To be so weary And daily duty bleary
And then discover
In that constant loving place
Another's delight
At the wonder of my embarrassingly Simple Me-ness
This is home.
You can't go home again 'tis true
For life's cruel seasons
Batter the proudest fortresses
And snow will visit every roof
Yet wisely I carry home
Deeper within
Where cold cannot penetrate,
Moth beat in futility,
And rust is mocked for the effort.
My home is hidden in the eyes of my mother
Smiling back at me within my own reflection
Echoing the laughter of my father
Playing Fee Fi Fo Fum before bedtime.
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Heart is Where the Home Is
My Last Babe
My last babe
With warm cheek and blistered lip
Ripe from suckling.
I hold you differently
As the blanket has tatooed your soft head
With dotty flannel quilt patches.
Gazing now at your rising infant chest
Breathing the soft, hiccuped gasps
Of the truly contented.
Never to feel so complete again,
I sigh sweet and bitter.
(Okay so this was a bit of a lie... It was written for Rocki shortly after her birth in 1995 - pictured above. My 3rd child under 6, I thought I was done having babies. As you can see from the picture below, we were not done experiencing the wonders of bringing "LIFE" into the world - thus the name of our 4th child - Zoe, pictured with her big sister Rocki.)
I Did Not Like Your Sermon
I did not like your sermon.
I squirmed and struggled through.
I could not jot a single note
Though usually I do.
I could not doodle envelopes,
Nor hold my husband's hand.
I had to listen mouth agape
To words I could not stand.
I could not nudge my neighbor,
Nor give my knowing nod,
Nor pat my little pocket
Where I keep my little god.
I did not get warm fuzzies,
Nor weepy with elation.
I did not get all riled up
With righteous indignation.
I did not like your sermon
At all because, you see,
For once I must admit out loud
THIS SERMON WAS FOR ME!
( You can tell I had 3 kids under 6 when I wrote this - I was in total Dr. Seuss mode. This is actually the original "Sitting in My Own Pew" effort, so I thought perhaps worthy of inclusion. A humorous lesson in conviction sitting in the pew under Pastor Clete Doyal from First Christian Church in Santa Maria, CA. back in 1995.)
I squirmed and struggled through.
I could not jot a single note
Though usually I do.
I could not doodle envelopes,
Nor hold my husband's hand.
I had to listen mouth agape
To words I could not stand.
I could not nudge my neighbor,
Nor give my knowing nod,
Nor pat my little pocket
Where I keep my little god.
I did not get warm fuzzies,
Nor weepy with elation.
I did not get all riled up
With righteous indignation.
I did not like your sermon
At all because, you see,
For once I must admit out loud
THIS SERMON WAS FOR ME!
( You can tell I had 3 kids under 6 when I wrote this - I was in total Dr. Seuss mode. This is actually the original "Sitting in My Own Pew" effort, so I thought perhaps worthy of inclusion. A humorous lesson in conviction sitting in the pew under Pastor Clete Doyal from First Christian Church in Santa Maria, CA. back in 1995.)
Great Expectations
I expected someone tall, dark, and handsome.
I got dark, handsome, and able to reach stuff.
I expected someone to laugh at my jokes.
I got someone I don't need to entertain.
I expected a holy knight in shining armor.
I got a knight in holey jeans with a shiny forehead.
I expected a man with the patience of Job.
I got a man carrying on heated conversations with red lights.
I expected someone with all the answers.
I got someone who shares my questions.
I expected someone to hold my hand while I cried at sad movies.
I got someone who hogs the tissue box.
I expected someone to bring romance, concerts, and candlelight.
I got someone who can make romance out of daylight and dirty dishes.
I expected someone who could make me feel beautiful.
I got someone who loves both my chins.
I expected someone just like me.
I got someone who loves me because he is not.
I expected someone who was "perfect."
I got a human being.
