It’s Far More Complicated

. . . . 

After reading an insightful article (link) written by a young lady who lost her father to Covid, I was again reminded that the Christian life is far more complicated than some display they actually understand. Beautifully and genuinely, Shobana Vetrivel disclosed the complexity of Christian living in real-life terms.

Her article is such a contrast to ministry and church leaders who speak to issues in simplistic and/or unsympathetic ways —

  • “Worry is a mild form of atheism” — reposted by John Piper

This is an all too common example of simplifying and pontificating in ways that expose the ivory tower mentalities of those who live in a ministry or church bubble — no less in an American church bubble.  Such comments announce how disconnected some pastors are from the complexity of living the Christian life in a broken world.

It might be worth remembering that . . . .

√ The complexity of Christian living might not be obvious until you run into them — When your loved one is seriously ill, in the hospital, and even dies!

√ The details of life experiences are often not immediately visible until you are faced with them — When a son or daughter abandons the direction you have pointed them all their lives.

√ The daily orderliness of Christian living can become far more messy and noisy than you thought while watching others on the sidelines — When ministry leaders, missionaries, and pastors engage in actions and/or make decisions that go against all you understood was taught and believed by them.

√ The Christian life disciplines can be a source of increasing frustration because it isn’t working like you were told or believed it was supposed to work — When praying or reading and holding onto the promises of Scripture, do not seem to be accomplishing anything meaningful.

By the way, Shobana Vetrivel lives in New Delhi, India,
far removed from anything like the American church bubble.



P.S. Reminded of the poem “The Stone” by Gibson

. . . .
I went to break the news to her;
And I could hear my own heart beat
With dread of what my lips might say.
But some poor fool had sped before;
And flinging wide her father’s door,
Had blurted out the news to her,
Had struck her lover dead for her,
Had struck the girl’s heart dead in her,
Had struck life, lifeless, at a word,
And dropped it at her feet:
Then hurried on his witless way,
Scarce knowing she had heard.
. . . . .

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