Mixing Religion and Politics

"You don’t mix religion and politics." That’s something we’ve probably all heard, and maybe we’ve been among those who’ve said it. I know for myself, I usually understand that to mean, you can’t force your religious views on everyone else by making them a part of your political agenda. And, of course, I’m only concerned about it when the religious views I believe someone is mixing with politics are different from my own.

Whether we like it or not, the political season is upon us. In fact, it’s descending upon us this week in Charlotte in a very vivid way. We’ve been preparing for it in the Queen City much like people living on the coast brace for a hurricane. Some have evacuated, others are battening down the hatches and will be holing up in their homes for the duration, while a few brave souls (a.k.a. crazy people) will be reveling in the gale force winds coming from the center of our city.

The lectionary reading for this week, from the first chapter of James, comes to us at a perfect time as we enter into these historic days for Charlotte, not to mention the final months before a big presidential election. I think I can safely say that, in the spirit of James, as God’s people, it is high time for us to mix religion and politics.

Before you leave your house in the morning, do you look at yourself in the mirror? Do you carefully wipe away all the crust that collected in the corners of your eyes while you were sleeping? Do you check to see that you don’t still have some of your breakfast on your face or between your teeth? Do you make sure that little piece of hair in the back isn’t sticking up like Dennis the Menace? Well, imagine yourself looking in the mirror again. That’s what James asks you to do. Only this time, look beyond your face and your hair and your clothing. Who is that person you see looking back at you? Who are you, really? Imagine if you could see yourself from a God’s-eye view. God, whom James describes as “the Father of lights, from whom there is no variation or shadow due to change. In fulfillment of his own purpose he gave us birth by the word of truth, so that we would become a kind of first fruits of his creatures.” James wants us to look in the mirror and be reminded that we’re the first fruits of all God's creatures. That person looking back at you is someone who belongs to God and is set aside for God’s purpose. That changes what you see, doesn’t it?

When we do that and we’re reminded of who we really are from a God’s-eye view -- when we really do that, it’s going to transform us. In the things we believe, to be sure. But more importantly, in the things we do. The Christian faith is more than a series of truth-claims limited to what we think and what we express with our words. For James, talk is cheap. What counts is the way faith actually plays out in your life. Your deeds need to be consistent with your words. Faith without actions to back it up is absolutely meaningless.

It’s so easy to forget this when we get caught up in the culture around us, isn’t it? These are challenging times for us as God’s people. A few verses from the first chapter of James especially sting. “Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness” and then the part that says, “If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.”

Have you noticed how folks are ready to pounce on every word one of our presidential candidates utters, just waiting for a chink in the armor to appear so they can quickly plunge their knives into the vulnerable spot while they have the chance to do as much damage as possible? Have you noticed how much we seem to relish deriding those who say stupid things? Like the guy who referred to “legitimate rape.” Immediately, all people in his party were guilty by association and condemned. Have you noticed how we’re always looking for the worst possible interpretation of everything the opposing party does? Why is that? Because they have become the enemy. Worse than the enemy, really. We have demonized those who disagree with us. We put them right up there with Satan and we’ve got to fight against them or all that we care about will be lost. It’s scary when we get to that point. And I’m afraid that’s where we are.

Certainly, it's good to feel passionately about your convictions. But when it means targeting anyone who disagrees with you as an enemy who must be fought and destroyed, you’re in trouble. It’s dangerous. Especially for that person you see in the mirror.

Take some time to read the first chapter of James and think about whether your actions might be a manifestation of the one who taught us to love our enemies and turn the other cheek: “Let everyone be quick to listen, slow to speak, slow to anger; for your anger does not produce God’s righteousness…. If any think they are religious, and do not bridle their tongues but deceive their hearts, their religion is worthless.”