(written by Cathy Criner (Bartholomew) in February 1987 to her first love, David, for the Valentine Edition of her weekly column "Criner Out Loud"in the CLAUSE. It will be 22 years of marriage this December 30th, 2009)
I got dark, handsome, and able to reach stuff.
I expected someone to laugh at my jokes.
I got someone I don't need to entertain.
I expected a holy knight in shining armor.
I got a knight in holey jeans with a shiny forehead.
I expected a man with the patience of Job.
I got a man carrying on heated conversations with red lights.
I expected someone with all the answers.
I got someone who shares my questions.
I expected someone to hold my hand while I cried at sad movies.
I got someone who hogs the tissue box.
I expected someone to bring romance, concerts, and candlelight.
I got someone who can make romance out of daylight and dirty dishes.
I expected someone who could make me feel beautiful.
I got someone who loves both my chins.
I expected someone just like me.
I got someone who loves me because he is not.
I expected someone who was "perfect."
I got a human being.
(written by Cathy Criner (Bartholomew) in February 1987 to her first love, David, for the Valentine Edition of her weekly column "Criner Out Loud"in the CLAUSE. It will be 22 years of marriage this December 30th, 2009)
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Reflections on Rocki's Bappatism - archived from 2001
Is this the Sunday I get "bappatized", Mom? Rocki asked for the umpteenth time.
No. I replied hiding my amusement at her seven-year-old pronunciation of this new word. This is Easter Sunday. You will be "bappatized" next week when Bishop Talton comes.
Is this the Sunday when we get to say the "A" word, she whispered with an impish grin.
Yes! My smile escaped; delighted that she was already grasping this new Episcopalian tradition of waiting patiently through lent until Easter Sunday to shout Alleluia at the conclusion of the service.
Alleluia! she erupted, anxious to be the first one to say it today.
Alleluia! I chimed back, laughing at her zeal! And then I felt my eyes sting and my throat tighten.
The sense of relief and release I felt was one that only other fussing, ambivalent parents can identify with when thrusting ones children into a new and unfamiliar church of one's own adult choosing. Will they fit in? Will they be awkward? Will they forget when to kneel and when to stand. Will they forget to zip their zipper upon leaving the bathroom? I felt now for the first time since our arrival at St. John's that my kids were not only going to survive this transition, but that they could really thrive here. They were connecting. Perhaps they were already feeling that "Welcome Home!" promised on our visitor mugs.
The following Saturday, we accompanied Rocki to her baptismal class to familiarize her with the elements and sacraments to be used in her baptism on Sunday. Father Larry was thorough; his enthusiasm and zeal for each step of the sacrament obvious. Each tradition became rich with meaning and spiritual significance. He made it clear that although these sacraments do not have magical power in and of themselves, they do give shape and form to our own internal spiritual reality.
The air was filled with anticipation and awe for Bishop Talton's arrival that Sunday morning. My husband Dave and I had invited our closest friends and family to share in this exciting step in our journey of confirmation and Rocki's baptism. They brazenly took up four front pews. I realized I had not been this giddy, sober and electric simultaneously since our wedding day.
Suddenly, the big moment arrived and we began filing up toward the baptismal font with great reverence; Rocki muttering her rehearsed responses under her breath like a mantra, I will...I will... I turned to see my husband eagerly waving up any other family members who wanted to join us, and my mother-in-law bounding up the steps last minute with my son DJ running a close second. Shelby, our older daughter choosing to wait comfortably from the first row. Rocki was beaming as Bishop Talton baptized her, beaming as she took her first "bappatized communion", and beaming as she ran all over the neighborhood later that day to show off her baptismal candle she is supposed to light every April 7th as a reminder of this special day.
Just recently, Rocki's Godparent certificates arrived in the mail. It listed the special responsibilities, prayers, and days to pray for Rocki throughout each year. It was a sober reminder of an awesome, ongoing responsibility that Dave and I will also have for their youngest daughter next month upon her baptism. Again, I was deeply moved. Rocki's Godparents, Mark and Liz Powers, are two of our closest friends from college. They were chosen long ago because they just seem to "get" Rocki. It was bittersweet to look across the baptismal font at my friends, knowing that they would be leaving us soon to pursue their dreams in New York. Also Episcopalian, I feel a communion with them now, through the common book of prayer and liturgy, that beautifully transcends this gap in our geography.
