Finding Courage in the Mess

"I prefer a church which is bruised, hurting and dirty because it has been out on the streets, rather than a church which is unhealthy from being confined and from clinging to its own security.” Pope Francis

These words have been quoted frequently of late, taken from the new Pope’s recent Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”). This document contains much to challenge the modern church, Roman and otherwise, and much to challenge our world and current economic systems.

But this quote struck me particularly today, as I sat down after a day on the streets of Aberdeen. I can tell you that, today, the streets were bruised and hurting.

One of the reasons I joined the Episcopal Church was that I loved the order. I liked knowing the whole service by heart. I liked hearing the same words over and over until I felt like they became a part of me.

I have spent a good deal of my life doing church work. Working in churches. Going to seminary. Sitting in meetings (we Episcopalians do love our meetings!). In all of these places, I have developed nice little categories and boxes for everything. This person does this job. This little white cloth goes there. This order does this work. I believe and think this or that about God.

And I love all those nice, neat little boxes. It is secure. Safe. Orderly. Sensible. Everything is under control.

Then, I step into the world outside Sunday morning service and the altar guild and the vestry meeting and the committee meeting and the theology discussion group.

And, it is a mess. I can’t solve all its problems. I can’t heal its pain. Nothing is more uncomfortable than sitting with suffering, my own or others. After all the security of my churchy life, life outside seems full of chaos.

Then I take a closer look. Out here, life is real. It hurts. It’s messy—messy to navigate family relationships, messy to live in on the street, messy to search for work, messy to simply try to live and survive in a post-industrial economy. In the middle of it, however, I find courage. Not my courage. I witness the courage of men and women who defy the odds, who continue to hope and struggle and survive in the worst of circumstances.

I find the church. Because, beyond our parish walls, outside our registers, are thousands and millions of children of God, who weep and pray and love and live and suffer and hope. I have learned the gospel sitting by old abandoned buildings and in nursing homes and I have been taught to pray by men and women who have seen the worst life has to offer and can still pray.

Whether we believe it or not, whether we practice it or not, the church is not confined to our committee meetings or buildings or vestries.

The church is already out there, on the streets—messy, hurting, and courageous. Jesus builds his own church, with or without our help. When I read Pope Francis’ words, I wonder if it is simply a call for us to join the already present and active work of God in the world.

A call to be willing to give up our neat boxes and our security and our easy answers for the harder road of the cross, the harder road of sitting with the blood and sh** of real life and finding the gospel there.

Sarah