I had a conversation with my roommate over the past couple days. Unlike most conversations this one began and ended with perplexity. The conversation was real. It was not a casual conversation. It was not an "typical" conversation. It was heavy, it was felt, it was full. Most conversations are light or safe or headlines or unrevealing, but this conversation was different. There was a resonating of hearts, there was a felt soulishness, there was a deep-sense of bond.
I think the conversation started by the rehashing of what it was to be a follower of Jesus Christ in Dallas, TX. He said something to the degree of, "I don't know if I'm a Christian." He went on to ask what it meant for a person to "believe" in Jesus. Ya, sure, we know what it means to believe something, but really, what does it mean? How do I believe in Jesus? Ya, sure, we know the Sunday School answers. Both of us were raised in church, both of us went to colleges and earned degrees in Bible, both of us graduated with master's degrees in theology, but we don't know what it means to believe in Jesus? He went on to talk about how he thought the Apostles really had it easy. They saw Jesus. They touched Jesus. Life was not easy. But they knew what they had to do, and they knew they would probably die for it. They had it easy. It's easier to be motivated to action when your very life is on the line. It's a rush, it's an adrenaline kick.
Interestingly enough, I kind of agreed with him. We know the answers, we know what we're supposed to say, we know the right time to smile and the right time to nod our heads, we know what people want to hear, but is it real? We agreed that if Joe Shmo Jr. came to us finding himself in a similar ennui we could help. We could give him the right answers, but would we really hold to what we said if our lives depended on it? It's tough to know, probably not.
We came to the conclusions that we blamed God for our dissatisfaction. We blame God for our boredom. We blame God for our unrealized thirst for self-fulfillment in relationships, in work, in spirituality. It was as if we believed God to be somehow secretly behind the plan to make us dissatisfied, to cause us to fall into a "slough of despond." God is out to get us down.
We sat discussing our feelings of empty insignificance, of cold carelessness, of certain despair, of ugly dissatisfaction, a feeling of "fatedness to be alone." What was good about this was that, though both of us in the storm, we were both riding the storm on the same boat. Our experiences on the boat might be different, but the storm was the same. A creature of silent death, the same life-sucking fierceness bleeding our souls dry. But then, we had a thought. We knew at that point that God was good. We knew that God gives certain grace in the most unseemly ways. God never acts according to our demands, but he provides where he sees fit.
I am certain that God wants us to see that our centers are faulty; that our anchors are weak. They will not hold when they need to grasp the weight of life's sorrow, when they are required to withstand the strongest force of the wind's gusts. They are not the eternal anchors of promise, the anchors of hope, the anchors of salvation, around the center of a good God. They are the finite anchors of life's passing affections. We cannot make a relationship our center, for that relationship will fill the void only for a passing moment. We cannot center our comforts in the feeling of significance for someday our sun will be eclipsed by the a greater sun, a brighter sun. We anchor our hearts in the one who created our ever-longing souls, the only one who quenches the driest thirst, the only one who gives life to the deadest heart. We center our hearts around an every-satisfying God who cares for even the most insignificant of creatures. When those things around the center crumble and fade, our center remains sure, and life seems a little more promising than the coldness of a heart centered around the certain destruction of life's passing affections.
We must say with Kierkegaard, "I must never, at any moment, presume to say that there is no way out for God because I cannot see any, For it is despair and presumption to confuse one's pittance of imagination with the possibility over which God disposes."
I think the conversation started by the rehashing of what it was to be a follower of Jesus Christ in Dallas, TX. He said something to the degree of, "I don't know if I'm a Christian." He went on to ask what it meant for a person to "believe" in Jesus. Ya, sure, we know what it means to believe something, but really, what does it mean? How do I believe in Jesus? Ya, sure, we know the Sunday School answers. Both of us were raised in church, both of us went to colleges and earned degrees in Bible, both of us graduated with master's degrees in theology, but we don't know what it means to believe in Jesus? He went on to talk about how he thought the Apostles really had it easy. They saw Jesus. They touched Jesus. Life was not easy. But they knew what they had to do, and they knew they would probably die for it. They had it easy. It's easier to be motivated to action when your very life is on the line. It's a rush, it's an adrenaline kick.
Interestingly enough, I kind of agreed with him. We know the answers, we know what we're supposed to say, we know the right time to smile and the right time to nod our heads, we know what people want to hear, but is it real? We agreed that if Joe Shmo Jr. came to us finding himself in a similar ennui we could help. We could give him the right answers, but would we really hold to what we said if our lives depended on it? It's tough to know, probably not.
We came to the conclusions that we blamed God for our dissatisfaction. We blame God for our boredom. We blame God for our unrealized thirst for self-fulfillment in relationships, in work, in spirituality. It was as if we believed God to be somehow secretly behind the plan to make us dissatisfied, to cause us to fall into a "slough of despond." God is out to get us down.
We sat discussing our feelings of empty insignificance, of cold carelessness, of certain despair, of ugly dissatisfaction, a feeling of "fatedness to be alone." What was good about this was that, though both of us in the storm, we were both riding the storm on the same boat. Our experiences on the boat might be different, but the storm was the same. A creature of silent death, the same life-sucking fierceness bleeding our souls dry. But then, we had a thought. We knew at that point that God was good. We knew that God gives certain grace in the most unseemly ways. God never acts according to our demands, but he provides where he sees fit.
I am certain that God wants us to see that our centers are faulty; that our anchors are weak. They will not hold when they need to grasp the weight of life's sorrow, when they are required to withstand the strongest force of the wind's gusts. They are not the eternal anchors of promise, the anchors of hope, the anchors of salvation, around the center of a good God. They are the finite anchors of life's passing affections. We cannot make a relationship our center, for that relationship will fill the void only for a passing moment. We cannot center our comforts in the feeling of significance for someday our sun will be eclipsed by the a greater sun, a brighter sun. We anchor our hearts in the one who created our ever-longing souls, the only one who quenches the driest thirst, the only one who gives life to the deadest heart. We center our hearts around an every-satisfying God who cares for even the most insignificant of creatures. When those things around the center crumble and fade, our center remains sure, and life seems a little more promising than the coldness of a heart centered around the certain destruction of life's passing affections.
We must say with Kierkegaard, "I must never, at any moment, presume to say that there is no way out for God because I cannot see any, For it is despair and presumption to confuse one's pittance of imagination with the possibility over which God disposes."