Reflecting on this with our confirmation class at our final meeting last week, I shared how powerful this entire week was. I have concluded that Baptism, like Confirmation, is not merely an event. It is a continuing process. It is not solely for my daughter, but is inclusive of the entire body of Christ. It is not static. It is ongoing. St. John's has brought an intentionality and rich purpose to my faith with its expression through tradition symbol and sacrament. These sacred tools provide a tangible and concrete way for me to articulate my faith in Christ during a season when mere words often fail to do it justice. St. John's points me to something larger than myself by connecting me to my historical Christian past, and encouraging me to strive toward an eternal identity with Christ when I once again will say, Alleluia! and hear that final and familiar reply, Welcome Home!
No. I replied hiding my amusement at her seven-year-old pronunciation of this new word. This is Easter Sunday. You will be "bappatized" next week when Bishop Talton comes.
Is this the Sunday when we get to say the "A" word, she whispered with an impish grin.
Yes! My smile escaped; delighted that she was already grasping this new Episcopalian tradition of waiting patiently through lent until Easter Sunday to shout Alleluia at the conclusion of the service.
Alleluia! she erupted, anxious to be the first one to say it today.
Alleluia! I chimed back, laughing at her zeal! And then I felt my eyes sting and my throat tighten.
The sense of relief and release I felt was one that only other fussing, ambivalent parents can identify with when thrusting ones children into a new and unfamiliar church of one's own adult choosing. Will they fit in? Will they be awkward? Will they forget when to kneel and when to stand. Will they forget to zip their zipper upon leaving the bathroom? I felt now for the first time since our arrival at St. John's that my kids were not only going to survive this transition, but that they could really thrive here. They were connecting. Perhaps they were already feeling that "Welcome Home!" promised on our visitor mugs.
The following Saturday, we accompanied Rocki to her baptismal class to familiarize her with the elements and sacraments to be used in her baptism on Sunday. Father Larry was thorough; his enthusiasm and zeal for each step of the sacrament obvious. Each tradition became rich with meaning and spiritual significance. He made it clear that although these sacraments do not have magical power in and of themselves, they do give shape and form to our own internal spiritual reality.
The air was filled with anticipation and awe for Bishop Talton's arrival that Sunday morning. My husband Dave and I had invited our closest friends and family to share in this exciting step in our journey of confirmation and Rocki's baptism. They brazenly took up four front pews. I realized I had not been this giddy, sober and electric simultaneously since our wedding day.
Suddenly, the big moment arrived and we began filing up toward the baptismal font with great reverence; Rocki muttering her rehearsed responses under her breath like a mantra, I will...I will... I turned to see my husband eagerly waving up any other family members who wanted to join us, and my mother-in-law bounding up the steps last minute with my son DJ running a close second. Shelby, our older daughter choosing to wait comfortably from the first row. Rocki was beaming as Bishop Talton baptized her, beaming as she took her first "bappatized communion", and beaming as she ran all over the neighborhood later that day to show off her baptismal candle she is supposed to light every April 7th as a reminder of this special day.
Just recently, Rocki's Godparent certificates arrived in the mail. It listed the special responsibilities, prayers, and days to pray for Rocki throughout each year. It was a sober reminder of an awesome, ongoing responsibility that Dave and I will also have for their youngest daughter next month upon her baptism. Again, I was deeply moved. Rocki's Godparents, Mark and Liz Powers, are two of our closest friends from college. They were chosen long ago because they just seem to "get" Rocki. It was bittersweet to look across the baptismal font at my friends, knowing that they would be leaving us soon to pursue their dreams in New York. Also Episcopalian, I feel a communion with them now, through the common book of prayer and liturgy, that beautifully transcends this gap in our geography.
