Hi, my name is Carrie, and I’m a Pharisee.
I didn’t think I was, but who does? It’s not easy to look at myself and admit where I’ve been wrong, especially in moments where my failing wasn’t in ideology but kindness.
Pharisees in Jesus’ time were always correct, always following the law to a tee, and quick to point out flaws in other’s faiths.
Growing up, my parents would often hear me come home and talk about things that just weren’t right: women told to stay silent in church, children starving in Africa, pre-cal homework. My default mode, when faced with really hard things, is to gather the facts and form an opinion that can be used to make things right.
I like to be right. I like to win. I like to stand back from the table and judge other people’s table manners rather than sit down and talk about the root issues over some soul food. I’m a Pharisee.
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November was a difficult, emotional month for me, despite our amazing ministry and hosts. Because of a situation where I absolutely knew I was right, and refused to back down from my convictions, a larger conflict happened that I hadn’t anticipated and that left me crying on the bathroom floor, feeling shattered.
Over the next couple days, I called my parents and cried in a coffee shop while a bunch of Albanians looked on in horror. A couple of days after that, I got a message from Britta, a woman I deeply admire and respect who has also written a book and has a PhD so, like, obviously has important things to say. It was sweet and encouraging, but the part that hit me the hardest was when she wrote, “I’ve learned, am still learning, through the Holy Spirit, that it’s better to be kind than right.
“I don’t like this lesson. It sucks, and most of the time I’d rather be right. But being kind has its benefits too, and I find I go further in the world and in my ministry if I surrender to love and grace.”
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Here’s the thing: sharing my opinions came out of a place of genuine desire to do things better. I disagreed with decisions made and wanted to prevent further harm from being done. But as the situation blew up, I started reacting more and more defensively. I started honing in on the parts of other people’s theology I disagreed with and used it as reasons why I didn’t need to listen to them. I went back to my default mode of fact-gathering and opinion-forming rather than feeling the hurt from the situation.
And this isn’t a new thing. This is how I live my life.
My best intentions get twisted when genuine emotion gets thrown in, because- as much as I want other people to feel and be moved by the things that move me- I don’t know how to process emotions that aren’t happiness or anger.
Sadness? Anger. Humiliation? Anger. Disagreement, disappointment, hurt? Anger. Hunger? H-anger.
But this isn’t an effective way to build the little corner of the kingdom the Lord has called me to.
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The kingdom of God is a resilient, evolving thing that every Christian is called to help build; but that process, I’ve learned, has less to do with tools and more to do with sitting at a table and listening, trying to make something that will nourish.
To me, building the kingdom is like kneading bread. After you’ve thrown all the ingredients together, you have to put your hands in the sticky mess and push and stretch until all the lumps are gone. Until all the dry patches and pockets of yolk get thoroughly mixed in. Sometimes it takes a while to get it right, but once you do, you leave it alone and let it rise.
All of us, even with eggshell stuck to our fingers, get to help knead the kingdom.
Even me, a girl with Big Emotions she doesn’t know what to do with and Strong Opinions that run deep. Especially me, a recovering Pharisee.
