“Christian Enough”

There are times when something is said to me and I’ll know right at that moment that I need to write about it.  Usually, those times come when I’m busy doing something else and not thinking about writing. Which was the case today.  

I had just gotten off a brief phone call with my husband Geoff in which he’d explained to me that a friend was in need of a place to stay for a couple weeks. Geoff wanted us to invite the person to stay with us.  Normally, this would be fine.  But we’d just earlier in the day had someone else who’d been staying with us, leave.  In fact, I had just walked into the house and was thinking how nice it felt to have it be back to just our family.  One less person to be responsible for.  One less to feed.  One less spectator to sibling arguments or parent-child power struggles.  That’s what I’d been thinking when the phone rang.

I wasn’t opposed to inviting the person to stay here.  We’ve always tried to open our home to folks when a need arises.  And it’s been a pretty frequent occurrence over the 30-some years of our marriage.  It’s just that the timing wasn’t the greatest today.

I told Geoff that it would probably be fine.  We clarified the dates, making sure that it wouldn’t conflict with anything else coming up. Then I hung up the phone and was digging through the freezer when one of our kids walked into the kitchen.

“What’d Dad want?” 

I explained that somebody needed a place to stay for a couple weeks.  

“Nooooo,” came the drawn out response.  “We just got our house back to our family.  It’s always so crowded around here.”

Finding what I wanted in the freezer, I explained that it was only for a couple weeks while the person was in transition.

“Come on, Mom,” came the pleading response.  “We’ve been Christian enough already.” 

I stepped back from the freezer and looked over at our daughter.  I smiled.  I may have even chuckled for just a second.  She started to smile, too.  I think realizing how funny that had sounded.  And probably feeling a little sheepish for actually letting those words come through her lips.

“Christian enough,” I repeated.  “Hmm.  I like it.  Has a nice ring to it.”

“Come on, Mom.  You know what I mean,” she complained, still fighting a smile.

Yeah, I know what you mean.  And I’ve thought it plenty of times, too.

Like when someone comes into the office at 4:30 on a Friday afternoon, and I’m trying to get the rest of my paperwork done before my weekend starts in 30 minutes.  And I’m really pretty tired of being a counselor for this week.  But the person is in crisis.

Or when someone near me on the road is driving stupidly–too fast if they’re behind me, too slow if they’re in front of me. And what I really want to do is roll down my window and flip them off.  But this is a small town, and chances are pretty good that I know them.  And they know me.  So I just shake my head, in case they’re looking in their mirrors, and say nothing.  Even though, in spirit, I’m flipping them off.

Or when people who share my faith are judgmental of others who are less fortunate than we are. When they look down on the poor or incarcerated, and those struggling with mental illness and addiction.  But they don’t know, and don’t want to know, how difficult that particular journey might be. No, it’s easier to stand around in their coffee circles and whisper.  Ridicule.  Further demean.  And what I’d like to do is school them, right then and there.  I’d really like to go right over the top of them in a prideful, sanctimonious tirade.  I’d like to offer sarcastic thanks for all that they do to assist those who are less fortunate.  And tell them how the world is all the richer for their presence.  But instead, I offer a few thoughts about how difficult it must be to be homeless, or addicted; and I offer reminders of how fortunate we are.

Yeah, I know what you mean.  There’ve been lots of times when I’ve told myself that I’ve already been Christian enough.  Which got the wheels spinning in my head,  and I started to wonder if Jesus ever felt that way.   

“Oh come on,” I can almost hear Him say.  Like maybe in the Garden of Gethsemane.  Or struggling up Golgotha carrying the cross.  

“Enough already. When’s enough gonna be enough? I’m tired.  I’ve done everything you wanted.  And more.  But come on.”            

I wonder if He ever thought any of those things.  I couldn’t blame Him if He did entertain thoughts along those lines.  But I doubt He did.  I think He probably stayed ever true to what He knew to be right.

And if I’m going to claim to be a Christian, that’s who I say I’m following.  That example has already been set.  And at least so far I haven’t found where Jesus clarified just what exactly constituted being “enough” of a follower.  Do what you can for the poor and downtrodden, the least of these.  But only to a point.  Enough’s enough.  

So, we meet with the folks who are struggling with crisis, even when it means staying late again on a Friday.  And we don’t honk at, or flip off, the other drivers on the road.  Even when they’re driving stupidly.  And we try to offer gracious reminders to each other of how blessed our own circumstances are, to encourage kindness and compassion, instead of shaming.

And we invite people to stay in our home for a couple weeks when they’re in transition, even though we’ve had a lot of visitors lately and just today I was thinking how nice it was to have the house a little less crowded.  Because it’s being true to what we say we believe.  True to who we claim we’re following.  That example has already been set.  And that’s “enough.”