Excuses, excuses
Will I ever really change? Lately, I wonder.
Have I really changed? I know I have changed a great deal, so it’s logical to assume that I will continue to change. The change is not of my own doing, although I guess I have been integrally involved in the process. Well, at least I showed up.
God has taken this rather pathetic, self-absorbed whiner, prone to moments of grandiosity, depression, deception, and perfectionistic performance, and made me just a little more like Christ. I guess it’s in His job description to love and redeem sinful creatures like me, despite impetuous defiance, stubbornness, the fact that I studiously avoid Him, and my desire to live with a sense that I am entitled to feel good and free from pain, or even discomfort, at every moment in my life.
But I still live most of my life as if God does not exist. I guess that’s existential atheism. I serve a number of lesser gods, who promise much, but deliver little. Well, that’s not exactly true, they deal in deceit and destruction, and they deliver more of that than I am willing to admit.
I treat God like an unwelcome relative. It's as if I were to see Him on the street, I would quickly duck into a doorway or an alley, glancing furitvely to see if He noticed me. I act as He were a really loud, overbearing, obnoxious aunt who smells old, pinches my cheek even though I'm over 50, and never fails to give advice on things I need to change, like my weight.
So I look to the favoured scriptures, and the teachings on the tenacious love of God, on the awesome nature of His grace. Excuse No. 1.) Cheap Grace: If I focus on His love, mercy and grace, then I really do not have to change. Afterall, I really can’t, can I? Only God can transform me from within. And, He's going to love me anyway - HE HAS TO, doesn't He? So, I continue making dysfunctional choices which bring minor forms of death.
Excuse No. 2.) I am powerless. I talk to psychiatrists and attend Twelve Step meetings, and am told that I am an addict, a compulsive person, with little inherent ability to make rational choices. Hmmm, what was that definition of addiction I came up with some time ago: Addiction is any compulsive, pleasure-seeking, life dominating behavior which displaces our relationship with God, and is habitual despite moral, relational, and physical reasons which should rationally preclude its practice. Yes, that fits. I cannot make rational choices. I shake my head because I’ve been attending Twelve Step groups for six years, and I’ve even mentored other men and seen God transform their lives.
So why bother trying to exercise any personal discipline at all. After all, Step One says that I am powerless over my addictions. And, I am a sinner, so God does not really expect anything different from me, at least in my own strength.
I guess that’s the key: in my own strength. If I surrender to Him, if I rely on His strength, then my life can be different. I know that empirically from my own life, from the lives of men and women I know, and from the writings of saints whose lives and teachings I respect.
But to do that involves death. The merchant of lies promises life, and immediate gratification of desire. The Saviour of the world asks for death, and makes promises which are often intangible or merely anticipated. In seeking “life” directly, I find death. If instead, I seek “death” (to self) directly, for His sake, forsaking the things which stand between me and Him, I find Him, and receive life indirectly. I know because I’ve experienced it.
But dying to self is so painful. I am so lazy, and so afraid of pain. I hang onto those excuses: I am an addict, I am a sinner, I can do no other. I hang on because I am afraid of what He might ask of me next. That’s why I ran so many months ago, the cost exceeded my willingness to suffer personal loss of security and comfort.
But the choices I make lead to death as surely as if I were chosing that path intentionally. The death of health, the death of self-respect. The death of spiritual vitality. The death of intimacy with God and others. The death of trust.
I have choices. I feel overwhelmed by those choices. All I can do is go to God where I am at and cry out with total transparency in my nakedness, my weakness, and my fear.
But, He got me through a brain tumor and the awful surgery to remove it. He got me through the total depths of despair when I felt so outside amongst fellow-believers in a worship service. He restored a virtually loveless marriage (on my part anyway). He transformed me so that I can treat my family with respect instead of rage. He freed me from the tyranny of some addictive behaviours. He showed me how it feels to reveal who I truly am behind every last mask, and to still be loved. And He helped me learn how to do that for others as well. Still, I am so clearly one of the anawim, the poor in spirit. I am well acquainted with my brokenness. A mixed blessing, indeed.
Kyrie Eleison.
Have I really changed? I know I have changed a great deal, so it’s logical to assume that I will continue to change. The change is not of my own doing, although I guess I have been integrally involved in the process. Well, at least I showed up.
God has taken this rather pathetic, self-absorbed whiner, prone to moments of grandiosity, depression, deception, and perfectionistic performance, and made me just a little more like Christ. I guess it’s in His job description to love and redeem sinful creatures like me, despite impetuous defiance, stubbornness, the fact that I studiously avoid Him, and my desire to live with a sense that I am entitled to feel good and free from pain, or even discomfort, at every moment in my life.
