Dirty Words Part 2 - The "S-Word"

Dirty words in the Christian circles - the "F-Word" is fear, but what is the "S-Word"? The word so many of us resist confessing to be a part of the Christian walk? 

It's Struggle.

No "good Christian" likes to admit how difficult the "Walk of Faith" can be.  I have heard time and time again the evangelistic message turned into the offer of a quick fix for all of life's difficulties, and I think when we present the gospel in that way, we do everyone a HUGE disservice.

First of all, those who "come to Jesus" under the delusion that afterwards all of life will go well is unfortunate.  It's been my experience that although there can be a huge sense of relief (grace is a wonderful reliever of guilt) and even a new infusion of hope into one's circumstances, the struggles in life often, OFTEN, reach an entirely new level. 

I think this sort of circumstance is described by Jesus, Himself, when he shared the parable of the seeds:

Some fell on stony places, where they did not have much earth;

and they immediately sprang up because they had no depth of earth.

But when the sun was up they were scorched,

and because they had no root they withered away.

And some fell among thorns, and the thorns sprang up and choked them.

Matthew 13: 5-7

It's sad to me when the disappointment and difficulty that becoming a Christian isn't a cure all leads to the stumble and fall of new believers.  They see other Christians through the misconception that they don't struggle in their Christian walks.  Granted, the "life is hard" message isn't necessarily going to bring the people in droves, but at least those who come will come with realistic expectations.

The Christians themselves, they're the next ones who are really suffering under the inability to confess the struggle of the Christian walk.  Too many make the same mistake as the new believers, because of the lack of transparency and the willingness to say we're struggling, those of us who are assume we are the only ones.  I can look at the pretty pastor's wife who is always dressed to the nines, whose children are always polite, neatly clothed, everyone always getting along, always remembering every "please" and "thank you," and my fight to get my three kids to church and had to referee the entire way there, all of a sudden think I'm a failure as a Christian. And rather than reaching out or seeking help, I worry about my own issues and hide the struggle trying to put on a happy face.  That's never a solution to a difficult struggle.

The truth is, ALL Christians struggle.  Whether it's with temptation, disappointment, discipline, focus of faith, all of us, ALL of us at one point or another find ourselves in the struggle, and far too many of us refuse to be open and transparent about it.  (1) because a lot of us really believe we are the only ones; and (2) we are afraid with openly looking for a solution will be harder than living bound by the problem.

The fact is being a Christ follower is hard, REALLY HARD.  That's a huge reason why God didn't call us to make that walk alone on our own.  Fellowship with other believers is key, but we as Christians need open, honest, transparent, REAL relationship where we can WITHOUT FEAR OF REJECTION share when we are having a hard time.  Whether it is with temptation to sin, or to have faith to hold on, whatever it is, God called us to do it in community - praying for each other, relating to one another, encouraging one another in Christ and in His Word.

There is power in one Christian confessing to another, "I struggle with lust," (as an example.)  And when the response is, "I understand," or "I've been there, and here's what helped me..."  It gives the power to bring hope to a hopeless situation from the perspective of the one who is bound. 

The truth is, God says His followers are "more than conquerors in Christ Jesus."  What is it we are conquering?  The struggle!  We want to claim the victory of the conquest but somehow disown the struggle, the two things cannot be mutually exclusive, so why should we be so opposed to admitting it? 

I said recently I wanted to belong a church called "The Fellowship of Broken People."  The fact is, it's an accurate name for any true church on the planet, but I would love to see us as believers confess that it's what we are rather than always trying to put on the "good show" of wholeness and propriety that intimidates both the lost and the believer who really knows what it is to struggle.  Instead of trying to blend in, this is the kind of church where TRUE ministry has the capacity to happen.  It's not a tyranny of the the best actors, but rather a place where arm in arm, hand in hand we Christians can muddle through this life together, moving "from faith to faith."  Each of us living out the cycle of battle, struggle to victory, it's circular.  And when we live in the open honest community, we are able to lift one another up - mourning with those who mourn, rejoicing with those who rejoice just the way the Bible tells us to.