We’re being challenged in these politically charged days to not only talk the talk, but to walk the walk. No, we can’t control how the world around us will proceed in the weeks ahead. But we can control ourselves. Will we allow ourselves to get sucked up into the angry rhetoric all around us? Will we close our ears to anyone who disagrees with us? Will we allow fear and anger to lead us? Or will we be able to look in the mirror, reminding ourselves that we are God’s first fruits among all his creatures and conduct ourselves accordingly? Yes, I’m suggesting that this is the time for us to mix religion and politics in the best possible way.

The Uncle Al Show and my first public humiliation

Appearing on “The Uncle Al Show” was a pretty big deal for a kid growing up in the Cincinnati area during the 1950’s. Every morning, I tuned in to one of the three channels we got on our black-and-white T.V. to spend time with my best friend, Uncle Al. He was always smiling, just so darn glad to see us out- there- in-T.V.-land, wearing a straw hat with a band around it that matched his striped blazer. The best thing about Uncle Al was that he played the accordion and sang wonderful songs that I now suspect he wrote himself. I can still sing them to this day. Songs like “Up, up, up! Climb up Mr. Sun!” and “Put your toys away, don’t delay. Help your mommy have a happy day.” Uncle Al was married to a woman named Captain Windy, who was on the show, too. She wore a shiny skirt and a cape. Every day she made a fabulous entrance by flying in. This, of course, explained the cape.

When I was five years old and my cousin Judy was six, we got to appear on the Uncle Al show. It was the first time that I can remember ever feeling disillusioned, as well as my first public humiliation. The disillusionment came when I actually met Uncle Al up close and personal. He was a cranky guy who didn’t really seem to like kids. Then, when the cameras started rolling, he was all smiles. Of course, his on-stage little friends played along, including me. The biggest disappointment to me, though, was Captain Windy. I was waiting to see her fly in, but it never happened. Uncle Al announced her entrance, and I heard the flying music, but then she just came walking over to us. Oh well.

The Uncle Al Show had sponsors like: Skippy peanut butter, Kahn’s wieners, Snyder’s pretzels, and Butternut bread. On the show, Uncle Al did all the commercials himself and he involved selected children in them. For example, Captain Windy would spread the Skippy peanut butter on a saltine cracker about five inches high and cram it into a kid’s mouth and then Uncle Al asked that kid a question, which of course the kid couldn’t answer because his mouth was full of sticky, gooey stuff. And we would all laugh at the kid. It was so funny. Every day it happened. And every day it was funny.

My cousin Judy was selected for the pretzel commercial. She got to swing on a giant pretzel, which I thought was way cool. That’s the commercial I wanted. But the one I appeared in was the Butternut bread commercial. I was well aware of how it went. A kid would stand and hold her arms out as Uncle Al piled loaves of bread in them so high that you couldn’t see her face any more. And, invariably, it was too much for the poor kid, and all the bread came tumbling to the floor. Well, I was bound and determined that wasn’t going to happen to me. I was going to be the first kid on Uncle Al to hold that bread in my arms no matter how high the stack got.

I stood with my arms out straight and steady while Uncle Al piled up the tower of bread. Higher and higher it went, and I didn’t move. When the last loaf was in place, I was so proud of myself. I did it! But my glory was short-lived. Uncle Al reached under my arms and punched up. The result of this unfair interference, which the cameras obviously didn’t capture, was an avalanche of bread loaves. Everyone laughed, and I was mortified!

This was certainly not the last time I experienced a public humiliation, but just a preview of coming attractions. I still get that same feeling sometimes after I’ve preached a sermon, in fact. I feel like I’ve put myself out there and made an ass of myself and I’ll never be able to show my face in public again. But then, of course, I do. It’s a lesson I first learned from Uncle Al. Along with the realization that: smiles are often deceptive, I should never trust a man wearing a straw hat, and I will never be able to fly, not even if I wear a really nice cape.

Reflections of a Schmuck

I wonder how different my life would be if I weren’t so doggone trusting. There have been times when I thought it’s a good thing to trust other people, but today, I’m not so sure.

