That I sought to know Him and love like Him, and that I followed where I felt He was leading.
I admit, I worry about that outcome sometimes. When someone I love has discussions about me that they don’t think I can hear, or they post about me on social media, or they lay it all out to my face, I have moments where I am swiftly and cripplingly terrified that I’ve made a huge mistake. That I’ve bared a part of myself to them when I thought I could trust them with it, and now I’m bloodied with only myself to blame. That although I spent months feeling the tug in my spirit to act before I ever stepped a toe out of line, that although I agonized, sometimes for years, before I took a public stance on these issues, that although I’ve spent countless hours in prayer, the word and pouring my heart out on the Altar, that although I’ve seen God’s hand in this learning process, somehow I got it twisted and am dead wrong.
But that fear pales in comparison to the gut feeling I can’t shake that God has called me out onto this water, and that this is exactly where I need to be. That the people I’m speaking for and standing with are worth the heartache and discomfort. That I can’t say, “Here I am Lord, send me” and run the first time that I get my heart broken or someone calls my faith into question. That even in this, my faith needs to be bigger than my fear.
There is still so much I don’t know. So much that is a work in progress – to the point that the list of things I do know is so, so much shorter. I know that I’m commanded to love God and love people, and that if this is where the Spirit has called me to stand, if this is what God asks of me, doing anything else puts me in sin. Even if it gets lonely. Even if I’m a “them”.
I’m not confident in my ability to do any of this well, especially not on the first try.
I am confident that God is pulling me closer to Him, and that He makes beauty from my mess. I am confident that He is at work here, and that nothing can separate me from His love. I am confident in my need for all of the grace I can get, because even on my best day I’m still human and still prone to bumble.
So I’m here doing the best that I can. I certainly do not have it all figured out. I’m trying desperately to trust Jesus even deeper into the scary places, doubting and failing, repenting and starting it all over again. Trying listen more than I speak, and when I do speak, to speak up for people who don’t have a place or a voice when they should. Trying to be all at once, a part of this church body and one who is on the opposite side of so many of these lines in the sand.