This too shall pass -- with or without your husband by your side

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A progressive Christian response to Josh Duggar

I haven’t read many progressive Christian responses to the Josh Duggar scandal. Maybe, it’s because I avoided all Christian responses related to Josh Duggar. Stories about the sex abuse within the Duggar home, and the media train wreck that followed, make me want to distance myself from Christianity.

And it’s not just that I want to distance myself from Christianity. At one point, after reading the umpteenth sympathetic blog towards Josh Duggar, I wanted to completely absolve myself from my Christian faith. 

Christianity felt like massive spider web draped over head and covering my entire chest.

“Get it off of me!” my inner monologue screamed. “Get it off of me.”

Just how exactly did Josh Duggar cause me to lose my faith?

Josh Duggar’s indiscretions didn’t cause me to nearly lose my faith because I was shocked that sex abuse exists within the church. Hello, I was raised in the church. I’m well aware that abuse exists.

The revelation that Josh Duggar had sexually abused five girls, including some of his sisters, put the Duggars, and their lifestyle, in the spotlight. What caused me to nearly lose my faith was remembering how, for a time, I believed in that lifestyle. 

My freshman year in college I connected with some extreme pro-lifer fundamentalists. As the daughter of a couple of teenagers, I was a prime recruit. I had survived abortion— or rather survived the very logical option to abort. My mother chose life for me. And 18 years later I found a very close-knit tribe to connect with over this fact. 

I was young and impressionable. The theology of the body sounded beautiful and poetic. Birth control sounded sinful and bad. As a woman, why should I have control over anything. Isn’t my faith about submission?

I fit in well with fundamentalist. My passion, drive to please, and enthusiastic story telling made me a favorite for testimonials. But after spending my junior year of college in Philadelphia, I realized that fundamentalism didn’t make sense in any context outside of our small prayer group. (And to be honest the militaristic nature of the prayer group in light of the Iraq war never settled well with me.)

Nowadays I gloss over that part of my faith as, “that time in college when I joined a cult.”

Seeing the Duggars splattered across the news and Twitter brought all those memories back. And it forced me to remember how much I believed I knew when I was a part of that “fellowship.”

I knew that people were going to Hell if they didn’t have an all encompassing relationship with Jesus Christ as their personal Lord and Savior.  Sure, you may think Jesus is your friend— you may even think He’s your savior— but if you aren’t “all in” you are going to Hell.

I knew that birth control was murder. Sure you may think you just want to wait to have children, but if you’re using ANYTHING except the barrier method you might be killing a baby. (And why are you even using the barrier method? Slut.)

I knew that God talked to me. I had undiagnosed hypo-mania, so boy oh boy did He talk. 

I knew these things. And I was so wrong. If I was wrong about so much that I knew so strongly, what am I wrong about now? 

So what is my progressive Christian response ?

I’m filled with as much doubt as I am hope. And I have a lot of hope. 

That’s the good news that I want to share. That’s my response to Joshua Duggar’s sex scandal. 

There is hope for those who have been victims of sexual abuse. There is hope for you who are survivors. 

There is hope for the teenager who is struggling with gender identity or sexual orientation.

There is hope for the single mother who can’t afford to feed her child.

There is hope for a state that is not able to fund itself. 

I believe with everything in me that nothing is beyond hope. And that our source of hope comes from this intrinsic higher power— full of love and goodness. I call Her God. 

My progressive Christian response this sex scandal, and every other disaster, is to focus on the hope.

My associate pastor gave a sermon on Evangelism last week. (I know what you are thinking— are Mainlines allowed to do that?) The truth is we have good news to share. We believe in this hope that has been revealed to us by Jesus. 

I don’t “know that I know that I know,” anything like I used to. But I’m not gonna let that stop me from focusing on hope and sharing the good news. 

Stupid shuffle

Because I lack the discipline to be a full-time writer/blogger, I found a daytime gig at a local United Methodist Church last year. This job is the perfect fit for me. It’s an open and affirming church with an extremely generous congregation who are passionate about social justice. I’m one of those lucky people who loves her job, despite how I act when we face a printer jam.

