A quick little apology, friends: It’s been about a month since I sent my last newsletter. Our family had several busy weekends in May, but school’s now out for summer, and hopefully, I can remain consistent throughout. Thank you for your grace and support!
Last weekend, despite the rain that poured outside the windows of my bedroom, I dreamed that I lived in a dry and dusty post-apocalyptic world. I had joined a ragtag community, and we lived like family on land that bordered a rival faction. There was heat and dust and straw all around, and my house appeared to have been haphazardly constructed from the bones of an abandoned stable. I was unprotected, exposed to the elements. Dirt streaked my cheeks, and my hair fell in my face as I made attempt after attempt to cross enemy territory—a swath of green trees in the middle of the dustbowl, guarded by a teenage boy with a gun in his hands. On the other side of the green were members of my community, members who lived in a state of perpetual sleep, and it was my mission to rescue them. It was one of those plot lines that only make sense in the land of dreams. A story that began to dissipate as soon I woke up. And yet, the feeling of urgency lingered. Until those sleepers awoke, until we were joined together again, I knew we would remain at the mercy of our enemies, but I woke before the end resolved.
A couple of weeks ago, I had a phone call with a potential Christian homeschool co-op—one that prides itself on their particular educational philosophy as a way to engage kids in critical thinking. It’s an educational philosophy I’m familiar with because it’s similar to the philosophy of one of the schools I worked at in Seattle. My oldest son will be ready for kindergarten next year, so I have been exploring all the options—public schools, private schools, charter schools, hybrid schools, and homeschool. (I hope to write more about my thoughts on education in a separate newsletter, but for now, it’s enough to just say that I’m considering what school might look like for us in varying forms.)
I answered the phone while driving home from a nature center. My kids were asleep in the back of the car. As we discussed the format of the program and the educational philosophy, I felt the call was going well. Perhaps this would be a good fit for our family. I pulled off the interstate, slowed to a halt at the end of the exit ramp, and envisioned our family as part of this community as I waited at a stoplight. The light turned green as the woman on the phone told me that the ultimate mission of this co-op was to know God and make him known in the world.
“Would you be able to ascribe to these beliefs and practices?” she asked me.
“Yes,” I said. “My husband and I are both believers.” I silently wondered why anyone who wasn’t a Christian would even be interested in this program. As we rounded a curve, the woman described the format of the meetings, which included a regular pledge of allegiance to both the flag and the Bible. And something about this comment made a little alarm bell go off inside—I just felt this tug to ask another question.
So I did, slightly sheepishly. “Can I ask you something?” I started, grasping for the right words as I steered down empty roads bordered by farmland. “Are the other families in the group all pretty similar or do you guys sort of span the gamut—different denominational backgrounds, different political beliefs… ?”
There was a little silence, and some confusion about what I was actually asking. After clarifying that I was indeed asking about the spiritual, social, and political makeup of the group, (at which point, I embarrassingly scrambled to ‘defend’ myself as a “moderate”—identifying as conservative in Seattle but progressive in North Carolina), I was politely told that I probably wouldn’t feel comfortable at this co-op.
At first I was disappointed. And then I got angry. And then I just got reflective. To be clear—the woman on the phone was very polite and honest with me, and I appreciate and respect her frankness. I don’t want to pay a lot of money for something that’s not a good fit. But I still can’t shake the feeling that there is something wrong with this experience. If a Christian wouldn’t feel welcome in another Christian group, and if a group that prides itself on conversation is unwilling to dialogue with someone who has a different political perspective—someone who, despite being more socially progressive, still holds to orthodox church doctrine—then how can we as a church ever hope to “make God known in the world”?
As the phone call wrapped up, I was encouraged to find a group with like-minded people. The woman kept repeating: “That’s the beauty of homeschooling in 2023! There’s so many options!” But so far, if I’m honest, I haven’t been able to find these said like-minded people. And as a Christian, I also disagree with her sentiment—I don’t think the church was meant to be a haven for like-minded people. If we look at the early church, it was a community for diverse people, people with little in common except the conviction of following the way of Jesus. Jesus’ disciples—the ones he himself chose to be his followers—had very different social and political leanings, and yet they managed to live together in love. Unfortunately, instead of living in this kind of diverse community, where we can learn from and challenge one another, we American Christians have a tendency to build little bubbles around the people we like, where we can safely point out all the wrongdoings of the people we don’t. What we don’t realize is we are all just screaming into the void because the bubbles we’ve built are soundproof.
