Fire in the Sky

“I’ve seen it raining fire in the sky.”– John Denver, Rocky Mountain High

Every August for as long as I can remember, we’ve invited friends to join us in watching the Perseids Meteor Shower. Living high in Rockies, far from city lights, we enjoy amazingly dark skies. Sometimes clouds block the view; sometimes the moon is too bright. But every once in a while, we get a year like this one.

We were camping between the peaks in a meadow at 8300′ feet in the middle of nowhere. The moon wouldn’t rise until almost midnight. We had a great site overlooking the lake with an expansive view of the sky. All we had to do was stay awake. I was a little sad that, unlike years past, we had no one with whom to share the evening. We’ve only lived here two years. All the friends we made so far were at the church we just left. Only one stuck around.

“Loving Our Neighbors” Versus “There Goes the Neighborhood.”

Like most visitors in National Forest campgrounds, our next-door neighbors waved politely but kept to themselves. These days, it seems like we are all a little more wary of speaking to strangers. Are they Trumpers? Liberals? The quality of their outdoor toys told me they were far above our socioeconomic level; Texas license plates told me they were more than likely Trump supporters. Back in civilization, we’d never sit down to lunch together.

But here’s what I did know: a glorious display of natural beauty and God’s majesty was about to unfold, and they didn’t even know to look for it. I just could not keep this information to myself. Late in the afternoon, as they were sitting out and enjoying the view, I air-knocked in the forest and walked into their camp. They waved me on in.

“I just want to make sure you two know about tonight’s meteor shower. You have a perfect site to watch the show.”

As my words sunk in, their demeanor leapt from cordial/reserved to unbridled excitement in about two seconds flat.

“A meteor shower! Tell us more.”

Extraordinary Encounters and Sacred Memories

And so I did. Pointing toward a peak in the northeastern sky, my finger traced out where they would probably originate, and which way they might fly. As I hiked through the brush back to our campfire, I remembered other extraordinary encounters with strangers. The first time I saw a whale breach in Hawaii, jumping up and down with a woman who was similarly gobsmacked by the sight. The rays of a setting sun exploding through a crack between canyon walls, bathing worshipers in an other-worldly glow. These, and other times, live in my memory as golden moments; extraordinary events to be treasured for their sanctity.

The overwhelming beauty and majesty of God’s creation made them memorable, but to me, sharing them with other human souls made them sacred.

Eventually the sun set and dusk gave way to darkness. Stars came out one by one; then stars by tens, and stars by hundreds. The night grew so dark that the Milky Way glowed a faint green, something I’d never seen before. And finally, like quicksilver, they began to whisk out of the night, darting here and there- bright and faint, short-lived and long-tailed, arcing across the sky above the lake. Out of the corners of our eyes we’d catch movement and try to turn our heads in time. Every once in a while we’d be looking in just the right direction, straight on, and watch in amazement as they streaked along the peaks to the east. The sky would quiet for a while, with stationary points of light studding the darkness with diamonds. And we would wait.

Finally Kevin and I could stay up no longer, so we put the fire out and turned in for the evening. The neighbors were still out there, still watching, with the occasional “ooh!” and “ahh!” whispered through the cold night air.

As we were packing up to leave the next morning, guess who came “air-knocking” through the forest?

“Eddie woke me up at 2:30am to come back outside!” She was just tickled, and surprised. Tickled that she and Eddie (each in their seventies) would do something so spontaneous; surprised by the celestial light show orchestrated by God and shared with a stranger.

I never learned her name; I wouldn’t recognize her if I saw her on the street. I don’t know if she was a Republican, a Trumper, or an Evangelical Christian. These three categories of people have broken my heart and support a regime that threatens the very democracy my family fought to protect. It’s easy to resent the groups, but the groups are made up of people. And therein lies the problem.

The Problem Isn’t Us versus Them; It’s Them Pitting Us Against Us

Our country is at the boiling point in the divide between these two people groups. We listen to different news sources (Fox News versus everyone else) and make up our minds accordingly. There is a great evil that perpetrates false conspiracy theories with the intent to divide us. Foreign leaders use our high-ranking officials as puppets, also with the intent to divide us. Personally, I feel betrayed by the very people I trusted most, and powerless to stop the evil. It’s so tempting to take the low road. Fortunately, the words of Michelle Obama ring my ears: “When they go low, we go high.”

But ultimately, it’s the words of my Savior that are written on my heart. “Forgive them, Father, for they know not what they do.” “Love your enemies, and pray for those who persecute you.” The list goes on and on. Even though the Evangelical Church has betrayed the teachings of Jesus Christ, His Word stands forever. One of His own disciples betrayed Him. His closest friends turned their backs, and His own church murdered Him. And still He loved them, and gave His life for us all.

This Too Shall Pass

As hard as it seems at the moment, this time in history will pass. What now seems apocalyptic will, at some point, have scholars scratching their heads and saying, “what the heck was that about?” I’m old enough to remember the assassinations of JFK, RFK, and MLK. I remember Vietnam and Watergate and riots and Kent State. Throughout history we’ve been infiltrated by evil. This is the only instance in my lifetime where the church was blatantly responsible, but it’s far from the only time in history.

