Coming Together 2: Lessons in Reconciliation

If Confrontation is my first name, then Reconciliation is my second. Since I was four I’ve been stepping into the middle of fights--physical, verbal, emotional, spiritual. My “life verse” (because every good Baptist learns to pick a life verse) when I was a child was Matthew 5:9: “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called children of God.” My parents fought quite a bit, really since I can remember having memories, and I could not stand it. When I thought someone might get hurt or when the shouting became too unbearable, I usually went in to break it up. How successful my attempts were I don’t know, but I always stuck around until someone left the house or went to another room. I figured they might hurt one another, but surely a child in their midst would tame the violence to manageable levels. My dad also tells me that in Sunday school, he watched me one time “mediate a conflict” over a toy between my two best friends. Apparently, I suggested how they might share the toy over different segments of time and found another toy for the one sharing to play with. In high school I was that friend who brought a certain element of objectivity, harsh or loving, to most conflicts between my group of girl friends. My general philosophy of confrontation and reconciliation was, If we can all take a few steps back from the issue and grow up, we’ll see this is not that big of a deal and really, we should get along. With time, prayer became an area of conflict I stepped into, a habit through which I saw the actual work of reconciliation on many levels accomplished. During college, in both personal and corporate venues, confrontation and reconciliation had to be part of my daily life. Within the last two and a half years, I have also tiptoed into racial reconciliation and I am immeasurably grateful to the Servant Leadership School and the Mennonite Central Committee’s Damascus Road Project for my initial formation. It is an overwhelming work, and I don’t really “do” anything within structures right now except to pray and hear different voices rising.

But I was surprised to find myself yesterday in the midst of another form of reconciliation. We were gathered in our large circle for weekly prayer and share at Moulin. Valerie had come to search for me in the bathroom and told me, “Francis is about to start prayer,” which I found odd since usually I’m not there at the beginning as I’m finishing cleaning the kitchen. I slip in as it’s going. However, I understood her coming to look for me as Francis began. He said, “Today we are going to pray for unity in the Church. This is the week of unity.” Then he looked at me, “Let’s pray for Jennifer’s church…Jennifer, you are Baptist?” I clarified that I attended the Baptist church here but was not myself Baptist, I was Protestant and being an American Protestant was complicated to explain. He understood, nodding, “There are many sorts in the U.S.” Then I added to help clear the ambiguity of “Protestant,” “I’m evangelical,” which is helpful here to say. All that to say, he wanted to pray for the Baptist church here, my church back home, for all the churches. Francis continued, “The important thing is, we all believe Jesus. We are all the Church. We are all needed. Each one.” Then he added, “Let’s also give thanks for Jennifer, for her help at Moulin.” I must now here add, serving at L’Arche is a challenge. Language aside, it’s a French work environment and communication is not the same as the states. I also have no idea what I’m doing most of the time except trying to be useful. More often than not I wonder if they think I’m just taking up space and in the way. That Francis would so pointedly pray for me almost made me cry.

And as we prayed I felt this new and heavy although good burden as I serve at L’Arche. I am not there just as Jennifer. It’s weird, more than even being a representative of Jesus almost, I am there as a Protestant. I am there as an attendee of the Compiegne Baptist church (I am often introduced as “she comes from the Baptist church” at which folks usually raise their eyebrows.). I am there as an agent, a minister, of reconciliation. I don’t think I had seen that before. I don’t think I had felt that before. Even as an American, I don’t think it’s too bold to say, I in some ways do and will give testimony to the Protestant witness in the L’Oise, a heavily culturally and practicing Catholic population yet one nonetheless considered the least-churched. Francis prayed and I sat considering what in a sense newly lies before me. I am not at Moulin to “convert” people into Protestants. I respect Catholicism too much and Protestantism too much for that. I also love Jesus too much for that. However, I am there, now I see, to work across lines. In my head, my time at L’Arche has always been configured to serve a group of people often forgotten, and let me be honest and say, also difficult. I’m supposed to be learning how to do this and at the same time learning from folks there. And yes, that is a significant part of it. But I think now I see a larger picture of why I’m at L’Arche. While many of my hours are committed to walking with others as they are reconciled to God through Jesus, at L’Arche I have been called into the work of reconciling “persons to persons.” I’m not doing it alone, no way, but in an open yet mostly Catholic environment, I’m definitely an odd duck. They could care less what faith I am, but if I say I’m one or another, an appropriate burden accompanies such a confession.

I remember the day my senior year when Dr. Setran wrote a diagram on the board during my History and Philosophy of Christian Education class. He delineated out the different areas of severed relationships that occurred with the Fall—God and persons; person with self; persons and creation; person (s) and person (s). He also discussed how ministry means and objectives should first and foremost be about healing those divides. I think that was the moment I knew, that wherever my life trajectory took me, I would always have to be about the work of mending severances. To use a more familiar phrase, I was called into the “ministry of reconciliation.” My childhood and youth formed me in many ways for this work. Although hard and I would never wish my earliest memories on anyone, I can see their holy purposes. That is the gift, I think, of God’s grace washing over all that was intended for evil. For what Satan meant for evil, God instead looked forward and saw Compiegne. He saw Moulin. He saw this week. And he said, No, indeed, I have come to make all things good.

I ask for your prayers as I and others seek that goodness. Each needed. All together.