Distracted by Jesus

There are, broadly, two different ways to deal with our mortality: we can either deny it or we can fight it.

Denial itself can either be the hope that we may escape death or our eyes-shut-tight refusal to acknowledge it. Practically speaking, I think we most often fall into this category. I say practically because, though we may profess differently, we generally live our lives as if we believe that we are not going to die.

We live fully in the moment, absorbed in our immediate surroundings.

Distracted.

These distractions can include seemingly trivial hobbies but they could also be a career, family, or philanthropy. It could be art or self-expression. Sometimes the pursuit of meaning or understanding itself is our distraction; or maybe it is love, both giving and receiving it. These are often the most powerful, we may even build an entire life upon them.

If we are not refusing to acknowledge our mortality, then we are likely fighting against it. For some people, this does mean trying to live forever physically (isn't Walt Disney still frozen?). For more people, however, it means leaving an eternal legacy or a "mark." The desire to leave a part of "you" behind after your are gone is simultaneously noble and fundamental. It gives us comfort to know that, after we are gone, a piece of us will continue; it doesn't so much matter if that piece is a scholarship foundation or a child.

From a practical perspective, these two responses both still end in eventual death and decay. The best we can hope for is to prolong our life, be it 100 or 1,000,000 years. The only thing that can transform our fate, rather than distract us from it or delay it, is Jesus Christ.

This is the heart and flesh of the "Good News."

Hope.

The trouble is that such transformation does not necesarily guarantee a happy, satisfying, or pain-free life. After all, there are plenty of people who do not follow Christ living fulfilling lives out there. By the same token, there are plenty of followers of Jesus Christ leading unfulfilling, empty lives. Devoid of hope.

I realized this as I was listening to a lovely song about grace, that there are so many hurting people out there that are hiding their pain. As I thought about this, I realized that there are likely as many wounded and desperate Christians out there as there are wounded and desperate non-Christians.

How can this be? How can we all be experiencing the same levels of fear, doubt, and loss when some of us claim to have exclusive access to grace, peace and hope?

Make no mistake, dubious Christian, we are, all of us, lost and hurting. If you don't know what I'm talking about, I praise God on your behalf. But I can think of 15 people in my personal life who deeply love Jesus, love His word, and follow Him who experience fear, doubt, pain, and some deep darkness in their present, one of them being me.

Just like we wrongly assume anorexics are skinny, we wrongly assume that hurting people are sad. We're not, not all the time anyway. Sometimes we laugh and make jokes. Sometimes we feel good and even experience joy.

Joy doesn't preclude hurt.

Why then? Why do we have hope and yet not feel hopeful? There is no simple answer for this Problem of Pain lies at the core of who we are as humans, yet I think I might understand a small piece of it.
Sometimes, we make the mistake of making a hobby out of Jesus.

Sometimes, we turn Him into an activity, something we do on the weekends, an activity to promote our spiritual health, like Yoga. But it doesn't change the substance of our lives. Like many of our other distractions it buoys up our spirits temporarily and fills some of those late-night hours that would otherwise be spent in pondering the meaning of our lives.

We believe in God. Still, we live fully in the moment, absorbed in our immediate surroundings. Serving. Doing. Loving. Praying.

Distracted by Jesus.

A good friend of mine said recently, I don't want 'to be' a pastor, it's not my job or even my calling, it's me. I can't stop it, I would lose myself.

I am not a Christian because I adopt a philosophy or subscribe to a pattern of living. I am Christian because it is me. If I limit my faith to what I do or what I believe, there is a painful emptiness in the center of my being. I lose myself.

This is a bear of a distinction to make because so much of what we do and believe does, indeed define us. I cannot make a better explanation than Acts 17:28

"...in Him we live and move and have our being...'"

Like blood in veins, air lungs. He breathes through us: living, moving, being.

How can you tell if you've made a hobby of Jesus?


Props to Coffee Shop Dharma for the photo!

 

"You Are More" by Tenth Avenue North



Trust: I'm Not THAT Person

Yesterday I gave a quick overview of a few haphazard elements which have combined in an odd way to create my One Word 2011: Trust. It was a bit much for one post, even for me, so I've broken it up into a series of sorts. I start today with the most difficult one.


I'm a girl who likes to have it together. I struggle to admit I'm wrong, I hate having to ask for help, and I confess my struggles only after they have been "overcome." When confronted by a situation that I cannot handle or a goal I cannot meet, I’ll fight my way back to a situation I can control. I abandon goals, I deny my ineffectiveness, and I make to-do lists.


I have had friends and loved ones struggle with depression and anxiety. Through their pain, I've learned a lot about the illogical and overwhelming nature of depression. But  I've never been "that" person. I will shamefully admit that I always thought I was too strong and too "together."


However, for a few months now, my joy has gone AWOL, replaced by cynicism, bitterness, and fear. I don’t know if you’d call it loneliness, malcontent, doubt, or depression, but I have not been okay, and I haven’t had it together.


I hope you will believe me when I say, God is my life. This is why it is so devastating to feel that He has gone far, far away. Jeremiah 29:13 says, “you will seek me and find me, when you seek me with all your heart.”


Was I not seeking Him with all of my heart? Which part was I withholding?


“All of it,” was the crushing answer. “You seek My ends, but not My means. You seek My Name but not My Life. You love My thoughts but not My ways. You seek Me through the filter of your own abilities, on your own terms, in your own timing. You withhold all of your heart from Me because you only offer it conditionally. I am a God without conditions.”


With all of this still churning inside me, I spent New Year’s Day reading The Hole in Our Gospel, a book by Richard Stearns, the president of World Vision.


In his book, Richard Stearns references a passage in Isaiah where the frustrated children of Israel cry out to God they too felt had gone far, far away:

“They seek me daily and delight to know My ways, as if they were a nation that did righteousness and did not forsake the judgment of their God; They ask of me righteous judgments; they delight to draw near to God. ‘Why have we fasted, and you see it not? Why have we humbled ourselves, and you take no knowledge of it?’ Isaiah 58:2-3


“…Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into your house; when you see the naked, to cover him and not to hide yourself from your own flesh? Then…you shall call, and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’ Isaiah 58:6-9

(You ever have one of those, “Ohhhhhh…” moments?)

If you poked around this blog at all, you might notice that I have made something of a hobby out of humanitarianism. In theory, I avidly support the humanitarian work of organizations like Compassion International and World Vision. I pray, I give money, I blog, and I tweet.

Yet because of how He’s designed me, this isn’t enough for me. I’ve known this for a while; if I’m honest, I’ve known this since I was 12. Since then, my faith has gotten jammed up somewhere between His words and my life. It has gotten clogged by my inability to make my faith “work” and my unwillingness to let God work through my faith in His ability, on His terms, in His time.

James 2:26 compares a faith without works to a body without a spirit, a zombie. I don’t intend to get into a faith/works conversation except to say that the one simply cannot exist independent of the other, it just dies.

I can’t help but wonder if, lately, God just hasn’t allowed me to feel the dead weight of my faith. I wonder if He’s letting me feel the pain of an unfulfilled calling and an empty gospel. I wonder if He’s letting me see the way He would have me to worship Him.

“Is this not the fast that I choose…?” He says. “…then you shall call and the Lord will answer; you shall cry, and he will say ‘Here I am.’” Isaiah 58:9

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