There's an old bumper sticker I recall in the early days of my Christian walk; it said, "I'm not perfect, just forgiven." Such truth!  Maybe if we could own it, the lack of personal perfection, and even that it isn't going to be found (in this life) in following Christ- maybe we would draw more people to us rather than run them off.  And maybe more Christians would find the strength to overcome their battles rather than just suffer under them.

That's just the thought of this struggling, broken Christian anyway. What do you think?

Dirty Words Part 1 - The "F-Word"

I woke up this morning and quickly found myself feeling stressed and overwhelmed.  I have a list of "to do's" that I am dreading, and if they don't go well and get done properly, well, at worst I could have a real crisis on my hands.  As I lay in bed wishing I could just stay there all day and sleep my way through it, a good strong fear settled in.

As I was driving to work, I thought about the fear that was riding shotgun with me there. It made me think of how often I have heard people in the church say "Fear is the opposite of faith." And I thought about the guilt and condemnation that Christian cliche brings with it.  Then I thought about how many times I wanted to call "bullshit" when I heard it said. Excuse my language, but "hogwash" doesn't quite capture the intensity behind my feeling on this matter.  "Fear" isn't the "F Word" of the Christian faith.

Yes, the Bible tells us 365 times "Fear not."  But, it occurs to me, maybe it has to be said enough times it could be repeated daily throughout the year, it's not because we Christians AREN'T afraid, but it's because we ARE.

But my fear doesn't cancel out my faith.  Quite the contrary, it's when I am pressing through my fear that my faith is being exercised the most. I'm not saying there is any sort of wisdom in embracing our fear - I for one would prefer to break it off completely with my dark companion, but I don't believe there is any value in denying it. 

Fear isn't all bad.  Fear of getting burned keeps me from sticking my hand in a fire.  Fear of the IRS keeps me filing my taxes every year. Fear of a car accident keeps me driving within the posted speed limits on the road.  I even use fear in my parenting to teach my children to make wise choices.  For goodness sake's the Bible even says it;s the FEAR of God that is the beginning of wisdom!  And if THAT doesn't prove that fear and faith can actually have a valuable relationship, then I don't know what does!

There is a lot to fear in this world, if you are a parent the reasons to fear seem to increase exponentially.

A favorite "anti-fear" verse comes from the 4th chapter of Philippians. (v.6) "Be anxious for nothing..." Paul said.  And someone somewhere along the line turned it into the same kind of command as "Do not murder" or "Don't commit adultery."  And then they threw the emotional response of fear into the same "sin pile" as stealing money from somebody else's wallet. Next thing you know you've got good Christian folks walking around feeling like failures because they think their fear means they have no faith.

A good place to start would be for the "No fear! Christians" to learn, memorize and repeat the rest of Paul's admonition to not be anxious in life. "...but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God..."  The fear (anxiety) isn't considered the antithesis for faith, but rather it's to be a catalyst for it.

Fear is a warning signal that something is amiss. It could legitimately be something clearly defined like the "burn" of a fire, or consequence of an action, or it could be something INTERNAL, a warning singal about the heart and mind, and where they are that they don't belong, i.e., dwelling on life's worst case scenarios, or stepping carelessly toward faith's true opposite, unbelief. 

Fear isn't something that defines us, or our faith, but rather it is something that demands a response and needs to be addressed in our lives. It certainly isn't something that we ought to allow, or worse condemn, us as bad Christians, weak in our faith.  Instead, stand up to the fear, grab hold of the Lord, face it WITH Him, and you just might find it proves to you that your faith is actually that much stronger than you ever even dared to imagine! 

Made Clean - A parable

Twenty some odd years ago, I came to Christ.  After a train wreck season in my life where I had left a pretty serious wake of damage (at least it felt that way) I crawled on my belly, miserable in my existence and collapsed at the foot of the cross.  From the outside looking in, it probably didn't look that way at all, but on the inside, that is so completely how it felt. 

