A cataclysm occurs at the point where authenticity becomes entrenched in the system of belief, for when our beliefs become authentic to who we are they become who we are. It is as if an alien life form had taken over the space in your brain that controls what you do, make, say or think. And when this alien life form takes over, it cannot be disobeyed or disagreed with.
Authentic beliefs cannot be allowed to be proven wrong.
When my beliefs become truly authentic I am unable-or unwilling-to listen to anything that disagrees with what I believe. I refuse to listen or to hear because I must protect the integrity of my beliefs as authentic to myself; I, me, this guy, cannot be allowed to entertain the possibility that I might be wrong, because then my beliefs would be inauthentic.
This is what religious beliefs look like.
Religious beliefs are defended at all costs and in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary. That is, it is claimed (and has been claimed by me), because beliefs do not depend on fallible human reasoning. Lunacy or not, this stands to the reason of authenticity; the constructed markers of reality that we call beliefs can only be maintained if we are authentic to them.
This means we really have to believe whatever it is we believe.
"Truly. You just gotta believe. You just gotta construct the same boundaries for what can and cannot be real as I tell you to. This is how you get to heaven. And don't let anyone tell you any different, because if you stop maintaining these boundaries you're going to hell."
This is called "epistemic closure."
Epistemic Closure is a fancy way of saying "refuse to learn." Literally, it means to close off from knowledge. But the term has connotations of belief, in that in order to close off you have to determine what is knowledge and what is not. In this way, you set out beliefs (markers of reality) about what can and cannot be learned, or rather what is and is not knowable.
Authentic religious beliefs require epistemic closure.
If our own salvation hinges on our ability to withstand any contrary
evangelistic efforts, then to protect ourselves from such a possibility we refuse to listen to anyone else’s beliefs. When we make believing the litmus test of salvation we exclude the possibility that we are wrong about what we believe. Of course, when we set ourselves up as the ultimate authority we make ourselves out to be God. The bible would call that- sin.
NATHAN MYRICK
The Problem of Authenticity
Ever since Kierkegaard coined the term and Sartre popularized it, the value of authenticity has maintained a prominent place in the minds of those in individualized society. The general consensus is that it is better, nay, crucial, that a person be authentic- that they be who they truly are.
Of course, this means that a person needs to know who they truly are.
But what informs this self understanding? How do we know what our own authenticity looks like? Does it feel right? Is it tied to emotional stability? No one seems to know, but we all know that authenticity is good.
The trouble is, authenticity is relative to something else.
This relativity means that to be authentic to yourself you need to differentiate and understand a divergence in the human person; you need to know what parts of you are you and what parts of you are not. To confuse this even further, identifying which is the fake you as opposed to the real you carries with it no qualitative criteria. There is no way to measure the merit or value of the fake vs the real you.
Sure, you can say you know when you are pretending.
But over time your pretension becomes ingrained. Let me put it this way, when you first start playing soccer, you're rubbish. But you practice. As you practice, you become better and better, until you are a legitimate soccer player. But at what point did you become authentically a soccer player? It was when you started practicing. But in your true self you weren't yet, because you knew you didn't know to play. But then you learned.
There are two sides to this observation.
The first is that in order to improve you need to recognize that you are not very good at soccer and in order to improve you need to make some changes to the way you do things; you need to practice and learn the game. This is the positive aspect of authenticity; recognizing and naming your status. But the second side dictates that you stake yourself down at the beginning of your career and say "well, this is the set of skills I was born with and I am not going to improve beyond these, so what's the use of practice?" This is the negative aspect of authenticity: the unwillingness to change for the better; to improve.
This is the danger in authentic Christianity.
Authenticity is only good for awareness of one's own condition, and not as a marker of arrival. Admitting you are a drunk and then making no efforts to seek help or curb your drinking is unacceptable. The same is true for the notion of authenticity; realizing the strength of your character without working to improve that is unacceptable. And what could be more fake than disingenuous effort?
But there is a darker side to authenticity; authentic belief.
Of course, this means that a person needs to know who they truly are.
