Attachments

“Paul, a servant of Christ Jesus, called to be an apostle and set apart for the gospel of God—the gospel he promised beforehand through his prophets in the Holy Scriptures regarding his Son, who as to his earthly life was a descendant of David, and who through the Spirit of holiness was appointed the Son of God in power by his resurrection from the dead: Jesus Christ our Lord.”
Romans 1:1-4

Dear Friends,

I’ve felt guilty, like a rotten Christian, because I don’t often long for heaven in the ways other Christians seem to do. They sing songs of a sweet by-and-by with streets of gold and pearly gates, like heaven is a cold and unapproachable gated-community where the elite live and the riff-ruff are kept out. Oh, I do long for a day when all things are made right and justice flows like an everlasting stream and mother’s don’t cry because their black sons got gunned down. But some pie in the sky when we die? That’s not what I long for.

Maybe I’m too attached to earth? Maybe I am profoundly grateful for the full breath in my lungs, the strong and capable body designed for me, the warm sun on my face, digging my toes into sand, my children’s laughter, my husband’s touch, my friend’s honesty, the beautifully complex potential in every day. And while my life comes with daily tearful disappointments and hiccuped prayers, I am attached to it. 

I am attached to earth because I am attached to Christ. 

I’ve read of a number of Christians who don’t believe in the bodily resurrection of Christ—like they no longer need that or they’ve progressed beyond that. Not me. I need the affirmation of Christ’s body that still bears wounds and scars—the earthy reminder of his own attachment. I need a God who doesn’t only long for heaven but also longs for earth, humanity, dirt, the stuff God made and loves. I need a God who skinned his knees and stepped in donkey dung while muttering a curse word and felt hunger and wailed at his friend’s death and belly-laughed when Peter tripped on the same stick twice. I need a God who felt disappointment and sadness and anxiety. 

I need a God who didn’t long to escape to heaven but longed for heaven to come to earth. 

I need a God who died a shameful death reserved for the worst humans, was buried, and whose body experienced new life with the wounds and scars still marking his attachment to earth. I need a God whose resurrected body didn’t escape to heaven but ate bbq’d fish on a beach with his best friends because he was attached to them.

God was attached to them. God is attached to me. 

Maybe my longing for earth is my longing for God who longs for me—in my body, in my humanity, in my createdness, in my belovedness.

I dreamed last night that Jason and I were driving along a curvy road on the edge of a cliff. Our car took the turn too fast and as we flew off the cliff, careening towards the ocean below, I turned to Jason and told him I loved him, that this was a good life, and I’ll see him in heaven.

Part of every life includes death and this is a sad reality for most people, including Christ. I need a God who is sad about death but offers another word at the same time. And this is good news. This is the gospel of God’s love. This is life today, tomorrow, and forever.

In this wilderness life:

Christ has died
Christ has risen
Christ will come again

With (love),
Bethany