That's the funny thing about the effect of sin, it's not always visible to the eye-- rather it is a "soul speak" that resonates throughout life.  Like the bad buzz underlying 1970s TV watching, no matter how good the "programming" seemed, something was amiss.  I was miserable, heartbroken, overwhelmed by my own failures and shortcomings and in desperate need of love, acceptance and understanding. 

I found it at the foot of the cross.  There were people there who had been in the same "mud" I found myself covered in who were willing to get "down and dirty" with me, because the fact is, you really can't get clean in the midst of the "mud."  No one stood back and pointed and said, "Look at you, look how dirty you are!" No one asked me if I knew better, or why I'd been willing to roll around in said mud as long as I had.  No, they just propped me up and sat with me under the cross while the streams of Living Water poured out over me and washed me clean.  Oh God, how it quenched my soul.

My companions there, whom I know full well the Lord had sent, loved me. They didn't dismiss the mud, or tell me it was ok to stay "dirty," but neither did they critique or demand how I got through the process.  They stayed with me as long as I needed them to stay.  And when I was rested, restored and clean, they helped me get up on my feet.

When I was up I was able to walk away and go find other muddy folks in need, and for a season I spent a LOT of time finding the filthy and helping them find their own way to the shower at the cross.  I spent time sitting with many there myself. And when the water poured down and their mud splashed a little my way, I didn't panic or react, I knew I was clean.  I lovingly sat with them, and I waited with them until they too were ready-  ready, willing and able to become a part of the ministry to the "down and dirty."

I don't know when or how it happened exactly, I think I just got busy. Babies were born, responsibilities came, and when I walked away from the shower at the cross, I got distracted from looking for the people who needed to find their way there.  I didn't mean to, it wasn't intentional, I just got busy.  I would still walk back by the cross, it was actually a place I even cherished, but I was no longer looking for who else needed to find that place.  Then one day as I was walking toward it, I passed a parade of filthy people who desperately needed to get there, and I heard myself.  "Look at you!" I said, "You're filthy!"  And a part of me actually thought about the fact that I didn't want them up on the hill, sullying it up. 

It had been so long since I had witnessed the shower coming down, and actually remembered my own experience there, that in my mind, it changed from what it was meant to be and actually had been.  "This is a place for the clean," I thought.  I forgot it was really a place to be made clean.  And I think my presence there, standing with some false sense of authority and righteousness, may have even scared away a few of the filthy-- some who had never even come to the shower, and others who were still in the midst of having one.  "No, no, no - you're not doing it right," I'd say. "The water from the cross isn't enough, you need to use this soap, or pecifically wash this way," I'd say pointing with my own agenda. It overwhelmed people. I overwhelmed people-  so they walked away rather than live under my scrutiny and disappointment. 

I stood far enough away from the cross that the water wasn't really getting anywhere near me anymore, and the place where I now stood carried a different kind of dirt.  It wasn't like the mud I came to the cross with at first.  Although that mud had been thick, and pervasive, there was a softness and ease that responded quickly and easily to the wash of the water.  This knew filth-- the filth of self-righteousness and judgment that had come upon me was dry, hard and thick.  It was as though it had become a part of me, a film that covered all, thick and hard, it mysteriously looked attractive to me when I looked in the mirror, the spiritual equivalent of a spray tan, if you will.  I liked it, I lived comfortably in it.

Then one day, something happened.  I heard Jesus beckon me back over toward the cross. 

I offered formal greetings and stood proudly, not just anyone gets called over to the cross you know. The melody and lyrics of "I Am a Friend of God" resonating in my brain. "What's up, Jesus?" I asked.  Because Jesus is my homie after all.  I was smiling ear to ear, certain He had something wonderful to say about my beautiful spray tan and how good I'd been about keeping traffic cleared at the foot of the cross, but when I got close enough to actually look up at Him, He locked eyes with me and I could see tears of sadness in His eyes. 

"You forgot what happened here," He told me.  "You've forgotten who you were when you came to Me," He said.

As I stared straight into His face, something in my heart broke, and the flood of the water that had saturated my soul decades before began to well up inside of me. 

