I didn't have a miserable childhood. I didn't suffer any overwhelming loss. I wasn't disliked or unpopular. I simply chose to devote a gratuitous amount of time and energy to my own bloated insecurities -- to comparing myself to other people and envying them of their confidence.
I remember slipping out of church immediately after services instead of talking with my friends in the foyer, so that they would notice my absence and come looking for me. I'd sit morosely in corners and scribble melodramatic song lyrics in a duct-taped binder. I refused and even scoffed at encouragement.
I did a lot of that kind of thing.
In sum, I spent a whole lot of time thinking about myself, which is the very definition of pride. Even though I didn't feel good about myself, I didn't have a problem thinking only about myself. Perhaps John Ortberg said it best, that at its deepest level, "pride is the [loveless] choice to exclude both God and other people from their rightful place in our hearts." Pride is forgetting (or ignoring) the Christian's responsibility to love God and others above self (Mark 12.30-31). Looking back now, it's painful to recall. I'm not proud of any of the time I wasted. I'm not proud of the fact that all of that self-centeredness would ultimately come to a head in miserable dating relationships -- one failure after another, all because I could only think about me.
In Knowing God, J I Packer asserts that when people come to know God truly -- as opposed to simply knowing about Him -- their "losses and 'crosses' cease to matter to them; what they have gained [in Christ] simply banishes these things from their minds."
What I went through certainly wasn't a loss or a cross. It was my own juvenile selfishness. However, selfishness is simply the idolatry of self -- the worship of me -- though it will look different for everyone. For me, it manifested as a "woe is me" type of mentality. For others, it might be the "I can do no wrong" or "I have all the answers" thought process, or maybe a sense of entitlement.
All of these are symptoms of the same disease -- a disease for which only Christ has the cure. And although my selfishness wasn't necessarily a loss or a cross, it was still a burden that I carried: the lingering remnant of sin in me that I refused to allow Christ to "banish" from my mind.
One of the things you hear when you're feeling sorry for yourself is the expression of tough love: "Just get over it." I don't necessarily disagree with the thought, but I'm cautious to express it in that way to people who are struggling through some of the same things I did. Even if the sentiment is well-intentioned, it can sound immensely callous, and Paul's admonition to believers is that we should always communicate with compassion -- even when it's a hard truth that needs to be told (Eph 4.15). Packer's purposeful use of the word "banish" is not necessarily that we should just "get over" our weaknesses, but that the surpassing worth of truly knowing Christ should outweigh and eliminate them. In other words, truly knowing Christ eclipses the value of all the world's trinkets and makes letting go of any degree of hurt possible.
If, instead of hyper-analyzing my faults, I base my understanding of who I am upon who I know Him to be, suddenly I am capable of relinquishing my flaws as weaknesses He can enable me to overcome. If, instead of being resentful toward God for the struggles in my life, I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving for the fact that He has lifted the debt of sin from my shoulders, it becomes fully possible to drop everything I am holding onto and follow Him immediately.
However, there is a mis-implication in the "just get over it" sentiment. While the power we access through the Holy Spirit is perfectly capable of wiping the slate clean, we still walk in our flesh and live in a world of loss and heartache. The "letting go" process will vary for each person in terms of length and intensity. However, the more closely an individual knows Christ, the easier and more direct that process can be. Perhaps those pains will never fully subside, but my love for Christ and His love for me will make them manageable and secondary -- mere inconveniences instead of the throbbing, unmitigated injuries they were without Him.
What I went through certainly wasn't a loss or a cross. It was my own juvenile selfishness. However, selfishness is simply the idolatry of self -- the worship of me -- though it will look different for everyone. For me, it manifested as a "woe is me" type of mentality. For others, it might be the "I can do no wrong" or "I have all the answers" thought process, or maybe a sense of entitlement.
All of these are symptoms of the same disease -- a disease for which only Christ has the cure. And although my selfishness wasn't necessarily a loss or a cross, it was still a burden that I carried: the lingering remnant of sin in me that I refused to allow Christ to "banish" from my mind.
