How to Be a Christian (Step One: Be Human)

Inspired by The Fray's "How to Save a Life" and Jesus's wonderful Beatitudes! I have a hunch that when we get “How to be a Christian” right, we will also get “How to save a life” right as well.

Inspired by the Beatitudes and The Fray’s “How to Save a Life”

Several years ago I went on an extremely deep and rather unhealthy binge marathon wherein I watched all 20 seasons of Grey’s Anatomy. It took several months but I got through them all! While watching those I was reintroduced to this song by The Fray called “How to Save a Life.” You can listen to it here. It’s sad. It’s about a mentor who tries to help a troubled youth but fails and the young man dies.

The song morbidly runs on repeat in my head from time to time. It recently made another appearance and I got all weird and sweaty and sad as I sang the lyrics. It came as I was thinking about a number of very difficult realities that exist in our country today — ICE raids, lack of healthcare access, the blurred lines of what it means to be follow and love Jesus and how that has and has not translated into our American political system.

What in the world does it mean to be a Christian today? I considered as I sat in silence. What does it mean to be Christian? How in the world can we be Christians today?

And this is why I am writing this post. The melancholy of “How to Save a Life” seems to reflect onto what the landscape looks like today — people are sad and dying and hurting and needing help.

How, then, do we be Christians who can be part of the saving mission of Jesus?

Step One: Be Human.

The haunting refrain of“How to Save a Life” is on repeat:“Where did I go wrong?” Where have we gone so wrong in what it looks like to be Christian?

Many Christians have tried to save the world with sermons and slogans and with certainty and systems. But somewhere along the way, we lost sight of what Jesus actually said.

If I could write a manual called How to Be a Christian, I think it would start here: with Jesus sitting on a hillside, surrounded by tired, poor, broken people, saying the most upside-down things anyone had ever heard.

He would not say, “Blessed are the powerful,” or “Blessed are the ones who get it right.” He would say what he said thousands of years ago: “Blessed are the poor in spirit.” “Blessed are those who mourn.”

These words that Jesus spoke are called The Beatitudes and they are wonderful! In Matthew 5: 3-11 we can read them:

He said:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn,
for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek,
for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful,
for they will be shown mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers,
for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

“Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you and falsely say all kinds of evil against you because of me.

It was — and is — a theology of reversal: a message that flipped the world’s hierarchies on their heads. In the kingdom of God, the first are last, the weak are strong, the meek inherit the earth. Everything we’re taught to chase — status, success, certainty — gets turned inside out. And that reversal wasn’t just poetic; it was political, spiritual, and deeply human.

It’s still what makes the gospel so scandalous and wonderful today.

But what might those blessings sound like now? Would Jesus update them? Probably not! But maybe he would put a few asterisks in. Below are my attempts at what those might be as we face all that we face today.

Blessed are the burned-out.

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” — Matthew 11:28

This is for the ones with too many tabs open — literal and emotional. These are the ones juggling care for aging parents, impossible workloads, anxious teenagers, and the endless call to “do more.” We’re a culture addicted to productivity, even in our faith. We turn spiritual practices into checklists and Sabbath into a performance review.

But maybe holiness looks less like striving and more like stopping and listening to Jesus as he says to you, “You, my dear, are enough. You are loved right here.”

Mother Teresa understood that paradox. She served amid the noise and need of Calcutta but clung to a radical simplicity, saying,

“If you want to change the world, go home and love your family.”

Her words were not a call to withdraw, but a reminder that the kingdom begins in ordinary acts of love — a meal made, a patient word, and amoment of rest that makes mercy possible.

Blessed are the doubters.

“Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.” — Mark 9:24

Faith has never been about certainty; it’s about trust! And trust often grows best in the dark.

Blessed are you if you can’t pray right now and you whisper “I don’t know anymore” into the ceiling. I have those days where I just sit, stoney-faced, with more more than a “Lord, have mercy.”

Blessed are you for keeping showing up to communion with questions clutched in your hands like bread.

When the Apostle Thomas asked to touch the wounds of Christ, Jesus didn’t shame him. He invited him closer! The Church could use more of that — more curiosity and less condemnation. More humility about what we don’t know and more love for those still trying to believe after everything has fallen apart.

Blessed are those who mourn.

