Who Can You Trust

With all the controversial subjects that have been cropping up on the social circles, I've been forced to consider political perspectives, which, as a general rule, I do my best to avoid. I've found that in many cases I can safely stay off of those subjects, because they aren't my business. But the problems in that reasoning arise when those issues start to directly conflict with my convictions in faith.

I could think, talk, and write myself into circles when discussing the various pros and cons of each side of those issues. There are valid reasons why they're controversial, even among Christians, who should ideally be like-minded about the approach to life and all things in it. However, my thoughts now are not about controversy.

As I've gone out and listened to the host of opinions, many of which come from the lips of trusted peers and mentors, I've returned from my mental and moral pilgrimage exhausted, and in some ways more confused than when I began searching for truthful insight. I know that, being human, every person will inevitably have flaws in their thinking. But for something as divisive as the big issues discussed at present, I'd hoped that with biblical perspectives, at least the true followers of Christ would arrive at the same conclusions. However, the only thing I've conclusively learned from my experience is that the situation is never as simple as we'd like it to be.

All politics aside, I think that God is using this experience to reveal to me a more important truth: the complete extent to which I should be trusting Him. It forces me to acknowledge the inherent flaws in humanity that result in uncertainty as to what we should do in any given situation. That uncertainty necessitates constant communion with God through prayer and Bible study, because He alone has the true perspective on reality. Therefore, He alone always knows what's right.

This comes as an answer to prayer. I have, for a while now, been meditating on and praying about my difficulty in approaching all circumstances with prayer and entrusting everything to God. In His time and His way, He is revealing to me the utter importance of taking the things of this world, even the limited understanding of my fellow Christians, with a grain of salt and leaning fully on Him.

Lost in Thoughts

I often go back and read over things I've written before, just to review. It helps me to process my thoughts a bit further than the initial notions with a fresh perspective, or to encourage me when I feel down.

As I look back on my study notes, ideas, and previous posts, I often find things that seem radical, and perhaps even unbiblical. Subsequently, I often question how accurate they are and how much truth they actually contain. I do this because in fact, much of it isn't pulled directly from the Bible, but rather is conjecture based on logic and reason. The rationale behind these ideas is centered around a couple of key theological principles; things I know to be true of God.

One is that He is both omnipotent and omniscient. He is literally boundless. Our minds can't even begin to fathom His sheer infinity. This alone is a paralyzing truth if dwelt on. I could, and often do, think myself into circles about the things of God that actually can't make sense to my mind, just because I'm too small. Things like the purpose and effectiveness of prayer, God's interaction with the world and our lives, and predestination versus free choice. These ideas spend a lot of time fueling my thoughts, and often perplexing them as my relationship with Him grows. That thinking is comforting, in the sense that I know He's greater than I can fathom, and therefore able to observe all situational factors and interact in whatever way is truly best. However, it can also be frustrating for me, as at the end of it, there's so much that I still don't understand.

That leads to the other principle: the extent to which His grace abounds, which is also too vast for us to know. Ultimately, our sole responsibility as Christians is to put our faith in Him. From that, His grace covers truly everything. The damage of all wrongs, doubts, and misunderstandings is effectively neutered by it, for as long as we're His. And again, as He alone is all-knowing, He alone knows our true relationship to Himself, and therefore who's truly faithful.

Anchoring my thoughts to these principles allows me to draw up conclusions that simply stand to reason because I know who God is, even without finding a specific verse or passage that's relevant (although sometimes I find some anyway). However, imperfect as I am, I'm sure this often puts some muddled ideas and warped perspectives of the truth into my mind.

I have no doubt that any such instances that are of importance will be adequately clarified in due time. How God decides to reveal that truth to me will vary, whether it's by a humbling correction from a peer or mentor, a convicting passage that directly challenges my thoughts, or a different means altogether.

However, in the meantime, I think my cognitive flaws fall into the category of things that are covered by grace. God knows that I'm seeking Him, and by extension, that I'm seeking the truth. In essence, He knows both my imperfection and my faith, and those two characteristics in us are the very reason that grace is both needed and extended, respectively. Therefore, when I write, or even think, I lean heavily on that grace, trusting that even if I misunderstand, God has me covered.

Routine

I've taken an unconventional approach to lifestyle with regard to worship lately. In fact, I sort of always have, at least within the confines of my life as aimed toward God's glory. To elaborate, some might look at some of my activities, or often inactivities, and think to themselves that I'm living a lifestyle that isn't faithful to Christ. And for most of my life thus far, I might have agreed with that notion.

Having grown up for about half my life in the Catholic church, I've been exposed to a lot of their traditions. And while my family and I were never particularly devout about many of those traditions, that limited perception was just enough to puzzle me. I never understood the purpose of any of it. It was what I would nowadays consider religious, which, as I've indicated before, isn't really a compliment.

When I was a child, church was merely something we attended once a week. And it was every week; skipping it just wasn't something we did. And each week it was effectively the same. The same agenda, the same prayers, generally the same songs, and what sounded to me like the same sermon, week after week. We observed the seven sacraments, I had prayers and creeds memorized to recite collectively with the congregation, and I survived each mass by counting the routine landmarks I'd learned to recognize over the years. None of it made any sense to me, and I was positively euthanized by it. The only thing I recall lending any distinction between weeks was that there would sometimes be doughnuts and hot chocolate in the pavilion afterwards, which might make the eternal hour-long session worthwhile.

When you do something monotonous for a long period of time, but never really understand why, there isn't a whole lot in it about which to be passionate. Needless to say, that whole experience was a complete turnoff for me with regard to religion in general.

What I didn't understand, either because I wasn't taught it or it just didn't sink in, was that Christianity is alive. It's, as I've said several times before, more a relationship than a religion. As such, it can't be just a set of rituals done solely on ceremony. If it means nothing to the person, it's blindly following other people, which isn't really any better than living a life without Christ.

Before I progress, I should clarify something: I don't believe there's anything inherently wrong with Catholicism. For some people, that may be the right path. But that's only because they understand the purpose behind those rituals, and that manifestation of faith resonates with them personally. In that case, it is the organic aspect of real faith that's required for a relationship with Christ. Theirs just looks different from mine, and that diversity is a beautiful thing.

In my walk, things might not look so conventional to the strict religious types. Certainly I have some rituals and traditions to which I generally adhere. I attend church services almost every Sunday and Bible studies fairly regularly, and I keep devotionals almost every day. But I don't think those things are what indicate a healthy spiritual life with God. That being the case, missing any of those things for a day or two, or even a span of time, isn't a sign of unfaithfulness. At least not in the relationship itself. It merely shows the natural waxing and waning of activities within the confines of that relationship.

Likewise, some activities, like watching a suggestive movie or TV show, reading a questionable book, or playing a tacky game, might make outsiders wonder how I could even call myself a Christian. Especially when coupled with my woefully human tendency to sin. And of course, I try to keep my more edgy activities fairly low-profile in comparison, not because I feel I need to hide them, but because they aren't what my life is truly about. Nevertheless, when used in moderation, common ground with those who don't know Jesus lends the ability to relate to them, which is a powerful ministry tool.

My point in all of this is that a standard life isn't something to which we're called. Falling into a habit or routine of simply following the rules and rituals is something I believe could be more insidious to our faith than would be outright doubt. And although there are some things that are undebatably and literally gospel truth, the relationship itself is unique to everyone, and is prone to ebb, flow, and ultimately change drastically as it grows.

The Truth Beneath the Rose

My recent lack of inspiration and subsequent reflection about my writing has caused me to do a lot of thinking. As I've stated before, I believe at least part of the purpose behind these doldrums is to essentially put my tools in their proper place: off of the altar. But this reflection has gotten me thinking about all the things that get more or less idolized in an effort to be true to faith.

There are a lot of things that Christians as a group tend to put on a pedestal as evidence of true faith and assurance of salvation. But the fact is, our salvation is ultimately between our individual selves and God. He's the only one that knows us completely and understands every motive within our hearts. So He knows that, being human, we have an uncanny knack for taking even the most godly of earthly things and selfishly turning them to serve our own will, regardless of our initial intentions.

The fact is, the stereotypical Christian activities are not necessarily evidence of faith. There's no quantity of pious religious observation, tithing, or kind acts that provide any assurance. There's no quality of holy living or theological understanding that will earn our way. Nor can any ministry, mission trip, or humanitarian cause. It ultimately doesn't matter how often we go to church, how loudly we sing, how high we raise our hands, or how many sermon notes we take. We're saved by God's grace alone, through the conduit of our faith in Christ. The rest is gravy.

Note that none of these things are inherently bad. On the contrary, each one of them, given proper context and proportion, can be a wonderful thing. In a healthy walk, most or all of them are likely to be present, each either as a tool which helps to develop true faith, or as an effect of it. In fact, for many of these things, absence from a Christian's life could be a cause for some concern regarding his or her faith. But when they become unbalanced on the opposite end and we put too much stress on them, we effectively worship them as idols as we put them before Christ.

