The spirit of the Lord GOD is upon me,
because the LORD has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor,
to heal the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives
and release to the prisoners,
to announce a year of favor from the LORD
and a day of vindication by our God.
Stevie & I saw The Mountain Goats play in Athens, GA this past week. If you don’t listen to these little playlists I include, please at least do yourself the favor of listening to “Steal Smoked Fish” and “This Year.”
One day I might write extensively about my faith. Today won’t be that day.
What’s important to know for this story: I wasn’t a Christian, but I became one in college, and then — to my regret and shame — I spent a few cruel years in evangelical worlds, before landing in catholicism.
My senior year of college was not enjoyable. I worked four jobs, leaving Clemson every weekend to work in Greenville, waking up early to put in a morning shift at the coffee shop near my apartment, filling odd breaks between classes with hours in the Writing Center and at my work study. I was heartbroken and heartsick by all the usual items that plague 21-year-olds, and to add to that: I was coming out of the closet a second time. When my church friends bowed out of my whole sad-gay-mess, a rag-tag bunch from my philosophy & english classes piled in, befriending me and slurring our way through late night waffle house existentialism.
It was during this strange time that I first found refuge in the Eucharist.
Every Friday, without knowing anything about the practice, I would walk to the local catholic parish as soon as my coffee shop shift ended. There, I’d sit in the quiet sanctuary before the monstrance and do my homework for the next week until I had to drive to Greenville for work. Old ladies in elaborate veils and conservatively dressed deacons shuffled in and out for their hourly shifts of worshipping the Real Presence, while I scribbled marginalia in Kierkegaard, Freud, Butler, and Ehrman.
My little world was falling apart and I was barely keeping up with my rent checks. My lack of sleep and my lack of identity both dissolved and devastated me. Slightly hungover, smelling of stale coffee and spoiled milk, nose in a book, I didn’t know or consider it: Jesus was there. A revelation amidst my personal apocalypse.
Luke’s gospel tells us that fear and joy can meet. There were shepherds camping in the neighborhood. They had set night watches over their sheep. Suddenly, God’s angel stood among them and God’s glory blazed around them. They were terrified. The angel said, “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to announce a great and joyful event that is meant for everybody.” What seems to be the end of the world is the first glimpse of the world to come. It is not only difficult to imagine the end of Empire, but it is also terrifying.
The first church I was ever a member of had ultra-precise definition of the gospel, the kind of definition only produced in fundamentalist systematic theology. If you’ve taken the time to read a tract from a street preacher, you know it: God is perfect and demands our perfection, man fell and continues to fall, Jesus stands in the gap substituting his life for ours, taking the punishment we deserve.
Reading the scriptures, I find other good news: jubilee for the poor, healing for the brokenhearted, liberty to the captives, release for prisoners. A blazing revelation to tired, frightened workers. Glad tidings. Great joy.
When the resistance storms the halls of power, when the youth are at the gates, when the prisoners break free, when the temples of war and debt and death are desecrated, terror will be present. But then: exhilaration, vindication, relief, comfort. Glad tidings. Great joy.
The world to come is big enough for all of us.
Be not afraid.
Hope! ❤️