We The Church

Letters to The Family: Erica

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I met Erica at a Creative Discipleship event where we were learning to give ourselves permission to take creative expression to the pages of our Bibles. Erica and I have not interacted much since then as she moved 10 hours away, but here is what I saw from that first meeting. Erica loves people. She craves community and Ericavalues authenticity. She owns her story and intentionally looks for God in the pages of her life, even if it is difficult to find his fingerprints. Please read Erica’s words with a teachable heart. We need to hear these stories, to own our failures as The Family. Erica is part of our family, and we need to set a place at the table for her and others who walk similar roads.

Dear sanctuary I never felt safe in,

Hello readers, I’m Erica and I am a 23 year old alcoholic and drug addict. If I continue to grow in my relationship with Christ and do the other things my fellowship (Alcoholics Anonymous) tells me to do, I will have a year of sobriety in August. I come from a Baptist home and was raised in the church until I was given the choice to stop attending around the age of 12, a year after I began my love affair with drugs and alcohol.

Throughout high school I occasionally attended my parents church as a hail Mary type of deal. I thought I would get immediate relief and it would fix all the problems I was causing for myself. My lifestyle was no secret to the community of my suburban city. I was told I was unwelcomed in a Sunday school class because I was a “party girl”. I was completely ignored during the social part before the lesson started. I would sit in a room full of 50 to 60 kids who knew who I was and never approached. A leader in my class who knew my dad told me I was an embarrassment to my family and I should be ashamed of my actions. People in that class point blank came up to me and told me getting drunk was a sin so I was probably going to hell. As a 17 year old in the throws of an addiction I was hurting and so broken. I went to church hoping to find peace and acceptance and love but I was greeted with disgust and misunderstanding.

By the time I was graduating from high school I was scared for my life. My addiction was killing my soul and slowly ruining my life. Out of fear and in an attempt to “fix” my problems I chose to go to a small private Christian university. I attended the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor for 3 and a half years. I wasn’t too excited about going to a Christian school because most of the interactions I had had with people who claimed the name of the Lord weren’t good. However, God was faithful and brought me one person who I could see the light of Him in.

Throughout our time at UMHB she spent many nights consoling my broken spirit and my intoxicated body, but loved me anyways. She taught me about grace and how we all fall short of the glory of God. She never pushed me to know Jesus, she just let me watch how He worked in her own life. She showed me how she got through trials by leaning on the Father. I was resentful at the church for a long time. Since getting sober I have really had to evaluate my view on religion and the church. I realized that the church is made up of people who, just like me, are imperfect. My sins are no different than the people I met at church who treated me poorly. I am at fault if I judge every single church based off of the experience I had with one Sunday school class.

There is a quote from the Big Books of Alcoholics Anonymous that really helped to soften my soul towards organized religion and keep my heart in check. “We looked at the human defects of these people, and sometimes used their shortcomings as a basis of wholesale condemnation. We talked of intolerance, while we were intolerant ourselves. We missed the reality and the beauty of the forest because we were diverted by the ugliness of some of its trees.” (BB of AA page 50).

That perfectly sums up how I feel about the church. The sanctuary I never felt safe in is now a building made up of imperfect people who were all made in the sight of the Lord. I have been called to love, regardless of anyone’s actions. I think I needed to know the pain of being rejected in order to understand the importance of showing everyone love and acceptance.

God bless,

Erica Joy LaHouse

In This Skin

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The last few weeks, we have been asking questions about what it means to be a woman and meanwhile, Bruce Jenner has faded away and has transformed outwardly to have the shape of a woman…a woman named Caitlyn. And so we find ourselves, once again, navigating the borderlands. Once again we are being asked to step to one side or another of the line drawn in the sand.

There are articles every which way you turn. Many praising Caitlyn for her courage. Others demonizing Bruce for this decision. And still others just seeking to understand. But why must we always choose a side?

I don’t agree with the choice Bruce made but I can, on some level, relate. And, if you are honest with yourself, I believe you can as well.

See, Bruce was at odds with his own skin. His outsides did not match his insides. There was a disparity between who he felt he was at his very core and what people saw when they looked at him, even when he looked at himself. This disparity caused Bruce to feel disconnected from himself and at war with his life.

I too have felt as though the person others see does not seem to align with who I am certain I’ve been created to be. When your skin doesn’t seem to fit, it is an isolating experience. This distance between your soul and your skin seems to carve out a hollow space the size of the Grand Canyon within you and create a vastness that spans the universe between you and those with whom you share life. It seems as though no one really knows you, including, and perhaps especially, yourself.

I don’t claim to know the intricate and intimate aches of this journey that Bruce has walked in becoming Caitlyn. Gender identity has never been the hinge of the discomfort of my own skin. There is much I do not understand about this particular struggle but I can easily see the humanity of it. I can easily, if I stop demanding that people agree with me, see my where my own heartaches overlap with those Bruce must have been feeling for so long.

To not feel at home in your own skin…

That is to be human.

Not wholly human but to be a human in a world this side of Eden.

I believe at creation, before sin, we were wholly human. Rebellion broke that wholeness and ever since God has been working to restore us to the complete perfection of humanity in which he first breathed life. That first act of distrust, pride, and rebellion broke every relationship that ever will be. As broken humans, we cannot find perfect peace with God, nature, one another, or ourselves. There is no fix we can employ to bridge the gap between us and God, and there is no fix we can employ to bridge the gap between our soul and skin. However, while we cannot fix the destroyed, God can. And Jesus is that cure.