But what informs this self understanding? How do we know what our own authenticity looks like? Does it feel right? Is it tied to emotional stability? No one seems to know, but we all know that authenticity is good.
The trouble is, authenticity is relative to something else.
This relativity means that to be authentic to yourself you need to differentiate and understand a divergence in the human person; you need to know what parts of you are you and what parts of you are not. To confuse this even further, identifying which is the fake you as opposed to the real you carries with it no qualitative criteria. There is no way to measure the merit or value of the fake vs the real you.
Sure, you can say you know when you are pretending.
But over time your pretension becomes ingrained. Let me put it this way, when you first start playing soccer, you're rubbish. But you practice. As you practice, you become better and better, until you are a legitimate soccer player. But at what point did you become authentically a soccer player? It was when you started practicing. But in your true self you weren't yet, because you knew you didn't know to play. But then you learned.
There are two sides to this observation.
The first is that in order to improve you need to recognize that you are not very good at soccer and in order to improve you need to make some changes to the way you do things; you need to practice and learn the game. This is the positive aspect of authenticity; recognizing and naming your status. But the second side dictates that you stake yourself down at the beginning of your career and say "well, this is the set of skills I was born with and I am not going to improve beyond these, so what's the use of practice?" This is the negative aspect of authenticity: the unwillingness to change for the better; to improve.
This is the danger in authentic Christianity.
Authenticity is only good for awareness of one's own condition, and not as a marker of arrival. Admitting you are a drunk and then making no efforts to seek help or curb your drinking is unacceptable. The same is true for the notion of authenticity; realizing the strength of your character without working to improve that is unacceptable. And what could be more fake than disingenuous effort?
But there is a darker side to authenticity; authentic belief.
The Believable Lie Pt. I
Over the past months I have been writing about the difference between faith and beliefs, and between lies and truth. I have written that faith is not about believing, and that Jesus' claim to be the truth in John 14 is not to be confused with him claiming to be our own, personal understanding of "truth" in some Cartesian/Platonic sense. But I have not yet explained why beliefs are unworthy masters and need to be removed from our understanding of faith.
But now is the time for such an explanation.
Here's how it works: We assume our beliefs to signify 1) the limits of reality, 2) the markers of identity, and 3) the means by which an individual participates in salvation. But our beliefs are not themselves the determiners of truth, as we have already established; we do not get to Jesus by starting with our idea of what "truth" is and trying to squeeze the entirety of the biblical account of Jesus' life into that definition. Unfortunately, all of us have to some extent. This is unavoidable in our modern context, yet none the less lamentable. My purpose here is to show how disastrous this act has been in the life of the church, and to do so requires some abstract explanation.
Can you bear with me?
When our person encounters a new experience or piece of information, the gatekeepers of our life, our belief system, engages that experience or information to see if it is acceptable within the parameters of reality our belief system has laid out; can this experience fit into what we consider to be real? In order to determine this, our belief system activates a criterion of resonance. This criterion of resonance requires the new information or experience to coincide or "resonate" with some previously established standard of reality accepted as "truth."
But truth cannot be determined this way.
Why? Because our beliefs are not intrinsically connected to some metaphysical realm where absolute truth resides in self-perpetuity; they are arbitrary and self perpetuating. Furthermore, truth is created, in this sense, through the action of belief. What we believe determines what we do (as we presently function), and when we believe something because it resonates with our previously established markers of reality and truth, we incorporate it into our system and begin acting in accordance with it.
But what if that new supposed "truth" was a lie?
Well, it would only be a lie for short time, because we, in our zeal for authenticity to ourselves (our beliefs), have created a reality out of that false belief; we have made it true. The lie has become a truth because we have enacted it. But a lie is negative relationship to reality. Therefore
Our actions have created a qualitatively negative reality.
In our blind commitment to ourselves we have unwittingly contributed to the destruction of God's good creation in order to ensure our salvation and righteousness. We call that sin. And we sin because we believe (do-faith) our beliefs. Our conceptualization of "faith" now serves our beliefs because we need to defend our selves and this through our beliefs; our piety. Our very sense of righteousness must be preserved even in abstraction. If we can convince ourselves of our dis-association from original sin by clinging to a notion of that which caused our sin as this which saves us we are blissfully and dangerously content.