The Valley

I haven't felt particularly inspired to write lately. That bothers me, because it's always so therapeutic to write things out. But recently it seems my thoughts have been mostly sporadic, lacking consistency and any real substance. This is disconcerting, because for the past several months I've been pretty prolific, and that's been personally satisfying.

As always, this sudden change has made me question what's wrong. Also as always, the last thought to occur to me is that nothing actually is, and this is a perfectly natural descent from a high.

So here I am in this inspirational valley, so to speak. And the timing, by the way, is perfect, because my daily Chambers devotionals have been addressing the subject of faith on mountains versus that in valleys a lot lately. The summary is that it's of the utmost importance to remain faithful in such times, because spiritual lows are the true test of our faith, rather than how spiritual we get during the highs.

During this particular low, I think it's important for me to consider the role of writing this blog; to sort of put it into perspective. It is, of course, the natural, sinful, human tendency to take innocuous things and idolize and worship them, turning them sour. The tool is only as good as its user, after all. And that's all this writing space is: a way for me to process my thinking, record my thoughts for future reference, and God willing, perhaps even help others with similar struggles.

But given the human nature, the moderate euphoria I get from composing a blog entry that I particularly like warps my perspective a little bit. I take pride in it. That eventually reaches a point when it's no longer a means to an end, but an end in and of itself. And that, of course, is wrong.

The valleys are meant to remove the things that are idolized. Perhaps not completely, perhaps not permanently, but enough to put them in their place and show us that we do still and always need Christ first and foremost. Everything else, no matter what great purpose it has served in the past, is ultimately expendable.

The Human Stain

As I go through life, doing my best to live as Christ wants me to live, it's my overthinking nature to subconsciously try to keep track of the ways in which I fail every day. The keyword is "try," because I quickly lose count. I've gotten better at not being too hard on myself for all of my wrongs and failures, but I often still think about them.

Apart from the quantity of my mistakes, I suppose I've gotten lost in it because I've lacked perspective on what constitutes sin. Growing up I'd assumed that it was limited to any time I did something bad. I get the feeling a lot of people have that misunderstanding. But Jesus made it clear that it's much more complicated than that. It's not limited to actions. Therefore, even a hypothetical person who never acts on sinful impulses is still a sinner.

It doesn't even stop even with thoughts and inclinations, though. I think that biblically, we exist in a state of total depravity. We are born into sin, and it dogs our every step in life. This is our sin nature, from which there is no escape in this world.

These thoughts remind me of a philosophy to which I was consciously exposed several years ago, but in fact has been ingrained subconsciously for the extent of my memory. That philosophy is that human beings are incapable of doing anything without selfish motives, and so everything we do is a means to some egocentric end. Ipso facto, we are sinful, regardless of all else.

This way of thinking aligns with the doctrine of total depravity. It's also why God sees even our good deeds as filthy rags; they aren't truly done for His glory, but for our selfish gain, no matter how badly we might wish it were otherwise. In that light, everything seems pretty hopeless, and it's been one of the hardest concepts for me personally to grasp.

But I think it's through the recognition of that hopelessness that our hearts seek a Savior. On our own, we can't live life for God's glory as we're meant to, because we are so selfish, and that's because we're sinful by nature. It's virtually impossible for us to glorify God. But through our Savior, Jesus Christ, the impossible is made possible, and so His blood sacrifice provides the means to live lives that can. In short, what sin complicated, He's made simple for us.

That's why followers of Christ aren't condemned for sin. Our efforts, even in failure, are lived out of the underlying desire of Christ within us, which is to do God's will. Even when there is an outright sin in action, we're still covered by His grace, because the misdeed is only a lost battle in a mortal war against the sinful nature. We are forgiven.

Just to be clear, I'm aware that that's by no means a justification to continue doing wrong. My point here is that we're shown not leniency, but grace.

All this confirms to me that without Christ, more encompassing than just any wrongdoing, our very existence itself is sinful. However, with Him, and through our faith in Him, our lives are purified to bring glory to God. Through this, our purpose in life is fulfilled.

Wiseman

I've been told by a few people that I have certain insights, which, it's implied, give me an understanding of Christianity, particularly the way we as Christians should be living. I often consider these thoughts to be flawed and largely incoherent, but I'm humbled by the assurances of some of my readers, whom I generally consider to be wiser than I am. I write these things out mainly to help myself process my meditations, but also with the hope that I'll be corrected in my thinking if need ever be. (Let the record show that there has been that need several times.)

All that said, even as I explore the deep things of God, like grace, faith, love, communion, et cetera, I've still most often felt that something is missing. And per the norm, the answer to that quandary is, and always has been, practically gift wrapped in front of me. Oops.

There's a heaviness I feel inside when I witness another follower of Christ living in the way I know He wants us to live. I realize now that that bitter feeling, usually mistaken for jealousy, is in truth a conviction on my heart of the life I'm not fully living in the way I ought to be living it.

One of my biggest struggles is the practical side of the knowledge I've been imparted. That is, while I know in my mind what's right, my juvenile heart tugs me selfishly in the opposite direction. And, undisciplined as I am, I cave to the easier course of action. I then proceed to live my life in denial of the harsh reality, largely without being consciously aware of it. The only indication, at that point, that there's something amiss is the unsettled feeling I get when convicted by something I can observe.

It's my hope that, with my recent recognition, God will continue His work in me through a grant of wisdom to put to practice the lessons I've learned through my studies and meditations.

Only Everything

One of the most intimidating aspects of faith to me has always been prayer. In the past, I've questioned its purpose, since God already knows what's on our hearts and minds. Furthermore, He knows what's needed, what He's going to do and allow, and ultimately, He doesn't change His mind, because His will is immutable. The only conclusion at which I could arrive is that prayer itself is entirely relational, like faith itself. More than anything else, it's an active acknowledgment of His place in our lives.

The thing that's been on my mind lately is what we should be praying about. The obvious answer is to pray about everything, at all times, and in every situation. God is always present, and He has His hand in everything, and so constant acknowledgment of that fact is something for which we should all be striving.

That's why it's silly to me, when any Christians gathered with a group, talking about prayer requests, might say they don't need prayer. God is good, life is good. There's nothing major, traumatizing, or otherwise stressful in our immediate future, and so we think we don't need to be prayed for. But that thought might be a gateway to something more insidious. We get comfortable in the blessings when things start looking up. But surely we all must know we won't always be comfortable like that. Thought of otherwise is delusional.

And yet, speaking personally, that comfort gets into my head and manifests itself as pride, and I start to internalize a sense of invincibility. Times like that, when I begin to look at my circumstances and think I'm on the up and up, I tend to become less inclined to pursue Christ, or at least do so with less fervor. I'll turn my eyes away from Him, instead focusing on my own pursuits, interests, and diversions. Those circumstances, then, become much more dangerous to my faith than would be any physical, financial, or social issues I might otherwise have.

This is why God allows us to wrestle with worldly struggles. Without them, it's too easy for us to take the credit for the blessings He's given us, at least in thought, if not in word and deed. I think this is also why it's so important to give praise and thanks to God during prosperous times, as well as praying for continued guidance through them. Not out of fear that misfortune will strike otherwise, as it may or may not regardless, but because God's rightful place is at the center of our lives, at all times and under all circumstances.

Trail of Broken Hearts

In the interest of being true to my commitment to keeping this blog real and candid, I feel like it's important to not overlook subjects that are considered taboo. For some reason, in my mind anyway, the idea of being unwillingly single is one such subject.

The truth is, it does spend a lot of time on my mind. I don't vocalize it as much as I have in the past, for reasons I'll have to save for another post, but it's definitely still there. And given as much time as I think about it, I'm often left trying to justify a desire for a romantic relationship with what's said about it in the Bible. However, being a relationship, similar to ours as Christians with God, there isn't really a hard and fast, universally applicable set of guidelines for how that's dealt with. At least not that can be verbalized simply.

On a more personally specific note, hand in hand with unwanted singleness is the concept of unrequited love. Of course, this is something we see in media pretty much everywhere. It's "romantic" and "tragic" and "beautiful," and all manner of other flowery descriptions of a great love story. But speaking from the perspective, all I can say about it is that it's painful. It's confusing, frustrating, and exhausting, and it feels unfair. That's all I'll say, because anyone reading this has probably experienced these feelings to some degree.

The thing I've been considering lately is why this sort of thing is permitted in our lives. The only conclusion I can draw is that it's here to bring us closer to God. He allows pain into our lives to bring us closer to Him. I've written before about the idea that our trials help to temper and shape us to be more Christ-like, and of course it says as much in the Bible. This, while unique in the sense that it's far more relational than other trials, is nonetheless permitted in our lives for that very purpose. In fact, I believe it does a better job in some respects than do most other trials.

