Becoming a Threat

Over a year ago, I wrote a blog post about how I often feel like I am "left behind" when my friends go off and do cool things with God. I'm the steady one who is always here when others return. I was really struggling with fighting and disliking that part of myself.

A few weeks ago, I read the following paragraph in New Monasticism:

One of the things we've learned from trying to stand in the way of a death-dealing system is that you can't do it alone. It takes a community. Plow Creek Community is a great example of this. If you visited their farm in rural Illinois, about two hours from Chicago, you might think they've fled from the world for a simple life, leaving behind any concerns of international politics. But you wouldn't have to stay long to hear from Jim Fitz and Erin Kindy about their work with Christian Peacemaker teams in Colombia, Chiapas, and the West Bank. Plow Creek operates as a home base, sending them out to do direct-action peacemaking in conflict zones around the world. While they are away, fellow community members pray for them and care for their families. After each tour, they come home to a place of peace and healing, where they tell the stories of what they have seen and heard.

I dog-eared the page and highlighted half the paragraph. I've been thinking about it ever since. "Plow Creek operates as a home base... They come home to a place of peace and healing..."

Growing up in the church, missionaries were held up as the ultimate example of someone following God. Of course, if you weren't called to be a missionary, you should always remember the mission field at home. How did it ever happen that the people who don't go to Africa or Asia or on regular mission trips became somehow less than the people who do? How did being a missionary to our local community become the consolation prize?

It seems to me that everyone is sent. Some people are sent out and some people are sent in. But everyone is sent. Somewhere along the way, I feel like a lie crept in. Some people were sent, and some people stayed. Just a subtle change in the way we talk about it, but really not subtle in the way it plays out in people's lives and hearts. Now if I'm not sent out, then I am remaining. I am left behind. I've completely lost the purpose in my life.

One thing God has shown me about myself is that I am good at making a home. I like to create spaces that are comfortable and relaxing. Where people can come be themselves. I also love to love people. Even difficult people! When I read that paragraph, it was like a light opened up over me. I am sent to the people at home.

I have dreamt of having a "Funny Farm" for a while now. I suddenly realize that maybe that dream is so strong in me because that is why God has created me. Maybe the fact that I am the "steady one" is not a burden, but a gift! Maybe it's a glorious gift that gives me a purpose and a place within the body of Christ. I think that last year I had totally bought into the lie that "staying" was somehow not as spiritual as "leaving." But I'm beginning to understand that I am not "staying," I am meant to build a home base. Without a home base, how can people be sent out? Where will they come from? Where can they go when they need rest and healing?

Figuring out who God is, who we are, and how we are supposed to operate within the body is really everything in life. Satan spends most of his energy trying to confuse us and confound our understanding of those three things. Because once we understand them, we are a threat. I think I am finally starting to understand and get excited about who I am.