We’re sitting in a huge barn, an open kitchen to one side and a coffee service area to the other.
Running down the middle of the barn are three long, sturdy tables. Over to one of the walls, there’s a smattering of white handprints, reaching over each other to form a mountain.
My pastor stands in front of the group with a guitar.
We’re singing “Amazing Grace.” The group is 40% Iranian refugees, 40% reformed prisoners and 20% reformed-conservative-North-Shore-Christians (that’s my category, anyway).
Minutes earlier, we’d been sitting outside on picnic tables, eating fresh pineapple and watermelon, overlooking the 360 degree greenness of fields and flowers and vegetable patches and horses.
A baby sits on the ground watching a dog who’s watching a chicken.
The farm is a community organization, a place where the reformed prisoners come to learn how to farm, build furniture from recycled timber, rehabilitate race-horses at the end of their careers, as well as enjoy community with each other.
I’m sitting in this service, reflecting on a handful of frustrations in my personal life. Replaying conversations, events. Work run-ins. Sydney traffic.
Amazing grace, how sweet the sound / that saved a wretch like me.
One of the guys who had been in prison gets up and tells that after praying every day, he had seen his two sons for the first time in three years the day before.
My chains are gone, I’ve been set free.
That morning I had read a meditation by Richard Rohr about welcoming pain:
“After you can identify the hurt and feel it in your body, welcome it. Stop fighting it. Stop splitting and blaming. Welcome the grief. Welcome the anger. It’s hard to do, but for some reason, when we name it, feel it, and welcome it, transformation can begin.”
I can’t stand being vulnerable, letting raw emotion bubble up from within me. What if I offend someone!?
And like a flood, His mercy rains. Unending love, amazing grace.
What if a greater source of my suffering is not allowing myself to feel?
What if I’ve mistaken the Christian walk to be about reaching the destination of perfection?
I will reflect God in my togetherness! God blesses me, because he is on my side! Just like America!
Surrounded by people who wear their brokenness on the outside is humbling.
The earth shall soon dissolve like snow / the sun forbear to shine.
The tables that run through the middle of the barn are made by the people in the community that we’re now a part of. Thick, deep brown wood full of scratches.
Rectangular cut-outs on each plank speak of the wood being used as a fence in a previous life.
Now, instead of demarcating boundaries, it’s creating a shared space. We’re all here, this rag-tag bunch of sinners, or “ragamuffins” as Brennan Manning famously put it.
Here, at the table, I’m connected to my humanity. I don’t need to put on a full face of make-up, and hide my imperfections.
“To the extent that I reject my ragamuffin identity, I turn away from God, the community, and myself. I become a man obsessed by illusion, a man of false power and fearful weakness, unable to think, act, or love.” — Brennan Manning
How do I ever manage to love anyone when my attention and energy is fixed on perfecting my image, like an Instagram filter?
What a privilege to be invited to the table.
How liberating to realize that I don’t need to expend so much energy trying to maintain the appearance of a saint but to relax into my humanity and embrace those around me who are doing the same.
The service ends, and we have lunch together. We say our goodbyes and pack into cars and buses and trundle back down the driveway into the real world, refreshed, recharged.
I once was lost, but now I’m found/was blind but now I see.
Image via Unsplash.com.
About Cherie Lee
Cherie Lee is a writer from Sydney who’s passionate about the arts and often performs her blogs live. She’s also influenced by the emergent church movement and enjoys a good debate. You can find her blog at cherielee87.blogspot.com.au.
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