Where is God when You Know Everything is Going to Change?

 July 17 was the closest I've ever (knowingly) been to death.

As someone raised in the church, I've thought a lot about the mortality of my body. I never shied away from the idea of death, and in a sense-- sometimes healthy, sometimes not-- I even found the idea a comfort. The removal of pain and suffering and uncertainty and hormones and sickness and worrying about food and social anxiety. Knowing my soul will one day be free of the weight of surviving feels like a relief. 

And if this was it, I was ready.

My life didn't flash before my eyes. I didn't think about my regrets or my choices or my dreams I wouldn't get to fulfil. I just thought about my body.

At this moment of urgent need, I felt thankful. 

Thankful that my uterus tried and my heart beat and my lungs breathed and my kidneys and liver and stomach and brain all knew what to do from the beginning. Now, sitting in the hospital, bleeding internally, I knew my body again kept me alive.

That night, I could have dismissed my pain. I'd already wasted money at the hospital a couple days before where my pain was written off because it was quiet. Because it was calm. Because I didn't advocate firmly enough.

Because I let them ignore the results staring out at them from the screen.

There's a weight to things when you know they are true. That night, I knew if I went to sleep off the pain and silence the fear, I wouldn't wake up the next morning. And for that knowing, I was proud of my body. 

When you know everything is going to change, life looks different. Thinking feels different. Better or worse, it doesn't matter, but there's an awareness that it will never be this moment again. You'll never be this version of you again. 

Grief tugs at our anchor to reality, to our foundation. 

We are alive every day. As obvious as that sounds, how often do we wake up, complete our routine, and go back to sleep without letting ourselves feel or think, because it's too scary or overwhelming? We numb ourselves with normalcy and to-do lists and "this really cool new thing I'm trying."

The waves rise, and we feel that anchor tug against us. We can no longer drift idly on the tides, careful only not to disturb the surface. Whether the thing we lose is given up or taken, if it's sudden or slow, when we grieve, that pretense is disturbed. Now we're fighting every second against the waves just to be. 

A lot of people stay here the rest of their lives. Fighting. Always fighting. Fighting to make it calm, fighting to put it back to normal, fighting to ignore it by focusing on other things. Fighting against the real problem.

I've found myself here the last few months. Fighting to go back to normal, to focus on other things.

But the grief isn't mine alone. 

It's my husband's. It's everyone's who has lost a child, who has lost a loved one, who has lost a dream or a job or a friendship or an opportunity or a freedom or an ability or a love that never was. 

We're all anchored. 

The question is, to what?

Anchored to reality, sure. But what truth holds you fast? What keeps you from drifting off or capsizing or being broken up by the waves?

What truth steadies you in the uncertainty and the fear and the pain and the loneliness and the darkness and the anxiety? Is there a truth tethering you to hope and peace and confidence?

I will tell you mine.

In that room, while I sat alone in the hospital bed, knowing my ruptured fallopian tube was still pumping blood into my stomach while the OR techs "took their time," knowing my husband was waiting without update in the other room, knowing what this surgery meant, knowing that tomorrow isn't promised, that 20 minutes from now isn't promised... the truth that anchored me is the same that has carried me through every storm, that transcends this world, anchored in He Who created it. 

The stories about God walking Israel through the Red Sea, about Jesus calming the storm, about the Holy Spirit appearing as a flame in new believers... maybe they feel far away from you. Maybe it all sounds metaphorical. Maybe some of it is.

But I can tell you that His comfort, His peace, His wisdom, His love, they are ever-present. 

I didn't feel scared that day. Not of losing my grasp on this life. Because I know this isn't the best there is. This world and everything you can do here can be amazing. God didn't create a world of nothing, but of life and life abundant. 

Still, it isn't the best there is.

I wanted to stay, and I was ready to go. I knew there was so much more ahead. So much more above. So much more to this moment than random chance. 

And so my soul was at peace.

Where is God in Grief?

Though I write this from the perspective of losing a loved one, I know there are many grieving now. A chronic condition. An unexpected firing. A loss of normalcy. A system, touted to protect the people, set against them. A society that responds to their cry of, "I do matter to you, don't I?" with a patronizing, "Doesn't everyone?"

Grief.

A topic I've shared ad nauseum. But you write what you know, and grief is a path I've walked and felt and been drastically altered by. Sometimes I feel like the person I was before, during, and throughout the many years since, is so incredibly different that if they all gathered in one room, they'd feel shy and uncomfortable and they'd grasp at small talk straws with little success at finding common ground.

Grief changes you. It hurts, and yet in some ways, it fills you. It guides you. It gives meaning to everything-- a song you sang together, a joke they made about a street sign, a food they loved. Suddenly everything leads back to them. Nothing is just itself anymore.

It's all accompanied by that gnawing feeling. The questions. The numbness. The echoing pain in the pit of your stomach.

It's hard to define. There are so many emotions tied together and plated as "grief".

