What if one of the ways we bring heaven to earth in community is by stopping the lie that we are consistent people?
We have created a Christian culture that often rewards appearances. Looking good, keeping our act together, and appearing emotionally unaffected in groups have become the markers of spiritual maturity. Those who have everything buttoned up emotionally, who are always "fine," and who rarely speak of their struggles are often viewed as the ones most faithfully walking by the Spirit.
But this kind of Christian culture has trained us to fear connection. It has taught us to bypass our hearts, hide our humanity, and perform a version of ourselves that feels acceptable. When we become triggered, many of us have mastered the art of disappearing into private spaces where no one can see us struggle. We slog through the mud of our humanity alone until we emerge into a place where we can once again say, "I'm fine."
We may share something difficult that happened last week, but we quickly learn that vulnerability can be dangerous. Our stories are often met with explanations, evaluations, or advice about how we should think differently. Sometimes our stories are met with silence and wordlessness. Deep down, we know what happens to people who become the subject of group commentary about their latest "drama" or emotional struggle. So we hide. We perform. We pretend.
This kind of Christian culture is impotent. It places the burden on the person struggling with their humanity to remain isolated and to maintain the appearance of strength in community. But what if we have it all wrong? What if we are living in a beautiful moment of opportunity to push back against this version of Christian culture and reclaim God's vision for genuine care in community?
What if a group of courageous leaders decided to stop lying about their triggers and instead began talking about them openly as a way of normalizing the reality that we are inconsistent people who struggle to stay connected to ourselves, to others, and to God?
What if we began noticing together what we do when we don't feel safe? What if we started sharing stories of what we observe in ourselves when we become afraid, ashamed, angry, overwhelmed, or disconnected? What if, instead of fixing one another, we joined together in the communal work of bringing compassion to our inconsistencies?
What might happen if we did?
What if healing begins not when we hide our humanity, but when we allow ourselves to be fully seen within it? What if the path back to our bodies, our minds, and one another is not through performance, but through compassionate presence? And what if this kind of courageous, embodied community is what God intended all along?