Your belief in Jesus does not prevent your participation in sin; it causes it.
But now is the time for such an explanation.
Here's how it works: We assume our beliefs to signify 1) the limits of reality, 2) the markers of identity, and 3) the means by which an individual participates in salvation. But our beliefs are not themselves the determiners of truth, as we have already established; we do not get to Jesus by starting with our idea of what "truth" is and trying to squeeze the entirety of the biblical account of Jesus' life into that definition. Unfortunately, all of us have to some extent. This is unavoidable in our modern context, yet none the less lamentable. My purpose here is to show how disastrous this act has been in the life of the church, and to do so requires some abstract explanation.
Can you bear with me?
When our person encounters a new experience or piece of information, the gatekeepers of our life, our belief system, engages that experience or information to see if it is acceptable within the parameters of reality our belief system has laid out; can this experience fit into what we consider to be real? In order to determine this, our belief system activates a criterion of resonance. This criterion of resonance requires the new information or experience to coincide or "resonate" with some previously established standard of reality accepted as "truth."
But truth cannot be determined this way.
Why? Because our beliefs are not intrinsically connected to some metaphysical realm where absolute truth resides in self-perpetuity; they are arbitrary and self perpetuating. Furthermore, truth is created, in this sense, through the action of belief. What we believe determines what we do (as we presently function), and when we believe something because it resonates with our previously established markers of reality and truth, we incorporate it into our system and begin acting in accordance with it.
But what if that new supposed "truth" was a lie?
Well, it would only be a lie for short time, because we, in our zeal for authenticity to ourselves (our beliefs), have created a reality out of that false belief; we have made it true. The lie has become a truth because we have enacted it. But a lie is negative relationship to reality. Therefore
Our actions have created a qualitatively negative reality.
In our blind commitment to ourselves we have unwittingly contributed to the destruction of God's good creation in order to ensure our salvation and righteousness. We call that sin. And we sin because we believe (do-faith) our beliefs. Our conceptualization of "faith" now serves our beliefs because we need to defend our selves and this through our beliefs; our piety. Our very sense of righteousness must be preserved even in abstraction. If we can convince ourselves of our dis-association from original sin by clinging to a notion of that which caused our sin as this which saves us we are blissfully and dangerously content.
Your belief in Jesus does not prevent your participation in sin; it causes it.
Faith, Folly, and a Green Pontiac
In the the spring of 2003, I bought my first car. Well, my second car, actually. The first one was a gift from my Grandpa. That was in 1996, the year my second car was made, ironically. But in 2003, I bought my first car. A green Pontiac Grand Prix. A four-door SE model, complete with tape deck and power windows and locks. I loved that car.
I called it my Miracle Machine.
I called it that because in the summer of 2003 some friends and I were out fishing in the creeks near my home town at dusk when the driver's window refused to roll up. I tried every trick I could think of- opening and closing the door; pushing the button rapidly; banging on the control panel; turning the car on and off; tuning the radio- the usual things. After I and my friends had exhausted our repertoire of tricks to no avail, I had the idea to pray for the window. And so I did. Aloud. My friends watched and muffled their snickers. When I had finished, I hit the button.
The window rolled right up.
My friends and I were dumbfounded. I tried to play it cool, offering some pithy remark about the power of "faith," I'm sure. But inside I was astounded: here for the first time was, in my mind, proof that God actually answered prayer. And directly at that! Of course, the car started getting nicknames- Mountain Car, ATC (All Terrain Car), etc. But I stuck with Miracle Machine, or "MM" for short.
It wasn't long before MM gave me another opportunity to prove my "faith."
I was giving a friend who is a mechanic a ride over to my house later that summer, and as we neared the house I stopped at the mailbox and rolled down the window. Wouldn't you know it, the window refused to roll up once again. My friend noticed what had happened and said "Oh, don't worry. I know exactly what that is, happens to these cars all the time, easy to fix. When we get to your house I'll pull the cover off and get it working in no time." I replied "Don't bother. Here," and I prayed once more for my window to roll up.
