Life is Not a Competition; Faith is Not a Competition

I woke up Tuesday morning and did not want to get out of bed. Nothing particular had happened—just felt like a gerbil in a habitrail—same ole thing day after day—or at least that’s how I felt that day. But the dogs were barking, so I got up, let them out, and laid down on the sofa in the den. Some time passed,

and wouldn’t you know it? Those darn dogs wanted to come back in (read above), so I let them back in and moved to the sofa in the living room.

 

So slight confession here—when Chris got up I pretended I was asleep so he would make the coffee. That seems to be the extent of our change in routine—who makes the coffee.

 

I started to get up and thought to myself, “I don’t want to get out of my pj’s today. I just want to lounge around doing what I want.” But then I remembered…

 

August 1^st I joined a Facebook group One for One Hundred. Actually, I joined the group in 2016, and that year I completed it, but I recommitted on August 1^st. Basically, you commit to walking or running at least one mile every day for 100 days straight no exceptions and I had done it—even the day I had an infection. I really didn’t want to do it on Tuesday AND I really didn’t want to be a failure AND I’m a little competitive with myself and others. Not a good combination.

 

I got up and moved to the basement (where there is not another sofa to lie down on). I looked over at the ironing and realized I could iron and be on the zoom calls I had scheduled for that day (truth y’all, ask the Bible study group). Two and half hours later after ironing 37 napkins, 9 pillowcases, 7 sheets, and 4 shirts, I was finished.

 

I was finished ironing and I was finished beating myself up because I didn’t want to and ultimately wasn’t going to complete my mile that day.

 

Here’s where I am—at least for today. Accountability groups are good, lifesaving even (think AA, NA, etc), they are meant to build up and support. Being a part of this accountability group was not doing that for me—it did once, but now instead of being encouraging and supportive, it made me grumpy, self-loathing, and competitive in an unhealthy way. It was standing in the way of me listening to the still small voice (what I consider the Holy Spirit) inside of me saying, “It’s okay. Take this day to do what you need to fill your soul.”

 

While ironing I thought about the upcoming readings for this Sunday. Romans 12:3-4says, “For by the grace given to me I say to everyone among you not to think of yourself more highly than you ought to think, but to think with sober judgment, each according to the measure of faith God has assigned. For as in one body we have many members, and not all members have the same function.” Faith is not a competition. Life is not a competition. How we live our lives of faith is not a competition. We do not have a measuring stick or measuring cup that proves one person is “more Christian, more Christ-like, more holy, more worthy.”

 

Yes, we are to hold one another accountable, but that does not include making judgments. There is a difference. We each have a calling, a function God is calling us to. For some people it might be marching in protests, for others, it might be stocking food pantries, for others, it might be spending hours in prayer, for others, it might be extending hospitality to all, for others, it might be participating in studies, and the list goes on. There is no particular way that makes someone a “real” Christian.

 

Tuesday the meanie little voice in my head (I call her Darlin’ Devil) was telling me if I didn’t do that mile I wasn’t a “real” runner, a “real” competitor, a “real” athlete. It’s a good group, with good people, and there was a time it was a positive in my life, but not now, and that’s okay.

 

Let’s commit to not being the Darlin’ Devils voice in each other’s head. Let’s support where we are each called because we are all real people created in the image of God and loved unconditionally, no exceptions.

The Power of Voice

During a youth retreat when I was in 8th grade I became very emotional. No, I wasn’t having a mountaintop experience—that’s why I became emotional—because I wasn’t and everyone else seemed to be. I thought there was something wrong with me; being totally honest, I was sure there was something wrong with me. 

Things were really complicated. I went to church ALL. THE. TIME. Daddy was and is Roman Catholic; Mother was United Methodist; we were required to go to both churches every Sunday, Sunday School, CCD, youth group, and I went to Catholic school. So why wasn’t I feeling anything? Why wasn’t I experiencing anything? Why didn’t I feel close to God? What was wrong with me?

My minister approached me, put her arm around me, and asked what was wrong. I told her I didn’t feel close to God and I wasn’t sure why. I told her I didn’t know if I was living a Christian life. She told me to read Romans, confess my sins, and I would find the answers.

So I did.

I read it and nothing happened. So I re-read it, and then I read it in another translation. Still nothing. I was missing something. It didn’t give me a set of rules; I didn’t feel closer to God; but it impacted the way I viewed the BIble and faith well into my adult years.