I got burned. I trusted someone completely, only to learn that this person had lied, cheated and stolen from me. Now, I know that there are people who do such things. And I’m realistic enough to acknowledge that this is fairly common behavior in our world. So, I can accept the fact that a person could do such despicable things. I get that. But that it would be THIS person, someone I was so sure I could trust, leaves me feeling like my guts have been tossed into a blender.

No, this isn’t the first time in my life when I’ve trusted someone who betrayed that trust. It's happened a lot. And I’m starting to think I may have a problem in that regard. I may be too trusting. When I first meet someone, I’m always cautious. But once I let my guard down, I’m ripe for the picking. I’ve never thought of myself as naïve, but maybe I am. I do know that when I trust, I trust completely. It’s hard for me to trust someone a little.

Why am I such an easy mark? Some of it, I suspect, has to do with an overpowering need I have to be loved. It’s not something I’m particularly proud of, but I’ve grown to accept it as a part of who I am. I need to be loved so much that I have been known to allow that need to over-ride my better judgment. So I tried to overlook the unfaithfulness of my first husband. And I denied the obvious deceit of a second one. How could I have been so stupid? I feared the consequences of facing the truth because it meant losing the love I so desperately needed. The thought of that was more painful to me than facing the truth and taking care of my own best interests.

Another reason why it’s so easy for me to trust those who aren’t trustworthy is that I make the mistake of thinking other people are like me when it comes to honesty. There is not a dishonest bone in my body. (Okay, maybe there are a few tendons and ligaments, but none of the major bones.) If I lie, I get physically ill. I mean that literally. And I assume that other people are the same way. This is especially true with those I become close to. I know that I would never deceive them, so I can’t imagine that they would ever deceive me.

Oh, let’s face it. I’m a schmuck, plain and simple. I try to convince myself that trusting others is admirable by going to a poem that’s attributed to Mother Teresa: “People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway. If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway. If you are honest, people may cheat you. Be honest anyway….” I'm not convinced today. And then I think of that wonderful quote from Anne Frank, “Despite everything, I believe that people are really good at heart.” Yes, what a wonderful perspective on life! But now I’m remembering that this was something she wrote in her diary before some of those really-good-at-heart people drug her off to a concentration camp and killed her.

Despite the fact that I know in my head why I have reason to hope, sometimes despair gets the best of me and threatens to crush my spirit. The only thing I can do to combat it is offer deepest thanks for all the trustworthy people God has sent to be a part of my life’s journey. Without them, I wouldn’t be able to go on. Yes, this is one of those days when I’m convinced that people who are “really good at heart” are truly the exception in this world, but that just makes them all the more valuable to me.

Hankerin'

Do you ever get a hankerin’ for something, but you’re not quite sure what it is? Every once in a while, this happens to me. It’s usually associated with stress. I’m a stress eater. And sometimes I get this notion that if I can just find what it is I’m hankerin’ for, I’m going to feel a whole lot better -- better about my situation, my life, myself.

So, I climb into my car and head for the supermarket. Then I get down to business. I walk up and down the aisles. In the produce I stop and imagine myself eating some fat, juicy grapes. Is that what I’m hankerin’ for? Nope. I go to the chips and think about how satisfying it would be to crunch away on something salty. But will that do it for me? Nope. I make my way to my favorite section of the grocery store, the cookie aisle. And I stop by the Nutter Butters. Is this what I’m hankerin’ for? Nope. Next comes the freezer section. Frozen Yogurt. Is that it? Nope. I make my way through the entire store, hoping that something will jump out and grab me because I have no idea what I’m looking for. Just something to ease this hankerin’ I’m feeling inside.

There are times when I go through this whole routine and leave the store empty-handed. Nothing seems to do it for me. But most often, I do walk away with something, usually something that isn’t at all good for me. Then as soon as I get into the car I tear it open and start in.

