More than a New Group of Friends

THERE IS THIS unsightly patch of spider veins behind my right knee. It started out years ago after my body had carried to term the weight of three pregnancies and endured the recovery associated with childbirth. A little spider vein turned into a few, which turned into a patch that eventually went from simply visually unappealing into painful and bulging.

I had hoped an injection would take care of both the pain and the patch of blues and greens. However, after closer examination via ultrasound, I learned that a larger vein, which to my untrained eye had nothing to do with that painful patch, was actually the key to treatment. We couldn’t start on the surface. We had to dive deeper.

Now there’s an analogy.

It hasn’t been enough for the church in the United States to talk about racism and sexism. Building relationships across racial divides is good, but it isn’t enough. Your new black, white, Asian, Latino, or Native friend doesn’t give you a pass. Sure, it’s a great photo op or church story, but deep down inside it will take more than everyone making a new group of friends.

It hasn’t been enough to talk about unity without addressing the cost of uniformity. It hasn’t been enough to research the most segregated hour of the week and then quote Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. The unsightly and painful patch of damaged veins goes much deeper and requires far more than a single injection. The brokenness of the church requires surgery—amputation, transplant, transfusion, or a combination of all of the above. The healing of the church requires a Jesus that is not dressed in Sunday best because there never was such a thing.

I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of surgery.

The road to this point in time has been painful enough. I’ve always had an inner critic that was most critical of my own shortcomings but pointedly aware of the failures and missteps of the people and systems around me. Belonging has never come easy. Finding a spiritual home was never easy. Letting go and letting God was simply “never.” When you grow up in an immigrant church that “borrows” a “real” church’s space, it messes with your sense of faith and belonging, but even in my uneasy relationship with Jesus, evangelicalism, and especially evangelicals, it has been the closest thing I’ve experienced to community.

The past few years have been a painfully slow removal of a bandage that was left on too long. It’s revealed healing that never happened, a festering of wounds you and I have worked hard to cover up. We’re seeing areas that were once healthier now impacted by the spread of implicit bias and unspoken sins. The more you and I unwrap, the more we see how complicated the complicated things actually are.

Honestly, I’ve never made so many protest signs, marched so many miles, called so many politicians’ offices, written so many postcards, worn so many message T-shirts, or prayed so many four-letter words as I have in the past two years. The prayers alone are a canary in the mine considering I have three children on the brink of adulthood.

After social media ranting and raving and real-life protesting, I’m in this place of agonizing pain and yet wondering if a combination of painkillers and caffeine will be enough for now. Anyone else? No? Then you may want to read something else. For those of you who are nodding your heads, let’s talk about surgery.