The theology of human romance was first introduced to me when I was reading Hosea a while ago. I'd never known, before then, what the book itself was about, but I think it fairly nails what I'm getting at here. A basic synopsis of the first few chapters is that Hosea's wife is unfaithful to him, while he's faithful to her. The rest of the book relates that to God's relationship with His people. In short, they're like an unfaithful bride to Him.

While this is an extreme real-life example that dwarfs anything I've experienced by a wide margin, it does serve the purpose of getting me to think on those terms, which heavily affects the way I view relationship with God. In the truest sense, He's an unrequited lover. He's there to receive and love each person as His own, should they only turn to Him. I think He longs to pour out His blessings onto each of us, but too often we spurn Him repeatedly.

I doubt this is the entirety of lessons to be learned from this uncomfortable place in my life. But what I'm currently picking up from this situation is in the form of a firsthand account of a mere taste of this pain. It seems like He's giving me a faint glimpse of the way He's suffered since the fall of man (I know time means nothing to God, but bear with me). It's like He's telling me, "See? This is what it feels like when you put other things first, or just feel apathetic toward Me."

Since I have a history of such apathy, it's clear why such a lesson is necessary. My hope and prayer is that the sorrow I feel from this will further soften my heart, as my next step in walking ever closer to Him.

Heart Still Beats

I recall having a conversation a long time ago with a Christian I hold in some regard. I don't remember what brought it up, but we were talking about the Holocaust, specifically Hitler's role in it. More specifically, I remember the conclusion of that conversation, and it involved this person saying, "Hitler is burning in Hell for what he did."

Let's pause on that note. Now, I vaguely recall being a bit taken aback, at the time, by the forwardness of that statement. What I don't remember is if I felt a positive or negative emotion as a response.

Since then, there have been people in my life, and of course of those of friends and family, that have each acted as a negative presence in some way and degree. In each case, we've eventually seen them get "what's coming to them." That is to say that they've gotten, in our eyes, what they deserved, and if nothing else, what was necessary. And of course, there's always much rejoicing.

I'm rethinking that rejoicing now. True, in many cases, I have been personally wronged by said people, and it's a struggle for me to not get some guilty pleasure out of their comeuppance. But should we ever be happy about someone's misfortunes? Friend or enemy, God wants us to be loving, first and foremost. That includes everything between not being jealous when our friends get blessings we lack, and not being bitter when our enemies prosper. By that same token, I think it also means that we shouldn't be pleased by their misfortunes.

In multiple places in the Bible, we're commanded to pray and care for our enemies. The reasoning given is that it will "heap burning coals on their heads." Sounds downright wrathful, doesn't it? But a little research reveals that that actually is a blessing to them, not an aim to hurt.

An important thing that I've been trying to bear in mind lately is that God handcrafted each person. Such being the case, He knows their pains, daily struggles, and sins better than anyone, and He loves them all the same. We, on the other hand, don't understand all of what they go through, past or present. What we do know is that God's command is to love, as He loves. I think that includes mourning for them in their times of loss, even if we think they don't deserve it. Only God can be the judge of that.

Love Song for a Savior

Do you ever just look around during a worship service, or pay close attention to someone praying, and feel their passion? Lately I've been noticing it and getting a sense of utter abandon from them; a thing told by the joy that's apparent, not only in the words they're speaking or singing, but in their vocal inflections and body language as well. You can tell, when someone's on the brink of tears during a song or prayer, or if they just let out a quick chuckle as they speak, as though they're caught off guard by a sudden happy revelation; things like that. God is their first and truest love, and it overflows and radiates from them.

I have a confession to make. I envy those people of that. It's something of which I've experienced a mere taste, and only a couple of times; enough to make me want more of it. I've seen worship leaders actually dancing out of sheer praise, and I can't help but long to praise God so wholeheartedly. I want to be utterly in love with Him.

I think of the things that occupy my mind. Stuff of this world, largely, which matters mainly in this life. With the mental energy I spend on those things, it's no surprise that my own praise seems halfhearted. Not that all the things on my mind are bad in and of themselves; some are even important to life, while others are generally negligible. But in truth, all of it pales in comparison to the importance of living life to the glory of God.

Like with many things, I intellectually know all this. But as I've at least implied before, there's a distinction between possessing knowledge and truly internalizing it. For things like this, it's important for my life and consciousness to be fully immersed in it. I want and need to be in pursuit of God with a greater fervor than that of my greatest worldly loves and interests. He deserves no less.

Land of the Free

Not long ago, I overheard a conversation between two fellow Christians, in response to some sort of political issue that's been in the works. Actually, I overhear a lot of such conversations under those circumstances, but this time it stuck out to me. I don't recall what was said, or even what specific topic was being discussed, but that's not relevant. What I do recall is some of the thoughts I had regarding the conversation, and all those like it.

Pretty much any time you turn on the TV, you're going to hear about a huge, controversial issue that has one group or another (usually multiple, really) all riled up. This is unsurprising; things like this are the reason that formal social etiquette advises against discussion of politics. Someone always gets offended, overly concerned, or even paranoid, which ultimately causes a lot of social discord. But the thoughts I had on this were focused specifically on us Christians, as a church body.

I've been seeing an interesting fact posted and discussed a lot lately: there are 365 different Biblical instances of some variation of the phrase, "Do not be afraid." Safe to say, God considers that an important issue to take to heart. And yet, a lot of the concern about political affairs involves Christians getting overly offended or worried about the direction the country is taking with its policies. In response to non-Christians promoting and embracing what they see as progress and equality, we start trying to impose Christian values on a godless nation; people who, as non-Christians, have no reason to take such values to heart. And then we rationalize our legalism by claiming that it's putting Christianity at risk. "Do not be afraid," God says. So what do we do? We become paranoid at every sign of trouble.

I'm reminded of instances in the Bible when, politically, God's people were basically given the finger. The Israelites spent a lot of time under the political heel of first Egypt, then the Babylonian Empire, then the Roman Empire. (There might be some I missed; I'm not very good at history, but you get the idea.) And of course, they worried too, at least on the broad scale. However, there were always exceptions; the few faithful. But that's just it: those few faithful servants are examples of the way God wants us to live our lives. Lives that glorify Him.

We can look at people like Esther, Daniel, the furnace trio, John the Baptist, and the apostles of Christ, all living in times of political hardship. They obeyed the laws, at least within the confines of God's law, even when the rest of the world, it seemed, was very much against God's will. They didn't cave to the ways of the world, but they did follow the law of the land, until it conflicted with the law of God. Did they all prosper when their faith was tested and proven? No. But all of their lives did glorify God, which is the ultimate point of them.

Of course, Jesus Himself lived His life in complete accordance with God's word, all the while seeming to mostly stay out of political issues, and truly, out of the business of unbelievers. He didn't come to judge the unbelieving world (not the first time, anyway). He did, however, teach how to live life the way God wants us to live, ultimately leaving the choice to those who would listen.

As Christians, we have to acknowledge the fact that this is not our home. It's not God's kingdom, so the political direction it takes shouldn't disturb us, at least not beyond a sense of urgency about spreading the Gospel. If anything, a downward spiral into decadence should be expected.

I think the real reason we dislike the "progressivism" is that it interferes with the comfort and safety of living in a Christian-friendly environment. But we're not called to be comfortable, or even safe. We're called to be faithful and grow closer to Christ; an endeavor that's made unnecessary to our subconscious minds, because there's no real need for strong faith.

Even look at the Christians living in anti-Christian nations today. Their environment is, I imagine, not unlike that of early Christians. And their faith is undoubtedly greater than ours. It has to be, because it's tried and strengthened every day. You don't claim Christianity in a political environment that wants to exterminate Christians if your faith is weak. I'll even go as far as to submit that their faith is as strong as it is, in many ways, because of their circumstances, in the sense that it's constantly getting exercised by them. If I'm correct in that, it goes to show that in addition to being expected, a taste of real adversity may actually do us a bit of good.

Now, I won't advocate what is, in truth, the world's regression, and I myself am not strong enough to pray for such adverse circumstances. But I do think that we should take all of this in stride, as we remember that God has everything in His hands. It's for Him to judge, and for us to take on the light burden of lovingly and compassionately sharing the Gospel, without worrying about worldly circumstances.

The Story Ain't Over

In light of life calming down and my insecurities beginning to level out, I've had a lot of mental energy to process some things. But since I was basically doing that anyway, that energy has made me a bit restless. It's an uncomfortable feeling, when you sense that your relationship with Christ is entering a bit of a lull. But as I reflected on that this morning, it gave me some interesting things to think about.