"Look down," He said and I saw a pool of mud.  It was thick and dark, and deep.  "Do you remember it?" He asked. 

"Is that mine?" I replied.

He just nodded solemnly.  It wasn't anger, it wasn't judgment, it wasn't even disappointment in His eyes, it was sadness. The very same sadness that I saw my first day there.  But that had been sadness for me, this was sadness because of me.

"Can I come back?" I asked, desperately, suddenly seeing my "spray tan" for what it was, an ugly binding layer of a different kind of sin.  "Will you wash this off too?"

"Yes," He assured me, but then He warned, "this filth is far more difficult to remove. It isn't soft and ready to come off like the first filth you brought to me.  This legalism and self-righteousness, it actually has to be fought against."

Desperate I was willing to do anything He said, "How? Tell me," I begged.

"You can't wander from the living water, but even more so, you cannot be afraid of the mud," He said.

"The mud?  But you washed it away," I said. 

"The mud is what will soften your filth, not your own mud, but the mud of those you lead here to My cross.  Sit with them, wait with them, let me wash over them, and as their mud splashes upon you as I so freely wash it away, look back down into your own puddle there, and remember, I made you clean, it was not a work of your own. 

I stepped back under the shower of living water, and I found myself having to stand there much longer than I had before.  Then I realized, the first time I was on my knees, and it made all the difference.  I bowed there and the water flowed, faithfully and faithfully it flowed, and it made me clean again.  It wasn't me, it was Jesus. 

My soul restored I find myself back in that place, looking for the filthy, the mud deep strugglers who don't know about the shower of the cross, I want to reach out to every one of them, not to point out their mud, but to help them find their own way to the cross where the living water flows and to sit with them while Jesus does the work He desires to do, for each one in His own way, and in His own time. 

I have to guard myself forever from the filth of self-righteousness-- but I remember now, the key is never wandering far from the foot of the cross, where the mud is washed away by a Savior who lovingly pours down His living water upon the life and into the soul of any who are willing to respond when He bids them, "Come."

My legalism card

Man oh man... I have been walking around for days feeling like I could burst into tears at the drop of a hat. It's like something is completely broken inside, and I could not be more pleased.

I didn't come to Christ like I was doing Him a favor.  On the contrary, I came to Him devastated and broken, completely aware of the si8n and shame in my life and desperately aware of my need for a Savior to pull me out of the much and mud that was my existence. When the "Lifter of my head" drew my eyes upward to the cross of Christ and all He had done for me I experienced a level of gratitude that I am hard pressed to find the words to describe. The grace of God radically and completely changed my life. It changed me.

I've been thinking back a lot on that girl.  I can see her standing at the kitchen sink washing dishes when a song called "Free" by Steven Curtis Chapman began to blare through the house...

"And with repentance in his voice he told me of his tragic choice

That led him to this place where he must pay the price

But then his voice grew strong as he began to tell

About the One he said had rescued him from hell, he said...

I'm free, yeah, oh, I have been forgiven

God's love has taken off my chains and given me these wings

And I'm free, yeah, yeah, and the freedom I've been given

Is something that not even death can take away from me

Because I'm free

Jesus set me free"

A song about a convicted criminal waiting on death row for his punishment literally drove me to my knees right there in my kitchen, crying out in gratitude.  I was a murderer too, I'd killed my own child through abortion, and although it wasn't a criminal offense, I have lived with the certainty of my condemnation, and then.... Jesus set me free. 

And I knew, KNEW, to the depth of my very being that my freedom had come at great cost. I had looked upon the cross and I understood His suffering, the passion of Christ, was truly at my hands.  And I was grateful.

I don't know when it happened exactly, somewhere along the line my knowledge of that grace, it's power, it's blessing and it's cost faded back into a memory, and somewhere I started to live like I had done something for Christ, rather than like He had done something for me, something I did not deserve and never could earn. 