I believed there was an answer—one specific way to understand the Bible and only one way to think about faithful living. Why did I believe that? Because a minister told me—clearly she would know—she was an authority. She also never asked me another question; she never again mentioned our conversation, and I never brought it up either. I was left feeling like I was on the outside of the group. I wasn’t good enough, holy enough, smart enough—I wasn’t enough.

I wonder how that experience would have changed me if my minister had said let’s read Romans together and talk about it. (Okay, still not really sure about the whole read Romans thing.) I wonder how it would have been different if she had asked me what I thought faithful living looked like. I wonder what would have happened if she said, “Let’s talk about this as a group.” But she didn’t, the conversation was closed, and I felt forgotten and alone.

I have never forgotten that day, her words, and my feelings. It shaped me, and it is a large part of the reason I believe so strongly in the ministry of all people. It is a large part of the reason I don’t believe a collar around my neck and The Reverend before my name means I have all the answers. And it also reminds me that the collar around my neck and The Reverend before my name has power, whether I want it to or not, to bring others closer into relationship with God or to push them away. That experience has helped to shape my voice and instilled within me a deep desire to never silence anyone else’s.

I have a strong and deep faith. I try to live my life from the core of that faith—specifically, I believe God loves everyone no exceptions. I believe God commands us to do the same. And I believe that means standing up for and standing with those on the margins—the poor, the oppressed, the hungry, the homeless—anyone who is on the outside. I believe injustice must be called out AND I believe the words we use are important. And I also believe it doesn’t help to silence other’s voices. 

I was called to ordination. I was called to preach the Gospel—to bring good news, “to declare God’s forgiveness to penitent sinners, to pronounce God’s blessing.” (BCP, p. 531) I was not called to separate people from knowing God’s love, to turn people away from faith, to leave others feeling less than.

Perhaps there are times my voice, my words, are not as strong as others believe it should be. I understand that, but it’s my voice. And others’ have their voices. I do believe whether the power of one’s voice comes from a title or familiarity or fame, it comes with responsibility. The power of voice can lift up or tear down; it can open conversation or shut the door, and it can bring healing or hurt.

I believe every voice deserves to be heard.

I'm Just a Crazy Middle-Aged Woman Trying to Learn Not to be a White Savior

I was sitting on the beach reading Waking UP White and Finding Myself in the Story of Race by Debby Irving. Side note--really good book and easily accessible. In one of the chapters, Irving tells the story of being at a conference by and for professionals of color. During a particular workshop, she found herself taking notes so she could be "helpful" in feedback. She had the best of intentions. It was not received in

the same vein. She writes she had gone into the fixer and comforter role she was so accustomed to playing--another way of stating it, she fell into the white savior complex.

White savior complex is complicated. It can be defined as a white person who acts to help a nonwhite person often in situations where it can be perceived (or is) for self-serving purposes. Another facet is it's helping in ways the white person believes the person or persons of color need to be helped. It's a role I

have been thinking a lot about lately. I've been considering how I have fallen into the complex, and I have been patting myself on the back about how far I've come.

Not 30 minutes later....

I glanced over to the path leading to the beach wondering when my young adult children would EVER come down. I saw two young black men with their shirts off. "I wonder why they're just sitting there and not coming down to the beach." I thought to myself. Over the next 30 minutes, I kept glancing over and thinking about all kinds of things. Here is just a sampling.

• I wonder if they don't feel welcome.
• I wonder if they're nervous about coming down where everyone is white.
• I'm going to go over and talk to them and let them know they are more than welcome on the beach.

I didn't want to make them nervous, but I really wanted them to know they were welcome and if anyone had a problem with it I would stand up for them. But I refrained even though I kept looking around at all the white people on the beach looking for anyone to do or say anything unkind, you know so I could engage with them--share my anti-racism learning.

Oh y'all, it gets worse. My young adult children did come down to the beach. They were getting settled and I looked back at the two young men on the walkway. I decided then and there I could walk over and invite them to join us or at least come down on the beach--I mean my daughter's boyfriend who is sitting right here is black--I now had visible proof I wasn't a crazy middle-aged white lady bigot. I was "officially" anti-racist--just look! As I began to rehearse my speech, I snapped out of it.