Grief is fear. As a female raised in the Christian church, a lot of my time growing up was filled with dreams of marriage. There were approximately zero days in middle and high school in which I didn't have romantic feelings for someone. Then, grief. My sister's husband dies. The walls go up. I didn't know I was building them, and I didn't really even notice them until I met someone that started turning this hidden key, and I was terrified and pulling away, and I'm yelling at myself like don't you dare let someone in that could be ripped away from you. Please. Not that again.

Anything else.

Grief is recklessness. I rebel against my insides by antagonizing my outsides. I run until my chest feels like it's collapsing. I throw myself at adrenaline. I'd rather risk everything else. At least it'll just be physical pain and not this emotional/mental/spiritual barbed wire I find myself wrapped up in. Constant movement, constant noise, constant distraction. Get up from my desk one morning and quit my job. Anything. Look outward, focus on the surface. Compartmentalize the deep.

Grief is disappointment. A lot of the loss felt when grieving someone (or something) is this sense of disappointment. You've lost a part of your future that you were really looking forward to. Like you're left standing there, holding the remnants of your dreams in your hands thinking it'll never be enough, it'll never go back together. Everything's tainted. All your plans have a huge hole running through each of them. Now what?

Now what?

Grief is anxiety. It'll never be enough. How can I face this? Was this my fault? What if I did something different? What if I'd called them back? What if I spent one more day with them? How is this fair? Can I ever be normal again? What will that look like? Can I really be happy whatever that is? And what if this happens again? What do I do tomorrow? What do I do in ten years when they're still not here? How do I cancel their mail? Are all these other people okay? Did all these other people already forget? Should I bring it up? Am I the only one still hurting? What if...What if...What if? And all the answers take time.

Grief is loneliness. It's like being stuck down a well. No matter how many people surround you, you're trapped deep down inside yourself. There's darkness everywhere you look. You get little glimpses of friendly faces and their words echo down to you, but by the time it reaches you, it doesn't sound real anymore. All you see are the empty places left behind. It's isolating.

Grief is anger. We want to blame something and when we can't determine what that object should be, it can cause us to lose sight of reality. We hide in our anger, give ourselves over to it. It focuses the hurt elsewhere, keeps it outside. We make up stories in our head and push everyone away because maybe it was their fault, maybe it was mine. Hate can creep in. It can force the good from our lives in search of the root of the bad. Anger at who we lost, anger at those left behind, anger at our reaction to it, anger at other people's reactions to it. Anger is grief's mask, because anger is easier to look at than all these other things hiding behind it.

Much of the grieving process takes place in our subconscious. On the surface, I'd try to play strong and positive for my family and friends. I wanted to be a rock, an encouragement, a reminder of God when they were tempted to forget. I tried to reframe everything in my mind to be optimistic and happy, but my body still grieved.

Exhaustion.

Tears.

Bereavement brain.

Grief is physical. No matter how far you push grief from your mind, it will still show up in your body. Studies have shown that the brains of people experiencing grief have an increase in activity on nearly every neural network. Grief affects every system, from simple things like remembering something someone literally just said to you, to your digestion or posture or heart beat or speech.

There were times I couldn't speak without stopping to regroup and remember how to physically say a word. I'd make that face, like the person in the horror movie that abruptly stops talking, goes blank in the eyes, and falls over to reveal there's a knife in their back, and they just literally died mid-sentence. And that's really as confusing as it felt. Like abruptly my body would just forget how to do things.

And I never attributed it with grief. I spent a lot of time at the doctor's office the year following Jake's death trying to convince them I had some crazy brain tumor. I wanted it to be a crazy brain tumor. In a weird way it made me feel close to him, because I knew he'd find it fascinating and ironic because we always hyperbolically misdiagnosed everything as a brain tumor.

It wasn't a brain tumor. I was just really sad.

All of it adds up to this: grief is confusing. It's hard. It's a weight on your chest.

But it doesn't have to end there.

I like organization. I like timelines. I like knowing what to expect. And that is not grief. Grief changes. One day it's laughter, the next it's crying in the bathroom at a party almost a decade later over a memory mentioned in passing.

It changes, but in that change I saw so so clearly that God did not. His Word did not. His grace did not. His wisdom did not.

In grief, I saw the kindness and the goodness and provision of God. In that darkness, I saw His light. His steady, hopeful, peace-giving light. I felt His compassion. His friendship.

When I faltered, I felt His strength. I could see Him leading me, holding me up.

Grief is a blessing.
Grief is clarifying.
Grief is renewing.

He turned my eyes from my pain to His plans, His Gospel, His Son.

His suffering.

Imagine, the grief Jesus went through on the cross. The grief God went through when He gave up His Son. The grief we cause the Holy Spirit when we fill the hole in our hearts with the world instead of with His presence.

We do not serve a God unfamiliar with grief. Instead, He joined us in it. Willingly.

Where is God in grief? Right beside us.

The Samaritan

White Christians, it's time to stop putting patriotism over people. 

It's time to replace, "That would never happen here," with, "That doesn't reflect my experience." Because it doesn't, and that's the point. 

Then, listen. 

To real, individual people. Go on Twitter, look up the hashtags you think are "unnecessary" and read. Read what they post. Read the news they share. Read the ideas they have. Read their stories of being pulled over for "looking like they were about to start speeding" or not having their headlights on in the afternoon because they "should have anticipated it getting dark." 