And once again, it rolled right up.
My mechanic friend was astounded. He said that once that problem occurred the window should be inoperable until repaired; that it was an "on/off" sort of issue, no "in between phase." I just smiled and continued my pontification about "faith" and God answering my prayers. The verse from James 5:16 flashed through my mind: "The prayer of a righteous person is very effective." I hope I had the good sense not to proclaim it, but it was certainly encouraging to think that way. Heh, "encouraging." The pious way of saying "ego padding."
But it's funny how often faith is really folly.
In January of 2004 the window got stuck down again. This time, it stayed down. It was -30 Fahrenheit, and I was freezing my extremities off driving to work. I prayed and I prayed. I prayed alone and in the presence of others. Nothing. Finally, I got some cardboard and duct tape, and covered the gaping hole right next to my head so that my heater would be effective once more. I called my mechanic friend and made an appointment to get the window fixed.
And I wondered what had happened to my "faith."
Now, ten years later, I am finally beginning to get an idea of what was going on with ol' MM and her window. It stands as a turning point in my life; a point where I began to be aware of what faith is and what faith isn't. Faith is not a crutch that keeps us from being responsible. It is not a blank check to the easy life where cars don't need to be repaired and personal piety is left secure.
Faith is, instead, the choice to act when God calls.
It is the radical open-ness to God's action in my life. It was of course faithful to ask God to roll up my window that first spring evening. It may have even been faithful to ask God to roll my window up with my mechanic friend in attendance that summer day. But it would have been more faithful to make an appointment, pay my friend for his time and labor, and have him fix the problem that was causing my window to fail. In a sense, I was living entirely by faith. I put myself out there for God, expecting him to take care of my needs. And he did. And I liked it. So I did nothing. And when the mountain of a window refused to get back out of the sea where I had cast it, I felt completely betrayed. How could God leave me out to (freeze)dry like this?
I think we mistake God's messages and warnings as a provisional "end."
If I had been faithful to God's warning in the spring and summer of 2003, I would not have had to endure both the frostbite on my left ear and the humiliation of admitting that my "faith" was not strong enough to keep my car from needing repairs. In hindsight, the humiliation was infinitely good for me, but were I humble in the first place the lesson would not have been as needed.
I called it my Miracle Machine.
I called it that because in the summer of 2003 some friends and I were out fishing in the creeks near my home town at dusk when the driver's window refused to roll up. I tried every trick I could think of- opening and closing the door; pushing the button rapidly; banging on the control panel; turning the car on and off; tuning the radio- the usual things. After I and my friends had exhausted our repertoire of tricks to no avail, I had the idea to pray for the window. And so I did. Aloud. My friends watched and muffled their snickers. When I had finished, I hit the button.
The window rolled right up.
My friends and I were dumbfounded. I tried to play it cool, offering some pithy remark about the power of "faith," I'm sure. But inside I was astounded: here for the first time was, in my mind, proof that God actually answered prayer. And directly at that! Of course, the car started getting nicknames- Mountain Car, ATC (All Terrain Car), etc. But I stuck with Miracle Machine, or "MM" for short.
It wasn't long before MM gave me another opportunity to prove my "faith."
I was giving a friend who is a mechanic a ride over to my house later that summer, and as we neared the house I stopped at the mailbox and rolled down the window. Wouldn't you know it, the window refused to roll up once again. My friend noticed what had happened and said "Oh, don't worry. I know exactly what that is, happens to these cars all the time, easy to fix. When we get to your house I'll pull the cover off and get it working in no time." I replied "Don't bother. Here," and I prayed once more for my window to roll up.
And once again, it rolled right up.
My mechanic friend was astounded. He said that once that problem occurred the window should be inoperable until repaired; that it was an "on/off" sort of issue, no "in between phase." I just smiled and continued my pontification about "faith" and God answering my prayers. The verse from James 5:16 flashed through my mind: "The prayer of a righteous person is very effective." I hope I had the good sense not to proclaim it, but it was certainly encouraging to think that way. Heh, "encouraging." The pious way of saying "ego padding."
