Disclaimer: If this does not resonate with you or you feel it hits a bruise for you, this is a friendly reminder that you do not have to engage with it.

When I came back to children’s ministry a little over 2 years ago, I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if I did nothing else, I would do everything I could to co-create a ministry that taught (and hopefully showed) that everyone who walked in our doors was loved and capable of loving. That grown ups and kids alike did not, and do not, have to wonder if God loves them or if God’s people love them. That they are loved simply as they are, without question or cause and without an ounce of hesitation. And that this love is the love that celebrates everyone, everyone, not just tolerates them and the love that makes space for them at every table. The love that knows that it isn’t enough to simply state “all are welcome”, but the love that seeks to create spaces of equality, safety, and justice. I wanted (want) no part of a theology that gives an assurance of grace that comes with “, but”. I wanted a theology that gives an assurance of grace with “.” (and maybe “!”).

I was in my early 30s the first time I had an assurance of grace spoken over me at a worship service.
I have spent my entire life in the church. I dedicated my education and career to the church. And I was in my 30s before my worship experience consistently included an assurance of grace where a pastor spoke words of forgiveness and pardon after words of confession.

This is no insignificant thing. When the focus of theology (and thereby the way in which people structure their personal lives, how they relate to themselves and others, and how they view the world) leans heavily toward sin or the depravation of man, without an equal emphasis on grace, it sows seeds of doubt. Those seeds of doubt eventually grow roots that twist around the soul and become brambles that choke out the light and the good that are desperately looking for a way in. When a person is consistently given the message that they do not deserve good things, basic things like kindness and love and grace, it mars their ability to receive it (and give it, to themselves and to others).

I doubt a lot of things. I question a lot of things. Having doubts or questions is morally neutral. Some of these things are perfectly fine to doubt or question. Some of these things make me seek out other perspectives and opinions and make me more aware of the world I live in. But some of the things I doubt or question need to be trusted, not questioned. Things like unconditional love from people who are not obligated to love me. “Just because” gifts or kind words or help when I need it.
Years of church should have left me with the unshakeable knowledge that I am lovable and capable of loving, but it instead did the opposite. Instead, I am here, internally railing against genuine kindness and care from others who consistently show up simply because they love me. Instead, I constantly crunch the numbers of the validity of my deserving unconditional love, desperately trying to balance the equation, and routinely falling short…because it isn’t an equation to be solved but a gift to revel in. The hardest kindness I receive, and the one I need the most, is the one I give to or withhold from myself. I cannot love my neighbor as myself if I am unwilling to be unconditionally kind to my own heart when it is tender or in need of care and gentleness.

The work to undo and rebuild is mine to do. It’s hard and constant work. But it’s not work done in isolation, at least not all of it. It’s done in the interior of my heart but also within the safety of vulnerable spaces of close friendship (and therapy offices). It’s done with hard and honest conversations, and the willingness to try and succeed and to try and falter and then try again, over and over again.

That is sanctification. That is God-given community. That is the personification of grace. That is the kingdom of God, right here, right now. That is healing — the slow, painful work of healing. And that is what God does — God heals what is broken, and removes the brambles that choke out the light, so that we can be free to give and receive the kindness we deserve.

Behold the gates of mercy
In arbitrary space
And none of us deserving
Of cruelty or the grace

O, solitude of longing
Where love has been confined
Come healing of the body
Come healing of the mind
— Leonard Cohen, “Come Healing”