Reflecting on this with our confirmation class at our final meeting last week, I shared how powerful this entire week was. I have concluded that Baptism, like Confirmation, is not merely an event. It is a continuing process. It is not solely for my daughter, but is inclusive of the entire body of Christ. It is not static. It is ongoing. St. John's has brought an intentionality and rich purpose to my faith with its expression through tradition symbol and sacrament. These sacred tools provide a tangible and concrete way for me to articulate my faith in Christ during a season when mere words often fail to do it justice. St. John's points me to something larger than myself by connecting me to my historical Christian past, and encouraging me to strive toward an eternal identity with Christ when I once again will say, Alleluia! and hear that final and familiar reply, Welcome Home!
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Reflections On the Eviction of a Holy Church
Dear Fellow Pew Sitters:
Welcome! This is the first edition of my blog that will focus on my view from the pew.
This past week our wonderful Anglican Church, St. Luke's of the Mountains in La Crescenta, was evicted from their property of 80 plus years because they refuse to serve under a diocese that has strayed from the gospel and orthodoxy to the extent that they claim scripture to be irrelevant. Irrelevant. Not open to interpretation; not even worthy enough to banter over before making critical leadership decisions. Merely irrelevant.
At any rate, our sleeves are rolled up and we are throwing our stuff in the green pickup truck and moving on. We are among a great host of witnesses as we follow Christ and many saints that have gone before in our conviction that part of being the church is being counter-culture and persecuted. It feels, strangely, like a badge of honor to be treated in this manner.
However, despite all of this, I have a confession to make: I am a semi-liberal parishioner fiercely committed to an orthodox,biblically conservative and politically-incorrect church. While I was quoted in the LA Times in support of the church and its stand against ECUSA/scriptural irrelevance, I must admit that I have lesbian and gay friends who have almost unfriended me on facebook for betraying them and, what they consider to be, the very core of their being. (I should also note here that not all ECUSA rectors still serving under the liberal Southern California diocese are in alignment with their bishop, but are still openly defying their own diocese's stance on scriptural irrelevancy from within their own walls. In many ways, this is an even more difficult a tide to swim against. I feel a solidarity with these orthodox ECUSA parishes as well.)
Although I am behind the church 100% regarding the stand it is taking for scriptural relevancy and orthodox doctrine, I am passionately conflicted about sexuality issues (not my own – just generally speaking). When I am surrounded by people who share my sexual tradition and church opinions, I am confident, sure, and adamant in my beliefs. When I am hanging with my more liberal, Episcopagan friends, I feel duplicitous, arrogant, exclusive, uncertain of my convictions, and ambivalent. One of my brilliant Episcopagan friends challenged my LA Times quote on Facebook with the comment:
God’s love is inclusive not exclusive
And I thought, Hmmmm… Yes. Yes, it is. You are right! I remember hearing that on Oprah so it must be true…
Then my Eastern Orthodox Friend countered my Episcopagan friend with the comment:
God's love isn't inclusive.
It is boundless, not willing that any should perish. It is God's love that grants us the freedom to follow our own inclinations rather than the way of salvation that is readily available to all.
And I thought, Hmmmmmmmmmm. Yes. Yes it is. You are right.
Then my very liberal professor, mentor and best friend yelled at me in my mind saying,
They cannot both be right!!!!
And I thought, Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Yes. Yes that is true. You also are right.
And then I thought, I really must stop watching “Fiddler on the Roof” over and over again when I am home sick for the week.
After being soundly beat up by my Episcopagan friends this week, I began asking the hard questions. I was tempted to search scripture again for any loopholes that might make "gay okay". I realized that I can comb the bible all I want for loopholes. I used to look for loopholes for pre-marital sex because, well, we really really really really really loved each other, but in the end I could not choose to dismiss scripture as irrelevant merely because it did not fit my very natural 20-something inclinations to sleep with my boyfriend.
