Every day is Blursday.

 Read somewhere. Such a good description of days in this time of Corona.

"If we think that the ultimate goal of the church is to fix things then when we are faced with an un-fixable situation we are disappointed in God in a way that's pretty unfair..." Sarah Condon.

On the Mockingcast episode I listened to today, the hosts talked about "crisis of capacity"" -- the point you reach when you can't do anything more. It's not about what you should do, what needs to be done, but the fact that you cannot. Near the end of the episode, Sarah Condon says this:

If we think that the ultimate goal of the church is to fix things then when we are faced with an un-fixable situation we are disappointed in God in a way that's pretty unfair; we're disappointed in our own abilities in a way that will only separate us from God's grace and it's really dangerous. The church is actually, generally speaking, terrible at fixing things because there's social services institutions with people with educations that are able to do that. We can only do so much. 

But if you think that the ultimate purpose of the church is to preach Christ crucified for sinners and salvation, then even when there's nothing else you can do to help or to fix, that is always a place you can turn to. You can always stand at the foot of the cross. When we're able to do that, we're able to see our own mistakes and our own failures as God just getting us ready for a miracle. In the moment when we stop trying to fix it, when we think, "I'm done," that's the moment when you're like, "Look out!" Guess what, you're not good at this. Something is going to happen that goes way beyond your abilities, way beyond your capacity, and you're just going to sit there and watch it happen.

RJ talked about a sermon his brother preached on the story of Joseph and all the heinous things that happened to him -- 50 chapters of Genesis. "It's a beautiful story of redemption. The truth is we're all just in chapter 37 right now."

From Chabad.org.

"I think the hardest thing for anyone is accepting that other people are as real as you are." Zadie Smith

Photo by Mike Chai from Pexels

...That’s it. Not using them as tools not using them as examples or things to make yourself feel better or things to get over or under. Just accepting that they are absolutely as real as you are and have all the same expectations and demands. And it’s so difficult that basically the only person that ever did it was Christ. The rest of us are very, very far behind.

From an interview in The Toronto Star. 

"Christianity, rightly understood, is a religion of losers."

I heard this being read in the Mockingcast podcast. The title and subtitle really spoke to me since the small number of people in our pews is a concern to me. I know we should not get all caught up in numbers and make goals of gaining more people who show up in the church. On the other hand, we do need people in order to do something as basic as hold a worship service.

Christianity, when properly understood, is a religion of losers

 This article is more than 5 years old

Giles Fraser

A church that successfully proclaims the message of the cross – death first, then resurrection – is likely to be empty and not full.

Christianity, properly understood, is a religion of losers – the worst of playground insults. For not only do we not want to be a loser, we don’t want to associate with them either. We pointedly shun losers, as if some of their loser-ness might rub off on us. Or rather, more honestly, we shun them because others might recognize us as among their number. And because we secretly fear that this might actually be true, we shun them all the more viciously, thus to distance ourselves all the more emphatically. And so the cock crows three times.

But it is true. Deep failure, the failure of our lives, is something we occasionally contemplate in the middle of the night, in those moments of terrifying honesty before we get up and dress for success. Ecce homo, said Pilate. Behold, the man. This is humanity. And the facade of success we present to the world is commonly a desperate attempt to ward off this knowledge. At the beginning of Lent, Christians are reminded of this in the most emphatic of ways: know that you are dust and to dust you shall return. Those who used the period of Lent to give things up are invited to live life stripped bare, experiencing humanity in the raw, without the familiar props to our ego. This has nothing to do with the avoidance of chocolate and everything to do with facing the unvarnished truth about human failure. There is no way 100 top business leaders would endorse the cross. It is life without the advertising, without the accoutrements of success. It is life on a zero-hours contract, where at any moment we can be told we are not needed.

But here’s the thing. The Christian story, like the best sort of terrifying psychoanalysis, strips you down to nothing in order for you to face yourself anew. For it turns out that losers are not despised or rejected, not ultimately. In fact, losers can discover something about themselves that winners cannot ever appreciate – that they are loved and wanted simply because of who they are and not because of what they achieve. That despite it all, raw humanity is glorious and wonderful, entirely worthy of love. This is revealed precisely at the greatest point of dejection. The resurrection is not a conjuring trick with bones. It is a revelation that love is stronger than death, that human worth is not indexed to worldly success.

In a world where we semaphore our successes to each other at every possible opportunity, churches cannot be blamed for failing to live up to this austere and wonderful message. The worst of them judge their success in entirely worldly terms, by counting their followers. Their websites show images of happy, uncomplicated people doing good improving stuff in the big community. But if I am right about the meaning of Christ’s passion, then a church is at its best when it fails, when it gives up on all the ecclesiastical glitter, when the weeds start to break through the floor, and when it shows others that failure is absolutely nothing of the sort. This is the site of real triumph, the moment of success. Failure is redeemed. Hallelujah.

Another article with quotes from Giles Fraser.

"I'm not going to get better right now."

Image by Alexas Fotos from Pixaby.

"This is not a time in my life when things will get better. Things are not going to improve right now." Sarah Condon quotes a best friend who says this in the Mockingcast episode, Episode 193: Those Upgrades Can Wait.

In this episode the hosts talked about innovation and the neverending drive to improve. They referenced this article as well, tying computer upgrades to the concept of that drive.

To love at all is to be vulnerable. ~~ C. S. Lewis

To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one...Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is hell.

Source: The Four Loves C. S. Lewis