The Raven Foundation

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Adam discusses the biblical version of hospitality, emphasizing Paul's First Letter to the Corinthians 11:17-22 - and birthday parties. Paul wants everyone to be included at Communion/the Lord's Supper. But there was division in Corinth. The early church worshiped in houses, usually owned by the rich. Well, according to Paul, the rich would show up early, party like it's 1999, and the poor people (who likely worked all day) showed up later and got seconds. Probably bad wine, too. Paul said they weren't doing Communion right - that they were dividing the church/body of Christ, which is supposed to be as one body. So, this leads to the question: Where in our lives are we excluding people? And how can we change that into a spirit of inclusion?

I can be pretty judgmental.  Especially when it comes to God talk.  Theology matters.  Bad theology is a destructive force that can lead to violence, injustice, and fear.  So, when I hear people talking about God as being angry, mean, and judgmental – well, I get very angry, mean, and judgmental.

Last week some friends and I took our church youth group on a mission trip to Edisto Island, SC to run an educational day camp for elementary school students.  We’ve been going on this mission for the last four years.  Taking myself, three other adults, and 14-18 teenagers out of our comfort zone of the very European American and economically rich north shore of Chicago to the very African American and economically poor Edisto Island is always a bit of a culture shock for us.

We usually roll into Edisto on a Saturday.  The following day we attend a church service.  We were warned that the service at Allen AME could last up to 3 hours.  It did.  And it rocked.  The youth group loved it. After the service many of them remarked that it felt like it lasted only 45 minutes.

I, on the other hand, was stewing at the beginning of the service.  I wanted it to be over before it began.  We went to the church 20 minutes early and walked into the sanctuary, where they were finishing up their Sunday school classes.  The teachers brought all the elementary school students into the sanctuary to explain to their parents what they learned that morning.  They learned about the Exodus.  The first teacher asked her students what they learned.  After an awkward silence, she said, “We learned about the Israelites traveling in the dessert.  God was angry with them because they disobeyed Him.  Then we discussed the times we disobey Him and our parents.  We should always obey so that God doesn’t get angry with us.”  Three more Sunday school classes were paraded in front of their parents and the teachers said the same thing.  Then the pastor stood up and gave the same message.  “Don’t make God angry!  Don’t be like the Israelites!  Obey God or God will punish you!”

“Nooo,” I uttered under my breath – unfortunately loud enough that the mission tripper sitting next to me heard.  He asked why I disagreed.  I should have kept it to myself, but I whispered, “This misses the whole point of the journey in the desert.  You don’t have to fear God.  Yes, the Israelites disobeyed, but the story is not primarily about God being angry with them.  The story’s point is that God never leaves them.  God goes with them.  God is faithful to us even when we are not faithful to God.”

So, I stewed.  Yes, I stewed in my anger thinking that there is enough anger in the world – we don’t have to make God out to be angry.  And, in a moment of judgment I labeled the teachers and the pastors as angry, mean, and judgmental Christians.  And those poor kids who are subject to this theology!  The message is, “Obey.  And if you don’t, your parents have every right to punish you in any way they want.”

As the service continued, my anxiety abated.  I watched as the pastor and the members of the church came to our group and welcomed us.  They shook our hands and gave us hugs.  “We are so happy you are here,” the pastor said.  “Please, make yourself at home.  Thanks for providing our children with this day camp.  It means so much to us.”

You see, I label people.  The people I label the most are my fellow Christians with whom I disagree.  It’s an ugly habit.  For example, I reject fundamentalism and so I have this pattern of rejecting fundamentalist Christians.  Because I reject them, they naturally reject me.  It’s mimetic.

There is little hope for this situation to change unless grace steps in.

And that’s what happened.  I needed their hospitality.  Their grace overcame my judgmentalism.  During the service, they celebrated August birthdays.  Everyone with an August birthday was invited to go to the front of the sanctuary and the congregation sang happy birthday to them.  Four of our kids went up.  After we sang, the pastor invited our group to join them for birthday cake after the service.  So we did.  And they had popsicles!  (Hey.  South Carolina is HOT during the summer.  It was 95-100 every day we were there.)  Our group loved the service, they loved the cake, and I loved the popsicles.  We mingled with some the members of the congregation, thanked them for including us, and then we left.