But it's funny how often faith is really folly.
In January of 2004 the window got stuck down again. This time, it stayed down. It was -30 Fahrenheit, and I was freezing my extremities off driving to work. I prayed and I prayed. I prayed alone and in the presence of others. Nothing. Finally, I got some cardboard and duct tape, and covered the gaping hole right next to my head so that my heater would be effective once more. I called my mechanic friend and made an appointment to get the window fixed.
And I wondered what had happened to my "faith."
Now, ten years later, I am finally beginning to get an idea of what was going on with ol' MM and her window. It stands as a turning point in my life; a point where I began to be aware of what faith is and what faith isn't. Faith is not a crutch that keeps us from being responsible. It is not a blank check to the easy life where cars don't need to be repaired and personal piety is left secure.
Faith is, instead, the choice to act when God calls.
It is the radical open-ness to God's action in my life. It was of course faithful to ask God to roll up my window that first spring evening. It may have even been faithful to ask God to roll my window up with my mechanic friend in attendance that summer day. But it would have been more faithful to make an appointment, pay my friend for his time and labor, and have him fix the problem that was causing my window to fail. In a sense, I was living entirely by faith. I put myself out there for God, expecting him to take care of my needs. And he did. And I liked it. So I did nothing. And when the mountain of a window refused to get back out of the sea where I had cast it, I felt completely betrayed. How could God leave me out to (freeze)dry like this?
I think we mistake God's messages and warnings as a provisional "end."
If I had been faithful to God's warning in the spring and summer of 2003, I would not have had to endure both the frostbite on my left ear and the humiliation of admitting that my "faith" was not strong enough to keep my car from needing repairs. In hindsight, the humiliation was infinitely good for me, but were I humble in the first place the lesson would not have been as needed.
"the Bible Clearly Says..."
It's Thursday, which, according to my calendar, is "Blog Day." I am exhausted. Three weeks of unmitigated sleep disruption has finally begun to soften, and I am feeling the effects of coming down from my adrenaline high. I don't want to write. I don't want to think. I want to sleep. I want to not think.
But those are not options. I need to think. I need to write.
So here is my brief rant for the day. Nothing profound, just a bit of frustration manifesting itself outwardly.
I'm sick of people saying things like "the Bible clearly says..." and then going on to express an opinion that is highly contested. I began to wonder if there is anything in the bible that is clearly said. I conducted a little survey on my facebook page to see if I was on the right track with my assumption. Here's what I posted:
And guess what? It was contested. Even something as seemingly obvious as calling a refusal to love someone "sin" was argued against. By Christians. To be fair, the arguments were nuanced and pointed to contextual usage of the command to "love one another" as being perverted so as to perpetuate oppressive systems. But there was still no consensus about the bible being clear about unloving action as sin.
Here's my point: The Bible isn't clear about anything.
If it was, it would not contain Acts 8:26-40. In this passage, the Spirit causes Philip to meet an Ethiopian eunuch who was riding in his chariot, reading the bible. Philip asks the man if he understood what he was reading. The man's response is telling: "How can I since no one has explained it to me?" (31) If the bible were "clear" in the sense that everyone, without training or being instructed, can read it for themselves, then why is this story in the bible?
My point is that we cannot read or understand the bible without the company of others who will read it with us and converse about what we are reading. And our company of readers needs to seek out those who know more about it than we do so they can help us understand it. Here's what experience has taught me:
Whenever someone says "the Bible clearly says..."they don't know what they are talking about.
Maybe this is a part of what the bible's overt stance against pride is all about. Humility is, I think, always the best option. When something in the bible is contested by those who study and try to live out what it says, approach the conversation with humility. Offer your opinion as what it is: your opinion. Say something like "I'm not sure what that obscure Greek word that is only used in this one instance means, but I think it means this because of this." Own your opinion, confess your filter, and be honestly humble.
It's funny how often honest and humility go together.
But those are not options. I need to think. I need to write.