Now, before you run away because you fear I might get preachy, let me be clear. I’ve had a relationship with Jesus for the majority of my life and there are still many many days, months even, when I do not feel like one whole person, at home in my skin. If we were created for a perfect world, and Jesus is going to bring that perfection about, then we are not home yet so it stands to reason that we wouldn’t feel settled. Jesus had the same aches. The one He knew he was and the one people saw him as were not in sync. This skin we wear was created to hold a soul that was in perfect harmony with God and all of creation and until that is restored, we will always have moments when we feel like our flesh pinches and pulls.

As The Church, we are quick to show our disgust when people make choices that are contrary to The Truth we hold to. We roll our eyes and tell the world why Bruce will never be a woman and why he is destroying they lives of his family and why we just cannot understand why someone would do that to himself. But, be quiet for a moment. Put away your “righteous indignation” for a little while and examine your heart. If you cannot understand why someone would make these choices, perhaps you have not acknowledged some aches in your own life. Have you really never felt at odds with your own skin? Have you never made any choice to try to bridge the gap? Dyed your hair, changed your wardrobe, rearranged your surroundings?

I dyed a strip of my hair teal a little over a year ago. It was the first time, in a long time that I left the salon feeling a little more like myself. It’s silly but outwardly I don’t feel like there is anything particularly unique or striking about me. I blend in. On my worst days, I wallow in feeling forgettable. But inwardly, I believe God has created a spark in me. I feel like I have something to offer the world that is significant and special and anything but forgettable. I’m generally a rule follower outwardly but there is a rebellious streak internally that I don’t know how to release without it reeking havoc. So, I dyed my hair an unnatural color to try to lessen the distance between my soul and skin. And I still like my hair, but it no longer effectively fills the cavern. It was a short-term solution to an eternal problem. An eternal problem that we all carry in this skin.

So let’s take a break from drawing lines in the sand and choosing sides. Perhaps, rather that running from the transgendered community in fear or barreling toward them with “righteous anger”, we could come alongside them. Perhaps, we could put an arm around them and listen to their stories, hear their heartache. And perhaps, we could even honestly confess with them that we aren’t sure how to feel at home in this skin. Know what you believe, stand firm in it, but choose to find common ground. Choose to be kind. Choose to set down your stone, scribble in the sand, and speak peace like Jesus did when the religious mobs threw a sinner at His feet.

I don’t have to understand his choices to know that I can relate to Bruce. I’m certain you can too. And I fear, when the fan fare dies down, Caitlyn will find herself standing in this place once again.

The Piano Lesson

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Since the beginning of our relationship, she has been staring at me from across the room. Every now and then, I would open her up and run my fingers along the ivories, hoping the years of lessons would come back like riding a bicycle. Unfortunately, the piano is not a bicycle and my fingers don’t remember the dance that they reluctantly practiced all those years ago.

See, two years ago, I acquired this piano. She is quite possibly the most beautiful of all my belongings. She made the move with me from a four bedroom house in the city to my one bedroom suburban apartment. And yet, since being in my care, she has never lived her purpose. Instead, she has served as a shelf, a home for books and photos and the dvd player. The piano has played the background of many photos and she does it well. Still, a piano is meant for more.

I had the best of intentions when I acquired her. I planned to sit and force my fingers to find their way again. I pulled out my old lesson books and my music theory text book. I had good intentions.

But good intentions are not the same as intentional actions.

I don’t know your story, but perhaps you are feeling like my piano. Perhaps you have been aching for the more you were made to be. It’s a story we all have lived, waiting for someone to recognize that we are meant for more than a pretty picture. We wait for permission to share the song locked up in our souls, aching to be played. A piano must wait for someone to come along and put her to use, but you and I…what are we waiting for?

You have good intentions to serve in your church but no one has asked? Be intentional in your actions and offer your help. You have good intentions to make friends in your new neighborhood but your neighbors stay locked away behind busy schedules and drawn curtains? Be intentional in your actions and knock on a door. Always meant to write a book, learn that skill, make the phone call? Whose permission are we waiting for?

If the answer is anyone other than the One who created us, then it’s time to stop waiting. And if the answer is the One who created us, then let us be very sure we are not putting words in His mouth. He may very well ask us to wait, but He will not ask us to let our strings grow rusty and our keys sticky beyond use. So let us not mistake our fear for His forbiddance of living within our purpose.

I sold my piano this week. I had to be honest with myself about the reality of our relationship. There are many skills I’d love to learn. I do not have the time nor the mental capacity to learn it all and do it well. So, I am sending my beloved bookshelf off to a home where she will live her purpose. She will belong to a piano teacher and the fingers of children will learn to dance along her keys.

You may have many passions and the thought of choosing a path may paralyze your heart. It’s time, friend. Be honest about what you are made for. Be honest about what is the envious dream of another life and what is wired into your being. And when it still feels there are a million streams flowing from your soul, make a choice and take a step. You may find that the streams cross a ways down the road but if you keep waiting for permission, you will most certainly find nothing but bitterness towards all those who withheld it. No matter how much you plan to live with purpose, it is in the walking that purpose is found.

What are you waiting for? Be brave. And remember, good intentions are not the same as intentional actions.