Raw

I came face to face with a side of myself that I really didn’t want to see today, or even admit that it exists. It came about all of a sudden, in a way I didn’t see coming at all. Over the past couple week I’ve been reading a book penned by someone who had lost a pre-teen son, and in the book he chronicled his grieving process and the things that transpired in his life after that event, and how he realized that the suffering was part of God’s plan for his life and how God would use it for good. But while reading the first few chapters, I was noticing some points where, in the grieving process, he stated a point (or quoted someone else) that was not entirely solid from a doctrinal standpoint. And I started to get distracted from the real point of the book to question the theology being presented by the grieving father (who wasn’t trying to teach theology, but rather just try to come to grips with God after the life he had known was shattered to pieces). And the worst part of it is that one of the goals in reading the book was supposed to be growing in the area of understanding loss, the deep spiritual battle that ensues with grief, and being there for people who are in the process. So all of a sudden it hit me square between the eyes what I was subconsciously doing and just how wrong it was. Don’t misunderstand me, theology is a good thing. But theology is still a rational system and in itself is an impersonal system of describing a God who is very much personal. And while the grieving process is one of the most raw, personal things to face, and a very intense time spiritually, I was instead faulting someone for not necessarily dotting every ‘I’ and crossing every ‘T’ while he basically just looked for some solid ground again to stand on, after everything crumbled.

When I realized that, needless to say I was angry at myself. It’s not as though I should have been be surprised. Steve Brown once said, “You wouldn’t be so shocked at your sin if you didn’t have such a high opinion of yourself.” And that was really the next, and deeper, issue. Because why else would I be feeling critical of another if I didn’t somehow assume superiority in an area. I realized the worst thing yet is if it had been another person who was doing that, I would have (at least inwardly) been all over him in an instant.

Then it got even worse. I got together with a group of guys to discuss the book. And I realized just how real these issues were. A couple others had experienced a very similar level of deep grief. Others had been close to people who had. Either way they knew it first hand or had seen it. And I realized once again that while others could relate personally, I could only focus on the impersonal theory rather than the personal reality. In other words, insensitivity in the inability to truly relate. That, too, was something I didn’t want to face. We live in a culture that prides itself on strength. Those who get ahead are the ones who face challenges, take risks but take everything in stride, and do what it takes to succeed. We idolize those characteristics and put them up as examples of what “real men” (or “real women”) are. And more and more I realize that’s a damned lie. And I’m not saying ‘damned’ loosely for emphasis; I mean precisely that: it’s a damned lie because it is so far from the truth. You see, I’ve seen myself as a stable and strong individual — one who is not easily fazed and who is steady in crisis — but also a sensitive person. I’ve seen, and sensed, things that others don’t see, and overall have an inward desire to show compassion and encourage. But when discussing some of the deepest, most painful emotion anyone can feel — things that cut to the very core of any person — I realized I couldn’t directly relate because it was a feeling foreign to me. Because to some extent or another, I bought into the lie. And I also saw that because it’s a very real facet of life, it’s something that as I progress into ministry, it’s something I’m going to have to be able to walk with others through. And that can only mean one thing. God is going to have to make me be able to feel on a deep level. And there is no way that molding and shaping pleasant in any form. I don’t even want to think about what that could involve. Yet now I realize how important it is.

If I’m going to be brutally honest with myself right now, too often I’m content to find my happiness in things “of God” and call it good and think I’m doing quite well. I can focus on theology (which again is good, but is still impersonal precepts) and fine-tune every point until it’s sharp. I can also long for those things which God has said is good, such as having a family. But without much warning, before long those things become gods. God commands us to have no other gods other than Him, and we often assume that if we are focused on good things then we are pleasing Him. But then those things become idols. Because what we desire must be God Himself, and Him only. If what’s needed to be complete is not God Himself, as a person (and not an impersonal abstraction), then something else has taken God’s rightful place. And the really deceptive thing is that it may take a serious wake-up call to realize this has happened; that instead of desiring God I’ve started to just desire what God can give me — a serious form of spiritual whoredom, where God gets relegated to the role of a genie or heavenly “sugar daddy”. Or sometimes it’s even things that can be done “for God” — ministries and the like — that become the focus, so that I forget that it’s His work all along. All these things are good things but when they compete for the role of an interpersonal — person to person — relationship with God, it is seriously wrong.

And in cases like this, God will do what He has to (remember, He is sovereign over all things) in order to regain our affections. From our perspective it can look like we’re doing things for God and eagerly desiring the things which He has said are good — and then those things may be gone. Strength fades and weakness takes over. And then what’s left is a personal God. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I realize that this is necessary. I may be wanting God’s good gifts in life, but until I reach the point of being fully satisfied in Him alone and content to give up every other dream because all I need is found in the personhood of God — I am making those other things into idols. I like to think that I could best glorify God by advancing in ministry and having a godly family and wonder why I’m waiting and will continue to wait for those. But then I’m reminded again of John Piper’s statement that “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” Wherever he’s placed me now is where I am to be content, and my focus must be on God personally rather than just on things of Him and things He can provide.