Broken . . . together

I think it was Larry Crabb who asked this simple question: “Are we a community of pretenders or a community of the broken?” It is a question that has stuck with me over the years and came to me afresh on this second Covid Maundy Thursday.

I have over the long recent months of lockdown found myself increasingly reminded of my own brokenness. Obviously on a physical level my body reminds me daily of the inescapable decay that accompanies the passage of time, but far more significantly I have discovered in new ways the brokenness of my own spirit and my constant dependence on God’s grace. It has been both painful and strangely liberating. It is far healthier than a pretend spirituality.

There is a freedom and spiritual maturing that can only be realised through honesty with God, with myself and with others. It is not easy. The maturing process is a long one. For me, sometimes far too long. This may be because, aside from the normal human traits of pride and self-preservation, and long before covid laws made them mandatory, I have unconsciously bought into a church culture of mask-wearing religiosity. I am not alone. It is why we can go to church for years and appear spiritually sound, even mature, yet remain joyless and judgmental. I think Larry Crabb was right, with some notable exceptions of course, when he observed that the church is good at making converts and teaching those converts, outwardly, to follow a pattern of behaviour or follow a set of rules without there ever being a real life-transforming encounter with God.

A genuine life-transforming encounter with God will lay bare not only the truth about God but the truth about ourselves. Most of us find that too challenging, and choose to go through life avoiding the reality of who we are and why we behave as we do. That is why we can attend church and serve faithfully for years, and never change. The problems we had when we came into the church remain as entrenched as they ever were. We may persuade others, or even ourselves, that we are right with God, when in reality all we are doing is keeping Him at a safe distance.

Pete Scazzero in his book Emotionally Healthy spirituality wrote: “The vast majority of us go to our graves without knowing who we are. We unconsciously live someone else’s life, or at least someone else’s expectations for us. This does violence to ourselves, our relationship with God, and ultimately to others”.

Almost two thousand years earlier Augustine had said “How can you draw closer to God when you are far from your own self? Grant, Lord, that I may know myself that I may know thee” and in the Sixteenth Century Theresa of Avila wrote “Almost all problems in the spiritual life stem from lack of self-knowledge”.

There is nothing new under the sun, but I am such a slow learner!

Which is why, on this Maundy Thursday evening, I find myself thinking on the events of that night when Jesus sat down for a last supper with his friends. He had shared so many meals with them over the three years they had been together, but none as significant as this. And on that night the disciples were brought face to face with the truth not only about Jesus but about themselves. Jesus was the host, the one who sent out the invitations, who celebrated the Passover meal and explained to his friends that he was the one to whom it all pointed, and then he washed their feet - they brought nothing to the table but themselves. They clearly did not understand at that point the significance of all that Jesus was telling them, even after three years of breaking bread with him, but Judas found in the face of such grace and truth that he had nowhere to hide any more, Peter learned a few home truths about himself, and as Jesus washed their feet they all learned that the way to follow him was not through a religious self-improvement programme but through love, service and vulnerability: “Now that I, your Lord and teacher, have washed your feet, you also should wash one another’s feet” (John 13:14)

So I reminded myself tonight that every time I meet with or break bread with my brothers and sisters I am responding to Jesus’ invitation to come and eat – everything is prepared – not because I deserve it, not because I have earned it, but because I am invited to God’s grace banquet at which we celebrate a victory that is His, not ours.

There is no place for personal pride, no rank or position, no masks at His table or in His church. I can come even if I’ve have ignored Him, refused Him, turned against Him, used Him, taken advantage of Him, been angry with Him, doubted Him – still He welcomes me at His grace table. Jesus washed the feet of Judas and he washes mine.

If only we can live out the reality of that first Maundy Thursday, and be a community where people can come and bring all their baggage, all their pain, all their questions, all their failings, where everyone is equally loved and accepted and no one needs to pretend.

Help us Lord.

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