Tea Cozy of Clay

Sunday. It's Sunday and I'm working. Years ago, I had a friend who also taught my Sunday School class. He stated one Sunday that he didn't think he could work a job that kept him out of church. When I asked the reason, he answered that all Christians should be in God's House every service every Sunday, etc. 

That statement was one of the first cracks in the clay of my old fundamental beliefs. At that time, Teapotjan had a cozy made of fundamental clay that had been carefully layered on by years of sermons, chapels, studies, and opinions. And suddenly, after having three children full of "why?", serving in churches most of my life, and standing staunchly in defense of big "F" fundamentalism, my teapot cozy was starting to show scratches and scrapes. I was asking myself about all the inconsistencies I had noticed all along, but had been schooled to ignore. 

Now,let me say that I am "fundamentalist" in the essence that I believe in inspired Word of God, the virgin birth, Christ's death and resurrection, His payment for sin, and the gift of eternal life. I prefer emersion for baptism, but believe that the act of baptism is more about obedience to God's word than method. I give thanks every day that I serve a living Christ, and I want to point people to Him more than anything.

But back to that statement and it's scrape-making powers: most of my family has been long involved in public service. You know the kind like seven days a week, twenty four hours a day, etc.? The day that statement issued from my teacher's mouth was one of my husband's scheduled work days as a paramedic. My father had been a fire-fighter, and we had missed services when he was working. Some of the sweetest Christians I knew had jobs that kept them out of church on a regular basis. Was this person actually implying that going to church all the time made you a better christian? Turns out, he was. Cra-ack. 

Still sporting my clever, clay teapot cozy  I went on to work at a christian university in public safety. (There's another blog post coming on that). So, I missed services from time to time due to work obligations. I must confess that in my adult life, I had never been an "in-church-every-time-the-doors-open" Christian, but I still loved the Lord, and studied the Bible. I felt crippling guilt over and worked at conquering my obvious weakness in fulfilling the definition of "faithful." 

In the meantime, the pastor of my church fell into sin and resigned from the church and from the ministry. That incident made a few hairline cracks. It hurt, but pastors are men and men fall, and God forgives. During this time, my son was having behavioral issues, and my husband and I both ran out of answers and needed some counseling. We met with the new pastor, someone we had known from the university, and asked for help. We were told, pretty much point blank, that we were bad parents. Cra-ack-kack! I was sitting in his office, asking for help and advice and I was a bad parent. I sobbed as we left his office overwhelmed with guilt, grief, and hopelessness. I never went back. Ever. Even now, I am crying as the memory of that day washes over me.

These incidents, along with several others I will probably write about at some point, caused me to question what I believed and why. Why were some of the most "faithful" and noted church members so . . . mean? Why did they call only when they wanted something from me? Why did they criticize, and then look away when we needed help? This was not the Christlike love I expected from the "faithful."

I left that church feeling unloved, and fragile. I worried over the future of my children, my christian walk, my marriage, my job. I began to search for answers in the Bible, from loving, christian friends in churches that didn't have Sunday night services, and from preachers, and teachers not of the staunch fundamental denomination that had helped me layer on this clay tea cozy.

And I found Grace. Loving, everlasting, peaceful, comforting, admonishing Grace. The scrapes turned into cracks, and the cracks turned into splits, and the clay cozy fell away leaving me, the teapot, as myself standing vulnerable and perfect in His forgiving eyes. And then, He wrapped me up in His love. I'm crying again as I type, not overwhelmed by grief and anger, but by the truth of His grace. I think I much prefer these tears to those earlier.

So, here I am working on a Sunday. Praising God. Worshipping Him and thanking Him. I know I'm not perfect and I still pick up pieces of that old clay cozy and try to stick them back on over little dents and kinks in the teapot. But I don't need them, and the Holy Spirit gently reminds me that I am wrapped in forgiveness and love. Since I'm human, I'll never be able to throw that old cozy completely away until I see my Savior's face. But, with His continued help, I'll pack them way back out of sight.