MichelleWegner

A few days ago I posted about the #metoo movement on social media. I have had many, many people come to me saying other people are saying I was specifically implying Westside family church and members of its staff had sexually harassed me. I absolutely was not in any way implying such a thing, and am shocked and horrified.

My original statement read,

“The churches and church culture I have been a part of my whole life are not immune to sexual harassment. I found walls & fortresses protecting the institution, not its people, Insurmountable for women like me. #metoo‬.”

I followed up that statement with these words-

“So, the counter balance to my #metoo post—I wholeheartedly believe there are way more good guys than bad guys. Grateful to know more than a few.”

The purpose of my statement was to raise awareness that the issue of sexual harassment is inside the church walls, as well as outside, because people are people wherever you go. It’s human nature. It’s unacceptable behavior that needs to stop.

The facts of what happened to me, and again, I am an extremely private person and it is painful but necessary to share this information-

-Yes, I have experienced sexual harassment at Westside. It in no way involved any staff member. It was from a person repeatedly making verbal unwarranted and unwanted gross suggestions. He thought he was funny. I thought so for about 2 seconds the first time it happened, then not so much the second, third, forth…

Yes, my husband is aware. Rob and I have an extremely deep and close relationship. He is my soulmate, and at times feels like the other half of my soul. We have taken appropriate measures. We both agree no further action needs to be taken in regards to this individual

The last church I was a part of, yes, it happened there too. Not just to me, but many, many of my friends. Those stories are theirs to tell.

Sexual harassment is present in every facet of our shared humanity. Online porn fuels the fire and normalizes inappropriate behavior. It absolutely does not shock me when it happens, but it most certainly does sadden me.

Speak up. Men, women, transgender friends…SPEAK UP for yourselves. You matter. Your story matters. You are beautiful and loved and good and noble and true. You are God the Father’s best idea. You are his Beloved child.

You are not alone. Never, ever. #metoo.

Morning Prayer among the Sunflowers

All was dark, 

then a sliver of light, 

then all things golden, 

and fully alive

Golden light in buckets 

Pouring down from heaven

Healing rain. 

Healing rain

Of light 

And joy

Leonard Cohen died this week.

And Donald Trump became our president.

The whole world is in a state of bafflement and shock. The sadness clinging to the walls of our hearts is echoed by Leonard Cohen’s Hallelujah. The words of love offered with brokenness, our words. Our HallelujahThe broken Hallelujah of the united states of America. The states of our hearts. Our minds. Our souls.

We see your flag on the marble arch. Love is not a victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah.

And can that be our “Amen” as a nation? The end of the petty arguments, violence, hatred, KKK, Nazi sign painting ?

Our victory march is love. There is no other way. It can be imperfect, because WE are imperfect. But we offer what we can, the broken pieces of who we are. Because We are all a little broken, and that’s how the light gets in.

~Leonard Cohen

As another poet said a few decades ago, “The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls”.

Listen

Every now and then I think back to the day Rob and I walked through Auschwitz in Poland. I will never forget the feeling as we drove into the dreaded town. At one point the road is parallel with several sets of railroad tracks, many of them leading directly into the former concentration camp. I had read countless stories of people that had lived and died in that place. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined myself walking through it myself.

Strange as it may sound, we had Maddie and Whitney with us, who were 4 and 2 at the time. We were traveling with a mission team to Slovakia, so one of the members that lived in Slovakia agreed to occupy the girls while we toured the museum side of the grounds.

At one point, we were able to walk around with the girls through the barracks. They had no idea where we were or what we were doing. I am certain they are not scarred from the experience. I had to go change Whitney’s diaper, and when I came back, our group had moved on. I was alone. In Auschwitz. Not a soul to be seen. I dare say it was one of the eeriest moments of my entire life.

Barracks surrounded me on either side. The tree branches were bare against the blue winter sky, and I could hear birds softly chirping. Beyond that, I could hear whispers and screams and shouts of the innocent victims suffering and dying in ages past around me. I know that sounds creepy, and very Ghost-Hunter-ish. I’m not talking about ghosts. I’m talking about memories that are so real that they are alive in the air and etched into every inch of that place. It was a moment God knew about before I was born, and one he had prepared me for my whole life.

I am forever changed because of those few moments alone at Auschwitz.

Today I am reminded on this Veteran’s Day of the men and women that died to set those people free. I am so honored to live in a country that believes in freedom and values life so much that we are willing to lay our lives down so others can know what it is to be free. I am thankful for our nation, and every nation on earth that lives to set others free.

What if Martin Luther King Jr. Had a Dream, came off of the Mountaintop
And went home?
What if he caved to the pressure of self doubt
And journaled his thoughts instead in some quiet quaint safe place, smiled deeply, closed the front cover, put down his pen, and tucked his journal neatly in his bottom left drawer under some papers?

What if Martin Luther King Jr. stayed away from crowds because of the noise and lounged long evenings on his chair in front of the television, his dream kicking up air somewhere in the back of his mind, but settling there as he drifted off to sleep?

What if he knew he was right, but was just too tired to try fighting Goliath?

The horizon of passion kindled in his blood when he said yes to every dream. His vision grew clearer, the passion brighter, his following stronger.

*Unbury your journal. Wipe the sleep from your eyes and worry from your quivering chin. Dream again. I dare you.