Do you ever do that? Do you ever feel yourself hankerin’ for something and you don’t know what it is? It might not be food. It might be that you’re hankerin’ for a drink. Or you’re hankerin’ to buy something new. Or you’re hankerin’ for an adventure. Or you’re hankerin’ for a special person in your life. Or you’re hankerin’ for something to entertain you.

Whatever it is, hankerin’ can be pretty stressful in itself. Especially when you aren’t quite sure what you’re hankerin’ for. It leaves everything in your life feeling out of whack. Something’s just not right. Nothing quite fits. You have this dis-ease that keeps gnawing at you and you don’t know what to do about it.

We humans must have a natural tendency to hanker. The children of Israel were terrible hankerers. In the Exodus story, they have what presents itself as a food crisis. But, in reality, it’s a faith crisis. God has just delivered them from the hands of the Egyptians, but all they can think about is the food they used to have back in the days when they lived in Egypt. Never mind the fact that they were slaves, and miserable. They seemed to forget about all that. So, instead of being thankful for the amazing blessings within their grasp, they hanker for what they can’t have. God hears their hankerin’ and gives them manna for bread and quail for meat. It may not be exactly what they want, but it’s exactly what they need.

This story from Exodus seems to foreshadow a story that we read in John’s gospel. Jesus has just fed a hungry crowd of 5000+ people. And now, they’re chasing him down. It wasn’t enough for them. They’re hankerin’ for something more. Jesus knows that. And he realizes that they don’t even know what it is they’re hankerin’ for.

“You’re looking for me because I fed you,” he says. “But there’s so much more I can give you. That bread and fish that I fed you will only satisfy you for so long, and then you’re going to be hungry again. You’re going to spend the rest of your life hankerin’ for something you don’t have until you seek the true bread from heaven.”

Well, that sounds pretty good to them. “Okay, we’ll take it. Give it to us, please.”

“Here’s the thing,” Jesus tells them. “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. “

Jesus warns his followers, then and now, that we’d best be mindful about what we’re hankerin’ for. Because pert near everything in this world that we convince ourselves we can’t live without has little to do with really living. Not the living that God calls us to be a part of.

The kinds of things we spend our lives pursuing are usually things that have a shelf life. The only thing that doesn’t have a shelf life, Jesus reminds us, is the relationship we have with God. And until we live into that reality, we’re going to continue wandering aimlessly up and down the aisles at the supermarket looking for just the thing that will satisfy our longing. And we fail to notice is that everything we think might satisfy us is stamped with an expiration date.

St. Augustine once said that our hearts will always be restless until they find their rest in God. Life doesn’t have to be an endless quest to find the one thing that will satisfy our hankerin’. God is there all along, waiting to give us all that we need: to be complete, to be at peace, to be content.

When I get a hankerin’ and go to Harris Teeter, hoping to find just the right thing to satisfy me, I usually end up with junk food that I stuff into my face. And in no time at all, I’m feeling worse than I did before, both physically and emotionally. And now I’m hankerin’ again. Because junk food isn’t what I needed.

It makes me wonder about all the other kinds of junk food we consume in an effort to satisfy our longing. Our junk food may be drugs, alcohol, sex, work, fast cars, running, our children, a reckless pursuit of adrenaline rushes, a relentless quest for perfection or control or the approval of others. There are so many things we can convince ourselves we need to satisfy our hankerin’.

It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, does it? Why do we have such a tendency to hanker for junk food when we could be savoring the bread of life?

The Day After They Lined Up for Chicken

So much has already been said about boycotting Chick-Fil-A that I don’t need to say a whole lot about it here. At first I was among those who didn’t quite get why many of my friends were so offended by some old man who made homophobic statements. After all, we hear these things all the time. Doesn’t the guy have as much right to express his opinion as I do? But then when I learned about the millions of dollars Chick-Fil-A contributes to organizations that are working to deny the rights of gay folks, I realized that every time I buy a chicken sandwich there, I am contributing to those organizations, as well. So, I won’t be doing that any more. It’s as simple as that for me.

