What's most true really IS true

Yesterday our car was stolen. From our driveway. With my purse inside.

We didn’t discover this until around 10 am when it was time to drive somewhere and the car was just… gone. Looking back at the ring cam, we saw Andy strolling without pause across the naked concrete at 7:30 on his way to class. I walked the dog at 6:30 am through the empty driveway without a thought. Further back, 4:23 am, car. 5:23 am, no car. It pops like a bubble out of the picture.

   

It took another fifteen minutes after discovery of the stolen car to realize my purse (and key fob) had been inside. The afternoon before, I had picked up Maisy after a class canoe trip, and carried in her camping gear instead of carrying in my purse. 

My stomach dropped, my heart started pounding and my mind spinning. No. No! 

I was supposed to leave in 36 hours to fly to New Jersey for a conference, to stay in a hotel and rent a car to visit Owen. How would I do these things without my driver’s license? Credit cards? How would Andy travel that afternoon if our accounts are compromised? How far had the damage already reached? How could I stem the risk?  Now I would spend the whole, frantic day doing damage control.  

Our 18-year-old neighbor, Gigi, came over.  While I made agitated phone calls to the police, insurance, and credit cards, pacing the house and swearing liberally while on hold, Gigi and Maisy calmly phoned the ring company and car company and held ground under my swirling.  Pulse racing, hands cold and fingers tingling, I could feel the adrenaline rushing through me. People asked me numbers I had memorized and I couldn’t remember them. Maisy deftly swept through her photos to zoom in on our license plate and calmly recite it to me so I could tell the police.

But for all the drama of yesterday, a clear and unexpected theme rose up: kindness. Human connection. I believe with my head, and even with my heart, that we all belong to God and we all belong to each other. I believe this, and preach this, and try to live my life in this direction. But yesterday I lived it in my body. In my neighbors. In my friend who said his afternoon was free and he’d be happy to pick me up to run errands with me, and another friend who texted me this poem (from Leaf Litter by Jarod K. Anderson) that was somehow exactly what I needed in that first half hour.

I like to tell people we are all ministers, made in the image of a ministering God, here on this planet to care for one another and be cared for. And then yesterday I was cared for by the police officer who told me it was not my fault – purse and keys inside or not – I did not steal a car.  I was ministered to by the neighbor who immediately pulled her own car around front and said, “I’m not using it today, take it.” I was cared for and carried forward by the cheerful new bank manager, in her achingly earnest office, with artful stacks of leadership books and diagrams of positive affirmations pinned up above her desk behind silly photos of her two dogs. She opened one of the many, tidy binders and swiped through pages of screenshots to figure out how to make me a new debit card on the spot. “I don’t know much about the system yet, but this, I think I can do!” When my body hit the chair in the DMV, holding only a borrowed car key, and my passport, insurance statement, and checkbook, I felt myself go still inside. Absolutely motionless. The roiling urgency drained from me and pooled up on the floor, leaving me empty and quiet. I had made all the calls I could make. The cards were locked down. The insurance was handled. The police report was filed. There was nothing for me to do but wait. I didn’t have the attention span to scroll my phone, or focus on the gripping novel on my kindle app. I just sat. I sat amongst other humans for an hour and a half. And what I witnessed was kindness. Belonging in action. Slouching in seats and leaning along the wall with sixty other people from all walks of life, in all manner of need, we helped each other figure out which lines to stand in. Nodded greetings. Gave up chairs for one another. The women behind the counter were infinitely patient and pleasant, putting their full, competent attention onto each individual person when their number came up.  Yesterday evening my doorbell rang. It was the newish neighbor from across the street, the one I don’t know well. Earlier in the day, on my way to the bank, she’d stopped me. She’d seen in the online neighborhood group that my car had been stolen, and had wanted to express her condolences, “We’re all in this together,” she’d said. And she too had offered her car. “I barely use it. I’m retired. Next week we are leaving for six months to travel. Seriously, I’d be honored if you used it.” I thanked her and was deeply moved by her kindness. We exchanged phone numbers. But truthfully, there was no way I’d be borrowing her car. I believe we all belong to each other. But in practice, I prefer to handle things myself.  When I answered the door last night, she was standing there with her keys and insurance card. She opened my hand and pressed them in my palm. “Please,” she said, “take it. I believe God puts us across each other’s paths for a reason.” I started to cry a little. That made her cry a little. “May I?” she asked, and she leaned in and gently hugged me. Before dark I pulled her car into our driveway and texted her my gratitude. She answered, “Wishing you a better day tomorrow.” I replied, “Today was pretty amazing actually. Kindness everywhere.” Yesterday our car was stolen from our driveway with my purse inside. I spent the whole day doing damage control. The most I could muster foodwise was a 4 pm bowl of the same oatmeal I’d eaten at 6 am.   But last night I went to bed full.  I fell asleep utterly awake to the reality of the love that holds us, humbled by the avalanche of care that had been showered on me, and feeling tangibly the belonging that binds us all together. Thanks be to God. Amen.

