Fragments of life and thought that converge one day onto an epiphany:
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I have struggled for a while now with the role of emotion in faith. How much should I allow emotion to define my "experience" of God? How exactly does the Holy Spirit move, and do Christians ever attribute to the Holy Spirit what was really just some overcharged emotions?
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Street evangelism is not my thing, and being "witnessed" to by Mormons on the streets around campus has proved to me how annoying I find the whole concept. On the one hand, I want to share Christ with the world. That is my calling and it should consume my life. But I spent some time as a summer camp counselor, and led one girl through the sinner's prayer. That experience was so bittersweet for me. While it was nice to be able to report a "salvation" to the camp authorities, and while I hoped that the girl was sincere, it just seemed so surfacey to me. Even if she really meant it, she was only 10 years old, and it was all so new to her, and who was to say she wasn't just trying to make me happy? Did she really understand what had happened? Was it really real? Of course, I can't answer those questions - I can't judge her heart. But I have never forgotten that experience, and more importantly I have never forgotten how un-thrilled I was about the whole thing.
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Is faith about works? Or is it about belief? How do the two work together in practice? Does belief necessarily result in works? If so, what are those "works?" If not, what is left of Christianity?
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Can I really trust that Protestantism has it all right?
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I was at bible study last week, and we read the parable of the four soils, and for the first time for myself personally, I was convicted by the parable. I read it differently this time - I read it as directed at me. I allowed myself to question whether or not I am the healthy soil that bears fruit, and beyond that, I realized some things.
I don't think I can ascribe to a Christianity whose emphasis is entirely on conversion to a creed. I don't believe that one becomes a Christian entirely on the basis of a prayer. Christianity is about death to oneself. While I would never claim salvation to be attainable on the basis of works, because everything we do is filthy with sin, I do think that evangelical Christianity places too much emphasis on the prayer, and on the creed.
Because here's the thing. I believe Jesus Christ was born of a virgin, was without sin, was crucified, died, was buried, and rose again on the third day, and then ascended into heaven and now sits at the right hand of the Father making atonement for the sins of the world.
There's a problem, though.
If my life's "works" do not reflect my belief, then do I really believe this in any meaningful way? Putting my bet on Christianity is a lot different than truly believing it in a life-altering way. Here's the thing. What is belief anyway? Something I ascribe to? Something I can recite, something that I have been taught? Or does my belief fundamentally affect my worldview? Sometimes I don't know what I truly, at my core, believe. Because so often my deeds do not match the creed that I ascribe to. If I truly believed all those things in the apostles' creed, would my life not be radically sold out? Would not all the things of the world fade away? Would not I be bold?
Even assuming I do truly, at my core, 100% believe the things I have been taught about Christianity - assuming I do nothing about it...is that belief at all meaningful?
My Christianity disturbs me. It disturbs me because it's this creed that I ascribe to - this crazy, radical creed about a guy who is God and man. About a guy who never sinned, about a guy who was crucified and died for me. And then rose again. After three days! Not 24 minutes in heaven until God kicked him back down to earth. No...three whole days. So I ascribe to this creed. I claim it as my own. I would defend it in a debate - I may even tell a friend about it if they ask.
And yet, my life is so much the same as the people around me who are not saved. I live a comfortable life in middle class America. I go to school to fill my mind with somewhat moot knowledge about a fascist regime that existed 70 years ago on the other side of the world.
Christ calls me to follow Him. What does that mean? I know it means death to myself. I know it means that I will be hated if I follow. I know it means sacrifice and pain. I know it means carrying a cross.
I often say that this year in Washington has been the best year of my life...
How is that possible? On what basis has it been good? In some "joy in any circumstances" sort of way? NO! I've been spoiled rotten here by life. I have forgotten my passion to share Christ with those around me. I have settled into life and I struggle to hold onto a creed that I barely make any effort to live out. I hem and haw about whether or not my entire belief system is a lie...I doubt, I cry, I wonder why God is so silent. My entire life revolves around me.
This disgusts me.
Forget grace...for just one moment I want to wallow in my sin. I want to recognize just how horrible it is. I don't want to jump to the fact that God somehow forgives me...because that does not condone my continued disregarding of His call on my life. His call to come and die. Sure...I prayed the prayer all those years ago. I was even baptized. I continue to hold to the creed...
Where has that all gotten me?
God, teach me to follow You. Show me the way of the cross.
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