So here is my brief rant for the day. Nothing profound, just a bit of frustration manifesting itself outwardly.
I'm sick of people saying things like "the Bible clearly says..." and then going on to express an opinion that is highly contested. I began to wonder if there is anything in the bible that is clearly said. I conducted a little survey on my facebook page to see if I was on the right track with my assumption. Here's what I posted:
"Opinion poll: Would anyone say that according to the bible it is NOT sin to be unloving? Honest question"
And guess what? It was contested. Even something as seemingly obvious as calling a refusal to love someone "sin" was argued against. By Christians. To be fair, the arguments were nuanced and pointed to contextual usage of the command to "love one another" as being perverted so as to perpetuate oppressive systems. But there was still no consensus about the bible being clear about unloving action as sin.
Here's my point: The Bible isn't clear about anything.
If it was, it would not contain Acts 8:26-40. In this passage, the Spirit causes Philip to meet an Ethiopian eunuch who was riding in his chariot, reading the bible. Philip asks the man if he understood what he was reading. The man's response is telling: "How can I since no one has explained it to me?" (31) If the bible were "clear" in the sense that everyone, without training or being instructed, can read it for themselves, then why is this story in the bible?
My point is that we cannot read or understand the bible without the company of others who will read it with us and converse about what we are reading. And our company of readers needs to seek out those who know more about it than we do so they can help us understand it. Here's what experience has taught me:
Whenever someone says "the Bible clearly says..."they don't know what they are talking about.
Maybe this is a part of what the bible's overt stance against pride is all about. Humility is, I think, always the best option. When something in the bible is contested by those who study and try to live out what it says, approach the conversation with humility. Offer your opinion as what it is: your opinion. Say something like "I'm not sure what that obscure Greek word that is only used in this one instance means, but I think it means this because of this." Own your opinion, confess your filter, and be honestly humble.
It's funny how often honest and humility go together.
The Deep Parts and Soul Healing
I think we all have deep parts. I think that somewhere, tucked beneath our bones we have a person, a soul, if you will. I think that in this deep part we feel our most intense longings, fears, hurts, joys, failures, triumphs. I think about what it is that lives in those parts of me. I think about what lives in those parts of others.
It's Memorial Day today (yesterday, when you read this). A day we have set aside to remember those who have died fighting for our freedom (I have opinions on this notion that will be left for another day). This is, in a convoluted way, admirable. I think I too am wont to honor the sacrifice of so many who have given their lives in honor, duty, sacrifice, and all too often, ignorance. But aside from all of these possibly noble reasons, they served and gave their lives in the auspice of my freedom. And I am thankful beyond measure for that sentiment.
But what of the ones who return? What of the ones who do not give their lives, but take? On a day set aside to honor our fallen warriors what of those who bear the deep wounds of living on?
I have read some tender, heart wrenching stories of soldiers both living and dead today. Those stories coupled with the innumerable stories I have heard in my lifetime create a picture of ache, of wound, of pain. When you've seen death up close there is no unseeing it. And I wonder how those memories can be healed. Sojourners had a wonderful article on this topic, and I want to direct you to that article here as well.
But I also want to consider what it is to heal those deep places, the places we call a "soul." What is it to be a soul healer? That's something I want to find out, and I want to be that person for the world.
My friend JR Woodward wrote a wonderful book called Creating a Missional Culture, and in it he describes what it is to be a soul healer. I highly recommend picking up a copy of his book for a wonderfully practical insight into living out God's intention for the world.
It's Memorial Day today (yesterday, when you read this). A day we have set aside to remember those who have died fighting for our freedom (I have opinions on this notion that will be left for another day). This is, in a convoluted way, admirable. I think I too am wont to honor the sacrifice of so many who have given their lives in honor, duty, sacrifice, and all too often, ignorance. But aside from all of these possibly noble reasons, they served and gave their lives in the auspice of my freedom. And I am thankful beyond measure for that sentiment.
But what of the ones who return? What of the ones who do not give their lives, but take? On a day set aside to honor our fallen warriors what of those who bear the deep wounds of living on?