Now, the morning after “Chick-Fil-A Appreciation Day”, I am having strong feelings about what I witnessed yesterday. I can understand why some people would not see this as I do; we disagree about the issue of homosexuality. So, of course, it wouldn’t bother them to continue patronizing Chick-Fil-A. That’s fine. I won’t fault them for it. But what I saw yesterday went beyond that. There were people who made a point of going to Chick-Fil-A, standing in line, having their pictures taken and boasting about it. Some of them ate there for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Of course, the name of Jesus was invoked while they were doing it. Somehow this became an expression of “Christianity.” And it makes me sick to my stomach.

I often hear Christians who are opposed to what they refer to as the homosexual “lifestyle” (implying that sexual orientation is a choice) saying that they “love the sinner, but hate the sin.” They will insist that they do not hate people who are gay. In fact they love them. What they’re trying to do is save them. Again, I don’t agree with them. But I can respect what they’re saying.

So tell me, please, how what happened yesterday could be construed as loving toward LGBT people? Those who made a big deal out of eating at Chick-Fil-A yesterday were spitting in the faces of a lot of people I love. It grieves my soul to see how quickly people jump on the hate bandwagon. I wonder if they really think about the ones they are hurting. But then, that's the way I tend to see these things. It's not about who's right and who's wrong. It's about who's being harmed. And a lot of people were harmed yesterday. There was nothing loving about eating at Chick-Fil-A and telling gay people you don’t give a damn about them.

I want to say “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do” but I’m having trouble with that right now.

Weird shit I don't see in Charlotte

In all the times I’ve been to New York City, I had never visited the Museum of Modern Art until this past week. I loved it. But then, I love weird shit, and MoMA has more weird shit in a concentrated area than any place I’ve ever seen. Of course, a big part of the fun is scratching your head and wondering, “What the ****?”

One work that particularly amused me was by a Belgian artist named Marcel Broodthaers (1924-1976). Because it is a three-dimensional piece, it is displayed beneath a glass case that is mounted to the wall. It’s called, “General with Cigar” and that pretty much sums it up. There is a portrait of an unknown decorated general and he has a cigar sticking out of his mouth. When I say it was sticking out of his mouth, I mean that literally. The artist cut a little hole in the general’s mouth, and with a giant glob of glue, he stuck a half-smoked, old, nasty cigar in it. So, yes, the cigar is sticking straight out of the general’s mouth. It reminds me of the sort of thing my son Ben would have done. Back in elementary school.

So, here’s the thing that really grinds my butt about “General with Cigar” by Broodthaers. The artist didn’t even paint the portrait of the general. He picked it up somewhere at a flea market. Doggone it, he didn’t even make the cigar. All he did was glue it to the picture. And he called it art. Okay.

Now, I have no idea what Mr. Broodthaers was paid for this work, but since it’s featured at the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, where I had to pay $25 just to walk in the door, I figure he was paid well for it. Considering the fact that all he did was glue a cheap cigar to a cheap painting, I would guess that it may have taken him all of five minutes to complete this work of art. (Maybe longer, if you allow for the time it took the glue to dry.)

I wonder if Mr. Broodthaers did a little jig all the way to the bank as he went to cash the check he received for this brilliant masterpiece. Did he giggle himself to sleep every night for the rest of his life? No, I don’t know what he was paid, but I imagine it was a boatload of money. And, so far as I can see, no matter what he was paid, surely it was too much!

Before I left MoMA, I stopped in the gift shop and picked up a poster of Picasso’s “Three Musicians.” I put it in a cardboard shipping tube so I could mail it to Charlotte and it would be waiting for me when I returned home. This required a trip the next day to the U.S. Post Office in Bushwick (Brooklyn). My daughter’s boyfriend, Jon, had warned me about how this Post Office is frequented by crazy customers who fly into a rage for no apparent reason. I thought he was exaggerating. Turns out he understated the situation. In one relatively brief visit, I witnessed two out-of-control customer tirades that left me scratching my head and wondering “What the ****?” just as I had the day before at MoMA.