One of the things you hear when you're feeling sorry for yourself is the expression of tough love: "Just get over it." I don't necessarily disagree with the thought, but I'm cautious to express it in that way to people who are struggling through some of the same things I did. Even if the sentiment is well-intentioned, it can sound immensely callous, and Paul's admonition to believers is that we should always communicate with compassion -- even when it's a hard truth that needs to be told (Eph 4.15). Packer's purposeful use of the word "banish" is not necessarily that we should just "get over" our weaknesses, but that the surpassing worth of truly knowing Christ should outweigh and eliminate them. In other words, truly knowing Christ eclipses the value of all the world's trinkets and makes letting go of any degree of hurt possible.
If, instead of hyper-analyzing my faults, I base my understanding of who I am upon who I know Him to be, suddenly I am capable of relinquishing my flaws as weaknesses He can enable me to overcome. If, instead of being resentful toward God for the struggles in my life, I am overwhelmed with thanksgiving for the fact that He has lifted the debt of sin from my shoulders, it becomes fully possible to drop everything I am holding onto and follow Him immediately.
However, there is a mis-implication in the "just get over it" sentiment. While the power we access through the Holy Spirit is perfectly capable of wiping the slate clean, we still walk in our flesh and live in a world of loss and heartache. The "letting go" process will vary for each person in terms of length and intensity. However, the more closely an individual knows Christ, the easier and more direct that process can be. Perhaps those pains will never fully subside, but my love for Christ and His love for me will make them manageable and secondary -- mere inconveniences instead of the throbbing, unmitigated injuries they were without Him.
There's a well-known hymn that we frequently sing at Fellowship Bible Church. It's a composition that particularly highlights Jesus' sovereign authority over nature, His surpassing glory, and His matchless worth to the individual. It beautifully paints the idea of a big-picture, limitless, omnipotent God who is also intensely personal.
Fairest Lord Jesus, Ruler of all nature
O Thou of God and man the Son
Thee will I cherish, Thee will I honor
Thou, my soul’s glory, joy, and crown
Fair are the meadows, fairer still the woodlands
Robed in the blooming garb of spring
Jesus is fairer, Jesus is purer
Who makes the woeful heart to sing
Fair is the sunshine, fairer still the moonlight
And all the twinkling starry host
Jesus shines brighter, Jesus shines purer
Than all the angels heaven can boast
All fairest beauty, heavenly and earthly
Wondrously, Jesus, is found in Thee
None can be nearer, fairer, or dearer
Than Thou, my Savior, art to me
Beautiful Savior! Lord of all the nations!
Son of God and Son of Man!
Glory and honor, praise, adoration
Now and forever more be Thine
I typically draw the congregation's attention to the second verse. Often when we find ourselves in painful, sorrowful places, it's easy to allow other things to become our solace. Solitude. Natural beauty. Earthly relationships. Time. Even the distraction of entertainment. And yet Jesus, the One who is fairer and purer than all of these things, is the one who is truly capable of causing woeful hearts to sing. His eternal, faithful character should be our comfort and our consolation above all else this world can offer.
As a teenager, Jesus was never my consolation -- though I might have claimed He was, though I might even have called out in the midst of my frustrations and anxieties for Him to remove them from me. I found cheap consolation in my friends' sympathy or simply in distraction -- videogames, books, TV, phone conversations. And yet the person of Jesus -- the man who lived and died sinlessly on my behalf, the God who ordained my finite number of breaths and even allowed my emotional insecurities in order to make me realize my need for Him -- is the consolation I should have taken.
Knowing Him causes all my losses and crosses to decrease. Letting go of hurt, especially hurt gained through the malice or carelessness of others, is only truly possible through the restorative power of overwhelming grace. Letting go of false notions about self-worth and relinquishing selfishness are only possible through intimately knowing Christ. He outweighs whatever I may have gained in this life. He banishes any lingering sense of earthly loss from my heart, promising and proving that those things no longer have any claim upon me. Temporary sorrow no longer has the opportunity to preoccupy my thoughts now that I am filled with Christ Himself.
None can be nearer, fairer, or dearer. He makes the woeful heart to sing.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Thoughts? Comments? General gripes?