I have read some tender, heart wrenching stories of soldiers both living and dead today. Those stories coupled with the innumerable stories I have heard in my lifetime create a picture of ache, of wound, of pain. When you've seen death up close there is no unseeing it. And I wonder how those memories can be healed. Sojourners had a wonderful article on this topic, and I want to direct you to that article here as well.
But I also want to consider what it is to heal those deep places, the places we call a "soul." What is it to be a soul healer? That's something I want to find out, and I want to be that person for the world.
My friend JR Woodward wrote a wonderful book called Creating a Missional Culture, and in it he describes what it is to be a soul healer. I highly recommend picking up a copy of his book for a wonderfully practical insight into living out God's intention for the world.
The Lie ptII
I will freely admit that much of my life feels like I am in the shadows. Or better, that my life has become a shadow. It seems that very often light exists beyond the horizon. Other times, it seems to be just beyond my grasp; I can see it, enough to know the shadow, but I'm never in it.
I've used several words and phrases here that are quite loaded, and I've done so intentionally to convey the multiplicity of ways that I live into the lies I believe. I am constantly searching for some epiphanic moment where I will see truth clearly and know what it is. I keep hoping that I will see Jesus clearly and know that it is Jesus. But as the bible says, we see now through a mirror, and dimly at that. I wonder if we see through the shadows.
-
When the light draws near and I can see where the light stops and the shadow begins, I find myself trying to catch the fading light. But no matter how vigorously I chase the light I am always in the shadow. It is as if the faster I run the faster the shadow moves, keeping pace with me as if it were my own shadow.
Because it is.
I am the thing that blocks the light. The light I chase is prevented from being seen because I am facing the wrong direction, with my back to the light I am constantly in shadow. I cannot bear to turn and face the brightness of the light because I prefer this view. My eyes have grown accustomed to this darkness. This is what I want; this is my space. Yet I desire the light. But I want to light to engulf me without it obstructing my view. I want light without it eliminating my shadow.
But it doesn't work that way.
Lies exist because they are believed. I am the sum total of what I believe, and if I believe something so rigorously that even in with the light shining directly on my back I refuse to turn and face it, because turning and facing it would mean the destruction of everything I believe myself to be.
That's how grace works.
Grace destroys the self-constructed self. Grace reveals the inadequacy of my beliefs. Grace rebukes me for arguing my rightness. Grace shines on my shadow and lights up my life. But when it does, I lose my sense of righteousness. I lose all the things I imagine in the shadow. I become the creature and not the god.
In grace, I become human.
I've used several words and phrases here that are quite loaded, and I've done so intentionally to convey the multiplicity of ways that I live into the lies I believe. I am constantly searching for some epiphanic moment where I will see truth clearly and know what it is. I keep hoping that I will see Jesus clearly and know that it is Jesus. But as the bible says, we see now through a mirror, and dimly at that. I wonder if we see through the shadows.
-
When the light draws near and I can see where the light stops and the shadow begins, I find myself trying to catch the fading light. But no matter how vigorously I chase the light I am always in the shadow. It is as if the faster I run the faster the shadow moves, keeping pace with me as if it were my own shadow.
Because it is.
I am the thing that blocks the light. The light I chase is prevented from being seen because I am facing the wrong direction, with my back to the light I am constantly in shadow. I cannot bear to turn and face the brightness of the light because I prefer this view. My eyes have grown accustomed to this darkness. This is what I want; this is my space. Yet I desire the light. But I want to light to engulf me without it obstructing my view. I want light without it eliminating my shadow.
But it doesn't work that way.
Lies exist because they are believed. I am the sum total of what I believe, and if I believe something so rigorously that even in with the light shining directly on my back I refuse to turn and face it, because turning and facing it would mean the destruction of everything I believe myself to be.
That's how grace works.
Grace destroys the self-constructed self. Grace reveals the inadequacy of my beliefs. Grace rebukes me for arguing my rightness. Grace shines on my shadow and lights up my life. But when it does, I lose my sense of righteousness. I lose all the things I imagine in the shadow. I become the creature and not the god.
In grace, I become human.
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