Who did I think I was? Who was I to assume they felt unwelcome? Who was I to assume they needed a white lady to escort them onto the beach? Who was I to assume they even wanted to come down on the beach? Who was I to assume that just because my daughter is dating a young black man (whom we adore) that gives me a special standing as a "woke" white woman? Who was I to assume I was finished with my work?

Fifteen minutes later Chris walked down to the beach. I asked him if he'd seen the two young men. "Oh yeah," he said, "they were on their lunch break and just hanging out. I saw them put their work shirts back on."

I didn't do it that day, but I thought about it--a lot. I did I finally stop myself because I'm learning. I'm learning how to be a better person and I'm learning how many learned behaviors I need to unlearn. 

Oh, and I will always be a crazy middle-aged white woman. (Until I'm a crazy old white woman)

Race, Class, College Football, and Covid

I was listening to ESPN radio this morning and had to walk out of the

room. I was SOOO angry, and I stayed angry, and I'm still angry.

Let me explain....

First some background. I love sports, all sports, but I live and breathe college football. I guess you could say it's in my blood. I read Street and Smith magazine cover to cover and back again every summer. Saturdays are spent watching Game Day and every game that comes on usually with another one playing on the radio in the background. If you can't find me on a Saturday, come to Bdubs. Chris and I are usually there so we can watch college football in a 360 motion. (If you go to the one near where I live, just ask for "the crazy UVA lady." They'll point you right to me) Okay, so you get the point. Bottom line, I want more than anything for college football to play this fall. 

There's another reason I want it to start. I feel for the young men especially the seniors or those who plan to enter the draft at the end of the 2020 season. I am currently in a house with 4 collegiate athletes--3 seniors. Two of them are fall athletes, and their conference has canceled the season. The other two are my children, winter and spring season athletes, and I'm holding my breath. I see it--there's grief, real honest to God grief.

So really I get it, I do. But, I also want the students to be safe and healthy; I want their families to be safe and healthy, and I want the coaches and staff to be safe and healthy. There are people far smarter than I am who I know are working overtime to try to make all of that happen. If they can do it, I'll be thrilled and come find me at BDubs--I'll even buy you a beer or a coke.

So why am I angry? Because this is what I heard today (and I'm paraphrasing because I was so angry and ranting but you'll get the gist of it.)

We need to go ahead and let them play. We know there will be a spike. We know athletes will test positive, but at least we'll get some games in, so we need to start the season. At least we'll get to watch some football before they shut it down because of the spike.

ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME? You are willing to risk people's health, people's lives, so you a grown man can sit in your house and safely watch football? 

At first, I was Mama Bear mad. These young men are somebody's children, somebody's brothers, somebody's friend. You want to watch football. Well, guess what? So you can watch a few games of football before they shut it down, some of these Mamas and Daddys, siblings and friends might have to watch their child, brother, friend struggle through a virus where there is no treatment. They may have long-lasting effects; they may die. But you'll get to watch a few games...so okay....

Next, I briefly calmed down and tried to see it from another perspective. One could argue players could opt out of playing. They could decide they didn't want to take the risk and quit the team. Maybe coaches could even be told if a player chooses not to play this year it is mandatory he is allowed back on the team next year. Well, first, as a mother of sons age 21 and 23--really? You really think they should make this decision? Frontal lobe people--not developed! So then you could argue their parents could make the choice--if they're under 21 a parent has to sign a waiver. And then I thought about scholarships and the rage returned.

Yes, in 2015 the Power Five conferences passed rules outlining when coaches could remove scholarships. It was an effort to protect Division I athletes. Guess what's not included? Exactly! Those who choose to take a leave from a team. Maybe some schools would still honor those scholarships; maybe not.

My mind kept going. So let's say my son was on a full DI football scholarship, we could choose for him to quit the team (once we got past that underdeveloped frontal lobe), AND he could continue to go to school because while we are not living in a yard full of money trees, we could and would make it happen. There are many other young men who would be forced to withdraw from school. 

So let's just name it--it becomes a class and a race issue. Those who have, have choices with win-win options. Those who have not, don't. Fifty-five percent of college scholarship athletes are black. Twenty-five percent of those athletes graduate. We've just put another roadblock up. But hey, we get to watch college football. It becomes another way we use people who have no choice, no other option, and we're using them for our entertainment. 

Using them for our entertainment---just think about that. When else in history did that happen? 

I understand the complexity of the decisions that need to be made. I understand the money that is at stake and the impact loss of football revenue will have on schools. I understand people just want life to go back to normal. Me too.