Specifically, my thoughts this morning led back to a couple of years ago, when my journey was only beginning. Internally, I had an aim; somewhat of an end-goal, as far as where my faith would go. My goal was this: to be "right" with God. The thing is, if I could take a picture of my relationship with Him now and send it back to myself back then, I imagine it would be pretty close to what I had in mind. In that sense, I have arrived at my initial destination. Journey complete, right?

Wrong.

Part of me knew this all along. Of course, being a silly, limited human, I largely ignored certain glaringly obvious truths about faith, probably because they made me uncomfortable. That is why we ignore the truth, isn't it? At least, that's what seems to be true of me.

The similarities between a relationship with Christ and any other relationship are... well, nearly identical. At least in many respects. The one I specifically have in mind is the unending nature of them. In any healthy kinship, friendship, or romance, one thing you never anticipate at the beginning is a termination, happy or otherwise. It's never part of the plan. It happens, of course, but you don't plan for it, and when it does, it's a tragedy to some degree.

In contrast, when I began following Christ, I dreamed of the happy end, when I would be the man God intended me to be, which basically meant peacefully and joyfully following Him. What I didn't realize then was that this point, where I actually am now, is not an end at all, but a continuation. More like a checkpoint.

I had a similar revelation early on, when I discovered that the point when I truly became a Christian, in deed as well as in name, was not the happy end, but only the beginning. Now, in recognizing the relationship that is Christianity, as well as spending some time wondering why I feel strangely unfulfilled by my endgame, I'm forced to logically conclude that the idea of an endgame at all is false. I can't be "right" with God, except in my acceptance of His grace and choice to follow Him. That much is decided, but there is and will always be more room for the relationship to grow and develop.

In fact, I think that's the original intention. Even pre-sin, and by extension, post-salvation. I believe that since we were created with relationship in mind, even in a perfect world, in the state we call "heaven," the design allows, encourages, and even requires unbounded growth.

I think the reason I've been so uncomfortable with that is that it's infinite, and therefore not possible to fully grasp. Similar, I imagine, to the way that we're at first uncomfortable with the idea of God being who He is. Yet, this need not be a cause for discomfort, but rather a source of sheer reassurance: how unfathomably beautiful it is to have such infinite freedom from an infinite Creator, who loves us infinitely.

Reason

For a long time, I've slaved over the idea of forgiveness. Specifically, I've wondered to myself if God could truly forgive even me. It's odd, because intellectually I know that nothing I've consciously done in my past is unforgivable, especially in light of a fact that is a cornerstone of my faith: that God will forgive all those who repent, no matter how heinous the sins in question appear in human eyes. Yet, for years I've subconsciously beaten down on myself with feelings I long ago identified as guilt.

If I'm being completely honest with myself, though, I realize the feeling from which I'm suffering isn't that at all. It's not something from my past for which I can't forgive myself. It has more to do with internal justification. Part of me is aware that the things often happening aren't fair (speaking logically and statistically), and yet my recognition of how juvenile it is for me to expect them to be so forces me to suppress my frustration, knowing full well that giving vent to those negative feelings will accomplish nothing.

As a side note, I don't think that's wrong. Self-control is an important part of spiritual maturity, so whining and stewing about things not going my way would be counterproductive. It's proven to be so for me in the past.

With that in mind, though, it's lately been my course to be proactive in this. My only partial acceptance of the truth has deceived me into believing that there's something I'm still doing completely wrong, and I'm just not seeing it. With that mindset, I try to rationalize the idea that all I have to do is figure out what that something is, change it, and allow that to fix everything. Reward for the good, punishment for the bad.

The snag, of course, is that if I find something and fix it, yet the conditions don't change, as is quite often the case, I become more confused as to why my solution didn't work, when logically it should have.

The long in short of all of this is that somewhere along the line I developed a sort of punishment complex. My mentality has been one of deserving all the misfortune and heaviness of heart I've had; a thought process that serves to explain to myself the reason for those things. I guess the notion is that my past mistakes justify all the present bad things, and so that, in theory, empowers me to preempt future pain by fixing poor behaviors now.

The obvious problem with this theory is that it leaves no room for grace, nor for God to do His work. It attempts to put me in control of my life, when in reality some things are simply beyond my control and comprehension. Such is the case with everyone.

I'm still working through this one. Because while I am intellectually aware that sometimes the negative conditions can't be solved by my actions, I'm still struggling to internalize and truly believe that fact. Something subconscious, like an instinct, keeps trying to justify; keeps looking for the solution.

This ties back to my need to trust that God has all of this under control. It's that trust that He requires as an offering from me, as a true mark of my faith.

This Is the Life

My thoughts of late have been more long-run reflective than usual. As I've spent the past couple of months scrutinizing my life and faith and comparing them against my past, specifically considering what's actually been different for me in my new life, I've noticed a definite trade-off.

I won't deny that I don't live a prosperous life, and I usually feel very much alone. I'm depressed more often than not, and I often question what good end my life and suffering could possibly have. As I reflect, my life in almost no ways resembles what it once was, with regard to this world's standards of success and fulfillment. And while I was never remarkably successful by this world's standards either, I definitely used to be more so in several ways.

But even still, while I don't consider myself to be a happy person, my present circumstances aside, I have to wonder how I lived as long as I did before I had an intellectual knowledge of a purpose behind my existence. Looking back, I know I wrestled with existentialism in varying degrees for several years in my awkward, nihilistic in-between phase. My thought is that I must have survived that through a moderately hedonistic lifestyle; a thing that's instantly gratifying, but nowhere near permanent enough to permit me to take any considerable measure of satisfaction or gather any real sense of worth from it all. But somehow I usually managed to maintain just enough wisdom and foresight to refrain from making any mistakes that would be too overwhelmingly destructive to my future. I guess God was watching over me, even then.

The trade, then, was what was a generally happier lifestyle, for one that actually serves a higher purpose, for something greater than myself and this world's petty pleasures.

I am not content in my life. My hopes and dreams for it are yet unfulfilled, and some or all of them may always be so. I still go through a daily roller coaster of depression and hopeless feelings. And yet, I know those feelings to be fleeting, and I know my hopes and dreams are paltry when compared against what God has in store. Trusting in Him daily has been difficult, but not impossible, because I know that despite my present sufferings, I would not trade them for the empty, purposeless life I once lived. This darkness is only temporary, and I have to believe that God will see me through it, to a better result than I can comprehend.

Arrival of Love

I'm what you might call hyper-sensitive to my sins. After all, as introspective as I get pretty often, it'd be hard to not at least be aware of my shortcomings. And they are many. It's something I try, with mixed results, to work on. Still, even aware as I am, it's appalling how often I seem to lose control and fall prey to the patterns of sin I know I'll later regret.

There are reasons behind my sins, of course; things like getting distracted or overwhelmed under given circumstances, or just being undisciplined in general. Part of my growth is in learning how to deal with these issues. But my purpose now is neither to explain nor even address these problems and solutions.

I know I'm, by far, not the only one to go through this behavioral pattern. But I'm always ashamed when I mess up. Too often I lose my temper or fall into a deep, dark depression, say a lot of things I don't mean, and think even more things I can otherwise acknowledge as being completely irrational. When I later snap out of these negative mindsets, there's often a lot to account for to other people, ending with apologies that I'm sure sound progressively less genuine each time. They do to me, anyway.

Such a thing happened again recently. I'm not sure if my poor attitude and mindset actually manifested in a way that was noticeable to other people, but I was certainly conscious of it, and that was enough for me. Sin is sin, after all.

My normal pattern after losing control like that is to seclude myself somewhere and degrade myself in that solitude. But for some reason, that was not my reaction this time. While I did go off by myself and have some pretty negative thoughts, when it came down to it, what I felt compelled to do instead was address God directly. I asked Him for forgiveness.

It was amazing, what happened next. I had a wash of memories of people telling me how much God loves me, how pleased He is with me, and how He has great things planned for my life. I suddenly remembered God's love for His children. Not just an awareness, but an actual realization of His love for specifically me, at least to an extent. It felt like He was telling me that He loved me no less because of my sins, and that my repentance from them was what pleased Him.

This is evidence of God's predilection for taking our innate destructiveness and using even that to deepen our relationship with Him. A way of showing that not only is no one beyond redemption, but that when someone is so redeemed, it serves an even higher purpose: His glory through unthinkable grace and forgiveness.

Trust

Over the years, I've watched many people rebel against God, or give up their faith and walk away from Him entirely. It's only increasingly pursuing Him myself over the past couple that's caused me to feel the weight of sorrow at the sheer tragedy of that.

It's hard acknowledging that there's no person with all the answers; no person that will never falter; no person I can use as a rock, to keep me steady. With this on my mind, I'm reminded of how much I put other people on pedestals. And as time passes and life happens, bringing with them the trials that truly test us, one by one, these people fall off their pedestals, leaving me with a lot of trouble trusting again.