Having a low stress job helps stabilize my mood, but more than that this job keeps me engaged with my community. The church is in the heart of downtown Lawrence, Kan. Lawrence is a college town and progressive haven for us liberals who live in one of the reddest of states. In many ways Lawrence feels like a little slice of heaven in the middle of corn fields and Koch brother politics.

But in reality Lawrence has the same issues that all communities face- poverty, addiction, cycles of oppression. It’s easy to look past the homeless man standing at a corner downtown when you walk back from lunch. (A little too easy as I seem to do it most days.)

But when the faces of poverty come stand at your desk and tell you their story, you can’t really turn away. Well, maybe you could, but if you’ve ever read Matthew 25:40 you will probably feel like a real asshole when you do.

(And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family,  you did it to me.’ Matthew 25:40..

In Kansas utility companies cannot disconnect your service during the winter months because of something called the “cold weather rule.” When this disconnection ban lifts at the beginning of April it sets off a domino effect. People who have neglected their utility bills in order to pay other expenses are forced to fork up the funds or have their service shut off. During the spring and early summer social workers scramble to find money to help people pay their past due utility bills.

In my short time at the church, I’ve discovered that if you use the pastor’s discretionary funds to help out even one person outside of your congregation social workers take note and send EVERYONE your way.

People in need end up being shuffled from one social service agency or church to another. Often times they never find the help they need.

And that appeared to be the case today when an exceptionally young couple came into our office. (Seriously, kids are looking younger than they used too. Is 20 the new 12?)

I was the only one in the office when the couple arrived. They walked in holding hands, wearing old, torn cloths. Both of their eyes were sunken in and they looked like they could use a long bath and a good night’s sleep. They needed about $700 worth of help in utility assistance, a number far beyond what we could give them.

As the young man stood there telling me his story- he had been injured on the job and on workers compensation- I couldn’t help but wonder what his story really was. How did he and his girlfriend get to this place where they were forced become vulnerable to a complete stranger in order to get help with their bills? What was his childhood like? Did he ever have the educational opportunities to get a job that wasn’t so demanding on his body? Did he grow up in a home where they lived paycheck to paycheck? Had he seen what it was like to have the stability afforded to so many of us?

I could go on and on about with questions I had about this couple. Those questions will never be answered. What I do know is that they needed financial help that I wasn’t able to give them. All could really do was shuffle them to the agency. In this case it was the Salvation Army.

And the other thing I could do was look the man in the eye, shake his hand and wish him luck as he continued on his journey. It’s not much, but hope it gave him some dignity. I really hope so, because when I looked in his eyes, I swear I saw the face of Jesus.

Power of a Powerless Prayer

I’m a planner.

I’m the kind of person who has a one-year plan, a five-year plan, a 10-year plan and a slew of contingency plans in case anything unexpected that may “disrupt” my plans occurs.

But as the saying goes, “if you want to make God laugh, tell her your plans.”

Sometimes life throws curve balls for which even the best of us can’t prepare. When you suffer from mental illness or addiction this happens more often then not.

In those times when life seems to hit me with a sucker punch, I find myself crying out to God in the most primitive sense. I don’t seek God to take away my pain, or fix the injustices of my life. That would be great, but when I pray to the unseen God in which I believe what I really want is to know that I am not alone.

What I really want, is to know that there is source of energy out there that is bigger than myself, bigger than my circumstances, and yet capable of entering into my pain, capable of being present during my suffering. What I seek through prayer is not a solution, but solace in knowing that I am not alone.

In times of turbulence and stress I often calm myself through prayer. When I do it’s as though I can hear God’s still small voice saying, “this too shall pass,” and reminding me that I am never alone.

And that is when I see the power of my powerless prayers. 

God, Gunther, grief, and other things that don't make sense

Gunther has no eyes, but he still has a fierce stare.

I seem to be in a stare off with my eyeless Jack Russell Terrier.

