Visiting the U.S. when my girls were very tiny, I sometimes heard the question, “Is she a good baby?” I would instantly feel awkward and agitated on the inside, because the question was weird and frustrating to me — as if some babies are bad babies??? I knew they were really asking “is she a convenient baby” (who sleeps on a schedule and rarely cries). And since none of my delightful daughters were “convenient” sleepers in the early years, maybe the answer to that person’s question was no??? But I often blurted out, “I think all babies are good babies!”
Do we really believe we are good?
Many of us are unlearning childhood messages that we are not good. Sometimes these ideas came from how we were treated by those who should have cared better for us. Sometimes these ideas come from the picture of God promoted within some churches. Sometimes it’s both. Sometimes it’s confusing even for those with generally pleasant family or faith systems, since they still somehow internalized the idea that God might not like us very much. Anytime churches have portrayed humans as “totally depraved,” or started their gospel summaries with the problem of Genesis 3 (instead of the very goodness of Genesis 1), or depicted hell as God’s default (unless Jesus comes in and takes/pays the punishment for you), we’ve been contributing to the idea that humans are inherently bad.1
But humans are not bad. Humans are very good, enduringly beloved — every single one of us with our own capacity to choose to participate in destruction and choose to participate in healing.2
Stick with me and let me connect this question of inherent belovedness vs. inherent badness to metaphors of soil.
The subtitle of Go Out In Joy is: Reflections and resources for leaving hardsoil faith and cultivating healthier communities with Jesus. Gardening and agricultural metaphors fill the pages of scripture and help us imagine life with God.3 One of the most common gardening allegories is found in Mark chapter 4. In this account, Jesus is teaching gathered crowds, and he tells a parable about a sower. The seed falls on four different kinds of soils, which each produce different results, depending on the receptivity of the soil. Jesus ends with an invitation, “If you have ears to hear, then hear!”
The scene changes, and his twelve disciples apparently didn’t fully understand, because they ask him to explain the parable, and Jesus references a text from Isaiah and then explains the soil metaphors to them. I think every time I have heard a teacher or preacher talk about this passage, the implication is overwhelmingly individualistic. The emphasis is on personal responsibility — “make sure you are good soil” so you can hear what Jesus is saying.
But what if it is more communal than that? Yes, the receptivity of the soil for growth and change is a metaphor for hearing, but what if our ability to hear Jesus has just as much to do with how we’ve been affected by those around us? None of us authored our internal self image on our own. Our assumptions about our own inherent belovedness or badness have been deeply formed by our communities, often long before we could critique or consent to what messages we received.
Believing we are seen as beloved by God goes along with the courage to heal and grow and change our minds. Risking to believe that we are inherently good is part of how we hear — tilling hard packed soil so we can unlearn wrong stories and relearn healthy stories.4
I will unpack this more in an upcoming series (called REstory).
But for now, I want to offer each of us the possibility of delight — in the middle of wherever you are, you are very good and the Creator of the cosmos delights in you.
But what about “leaders?” What about teachers, elders, preachers, directors, deans, and executives? Can people in positions of power change their minds and learn? In the past few years I have been deeply dismayed watching some who are in power over others cause pain and destruction by digging in and refusing to admit they were wrong. They did not have ears to hear.5
Sometimes their resistance presents with panic, but sometimes with smooth charm. Either way, people in positions of power should be the first ones to say, “I was wrong about this, and I am learning that I need to turn around and go in a new direction.” But leaders are just as likely as anyone to be filled with feelings of unloveliness from childhood messages. Too many leaders are performing out of childhood deficit — the soil has been stomped down a long time ago, and it feels too risky to repent and rethink now while everyone is watching.
It’s true that “hurt people hurt people,” and the stakes are even higher for those in positions of power over others. Hardsoil leaders produce hardsoil people. Gratefully, the inverse can also be true — leaders who are learning their own belovedness can lead others into that healing as well.
So yes, people in positions of power are offered the same invitation. Not a single one of us will ever be finished learning our way into larger stories with God - no exceptions! And I’m betting that, even for leaders, daring to believe that the delight of divine love sees you and calls you beloved is what can gently begin to crack that door open.
Whether we think we are beloved or bad will affect whether we feel safe to learn what we don’t already know. How safe we feel to learn can soften soil for hearing.
Believing that you have always been God’s good child can slowly heal hardsoil.
Believing we are beloved by God builds the courage to Go Out In Joy.
© 2024 Ladye Rachel Howell. All rights reserved.
Often right alongside Total Depravity or Original Sinners as the primary identity of human beings, some religious authorities have also communicated “and anyone denying depravity isn’t taking sin seriously.” And that is a lie. The loving God who made humans very good takes very seriously all the greed and violence and disintegration in the world.
For more on this, read these rich resources OR find a podcast where these wise humans are being interviewed: Original Blessing by Danielle Shroyer, The Very Good Gospel by Lisa Sharon Harper, and Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen.
Soak in the wisdom of Scripture, Culture, and Agriculture by Ellen Davis
Buy this book for your preacher, Trauma Informed Evangelism by Charles Kiser and Elaine Heath, and refuse to listen to any more sermons until they have read it.
The cumulative effect is disheartening; I’m bearing witness to situations in six states and two countries: lying, predatory behavior, covering up predatory behavior, self deception, refusing to repent from theology they’ve been teaching for decades, bullying, gaslighting, and blackmailing. It’s even worse when it comes with a layer of smooth charm. Please read After Whiteness by Willie James Jennings; it captures the inner culture of charm that perpetuates both patriarchy and white supremacy in institutions and organizations.
I love the reminder that we can't skip right to sin in Genesis 3 when presenting the gospel.
Thanks for a growing understanding and appreciation of the wonder of Genesis 1-2, I now cringe when see the gospel being told starting with Romans 3:23.
“Our assumptions about our own inherent belovedness or badness have been deeply formed by our communities, often long before we could critique or consent to what messages we received.”
When I was growing up, the refrain was “Be like Jesus.” What was Jesus like? Loving? Forgiving? Welcoming? No. I mean, yes—but that wasn’t the message I received. Instead, I heard over and over: Jesus is perfect. Therefore, in order to be like Jesus, I had to be perfect. Only then I would loved, forgiven, and welcome. Yet, there was another part of the message, which was “only Jesus is perfect.” So where did that leave me? Unloved, unforgiven, unwelcome.
A part of me knew the message wasn’t right or true. But it has taken many years to untangle the doubt it created.