There are those moments that begin to change us.  I think that was one for me.  Still, I’m left in this kind of awkward place.  I disagree with the theology, but I’m confident that grace can overcome whatever I think is bad theology.  Even more important than that, I’m confident that grace can overcome me.

As the trip came to an end, our kids were reflecting on the week.  One said something like, “You know, the people here are materially poor.  They don’t have much stuff.  But they are rich where it counts.  They are rich in love.”

Theology matters.  But grace and love matter even more.

Parenting is kind of like blogging.  You never know if you are doing it right.

You try.  And you learn.  And you try again.

We had an wonderful Easter at the Ericksen household.  We went to church.  (Wisdom says a youth pastor shouldn’t play hookie on Easter.)  We all got dressed up.  My Wife and I figure we have a few years of dressing our Boys this way.  Soon, they will refuse to dress up as “twins” as they will inevitably assert their “individuality.”

Of course, I hope that they find their individual passions.  But, more than that, I hope that they will discover that they will never really be “individuals” in our common use or the word.  Rather, I hope they will discover that they are “inter-dividual.”  Their identity is formed by each other.  At a most basic level, they are brothers, and for them to remain brothers, they are dependent on each other.

For the most part, they are very good to each other.  When one is upset, the other will try to console him.  It’s cute, especially because neither can pronounce his brother’s name quite right.  The youngest has trouble with “r” and pronounces it as a “w.”  The elder has problems with “g” and pronounces it as a “d.”  That’s adorable.

Of course, their identity is not only formed by each other, but they are also formed by their parents.  Which is a scary thing, when my Wife and I stop to think about it.  Parenting is tricky business.  We never know if we are doing it right.  (What is “right” anyway?)  Are we allowing them to watch too much T.V.?  Is “time-out” a bad idea?  What will others think of us if we can’t control them?

That last one really gets me.  I’m always worried about what others will think of my parenting abilities.  I fall into the trap of thinking my children are a reflection upon me.  So, on Sunday, we sat in the last pew of our church sanctuary, just in case our boys got rowdy and we needed to make a quick exit.

^{Trouble's a commin'!}

I’m beginning to realize that my anxiety about getting it "right" affects (or rather, infects) my children.  They soak it in.  My anxiety makes them anxious, and our shared anxiety needs an outlet. The first time they said something on Sunday morning I “shushed” them with great vigor.  That, of course, didn’t help.  So, we tried to distract them with suckers and toys.  That worked better, but it was noisy.  So noisy that I thought people in the front of the church would be distracted by our boisterous children.  I feared that we would at least get dirty looks from the people around us, but none came.  Only friendly glances with smiling faces.  A cynic might think they were smiles of contempt, but they weren’t.  They were smiles of joy and welcome. 

That’s what the church should be.  A place of joy and welcome.  So much of our world wants to marginalize young families – so we infect one another with dirty looks at restaurants, on airplanes, and in supermarkets.  So we parents make up rules for our children and we “shush” them. We threaten them with “time-outs” and loss of certain privileges.  Unfortunately, all of that has a harmful effect. Children soak up that negativity.  Indeed, we all soak up the negativity thrown our way and pass it along to others.  It’s infectious.  And, as a parent, I know how easy it is to emphasize the negative as opposed to the positive.  That’s why we need friendly glances with smiling faces.  I need to remind myself that people aren’t critiquing my parenting ability.  And if they do, it’s more about them than it is about me.  99% of my anxiety is unnecessary, and the remaining 1% is probably unnecessary, too.  That 1% just makes the situation worse.

Which is why I’m glad that on Easter the church reminded me of grace.  It reminded me that we don’t have to do it “right.”  It reminded me that what the world needs is a good kind of infection.  The infection of friendly glances with smiling faces.