Ultimately I know this is another cleansing fire for me. And what it means is that it's time for me to start putting all of my trust in God, which is something I've always had trouble with. That's what lies at the very heart of my doubt. It's never been a question of disbelief, only of trusting that God has me, my life, and every circumstance therein carefully cupped in His hands, and that He cares enough about it all to take care of it.

I don't believe this means I can't trust other people. But it does mean to trust them within the confines of the understanding that they will fall and fail, whereas God never will. This, too, is something with which I've struggled, because of my desire to be able to completely trust someone who's physically and tangibly there. But where wisdom from others has fallen on my deaf ears, repeated experience has proven futility in such a desire.

It's always been more or less binary for me: either a person can be trusted universally, or they can't be trusted at all. But that's not the truth. Trust between people has to be gradual, and never absolute. That's an aspect of relationship that's exclusively for God, and I think will be a sign of maturing faith when it's there. He wants my absolute trust, and it cannot be shared with other things.

Tragedy and Triumph

For years I've wondered something about the way God works. Now first, let's work around the fact that we aren't always meant to understand God's ways; that's another discussion. But I've always wondered why He doesn't reveal Himself to those seeking Him in an obviously supernatural, benevolent way, to reassure us during trials of faith.

The clear answer behind this is the abundance of examples given in the Bible, during which times God's hand was supernaturally obvious, and yet the people were still unfathomably faithless. There is no one passage for this, because that's basically the theme of humanity throughout the Bible and history itself.

The primary example that comes to mind is all that befell the nation of Israel throughout the entire Old Testament. My thoughts begin in Exodus, with their enslavement and subsequent liberation that could have been nothing but God's work. Plagues of the nature and magnitude shown don't just happen. There could be no doubt in anyone's mind that ours is the one true God.

Yet, two things we see.

The first, and smaller to scale, is the repetitive reaction of Pharaoh. Despite seeing things progressively more supernatural, things that could not be explained but by the hand of an all-powerful God, still his heart was hardened. It wasn't until after the people had suffered ten plagues, his staff had acknowledged God's sovereignty, God had answered a plea on his behalf, he had claimed repentance (but apparently wasn't genuine), and he had lost his own firstborn (along with everyone else's throughout Egypt), that he finally relented to God's will. And even then, he still went back on his word. These actions can't be justified by saying that Pharaoh didn't believe that God is almighty and worthy of his worship and obedience. Pharaoh's was a simple rebellion against what he must have known to be right all along, but had too much pride to truly repent and make amends.

The second, on a much broader scale, is the redundant theme of faithlessness from the Israelites. Time and time again we catch glimpses of them worshiping other gods, even as soon as right after their liberation from Egypt, and pretty much onward from there. Meanwhile, all throughout the Old Testament, we also continue to see undisguised acts of God. But again, these miracles did nothing to make the people more faithful.

Speaking from firsthand experience, I've been forced to acknowledge God's work, because some things just can't be chalked up to coincidence or imagination. Therefore, intellectually, I know and believe that God is there, almighty, and worthy of our full devotion. Yet, a cheerful, joyful, eager servant has never been a descriptor I would use for myself (though rest assured, I want to be that).

From these examples, it's clear that knowledge of God's will and willingness to lovingly do it are two separate entities.

Now, finally, let's observe a modern-day relational dynamic: that of a parent and child. All too often I've seen the effects of bad parenting manifesting as not enough discipline. The consequences are twofold. One, the child becomes spoiled and self-centered and develops a sense of entitlement. Two, the child has no respect for the authority of the parent, or anyone, for that matter.

As followers of Christ, we are God's children. And as our Father, He knows best how to parent us. Discipline is necessary when there's an impurity in our hearts, and sometimes our hearts require a complete overhaul. The process in such a crucible is neither short nor painless. The change wouldn't happen if God just proceeded to dote on us; we would remain spoiled and rebellious in our hearts, even if we were "following the rules."

My conclusion is that hardship, which is permitted by God, is not intended to be just incentive to change our ways, on account of knowing that they're the consequences for misdeeds. These trials are intended for so much more: to cultivate our hearts, so that they will produce fruits of the spirit. This is something that can't be rushed, because the faithful, loving relationship between us and Him is shaped, over time, by this discipline.

It's encouraging for me to know, on a personal level, that God's work in my life will not be fruitless; that the peace and joy in Christ that I long for is part of what He has in store for me.

The Age of Confusion: Reason

"Doubt is part of all religion. All religious thinkers were doubters." -Isaac Bashevis Singer

I first found this quote several years ago, while I was trying "find myself" in the wake of a personal crisis. I added it to an entire page of quotes from famous figures, some of which were actual wisdom, while others were probably utter rubbish. I don't think I have that list anymore, but I've always remembered this one specifically, and I think it might have some merit. And while I consider the term "religion" to be too one-dimensional to adequately describe Christianity, I nevertheless maintain that there is truth to the quote itself.

In light of my recent struggles with doubt (in both my faith and myself regarding it), I've been fervently seeking answers to reassure me that I'm not a lost cause because of it. Fortunately I didn't have to go far to find that reassurance, once I knew what I needed to find. Apart from many encouraging words from trusted counsel, there was also a wealth of reading material readily available at my fingertips regarding the subject. Apparently such experiences are not uncommon. Go figure.

I want to start by acknowledging that, in fact. There are, of course, Biblical examples of doubt among Christ's followers. However, on a more modern note, even a quick search revealed prime examples of the truth of the quote above. Reading about some of those examples (and if you didn't bother to click the link, tldr: C.S. Lewis, Mother Teresa, and Martin Luther, among others) was a great reassurance in itself. As some of the body's most profound thinkers have wrestled with doubt, who am I to think that I should be immune to it?

Also, as I mentioned, amid my reading I also sought personal counsel from several brothers and sisters to whom I look as either mentors or peers. As I voiced my concerns, the nearly unanimous response was unexpectedly optimistic. Not that I anticipated condemnation by any means, but what I received, in addition to moral support and prayer, was encouragement, in that my introspective recognition and subsequent concern for my condition of doubt is a sign that I'm still growing in my faith (as opposed to having given up in light of hardship). The notion is that recognition was a necessary part of my maturation.

My experience through all of this has led me to believe that some measure of doubt is essential, like a sort of growing pain for faith. I'm certainly no expert on the matter, and I'm sure growth must manifest differently for different people, but I inwardly wonder how faith can ever mature without it.

What it all boils down to in the end is this: yes, I have had doubts. Many of them, in point of fact. But I don't think that means my faith has been shaken, just that it has been tried, and that hasn't been comfortable. But what matters is not that I've questioned even some important things. What matters is that questioning has not ended with me giving up on finding answers that reveal truth. I am resolved to search for the answers I seek until my doubts are laid to rest, or until I am. That, I think, is the essence of faith.

Of Sins and Shadows

As anyone who's been following along recently knows, I've been struggling with my faith a lot lately. I've backslidden, I've questioned my legitimacy, and I've found my faith lacking. This leads to further questions and more introspection, ultimately ending with my uncertainty as to whether or not I am all that I claim to be.

After some conversations with people I trust over the past couple of days, and some studying and meditation on the works of Chambers and Lewis this morning, I've found that my faith issues are subdivided into two general issues. One is that I still sin. The other is that I still suffer. In some senses this is causal: I suffer, and I use that as an excuse to pardon my sins. And both of these things together make me question what's different about my life now than it was before I gave it to Christ.

Could it be this simple? That my personal shortcomings and tragedies are what cause my faith to crumble? Am I truly that naïve?

The sad reality of mortal life is that it isn't perfect. Our actions are laced with unloving selfishness that disregards the outcomes and effects on other people. This is both a cause and an effect of the injustice that is inherent in our fallen world. And although as Christians we're called to something greater, to be pure and virtuous and to love like Christ loves, it is acknowledged that we will fail. There will be more sin. There will be more suffering.

And yet, as a further injustice, we are forgiven for all of this.

The acceptance of that grace, then, is the part that I seem to be struggling with. I hate when I lose my temper or slip back into my sinful habits. This backsliding makes me question my legitimacy, and truly, my salvation. I see my poor actions and then contrast them against the lifestyles of other Christians, telling myself that I've failed again, and that I'll never truly change. That line of thought feeds my depression and makes me wish death upon myself.

Contributing to this is the lie that the life of a Christian is always happy. I don't know where I've gotten this ingrained, but it too has had its negative effects. My life since following Christ has been anything but a bed of roses. For some reason I'd inwardly hoped that things would go well for me as a result, but that just isn't the case. And there isn't any reason to think that it would be. Bad things happen to everyone. Again, that's a condition of the world we live in.

Christian faith isn't some magic spell or mantra to breed perfect people or cure all the world's suffering. It's the belief in a God that loves us regardless of our imperfections and redeems us from them. It's the ability to love others in the same way, because that's the grace that's shown to us. It's the true hope of better things to come.

