In Christ Alone…in the Restroom
In Christ alone my hope is found,
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This Cornerstone, this solid Ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All,
Here in the love of Christ I stand.
I am convinced that half of the journey of being formed into the image of Christ involves simply putting ourselves in the direct pathway of other people and watching what happens. God can do a lot in public libraries and, it turns out, in public restrooms. Lately I’ve begun booking a tiny private study room at the library to write because when I write at home, I often find myself elbows deep in either laundry, bread dough, my refrigerator, or over-thinking every decision I’ve ever made. Before setting out for the library this week, I listened to my daily prayer via the Lectio 365 app. Here are the lines which stood out to me while praying along:
I may not be rich and powerful but, as I step into the coming day, I do have the authority of Jesus. Thinking ahead to an intimidating situation that awaits me, or a meeting with someone who makes me feel insecure, I lift my head, pull back my shoulders, and repeat this phrase: ‘I am more than a conqueror through Jesus Christ who loves me’ (Rom. 8:37).
As instructed, I lifted my head and squared my shoulders, daring to speak aloud what I needed to be true:
“I am more than a conqueror through Jesus Christ, who loves me.”
The truth is, I’ve been feeling like less than a conqueror lately for a variety of reasons, the most significant of which is that in the busyness of travel, I forgot to re-fill my antidepressant prescription and have been operating on one quarter of a pill per day until it comes in the mail. This is embarrassing for me: both that I forgot to refill the prescription, but also that I need two purple pills per day to help me feel and think normally in the first place. It has been nearly a week since I’ve had the right dosage, and my mind has been hazy—my body, lethargic. I wish I wasn’t like this. I wish I was more than a conqueror of depression and all the ways it greyscales and warps my vision. It is painful to remember how broken I am.
“I am more than a conqueror,” I repeated to myself before heading to the library. But wherever you go, there you are (as Confucius supposedly said) and I found I had only transported my tired body and confused mind to a small room with harsh lighting and a swivel chair that did not lower when I pressed the lever which meant my thighs were stuck up against the bottom of the black countertop as I tried to write something. Anything. After an hour I decided to trudge to the restroom just to be somewhere different and once in my stall I heard a woman humming a hymn that sounded familiar to me, though I couldn’t quite name it. As my mind began to add the lyrics to her melody, familiar words arose:
No guilt in life, no fear in death,
This is the power of Christ in me…
As she hummed, I remembered speaking aloud “I am more than a conqueror” just hours before, though I’d already forgotten it. What are the odds that the only other person in the restroom was humming the song my spirit most needed to hear? “Ah, God,” I prayed. “Thank you for reminding me that the power of Christ is alive and at work within me, even when I feel so weak.”
We walked up to the sinks at the same time and as we washed our hands I decided to look over at her, smiling shyly before saying, “I like the song you were singing.”
“Thank you!” she said, “I just can’t remember the name of it but I’ve been trying and trying to think of it.”
“In Christ Alone,” I said with confidence though until the moment I opened my mouth I hadn’t remembered the song’s name either.
“Yes!” she said with the glee of recognition. “Oh, I’m so glad. And it is in Him alone that we have the power to do anything.”
At this point we were no longer looking at each other in the mirror, but had turned face to face.
“And He wants you to know,” she continued while looking deeply into my eyes, “It’s in His power alone that you are victorious—even if it doesn’t look like it or you don’t see how it’s going to happen, it’s in His power alone.”
“Thank you,” I said with tears beginning to spill down my face.
“Yes,” she said, opening her arms to me. We embraced.
“I love you, my sister,” she said as we pulled back to look at each other in grateful wonderment.
“I love you too,” I said as I reached for toilet paper to wipe my eyes.
“He said ‘Go to the bathroom’ and I said ‘okay!’” she said with a smile as she walked out of the restroom, continuing to hum-sing In Christ Alone while re-entering the quiet library.
I always hesitate regarding whether or not to share the color of someone’s skin when writing about them. But when an older black woman embraces a crying white woman in the stark empty space of a public restroom, I think it’s important to be as specific as possible. Her embrace was a testament to the reconciling, grace-saturated power of God—and I will never forget it. Because she wasn’t a stranger, not really; and when we embraced, I knew that to be true. But I wouldn’t have known this if she had not first opened her arms to me. I would have missed out on one of the most tangible, surprising encounters of God’s winsome and wild, fierce and mothering Spirit that I’ve ever known.
What heights of love, what depths of peace, when fears are stilled, when strivings cease!
My Comforter, my All in All, here in the love of Christ I stand.
So maybe it’s more like this: I am convinced that half the work of being formed into the image of Christ is simply opening our arms to one another—maybe, even, daring to sing our favorite hymns aloud in the restroom because we do not know who is listening. Why not open wide our arms and see what rushes in to greet us?
I am the LORD your God, who brought you up out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth and I will fill it. (Psalm 81:10
I was feeling less-than-conqueror, embarrassed and empty, but God sent a stranger to the bathroom at the same time as me and he filled my empty arms with himself and gave me a new song to sing—a brighter and more color-filled story to tell.
I waited patiently for the Lord;
he turned to me and heard my cry.He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock
and gave me a firm place to stand.He put a new song in my mouth,
a hymn of praise to our God.Psalm 40
Someone asked me recently why I am still a Christian even though the church has failed us and has done egregious harm in the name of holiness. And what I tried and failed to say was that I am still a Christian because in the name of Jesus, total strangers can embrace and sing a new song together—a surprised hymn of praise woven of Spirit, beauty, and truth. I am still a Christian because I belong to my brothers and sisters around the world and right in my own neighborhood and together we belong to the One who has gone before us to prepare a Home, where all who hunger and thirst for redemption and righteousness will be satisfied. I am still a Christian because not even death or depression can keep me from the strong and sure love of God that is always, always surrounding me like the softest blanket, the surest arms, the sweetest song.
In Christ Alone, may we have the courage to sing our hearts out to empty rooms and open our arms wide so that the invisible might be made visible in our tangible acts of love and bold obedience. Because in Christ alone, we are never alone.
May it be so.
The eternal God is your refuge, and underneath are the everlasting arms.
-Deuteronomy 33:27
Going Deeper: Listen to Jess Ray’s version of Leaning on the Everlasting Arms
What have I to dread, what have I to fear
Leaning on the everlasting arms?
I have blessed peace with my Lord so near
Leaning on the everlasting arms…