Church pews left behind, exciting conversations began to spew from my many progressive friends. We took our faith and ran with it. Over hill and dale as we hit the dusty trail, in our mostly peaceful exploits of freedom with Holy Spirit as our only guide. We set many old friends on their ears spitting forth mouthfuls of dirt and explosions of panic as our journeys find no barriers or boundaries before us.
“The Word says, Thou shalt not . . .”! These expletives rain readily while we jump fences and linger in potholes. We enjoy the coolness of mud and the forbidden seems strangely worth investigation. This risky business is froth with danger and uncharted territory, but our fearless abandon only expands as we hear “Fear not, I will never leave you” combined with a chuckle here and there.
What is a Christian supposed to do? The gate stands open and we trample the fence to the ground. All hope of restraint is useless in the boundless glee and merriment that ensues. The sheep are loose! And they seem to listen to only one voice; one unheard by most in earshot. Which prompts the question “have they eaten the loco-weed or drank the Kool-Aid”?
But in a test of time, neither seems to be true. Sanity still appears to govern their lives and relationships.
Therefore, in their daily visits and adventures, the talk continues, only the message has changed. And it’s changing is so profound that they question their title anymore. Are we still Christians? Well, of course, we are. With 43,000 denominations all over the world as varying as day from night, why wouldn’t we still claim the same moniker over our heads?
It is confusing to be sure, since the traditional has now been tossed to the side, which leaves the stranger utterly confused at who they are.
What name shall we be called? Which seems to be a popular topic for only a moment. It holds only vague interest for them. For as some have said, “I don’t care what you call me, just don’t call me late for dinner”!
So this is the result of a Christian gone wild with only Holy Spirit as the companion. Nothing is too sacred to discuss and no one taboo with which to discuss it. And the strangest result of all, in my estimation, is the bursting blooms of Love wherever I go. No longer do I hold back waiting for the passwords of acceptance into club mentality. The first glint of Love is all I need to see. It may be dying, wounded, or angry, but it’s my compass point of direction that pulls me. To touch it, to resurrect it, to heal it, to repair it, to restore it; in all the softness of its petals. Love.
It doesn’t matter what name we are called. We gravitate to Love.