And still, He loves us. And He instructs us to do the same.

Everyone who knows me knows I will fight with all my strength to remove Donald Trump from office. I have no misgivings about this; rather, I would be a coward and remiss as a Christian not to do so. But I must endeavor, as I think we all should, to hate the evil and not the individuals. If our country is to survive, we will all have to forgive eventually. The least I can do today is try to resist the urge to go low, and to see the person rather than the policy.

If I succeed, that will be quite enough to accomplish for one day. Whether I do or not, I will try again tomorrow.

This post was published by Red Letter Christians.

Finding Jesus After Church

It was hot yesterday, but we still enjoyed lunch on my back porch. My friend Lilah is usually cold. The warmth of the sun just lit up her smile. She and I used to sing together on our church’s worship team. Upon arriving for our Thursday night practices, I would go around opening the sanctuary windows. Just watching me made her button up her sweater. But we both loved to sing, alto and soprano, and we loved praising God together.

Only three people contacted me after Kevin and I recently resigned from our church; Lilah is the only one who kept in touch. She is bold and courageous. In these tempestuous days of COVID and Trump, there are many reasons believers are walking away from the Evangelical establishment. I harbor no hard feelings against those who let us go without a word. Most people are struggling just to live through the pandemic and make sense of this new world; at this point no one knows the right words to say. Life as we knew it has come undone.

Finding Jesus Through the Evangelical Family

Thirty-five years ago, in a seemingly simpler time, I was introduced to my first church family. Coming from a very small, non-religious, and isolated family of origin, I was simply gobsmacked by the love. Never in my life had strangers transformed into almost-relatives who cared what happened to me. For the first time I always had invitations to holiday dinners. People prayed for me. Women hugged me in the supermarket. Other moms shepherded me through raising my kids. Older believers offered wise counsel. We worshiped together, celebrated together, grieved together, prayed together, and shared our lives on a daily basis.

At this point in my life, I’ve been blessed to have been a part of several church families. In addition to community, these years have brought me into relationship with God. With no previous religious upbringing, I leapt wholeheartedly into Bible studies, learning everything I could about this Jesus of Nazareth. Ironically, knowing Him is what finally led me to leave. What used to be a spiritual home became a political bastion, espousing policies that run roughshod over our Savior’s teachings. My personal identity as a follower of Jesus Christ has never been stronger, but I’ve renounced my role as a family member in the Evangelical Church.

Finding Jesus Outside of the Evangelical Family

It’s strange, it’s odd, it’s disconcerting, it’s disconnecting, and it’s disorienting to be outside the sanctuary walls. The good thing is, I’m not alone out here. Out here is where I’m looking for my Lord, and out here is where I’m finding Him.

Jesus is hard at work through Red Letter Christians, whose “goal is simple: To take Jesus seriously by endeavoring to live out His radical, counter-cultural teachings as set forth in scripture, and especially embracing the lifestyle prescribed in the Sermon on the Mount.”¹

He’s ministering to the brokenhearted former Evangelicals through the Evolving Faith community. Their welcome told me:

“Here’s the good news: You’re not as alone as you think.

We’ve set a big rowdy table in the middle of the wilderness and together, we’re having a feast. We saved a spot for you. There’s bread and wine, stories and songs, wonder and curiosity, renewal and redemption, too. We can’t promise you resurrection but we can offer you companionship.”²

The Jesus-loving world outside the sanctuary doors is REALLY BIG. As simplistic as that sounds, it’s actually anything but. One of the simple things about Evangelicalism was knowing what to expect. Women were simply not permitted to preach. LBGQT folks might have been tolerated, but the idea of them being equal to the old white men who ruled the roost was simply laughable. The lists go on and on, from these big questions right down to acceptable attire, behavior, and political persuasion. We who protested were quietly tolerated, but just as quietly dismissed.

I should know. I was one.

So the good news is, we who stand up to the Religious Right political machine are not alone. The sad news is that I miss the people who make up their ranks.

I miss singing with the worship team. I miss potluck dinners. I miss the Sunday morning hugs and supermarket conversations. I miss being on the prayer team and interceding on behalf of those I love. I miss communion and reading the Sunday bulletin and rejoicing with those who rejoice and mourning with those who mourn. I miss little old ladies who would say, “how are ya, honey?” and old men who always forgot my name. I miss the smell of Sunday School classrooms (except for the middle school aroma of BO). I miss mediocre coffee and unhealthy doughnuts. In fairness, I do not miss business meetings.

I know Jesus is still in those places, at least some of them. I just can’t be a part of a mindset that supports Donald Trump while dismissing “the least of these.” So I’m out here on the fringes of Christianity, trying to make sense of it all while grieving my loss and letting go of my anger.

And every once in a while, Jesus stops by for lunch on my back porch in the guise of my friend Lilah. She still goes to church, and she still loves me.

Just like Jesus.

1 Taken from RedLetterChristians.org website

2 Taken from EvolvingFaith.com website