The other day we saw a television program on co-sleeping. My husband, Justin went on a mini rant.
“What is wrong with those people?” he barked. “That is twisted. Why would you want all those little people in your bed?” he wandered off and I heard him murmur, “Weirdos.”
I don’t have the energy to explain to him, he is a co-sleeper. And I don’t mean me. It is 5:21 am and I’m typing this while he snores in the next room with 2 children in the bed with him.
Just because I profess myself one way, doesn’t make it necessarily so.
We are co-sleepers. We sleep with our children. And the reason we sleep with our children is because all we really care about is sleeping. We will do it anywhere, anytime and with anyone.
We are sleep whores.
And the lack of sleep has me pondering things while chugging bitter java. I get emails all the time about what a judgemental jerk I am. Ironically, they come from ranting judgemental ick-masters. And I for the most part I ignore them because, 1. I don’t have time to argue with people about which of us are ickier, and 2. I would rather sleep.
But the most laughable hate mail I get is the kind that is signed, Yours in Christ.
“You’re the worst example of the gospel on the internet… You will be cast into hell for your abuse of that little girl! How would you like to be called chubby! Scripture tells us the devil will come in sheeps clothing! You will burn in hell. Your sister in Christ, XXXXXX”
Granted, I don’t like to be called chubby. But, it does happen. Yes, I am in fact the worst example of the gospel on the internet, although, I have not been officially given that brand. I googled “Worst example of the gospel on the internet.”
And it wasn’t me.
I was a little bummed.
Although, before I had a lot of content up, if you Googled me it said, “Did you mean Janie Emmery?” And she was a not so chubby porn star that was way off from good Gospel behavior.
And yes, scripture does say that the devil will come in sheep’s clothing, but I don’t wear wool. It’s itchy. And I don’t have the time, energy, following, or ambition to be the devil. If I was the devil I would manifest more sleep for me and my poor co-sleeping husband.
I would like to ask if I am the devil, are we still sisters in Christ?
So here’s the rant… you knew it was coming.
Take the Jesus fish off your bumper and stop being stupid.
If you want to rant, own it. If you want to cast someone to the fiery depths don’t hide behind a warm, cheery salutation referencing the Savior of the World.
Christian speak doesn’t save humans.
Actions save humans.
From way up on the Americanized Jesus high horse Christianity is becoming a mockery. This is tragic. But we have gotten so caught up in Jesus-speak I propose it is nothing more than taking His name in vain.
I submit we change our verbiage.
Why aren’t we readily admitting how awful we are in a widely resounding chorus of “I LOVE JESUS AND I AM LITERALLY THE WORST!” and then wait for the masses to approach. Because the masses just see us as the worst in the worst way.
Arrogant windbags, rattling the rooftops with our self-righteous self-affirming banter. We criticize drug addicts and profess their need for Jesus while we shove french fries and pie down our gullets and stare at reruns of Grey’s Anatomy. We are drooling over Dr. McDreamy, texting gossip about the latest affair within “the church,” lamenting our hate for same-sex marriage while maxing out our credit cards and bank accounts on more stuff to stuff ourselves with. But not to worry, there is a Jesus fish watermark on my checks, and I will be in church on Sunday morning to worship with hands held high!
Yours in Christ doesn’t negate our sin or establish us worthy. Snorting crystal meth is bad, but so is mass donut consumption and hate. The elitist Christian mentality and the place where we no longer admit we are broken, lousy, disgusting humans in need of redemption is the greatest disparagement of the Cross.
I had an encounter with a young family outside of Child Services a few months ago. The young mother said, “I want to get help, but I hate Christians. I don’t need some fat woman pointing out how horrible my addiction is while she chugs down a Route 44 Dr. Pepper and gnaws on a king size Snickers.”
Maybe if we were more transparent? Maybe if we labeled ourselves from the place of the same disgusting place we deem others lie? Perhaps if we started out every rant with:
I pursue Jesus, and I am about to unleash a world of judgment on you and everyone in this room! The bowels of my distaste for you and everything you hold dear will not be able to withstand the venom I will poor out on your generations. Here is the number for a counselor, you’ll need it when I am done with you. I meant every word I said, Jami.
Would we be more approachable? Would this level the playing field? Would we better examples of the mercy of the Gospel?
The place of perfection that Christians preach from is not fishing out men. Yes, the Gospel is a place of hope. Yes, I would be lost without it. But to testify to my perfections since I first believed?
Well, just because I profess myself one way, doesn’t make it necessarily so.
Your broken, exhausted, chubby, co-sleeping fellow human, who loves Jesus, Jami
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. J
Psalm 55:12-13 (NLT) “It is not an enemy who taunts me- I could bear that. It is not my foes who so arrogantly insult me- I could have hidden from them. Instead, it is you-my equal, my companion and close friend.”
This post originally appeared at Sacred Ground, Sticky Floors. Hop on over and follow Sacred Ground, Sticky Floors on Facebook!