Desperate For Your Touch
A reoccurring theme of my conversations with friends is that there is this profound sense of insecurity. It usually starts with a conversation on their relationships, usually non-romantic, and it always ends with questions about possible bitter truths that haunt them about life, love, and faith. Through it all I ask myself whether I've come to understand these truths enough to impart wisdom both for the person I'm talking to and myself, or if I'm blinded by my own ambition, faulty logic, and hardness of heart intending to serve my own glory. I guess the question of "who or what I serve?" always looms in the balance, not that I second guess the authority that God has in my life (or what He ought to have - I know my theology); rather, it's the inquisition of my service that causes me to fumble over my intentions and motivations. In fact, it's scary to classify my actions under the specter of having accomplished something; the label of "my actions" speaks volumes about my pride, the level of giving and doing that I pour out with my entire heart, and ultimately, the validity of my actions in correlation with my words.
One friend that I spoke to recently asked me the big "what if", "what if I've actually never felt the love of God; what if all the "feelings" and "miracles" in my life are figments of my imagination that only amount to my own work in an attempt to satisfy my own ambition - an ambition to cast an image suiting of my actions, suiting of an image that others attribute to my glorification of God?" Even more profoundly, "what if all that I've done has been in vain?"
Roger Shuttleworth, overseer and mentor to ACF, said something that hit my core at our last fall retreat; he asked, "what is it that you repent for? Do you repent for all the bad things you do? Not that this is necessarily a bad thing to do, in fact, it's necessary that you repent for the things that society has labelled (or dis-labelled) sin these days. But have you ever given thought to repenting about the good things you do, or about the "good" days you have?" The Bible says everything that is outside the glory of God, even with the inconsequential addition of "I'm doing this for the glory of God," is something that He rejects. It says so clearly in His Word that those who have not called upon Him and accepted His presence, regardless of their "goodness" or "badness", He does not know - them and their actions, and He throws them into a place where there will be eternal sadness. I say this with a grievance that digs deeper than simple physical affliction. When He casts away those He does not know, there will be a sadness that is more than just suffering. Suffering, in this sense, is mercy, because so long as you are still suffering, you are still living. Every breath and thought of our livelihood is a gift, wrapped up with a "do you understand the immensity of this?" card attached to it. So when we suffer, we're being blessed. When He casts those that He does not know into the lake of fire, I believe that when the Bible says, "there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth," it doesn't mean that people will be suffering endlessly, although this might be one way of looking at it - I just don't see how thinking only in this way gets the message across. I don't even think the passage necessarily implies that a person gains some sort of unquenchable grief, as if there is an opposite to be felt - sure people will cry out, but they won't know what they're crying out for. God will make them blind to all that He is. Looking at the cross, what I imagine it might mean, is that there will be this perpetual sense of loss deep enough for a person to want to stop feeling altogether. I don't want to be theologically ungrounded here, so I'll use social examples that people might understand. I ask the question, in cases of suicide, what is it that drives people to killing themselves? It's not some physical pain. It's not a break-up. It's not the sense of being wrong. All of these might trigger the emotions and revelations that lead to suicide, but none of them are great enough to bring someone (cognizant of their surroundings and situation in life) to jump off a building. No, suicide is a consequence of feeling out of control. Death becomes welcome to two types of people: 1) people who have something that they are willing to give their lives for, or 2) people who have given their lives in pursuit of something only to have it ripped from them without a satisfactory explanation. For the second type of person, suicide is a way of feeling "in control".
The reason why I'm unwilling to be definite in my thinking and wording is because I just can't imagine the picture the Bible paints for us. When I think about it, this is how I see hell without having a concrete image to relate my thoughts to - for those who Jesus casts into eternal condemnation, as soon as they are born into it, it could be (in the least of it) this insatiable sense of being out of control. This nothingness, this panic, this fragility that makes feeling it worse than death itself. Perpetual darkness; a grief that knows no outcome. As much as suffering is a continued state of living, eternal damnation will possibly be a continued state of non-living without the addition or satisfaction of dying - kind of like a perpetual fading out without the resolution.
And still, for me, sometimes I don't take it seriously enough, and I willingly sin. It's almost as if I want to be in a place like this. The Bible says that the heart is wicked, and what is wickedness? It is a separation from God. In my conversations with other people, I've come to ask myself if I've been following my heart a little too much. I ask if "my actions" are in accordance with God's will and I look introspectively, as if what my heart is telling me would know.
"What is it that you relent for? What is it that causes you to grieve. Is it the sin, that you've labelled for yourself as such? Do you include all the good things that happen to you apart from your expectation of God's work in your life?" Are my actions in vain? Have I tasted the love of God? Or. have I defined the love of God for myself, so that I might feel assured in my own accomplishments excusing myself with a, "but it was for the glory of God".