If they're all lying, you've wasted a couple hours, and you may continue on, proud of yourself for doing the work. 

But if they're telling the truth and you refused to listen, then you will stand before God that final day, as we all will. Are you ready for Him to say, "All these people asked for your help, and you scoffed at them. You 'crossed to the other side of the road' because you were too busy, too patriotic, too afraid to care for the wounds of your neighbor"? Will you, as the Pharisee, "seeking to justify himself, ask Jesus 'And who is my neighbor?'" Or will you have compassion and put your own security on the line for the sake of love and mercy and justice, even if you haven't personally seen or experienced the injustice? 

Jesus chose the cross over Caesar. Do you really think fighting for the Constitution, the second amendment, your freedom of speech (and while you're at it, your denial of climate consequences), aligns more closely with what He asks of us than taking up the cause of the downcast and the oppressed? Of the hurting, the widow, and the fatherless? Of your brother, your friend, your enemy? 

Because if you think waving the American flag makes God happier than laying down your life for your friend, I fear for you. 

I fear for the congregation that sends missionaries abroad but ignores the cries of the people within its own city streets. 

I fear for the congregation that thinks the notion of holding our government accountable for the actions and character of the individuals in power is a conspiracy. 

I fear for the Christian that shrugs in the face of a weeping Black mother forced to eulogize her son and says, "I heard he got caught shoplifting a couple years ago."  

I fear for the Christian that thinks it wise and meritous to never change your mind, to talk over opposing arguments with smug deafness.

I fear for the Christian that thinks they follow Jesus when America is their god and comfort their king.

A Thankful Birthday

Today I'm 27 years old and honestly that blows. my. mind.

Thinking back over the time I've had so far, there are so many things to be thankful for. 

Like living my first seven years by the beach and my time being filled with love and learning and animals and friends and fun.

Or like moving to Tampa, when I was terrified to start over but ended up finding a church and a school that helped me see the world through Biblical, compassionate eyes. And cheerleading, which brought a lot of discipline and determination into my life.

Like high school. I liked my school and my friends, but I especially liked getting to graduate a semester early. I learned a lot about people and about how God loves and meets anyone where they are.

Like waiting a lot of years to go to college because I didn't know what I wanted to do and I didn't think I should waste time and money to figure it out. So I worked a little, got fat a little, and hung out with friends a lot. Then I went to Israel for 6 weeks and I learned a lot about myself and how God would love and meet me in my most painful moments, when I felt alone and full of grief. During that time, He showed me strength and peace that not only kept me going, but shaped me into a better, kinder, wiser person. 

Or that I did finally go to college. That I got my finance degree and didn't give up even when all my core classes were smushed into 3 semesters and it was this frustrating, overwhelming, seemingly endless task. I'm also thankful it's done... haha. 

And that during that last semester, I finally gave in to my lifelong dreams and took an acting class. That I was terrible but I kept getting up. That when that one finished, I signed up for one that honestly taught me how to be me, to reflect on my past and face my future, and, an even greater challenge-- letting people in to the emotions that stirs up. 

And now here I am. In Atlanta, pursuing film, working at a finance office. Thankful thankful thankful. 

But all this is nothing without the people around me. And today I'm especially thankful for those closest to me and those with me from the beginning. 

I have parents that enjoyed spending time with my sister and I. That taught us how to explore and find wonder in the world around us. That taught us to love and be loved and to work hard and to put others before ourselves with joy. 

I have a built-in best friend that made growing up fun, who taught me how to be a good friend. That showed me how to give of myself without losing myself, and now shows me how to lead and love those God places in my path. Now I get to see her be a wife to a great encourager and a mom to the two cutest little loves, and the friendships and the family grows. 

And now I have a fiancé who, though he just came into the picture late 2016, has been a constant source of encouragement and love, a confidant that immediately felt lifelong, that made me understand what it is to know and love someone completely, unconditionally. Who challenges me, pushes me, and cares about me more than I ever thought possible. Who is my best friend and makes me laugh every single day. Who I get to kiss in front of everyone next month and say "I do" to spending the rest of our lives having fun together, growing together, and making our world better together. 

And to the friends that have been there for me through the weird times and the happy time and the hard times and the many stages of me-- you're all amazing and I love you. If we've lost contact, I haven't lost any of the love for you. You're in my heart forever.

I never thought I'd have gotten here. Honestly, it's hard for me to think into the future. But if it's anything like the last 27 years... I'm pretty excited. 

June 27, 2018: 7 Years Later

Didn't really have time until now to sit and really think about today. 7 years ago we lost someone very dear to us. I miss Jake. He was a brother I loved, a friend I treasured, a teacher I respected. I thank God for the years we had with him.

The months following tragedy are often engulfed in feelings of disbelief, disappointment, confusion, anger, and fear. There are times when everything feels surreal, and times when deep realization crashes into you, knocking you over again. Sometimes it's hard to believe tomorrow will come, and, honestly, do you really want it to?

