Heckling for Jesus
I went running in New Orleans on December 17, along the riverfront right at the French Quarter. It was 5:00 on a Friday afternoon, and I was only blocks away from Bourbon Street. Maybe I should have known better. As I ran down this beautiful brick boardwalk, people starting heckling me. Yes! Heckling!
They yelled things like, “What are you running from?” and “What are you afraid of?” My favorite, though, was, “You can’t run from your problems!” This one tripped me up so much (literally) that I fell right there on the bricks.
This morning I’ve been thinking about a hate letter I received from an anti-LGBTQ Christian. He wrote, “You put your soul in danger of eternal damnation for welcoming unrepentant homosexuals into God’s house. You blaspheme the Name of God.”
Then I read about the Alabama immigration law and its effect on churches. This community of believers are complacent, at best, about the loss of their Christian brothers and sisters who are in the United States illegally. The church supports the new immigration law, and seems to only be worried about their own liability. It’s a sort of “we’re glad to have you in our church as long as you don’t get us in trouble” take on Christianity.
Compassion, hell. It seems that everybody has to have somebody to hate.
My prayer for the morning has been:
Loving and compassionate God, I know there is indifference in my heart, please replace it with compassion. I know there is prejudice in my being, please root it out. I know there is cruelty, please heal me so that I may love others better. Amen.
I awoke with the idea this morning that some days are full of grace, and some days have none. And while I know perfectly well when there are no graces, I have a hard time seeing the graces when they are present. Oh, and when I say grace? I mean those moments when you feel like you are right—right with God, right with family, right with friends and loved ones. And the absence of graces? When you are wrong—wrong with God, wrong with family, wrong with friends and loved ones. You can just be out of step, or you could really feel like you’ve stepped in something.
When I was in high school, I was afraid of Russians. I had seen