“Jesus wept.” — John 11:35

Grief is everywhere these days. We grieve people we’ve lost and people we’ve become. We grieve fractured families and disillusioned churches and the constant drum of violence. Every week brings a new pain in our culture — a mass shooting, another scandal, another story of power abused in the name of God.

But maybe your tears are holy. Sorry, I should say your tears ARE holy. If you still feel sorrow, that is the truest sign that love hasn’t given up yet.

Grief keeps us human — and sometimes allowing sadness is the best answer to the pains we are feeling.

Blessed are the peacemakers.

“Wisdom from above is peaceable, gentle, willing to yield.” — James 3:17

It’s not easy to be gentle in an age of megaphones. Social media rewards rage and outrage is its own economy. We confuse being loud with being right and conflict with conviction. How hard it is to not yell and engage in anger — even righteous anger.

But Jesus called peacemakers the “children of God” — not peacekeepers, not avoidance artists, but those who walk into conflict with love still intact. Peacemaking is slow and unimpressive work; it often looks like listening long after others have walked away. It’s really hard and arduous work, and also part of what it means to be human and to be a Christian in our world today.

Blessed are the misfits.

“Go out quickly into the streets and alleys … and bring in the poor, the crippled, the blind, and the lame.” — Luke 14:21

Too many Christians have labeled too many people ‘misfits’ today. These misfits are the ones who never fit the mold: the woman who still loves Jesus but doesn’t know if she can stomach church anymore. The gay Christian who sits in the back pew wondering if there’s room at the table. The introvert, the artist, the skeptic, and the stay-at-home parent who feels invisible.

Jesus built the kingdom out of misfits — fishermen, tax collectors, zealots, and doubters. I love those on the fringes! This has not always been, but as I’ve gotten older I realize that God’s greatest work happens in all these incredible places where no one is looking.

In the fourth century, St. Benedict wrote his Rule for communities that welcomed anyone who knocked. “All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ,” he commanded. That simple line was revolutionary. In a world divided by class and tribe, Benedict imagined a table big enough for the world. His monasteries became safe havens for pilgrims and refugees — living parables of belonging.

To welcome the outsider was not about sentimentality — it was a sacrament. Every time we open our doors to someone who doesn’t look or believe like us, we echo that ancient hospitality. We walk in a long line of Jesus lovers who embrace because we have been embraced.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for justice.

“Let justice roll down like waters.” — Amos 5:24

Did you know that in the not too recent past I started working with Christians for Social Action? I love it! It’s an organization that is committed to addressing very difficult issues of justice.

I think a lot of us are tired of injustice.

We are tired of hearing about another immigration crisis, another raid, another system failing the people it was meant to protect.

But blessed are you if you refuse to look away. Blessed are the teachers advocating for their students, the nurses speaking up for their patients, and the pastors making space for lament instead of cheap hope.

Justice is holy work. It’s not glamorous work — in fact, it’s often unseen and misunderstood — but it is kingdom work.

Blessed are the ones who still hope.

“Hope does not disappoint us.” — Romans 5:5

Hear this: Hope is not naïve. It’s not denial.

Hope is a decision to keep planting seeds even when the soil looks dead. It’s the teacher writing one more lesson, the parent making one more meal, the volunteer rebuilding one more home.

Hope is what makes resurrection possible — because it keeps love alive long enough for morning to come.

Blessed are those who start again.

“His mercies are new every morning.” — Lamentations 3:22-23

You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to begin again — today, and tomorrow, and the day after that. Every prayer and act of kindness and moment you choose compassion over cynicism is resurrection work.

Maybe how to be a Christian isn’t about climbing a ladder of righteousness at all! Maybe it’s about coming down — into the dust and the questions and the ache — and finding God already there.

Step One: Be Human

We can’t save every hurting person. We can’t stop every injustice. We weren’t meant to. We aren’t God. I don’t want any of us to wonder “Where did I go wrong?” I want all of us to say that each day we do what we can to help our world — we take that first step in being a Christian: we remember what it means to be human.

We acknowledge when we doubt and are burned out and sad. We look to see where peace can be, where people need love, and where wrongs need to be made right. And we keep going, over and over and over again.

I have a hunch that when we get “How to be a Christian” right, we will also get “How to save a life” right as well.

I hope this rambling post encouraged you.

Feel it all, friends, and then go out and do little good things to save a life.

God is with you in each little thing you do.

I love you.

❤️ Laurie