In light of the sad news about the unexpected death of Rachel Held Evans this past weekend, I wanted to repost one of my favorite reflections that she wrote a few years back.
poppies on the Burke Gilman trail that greet me each day to and from work
September 18, 2013 by Rachel
Held Evans
“I love to watch you play.'"
According
to Rachel Macy Stafford, an author and special education teacher, those six words
changed the way she related to her children. Rather
than praising or critiquing their performances at swim meets, recitals, and
soccer games, she began pulling her children close, and simply
whispering, “I love to watch you swim,” “I love to hear you sing,” “I
love to hear your read,” “I love to watch you play.”
Their
reaction to these words, she said, was telling:
My child's face broke into her most glorious smile -- the one
that causes her eyes to scrunch up and become little slices of joy. And then
she did something I didn't expect. She threw herself against me, wrapped her
arms tightly around my neck, and whispered, ‘Thank you, Mama.’ And in doing so,
I swear I could read her mind: The pressure's off. She
loves to hear me play; that is all.
"The pressure’s off. She loves to hear me play; that is
all."
Even as
someone who is not yet a mother, I see the wisdom of this approach. And as
my eyes scanned the article, I thought of how desperately we adults need to
hear these words too, perhaps most especially from the God who identifies as
our Father and who is often compared to a Mother.
What a
relief it would be to know the pressure’s off. God delights in our living and
breathing and working and praying and that delight is not something we have to
earn by doing everything right.
God just loves to watch us play.
Too
many corners of the Church have been infected with a legalistic,
performance-based view of God in which God stands over our lives with crossed
arms and a disappointed scowl, applauding only when we get everything just
right and rendering judgment on everything we do wrong. Some pastors seem
to thrive in lording this disapproving God over their parishioners. As one pastor put
it: “Some of you, God hates you. Some of you, God is sick of you.
God is frustrated with you. God is wearied by you. God has suffered long enough
with you. He doesn’t think you’re cute. He doesn’t think it’s funny.” He
then proceeds to explain how to win back God's favor.
For too many Christians, God’s unmerited favor is a one-time
gift that applies exclusively to eternal security. In the meantime, God’s favor
has to be earned. It has to be fought for with one flawless
performance after another. The Family of God is a competitive, disciplined,
performance-based family that runs on the economy of gold stars, rules and
shame. God is rendered into the classic nightmare
sports parent whose favor has to be
earned, who is always, always, always disappointed in us.
But this is not the God we encounter in Scripture or in Christ
or in the Eucharist. The God we encounter there is the God in whom we live
and move and have our being, the God who rejoices over His children with
signing, the God who spreads Her wings over Her children like an eagle over her
chicks, the God who loved the world enough to experience all of its pain
alongside of us, the God who—as Nadia Bolz-Weber puts it—“would rather die than
be in the sin accounting business anymore,” the God
who loves to watch us play.
God doesn’t love us because we’ve earn it. God loves us
because we are God’s children. God created this world
and everything in it—don’t you think God delights in it? Don’t you
think God loves us at least as much as a good parent who delights in the
activities of her children, regardless of whether they get everything
right?
This isn’t a performance-based relationship; it’s a relationship
based on unconditional love and endless delight. We can breathe a deep and long
sigh of relief because the pressure’s off. We’re
not here to impress or perform; we’re here to revel in God’s delight.
So hear
these six words from God today:
I love to watch you
play.
Or
perhaps:
I love to watch you
write.
I love to watch you
bake.
I love to watch you
nurse.
I love to watch you read to
your kids at night.
I love to watch you care for
the sick.
I love to watch you take
pictures.
I love to watch you
study.
I love to watch you
laugh.
I love to watch you seek the
truth even when it’s hard.
I love to watch you be the
church together, even when it’s imperfect.
I love to watch you love one
another, even when it seems impossible.
I love to watch you eat and
drink and dance and explore and worship and pray and get out of your car to
move that poor little turtle out of the road…not
because you do any of these things perfectly, but because you do them as my
children.
Now
sink into that sigh of relief and believe this today:
The pressure's off. God loves to watch me play. That is all.
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