In the beginning I wanted to change my life out of a grateful heart.  I wanted to live for Him, and live a righteous life BECAUSE of what He had done for me. But somewhere along the line I think I actually removed the cross from the equation.  Instead of recognizing the mercy and grace, the unmerited favor and free gift out of the goodness of the Giver's heart, I got caught up in some perceived goodness of my own.  I looked around and wondered why other people weren't living the same kind of life I was "for Christ." And I judged people.  Not just inside the "body," but outside the body too.  It wasn't a willful decision, but one I slowly slipped into, losing love for others with every step further. 

I don't know exactly when or how, but I exchanged my "grace card" to become a "card carrying" legalist instead, and it wasn't just how I lived my own life, but it was an expectation I put on others.  And I can't help but realize, because of it, people had to have stopped seeing Jesus in me-- or worse, the me they saw, must have made them not want to look toward Jesus at all.  How the thought of that breaks my heart. 

There is another line from another Steven Curtis Chapman song that has been resonating in my mind and heart.  In the song "Remember Your Chains," Chapman sings these lyrics:

"There's no one more thankful to sit at the table

Than the one who best remembers hunger's pain

And no heart loves greater than the one that is able

To recall the time when all it knew was the shame"

God forgive me, I had forgotten.  I had forgotten what it was to remember "hunger's pain" and the sea of shame that rightfully consumed me before I stood at the cross of Christ, where His blood flowed down and covered my sin... healed my heart... gave me a hope greater than myself... a blessed assurance that what He did for me was everything, and it was enough. 

I don't know how I forgot, but I did.  And I don't want to ever forget again. 

For by grace you have been saved through faith, and that not of yourselves;

it is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast. 

For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works,

which God prepared beforehand that we should walk in them.

Ephesians 2:8-10

For He will deliver the needy when he cries,

The poor also, and him who has no helper.

He will spare the poor and needy,

And will save the souls of the needy.

He will redeem their life from oppression and violence;

And precious shall be their blood in His sight.

Psalm 72:12-14

Here are both the songs referenced above if you're interested.




Swoon

Have you ever found the sense of God's presence has a very similar physical manifestation to anxiousness and fear?  Maybe it's just me, but there are days when I can sense the nearness of the Holy Spirit and it causes a flutter in my gut and a tightness in my chest that makes me feel like it's all I can do just to catch my next breath.

I'm feeling exactly that way right now as I type this into the computer. The only difference being that rather than the "fight or flight" response I have when those feelings are rooted in fear, instead I feel like I would simply like to collapse to my knees and worship the Father.  Why don't I?  Well because I am at work, in the middle of my day and it just doesn't feel appropriate.

This feeling is one that can both be pursued and can sneak up on me.  I have at times been just walking through the grocery store and very suddenly in the midst of walking up an aisle, it's all I can do not to fall on my face and weep in His presence.  Sometimes when I am on a long walk the same desire will arise, the need to just worship.  I will sometimes raise my hands, but I try to make it look as much like a "normal" stretch as I go, just in case anyone is watching.

Sometimes in church service these same feelings will come upon me and feel interrupted.  This past Sunday, I found myself very caught up in worship (which is actually unusual for me) and my eyes were closed and my arms stretched toward the heavens, I was completely caught up in pursuing the presence of the Lord when the music stopped and the pastor began to speak announcements.  Even in church I found myself pulling my arms down quickly, embarrassed.

I can't help but wonder, why do I do that?  And how would my life be different if I didn't let myself refrain because of what other people might think.  What am I missing out on because in those moments of overwhelming desire to worship and connect with God I let myself focus on the thoughts, approval and opinions of others.

I am honestly just thinking "out loud" because I don't know how I could dare to do anything any differently.  What would people think?  Yes, there might be grace if I was lost in worship in the middle of a church service, but if I drop to my knees at Ralph's someone is likely to make a phone call to bring an ambulance or worse to tend to my apparent mental health issues.

James 4: 8a says "Draw near to God and He will draw near to you." And I honestly imagine that these love bursts of worship, reverence and awe are probably symptomatic of exactly that, the Lord drawing near.  I can't help but wonder if there isn't some serious opportunity being missed by not just stopping and basking in the presence of my Savior.