But to advocate for the start of football admitting you know it will be shut down because of the number of athletes, coaches, and staff who will be infected--I just can't. And as much as I want to ignore it, my faith, my promise to respect the honor and dignity of every person just won't allow it.

Over and Over and Over I Write

I feel like I write some form of this blog at least once a year---well,

actually, it's not just a feeling; it's the truth. And that is both freeing and frustrating, so here it goes AGAIN!

I have body image issues--big-time body image issues. I can trace the root of the issue, and I have. But the truth is it's time to let that go, put on my big girl panties, and take responsibility for myself. So here it is. I hate the way my body looks. I continually compare my body to others. I think a lot about how to lose weight, what to eat or not eat, and I judge others. There I've said it--and even saying it makes me sad and ashamed. I don't want to be that person. But I am that person, and I am working really hard to change. (Go ahead and send me some times Becky.) I'm also the person who gets defensive and angry. The other day I rejoined a group committed to walking or running at least 1 mile every day for 100 days. My good friend commented on my post rejoining the group with these words, "Glad you're back at it!!!!" I read, "Clearly you haven't been doing anything and you're a slacker. It shows." So I got angry and wanted to respond, "Just because I haven't been posting doesn't mean I haven't been trying!" But I didn't because I also know my friend well and I know I was not reading what she intended, my insecure, emotional self was reading what I needed to protect my fragile image. (Also because even I recognized how nutso my thinking was....)

Two days ago I was walking/running on the beach and bemoaning both my body and how out of shape I am while also listening to an episode of the  Eternal Current podcast hosted by Aaron Niequist. He was having a discussion with Sarah Bessey and she said something like this referring to spiritual practices, "As our faith develops, it changes and sometimes you have to let go of what is no longer feeding you. But that doesn't mean it wasn't good or helpful or holy. Honor it and let it go." Again, that may not be exactly what she said, but it's what I heard and it connected two things very important to me.

I started thinking about my faith and how in January at the Rooted in Jesus conference (remember when we could meet in person), I had a huge personal renewal in my faith and particularly in my desire to deepen my relationship with God. I was on fire and excited and I started digging in and then March 13 came and it all came to a screeching stop.

Let me explain it a little better--or at least try to. I was trying new ways of connecting with God. I had felt so dry for so long and suddenly I felt like I was drinking from a fire hose but when the pandemic hit I retreated and tried to return to the practices that have sustained me for years. But they didn't work, and so I let go. I let go and then instead of returning to my fire of January and February, I stopped doing anything. I still prepared to preach every week reading the scriptures, reading and listening to commentaries, and making connections with the world today. I'm a decent preacher, and I think I did a pretty decent job. I was also often preaching to myself. But it wasn't enough. I still hungered to go deeper. So again instead of returning to January and February, I started paying attention to what others were doing, particularly people who I see as strongly grounded in their faith, and I tried to copy them. You're reading the prophets, great I'll read the prophets. You're practicing centering prayer, great I'll practice centering prayer. (Y'all I'm TERRIBLE at centering prayer.) You are journaling every day, great I'll journal every day. You get the picture.

Y'all I'm a slow learner, so while packing for the beach, I packed all those books/readings I've used for years. I packed them, I brought them into the house (or rather my son did), and there they sit.

Okay, now I'm connecting all this stuff...my body has changed. It has gotten older, had a total knee replacement, and gotten older (I know I've said gotten older twice but it really stinks!). Some of the things I used to do to stay in shape and lose weight don't work anymore or at least don't work as quickly. Frankly, some of them are unhealthy--some were then and others were okay then, but not for a 52 year old's body. I have to honor them and let them go. I need to recognize what I learned from them--even the unhealthy painful ones and then let go but recognize they will always be a part of my story. And what I really need to accept is this is a journey I'm on which I suspect will never end. I will go deeper into understanding, I will go deeper into acceptance, and I will probably write about this again next year.

My faith and relationship with God have also changed. And that is a GOOD THING! I'm craving going deeper and to do that I have to try new and different things. Some of the things I used to do still feed me, and some don't. I also need to honor that and then let them go again recognizing they will always be a part of my story. Some I may return to again. Faith is a journey that never ends and is always forming and more importantly transforming. 