It needs to said

 Ephesians 4:25-5:2

Paul can be really esoteric and theological, with paragraph long sentences that strain the brain. But then suddenly he’ll get really practical, punchy and concrete. All that to say, I wonder what was happening in the community that Paul felt the need to specifically address the thieves in the church. 

A few decades ago, we had some thieves in this church. I called Gary for the story and he directed me to Dick. Dick was on the counting team and began hearing from folks that their offering checks weren’t being cashed out of their bank accounts. This went on for a couple of weeks, and he asked Warren to look into it. Warren had heard that a few kids had been spotted going into the bathroom during worship. So he went to investigate, and found a stash of checks stuffed behind the radiator. 
 
For these details, I called Warren. The boys had been pocketing the cash from the offering plate and ditching the checks where they thought they would never be found. 
They were called into a meeting with the pastor. She told them if they’d amend their ways, she would not turn them into the police. They agreed to give up their stealing. But things were tense for a while. They’d taken some $1500 of the congregation’s money. And their parents were prominent members, embarrassed by their kids’ behavior. 
Warren had the kids do things around the church building, like yard work, cleaning the toilets, and miscellaneous painting jobs inside and outside the building. He set the number of hours that they had to work off and tells me he thinks they learned a lesson. Those kids presumably grew up to lead productive lives. 

The congregation showed those boys kindness, and the kids themselves learned they were not defined by their violation but claimed by the community as beloved children of God. 

This letter to the Ephesians says Christ has broken down all dividing walls and made us one new humanity. Our personhood is upheld in the upholding of each other. We’re not apart and alone, we’re in this life together. And our worth and place is not determined by what we do, but by what Christ has done. 
 
“Thieves must give up stealing,” Paul says. Fair enough.  Seems like good advice. But Paul doesn’t say “Don’t steal because it’s wrong.” Or “Have a little self-respect.” Or, “Do some good, honest work to make something of yourselves in the eyes of others.”  Paul says, “Give up stealing, do honest work with your hands, so that you have something to share with those in need.” 
We are not restored to our humanity and belonging by reclaiming some individual, personal dignity. We are restored to our humanity and dignity when we can act for one another in belonging.
 
The way of life Paul is describing is counter-cultural. It’s counter-intuitive. He’s just gotten finished saying we’ve been given new life in Christ, so live like what’s true is true. And here’s what a good life looks like. Then lots of concrete, even ordinary advice, plus a word to the thieves.
 
So, if Christ has made us free for a life of connection and fullness, how do we live this life?
First, Paul says, it’s putting aside falsehoods and telling the truth in a falsehood peddling world.  It’s normal for us these days to tolerate and spread rumors we know are not true to cut people down (as J.D. Vance has discovered).  We regularly claim complicated things are simple, and treat complicated humans like they’re simple. With photo filters and curated posts, we make our lives look sparklingly authentic and perfectly genuine, while hiding our weaknesses and hiding behind our politics or our labels.  
Paul says tell the truth. Why? Because we belong to each other. When the world says we’re apart and against, and we need to be thick-skinned and self-sufficient, we tell the truth of our belonging and our vulnerability, we live the truth of our shared humanity. 