To be honest, one of the many reasons Dave and I left the evangelical low church tradition of our childhood in exchange for the high church traditions of the Anglican communion was to embrace a vibrant, grace-giving, inclusive church community that would welcome any and all sinners into its doors. We do this well. I want a church that cares about the poor and the sick and the disenfranchised – that reaches out to all people regardless of their messiness. I frankly want a church that looks like heaven will look one day – diverse and ecumenical. But let us be clear. I want a church, not a social club.
For me that means that while I go to church to hear the good news of the gospel, I must, as a prerequisite accept that we live in a fallen, broken world that is wrought with bad news; a world desperately NEEDING good news. For me, a church must part company with ECUSA because they no longer can preach the good news. You cannot preach good news unless you are preaching with the understanding that we live in a world that is wrought with bad news; a world desperately NEEDING good news. However, ECUSA must at some point acknowledge that there is no gospel (no good news) where scripture is irrelevant.
If sin is a myth, then so is the need for repentance. If there is no sin; nothing to be saved FROM, then there is no crucifixion or resurrection; there is no Savior; just a watered-down, politically correct, small g god, malleable, conformed to our own whimsy - crafted in our own image. Gone is the GREAT: Christmas and Easter, but here to stay is the "good": Kwaanza, Earth Day and the Spirit of Ubuntu.
And still I am conflicted... I want to be liked. I want to be a good Episcopalian: open-minded, smart, sophisticated, politically savvy, loving to a fault, inclusive, progressive, reconciliatory, and cutting edge. I feel like if I disagree with my ECUSA friends that I will be out of this invisible "cool" politically-correct club. Words will be whispered behind my back like: exclusive, small-minded, old-fashioned, homophobic, arcane, fundamentalist, racist, misogynistic, judgmental, even fat and poorly dressed in bright green polyester and sensible shoes. It is much more fun to be fashionable.
But then I remember – it is not about ME! It is about Holiness, obedience and a righteous God that requires this from us so we can be in union with him, so that we can have life - and life ABUNDANTLY. He is for us - even to the point that he would send his Son to the Cross to make this possible. At the end of the day, can I say Christ died for nothing? Can I mock the Eucharist?
I admit it. I don’t like that the bible is not always clear. I wish it were all so obvious. I wish God would explain why some people insist that they were born with no desire to pro-create with the opposite sex and some not.
Sometimes I am embarrassed to admit this but I identify with Lot’s wife at times. Remember when she turned and looked back at Sodom and Gomorrah and was turned to a pillar of salt. I used to think that she was so stupid, like those rubber-neck drivers slowing down traffic on the 210. The command was so clear and so easy, “Don’t look back! Don’t look back!”
"Oh C’mon. Lord, just one little peak?"… boom – she’s a salt lick.
But now I find myself identifying with Lot’s wife. As I have gotten older and our culture has gotten lax, life has gotten harder and messier. Secretly, I love shows like “Will and Grace”, "Glee", and “Modern Family”. Ellen is one of my favorite comedians and day time hosts. Being gay is fashionable. My friends who embrace homosexuality as a lifestyle are among the most brilliant, fun, insightful, creative minds that I have ever crossed paths with. To me, and indeed to God, they are MORE than their sexual choices. They are the Imago Dei – created in his image. They are also sinners, just like me, drowning in bad news – needing good news; needing the gospel. I have to admit, it is hard not to look back. I think it should be hard. It is always hard to balance our love for the people around us, but in the end to love and fear God more.
Lastly, as I said before, it is not about me. It is about God. It is about his church. The church needs to step up and be the church. As I wrote from my pew last Sunday, if the church is truly following in Christ's footsteps, it will be counter-culture, radical, politically incorrect and persecuted at one point or another. This is our history. Admittedly this can feel contrary to the people-pleaser in me. I struggle daily against the heresy of universalism for the same reason. Can’t we all just get along? I don't want anyone to be left out. But when I look to scripture, the answer is clearly NO! Man was given the will to choose, and man can and will always choose to say NO to God, or not.