I have been thinking about Him, and my relationship with Him a lot lately.  I mean, I have always found him to be in the center of my thoughts, I am always wondering what He thinks or feels about my actions and choices, but I have been thinking with more intention, reminding myself of the things He has done for me, and the parts of Himself that He has revealed to me through those experiences.  I am trying very purposely to remember exactly who I was when I came to Him-- broken, lost, desperate, hungering and thirsting for someTHING more only to realize that the answers to my needs were in a Person, in a someONE not a someTHING.

It's never been religion that had the answers to my lack, pain or loss, and I am sad to admit how many times in the years since I came in to relationship with Christ how many times I have let it be about the religion and lost all focus on the relationship.  It sounds cliche to say "Christianity is a relationship not a religion," but it's so completely and profoundly TRUE.  Oh God how desperately I love You.  How is it I so often forget the greatness and passion that is at the very root of our relationship? 

I am so thankful that God has not forgotten, and that I am sure is why when I least expect it He very suddenly comes up upon me and sweeps me off my feet-- like a passionate lover who takes me into His loving embrace until my heart flutters and He makes me swoon, wanting only to fall into His arms and be embraced by the amazing love that will consume my very existence, and beautifully so.

Lord, let me lay aside everything that is in and of myself and any concern for appearance or judgment, just simply, allow myself to swoon in Your beautiful presence.  Lover of my soul, how desperately I long to love you with the very same abandon with which you have so completely and selflessly loved me first...

David was afraid of the Lord that day and said, “How can the ark (presence) of the Lord ever come to me?” He was not willing to take the ark of the Lord to be with him in the City of David. Instead, he took it to the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite. The ark of the Lord remained in the house of Obed-Edom the Gittite for three months, and the Lord blessed him and his entire household.

Now King David was told, “The Lord has blessed the household of Obed-Edom and everything he has, because of the ark (presence) of God.” So David went to bring up the ark of God from the house of Obed-Edom to the City of David with rejoicing. When those who were carrying the ark of the Lord had taken six steps, he sacrificed a bull and a fattened calf. Wearing a linen ephod, David was dancing before the Lord with all his might, while he and all Israel were bringing up the ark of the Lord with shouts and the sound of trumpets.

2 Samuel 6:9-15

   

I Do Not Dare

I Do Not Dare

I do not dare to dream

For I know the sadness of its death.

I have grieved before

As I watched its final breath.

I do not dare to dream

For waiting is too hard

The pain and loss of losing

Has left me worn and scarred.

‘Tis easier to lay aside

The thoughts of what could be

And simply live right where I am

And hold to what I see.

I do not dare to hope

To suffer when it’s deferred

I’d rather live right here and now

No “could be” whispers heard.

My faith I’ll rest in who God is

Not in what He might do

I’ll seek His face and not His hand

And trust what’s proven true.

I know His plans are good

That’s good enough for me

I choose not to dream about

What just may never be.

I do not dare to aspire

To accomplish any great thing

So when nothing comes to pass

Disappointment it will not bring.

I have been the dreamer

Imagined a different life

Only to fall down hard

Shredded by internal strife.

I choose to look around me

Count the blessings that are mine

It’s a happier place to live

Than in dreams I may never find.

I no longer look

To fulfill some greater plan

I do not seek to soar

I’d rather simply stand.

I’ll stand right here

And I’ll live right now

I never have to dream

Or ever wonder how.

To imagine or to dream

Is more than I can give

For to suffer under heartbreak

Is such a horrible way to live.

Contentment is my aspiration

Satisfied in the here and now

Let the future be what it will be

God will work it out somehow.

No dreams for me

I simply do not dare

Let life bring what it will

I do not want to care.

If a dream You have to give

I’ll simply give it back to You

I don’t to ever dare to dream

Of what may never come true.

Hope is heavy unmet

A burden I choose not to bear

The future is Yours Father

I’ll live in it when I’m there.

I will never again grieve

A dream into its death

For I do not dare to dream

Or give it a single breath.

Diana DePriest

© March 14, 2013

Hope deferred makes the heart sick...

Proverbs 13:12