In the Old Testament, the Lord spoke about farming cycles for the Israelite's crops, giving the land rest every 7th year. My family was thrown into a new land, a new way of life, in 2011. Years pass, and in some ways, you grow comfortable. You feel acclimated. You begin to lose sight of how God provided for you in the beginning of it.

This 7th year has been one of drought for me. Nothing seemed to grow, and I felt constantly at the end of myself. Spiritually I didn't feel like I had anything to offer. But as it comes to a close, I reflect again on new beginnings. On God's provision. His care. His intentionality.

He planned this path for me. Just as He called Israel to do, He brought me into a fallow year. Looking over the past 7 years, I see His hand keeping me, guiding me, being so so kind to me. Looking ahead, I pray I walk in thankfulness and wisdom and love.

We are so quick to forget. We start to rely on ourselves and think silly thoughts that lead us away from God because we're distracted by things that seem great in the moment but leave us feeling like we're missing something.

But even when we run after other things, God is faithful. This year has reminded me that I cannot be a Christian without leaning, at every moment, on Christ. Yet through pain, through forgetfulness, through disobedience, God leads His children. He loves them. He forgives them. He gives them rest.

I'm Gonna be an Actress, Mom

The words every parent fears, and no parent of the shyest person on earth expects to hear.

Okay, I’m not going to pretend that I haven’t considered running away and not telling anyone where or why. In fact I’m thinking about it right now. One last chance, Alyssa. But I won’t. I can do this. I can tell you.

I have been fearing this moment for a long while.

But, it’s time.

And this time it isn’t a hacked status.

I’m moving.

I am set to graduate from USF in December. I’ve told a lot of people that my career plans following graduation involve personal budgeting and financial advising. And that’s true. Don’t feel lied to. But that’s not my main goal. More like a side job or hobby.

The real plan is to move to LA in March 2017.

(Edit: to say I moved instead to Atlanta in November 2018...)

See, last semester I took an acting class. (Pause for laughter) I know, it’s hilarious. Me, acting. Me, in front of people. Me, being the center of attention. It's okay; I see the humor too. I know. 

What I didn’t know was a sense of legitimacy. Look, I’ve been thinking about acting for decades but only recently learned that I could be serious. I mean, acting is a dream for kids before they discover the real world, right? But this past semester I got to know about 15 other people with the same thoughts I was having: I think about this every day; I have to at least try. And we had a teacher that told us it was possible, that gave lots of practical advice, that has put the effort in and found a way to do what he loves to do and make a living of it.

I “got” my first on-camera acting job as an extra in a local movie about two months ago. I showed up 30 minutes early and was promoted to having my first on-camera speaking role (okay, so it was one line). I emailed them, said thanks, and thought that was goodbye. A month later, they posted that they were looking for interns. So now I’m PAing on set and trying to learn everything I can now so I can implement it later on when we start filming for a web series I’m working on in August.

I tell you all of that to say I love this. I don’t care if it’s getting water bottles for everyone, wiping up fake blood from surrounding areas, or talking to people during breaks, there’s something that just feels right. And it feels like me. And it’s weird because, I'm not Bollywood dancing around set or anything, but I don’t feel shy. And that doesn’t make sense. I walked off set at the end of that first day and realized I had one-on-one conversations with 80% of the people there and it wasn’t even forced upon me. I started some of them. And if you have known me for any length of time in basically any other context, you know that’s weird.

Everyone I’ve met has given me greater drive or encouraged me by telling me I can do it, that I’m making the right decisions and taking the right steps to get where I want to go– legitimacy.

I hope that this post and the conversations it will probably lead to will help me to solidify that sense of legitimacy. It can be a real goal and not just a fairy tale answer to, “If you could be anything in the world, what would you be?” Because acting, directing, and producing head that list (followed by Astronaut, Medical Researcher, Writer, Financial Planner, Architect, Small Business Owner, Archaeologist, Woodworker, Diagnostician, etc...).

I know I’m guilty of thinking that what some people call “God’s plan” is really just their way of getting other people to stop arguing with them about their plan. Who can argue with God, right? So believe me when I say I’ve been really cautious in deeming this as “God’s plan” instead of just something I really want to do.

But maybe those things aren’t mutually exclusive. I am a Christian, I read the Bible, I try to train myself to yield to the Holy Spirit in small, everyday situations. With those making up the basis of my decision-making for the past 15 years of being a Christian, my will and God’s will shouldn’t be that different. So here’s to hoping.

The people I’ve told so far have been surprisingly supportive and every time I think about it, I have this rush of affection for them all. I’m thankful to have such good friends. Or at least friends that are used to me being convinced and weirdly convincing about unconventional future plans (read: refusing to go to college for two years, believing I’d marry Joe Jonas, nearly moving to Israel). Either way, thank you.

So, just some practical answers to possible questions from everyone else.

1. “But the entertainment world is so 'secular'. I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

I have a better idea than running in fear: prayer and accountability. Don’t tell me it’s going to be difficult in order to discourage me; tell me in order to strengthen me. If you think it’s going to be difficult, me being surrounded by unbelief and its corresponding behavior, don’t tell me not to go– pray for me! Talk about the Bible with me. Hold me accountable for decisions you see me making that do not exemplify Christ.