But I still live most of my life as if God does not exist. I guess that’s existential atheism. I serve a number of lesser gods, who promise much, but deliver little. Well, that’s not exactly true, they deal in deceit and destruction, and they deliver more of that than I am willing to admit.
I treat God like an unwelcome relative. It's as if I were to see Him on the street, I would quickly duck into a doorway or an alley, glancing furitvely to see if He noticed me. I act as He were a really loud, overbearing, obnoxious aunt who smells old, pinches my cheek even though I'm over 50, and never fails to give advice on things I need to change, like my weight.
So I look to the favoured scriptures, and the teachings on the tenacious love of God, on the awesome nature of His grace. Excuse No. 1.) Cheap Grace: If I focus on His love, mercy and grace, then I really do not have to change. Afterall, I really can’t, can I? Only God can transform me from within. And, He's going to love me anyway - HE HAS TO, doesn't He? So, I continue making dysfunctional choices which bring minor forms of death.
Excuse No. 2.) I am powerless. I talk to psychiatrists and attend Twelve Step meetings, and am told that I am an addict, a compulsive person, with little inherent ability to make rational choices. Hmmm, what was that definition of addiction I came up with some time ago: Addiction is any compulsive, pleasure-seeking, life dominating behavior which displaces our relationship with God, and is habitual despite moral, relational, and physical reasons which should rationally preclude its practice. Yes, that fits. I cannot make rational choices. I shake my head because I’ve been attending Twelve Step groups for six years, and I’ve even mentored other men and seen God transform their lives.
So why bother trying to exercise any personal discipline at all. After all, Step One says that I am powerless over my addictions. And, I am a sinner, so God does not really expect anything different from me, at least in my own strength.
I guess that’s the key: in my own strength. If I surrender to Him, if I rely on His strength, then my life can be different. I know that empirically from my own life, from the lives of men and women I know, and from the writings of saints whose lives and teachings I respect.
But to do that involves death. The merchant of lies promises life, and immediate gratification of desire. The Saviour of the world asks for death, and makes promises which are often intangible or merely anticipated. In seeking “life” directly, I find death. If instead, I seek “death” (to self) directly, for His sake, forsaking the things which stand between me and Him, I find Him, and receive life indirectly. I know because I’ve experienced it.
But dying to self is so painful. I am so lazy, and so afraid of pain. I hang onto those excuses: I am an addict, I am a sinner, I can do no other. I hang on because I am afraid of what He might ask of me next. That’s why I ran so many months ago, the cost exceeded my willingness to suffer personal loss of security and comfort.
But the choices I make lead to death as surely as if I were chosing that path intentionally. The death of health, the death of self-respect. The death of spiritual vitality. The death of intimacy with God and others. The death of trust.
I have choices. I feel overwhelmed by those choices. All I can do is go to God where I am at and cry out with total transparency in my nakedness, my weakness, and my fear.
But, He got me through a brain tumor and the awful surgery to remove it. He got me through the total depths of despair when I felt so outside amongst fellow-believers in a worship service. He restored a virtually loveless marriage (on my part anyway). He transformed me so that I can treat my family with respect instead of rage. He freed me from the tyranny of some addictive behaviours. He showed me how it feels to reveal who I truly am behind every last mask, and to still be loved. And He helped me learn how to do that for others as well. Still, I am so clearly one of the anawim, the poor in spirit. I am well acquainted with my brokenness. A mixed blessing, indeed.
Kyrie Eleison.
2 Comments:
That sounds dreadful! Isn't there another way to live? Isn't there a way to love God and still love one's self as His creation?
Well James, it's a lot better than where I've been. And, to be honest, I am grateful for where I am. I am alive. God is clearly at work in and through my life. It's just that the process is easy, but anything but simple.
As Mike Yaconelli was fond of saying, "Jesus will ruin your life." I see the positive in that statement. To use an already over-used quote, "Jesus loves me just as I am, but He loves me too much to leave me this way." So He diminishes the satisfaction with lesser gods, erodes their effectiveness in covering the trials of living in a fallen world when we were created to live in perfect fellowship with one another and with the God who created and sustains the universe.
In answer to your second question - there's an old saying; "The 18 inches between the head and the heart is the longest distance in the world." I am very well acquainted with the theology of grace, and the teachings of contemporary and classic authors on the subject. While grace is a free gift, we have to drop the broken toys in our hands before we can grasp it. If you read my definition of addiction, you will see what gets in the way of embracing the grace of God. It's a process. Another saying, "Recovery happens at the speed of pain."
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