When people ask me, "how do I know that I've felt the love of God?" All I can answer with is, "you just know, because the Holy Spirit reveals it to you." Hebrews 11:1 describes the assurance of faith, but it doesn't describe how one can be assured of their assurance of faith. I'm sitting here, and I'm writing this in knowledge that I've felt the love of God, and believe me, though we are called to boast of Jesus Christ in our lives, it hasn't always been a bragging point. Honestly, sometimes it terrifies me because I've turned my back on it so many times. So much so that sometimes I wish I was on the side of those who are asking the question of having felt His presence out of a true ignorance for insight. There's a terrifying element in knowing that I have no excuse for relying on "my heart" and "my actions" so much, and sometimes I don't know how to fix it, or I go on for so long in one way of doing things that I cease to be able to distinguish the love of myself from my love of God.
What's at issue here is this: It's the heart that causes people to ask questions about God's role in our lives well after they've received Him. AND I AM SAYING, it's time to stop if you've ever prayed the words (intentionally and I mean "with a contrite heart" kind of depth - and I assume the meaning of contrite is general knowledge because everyone has said, "I'm sorry" before in a meaningful way), "I love you Jesus, I believe you came to earth spotless, died on the cross taking away the sin of believers and rose again 3 days later to satisfy the Father's wrath so that You and Him could have a personal relationship with me, and I'm asking You to come into my heart this second so that I don't live one more day without the freedom of living in Your presence."(or something to that effect)
Tag:
Looking back, I haven't been living in the ways that Christ has called me to. I've been draining myself of the one relationship that can answer the questions that people have been asking me. I believe it was D.A. Carson who wrote, "the righteous person learns to think God's thoughts after him. He delights in the law of the Lord. He meditates on God's Word day and night. It is not a question of quasi-magic: "a verse a day keeps the devil away". This is much more than having a Bible verse handy or mechanically making sure that you have your "devotions." It is such a love affair with all that God says that it feeds your mind...your mind naturally gravitates toward thinking through what God has said." Where in my life is this? My weakness is not in asking, "have I felt the love of God?"; rather, it is in living rebelliously knowing that He has offered it countless times only so that I might respond with a, "I'm going to follow my heart" succeeded by a, "for the glory of God". My kind of response is more dangerous than the person asking the questions, simply because I refuse the supernatural love of God, where as those asking are at least seeking after it. I'm at the point where I need to stop refusing and start accepting. For every person that asks me, "have I felt the love of God", I should be able to respond, "God has touched me in a way where I know he's felt my love for Him." To this, there's no end. For you, I pray, just as much as I do for myself, that the desperation of Christ flows constantly through your soul, until it reaches Christ both in spirituality here on Earth and in reality when this life passes and we see Him face to face. My the peace of God and His knowledge which transcends all understanding be with you.
Touch me, O God, know my heart so that you might change it everyday. I want the flesh of the Spirit. I want the taste of overflowing waters. Would you pour it out for me as it pours out of me. May your merciful hand lift me up so that my faith in you would not be founded on any thing I see. And may I please you everyday of my life.
One friend that I spoke to recently asked me the big "what if", "what if I've actually never felt the love of God; what if all the "feelings" and "miracles" in my life are figments of my imagination that only amount to my own work in an attempt to satisfy my own ambition - an ambition to cast an image suiting of my actions, suiting of an image that others attribute to my glorification of God?" Even more profoundly, "what if all that I've done has been in vain?"
Roger Shuttleworth, overseer and mentor to ACF, said something that hit my core at our last fall retreat; he asked, "what is it that you repent for? Do you repent for all the bad things you do? Not that this is necessarily a bad thing to do, in fact, it's necessary that you repent for the things that society has labelled (or dis-labelled) sin these days. But have you ever given thought to repenting about the good things you do, or about the "good" days you have?" The Bible says everything that is outside the glory of God, even with the inconsequential addition of "I'm doing this for the glory of God," is something that He rejects. It says so clearly in His Word that those who have not called upon Him and accepted His presence, regardless of their "goodness" or "badness", He does not know - them and their actions, and He throws them into a place where there will be eternal sadness. I say this with a grievance that digs deeper than simple physical affliction. When He casts away those He does not know, there will be a sadness that is more than just suffering. Suffering, in this sense, is mercy, because so long as you are still suffering, you are still living. Every breath and thought of our livelihood is a gift, wrapped up with a "do you understand the immensity of this?" card attached to it. So when we suffer, we're being blessed. When He casts those that He does not know into the lake of fire, I believe that when the Bible says, "there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth," it doesn't mean that people will be suffering endlessly, although this might be one way of looking at it - I just don't see how thinking only in this way gets the message across. I don't even think the passage necessarily implies that a person gains some sort of unquenchable grief, as if there is an opposite to be felt - sure people will cry out, but they won't know what they're crying out for. God will make them blind to all that He is. Looking at the cross, what I imagine it might mean, is that there will be this perpetual sense of loss deep enough for a person to want to stop feeling altogether. I don't want to be theologically ungrounded here, so I'll use social examples that people might understand. I ask the question, in cases of suicide, what is it that drives people to killing themselves? It's not some physical pain. It's not a break-up. It's not the sense of being wrong. All of these might trigger the emotions and revelations that lead to suicide, but none of them are great enough to bring someone (cognizant of their surroundings and situation in life) to jump off a building. No, suicide is a consequence of feeling out of control. Death becomes welcome to two types of people: 1) people who have something that they are willing to give their lives for, or 2) people who have given their lives in pursuit of something only to have it ripped from them without a satisfactory explanation. For the second type of person, suicide is a way of feeling "in control".