One more connection--getting in shape and deepening my faith is personal. I have to commit to them, I have to want it, and I have to recognize there will be changes with time. But they are also communal. (Aaron Niequist said this in episode 3 of his podcast.) It can be hard and lonely and frustrating. So find a community. I've found one for my running--I may need more, we'll see.

I also have multiple communities that help to sustain and challenge my faith. (I am eternally grateful I have the CCL who allow me to bounce things off them, who offer me different perspectives, and who call me out. I'm also grateful they are early risers so when I wake at 5 am and can't get a thought out of my head, it's okay to text them.) I need another one. I need to be accountable for trying new practices. Here's the truth, I need another to do on my list like I need a hole in my head, but I also hunger for my relationship with God to deepen. I want and need it. So, I want to read Aaron Niequist's book The Eternal Current and I want to read it slowly and intentionally and in community. I want to practice the practices and talk about them. So if you're interested, let me know. It doesn't matter where you live--we'll make it work. 

Let's get started!

My Friend Sue

I can't believe these women believed in me

I will never forget the day I met her....

Thirty minutes earlier I was told by the rector of Calvary Episcopal Church that I was to be Calvary's liaison to the Central Louisville Community Center Board. I was excited as it's a ministry I felt deeply committed to.* I was a little surprised as I was leaving the office for my first board meeting and several people said, "Good Luck." Apparently, long board meetings were common.

I got there early and walked into the board room where two women sat. Little did I know these two women would be a huge part of changing my ministry, my focus, and my life. Sharon Eckler stood up, "Hello, I'm Sharon the Executive Director." I shook her hand and then said, "Hey. I'm Katherine the Associate Rector of Calvary." She smiled. Meanwhile, the other woman stood up and walked over. "Hello Katherine," she said, "I'm Sue Speed and I know exactly who you are." EEEEKKK!

She may have known who I was, but little did she know she had unleashed my greatest fear--someone would know something about me that would prove I was a fraud. (Okay, just relax this was back in 2012 and I have done MUCH work since then.) But that day....

We sat around the board table for over three hours--they weren't wrong. It was a long board meeting, and I LOVED IT!!! I loved the passion, the compassion, the determination, the commitment, and I fell in love with Sue.

When I returned to Calvary someone said, "Don't worry, you don't have to go to all of them." I couldn't imagine missing one.

Over the next 2 1/2 years I got deeper and deeper involved in the ministry. I spent hours talking to Sharon and Sue and hearing their stories. One afternoon Sue said, "Remember how I said I knew you?" Oh boy, she had no idea how well I remembered that. "Well," she said, "My brother John and my daughter Whit told me all about you. I've held off my decision, but they're right. You're the real deal." I sat there stunned. Not because she was so bold, but because I was overwhelmed that two people I truly respect and admire said that about me. Sue responded, "Don't sit there like that. It doesn't mean you still don't have work to do." And she winked at me.

One afternoon Sharon, the Executive Director, summoned me to her office. (And yes I do mean summoned--that is how much I respect this woman.) I walked across the parking lot, up the stairs, and entered her office. She wasn't alone. Nope--there sat Sue Speed. You know what it feels like to go to the Principal's office? Well, I do and that's exactly how I felt. They were ingratiatingly nice. I'm not really sure who started the conversation or how it went but the bottom line was, "We want you to be the next chair of the CLCM board." I could say nothing. I knew I didn't have the skills to do the job. I had no non-profit or business experience. My husband lovingly would say, "If you know more than anyone in the room about finances, it's not good." (Seriously no hate on him--he's right and I've proved it over and over) Then Sue said, "Remember when I said I knew who you were?." I nodded. "What I knew," she continued "was that you have a fire in your belly for injustice and for making things right. Sharon suggested this to me and I'm full-on supportive." Who says no to Sue Speed? That was in 2014--and here I still am.

I'm proud of what we have all done together. On the day we held our first fundraising event ever--a walk through Central Park, Sue met my husband. "So you're Katherine's husband. You're pretty lucky." she said and he nodded, she continued, "But sometimes she's a real pain in the ass." And he nodded. Then she hugged me and I knew I belonged to her.

I also had the honor of her recommending me to the board of Family Health Centers (I love this board!) where I also still serve always knowing she is the reason I am where I am serving on the boards I am because an incredible woman believed in me.

