Family Gatherings

On social media, perhaps to avoid attribution to their profession or another group, some people use the strap-line, "my views are my own."  I could use it here.  As I chew over various questions, and sometimes write privately about them, I wrestle with an urge to openly communicate more.  I wonder sometimes, whether that could add to misconceptions of me, or even of 'the church' in some way.  The latter particularly matters to me.  I offer some of my thoughts on this blog because I'm compelled to, and because actually, I do hope that you will probe.  I simply ask that you do so moderately and open-heartedly.

I love the church, both in the local expressions with which I have engaged, and as a heritage that stretches back to the very first bewildered Jesus-followers.  Its history carries so much of both beauty and travesty, often simultaneously celebrated, ignored or despised, by groups that consequently find themselves opposing one another. It's a mystery and a huge inspiration to me that God would work through such a motley bunch. It seems almost too risky.

When I hear people talking about whether or where they attend church, I wonder whether they're missing something.  When I 'go to church,' as to a place or event, it is generally because I belong to that church, as to a family.  I do, therefore, prioritise 'family gatherings,' but it's also very much about valuing family identity, owning family responsibility, and sharing family joy and sorrow.

I find my love for the church to be something like the fiercest of sibling-love.  When an insult is directed at them, I feel the brunt of it, because that's me and my family; it's 'us.'  Sharing personal space can be tricky and sometimes hurtful, and we bear the resulting bruises with varied degrees of grace.  However, even and sometimes especially in the trickiness, we can also foster deep connection, and some of life's most profoundly beautiful and defining relationships.

All of that sets the scene for something I've been pondering recently, concerning Christian leadership.  Having volunteered in various church-related teams, and worked as a nurse in quite a few hospital environments, one interesting dynamic that I've noticed in both contexts is that of the worker's relationship to others.

In healthcare settings, there's a clear distinction between who is nursing and who is being nursed.  This should not be so much about exercising power as having caring responsibility, and as part of this, focus.  Our Code of Conduct requires that we keep the patient central—my own experiences will contribute to my understanding and capacity for empathy, but when I'm nursing someone, it's absolutely not about me.  This is something that student nurses need to learn early in their professional development.

As a nurse, I've often been inspired, for example, by a patient's perseverance.  I've had to make allowances for attitudes in others!  I've cried with some over their sorrows, and have occasionally spoken of my own struggles in order to encourage them.  On one occasion, when heavily pregnant and particularly hormonal, I did apologise for a remark I'd made about something on a patient's TV, because I'd been too consumed by how I was feeling.  In contrast, in my relationships with colleagues, particularly on quiet night shifts, I've often had the privilege of deep mutual sharing.

Of course, every healthcare worker will also be registered somewhere as a patient.  In church, though, whilst some are formally educated in so much that underpins Christian faith and ministry, both paid and voluntary 'workers' are generally also very much part of that same church family.  Or, I believe, they should be.  Often aware of sensitive, extra details, those leading feel acutely the pain of the community.  Animosity or carelessness, directed against—or worse still, within—the church, can therefore feel like a personal injury.

And here's where I grapple: should I even say that 'out loud?'  As I walk a (slow and winding) path in sensing a call to ordained ministry, could admitting that be perceived as weakness or navel-gazing?  Might some looking in (perhaps just through anonymously reading a blog) find even more cause to roll their eyes?  How should those who seek to more formally represent the church, and who have the privilege of addressing the gathered people, bring their own humanness to the table?

My prayer is for church family in which we cherish our shared identity—as diverse creatures rescued and brought together in Jesus.  And, with this beautiful Saviour as our focus, may our gatherings (of all sizes) be such that every one finds a place to thrive—to be real about struggles, to share joy and sorrow, and to carry as able, caring responsibility for one another.⬦

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