Over the past couple of months, I’ve become involved in an on online community through BlogFrog. I participated in numerous discussion threads with topics as wide in range as dealing with milk and soy protein intolerance to listing prayer requests and even what kind of vacuum cleaner best picks up pet hair. The two most notable threads, however, have been much more controversial.
One was started after a well-meaning individual started another thread entitled “Praying for the unsaved.” Simply put, a person began the new thread to say, “I’m ‘unsaved’ and offended.” I was intrigued and watched for a few days as Christian after Christian tried to explain to this (and several other) non-believers the “imminent perils of an eternity in hell” before I stepped in and shared my own heart. I wanted so badly for the Christians on the thread to see what I have come to see- that people are not rejecting Christ for lack of knowledge about hell or sin, or because they haven’t heard enough Bible verses. Instead, they don’t believe what they have heard, due in part to some of the horrible inconsistencies in the way we choose to portray Christ in the world. I chose to walk a very fine line as a person who loves Christ (but, truthfully, not always His people) and who loves those who’ve been disenfranchised in His name.
It was a wonderful experience, most of the time. I met some amazing women. I learned a lot about them and what they believed, and I also found new words and reasons for my own beliefs. But it became increasingly difficult to stay on my line. To the outspoken Christians, my lack of focus on God’s wrath or eternal punishment was watering down the truth or only sharing the “happy stuff.” Time and again, people would say when I or others had a different approach than they did, ours were not “Biblical.” (
Nevermind that people have been interpreting the Bible differently since, well since before they even tried to decide which books to include. Ever wondered why we have so many different denominations?!) The thread is still open, but died down twice: once, because we all gently agreed to learn from each other and respectfully disagree, and another time because it reopened (in my opinion) only to undo some of that respect and common ground.
The other “hot button issue” thread in which I participated dealt with homosexuality. A person asked an admittedly ignorant question of another, who was homosexual. She was immediately ridiculed and everyone wanted to strangle her. And I get that. But I had to climb on my tightrope once again, this time more reluctantly. I just wanted people to see that ignorance has no choice but to stay ignorance if we don’t let people ask questions. That maybe if we could look past the
way a question is worded and see if there is something that can genuinely be learned from the discussion,
why not have it? I know too many Christians that say horrible things about homosexuals simply because they 1) don’t realize that they know any 2) don’t understand much about GLBT people and 3) have never heard a Christian (or anyone) explain to them why they shouldn’t say such things, why they are hurtful or untrue or just, to quote my friends, “unbiblical.” I simply tried to express that sometimes, if we can look through the awkward (and even painful) things in our way, we can find teachable moments. Horizon-expanding, life-changing teachable moments.
And it worked…
horribly. I left the thread with a few people accusing me of defending the original poster’s ignorance. This was new to me- usually I’m the liberal one. Now I was shocked to find I had to prove that I was not a homophobe. (Those of you who know me well know that this is completely… well… I’d like to say ridiculous, but it would really be more along the lines of
devastating.) I cried as I typed & submitted my last post. Then I vowed to process all of this, blog about it, and walk away.
Walking away isn’t easy for me. For one, belonging to a community, especially one with a mix of crunchy and Christian mothers, was nice. And it was also a little addictive- an escape during naptime or after putting the girls to bed. In fact, that is one of the reasons I realized I needed to leave the community. I was getting too involved
(especially lately, as I’ve been in a funk and reading about other people’s crockpot recipes is a lot easier to do than praying, introspection or making needed changes...) and spending too much precious time there.
But the other reason walking away will be so hard is because I actually found a piece of who I am while typing those responses. I discovered something for which I believe God has given me a passion. I’ve read about it, even taught about it before, but I’ve never understood it quite so fully. In II Corinthians, Paul writes about the
ministry of reconciliation. About being reconciled to each other, so that we can then reconcile others to God. I believe that this is what I felt called to do each time I stepped into a discussion and straddled my line. I want to help people to see what it’s like on the other side of the divider, to gain some understanding, to show a greater respect, even to appreciate their own side more. I want them to see the view I see. From the line.
But, as scenic as it may be, it’s quite a lonely place to be. Not many people can fit on a tiny tightrope. It’s hard, though not impossible, to find people like me. We are people who choose to be a part of the church even though we’ve seen it through the eyes of those most hurt and least enchanted by it. We are people who know how much hatred still exists in some small corners of the world, and celebrate rather than scoff when even tiny steps are made in the right direction. We cry when people don’t get it and dance when someone finally does. We want to shake those who refuse to even try. But most of the time, those people actually end up shaking
us.
Because the problem with standing in the middle is that you’re standing in the crossfire, and you’re an easy target. When people get defensive or angry, it’s easy to confuse the troublemakers and the peacemakers. And when people start aiming at the latter, it feels… well…
devastating.
So, even though I’ve found myself to be passionate about this business of reconciliation, I’ve also found that strangers on some web forum can have too much power over my emotions. And that means they can then hold too much power over how I feel about myself and my ability to mother and a whole slew of other things. I choose NOT to allow them this power. It is not worth it. So, I will walk away. I've tried to be true to myself, I've learned a lot, and I've made some great new friends. But it's time to move on. There are, after all, plenty of other lines...
Since the girls have come along, I've had to drive the truck more frequently. Since they both have to be in carseats, whoever has the girls drives the van. If I went to camp early in the morning, or left Community Kids after the girls needed to be picked up from preschool, I took the truck. I always made litle jokes about it- offering it to people when they said they needed a new truck, joking about getting the Troy Lee decals removed, never calling it anything except "the flaming truck." But I grew more comfortable driving it.
Oh well. She didn't fall down and break her face, so maybe she'll try again and in time she'll improve. And in the meantime, at least her helmet and knee pads are oh-so-nicely coordinated with her scooter. Which explains why she would rather be inside, doing this to her sister...