As I was walking into the Post Office, a woman was all hot and bothered about the cost of her stamp and how there was something wrong with her envelope, and it wasn’t her fault, and now she was going to have to change it, but she paid all this money for her stamp, goddam it, and she wasn’t going to waste it, and somehow it was all their fault at the U;S. Post Office and they were going to have to make it right, and she didn’t care if she had to take the case all the way to the ****ing Supreme ****ing Court, they were going to pay for treating her this way and she wasn’t going to leave until they did, and on and on it went.

I moved to the next window and received the help I needed from a woman who was kind, calm, and patient. Actually, all the people working there seemed to be that way.

As I was exiting the Post Office, another customer, an African American woman, was verbally abusing the Asian American postal worker on the other side of the glass. The customer cussed the postal worker out and berated her with a racial slur, yelling something about how in order to work at the United States Post Office you should be required to speak English, and it went downhill from there. I don’t know what the issue was exactly, but I can’t imagine any reason to speak that way to another human being unless maybe you just learned that they had boiled and eaten your firstborn child.

I’ve been living in the South for about fifteen years now, and I just don’t hear people talking to other people like this. Yeah, they are capable of being rude in the South, but this was beyond rude. It was brutal. And, so far as I could tell, pointless. Especially when you consider the fact that these customers were verbally abusing people they expected to help them. How do the postal workers tolerate it? How can they stand to be beaten up every day like punching bags by rage-a-holics who should be locked away somewhere in a padded room?

The women I saw working at the Bushwick Post Office are heroes, in my book. And, I don’t care what they’re being paid, it could never be enough. As I was mulling the indignity of it all, I thought again about Marcel Broodthaers. I think it’s safe to say that the postal workers in Brooklyn aren’t paid in one year what Mr. Broodthaers was paid for the five minutes it took him to glue a half-smoked cigar to a flea market painting.

I guess that's how the world works. We seldom compensate people in a way that is commensurate with their worth. For some, any amount of pay would be more than enough, and for others, no amount of pay would ever be enough. I don't know that it is as in-your-face anywhere as much as it is in New York City. Not just at an art museum in Manhattan and a Post Office in Brooklyn, of course. But the injustice of disparity between the classes can be seen on any street corner. I suspect there is a reason why this is where the Occupy movement began.

Birthmarks welcome

When I was a kid, I had a very noticeable birthmark on my face. As you might guess, I was self-conscious about it. My mom even took me to a dermatologist, who gave me some cream to make it disappear, although it didn’t do much. Instead, the birthmark seemed to fade as I got older. You can still see it, but you have to look for it.

Because of the birthmark on my face, I was quite struck by Nathanael Hawthorne’s short story, “The Birthmark” when I read it in school. It’s about a scientist who marries a woman who is absolutely perfect in every way, except for this small birthmark she has on her face. The scientist becomes obsessed with it and he works at coming up with a concoction that will make it go away. When he finally thinks he has it perfected, his wife agrees to take it. And it does the job. Slowly, the birthmark on her face disappears. Unfortunately, as the birthmark fades away, so does his wife. When it is completely gone, his wife is finally perfect in every way. Well, except for the fact that she’s dead.

Have you ever noticed that animals don’t worry about being perfect? My dog Pooky only has one eye and I’m quite certain she has no awareness of this. She’s too busy being Pooky. Striving for perfection seems to be a very human characteristic. Some of us learn early on that it’s futile, and we relinquish the quest. Others among us can never get past it. We’re always fighting against our limitations. Ever deluding ourselves into believing that if we just try a little harder, we’ll get there.

Religion, for some people, is all about striving the quest for perfection, or at least getting as close to it as they can. So they work hard to live morally upstanding lives. And they’re extra careful about coloring between the lines so they don’t mess up. Somewhere along the way, their religion has given them the impression that the goal to life is striving for perfection.