Second, and not unrelated, Be angry, Paul says, but don’t sin.  My friend Jason is a pastor. After the death of his grandparents his family was feuding over the inheritance. On the way into church one Sunday morning, he got a call that his uncle had burned his grandparents’ farmhouse to the ground.  When he arrived at church Jason was full of anger and sorrow. 

But instead of hiding his anger behind religious platitudes and pretending everything was fine, he told the truth. He stood in front of his congregation and shared about the phone call. Then he said, “Right now I am really, really angry. If you need pastoral care this week, here is another pastor you can call.” 

To smother anger is to take it to bed with you, to bring it into your next day, and the day after that, to feed it until it grows so large that it turns around and smothers you. Don’t make room for the devil, Paul says, which is to say, don’t entertain temptation. Don’t indulge the craving for revenge or control. 

When Pastor Jason confessed his pain and anger to the people of God, he leaned into the belonging that holds us. And in doing so, he both invited care, and also showed those who might have been afraid of their own anger or sorrow, that if they shared their pain they would be cared for too. He trusted that God would move him through the anger and out the other side, though at the moment he didn’t see the way, so he let himself be where he was, where Jesus is, where Christ can us.

Third, in this life of new humanity in Christ, Paul goes on to remind us that what we say has power. How we speak to each other matters. Our words can tear people down, our words can build people up. 
 It’s like the Rumi quote Kristen always has at the ready:
Before you speak, let your words pass through three gates. At the first gate, ask yourself, “Is it true?” At the second gate ask, “Is it necessary?” At the third gate ask, “Is it kind?” ~ Rumi

Cruelty is lazy. And can even be momentarily thrilling. It’s rewarded these days too. To let fear rule us, to turn off our hearts and brains and let the reactive part of us be in charge for a minute is just easier. It feels good to be the windshield and not the bug.
But then, if we’re paying attention, it feels terrible. Because to act with malice toward each other is to act against our own humanity. When we try to unbelong others we deny the very belonging that defines us. 

The currency of the Kingdom of God is kindness. Like the kindness the congregation and pastor showed those little Lake Nokomis thieves 30 years ago, and the kindness Paul calls the thieves in Ephesus to show to those in need by giving up stealing and working hard to make a decent living in order to care for others. 
 
Our words, Paul suggests, can give grace. Astoundingly, this means that the God of the universe can speak to people’s hearts through our mouths. People may hear the truth of their own worth and place because of what you and I say. And if our words, and our actions, can participate in the activity of the Divine claiming and healing the world, what is a good life if not that? 
 
The underlying, irrevocable fact Paul is trying to get across is we are all in this together. Kindness is living our belovedness with each other.
But lordy, it takes a beat. A pause to shift there. Thank God Paul says all this, because it all needs to be said. The way of belonging to God and each other needs to be remembered and practiced together. I need to remember and practice it. I need to be pulled out of myself to truly see others, even sometimes those others I love most in the world. We need a confession-repentance kind of deep breath moment of realizing we’ve slipped back into living the bondage we’ve been freed from, and turning our hearts back to God. Because in our own power we can’t muster the kindness, or brave the truthfulness, or extend the forgiveness, or do the not slandering, especially if we’re angry, or scared, or just plain tired. And we’ve had plenty of practice at the spite, apathy and lies.
 
But Paul just got finished saying we are being rooted and grounded in love. Like plants, with roots nourished deep below the earth, and sun shining from above, you and I are being actively tended and cared for, so that what comes from us and lives through us is love. So that we live in love, and for love. This is what Christ did, and the power of the Holy Spirit does, in us. 
 
And the deeper we are rooted and more we are grounded, the more love invades our cells and whose we are comes out in who we are. We find ourselves trusting belonging, welcoming others in and leaning in ourselves to the love that holds and upholds us all.

Christ has already made us one; that part’s not our job. Our job is to practice living what’s true. And we do it in really concrete and ordinary ways. So in this practicing, trusting, honest kind of life, may we be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ has forgiven us, and be imitators of God, as beloved children, and live in love as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. 
Amen.