A little while ago now, someone by the name of Dr. B. died. That name may not mean much to you, but it does to me. Dr. B was my pastor. He inspired me and he always stood with me. He stood with my home congregation. He stood with me when I was sorting out whether or not to be a pastor. He stood with my mom and dad as my father took his last breath. And he stood as a beacon of faith who reminded me that in the rhythms of regular everyday life, there is a deep abiding truth.
I thought about Dr. B as I listened to Jeff Chu, a keynote speaker at a large church gathering. Jeff spoke brilliantly and eloquently about the necessity of knowing you are loved. He spoke of Sabbath and compost and beauty, and the possibility of seeing everything under a divine horizon. And so, he asked: “Do you know that as a child of God, you are loved by God? That you are loved? And that you are worthy of it?”
And you know what? I broke down. I’ve struggled with things like love and acceptance and shame, with the feeling that I am unlovable.
Jake Owensby, Bishop of the Episcopal Church in Western Louisiana, states: “All of us will encounter rejection and even contempt from other people at one time or another. When we’re weighed down by shame, we start to believe that we deserve no better.”
And so, feeling adrift and deeply moved by Jeff’s presentation, I posted in the chat: “I weep. As someone unloved and unlovable — thank you, Jeff, for inviting my folded soul to stand.”
I sent out that message to 250 church folks. And then I thought, “Whoa, what did I just do? That was way too vulnerable.” And then…nothing. 250 people and nobody reacted or responded, which only reinforced my fears that I am, in fact, not loved — or lovable. While my post may not have been a rational litmus test, in that moment I felt so very alone.
It is now the season of Advent, the four weeks leading up to Christmas and the first season in the church year; it is a time of preparation and a time of waiting. Gertrud Mueller Nelson states: “Advent invites us to be spiritually pregnant with all the hopes for which we long.” Thinking about that and about Jeff’s talk, as I watch and wait, and as my soul continues to ache, it occurs to me that love can begin with compassion.
Do you know as a child of God that you are loved by God?
As a person of privilege, I’ll be the first to admit that I haven’t had a lot of experience with not being seen or heard. But if you are someone who feels excluded, shoved aside, not seen, or heard, or loved, by society, by the church, at school, at work, in retirement, let me tell you what I heard Jeff tell me: I see you. I hear you. I care about you. And God loves you. And you are worthy of it. Do you know that?
Do you know as a child of God that you are loved by God?
Owensby writes:
“From the depths of our messy places, someone is reaching out to us—seeking to connect to us, transform us, and guide us in healing the whole creation. That is the beginning of a new thing that has love as a starting point. And in that deep truth is where I find an enduring hope.”
This is truth. This is love. This is the birth we now await.
In the meantime, I cling to the stories Dr. B pointed towards and embodied:
- God loving humanity so much that the Divine took human form;
- Jesus growing up and then in encounter after encounter feeling people’s desperation;
- His standing with; his acting with compassion; his changing lives and changing the world.
In other words, love shows up again and again and again. And so, as we watch and wait in a season pregnant with possibility, maybe this hope-filled journey with love can begin with having compassion, both for our neighbours and for the ones staring back at us in the mirror. Jesus sure does. For we are his beloved.
Happy Advent.