Is that what Jesus was all about? Was Jesus all about striving to be perfect? We like to say that Jesus was perfect. But by that do we mean that he never did anything wrong? How could Jesus have grown up like we all do and never do anything wrong? The kind of perfection Jesus achieved would be better described as completeness. In striving to be like Jesus, our goal as his followers, is not to live perfect little lives. It’s to live authentically, as the people God created us to be. It’s to be whole.

And, here’s the catch. In order to be whole, we embrace who we really are, including our imperfections. We look at the things about ourselves that we may have decided have no redeeming value, and accept them as a part of who we are.

In his second letter to the Corinthians, Paul talks about his “thorn in the flesh.” No one knows exactly what it was for him. There are different theories. Some people think he was nearly blind. Others say he had malaria. Or he was homosexual. It’s probably just as well that we don’t know exactly what it was because it doesn’t matter really.

What matters is acknowledging the fact that we all have a thorn in the flesh. It’s that thing that seems to keep coming up again and again and you wish more than anything that it would just go away. I’m like that about my weight. My struggle with my weight isn’t going to go away, no matter how much I may obsess over it. That’s a thorn in the flesh for me. I wish I could say it’s the only one. There are others, as well. A big part of what it means to be human is to have struggles. That’s the way it works.

Paul reminds us that this isn’t all bad. A thorn in the flesh is a constant reminder to us of our imperfection. And really, our imperfection may just be one of the most perfect things about us. Because it’s the way God made us. It’s a part of who we are in our completeness.

I can’t begin to see myself as God sees me. When I see myself, I tend to hone in on all the stuff that’s wrong with me. But I suspect that may not be what God sees when he looks on me. It may be the things that I wish I could change. But I suspect that may not be what God sees when he looks at me. It may be the things that I think are all wrong about me that endear me the most to the God who loves me.

Paul puts forth the idea that it’s in our weakness that we find our strength. I don’t know about you, but that certainly rings true for me. That’s the way it seems to work in my life. When I’m struggling so much that I don’t know which way to turn, I end up going to the only one I can turn to. When I’m so empty that it doesn’t feel like there’s anything left of me, there’s a vacuum inside me that only God’s Spirit can fill. When I don’t think I have what it takes to do what I know I have to do, that’s just the opening God needs to work through me. When I am weak, that’s when I become strong. When I feel like I’m not enough, I learn that God’s grace is more than enough.

For a long time, I thought this was all about this really cool thing that happens between God and me. When I’m weak, God makes me strong. But I’ve grown to think of the way this works a little differently. I think it’s more about me acknowledging that I need help, that I don’t have it all together and, if it all depends upon me, I’m in a lot of trouble. Then God comes to me in my weakness and gives me the strength I need. And I’ve noticed that the way this most often happens in my life is through other people. God gives me the strength I need when I admit that I need help. Then I’m open to receive it. And it comes to me through the people God sends into my life. When I am weak, then I become strong.

There is a story about a guy who falls in love with a beautiful woman and begs her to go out with him. “Be serious,” the woman says. “You’re fat, bald, ugly and your wardrobe is atrocious.” So the guy goes on a diet and loses 80 pounds and starts working out at a gym. He gets a hair transplant and plastic surgery. He goes to a tanning salon and buys himself a new wardrobe. Finally, he goes back to the woman and asks her what she thinks. “What a hunk!" she says, and she agrees to a date.

So he arrives at her door with a limo and driver. She emerges from her house radiant, promising him a never–to–be–forgotten evening. As they walk together toward the limo, lightning strikes the man. So now he’s lying on the street dying, and he cries out, “Why now, God? Why now, on the happiest day of my life?” God answers. “Sorry, Sam. I didn’t recognize you.”

We may spend a lot of time and energy trying to be people we aren’t. But it’s good to remember that God sees us as the people we are: people who are full of what we perceive to be imperfections. Striving for perfection is not only futile, but it’s not even God’s desire for us. What God wants from us is an authentic relationship with him as the people he created us to be. All birthmarks are welcome!