God, help me to be faithful to You. Help me to trust You with my life, enough to lay it down at Your feet for You to do with as You will. I am Yours. Help me to always remember that.

Providence

It's easy for me to forget that God is all-powerful. Well, not the fact, so much as all that it entails. It's easy to forget that He sometimes allows, and other times ordains things to happen the way that they do. Whichever the case, as He is both omnipotent and omniscient, nothing happens without His permission. And yet I still forget.

With that in mind, it's also easy to dismiss things as chance or coincidence. Now, let me just say that for a long time now I haven't believed in either. There aren't actually any odds, nor chance or luck involved in anything. They're only a justification most people give themselves as an explanation for things happening when they don't know all the variables. Since there are thousands, perhaps millions of unknown variables in every real-life situation, things like chance are used to account for a lot.

It's fine, really, that we don't know all the variables. We're not meant to, and our minds likely couldn't comprehend the magnitude if we did. But attributing things to odds, luck, chance, coincidence, or anything in that general vein is simply illogical. And that's just from a non-spiritual, non-Biblical perspective.

On the other hand, being both all-knowing and all-powerful, God not only understands each minute inner working of the universe (let that sink in for a moment) since He's the one that handcrafted it, but He's also able to freely interact with it according to His will (in fact, I have had personally instructive instances that were far too specific and well-timed to be coincidence). And although our free will often causes our paths to diverge from those of God's will, He uses all of it to His purpose, creating a testimony to be shared with others. Therefore, no one is beyond hope. No one is out of His reach.

It should be reassuring to know all this. That's the mindset I'm trying to develop, of being comforted by my belief and faith in Him. Easy to say, but practicality is a far cry from being simple. Suffice it to say that my trust in Him has yet a lot of room to mature (as if this blog itself wasn't a testament to that fact).

What I can say is a comfort even now is that He remains endlessly merciful, He actually wants a relationship with me, and He still pursues me, even though I fail constantly. It's times like that I'm trying to remember that it can't be on my strength that I rely, but on His providence.

Wait for an Answer

The past week has basically sucked, spiritually. My faith has been tested and found desperately wanting. And yet, this is still not the end. I guess you could say that the figurative wrecking ball that's been taken to my façade was a necessary thing. In other words, I'm disillusioned.

The downside of this, of course, is that I'm confused, and I question my legitimacy, as I've established in recent posts. But one thing that, in my right mind, I always have to admit is that God is there, and He knows and loves me, just like He knows and loves everyone else. Since that much is the case, I have to acknowledge that He also knows how to shine a light on all of my deceptions and reveal truth to me. Anything I experience while I seek Him is not only allowed, but perfectly orchestrated to draw me close to Him in a true relationship.

I have doubts and fears. I'm tempted to go astray. I don't know what to expect or how long this uneasy phase will last. But I can't turn away from my faith, and as such, I know and believe God won't abandon me. This is a storm; a test of my resolve as a follower of Christ. There isn't an end in sight for me, but I know I will have relief sooner or later. Once this crucible has purified and strengthened my faith, I have to believe that God will see me through it, one way or another.

Still I wait.

Beyond Belief

Progress report, for those following.

I've figured out what it is that's missing (see paragraph 2), which links a formal Christian title to a reflecting Christian lifestyle. The fact is, despite what I believe and proclaim as a lifestyle, and truly a purpose for my own existence, what I'm lacking in my faith is an actual relationship with Father, Son, and Spirit.

This brings me to an important side note; one that I've considered for years, in fact. I used to take severe issue with Christianity being called a "religion," probably because it made it sound too contrived, regimented, and impersonal. To the core of me, even when I walked astray for all those years, I knew that Christian faith was more than just a bunch of rules and rituals. It's meant to be personal; a relationship. Calling it a religion doesn't even begin to do justice to what it was meant to be.

Since then I've learned to not take such offense, and at one point I even began calling it both, because the rules and rituals are important, to varying degrees. But within the past few months I've questioned even that stance. Because does a healthy relationship, as Christianity ought to be, not also have a fair presence of such things? I think it's meant to. Therefore, I stick to my initial position, that it shouldn't be a religion at all, but completely relational. And on that note, it does stand to reason that the following of laws and traditions is a gesture of love, more than one of obligation.

This is precisely where my problem begins. Without a relationship, what I have is merely a religion. As such, it's meaningless. Anyone can claim a creed and live by its morals. But without the all-important relational aspect, all that makes is a whitewashed tomb. All the claims and deeds are empty, and a person living such a lie is spiritually no better off than one who embraces a completely misguided life.

I'm still placing my hope in a revelation for development of a true relationship. I want to want Christ. I need, for the first time in my life, for my actions to not be for selfish gain.

A New Beginning

It's been an interesting few days. Interesting, in this case, can be characterized by change, both conditional and spiritual. Of course, with these changes comes also a change of mindset, which I hope will finally set the stage for the radical internal overhaul that I've been needing for so long.

I have been a Christian in name, and my life has reflected that to some degree. And yet, neither of these things necessarily means anything, even together. There's a middle piece that's still missing. I'm still faithless and joyless, engulfed in the chaos of the world, and of my own sullied heart and mind. This mask I've worn has deceived many people, myself included, although some others have seen through it. Now that I'm facing the truth, it's frightening to realize the depth of my own deception.

However, there's something liberating about this mask being off. Like a weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. My self-deception told me that I had to act like a Christian in order to be a Christian, as a sort of cause and effect. The problem with that is that it attempts to earn the grace that God gives as a gift. That's not legitimate Christianity.

Now that I've faced this truth, I'm free to explore the grace I'm given. Obviously that doesn't mean returning to the more worldly lifestyle I cultivated before; there are changes I've made that I should keep. My point is that those changes don't indicate a change in my soul. God must work in me, and He only can if I allow Him to do so.

In the interest of keeping this real, I should admit that I still don't know exactly what that means or how to do it. How do you "allow" God to work in you? If only I had a thing I could physically do to ensure that this is happening. But I guess that's not faith.

Still praying for a revelation.

Breaking All Illusions

Or, the working title, "Falling Back to Earth, Part 2." So are you ready for the next dose of reality? Yeah, me neither.

Yesterday I established that I'm experiencing a faith crisis. At the time, to me, that meant I didn't know what God was looking for from me, and I was confused as to why He either wasn't listening to me, or He just wasn't answering. But something I should have been concerned about all along was whether or not it was simply me not listening to what He was saying.

The deeper reality of what I've been going through, not just recently, I've realized, but since the very beginning of my walk, is that I'm not entirely who I believe myself to be. I want to believe, and I want to accept. But in truth, my goals have been off, and I've been seeking for all the wrong reasons. The changes I've seen in my life since then have been legitimate, but again, if done for the wrong reasons, then what good are deeds?

There is an idol in my life. One for which I've based all of this change, when I needed to be doing it for God. Not only for God, but as a natural overflow of my relationship with Him. Instead, it has been the result of the guilt I feel when I do wrong. Knowing this, I'm left with a painful choice to make. I have to make certain that what I'm doing is for the right reasons, but I don't know if I can do that with this idol present.

Mind you, it's not a bad thing, this false god. Not in and of itself, anyway; not if I don't deify it. On the contrary, it was a gateway to the path I needed to walk. But until now, instead of walking that path, I've stood at this threshold, merely imagining that I was continuing onward. So can I actually press forward with this here, or do I have to excruciatingly remove it from my life in order to continue?

Several months ago, I actually took the first steps in the removal of this part of my life. However, soon after that it seemed like God was no longer telling me to make this change. Like the obedience in taking the first steps was all He wanted me to do, to prove to myself that I was faithful, first and foremost, to Him. Now I'm not so sure about that.

I'm begging Him to not make me do this; to reveal a different way to attain the same goal. So I'll ask my readers here to pray that I hear His answer, whether or not it's the one I'm afraid of.

Falling Back to Earth

I hate to admit this, but in the interest of growing and overcoming a problem, I feel like coming to terms with it is the first step in finding a solution. That's the twelve-step stance, anyway, isn't it? So here we go.

I am in a state of faith crisis. I'm here because I look around at other Christians, and they make it look so easy. So easy to believe that God is there, listening, answering, and providing what's best for us. So easy to take a genuine interest in faith and theology. They make it look like it's their entire life, there's nothing secular or sinful about them, and their faith is never jeopardized.

In sharp contrast, since I decided to start actively following Christ nearly two years ago, I've been met with almost nothing but opposition. My faith is tested, threatened, and leveled. It's difficult to believe that God wants what's best for me when the most significant events in my spiritual life involve all of my dreams being crushed and my hopes for a better life withering daily. I hate myself for being so bitter, but I don't know what more He wants from me. I have done what I've believed He's asked me to do, and yet the only changes of any significance have been bad news. My heart's desires remain unfulfilled, and I'm left constantly questioning my own legitimacy. Thousands of formless questions pass through my mind, and all of my energy is spent trying to figure out what it is I'm even trying to ask. But they all seem to lead back to the same basic question: What am I still doing wrong?

