We thought cliques were something only teenagers battled.
Do you remember when there were so many groups to identify with in high school? The jocks were athletes who always wore the uniform of the season in classes every Friday. The brains never saw anything but A’s on the top of their exams and were weaned towards Princeton from birth.
The bandies played instruments and excelled in marching on the football field at halftime. The burnouts were known for their art of smoking in the bathrooms and getting away with it. The preps donned designer clothing that cost more than my outfits put together. The audio-visual crew always got to run the projectors and slide shows and came to the rescue at a moment’s notice if there was a glitch on the screen.
The nerds only fit in with each other, but they never seemed to mind.
I’m sure we could break it down even further if we wanted to, but I’d rather not.
I was not a big fan of cliques back then, and I’m even more down on it today than I ever was. Maybe, it is because I was a non-conformist who didn’t want to be labeled with a particular cluster.
I loved sports and was great at them, especially baseball. I also loved piano, singing, and was confident enough that if Paul McCartney, John Lennon and Elton John were cool and made hit records, I could, too.
I was a performer who liked to be in shows. My performance as Ebenezer Scrooge, in “A Christmas Carol,” at Black River Middle School, in Chester, was what dreams were made of.
I was a solid student who got enough B’s to keep me humble, and when it came to clothes, I was happy to just wear a shirt and pants.
I chose a long time to not drink and smoke because I saw enough tragedy in my family history with alcoholism to make me run the other way, and when it came to trying to be cool, I knew God created me with nothing resembling James Dean in my body – Jerry Lewis yes, but a trendsetter, not a chance.
I liked to roam between crowds, hoping to know as many people as possible. I could pop in just about anywhere, with anyone, anytime.
Imagine me now, a pastor who still works with people of all ages, backgrounds and contexts. The deadly part of any community is when some insecure, self-appointed leader announces that his or her gang are superior to others and becomes every exclusive over-inclusive.
When a goal of a gathering is to keep people out rather than inviting those around us in, the red flags of “proceed with caution” fly right in my eyes. What is it about so-called Christians that want to shut God’s created people out, rather than invite them into the heavenly banquet hall?
I am sick of manmade standards that, in reality, I have no time to even argue with at this point of my journey. Someone is not rich enough, smart, tall, or great enough. There are right and wrong colors, right race and wrong genes, the chosen neighborhood to be residing in, and the over-the-track shacks that should be banished.
God made it clear that “whosoever will” may come. Thank you, Jesus, that we can enter as we are, or I would have been left at the landing when the Gospel train came rolling by. Jesus said the greatest of these would be happy to be nobodies, the mighty would be the least, and servants would have the most joy in God’s kingdom.
I relish getting to know people different than me. I recently took the My Heritage DNA Test and discovered I am nothing like who I thought I was.
I’m 15% North African Jewish. I love it, and it made me want to dance in the streets.
I’m even 11% Scandinavian, and that was never on my radar.
Ultimately, Jesus loving and rescuing me, when I was in danger of throwing God’s gift away because I never believed I measured up, makes me who I am.
I was using the wrong guidelines. Why would you place your validity in the hands of men when they can’t get their stories correct?
God so loved us that He sent Jesus to redeem us from the playground of humanity to enter the family room of eternity.
Knock it off with the cliques. Yes, I am a Mets fan, but there are Philly fans within my family, and my adoration for them has not dropped an iota.
Variety is the spice of life. We are not all the same flavor with the same ingredients.
Taste and see that the Lord is great, and His people are as colorful as Crayola crayons. Remember the big one that came with the crayon sharpener? My favorite color is orange. How about you?
I like peanut butter more than chocolate. How about you? I like snow. How about you? I listen to my music loud, and I will yell “I love you” across the parking lot. How about you?
Let’s look for magic rather than minutia, and let’s make our circle large enough for anyone to enter, always.
ED. NOTE: The author is the senior pastor of The Lighthouse Church, 1248 Route 9 South, Court House.
Lower Township – Who are these people that are obvious experts on trash cans and leaf pick-up? Maybe they don't have any trash to put out or leaves in their yard!!
