A Devotion for Rachel

Have you ever experienced grief for someone or something you didn't know?

Maybe it's a famous person, someone you admired from afar, or maybe the death of a possibility - a job you didn't get or a relationship that never was.

This week, I am grieving the loss of someone I had only spoken to for a few moments in real life, but whose writings and influence have shaped me for years.

Her name was Rachel Held Evans. She was a writer who, in her four popular books and inspiring blog, wrote about her spiritual journey from her upbringing in the world of Southern Evangelicalism. Her writing was full of wisdom, but also transparent in her struggles, her doubts, and her wrestling with the problematic parts of a church that she loved so much. She bravely and boldly took on subjects like racism and patriarchy, but did so always with a spirit of generosity and mercy.

Central to Rachel's work, and the reason she was and continues to be an inspiration for so many, was her expansive, generous vision of God's grace and mercy for all.

She writes: 

"This is what God's kingdom is like: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered at a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes. And there's always room for more."

Saying yes. And making room.

If we did just those two things well and often, imagine the impact.

In our recovery work and in our daily lives, we could reach people who have been told that the church isn't for them, that they're too broken or battered or far gone for God to reach them.

Yes, God is for you.

And yes, there's room at the table. Come, pull up a chair next to me.

After the birth of Rachel's first baby, she wrote a blog post about parenting, specifically in a time of political division and turmoil. Read her words as a benediction, a sending forth that grants you courage and hope as you say your "yeses" and set more places at the table of God's great table.

She writes:

"If the incarnation has anything to say about it, we don't get to wait around for ideal circumstances to begin creating, birthing, nurturing, planting, protesting, and working together to heal the world.

So my prayer for you today, and in the days, weeks, months ahead is this: No matter what it means to you, take the risk of birth. Don't be afraid.

Finish the book. Pursue the relationship. Begin the ministry. Push the boundaries. Join the march. Write the screenplay. Do the dishes. Plant the onions. Carry the child. Roll around on the floor with your giggling toddler as if the world was even fractionally worthy of his presence.

I'm so glad I did."

With you on the journey,
Chaplain Amy