I also think it’s funny that no one tells me to be careful or tries to convince me not to get a job in Finance. Like, I’ve faced incredible temptation to become greedy and manipulative and selfish and fearful and I haven’t even graduated yet. But no one is like, “Hey, be careful. Satan might steal you away.” They’re just like, “Oh, so you like math?” Why are people so much more afraid or pessimistic about my salvation when I tell them about acting than when I tell them about Finance? Do not both have the capacity to lead me astray? Should not all be careful, all be alert, all be on guard?

Many times over the years I thought I was going to move to a foreign country to be a missionary, or go to seminary to be a leader in girl’s youth ministry, or write books. I want you to know that I look at going into the entertainment industry as becoming a missionary, as going into ministry, and as being given a platform from which to write books that reaches more than the 4 or so people that see this post. I don’t see this decision as anything less than an occupation in which I am devoted to God and His will for me. (You can read my take on the difference between “holy” and “common” occupations here.)

Anyway, I know that somehow someone going to a nation that has never heard of Christ seems more “Christian” than going to a city of a bunch of rich, famous people. I know it seems more “Christian” to be in physical danger out in the savannas of Africa than in spiritual danger from the comfort of Los Angeles. But it’s not.

And it may sound like Christian advice to tell me to keep my distance from unbelievers, but it isn’t. It may be well-intended, but it is still wrong. Tell me to “keep watch on myself”, yes, but do not seek to prevent me from doing what I, through more than two years of prayer and planning, believe God wants me to do, lest "you have in mind the things of man and not the things of God.”  For Christ is in me and He has overcome the world. He has beaten death. He has said no to every sin of every person that He came in contact with on earth. And His Spirit lives inside me, helping me to do the same. I believe in the power of the resurrection. Do you?

2. “But the entertainment world is so difficult to get into. You’re going to starve to death.”

I know there’s a lot of competition. I know in movies the 35-year old wannabe actor has a midlife crisis and decides to do other things because their spouse thinks they’re lazy and their kids need better schooling. But I don’t have any of those responsibilities and I don’t plan to for a very long time. All I have to do is make sure I have food and shelter and I’m good. So let me try to do something I enjoy. Why do you want me to suffer, to die a little inside every day forcing myself to a job I hate just because it has a stable income? I’ve tried prioritizing stability but all it’s taught me is that I want to like going to work. I don’t think that’s laziness or naivity.

Also thanks for the vote of confidence... I sincerely hope when you tell people about your future plans, they don’t doubt your ability to carry them out and tout their pessimism as being “realistic”.

Why not work hard? Why not make it happen?

Why not me?

People have this subconscious way of thinking that unless a stranger walks up to them on the street and offers them their dream job, it could never happen. They aren’t willing to put themselves in situations where being offered that job would be even slightly more likely. Instead people give up on things before they begin because somewhere along the way someone doubted them. And they’ve internalized that disappointment so much that now they cast that same doubt on everyone else’s dreams as soon as they hear them.

But I’m not so easily dissuaded. 

3. “But the entertainment world is going to be new to you. What if you hate it?”

There is that chance. It is new, but I’ve been working on a few things already. Like I said, I’ve been auditioning, I’ve been working on set for the past month, for several months co-writing a web series that’ll be out next year, Lord willing.

If I hate it, I hate it. I stand behind my decisions to take chances and try, to invest my time and money in something I care about and believe will be sanctifying and good, to trust that God can do impossible things if He wants to. Because I do– I care. I believe. I trust.

I will regret it forever if I do not try.

All of these add up to a lot of time and work, but they’ve served to further convince me that this is possible and this is fun. So maybe I’ll hate it, but gosh you hypotheticals are all such pessimists and maybe I’ll love it with all my heart and be incredibly happy.

June 27, 2015.

Four years and one week ago, my brother-in-law and I were standing around talking about my going to Israel for six weeks-- that he and my sister would come over to have breakfast the day I left, cutting short his planned camping trip the night before. A week later, I experienced grief for the first time. Before Jake's death, I hadn’t been close to anyone who'd passed away, only knowing that heartache vicariously through others. But he was my brother. I miss his friendship every day.

The months preceding his death, God was teaching me the phrase, “Lord willing.” Like, “Lord willing, we'll have lunch Thursday,” or “If the Lord wills it, I’ll text you when I get home.” And as I grew into the habit of prefacing my future plans with His sovereignty, He taught me that sometimes He isn’t willing. Sometimes, our plans differ from His and we’re faced with this seemingly unbeatable thing and we have no idea what to do, but we have to keep our eyes on Him (2 Chronicles 20:12).

Two weeks before he died, my sister and I were discussing a song on the radio about God’s mercy in teaching and blessing us through painful circumstances. We both admitted to feeling like we’d never really suffered, like our faith hadn’t been truly tested, shaken (Hebrews 12:28). That night I prayed that He would bring tests along that would cause my truest nature to be made known. Apparently of that the Lord was willing.

