He stood on stage with bright lights shining down and over 800 faces staring at him. The microphone hissed feedback as he began, but he bravely continued, holding notes in his tremoring right hand. As the notes fluttered nervously, he spoke clearly and with conviction about the person he was and sometimes battles not to be.
He shared his testimony and his life-long struggle with addiction and pornography. Through the fear and lies and shame, he shared with the entire room the deepest parts of shame and guilt and pain.
I saw a tall, well-spoken, and confident man become vulnerable, transparent, and painfully honest. As he shared his journey with the room, he took us back to the swallowing effects of addictions and allegorized it as, Covering myself in a blanket of $h!t. Yes, he said the four-letter word I said when I was seven and my mother washed my mouth out with soap. When he said the word, I actually tasted the bar of Dial soap in my mouth. It tasted wrong, just as wrong as covering myself with my own fecal matter.
He walked off stage, and I wanted to stand up and cheer. I wanted to woo woo like a dog and give him an Arsenio Hall arm roll. I was so proud of his bravery, his honesty, his transparency. But all that ensued was a golf clap and shuffling comfortably into seats.
The service continued. The message was given. The songs were sung. The hope of changing lives waged on.
As I walked out to my car, I overheard a group of girls talking about the use of profane words at church. I stopped walking for a second because I wanted to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t. The most vocal of the bunch said language like that shouldn’t be used in church. Another one said it was inappropriate.
And I was dumbfounded. Out of the entire message of grace, love, healing, and redemption, the one thing they mentioned was the curse word. I plopped into my car and sat there for a moment thinking, They’re right. It’s probably not the best word to use, but out of the entire evening of powerful worship, great teaching, honest stories of life-change, all they remembered was the curse word?!
But I closed the door on my closet legalistic-self and thought, No, it was the right word to use. If there was an apropos word, a word to aptly describe what Dial soap tasted like and the shame that came with it, it was that word! And if we really want to get all biblical, then let’s compare this to the translation for the word “dung” in the Old Testament. Because really, what is excrement?
The thing I’m more concerned about is not his word choice, but more so how we as the Church respond to honest brokenness. When I worked at my father’s church, people would call or e-mail and say his recounting of his drug days was inappropriate behind the pulpit. But for crying out loud, he WAS a druggie! Why are we so concerned with hygenitizing the past when our future is the most important thing about our story?
To clarify, I believe the pulpit is holy and those representing and presenting the Word of God need to be cautious and honoring. There should be wisdom when sharing information in front of the body of Christ. However, to demonize and bash those sharing the transforming work in their lives is nothing more than hypocrisy. And if people whisper, shake their head, and point fingers, all we do is solidify the fear we have in sharing who we are, what we struggle with, and how we can change.
Thoughts? Concerns? Stones to throw?
