One of the crowning achievements of my elementary years was. . . let’s see if you can guess.
What has an orange belt, shiny badge and carries around the least official of official pieces of paper?
Yep, a cocky, pint-sized school patrol.
I absolutely loved being on the Patrol. Back in the olden days “when we watched TV by candlelight” (Mom-ism,) the school patrol team did so much more than open doors for car riders exiting their minivans.
We had real power.
Every day right around when the school bell would go off, I’d throw on the sash that told everyone I was the freaking law and position myself as the peacekeeper for hundreds of kids as they ran, pushed and yelled their way through the halls. Their mistake would be to assume that I couldn’t back up my warnings of, “Slow down!” or, “Stop pushing!” because I sure as heck did. Out came my booklet and they would be written up, right then and there. Oh, and don’t even think about being late. I had tardy slips too. As long as I displayed my “belt of truth” my schoolmates understood who I was and what I represented.
As I got older and more advanced, so did my tools. I traded in the patrol belt for a walkie talkie, clip board and a jingly mass of keys when I took a job at Wet-n-Wild. It was undeniable; all of the half-clothed pool-goers felt my dominion. I can’t lie—I loved it.
Which seems to me to just be kind of a human thing. We like badges.
The more formal ones we save for the workplace: name tags, ID cards, aprons, different color scrubs. These help legitimize our interactions with people as bosses, teachers, specialists, etc. (Just like wearing my patrol badge did for me. Without it I was just a rule-conscious zealot who yelled at other kids for funsies.)
The more informal ones, we throw on everyday: power suit, sports apparel, yoga pants and spit up stained shirts, distressed jeans and beanies, khakis and polos, etc. These—sometimes intentionally and sometimes not—communicate to the people around us. “I am an important business person. Don’t waste my time.” “Ohio State is number one! In your face!” “Don’t judge me! I am a stay home mom with three kids under five. What do you do?”
When we intentionally put on these kinds of badges it’s because we feel we have earned it—or the regard it implicitly demands. A superfan has cheered for their team, win or lose, for years. A CEO or account manager has sacrificed countless hours working and reworking deals. A stay-at-home parent has laid down the vast majority of their own life and identity to assure that their children are cared for. All of the hours spent studying. All of the years spent caring. All of the dreams achieved. All of this backstory grants us the right for the actual wearing of the belt. Just like me in school. Years of good behavior and good grades deemed me worthy to represent the school to the other kids. And I was proud of that. And so should anyone else who has done the things to get their badge/belt ensemble.
I have noticed though a (possibly new?) trend in invisible accessories: shame.
Some have earned it through repetitious poor decision making and others have had it forced on them. Either way, shame seems to have become the token belt of untruth and brokenness has become this season’s most desirable badge.
Although I am mostly sure that no one sits and plans their life around getting a degree in hurt, it’s the most popular M.O. of our culture—especially “Christian” subculture. Years of mental, emotional, physical and spiritual abuse are being gathered by many of us, giving us the authority to flash a big badge of brokenness and render a violation ticket to anyone who might get too close. We patrol our own hearts screaming, “Slow Down!” and, “Stop pushing.”
And unlike our school ID or work name tag, we keep it on day and night. Shame will not suffer being tossed aside lightly. It might allow itself to be masked over for a time, but it knows it will eventually be “proudly” worn again.
So here’s my quick point:
Understanding we are in a place of brokenness and declaring that we are broken are two wonderfully different things.
When we start to understand our mangled helplessness and invite Jesus (the Unbroken One) into our life, something wild happens.
Something wonderful.
Redemption.
The very core of who we are changes. And everything enveloping that core starts to follow.
Redemption is the English translation of the Greek word agorazo, meaning to purchase in the marketplace. In ancient times it is often referred to the act of buying a slave. It carried the connotation of freeing someone from chains, prison or slavery.
In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace. Ephesians 1:7
If you’ve invited Jesus to reclaim your life with His kingdom, you have a new belt and badge.
This isn’t something you had to earn and it’s not something you have to actively remain worthy of by doing the “right” things. Education, upbringing, looks—all have no factor. Conversely, abuse, pain and hurt do not disqualify you.
Our badge is Christ’s, taken directly off His chest and pinned onto ours. And our belt is this:
We are forgiven.
We are loved by God.
(We are liked by God.)
We are wanted by God.
We are each exactly what He created. Not a mistake.
And we are free—with our freedom guarded by the Unbroken One.
Which leads to this small side thought: Because our badge and belt are issued by the Highest Authority, we can issue tickets to our Enemy all day long (notice the singular Enemy, as people who hurt us are not the ultimate adversary.) You can tell the Prince of Nothingness to stop running amuck in your mind. Tell him to take his badges of unworthiness back to hell. Tell him that his attempts to reclaim you are bogus.
We are not what we do.
We are not what others say we are.
We are not what we feel.
We are not what has been done to us.
We are redeemed.