I hope to show you the preparation that God has given me for "various trials" (1 Peter 1:6) so often in the past, a cycle He repeated in this circumstance. Not until recently did I see this cycle so clearly: I pray for something, He prepares me for His answer, He provides-- both the trial and the ability to endure. 

This time as preparation, we were given two things. The first was extra time with my brother-in-law. I am inexpressibly thankful for this. He was in medical school and therefore very busy. I typically only saw him once a week for a half hour before church in which we’d discuss a thousand things in rapid succession. But, the month leading up to his death was his school break. My sister got to travel a bit with him. The Lord worked it out for he and I to ride to a church 45 minutes away together, despite all my other attempted plans. I’ll forever cherish those times and those final conversations we got to have. Truly the Lord gives good gifts to His children (Matthew 7:11).

Second, He prepared us with the study of 1 Peter 1. The Bible study he and I were going to that was 45 minutes away was one we, my sister included, attended regularly. That month, the teaching was about 1 Peter, the “if necessary,” of being “grieved by various trials.” A few weeks after his death, my parents both sent me that same chapter, having separately been led to it when searching for comfort, not knowing the Lord had been using it already to comfort me and my sister. He united us in awe of Him, in trust and hope. He intertwined His answers, knitting our hearts together (Colossians 2:2) that we might lean on one another, "bearing each other's burdens" (Galatians 6:2). 

These were both combined with the myriad of past lessons in patience and trust, hope in disappointment, and the effects of speech on attitude and outlook. Most importantly, the lessons about His past actions and the proof of His nature by years of daily, personal study of His Word.

However, I feel this grief manifesting itself even today in many of my decisions. Subconsciously, I’m expecting all my plans to fall through and everything to change, until the very moment that it comes to fruition. Or I’ll turn my back on potential relationships because of a fear of giving myself to someone and losing them. Or I’m unable to plan anything that takes place in more than a few months, because I am hesitant to think I have that long. Or...etc.

Still, I often find that I am jealous for those times closely succeeding his death. Despite the ache and the sorrow, He kept me constant, He held me steady, and He graciously reminded me of Himself, of His power and His love and His kindness and His wisdom. Who He is shone so brightly to me in that time. I felt everything deeply, yet carried it lightly, constantly offering it again to God.

My faith was shaken but the Rock was steady. He anchored me with hope and joy.

I know that life can be overwhelming and that we face different things and feel different things in response to them. I do not pretend to be an expert by any means. But I know what the Lord has done for me (Psalm 66:8-16) and how He has taught me to react; I hope that you might be strengthened and encouraged to press on.

I had to remind myself over and over again-- through doubt or tears or numbness or anger or self-pity-- that my lot is secure; my portion steadfast (Psalm 16:5, etc.). My inheritance is “undefiled and unfading, kept in heaven for” me, as I, “by God’s power,” am “being guarded through faith” (1 Peter 1). My reward is immovable, for He has won it; indeed He has become it. He is the victory I need.

[Side note: Christianity isn't an undercover ploy of greed and pride that allows people to "believe" only enough to get them to Heaven when they die. Many church-goers function this way. Christianity is the teaching that, through His own suffering, Jesus has joined us in our suffering, giving it a hope and a purpose-- a God Who can both sympathize with human weakness and walk in divine power over sin and death. Eternal life is the continuation and deepening of fellowship with God, not some promise for gratification of the fleshly desires for admiration and selfish gain we pretended not to have while we served "others" on earth. He renews us in life by the power of the Spirit; He remakes us completely in death by the unveiled sight of His Son (2 Corinthians 3:18, 1 John 3:2).] 

There is always something about which to be grateful. He is always working. Over all things He is sovereign. "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose" (Romans 8:28). This isn't just a saying for a greeting card, this is a real, tested truth. Stop fearing your pain or your uncertainty; fear God. No suffering will meet you that has not been approved and reworked by a God of infinite understanding and kindness to make you better, to make you more like Jesus, "a man of sorrows, familiar with suffering" (Isaiah 53).

Remind yourself of this truth, even if it’s a moment by moment forgetting and recitation. Train yourself to perceive all things through the filter of the Word of God, the Truth of Jesus, and the Conviction of the Holy Spirit. You have to be willing and disciplined in each memory or new situation to speak it again.

To not get discouraged when you feel you’ve landed in the same place as you were before.

To not be a "hindrance" to yourself by "not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man" (Matthew 16:23).

To not doubt that God has your best interest in mind.

To not allow yourself to feel entitled to bitterness or despair.

There is always hope, there is always forgiveness, you just have to look up (John 3:14). 

So if you find yourself at this moment in the grasp of great pain, do not be dismayed; it is likely the Lord has been working often to prepare you. Look back, take inventory of the training in various aspects of Godliness He has provided you with, and plunge ahead with renewed courage and thanksgiving. He has not left you alone, He will not leave you vulnerable. Fix your eyes, for He is leading you in this battle as the Head of the charge. The Death Conqueror is your King, your Defender, your Guide. What have you to fear but forgetting to look to that King and trust His orders? 