The day Sue died I said to her daughter, "Not only was Sue an incredible woman. She made other women incredible." I strive to be one of those women. I love you Sue. I miss you already. I am better because of you. Thank you. Thank you for sharing your passion, your spirit, thank you for helping me grow into my ministry and for making sure I knew I wasn't a fraud. Oh, and by the way, I was a pain in your ass, and you were a pain in mine--because I just wanted to make you proud.


This is Sue. She's incredible. Read more about her here




*Central Louisville Community Ministries, formerly Help Ministries of Central Louisville, is one of the oldest community ministries in the city of Louisville. It was created in 1968 by ministers in the downtown area who wanted to respond in a structured way to the requests for help that came to churches. CLCM strives to give direct and personal assistance to residents of the central Louisville community who are in need; to provide a place where residents feel welcome and can receive referrals and short term emergency assistance; to advocate on behalf of clients for the improvement of the quality of assistance from providers of public and private services; to create and implement programs that build a sense of community among clients, churches, businesses, and the public and private social sectors; and to provide opportunities to fulfill their urban missions by combining their resources, both financial and human.

Mama, whose your favorite? God, whose yours?

Probably not my best parenting but....

Very early in my parenting, I would sometimes (possibly more like oftentimes), respond to my children with, "That's why your/he's/she's my favorite." Usually, it was in response to silly things like someone bringing me something I dropped or being the first to respond to a text or pumping my gas (notice I did not say paying for my gas) or choosing to sit by me. It was all in fun.

Over the years these offspring of mine joined in on the fun usually when others were around, "No really, Mama tell us who the favorite is." or "I'm really the favorite, aren't I." It really has been a joke or mostly a joke. Over the last couple of weeks, I've been a little bothered by it. I don't want them to think I have a favorite. I love them all like crazy, but here's the absolute God awful truth that I know with as much certainty as I know my heart is beating right now. There are times I do have a favorite.

Hold on, hold on--let me explain. I think when they're talking about "favorite" they're not saying who do I love more, I think they know I love them all. I think they're asking or referring to, who gets away with more, who gets more attention, who gets to slide by, who do I spend the most energy on. And if that's the case, I do have favorites--who that is just changes.

Here's the bottom line, my "favorite" is the one who is going through something--something positive or negative--and I have no control.   To be blunt, my "favorite" is whomever I am most afraid of losing.

What is that losing? Well, it's both good and bad--the loss when one starts closing their bedroom door and spending more time up there, the loss when one starts pouring his/her heart into a journal instead of into my ears, the loss when one leaves for college, or his/her own apartment. Yes, those times I "invest" more--I try to make sure I'm available, understanding, receptive, and generous (if you want to read that as manipulative or bribing, you could probably make a good case...). And then there are other darker times...the times I feared I would lose one to asthma, depression, an eating disorder, intense disagreement, or addiction. To be completely direct and honest, someone became my favorite when I was filled with terror he or she was going to die. When I feared I was either going to be cut off from my child or I was going to be sitting in a church burying him or her, that one became my favorite.

As I walked on the beach this morning waiting for this tropical storm to arrive, I thought a lot about this. Maybe it's oversimplifying this, but my favorite became whomever I believed needed me most--whether they agreed or not. Suddenly Jesus's life and ministry became very real to me as did BLM.  God sent his Son to be incarnate because God loved THE WORLD.

But....

During Jesus's life and ministry with whom did he spend the most time? Jesus spent the most time with those on the margins--the poor, the widowed, the sick, the lonely--with the marginalized and those who were forgotten. Jesus spent the most time with those who needed him even when they didn't know it. Jesus spent the most time with those who were hurting in mind, body, and spirit. Jesus commanded, "If you want to be perfect, go sell your possessions and give to the poor" (Matthew 19:21) "For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in." (Matthew 25:35) "The spirit of the Lord is upon me because He has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of the sight for the blind, to release the oppressed." (Luke 4:18) and "But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind." (Luke 14:13) Jesus spent time with those who were lost to others, who were on a path of destruction in body, mind, or spirit, who were going to die.

Jesus never said, it's because you don't matter or they matter more. Jesus spent time and supported those who OTHERS said don't matter. Jesus never said, "I love this person more." Jesus loved the whole world but made sure those who OTHERS said weren't lovable or worthy knew they were. And how did he does this? He showed up. Jesus showed up with the poor, the hungry, the outsider, the oppressed, and those in danger.

So yes, I guess I did and do at times have a favorite, but that's only if you're using my definition. And like it or not, God does too--but you know what else? God calls us to do the same.