This brings me back to my dream because we both, conservatives and progressive, think the other side is metaphorically asleep. I am a moderately progressive Christian who thinks my more conservative siblings are asleep to loving the neighbors that don’t look like us—immigrant neighbors, refugee neighbors, LGBTQ neighbors, people of color neighbors. I think my conservative siblings have made an idol of personal liberty (which I personally believe is an American ideal and not a Christian one), and I think they have dangerously embraced and affiliated themselves with gun culture. I think my conservative siblings are also asleep to the changing climate. The way we grow our food and the excess of things we buy are harming our ecosystems and our own bodies, and my generation and my children’s generation will be disproportionally affected. My kids will have to scramble to clean up the environmental mess of previous generations because we did not care well for God’s creation as a collective society.
Had I managed to make it to the other side of the green in my dream, I would likely have found that my more conservative siblings thought I was the one asleep and in need of rescue. Progressives, and even moderates like me, have been brainwashed by secular culture. Our political decisions are contributing to a decline in personal freedoms, to government overreach, to disintegration of Christian morality and ethics, to the breakdown of the nuclear family, and to the death of millions of unborn babies. We more progressive siblings champion science over biblical inerrancy, advocate for human folly over God’s wisdom, and are contributing to the moral and economic decline of our great nation. We have foolishly opened the door to socialism, desire to leave our borders unprotected, and want to make it illegal to protect our families with firepower. We do so while relying heavily on government systems that are likely to collapse.
Now, I’m simplifying the positions of conservatives and progressives, and I can admit that I’m no expert. I’m not trying to defend my own position or devalue another. What I’m trying to point out is that it’s not so simple as one side being right and another being wrong. There is a lot of gray space, and people on both sides have some valid concerns. If we are honest, we are all asleep at times and in need of rescue. Maybe if my dream had continued, a Good King would have come down from the hills on horseback, sword and shield in tow, to rescue us all. And one day, I hope, He will.
Until then, I am convinced that when we build these bubbles, we do ourselves and our King a disservice. Like the algorithms feeding us a diet of what we want to hear, if we only have conversations with like-minded people, we will grow weak of mind and begin fostering contempt for the other side instead of compassion. The Bible, after all, tells us to love our enemies and commands us repeatedly: Do not fear.
Last week was Pentecost Sunday, the birthday of the Church. (And here, might I also remind us that the Church is global—alive and growing in all tribes, tongues, and nations, under all types of governments. While it may be more difficult to be a Christian without religious freedom, it happens everyday, and in many places, the Church is stronger and more compassionate for it.) That said, as we enter into this long season of Ordinary Time, it is my hope that we American Christians can start to burst out of our own little bubbles and live united as a church body, learning to converse with one another with both dignity and respect. May we love one another with boldness and compassion, for that is how God said His followers would be recognized in the world. Not by their political affiliation, their education, or their church attendance. But by their love.
With hope,
Jenica
Ordinary Joy:
Words of Jubilee:
It only seems fitting to share that classic Bible passage, 1 Corinthians 13, with you today:
If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away. For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.
—1 Cor 13:1-13
A Few Good Things:
I love this perspective of the earth as kin, which Micah Boyette eloquently shared in her newsletter, The Slow Way, a few weeks ago. You can read it here.
Some encouraging words from Destini Davis. For those who needs to hear it. Her Instagram has been a great find for me.
My kids love this song by Billy Joel (from Oliver & Company), and we sing it often, always dreaming about New York when we do. Just a little something lighthearted to end on.
As always, thank you for your readership. If you would like to support this publication, you can do so by purchasing a paid subscription or donating to my coffee+writing fund via the link below. Many thanks to Louise for sponsoring this week’s edition.