Find reinforced cover by seeking out Christian brothers and sisters to fight alongside you, listening to the comfort of those before you, looking for those in need of comfort behind you (2 Corinthians 1:3-7). Kneel behind that common shield of faith and skillfully wield it as protection from the efforts of the enemy. Trust the sword of the Word of Truth to find its targets. Cling to both with the strength found in the arms of the Creator God; "entrust your soul to" Him for He is faithful, and "do not grow weary of doing good" (Galatians 6:9). 

Keep hope in the Risen Lamb, Who from His doomed journey of certain death, returned to His throne in the light of eternal power, inexhaustible purity, and conquering grace.

What about you?

Have you lost someone close to you? What do remember most from that time of grief? What helpsyou to cope?

"Judge not, lest ye be judged."

I admit, at times I struggle to grasp a loving God allowing seemingly unloving things. But I know that cannot make me think: how cruel, how unfair, how could He? For this same concept was answered in Romans 9 thousands of years ago. "Who are you, O man, to answer back to God? Will what is molded say to its Molder, 'Why have You made me like this?'" And I know that isn't much comfort to most because it doesn't offer any explanation except that God is in control and He does what is best, even if we don't understand how. But God doesn't need us to make excuses for Him. 

Telling the world the equivalents of "He didn't mean it!" and "He didn't do it!" does not bring them closer to God. It attempts to remove God's sovereignty in order to prove His love. Why can both not exist, the Judge and the Sacrifice? True, they seem contradictory, but would you remove the mystery of the complex nature of God in order to convince people to become Christians?

And if you do, have you really convinced them to be Christians at all? Would it not rather be a continuation of man-centered thoughts, bowing them at the feet of an idol we've constructed as we're blown about by every wave and wind of teaching (Ephesians 4:14).

"But who would ever turn to a God that allows tragedy when He has the power to stop it?" But the Holy Spirit is promised. It is He Who renews our minds, so that we see clearly that pain is not a wrongdoing of God against poor, pitied man. Rather, as our Creator, He has the responsibility to reshape us, His malfunctioning creation, into working condition, and that is not without pain.

It is a mercy that He has allowed us to continue after our first glitch, our first sin, so we might turn to Him for repair. But instead of awe at the grace of it, we sit in our indignation, pouting and exclaiming that we were "born this way" and everyone should "love our flaws" (Read: expecting people to think you're wonderful when you act selfish and prideful. No. Hold yourself to the same standards you hold others to.).

The scary thing is, many apply this same principle to God. "If [He] doesn't accept me at my worst, then [He] doesn't deserve me at my best." And we ever-so-culturally-relevant Christians repackage that into church-acceptable vernacular, but we're spewing the same garbage. We say things like: Jesus ate with sinners and God is love and "judge not lest ye be judged." All true. But we leave out the context, the consequences of that love.

Most who use this as their message just want their audience to think, "Wow, how open-minded this lone diamond of a Christian is." We fight for "God's" reputation in an effort to bolster ours, and in so doing, we damage His and cover up truth.

By claiming God didn't mean all that "wrath stuff" in the Old Testament, or saying He doesn't have the final say over everything that happens, we side with unbelievers against the actions and goodness of God. We believe that those things are unfair, unjust.

We discredit Him, trying to release Him from the blame we place on His actions. "Sure God commanded Israel to kill people, but... it's different now. Look at Jesus instead!" But we can't properly look at Jesus until we linger in the actions of God in the Old Testament.

Why did He seem to change? What happened between Malachi and Matthew? Did God take a cosmic nap and get less grumpy?

We are told in the Bible that God doesn't change. His nature is constant; His actions are consistent with that nature. And we certainly didn't change. Mankind didn't suddenly become more lovable.

What changed is the focus of God's wrath.

When Jesus came to earth, He lived a perfect life. He was born into human nature yet held fast to holiness and purity, to His Father. And in the end, He became the object of God's wrath.

Did God not mean to give His perfect Son over to torture, rejection, abandonment, crucifixion, and then, eventually (finally) death? Did God have control over this terrible, wonderful thing?

We wouldn't dare say differently. There are too many verses where Jesus Himself declares it to be true.

Maybe we have an easier time believing it because it benefits us. 

God is love, Jesus did eat with sinners, and He even did say "judge not lest ye be judged." But we cannot ignore what followed.

First, Jesus ate with "sinners" not because they were sinners, but because they recognized their sin, the consequences of that sin, and the spectacular relief of Jesus saying, "Your sins are forgiven." He met with sinners, but He didn't let them leave as sinners. With a, "Go and sin no more," He commanded them to change their entire manner of life, means of income, living situations. He called them to do radically difficult, painful, costly things in His Name, motivating and empowering them with His mercy and kindness and later gifting them with the Holy Spirit as Guide.

Let's not forget Jesus ate with Pharisees, too, and He spent most of that time pronouncing really harsh judgments against them for their pride and greed and false worship.

In summation: Jesus didn't eat with sinners because He approved of their sin but because they recognized Christ as the remedy for it. 

Second, there's more to a verse than meets the public's eye. After Jesus tells them, "Judge not," He tells a parable about first removing the log that is in your eye. People like this quote, too, and leave off the last bit of that sentence, in which you then do remove the "speck that is in your brother's eye." Why is this left out? Because it's "offensive". But... how? Honestly? How is someone removing sawdust from your eye harmful, rude? Is it not helpful? And what sweet relief when it is gone!