In conclusion, to quote my Eastern Orthodox friend's scriptural wisdom once again:
God's love isn't inclusive. It is boundless, not willing that any should perish. It is God's love that grants us the freedom to follow our own inclinations rather than the way of salvation that is readily available to all.
I think that says it all.
Sitting in my Own Pew,
Cathy Bartholomew
Welcome! This is the first edition of my blog that will focus on my view from the pew.
This past week our wonderful Anglican Church, St. Luke's of the Mountains in La Crescenta, was evicted from their property of 80 plus years because they refuse to serve under a diocese that has strayed from the gospel and orthodoxy to the extent that they claim scripture to be irrelevant. Irrelevant. Not open to interpretation; not even worthy enough to banter over before making critical leadership decisions. Merely irrelevant.
At any rate, our sleeves are rolled up and we are throwing our stuff in the green pickup truck and moving on. We are among a great host of witnesses as we follow Christ and many saints that have gone before in our conviction that part of being the church is being counter-culture and persecuted. It feels, strangely, like a badge of honor to be treated in this manner.
However, despite all of this, I have a confession to make: I am a semi-liberal parishioner fiercely committed to an orthodox,biblically conservative and politically-incorrect church. While I was quoted in the LA Times in support of the church and its stand against ECUSA/scriptural irrelevance, I must admit that I have lesbian and gay friends who have almost unfriended me on facebook for betraying them and, what they consider to be, the very core of their being. (I should also note here that not all ECUSA rectors still serving under the liberal Southern California diocese are in alignment with their bishop, but are still openly defying their own diocese's stance on scriptural irrelevancy from within their own walls. In many ways, this is an even more difficult a tide to swim against. I feel a solidarity with these orthodox ECUSA parishes as well.)
Although I am behind the church 100% regarding the stand it is taking for scriptural relevancy and orthodox doctrine, I am passionately conflicted about sexuality issues (not my own – just generally speaking). When I am surrounded by people who share my sexual tradition and church opinions, I am confident, sure, and adamant in my beliefs. When I am hanging with my more liberal, Episcopagan friends, I feel duplicitous, arrogant, exclusive, uncertain of my convictions, and ambivalent. One of my brilliant Episcopagan friends challenged my LA Times quote on Facebook with the comment:
God’s love is inclusive not exclusive
And I thought, Hmmmm… Yes. Yes, it is. You are right! I remember hearing that on Oprah so it must be true…
Then my Eastern Orthodox Friend countered my Episcopagan friend with the comment:
God's love isn't inclusive.
It is boundless, not willing that any should perish. It is God's love that grants us the freedom to follow our own inclinations rather than the way of salvation that is readily available to all.
And I thought, Hmmmmmmmmmm. Yes. Yes it is. You are right.
Then my very liberal professor, mentor and best friend yelled at me in my mind saying,
They cannot both be right!!!!
And I thought, Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. Yes. Yes that is true. You also are right.
And then I thought, I really must stop watching “Fiddler on the Roof” over and over again when I am home sick for the week.
After being soundly beat up by my Episcopagan friends this week, I began asking the hard questions. I was tempted to search scripture again for any loopholes that might make "gay okay". I realized that I can comb the bible all I want for loopholes. I used to look for loopholes for pre-marital sex because, well, we really really really really really loved each other, but in the end I could not choose to dismiss scripture as irrelevant merely because it did not fit my very natural 20-something inclinations to sleep with my boyfriend.
To be honest, one of the many reasons Dave and I left the evangelical low church tradition of our childhood in exchange for the high church traditions of the Anglican communion was to embrace a vibrant, grace-giving, inclusive church community that would welcome any and all sinners into its doors. We do this well. I want a church that cares about the poor and the sick and the disenfranchised – that reaches out to all people regardless of their messiness. I frankly want a church that looks like heaven will look one day – diverse and ecumenical. But let us be clear. I want a church, not a social club.
