the loud voices and the quiet voices

I remember a time of unquestioning acceptance of the authorities in my life.  I remember the simplicity of letting one man's words define my theology, the relative ease with which I studied a set list of doctrines, "making them my own."  And then that all fell away, and I was left with questions, with cynicism, with a wide open space in which I moved about wholly lost, trying to piece back together a faith that had once been so complete.

The voices are loud and they are overwhelming.  They crowd this space, competing for my attention.  They shout things at me.  They demand my allegiance, they claim certainty and a monopoly on a Definition of morality.  Sometimes I agree, sometimes I don't.  But always they shout.

They're afraid, I think.  Maybe they don't see it, but I do.  Only sometimes, during their political rants, during their unguarded moments when they reveal their need for control in All Things.  They set up all these Rules.  Wear this, believe this, do this.  "Church" becomes a production, a business, a competition.  Fall in line or leave.  They're concerned with flashy lights, sound systems, advertisements for social activities for all ages.  They market themselves with a passion that betrays their true colors.

And some fall away.  Anger, betrayal, and distrust begin to define us.  Satan is on the move, or so they say.  If it's Satan, it can't be them.  Always they shout.  You're with me or you're against me.  Make your choice.

There are some quiet, whispering voices.  I think I trust those more.  No power is attached to these voices.  They say things like "I love you."  They say, "No matter what, I'm here, walking with you."  They say, "Look to Jesus, He is enough."  They are the peacemakers.

I've started to identify the peace makers in my life, and I gravitate to them.  They are the ones who get the ambiguity of life, who get that the world is a broken but beautiful place.  They are the ones who love without reservation.  They are the ones who bring freedom, not legalism.  They are the ones who acknowledge the uncertainties and fear that are a natural part of life as we eagerly await the resurrection of our bodies.  They are the ones who speak Life and Hope to me.  They are the reason I stay in this fractured mess called Church.  They are the reason I don't walk away.  They embody the Gospel.

And this is the Gospel:

We're all so broken.  Wildly loved, but entirely broken.  Some of us know our brokenness, some of us are not so aware.  We hide behind our theology, our politics, our belief systems.  We shake our fists and scream at the sky.  We blame everyone but ourselves.  We hide behind lists of things to do and be, forgetting that we are loved in spite of our mistakes.  We create taboos and condemn those who stray to hell.  We guilt each other and ourselves.  We fall again and again because we don't remember that we are loved.

I am loved.

The God who created me loves me with a wild, relentless love, a love that defines both Him and me.  He loves each of us this way.  And we forget.  We try to earn His love.  We set up rules that will define us above and beyond the love with which He loves us.  We forget the purpose of the law and commandeer it for our own shallow purposes.  Christ's righteousness in us isn't enough; we need to ourselves be righteous.

And He whispers:

I love You and that is enough.  

And into the quietness of this dawn I run, leaping and singing and dancing and twirling.  Throwing my arms into the air in the pure joy of the knowledge of my belovedness.

It is enough.