Despite the increase in bug bites, nine days in the cool of rural Ohio came as a welcome interruption to the chaotic nature of life in Washington DC. I had the privilege of speaking to the youth at Memorial Holiness Camp, a gathering of the Brethren in Christ outside of Dayton, Ohio. I was incredibly humbled to be listed among the likes of men like John Hawbaker as people commissioned to teach the Word to men and women of all ages at camp last week.
Before you shut me out and write me off as merely reporting on yet another church camp occurring this summer, let me ask you a question:
How real are you?
No, I’m not asking some mystical, philosophical question about the nature of your existence. Rather, I simply want us to take a look at our authenticity. Christ calls us to be genuine – genuinely in love with Him, genuine in our love for one another – in a command that directly contradicts many cultural norms we experience in our daily lives, such as, “Toughen up. Suck it up. Be strong and don’t let what you’re feeling show through. Conceal, don’t feel. Don’t let them know!” These messages are appropriate to hear at times, but Christ calls us to something far deeper.
I was so struck over the course of this past week how authentic the students at camp were. We talked about some very difficult subjects for Christians to completely grasp, like the image of God and forgiveness, and while we didn’t come up with all the answers (I definitely didn’t on my own), they asked some unbelievable questions. “I know God wants us to forgive each other, but I really don’t know how I can forgive [this person] for what they did to me.” Do you see both the authentic desire to do the will of God and the authentic confrontation with human brokenness in that statement?
Take a look at some of Jesus words to His disciples from John 15:9-15:
“As the Father loved me, I too have loved you. Remain in my love. If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love, just as I kept my Father’s commandments and remain in his love. I have said these things to you so that my joy will be in you and your joy will be complete. This is my commandment: love each other just as I have loved you. No one has greater love than to give up one’s life for one’s friends. You are my friends if you do what I command you. I don’t call you servants any longer, because servants don’t know what their master is doing. Instead, I call you friends, because everything I heard from my Father I have made known to you.”
So often, Jesus calls us to imitate or replicate the things He does and the person He is. Jesus doesn’t stop with verse 11, simply informing the disciples about how he has reciprocated the love he has received from the Father and making them feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Instead, Jesus takes the next logical step and issues a new commandment, essentially saying, “Just as I show the Father’s love to you, show it to others.”
However, the last verse speaks incredibly to how open Jesus is with His disciples. We’re his friends now? We serve and worship Jesus as Lord and Savior, and rightly so, but Jesus has not hidden things from us. No, we cannot completely comprehend the mysteries and grandeur of God, but Christ has, in a very literal way, been very real with us. Jesus commands us to reciprocate this openness, this authenticity, with those we are called to love, namely, everybody.
Why do we hold on to our masks, our shields, our accomplishments, or whatever it is we try to hold on to simply to impress people? What does it say about the “loving” nature of our churches that makes us feel like we have to maintain these facades of I-have-it-all-togetherness?
I’m not the first to offer praises for authenticity, and hopefully I will not be the last. However, another word often used in this context is vulnerability, a word I honestly prefer. In many Christian circles, we continue to praise vulnerability, despite what often gets overlooked about the very nature of the word. We praise vulnerability even though it makes us susceptible to harm, hurt, injury, or pain. Why do Christians advocate making ourselves available to be harmed? Jesus did. He came openly and taught us about God and His kingdom. He made Himself vulnerable, and He was killed. The mightiest of trees cannot be so mighty without first being a tiny, vulnerable sapling. In the same way, we cannot grow without first opening ourselves up to God and to others.
Vulnerability, while it is and ought to be praised, is not without significant risk. We open ourselves up to a serious possibility for hurt when we are authentic with one another, but we also open up a realm of possibilities for growth into the image and likeness of Christ. Take the risk. Be vulnerable.
Get real.
Soli Deo Gloria
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