I get scared around people who love God.

I'm not sure why. I think that maybe they will judge me, or they will scoff at my ways. I know it because when I go and worship and the person next to me lifts up their hands and sways with the music, and I lower my head and whisper the words.

I wish sometimes I was Harry Potter, and I could take my invisibility cloak with me to Sunday worship. I would wrap it around me and stand in the back, sipping my butterbear instead of black coffee. I don't think I would go crazy and start dancing. It's quite likely I would still lower my head. I'm not sure what I would do.

When I take communion, I always picture Jesus at a table, and he is gesturing toward a seat. I have to ask him many times to make sure he wants me to be there; that it is okay I'm sitting at this table and eating his body and drinking his blood. Because on my right is the swaying, hand-raising girl, and on my right is the prayer-leading guy from small group, and I'm afraid that if they see me at this table they won't wonder and question just how real my own faith is.

A lot of people tell me I'm too hard on myself. But the fact of the matter is, I'm just fearful people will see me at their place of abandon and judge me. Or that they will see that the life I lead is in stark contrast to what they perceive Christianity to be.

I think this is why I try not to say anything. Love is the best voice I have, even though its utterances are rare. My posture in worship, my declarations of faith, even the service I try to so humbly commit to, remain so quiet when compared to love. Love speaks for itself, really.

I think that if I knew the people who loved God also loved me, I wouldn't be so fearful of them.

I love the people who know me and still love me. Their love drives out fear. They set a huge example.

Like them, I want to love people enough to drive out their fear.

No comments:

Post a Comment