But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”
Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. 

—Paul, 2 Corinthians 12:9

Being married to a pastor means that my designated seat on Sunday mornings is always, always the front row. This is slightly awkward because Drew and I are the only ones on the front row, across the whole church. There is no hiding. Although I am used to it now, this seating arrangement was initially difficult for someone who once preferred arriving late, sitting in the back, and making a hasty exit once the service was over. When Drew goes up to preach, it is just me holding down the fort up there like in the Hunger Games when the heroine steps forward from a long line of people and says “I volunteer as tribute” so the rest can go free. For an introvert, sitting alone on the front row can sometimes feel heroic.

Most Sundays I come into church, put my coat and bag down, and mill around the room talking to people before the service begins. But this past Sunday, I headed straight to the front row and parked it there. As is often the case when I write about a certain topic, I had been struggling with an intense and queasy feeling of shame just one week after my post about repentance and turning towards God without shame. This “write about it then fight about it" effect has happened so many times that I now suspect I would win the lottery one week after writing about the spiritual benefits of becoming a millionaire. Although I knew the shame was not from God, I was finding it difficult to pray or reason it away. Before church that morning I had journaled these words:

In Your presence, shame cannot stick to the famished places of my spirit. Fill me instead with Your peace which comes from the humble confidence of knowing I am Yours—deeply loved.

I penned those words while feeling at the end of my rope, which is often the best place to meet God. A Bible verse then echoed in my mind, though I couldn’t place its origin: “Where is my accuser now?” This verse held a double question for me: “Where actually is this voice of shame coming from?” and “If God is for me, who can be against me?” I walked into church feeling comforted but tired, still prickly with shame. “Best to sit still and do no harm,” I thought. I feared that I would get my mess all over anyone I approached and do more harm than good if I tried to be present and kind while feeling like such a sloppy wreck inside. So I kept my distance, little guessing that Love had other plans for me in the form of four visitors.  

First, while sitting hunched in my seat and staring resolutely at the screen, a person who had been coming to our church for only two weeks approached me—beaming with the very visage of welcome. “Good morning, Katelyn,” she said with a smile. “Good morning,” I smiled in response—feeling guilty because I should have been the one welcoming her. “You have such a beautiful smile; I just love your smile,” she said. “Thank you! I love yours too,” I responded, and genuinely meant it. She then returned to her seat, leaving me feeling touched by an angel as I noticed the heavy cloud of shame become a little lighter.

The next visitor came in the form of a coffee cup with two of my favorite tea bags nestled inside. It had been waiting on my seat when I arrived, but I was unsure if it was for me. The giver walked up to me with a smile and said, “Just wanted you to know that cup is from me” as she sat down next to me. I remembered admiring that very cup in her home months ago, and her gift showed that she remembered me. I hugged her and just said, “Thank you,” not knowing how to express how much her kindness meant to me on that morning in particular.  

After she left, I heard a voice eagerly calling “Katelyn!” from several rows behind me. “Will wonders never cease?” I thought as I turned my head to find a friend smiling at me, eager to show me the souvenir she’d received from her friend’s recent trip to New Zealand. Her excitement made me want to give more of myself than I’d previously felt able to give, so I joined her. Her joy was contagious and hospitable, and I was grateful to have been invited in.

At this point, I was feeling much better because God had made his love for me painfully obvious in the form of these three dear women whose undeserved kindness had melted the sticky film of shame from around me in unique and specific ways. “Thanks God,” I prayed. “That was so gracious of you.” Almost before I finished praying, the fourth and final visitor ran up to me with breathless excitement in the form of a little girl I know and love. She stood in front of me hopping up and down and flapping her hands with the world’s most expansive smile on her face, just elated to see me. I sensed my face and eyes light up in response to her exuberance. “Hi!” she giggle-shouted before running across the room back to her seat.

I felt like the baby Jesus after he received such rich and precious gifts from the three wise men, only I am not so holy nor divine and the gifts I received were almost all intangible—sweet flowers plucked straight from the meadow hearts of three women and one little girl. It was as if God had offered me a burgeoning bouquet of wildflowers and said, “See? You are loved.” Then I remembered the location of the “Where is my accuser?” verse which had popped into my head earlier that morning, and in remembering it, I was re-made.

*

Many centuries ago, another women sat hunched in the dirt, head hung low in shame. A crowd of angry religious men holding stones surrounded her, fierce with self-righteous anger. This woman had been caught in the act of adultery, and it was time to punish her according to Old Testament law. Feeling filthy with shame, surrounded by accusers, she knew she was about to die. But Love had other plans for her. Jesus approached her seat of shame and knelt next to her in the dirt, beginning to draw something with his finger. We don’t know what he was drawing, but I like to think he was drawing a circle of protection around the both of them. When her accusers began questioning Jesus, he simply looked up at them and said, “Let any one of you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her.” One by one, they walked away. Jesus turned to the woman and asked,

“Woman, where are your accusers?”

“Gone, sir,” she said.

“Neither do I accuse you. Go now and leave your life of sin.” 

It is as if Jesus was telling her, “You know that accusation and punishment you think you deserve? You’re not going to get it from me. In my presence, accusers flee. In my presence, shame cannot stick to the famished places of your soul. Be free.” I imagine the shame of her sin and brokenness being paraded in front of a crowd felt suffocating—closer than her skin. But love came closer, because that is what love does.

When I feel the smothering effect of shame, I try to keep people at arm’s length until I’m ‘good enough’ to re-engage with the world. But while shame repulses, love comes closer. The love of God encircles us, draws a line in the sand between us and shame, daring our accusers to take one step closer. Shame says, “You’re ugly. Unworthy. Unredeemable.” But the love of God says:

You are lovely in your unloveableness. In fact, those are the places you are most lovely. Why? Because it is in those places of weakness and insecurity that I most delight to display My glory and strength. In your weakness, you are strong. Beloved, my grace is enough for you.

What do we do with a love like that? We say thank you. We just say thank you, and then we turn around and draw circles around the broken places of shame outside of us and within us. We refuse to be pushed away by shame, and we choose to come closer in love. As we draw closer to the heart of love, we begin to see that we’ve been encircled all along, sweetly held within the eternal arms of Trinity, of communion, of grace.

Sweet Jesus,

In Your presence, shame cannot stick to the famished places of our souls.

Fill us instead with Your peace which comes from the humble confidence of knowing we are Yours—deeply loved.

Amen.

Going Deeper | A prayer of encircling from the Monday Compline of Celtic Daily Prayer:

Circle me, Lord,
keep protection near
and danger afar. 

Circle me, Lord,
keep light near
and darkness afar. 

Circle me, Lord,
keep peace within;
keep evil out.  

The peace of all peace
be mine this night
in the name of the Father,
and of the Son,
and of the Holy Spirit. 

Amen.