You may say that the life of a Christian isn't meant to be an easy one. That adversity is a sign that I'm doing something right, and that I just have to forge onward and wait for the storm to break. But what if I break first? Don't others have at least something of some significance going right for them every now and then? A dream fulfilled, to restore their hope?

I am lost. I don't have a bearing or know what I should be doing. Everything I do seems like a mistake, and everything I learn seems ultimately irrelevant. I wander, searching for answers, asking God for the wisdom He promises. And yet, I am still a fool. There seems to be some basic principle that every Christian understands, which I am simply missing. This search has left me demoralized and exhausted, and I don't know how much longer I can continue. I am begging God for mercy, and yet there is no oasis in this desert. I wonder if my prayers are even prayers at all.

I apologize for the apparent negativity of this post. With my previous one, I'd hoped they would be of a happier note, at least for the most part. But this must be addressed. I can't keep faking my spiritual life. If you're reading this, I wholeheartedly ask you to pray for me. An answer from God is the only thing that will fix this.

Time to Grow

It's been a little while since I posted last. The reasons for that are that, number one, I've been busy, what with the school semester wrapping up. There hasn't been much time for nonessentials. However, second, and more importantly, I've noticed a definite negative trend in my last two or three posts. Such things don't help anything, and so my position was one of debate over whether or not to keep this blog going. For the time being, it get to stay. But I want it to reflect a more positive outlook.

Now, on point, this actually ties in a little bit.

With my last post I addressed an issue that is actually still of great concern for me—the ability of human beings to change. But our faith hinges on the belief in a redeemed life. Without that, there would be no hope. For anyone.

With my last post, I was clearly downtrodden, as I've been a lot lately. It's demoralizing to repeatedly make the same mistakes and slip back into the same sinful habits, all the while longing all the more for a godly life. Such things indicate double-mindedness, which I may or may not address in a different post.

I'm the sort of person to get demoralized easily. I criticize myself far more than anyone else does, and so my mistakes are blown out of proportion in my mind. This sets me on a downward spiral, from which circumstances of escape seem mostly arbitrary. That is to say, I can't get myself out of that plunge.

However, when I offer myself a little grace and cut myself some slack, I've noticed, just tonight actually, that things aren't as hopeless as they appear at first blush. (Surprise, surprise, right?) In fact, I'm much closer to my goal than I'd ever dare give myself credit for. The reason I know that ties in with things several people have said over the past few months about their observations of me.

The truth is, I recognize my shortcomings. I'd pretty much have to, with the unsafe amount of introspection in which I allow myself to indulge. Such behavior depresses me like nobody's business, yet it also gives me some clarity as far as what things about myself I need to fix. This, I think, is a revelation many people don't reach.

Now of course, seeing all of my shortcomings, either at face value or through my far-worse perception of them, is what puts me into a depressive state. The reason for that is because it seems hopeless with all the changes I need to make. I feel like I can never do it. And my frequent backslides only exacerbate things further, by making it look like I haven't even made any progress at all. But when I'm in my right mind, I'm able to look behind me and see the changes apparent in my life between now and even just a few months prior.

The plus side of having that deeply introspective tendency is that it does reveal my critical flaws. That's necessary if they're ever going to change. My analysis of those flaws, in turn, gives me a sort of blueprint—a checklist, almost: things I can/must still work on.

A conclusion I reached earlier this evening is that knowing these things, even though they bring me down, is better than knowing something is wrong, but not knowing what. Because with this blueprint, so to speak, I at least have something to work on. In a manner of speaking, I may not have the answers yet, but I do know the right questions to ask. And to me that seems like half the battle.

The Root of All Evil

I've been feeling a lot of anxiety for the past couple of days. A strong, disheartened feeling of futility. Like everything I've done counts for nothing. It makes me question the legitimacy of the changes I thought were being made in my life and within me.

Can we really change? I like to think we can. But somehow it seems like something is preventing me from changing and turning away from my evil, selfish nature. I see the joy in other people's lives, and the genuine love and care they have for others, and I long for it. I've said before that love must be completely selfless, and in light of that, I wonder if I even have the capacity to truly love anyone.

If you're reading this blog, it probably means you know me well enough for me to trust you with my innermost thoughts, because I'm pretty selective about to whom I give the link. Either that or you just happened to stumble across it, which happens sometimes too. But in the case of the former, I know you'll say something like, "That's not true. Your perspective of yourself is just off." But what if you're wrong? What if mine is the only verbalized perspective that's accurate?

Let me explain this: I am an extremely selfish person. To the point where I can justify my every "selfless" action with something that's in it for me, or is a calculated risk for the sake of possibly gaining something later. Basically, each action is either a purchase or an investment for personal gain. I'm cheerful about doing things when I can see those things that will or could benefit me. But once I can no longer see that potential, while I might still do things, inwardly I'm irritated, or even angry about it.

I hate this about myself. To me it's the absolute lowest form of evil there is.

I've always believed that all sin stems from selfishness. More important than an action in and of itself is the intention behind it. God knows the ways we each think, and He understands our motives infinitely better than even we do. And our actions alone are worthless to Him, because it's our faith that He values. Therefore, doing the right things for the wrong reasons is not only wrong, it's actually blasphemy.

I think people often don't think they're blaspheming if they're not using God's name as a bad word. But rest assured, doing something for personal gain and saying it's for God is every bit as wrong. It's the same as doing evil things and pasting God's name all over it.

To accept these ideas as fact, as I do, I necessarily convict myself of repeatedly and unabashedly committing sin. I pray wholeheartedly for God to change me into something that not only glorifies Him, as all things will in the end, but something that actually wants to.

Mrs. Modern Mother Mary

[Foreword: As a word of caution, this one is controversial, even as I read it back to myself. In fact, I feel inclined to pray Psalm 139:23-24 as I reflect on it. Please, view at your discretion.]

I've felt weird for the past few days. Detached. Not in most areas of my life, but specifically at church, and among that social group. I don't like this condition, because it feels like I'm in a state of unrest with my faith. But it's not really that, I don't think. I've still been pretty good about my time spent intentionally with God, and the positive changes are still pretty apparent in the way I've been acting and living life. I still feel like He's moving in me. But my issues seem to be specifically with some of the church.

I first really noticed it on Sunday, when I went to the morning service. I didn't much feel like socializing with my friends, even though ministry commitments keep me from sitting with them half of the time. But as I've thought about it since then, I've realized that even college group hasn't been very appealing to me lately. So although I have had other responsibilities keeping me from going, I haven't been very upset about that, I guess because I haven't really felt much like going anyway. That's a bummer, because up until now these things have been the highlights of my week.

The cause is something that I've noticed about myself: that I find certain tendencies of some of the people within the church to be particularly annoying. For instance, the apparent disinclination to talk about anything secular, just casually. Like God would smite us wicked heathens for mentioning anything that isn't in the Bible. Or the stereotypical conservative bent of the church, manifesting as snarky comments about the left side of the political spectrum, as though you can't be a Christian if you don't vote Republican. Or the always-chipper appearance, real or not, that so often seems to ignore the brokenness of each individual even within the church body. These things might seem petty, and I feel like I'm rebellious and sinful for even being irritated about them, but just being honest, they've been irksome to me for a while.

I guess it bothers me because it feels misguidedly pious, and honestly a bit fake. If all the words that ever come out of our mouths are spoken in Christianese, then how the hell is the rest of the human race supposed to relate to us? How can we extend hands toward the unbelieving world if we're so busy building up sterile walls of holy chatter that estrange the people we're supposed to be guiding?

Things like this make me think of my life before I was following Christ, and how I would have reacted to some of the things that are said in this circle. If all anyone had ever said to me beforehand was spoken in this alienating, holy speech, I would have inwardly thought about how brainwashed they are. It would have acted as a deterrent to me more than anything else.

I think the way to win people's hearts to Christ is through being lovingly relatable. If you just go and attack an unsaved stranger with Bible verses, it's no better than standing on a street corner, shouting about how everyone else is going to Hell. We can't just start off by making people feel uncomfortable. Christianity is relational. The joy and discomfort of following Christ has to be each person's choice, and the only way they'll want to make that choice is if a relationship is built first. That means that we have to be able to meet them, to some extent, in their own territory.

Since the journey truly begins at that point, ignorance of the inevitable pitfalls that follow indicates neglect of the necessary continuation of the relationship between people within the church. People still struggle with their sins, even after being saved, and yet too often I get the impression that members of the church body see salvation as a trophy rather than a lifestyle. That only serves to push struggling Christians into a faith crisis as they begin to doubt their own sincerity in their beliefs and convictions.

