A Benediction for the (Stubborn) Ones Still Holding On

Or, a blessing for those still calling themselves Christians

Hi friends,

Since I wrote that essay/howl into the void called “Are we still calling ourselves Christians?,” I’ve been overcome by the responses. The emails are still coming in, the conversation is still unfolding, and many of you have reached out to share your own wrestlings with that question along with your stories.

Are we still calling ourselves Christians?

Basically, if you wondered if you were the only one who was asking that question, I can assure you: you are not alone.

So this week for Field Notes, I wanted to take a moment to pause and pray about that together. (You know me…) Basically, I wanted us to be able to take a collective deep breath and centre ourselves together as we continue to attempt something like faithfulness. I wanted to find a way to bless you in your wrestling about this and to help you feel connected, rather than abandoned.

So this is a benediction for all of us who found ourselves in that essay, even if it was just for that day.

Photo by Biegun Wschodni on Unsplash

A Benediction for the (Stubborn) Ones Still Holding On

Beloved friends who still love this Story
even when it breaks your heart,
may you be blessed in your faithfulness,
even as you stand as witness to loss.

Blessed are you who still claim “Christian”
even with that angry wobble in your voice 
and sad need for clarity,
who hold that name not with prideful certainty
but with a grieving ache and defiant hope.

Blessed are you who stay,
not out of denial or obligation or fear, 
but out of faithful (stubborn) defiance.
Not to defend what has become indefensible,
but to witness to a better truth:
that this name once meant love, and still can.

Blessed are you who refuse 
to surrender the language of grace
to the machinery of hate,
who will not let the gospel of peace be devoured
by the politics of fear and efficiency and dominance and wealth.

Blessed are you when your loved ones don't understand  
or sweep it under the rug or pretend ignorance,
or morph into someone you don't even recognize.
Blessed are you when you feel betrayed by the Church
that raised you and the people you once trusted,
yours is the companionship of the prophets.

For all of us who have been accused of abandoning the faith
simply for refusing to bow to idols in its name,
we acknowledge both your courage and your loneliness.
May your faith counted as righteousness.

Blessed are the disillusioned, the disoriented, the disgusted,
for yours is a holy discontent.
Yours is the ache that calls for reformation.
Yours is the grief that proves your love.
Yours is the longing that keeps you near to our God
even when the institution makes you want to run.

May you find companions along the way
- the saints, sinners, mystics, prophets, doubters, and troublemakers,
who still believe in mercy and still chase the Spirit
through the ruins of a crumbling empire and
into the garden of resurrection.

May you be blessed with clarity 
when the fog of the loudest voices
co-opting faith as a disguise 
sweep into the once-green valleys of your life.

May you never confuse a critical spirit 
with being a critical thinker:
stay generous, stay open, stay breakable.
May your discernment be sharp 
even as your heart remains soft.

May the love of Jesus,
that real unconditional empire upending love,
 - not the brand, 
not the spectacle, 
not the headline,
not the dominant voice of empire claiming his name - 
be your compass, your comfort, and your sanctuary.

And when you feel alone
(because you will)
when you wonder if you’re the last one left
who sees the gospel as liberation,
who believes kindness is strength,
who follows a peacemaking Saviour,
may you remember this:
you are not alone. Not even close.

May you be given a glimpse of the great cloud of witnesses
the ancestors and ancients who know even know
that the Church is bigger than this moment in time.
And resurrection will not be stopped
by those who shout the loudest or build the biggest platforms
or even win the day. 

So keep moving, keep working, keep hoping,
not in certainty, but in faith.

Go in holy stubbornness and sacred humility.
Go with your head held high, not in arrogance 
but in humble truth.

You are still a Christian,
God help you,
and as long as you are here,
you stand as part of a company,
as a prophetic outpost,
camped right in the teeth of the lie, 
with a grin on your face and 
an outstretched hand.

Your faithfulness,
your insistence on grace and love,
your dogged relentless insistence that 
the Gospel is good news and God is here,
and every small bit of holiness and care matters,
is also a sign of God’s presence in this world.

In the name of the One who overturned tables,
washed feet,
forgave enemies,
welcomed outcasts,
and called us friends,
one God and mother of us all,
go in peace
and do likewise.

Amen.

Love S.

Check out my books | Field Notes | Instagram | Facebook | SarahBessey.com

• The Stowaways: A story from me + an essay from Emily P. Freeman

• Managing my own concerns and those of other folks into the bargain: Ask Me Anything Q and A time!

• I know the words by heart: Or, Permission to borrow courage from each other

• Your job isn’t to get over your anger.: Anger is our holy starting point, but it is Love who sustains the passion and directs it into life-giving transformation

• Are we still calling ourselves Christians?: Or are we done here?