spat on

It was safe on The Outside. Before I knew anything. Before I'd ever stopped to think once about class or race, wealth distribution or justice, my calling and how that might impact more than just where I serve on a Sunday morning or Wednesday night.

But He drew me in.

With cords of loving kindness and the heart of a Father who loves His child too much to allow her to stay playing among the posies as the world just beyond her gaze wilted and turned to dust.

And so I began to see.

Like having eyes for the first time, I began to see the world beyond the grayscale in which I had been living. Shadows that had lurked around corners in the fantastically unaware world of The Outside became violent, corrosive problems that were not shadows at all, but rather a cancer eating away deep at the heart of humanity.

Pained cries and shouts of injustice that had but echoed faintly on The Outside now deafened my ears. I could hear nothing else but the heart of the Father whisper.

And so I was called.

And I pressed in.

I pressed in to see more clearly. To hear the cries to which I'm still turning deaf ears in the name of convenience. To understand. To experience. To follow my Lord.

Sometimes those who press in are spat on, those who dare to cross borders.

Sometimes we go unnoticed, unseen, and we are often misunderstood.

But we press on. Even when we're spat on.




The Son of God put on flesh and came to live with us. He pressed in.

It was safe on The Outside, but that wouldn't do. The calling of the Divine is higher than that of Smokey the Bear. We are meant for more than safety.

Son of God, put on flesh, come to dwell...and be spat on.

If I would aspire so high as to become like Christ, the meaning would reach beyond my language usage or how I spend my Friday night. Jesus came to dwell. He reached in, drawn by His own ties of loving kindness and moved in with the ones who spat on Him.

He went unnoticed, unseen, and always misunderstood.

He gave up home and security, comfort and consistency, all the beauty and power we've yet to even comprehend to be broken. Poured out like water.

Spat on.

Spat on by me to this day.

Yet He came. He lived. He stayed. His Holy Presence indwelling still.




It was safe on The Outside, but now I'm in. It's part of who I am, who we're called to be.

Living examples of the risen Christ, putting on flesh and moving in.

And living.

And staying.

Even when we're spat on.