Skip to main content

One Fruit: Becoming the Monday Church


I’ve had a rather horrid realization:

Just because someone already loves Jesus doesn’t mean I stop being a witness.

The terrible part is I haven’t been living up to that. I tend to assume that my behavior around and toward my Christian friends can be different because “they know what I mean” or “they understand me” so much better than others or “they’ll forgive me.” More often than not all three are true.

But what excuse is that?

So often I am captured by how I feel and made slave to it by my own will. I hold on to how I feel and project it however I see fit. I don’t wait to see if it is beneficial. I just do it.

Nike would be proud.

Jesus isn’t.

I heard my uncle talk about the churches in Kenya. They have this saying called the “Monday Church.” They say that to remind the Body of Christ that it isn’t just Sunday we are the bride of Christ but at all times in all things. I originally thought it was such a cool movement. Go Kenya!

It hit me that I don’t live that mindset very well.

I tend to remember love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control around non-believers. But my Christian friends? I’m willing to let my attitude slip into one of over-familiarity.

How disrespectful to them.

How appalling to Christ.

Bound together with love.
It’s easy for me to be frustrated with the “slow” person in the group. The one who is always a few steps behind and not quite sure of the direction everyone else is headed. I’m realizing why my frustration is directed at them:

They’re a reflection of my weaknesses.

I am the slow friend.

I’m the one who is constantly given grace.

I’m the one who goes too far in the sarcastic banter.

I’m the one who takes a serious conversation and makes it a joke.

I’m the one who stutters when speaking truth.

So clearly I see where I fall short in those other people. Rather than use it as an opportunity to drive myself closer to Christ, inward toward Perfection, I scoff and roll my eyes. Then continue languidly to wonder why things aren’t changing.

Why I’m not changing.

God has been so gracious to me. In every way.

He saved me.

He sustains me.

He shows me where I lack.

He loves me through all of it to Him.

He gives me friends and family who’s love pushes me toward Christ.

He teaches me to forgive, to release what I so tightly cling to.

He makes me new.

He is always turning my heart of stone into one of flesh.

Comments

Ken K said…
I simple wanted to respond with a heartfelt "amen". We all fall down, but by His Grace we get back up. I thank God for His indescribable gift of Grace in Jesus!

Popular posts from this blog

First in Awhile

The past year or so I have been working with the youth group at the church I grew up in. Such an odd thing to wrap my mind around. The group that in so many ways formed who I am today is something I still get to be there for. Though now I'm the responsible one. The mature one. As our interim pastor says, "the one with all the answers." (He JOKES anyway). I show up and help lead where I can. Because it's what is needed. And it's a calling I feel I have on my life. To work with young people, to help teach. The irony is that my journey lately has taken me through a struggle with discipline. Becoming the person I need to be and doing the actions to get me there. I watch my husband and it seems so easy for him while for me often it's a battle of   but I don't want to .  And I have to admit comparisons have only intensified that feeling. It's so easy to sit back and deny what I ought to do in favor of what's right in front of me.  But I

I am Redeemed

You set me free. I don’t have to be, That old man inside of me. I’m not who I used to be. Thank God, I’m redeemed. I’ve loved this song since it was released. The simple truth I so often forget. I am redeemed. It’s basic. Essentially basic. But why can’t I remember? So often I find myself slipping into my version of “that old man.” I listened to a sermon awhile ago and the pastor talked about how everyone goes through times of desert. Then he started talking to me. Just make sure you aren’t keeping yourself in the desert any longer than you have to. Longer than you have to. The phrase played in my mind like tacky wordart. Big, bright letters swirling into sentences. Into meaning. Into my life. I don’t have to be like that. I don’t have to do that or hide there. I am redeemed . Bought back. Made better. Set free. Don’t keep yourself in that desert any longer than you have to be there. There is a special kind of grace in this remembering. I

Tired of Losing...

We’re not really born with a fair shake, you know. We start out this life in teeny tiny little bodies that are completely defenseless then we grow into children who do not understand that cars whizzing by on the street are dangerous. Then onto teenagers fueled by junk food and raw emotion often ill-controlled. The twenty-something’s who think life is in the palm of their hands and their plans are the beautiful, world changing kind. Into our thirties we slow down a little bit, maybe have a family, maybe altered dreams completely, but the beauty is still there if a bit less dim. The forties and fifties, some say they’re the new twenties packed with whole new dreams about this new, wiser portion of life – the kids are growing up and that means more grown up time. Again. The sixties: grandbabies crying and the silver hair let’s opinions be heard with some respect. Seventy, eighty, ninety. The respect seems to dwindle as Let the journey rage on does ability. Dreams change to regr