And if that sentence doesn’t make sense to you, well welcome to my world. It’s a world that doesn’t make sense. At all.

It’s a world where we spend more money on our dog’s food and medical care than many children receive. A world where friends bury their loved ones far too young, and yet this dog somehow magically survives every trial that comes his way. It’s world where I manage not to have a heart attack when TCU beats KU, yet still have heart palpitations when Gunther, our dog, points his face toward me in a standoff mode.

Even God can't explain KU's loss to TCU.

Gunther is 12. His eyes were removed a couple years ago due to glaucoma. I love him, fear him, and resent him all in one breath. In that aspect this little dog reminds me a lot of God.

I’ve often heard people ask the perplexing questions of God, such as why does pain and suffering occur? Why do the good die young and child molesters and meth dealers seem to live forever? Why are some children born into systemic poverty they can’t escape and others born into wealth they can’t explain? Why do the chemicals in some people’s brain function in a way that causes them to be classified as ill? And seriously why did TCU beat KU? Seriously.

The truth is no one has answers to these questions. And I am skeptical of anyone who claims they do. According to the book of Job, the questions of why are not ones that we are entitled to have the answers to.

What I have learned in my 30 years on this earth, is that our losses sometimes have the ability to make us stronger. And our defeats can teach us to appreciate our wins.

So if not for God’s, at least for Gunther’s sake, let’s pull off win today Jayhawks.

Gunther and I are counting on you.

Community- A gift everyone should embrace

“We should all exercise our gift to build community.” Jean Vanier

During college I took my junior year off to live in an intentional community through a volunteer program.

Along with living together and sharing a budget we also prayed together, broke bread together, and shared in each others struggles and strengths on a daily basis. We were five women who had never met learning what it meant to create community within our house and within the neighborhood in which we lived.

This experiment in communal living (or as I sometimes jokingly refer to it, ‘living in a commune) taught me the beauty of living life together. It also taught me that literally living in the same house with five, or rather any other roommates post-college, was not something I wanted to pursue. (I tried having roommates the first year after college and it didn’t end well. Cut to my happy life in midtown.)

I found an artsy one-bedroom apartment in midtown Kansas City and discovered a neighborhood in which I truly belonged. One of my close friends moved in a few blocks a way, I found an amazing progressive church, and other friendships naturally fell into place. I loved my midtown apartment. It was my safe oasis from any annoying drama I faced in my coverage of health and education in the suburbs.

Nothing, short of a marriage proposal, would be able to take me away from cozy, ridiculously low-priced home.

Well, on May 31, 2010, my boyfriend, now husband, hid a ring in a picnic basket and popped the question while we dinned on orange soda and pre-maid grocery store sandwiches. When it comes to romance that is how we role.

So, we bought a house in Lawrence, Kan., and I moved 40 miles west to the land of milk, honey, and national basketball championships.

My excitement for the wedding, my marriage and this new life Logan and I had started faded as depression started to sit in.

One thing I have noticed since my diagnosis with bipolar disorder is that major life changes are often a trigger for depression. Moments that should be the happiest of my life, wouldn’t be without the help of SSRIs.

As I tried to adapt to my new life in Lawrence, I realized that even months after the move I still didn’t feel at home.

Logan and I had recently started to attend Plymouth Congregational Church, conveniently located just a mile from our house. One Sunday, as I sat in the pew feeling, lost and lonely, the pastor preached a message about how God will protect us, sustain us, and lead us home.

When he got to that last line I could feel the tears welling in my eyes. God had led me home, this - this church, this town, this husband- this was my new community.

That same Sunday a woman lifted up a prayer for the mentally ill in our community. And even though I don’t like to think of myself as “ill” I knew in my heart that that prayer was for me.

Since that day, Logan and I have joined Plymouth as official members. And the void that existed in my heart for community has been filled. I feel truly blessed to attend a church where I can be open about my mental illness without the fear of stigma or judgement.

Everyone needs a safe place, where true community can thrive. I am lucky to have found mine.