The Waiting Room

"The radiation waiting room is a special place. A sea of broken people; adults of all ages, children, brain cancer, breast cancer, pancreatic cancer. We exchange knowing glances, we learn each others names, we smile. There is solidarity here and I find myself thankful that I can never un-know that such suffering, such valor, exists. It makes me a better person. It keeps insignificance in it's place." - FB post by a Christian father of a young cancer patient.

Image courtesy of Ambro / FreeDigitalPhotos.net 

 

Should this not also be a picture of the Church; vulnerable and broken and honest with one another.  I am not attempting to degrade those that have been tormented by cancer or its treatments.  Let me show you what I mean:

 

"The Church is a special place.  A sea of broken people; adults of all ages, children, liars, cheaters, thieves, the lonely, the brokenhearted.  We exchange knowing glances, we learn each others names, we smile.  There is a solidarity here and I find myself thankful that I can never un-know that such suffering, such valor, exists.  It makes me a better person.  It keeps insignificance in its place." 

 



But this is not what I can say about the Church.  Though it is true that She is a sea of broken people of every age and knowing glances are exchanged, but those glances usually come in the form of judgement.  We do learn each others names, but only because we must out of some unwritten church-going law.  Yes, there are smiles, but they do not often come from a deep place of vulnerability, but rather from the shallows of our facades. 

 

Of course there are places where people are permitted to reveal their brokenness, but they are not the rule.  Most certainly the Church is not perceived as such by the non-church-going sect.  In fact, if radiation treatment waiting rooms were like our churches, can you imagine what you would find there?  Thickly painted, clownish faces and uncomfortable clothes stuffed with padding; some would have no people at all.   

 

Yet this is what we do every weekend, we paint on our smiles and wear our best clothes; tell our kids to straighten up while we tell everyone that we're fine, wonderful, in fact.  We are the sick that sit across from the doctor and say, "I feel great!" all the while we are desperate for help and healing and wholeness.

 

I pray that you find a place that allows brokenness and I pray that you find the strength to allow Jesus to identify it, name it and treat it.

 

 

When Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Healthy people don’t need a doctor, but sick people do. I didn’t come to call righteous people, but sinners.” Mark 2:17