“If you have a lavish love for Jesus, there will be critics.”

One of my former pastors made that statement during a sermon, and I thought it was noteworthy so I jotted it down next to the Scripture from which he was teaching. I ran across it yesterday and thought it quite ironic. While I’d always known there’d be critics — stone throwers — I didn’t expect to find them inside the church building. I guess I should have. Even Jesus had to hide himself and exit the temple because the people inside had picked up stones to throw at him. The critics have been there my whole life; I was just blind to them . . . and blind to myself as I had become one too.

But I did grow to have a lavish love for Jesus, although I couldn’t understand his love for me. I couldn’t fathom his love and grace so I started reading and asking questions, hoping someone could shed some light on this extravagant love I didn’t deserve. But the more I questioned and learned, the more I was met with resistance.

The critics murmured quietly at first — just kicking at the stones — a comment here and there in Sunday School to tease me. But over time, the criticism over my questions and experiences grew. They bent down and picked up the stones. Finally, I’d said too much — that everybody should be welcome to the Table; that God loves people who are gay and lesbian; that church discipline is often a joke; and that I happen to like and agree with some of what Joel Osteen and T.D. Jakes have to say. Those statements, along with my unwavering belief in a radical, unmeasured grace were the kiss of death — stones flying near my face.

Change or get out. You’re not welcome as you are.

Those weren’t the words . . . just the attitude along with the actions taken. So I chose to go.

I’ve ached over it all — even over those who didn’t pick up stones, but saw/read my hurt and knew I’d left, yet chose to watch silently from a distance. I’ve hurt over the obvious lack of care and concern for my family and me. I’ve hurt over the impersonal email I received just before Easter, the only communication I received from a minister on staff, the one under whom I had served.

But the healing is slowly happening. The hurt and anger has turned to what is often indifference and what is sometimes a desire to find a new place. I’ve been tossing around the idea of visiting a local church a friend keeps mentioning to me. I keep wondering what it will be like to attend church again. Should I wear body armor? Because, seriously, I can’t handle anymore stones being thrown.

I’ve heard so many personal stories of church hurt over the last nine months. Church people can be horribly cruel while invoking the name of God and correct theology and good behavior. I can tell you from experience how unhelpful it is to cast stones. I can assure you that for every splinter we see and try to remove from someone else’s eyes, we have a few logs in our own.

I’ve seen so many stones flying on Twitter the past few days that I’ve unfollowed many people. When I see the Church, including people with whom I most often tend to agree on issues, casting stones at other members of the Church, including those with whom I don’t agree, I feel sick all over again. One side has made some horrifying and scandalous decisions, but is the other side really any better? And why does it come down to taking sides and calling names and thinking we certainly would’ve made different decisions had we been in those shoes? Aren’t we all just trying to figure out this extreme grace and crazy love?

Maybe it all comes down to this: we are the Church, and surely, we’re just trying to love Jesus and others the best way we know how. But maybe our love gets all convoluted with our selfishness and neediness and lack of understanding God and one another. All of us {those casting stones and those feeling the hits} need less criticism and more grace. Maybe if we were all a little more thankful for the mercy and grace and love we’ve received, we’d be a little more expedient in extending it.

Is there a time for righteous anger? You bet. Is there a time for justice to be served? Absolutely. But I tend to believe those times are fewer and further between than we like to believe. Mostly, we fight and criticize and try to bend people to our way of thinking when maybe we should just let things go, or at the very least find a better way to communicate.

I still love Jesus. I still love the Church. Do I have a lavish love for either? I’m not certain. But I do know it’s a deep and abiding love that I can’t dismiss. It’s taken me hiding from the stone throwers and exiting the church building to discover that. I’m shaking the dust from my sandals and am getting ready to move on.