Solitary Ground

I spent most of today in a particularly dark place. I was almost completely immobilized, unable to motivate myself to do anything. I couldn't break out, even though I knew I needed to, and I was beyond the reach of anyone who tried to help me.

It scares me when this happens. It doesn't happen as often now as it used to, which is comforting, but the powerlessness of that feeling is still overwhelming. What is there to do when I'm plunged into darkness, and prayer, Bible study, and company bring me no comfort?

I read through some psalms, and then started on Ecclesiates, which are the books to which I usually turn when I'm in a depressed mindset. I suppose they helped marginally. I guess sometimes the only thing to do is endure patiently, and try to remember and internalize the fact that God won't abandon me.

Resistor

A lot of things lately have been pointing to my low self-image as a problem that needs to be fixed. It seems like every day I'm reminded of one of my personal traits that I don't particularly like to see in myself.

I suppose this awareness started with my study of temperaments, specifically my own. Upon learning that I'm melancholy and phlegmatic (neither of which is the least bit surprising), I was partly amused at the utter accuracy, but more distraught that my tendencies are hard-wired, and certain things that I admire in others will never come naturally to me. Instead, I have traits that are somehow admired by others, but which I feel like I'll never see as being of any worth.

I acknowledge the necessity of these traits. Things like deep thoughts are necessary, and the peacemaker is an important role in conflict resolution. But I've asked God several times why He chose me to be this way. I see the admirable qualities of family and friends, and I wish I was more like them.

I know that isn't right. I know that God created me this way with a deliberate purpose, and that my dissatisfaction with it is sinful. Furthermore, I've been told by many people, especially recently, that they admire the qualities in me that are inherent in mel-phlegs. I've learned to thank them, but my gratitude is hardly genuine. In truth, I would rather see those qualities in someone else.

I don't like my excess of emotions, deeply introspective tendencies, and obsession with principles, because they combine and put me into a depressive state. I don't like being a perfectionist, because half of me is too neutral to self-motivate. I don't like not being opinionated, because it makes me feel like I don't even have a personality at all. I don't like being completely introverted, because I feel like I'm below most people's notice, and if I were to leave their lives, they'd barely even notice I was gone.

How much of this is just raw material that needs to be refined by pursuit of Christ? Will I be more satisfied with them once they're developed into something more Christ-like? I know the qualities are good and necessary. But I feel like I don't exhibit them well enough to be at the expense of the great things I see in others. I can only hope that when my life is properly focused, I will be able to see some of the reasons I was created the way that I was, and then acknowledge my own worth.

Out of the Ashes

Every now and then lately I've been thinking about my progress. A lot has happened since my journey began. But I have to say, the most remarkable things have been within the past couple of months. Mind you, the condition of my life is basically the same. But I feel like my outlook on a lot of things has changed for the better.

It's good to know that God is faithful. I admit, for a while I doubted, when I would do all I could to make positive changes in my life and the condition would remain. But time, activity, wise counsel, medication, and even some divine inspiration, while in fact not changing said conditions, have instead trued my outlook, which is far better.

While I look back, it becomes more and more apparent that none of this would have been possible without the pain and suffering that accompanied me along the way. And I would often ask God why He would allow me to suffer so much, now that I am following Him. Truth be told, I wouldn't have believed or understood if He had told me outright. Some things just have to be taught by trial.

A prime case in point: one of my greatest concerns about myself was what I perceived to be a lack of empathy. I wondered why I couldn't legitimately care about other people, as I always seemed to have some kind of selfish motive behind my feelings. I was aware of this, and that awareness contributed to my depression, because I couldn't change that, no matter how hard I tried. What I didn't realize was that God had been working with this all along. And He still is.

I think that God likes to show us His love in a variety of ways. Each way speaks to us in its own respect, and I think many are hard to perceive as what they are. When we think of God loving us, I think the most common conception of that is when He lavishes obvious blessings on us, like healing and success. Harder to see as loving treatment are things like trial and discipline; things that are uncomfortable at best, but that are often agonizing. It's our nature to experience these things and think that God is punishing us, or that He has turned away from us. The thing to realize, though, is that those are disguised blessings, helping to shape and temper us. To equip and prepare us for what God has planned for our lives.

Back to my example, my own pain and suffering, I think, somehow made me more aware of that of those around me. It was like God was telling me not only that everyone suffers in their own way, but also that He loves all of them too, even the ones that I don't like. I don't have a worldly explanation, because through my own best efforts, I couldn't truly feel for others, and while I didn't like the fact that I hated people, I did. But a reality of which I only just became aware is that somehow I do actually care for them now, whereas I didn't before. I can only assert that it is God that has softened my cold, callous heart through the trials He has allowed me to face. The truly wonderful thing is that I'm even beginning to feel that way toward people I've considered to be enemies.

Only God can soften us in such a way.

I think all this goes to show that it sometimes takes a broken heart to truly have a heart for the broken. It's a painful and uncomfortable process, but one that I believe is well worth the suffering.

The Difference is Human

I've noticed an insidious trend in my habits lately. One that, if left unchecked, could spiral out of control, giving it the potential to wreak havoc on a life that's on the mend. I obviously can't afford that. In this process of maturing, I have to nip this sort of thing at the bud.

The reason I describe my new tendency as insidious is that it's "sneakier" than your average backslide. For all this time, I've had to fight with my proclivities to complain, rebel, and sulk. That hasn't been easy, because they've been normal for me for as long as I can remember. But now that I'm starting to learn how to deal with those behaviors, a new challenge has arisen.

The sneaky part is that the nature of these struggles has been different. In a manner of speaking, they've been less core-related, more surface-level. That is, they have more to do with my direct actions than the reasons behind them. That's why it's been so easy to shrug them off as innocuous, because the actions themselves don't stem from my personal inner brokenness. At least, not the typical aspects of it (rebellion, depression, complacency, etc.). In truth they're just worldly things that can be used for good or bad, depending on the situation. Such things can have an appropriate time, place, and amount. And for the most part, they have.

But that's where things get fuzzy. Moderation is a fine line that I think is tailored to the individual and the situation. There's no sweeping legislation on it. It's also an easy thing from which to stray if proper, firm boundaries aren't established. Once astray, it becomes increasingly easier to let things slip, which, over time, degenerates into more severe problems.

I should stress again, I don't think the activities in question are inherently sinful. They don't disobey God's commands at a rudimentary level. Take, for practical instance, drinking. If done in moderation, it's not bad. Jesus drank wine. Not only that, but He worked a miracle that permitted and encouraged other people to drink it with Him. But as we've learned from other places in the Bible, not to mention modern society, an excess of such behavior can be damaging. I believe the same thing applies for everything.

My conclusion is that all worldly things that are not inherently sinful should be done only appropriately and in moderation. Otherwise they will invariably become sinful.

It's my responsibility as a Christian and an acknowledged creation in the image of God to make sure that my actions point to Him. And that's done not through either legalist or libertine "Christianity" with regard to worldly things, but by being careful in everything to live as Christ lived. That allows and sometimes requires us to use the worldly things as tools accordingly, but always prayerfully, and with a clear perspective of how our behaviors and their consequences reflect our faith.

Constant Motion

Another revelation hit today, as I was dwelling on why it is that I've been so stressed out and depressed lately, and why I've felt like I've been fighting a losing battle. It seems like a lot of things have been shouting at me again, in that silent way they do, about from where this problem stems. And once again, there was one point where it all just kind of came together and made sense.

God talks.

The key lies in the constant balancing act in which I've had to keep myself engaged. Between work, school, church activities, personal health, social life, hobbies, and miscellaneous commitments, I have a surprisingly full plate. That in itself is not necessarily unhealthy, but I think the general message here is that I've taken on more than I can handle.

Now, anyone probably could have told me this. In fact, my pastor/counselor basically did, in saying that I need to take some time and figure out something that is personally enriching for me, and make sure that I do it, because my not doing it is like an appliance being unplugged from the wall. He even went as far as to say that, if necessary, I might give myself a break from school to focus on something smaller, in order to allow myself the satisfaction of having accomplished something, to sort of boost my morale. The notion, then, is bigger goals get fulfilled later. This principle is similar to one I've outlined before, but often forget.

It seems like a theme for me, going through long seasons of complacency, intermittently punctuated by short bursts of energy, during which I try to take on everything all at once, in order to catch up on the time I've wasted. Except it really doesn't work like that. Production and improvement take time, dedication, and commitment; not just hard work. They require a sort of buildup of momentum, which brief, random periods of activity don't allow. They have to be cultivated, just like anything worth having.

I don't plan on dropping out of school or anything too drastic, even though I've been particularly disheartened by that lately. But this does make me think that it's time to reevaluate my priorities, weed out some of the non-essentials, and fill my time with more enriching things, in an effort to pace myself and not spread myself too thin.