I’m not very good at receiving things. Presents I’m ok with, compliments and praise way less, and when it comes to criticism or help we’re into dangerous territory. I’ve been pondering receiving a lot lately and it struck me that generations past would have talked of having a reception room within the house and of receiving guests. It’s language that we have somewhat lost and I think to our detriment. Our changes in language belay a change in culture and in heart posture. For many of us we no longer see people as important and significant by the virtue of being human and therefore worth receiving, we see people as commodities to be used and “squeezed out”, useful so long as they add value to our lives or more commonly we see people as intrusions into our well laid out, well manged lives, that need to be moved on as quickly as possible. The “poor” often seem fully squeezed out before they cross our paths. They have already been told time and time again by the world around them that they are nothing more than a problem, a burden an unwanted and unneeded intrusion into the cut and thrust competition of life. It’s often been a long time since anyone received them and what they carry.

“We will never believe we have anything to give unless there is someone who is able to receive. Indeed, we discover our gifts in the eyes of the receiver.”
Henri Nouwen

The more time I spend around the vulnerable and marginalised, the displaced and the disregarded the more desperate I am to condition my heart to receive people as the gift that they truly are. I’m always embarrassed to say that 10 years ago we set out, I set out, to try and fix people. To see the ills in the world around me and come up with plans and projects to fix them. I, with arrogance, believed that I had the solutions and the means to apply them and all I needed was access to the broken lives around me. The journey from fixer to receiver is slow and most definitely not linear. On my better days I can slow my impulses to fix, still my mind that races to the possibilities and simply sit with the person in front of me, listen and receive that treasure of the story that they would trust me with. My better days are few and far between.

I have been heart broken by the stories of abuse, suspicion and hatred thrown by our city at those who seek refuge here. I’ve also seen the unequalled power of a community that receives “the other” well. I’ve sat with countless asylum seekers, having journeyed half way round the world in search of safety and a chance at life. Sat as they’ve needed everything to begin to build a home and yet the biggest impact comes when they are received as equals. When they hear in our words and see on the lines in our faces that we’re glad they now call our city theirs. I’ve seen the power of an addict, using again, not treated as a failure but received as a friend. Received as a fellow, broken son or daughter of the King in need or mercy and grace, still with something unique to bring to the table. When we train our hearts to receive others and what they carry, we taste the abundant life Jesus offered.

Receiving doesn’t come easy for me. I’ve marvelled at how Jesus could receive the sinful women (as if any of us could remove that prefix from our names) who anointed his feet with perfume and tears. The disciples are indignant, the religious leaders are indignant, if I allow myself to engage honestly I’m indignant too, but why? Yes, extravagant worship always offends the religious mindset but I think for me it’s how Jesus receives her that offends me. It offends me because I know I couldn’t do it. I know I’m not Jesus and no one should be worshiping me with perfume and tears, I haven’t gone off the deep end, but why do I find even receiving a little help so painful? Why does a compliment make me squirm on the inside? I am insecure. I think. Somewhere inside I still believe there’s a standard I’m trying to reach, a god standing in judgement over my performance, an approval to be earned and a ranking system to try to climb. If all of life is a competition for my father’s approval how can I possibly receive you and your help. I need to do the helping! I need to be the strong one, the fixer and with deep irony my fixing attempts brake me and those around me even more.

The truth. I am secure in my father’s love. I have nothing to prove and nothing to earn. I did not get here by performance, I have been rescued, I have been received, I am home. When I live from his story I am free to receive, free to embrace the other. What would it look like to recover the lost art of reception, to posture hearts and arms and schedules to be open to embrace whoever crosses our paths? What incredible gifts might we unexpectantly unlock in the seemingly disempowered of our city? What kind of community might we create if broken people were received? Receiving is not easy, it is not passive but it is not the same thing as taking. I fear my heart requires much tending to be the kind of heart that can receive those God would trust me with.

Photo by Shaun Bell on Unsplash