The guy that took the safety pin to a whole new level

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You might be seeing news clips in your feed about people wearing a safety pin on their clothes. It is to show that they are a safe person. If you are in need of a friendly face, if you are feeling anxiety about the future, if you are fearful for your safety, you can be reassured when you see a person wearing a safety pin, that they are making themselves available for you. I appreciate the sentiment. I spent many years as an outsider, on the fringes of life, long black trench coat and combat boots included. I know what it feels like to search the crowd for a face that you can trust.

I understand fear. I know it’s palpable effect. I understand the debilitating reach it can have, seeping into every facet of living. Making the day to day actions of living, seem impossible. There were troubled times, for a period my heart raced on and off for years. Nights where I wanted to flee, get away from everything and start over. I was looking for safe people too.

There is a man who did so much more than wear a pin on his shirt. I met him in passing for many years, and although I had little trust for him, he always invited me to get to know him better. A pin was far to small an action to declare his trustworthiness. Instead, he was pierced by spikes; crude iron nails in his hands and feet, so there would be no mistake that He was safe. His open hands are before you today. In a world looking for safety pins, there is one who offered to be pierced on our behalf.

Still, I was unsure I wanted what He was offering. Church people had hurt me deeply. They judged me by my actions and never once stopped to question my pain. They told me I was lost, but failed to acknowledge the depth of that statement in the reality of my life. They asked me to conform my heart to a standard I could not obtain, no matter how hard I tried.

I hated their judgement and their self righteousness. I knew of their hypocrisy, the things that they struggled in silence with but never shared with others. The problem lied in the fact that they were not the ones that kept calling out to me. Church people were not the ones that were pierced for me. It was Jesus who sacrificed himself in my stead and He would not leave me alone.

The more I got to know Him the more I learned that He was safe. He cared for my heart. He wanted to heal my pain and create a source of love and peace. My endless searches had brought me nothing but heart ache, pain and loss. I had cost myself so much in 18 short years, but none of that caused Him to turn His face from me.

I was not sure about how this relationship was going to work out. I was not the kind of person Jesus people recruit. At least not the ones I had known. I met new ones, people like me who are learning to trust. People who didn’t behave in all the right ways, but couldn’t shake this Jesus, who kept showing up in their life over and over again. He did not reject me. He was safe. He was patient, kind, gentle and good. He made me want to be better.

I read that one day Jesus asked a blind man, “Do you want to be made well?” Um, that seems redundant. The man was blind, I am sure he wants to see. But Jesus doesn’t just kick down doors and heal the sick. He knocks, He swings by a few times a week, He invites you over for dinner. When you are ready, He asks you personally, face to face. He waits for your words.

For myself, it took six years. I prayed the prayer with my pastor, because I believed in God and I did not want to go to hell, but I kept this whole Jesus person at arms length. I didn’t need to know what a wreck I was, thank you very much. I was well aware. I had no desire to be oppressed and shamed. I had lived as a faker for many years. Staying under the radar, new schools, new friends every year, I learned to blend and fade. As an adult, I was sick of it and wanted to be authentic. I was pretty sure Jesus couldn’t handle me.

For six years Jesus just stopped by regularly for coffee. People at the church loved on me. They shared their struggles and failings. They were authentic. I began to believe I belonged next to them. We were making changes to live a more successful life that the ones we had before.

I was in a woman’s bible study the day I knew Jesus was ready to ask me, “Do you want to be made well?”
I had just read about the woman who Jesus had forgiven, she was as big of a mess as I had ever been. She returned to Him at a dinner party and opened a jar of perfume, anointed Jesus’ feet and washed them with her hair and her tears of gratitude. Jesus told the mocking jerks around the table that they didn’t get it, or Him. (my paraphrase) He said, “those who are forgiven much, love much.”

By then I knew people who walked out love. They were glaringly kind compared to the folks who let me know I was breaking the rules as a teen in pain. I wanted to be more like them. I wanted to be forgiven much, if it would help me grow to be able to love much. So, I prayed, and like a new lover, I revealed every secret, one by one to this Jesus and waited for Him to reject me. Never once did he wince or break away from me in shame. He knows my every thought and intention, and still wanted me to learn about Him.

My life is changing, it is a truly beautiful, painful, messy, ecstatic with joy and love, kind of life. My life has the clean, whole-hearted love, and hope that I only imagined it could have one day.

This God is not like you have been told, He wants you.

A safety pin was not enough.

He was pinned to a cross to prove it.