Belonging to Communal Blessing
As I’ve continued to ponder the mystery of belonging to community, one conviction is growing increasingly clear: belonging is different from acceptance. The key difference is not depth or longevity—although those ingredients do play a role in helping us differentiate between them. Instead, I believe the primary distinction of belonging is this: unlike acceptance or popularity, belonging cannot be earned. And I think this frustrates us. We are used to earning and achieving—to leaning on our most accessible and powerful resources. It is terrifying to let others see that we might not have it all together. Even in Christian communities, we do not readily reveal our neediness, loneliness, fear, depression, sin, dissatisfaction, or doubt. So instead of living into belonging, we settle for popularity. We choose being seen and accepted or even applauded for being a likable version of ourselves rather than having the courage to show up in the world as our truest selves. At least, I do.
But what might happen if we take of the mask—just for a moment—to let the naked soul breathe? To let sunlight touch the dark and thirsty places within us that long to rise to the surface, hungry for transformation?
This weekend, I found myself in a social situation in which I had the opportunity to choose between being liked and being real—between popularity and belonging. It was in volunteering with an organization I love with people that I deeply admire, and before the retreat even began, I was at war within myself. Would I be real, or would I default to being presentable and funny? I found it amusing that one of the first questions we were asked to consider and share within our small groups was, “How are you arriving at this retreat? Not how did you get there, but how is it with you?” And just like that, the choice was presented to me: would I choose the easy-yet-subtle death of likability, or the risky-yet-worthy life of belonging?
My heart began beating faster as we went around the circle, my anxiety growing as each person said positive things such as, “I’m excited, hopeful, grateful for this time.” I didn’t doubt these things were true, but they weren’t true for me. I was anxious because I knew that at this retreat, I wanted to risk being real. For reasons I cannot explain outside of sheer grace, being wholly present to the Holy Present has begun to matter to me too much to keep hiding. I want to learn how to be here, even when I feel fearful, weak, and exhausted, and to love it all anyway. I want to learn how to belong to my life and the people who surround me, and to call it very good even when pain tries to tell me a different story. So when my turn came, my voice wavered as I said, “I’m anxious. Because that’s something I struggle with. But I’m also expectant. Curious, even, to see what God will do.” Before I shared, I believed that acceptance or rejection were the only possible responses I would receive. After I shared, I saw non-judgmental peace shining in the eyes of each person who made up our circle. I decided to trust that peace as a harbinger of belonging.
For the rest of the weekend, I waffled between living out of the true self or the protected self. At times, I know I settled for saying or doing the easy thing rather than leaning in to the more costly choice of vulnerability. But most of the time, my desire was to courageously walk in the Belonging that is already mine because I belong to God. And that is an unshakeable belonging I can carry with me wherever I go, whoever I am with. It felt scary to live with the mask off. But it also felt glorious. Our retreat speaker was teaching from John 11, in which Jesus raised his friend Lazarus from the grave:
After he said this, he shouted with a loud voice, “Lazarus, come out!”
The dead man came out bound hand and foot with linen strips and with his face wrapped in a cloth.
Jesus said to them, “Unwrap him and let him go.” —John 11:43-44
And our speaker pointed out something I’d never noticed before: Lazarus needed the help of his community to remove the wrappings of death from his face, and so do we. Lazarus was helpless—stumbling into the light with his hands and feet bound and his face covered. He couldn’t have helped himself if he tried. The same is true, I believe, for us: we will never taste, touch, smell, hear, or see the sweetness of belonging without the help of trusted community to remove what covers and binds us. This, our speaker continued, is what it means to live with our faces unveiled. Not only are we able to see clearly, but we allow others to see us clearly, too—and even to allow them to be instrumental in gently removing the masks we’ve woven from the wrappings of death. When we live unveiled, we are free to receive and reflect the light of the One who is shining upon us always with His goodness and love.
On the final day of our retreat, we were given a chance to bless one another in our small groups before going our separate ways home. We took turns sitting in the middle of the circle as the others lay hands on us and blessed us spontaneously with whatever the Spirit brought to mind. I cannot adequately describe the sheer goodness of having the warmth of hands pressed upon my shoulders, arms, and back as I heard words like, “Katelyn, may you walk forward fearlessly…” and “Katelyn, may you know the Shalom of God…” echoing my own vulnerability from the beginning of the weekend (“I’m anxious”) and turning it into blessing: “Be courageous.” I’m so glad I let my true self be glimpsed in the messiness of anxiety, because it was my true self that received their blessing like a balm to the raw and chafing places of insecurity within me. And it was in that chair on a bright Sunday morning that my theory became reality as I realized this one truth:
Belonging cannot be earned, but it can be given.
Like our God, we are called to be generous givers. May we be generous in bestowing blessing, in reminding one another of our innate belonging, in removing the bandages that keep us hidden and unseeing. After each person received individual blessing, we spoke this blessing over them as a group. I’d like to “speak” it over you now:
Go forward in the power of the Lord
Walking in the Light
Being confident that the Spirit of God is with you
Leading you
Teaching you
Loving you.
Do not be afraid!
Amen.
Going Deeper: Listen to “Walking Each Other Home” by Emma Nissen.
We're all just walking each other home
We're all just tryin' to find out where we belong
So be a light in the dark
On your way home…