For me that means that while I go to church to hear the good news of the gospel, I must, as a prerequisite accept that we live in a fallen, broken world that is wrought with bad news; a world desperately NEEDING good news. For me, a church must part company with ECUSA because they no longer can preach the good news. You cannot preach good news unless you are preaching with the understanding that we live in a world that is wrought with bad news; a world desperately NEEDING good news. However, ECUSA must at some point acknowledge that there is no gospel (no good news) where scripture is irrelevant.
If sin is a myth, then so is the need for repentance. If there is no sin; nothing to be saved FROM, then there is no crucifixion or resurrection; there is no Savior; just a watered-down, politically correct, small g god, malleable, conformed to our own whimsy - crafted in our own image. Gone is the GREAT: Christmas and Easter, but here to stay is the "good": Kwaanza, Earth Day and the Spirit of Ubuntu.
And still I am conflicted... I want to be liked. I want to be a good Episcopalian: open-minded, smart, sophisticated, politically savvy, loving to a fault, inclusive, progressive, reconciliatory, and cutting edge. I feel like if I disagree with my ECUSA friends that I will be out of this invisible "cool" politically-correct club. Words will be whispered behind my back like: exclusive, small-minded, old-fashioned, homophobic, arcane, fundamentalist, racist, misogynistic, judgmental, even fat and poorly dressed in bright green polyester and sensible shoes. It is much more fun to be fashionable.
But then I remember – it is not about ME! It is about Holiness, obedience and a righteous God that requires this from us so we can be in union with him, so that we can have life - and life ABUNDANTLY. He is for us - even to the point that he would send his Son to the Cross to make this possible. At the end of the day, can I say Christ died for nothing? Can I mock the Eucharist?
I admit it. I don’t like that the bible is not always clear. I wish it were all so obvious. I wish God would explain why some people insist that they were born with no desire to pro-create with the opposite sex and some not.
Sometimes I am embarrassed to admit this but I identify with Lot’s wife at times. Remember when she turned and looked back at Sodom and Gomorrah and was turned to a pillar of salt. I used to think that she was so stupid, like those rubber-neck drivers slowing down traffic on the 210. The command was so clear and so easy, “Don’t look back! Don’t look back!”
"Oh C’mon. Lord, just one little peak?"… boom – she’s a salt lick.
But now I find myself identifying with Lot’s wife. As I have gotten older and our culture has gotten lax, life has gotten harder and messier. Secretly, I love shows like “Will and Grace”, "Glee", and “Modern Family”. Ellen is one of my favorite comedians and day time hosts. Being gay is fashionable. My friends who embrace homosexuality as a lifestyle are among the most brilliant, fun, insightful, creative minds that I have ever crossed paths with. To me, and indeed to God, they are MORE than their sexual choices. They are the Imago Dei – created in his image. They are also sinners, just like me, drowning in bad news – needing good news; needing the gospel. I have to admit, it is hard not to look back. I think it should be hard. It is always hard to balance our love for the people around us, but in the end to love and fear God more.
Lastly, as I said before, it is not about me. It is about God. It is about his church. The church needs to step up and be the church. As I wrote from my pew last Sunday, if the church is truly following in Christ's footsteps, it will be counter-culture, radical, politically incorrect and persecuted at one point or another. This is our history. Admittedly this can feel contrary to the people-pleaser in me. I struggle daily against the heresy of universalism for the same reason. Can’t we all just get along? I don't want anyone to be left out. But when I look to scripture, the answer is clearly NO! Man was given the will to choose, and man can and will always choose to say NO to God, or not.
In conclusion, to quote my Eastern Orthodox friend's scriptural wisdom once again:
God's love isn't inclusive. It is boundless, not willing that any should perish. It is God's love that grants us the freedom to follow our own inclinations rather than the way of salvation that is readily available to all.
I think that says it all.
Sitting in my Own Pew,
Cathy Bartholomew
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