Reconciliation, part 2
All photos in this post are taken by the lovely and talented Eliza Stewart.
You can follow her work on Instagram or on her website at https://elizastewartphotography.mypixieset.com
This week, we are back to our story of reconciliation. I’m sharing the story-telling with my friend Eliza - the friend I have today only because of grace and forgiveness. Eliza was so brave last week sharing her story of loss and betrayal and church trauma. Now it’s my turn to be brave. So I am taking a deep breath as I dive in.
When I met Eliza, we had just moved to a new city, a new state, and a new church, and I was lonely. Eliza was a youth at the time, and I remember wanting her to like me. It sounds kind of silly now, I guess. She was funny and kind, and she exuded warmth and joy. She was slow to warm up to me as a pastor’s wife, but when she did, she gave her whole heart. That is who Eliza is: warm and big-hearted and fiercely loyal. We quickly became chosen family to one another, and as much as I mentored her, she taught me. We walked on the beach and watched hours of Doctor Who together. We shared lots of nerdy comraderie and so many long talks and sweet memories. She was one of my people, and I loved her.
I missed her when she went off to Huntingdon. It was a little like sending off one of my own to college. But I was so proud of her and so excited to see what God would do through her calling. Her second summer in college, Eliza went to work at a Methodist camp. We didn’t get to talk much that summer, and I felt like we kind of lost touch a bit.
I remember the Sunday she came home to church. I was really excited to spend some time with her before she left for college again. I remember her asking to talk with me and the two of us going into our prayer chapel at church. I remember her telling me about the girl she had fallen in love with. And I remember the fear I felt for her.
You see, I was guilty of projecting my dreams for her onto her life. I imagined her going to the same seminary I did, meeting a lovely man somewhere down the road, and serving in the United Methodist Church in the same way my own family was doing. This news didn’t fit my plan for her. And honestly, it didn’t fit my theology at the time. I was guilty of not doing my own work around understanding the LGBTQ community. And as I listened to her talk about this woman that had changed her life, I never even gave Jayne a chance. I just decided that she was wrong for Eliza.
There was more at play, of course. Those around me felt pretty strong about the LGBTQ “issue.” And I often deferred to those around me in matters of theology. I didn’t trust my own voice. But here’s the thing: as I heard the people important to me pronounce judgement on Eliza’s “choice,” I kept hearing a voice in my heart that said, “this is Eliza - she is your person, not an issue.” And I am ashamed to say that I didn’t follow that voice. I was afraid to speak out. I was afraid of angering my husband and my friends. And so I allowed the distance to grow between Eliza and me.
In 2017, when my husband died, my whole world fell apart. I was disoriented and lost. When Eliza came to the funeral, I wanted to sit with her and be hugged and comforted by her presence. But I didn’t know how to ask. I had no idea what was going on behind the scenes for Eliza that day. And regarding those early days, I can give myself grace. Grief can be very selfish. All you can see is your own loss, as if grief is a barrier blocking your view so that you cannot see anything but your own loss and emptiness. But as I began to try to put my life back together, I didn’t ask Eliza to be a part of it. It felt hard and complicated, and I didn’t have the bandwidth for hard and complicated. And distance continued to grow between us.
I watched from Facebook and Instagram as she was accepted to Duke and left for seminary. I watched from the safety of the computer screen as she married Jayne. There had been a time, when Eliza was younger, that she feared not meeting the right man. I encouraged her to be patient, and I promised her that when she was no longer The Girl Who Waited (a Doctor Who reference), I would wear Tardis blue and dance at her wedding. As I looked at the pictures from her wedding, I felt a pang as I tearily realized that I was missing out on the most joyous day of her life. I was missing the chance to celebrate her and to keep my promise to her. But I didn’t know how to fix what felt broken.
In 2019, I began to deconstruct my theology and my willingness to hold tightly what I had always been taught. God began to tear down my desire to be right. I confessed my arrogance and my apathy in dealing with hard issues. Over and over again, I heard Spirit whisper to me, “it’s time to repair your relationship with Eliza.” I wanted reconciliation, but I was so afraid of rejection.
So I hesitated for a while, until one day I finally felt brave enough to apologize with no expectations. I felt ready to take my own forgiveness out of the equation. All I wanted was for Eliza to know that I was wrong and I was so sorry. And so I wrote her a message on Instagram that transformed me again.
Next week, you will get to hear our story of reconciliation - of the grace that covered us both. But I want to leave you today with a few thoughts. First, we in the church have been so quick to see issues before actual human people. That is not who the Jesus we claim to follow is. When he was here on earth, showing us how to live, Jesus saw people - in all of their brokenness, in all of their beautiful imago dei. Jesus never turned down the opportunity to choose a person over the church or the law. That is the person, the Christ-follower, I want to be. Second, I had so many nudgings and feelings that what was happening with Eliza was not ok. And I am so sad and ashamed that I ignored those nudgings. I’ve said it here before, but if something doesn’t feel right to you, don’t ignore that. Be curious, and ask why it doesn’t feel right. Spirit may very well be working in those feelings. Lastly, there is always grace. When you have made choices you aren’t proud of, when you have hurt someone you love, step up and ask for forgiveness. There is no guarantee that you can get back what was lost, but perhaps you can forge something new. Always grace, my friends. Always grace.