The Nail in My Pocket

I'm carrying a nail in my pocket.

We have several dozen nails sitting up by our baptismal font at church. We've been invited to take one and carry it around for the duration of Lent, symbolically living our own struggle and pain and sorrow into it. On Good Friday, we will be pounding these nails into a board, nailing our suffering to the Cross; later, these same nails will be incorporated into our new building addition.

I've decided that I want to carry my nail, not only for myself, but also on behalf of all the walking wounded who have in some way been kicked in the teeth by the Church -- who have been rejected...excluded...patronized...unloved. Perhaps in one of those "big issue" ways that get Church folks all riled up. Perhaps in personal, individual, but equally painful ways. People who may in their heart of hearts be absolutely in love with Jesus Christ, but who feel the need to be protected from Christ's self-proclaimed representatives and followers; who feel as if they are always going to be left standing outside the church door.

If any of you are reading this: My Lenten nail is also for you. I want to carry it for you. On Good Friday I want to pound the hell out of it for you. And know that, someday, our new sanctuary is going to hold, right in its very bones, in that nail, your story. My Church is your Church too.