The reason why I'm unwilling to be definite in my thinking and wording is because I just can't imagine the picture the Bible paints for us. When I think about it, this is how I see hell without having a concrete image to relate my thoughts to - for those who Jesus casts into eternal condemnation, as soon as they are born into it, it could be (in the least of it) this insatiable sense of being out of control. This nothingness, this panic, this fragility that makes feeling it worse than death itself. Perpetual darkness; a grief that knows no outcome. As much as suffering is a continued state of living, eternal damnation will possibly be a continued state of non-living without the addition or satisfaction of dying - kind of like a perpetual fading out without the resolution.
And still, for me, sometimes I don't take it seriously enough, and I willingly sin. It's almost as if I want to be in a place like this. The Bible says that the heart is wicked, and what is wickedness? It is a separation from God. In my conversations with other people, I've come to ask myself if I've been following my heart a little too much. I ask if "my actions" are in accordance with God's will and I look introspectively, as if what my heart is telling me would know.
"What is it that you relent for? What is it that causes you to grieve. Is it the sin, that you've labelled for yourself as such? Do you include all the good things that happen to you apart from your expectation of God's work in your life?" Are my actions in vain? Have I tasted the love of God? Or. have I defined the love of God for myself, so that I might feel assured in my own accomplishments excusing myself with a, "but it was for the glory of God".
When people ask me, "how do I know that I've felt the love of God?" All I can answer with is, "you just know, because the Holy Spirit reveals it to you." Hebrews 11:1 describes the assurance of faith, but it doesn't describe how one can be assured of their assurance of faith. I'm sitting here, and I'm writing this in knowledge that I've felt the love of God, and believe me, though we are called to boast of Jesus Christ in our lives, it hasn't always been a bragging point. Honestly, sometimes it terrifies me because I've turned my back on it so many times. So much so that sometimes I wish I was on the side of those who are asking the question of having felt His presence out of a true ignorance for insight. There's a terrifying element in knowing that I have no excuse for relying on "my heart" and "my actions" so much, and sometimes I don't know how to fix it, or I go on for so long in one way of doing things that I cease to be able to distinguish the love of myself from my love of God.
What's at issue here is this: It's the heart that causes people to ask questions about God's role in our lives well after they've received Him. AND I AM SAYING, it's time to stop if you've ever prayed the words (intentionally and I mean "with a contrite heart" kind of depth - and I assume the meaning of contrite is general knowledge because everyone has said, "I'm sorry" before in a meaningful way), "I love you Jesus, I believe you came to earth spotless, died on the cross taking away the sin of believers and rose again 3 days later to satisfy the Father's wrath so that You and Him could have a personal relationship with me, and I'm asking You to come into my heart this second so that I don't live one more day without the freedom of living in Your presence."(or something to that effect)
Tag:
Looking back, I haven't been living in the ways that Christ has called me to. I've been draining myself of the one relationship that can answer the questions that people have been asking me. I believe it was D.A. Carson who wrote, "the righteous person learns to think God's thoughts after him. He delights in the law of the Lord. He meditates on God's Word day and night. It is not a question of quasi-magic: "a verse a day keeps the devil away". This is much more than having a Bible verse handy or mechanically making sure that you have your "devotions." It is such a love affair with all that God says that it feeds your mind...your mind naturally gravitates toward thinking through what God has said." Where in my life is this? My weakness is not in asking, "have I felt the love of God?"; rather, it is in living rebelliously knowing that He has offered it countless times only so that I might respond with a, "I'm going to follow my heart" succeeded by a, "for the glory of God". My kind of response is more dangerous than the person asking the questions, simply because I refuse the supernatural love of God, where as those asking are at least seeking after it. I'm at the point where I need to stop refusing and start accepting. For every person that asks me, "have I felt the love of God", I should be able to respond, "God has touched me in a way where I know he's felt my love for Him." To this, there's no end. For you, I pray, just as much as I do for myself, that the desperation of Christ flows constantly through your soul, until it reaches Christ both in spirituality here on Earth and in reality when this life passes and we see Him face to face. My the peace of God and His knowledge which transcends all understanding be with you.
Touch me, O God, know my heart so that you might change it everyday. I want the flesh of the Spirit. I want the taste of overflowing waters. Would you pour it out for me as it pours out of me. May your merciful hand lift me up so that my faith in you would not be founded on any thing I see. And may I please you everyday of my life.