Practicing Vulnerability in an Unsafe World

Walls, in and of themselves, are cold, impersonal, unfeeling, devoid of life and love and connection. They are easily constructed once you figure out what you are doing, and can be placed anywhere you want. They keep people out and define “your space” from “my space” and “their space.” They create boundaries, which make definition easier and safety more certain.

It is no wonder we like them so much.

I don’t know that anyone could or would tell you they exist in a state of perfect safety in this life. Even if everything was certain and safe around them, they will still never escape death, which comes to take everything they’ve ever known with their five senses from them.

And so we build walls. We erect houses that define our place, and walls within that house to delineate what happens in certain spaces in the house. We put up fences around our property in order to let others know what we own, and, the hope is, to keep them out unless we grant them permission to enter. We build walls and boundaries around everything; cities, states, nations, you name it. And when your space encroaches upon my space in a destructive way, or simply in a way that I do not approve of, I raise my voice and let it be known that I will not tolerate your encroachment.

And so we have insulated ourselves from all unwanted human contact by putting walls between nations and devices between faces and distance between touch and...

These walls are merely outward manifestations, however, of our internal reality. They follow our hearts lead, which has never dwelt in perfect safety and therefore has constructed walls around itself as well. Defense mechanisms of sarcasm or indifference. Offensive measures such as slander and abusive language. These point to the fact that our hearts are walled, and as we strip all of these outward manifestations away, we find that, at our core, we have believed that we are unsafe.

What a tender and frail confession: “I am unsafe.” What great fear revealed and poked, feeling like a nerve in a tooth uncovered, un-numbed, and debilitating in it’s pain. What violation, looking in the eye what we have spent so long avoiding, hiding, and, quite frankly, abusing as we shoved it into the dark corners in our hearts. What solace, knowing I am not the only one who walks around feeling unsafe sometimes. Rarely. Constantly.

Maybe we don’t need to blame each other for our unsafety anymore. For while it is by human lips and bodies we are wounded and affirmed in our unsafe existence, it comes from humans who are also operating out of their lack of safety. They are just as scared of you as you are of them.

And it is here the invitation comes to us. The invitation to vulnerability.

We can rip the walls down. We can expose the nerves. We can own the fear. And we can do so with others who are doing the same.

Tragically, when thinking of where they might dwell in vulnerability with these other people, most do not think automatically and confidently of the church. Shame on us.

What was Christ if not the tearing of the veil between man and God and man and each other, achieved by the vulnerability it took to hang upon the cross naked and broken? What was Jesus if not the raw exposed nerve of heaven’s heart, given freely and openly to a world which would abuse it unceasingly? Who is God if not the perfect, compassionate Father who has loved his creation tenderly and sweetly, open-heartedly even, only to be taken advantage of, squeezed for all he’s worth, and perpetually abandoned at the wedding altar of his covenant faithfulness to us?

There is no excuse. Followers of Christ, if truly identified with the life of heaven, regularly choose vulnerability. They choose to be unsafe in a dangerous world. To be selfless in a selfish generation. To be an open space in a world of walls.

What a joy to know that our Father’s attention never wavers and his power cannot be overcome, so that when he daily leads us in green and spacious pastures we may dwell in perfect safety.