Many Christians have been led to believe that you show love by withholding judgement. Here Jesus tells us to hold up our judgements to ourselves first, then to others. And it's not that I'm not allowed to hold someone accountable for lying because I have also lied in my lifetime. I can hold them accountable while allowing them to hold me accountable. 

Withholding judgement doesn't actually do any good, it just means you both walk around with crap in your eyes, and no one is willing to do anything about it because it will hurt for a few seconds. Don't confuse that temporary pain with unkindness or a lack of love.

1 Corinthians 5 does put a condition on this judgement. Paul says, "What have I to do with judging outsiders? Is it not those inside the church whom you are to judge? God judges those outside. 'Purge the evil person from among you.'" (P.S. When he says "purge," he is not calling for their murder, but their removal from the local church with hope for their return. As in, do not call them Christians while they intentionally reject the teachings of Christ, just as most practitioners of Islam reject "Radical" Islam as true Islam.)

So, it is our job, as Christians, to hold other Christians accountable. It is to be with the purpose of repentance and reconciliation, in the event of which we are then to "affirm our love for [them] so that [they] will not be overwhelmed with excessive sorrow" (2 Corinthians 2:7).

It is also our job to speak truth to those who are outside the church. To "judge" motivated by compassion, fear for the state of their souls because what God says is true. His Kingdom is real. It is eternal. His judgement is right, good, and just.

Every speech we read in Acts by one of the disciples leads in with the reality of the human condition. It isn't until the audience-- "cut to the heart"-- asks "What can we do?" (Acts 2) that they tell them of the forgiveness and freedom found by repenting and following Christ.

Maybe these Judge-Not Christians think they are saying, "You're wrong, but I'm not going to turn my back on you. I am going to tell you of the hope that is found in Christ."

I pray that's what they are saying.

But I have seen too many church leaders speak only of love, to the point of becoming not only tolerant of sin in the church, but, in the air of culture, applauding it. Like "Wow, we're so real," and then they're sitting around admiring everyone's willingness to share their sin. Then, if not careful, making light of their sin. Then doing nothing to change it, finding excuse and comfort in solidarity. This is why Galatians 6:1 is written.

Many look around at their churches and think, "Wow, so many fake Christians," not realizing they are the ones who make it that way-- disciples not of Jesus but of an easier imitation of the call of Christ, one that requires little more than Sunday attendance and a few hand-raising renditions of shallow songs. We make them feel better about themselves by telling them how loved they are, how blessed they are, how God answers prayer.

But what of the topics that make us squirm a little and avert our eyes so no one catches us looking guilty? Or talking about the commands of God, the sacrifices of worldly pleasure and attitude and worries, that He asks of us?

It is dangerous when we don't care enough about our congregation to notice, let alone to say, "Hey, I know you're struggling. I want to see you do the right thing. I want to help you, because I know it's difficult." If we don't preach the life of a true follower of Christ, why subject themselves to a charade of piety every Sunday?

This is why so many people stop going to church, why so many think Christianity is a hypocritical farce.  Not because we don't "love" enough, but because we aren't loving correctly. When we water the Gospel down, we offer the same "love" found in the world, but with extra stipulations and an air of self-righteousness. It's not sustainable. And it isn't truth. God's love is unconditional, and it is also life-changing. It demands everything from us, and it is worth it all.

Love people with the love of God, not with the love of the world. Only one will last. 

It comes down to this:

If someone is outside the church and makes no claim to follow Christ, it is your responsibility to speak truth in love with gentleness and respect and to inform him of the Gospel of the finished work of Christ. But we can't get angry at someone or mock them or cut someone off for not upholding the commands of a God they either don't believe in or couldn't care less about. Do we really think that we would choose to do any differently? If so, we are the ones who need a reminder of the Gospel, that we were once "dead in our trespasses and sins" (Ephesians 2:1) until Jesus literally had to die and come back to life in order for us to have the ability to follow Christ. We do not have the power to obey on our own, only through the Holy Spirit. Unbelievers do not have the power nor the motivation to obey a God they do not love.

However, if someone is sitting in the pew next to you, week after week, claiming to be a Christian, it is your responsibility to speak truth in love with gentleness and respect, to hold them accountable to the Word of God, to point them to the Gospel of the finished work of Christ, to "forgive and comfort them, so that they will not be overwhelmed by excessive sorrow." Where opinion differs or understanding wavers, defer to the Bible, the truth that has been passed down for thousands of years without shifting its message for shifty human perception. It is your duty-- as a fellow Christian, to the Church, and to God Himself-- to hold that believer accountable to the knowledge and commands of God.

Thoughts on Feminism as a Christian

There is a cultural move toward "political correctness" that many deem overly sensitive and others deem necessary. Both want the other to change their mind, yet both have already decided to disagree, parroting "winning" arguments in loud, obstinate voices without taking a moment to listen to the other.

I admit, in the past I've had a distaste for the term "feminism," solely based on the idea of a flipped tyranny, angrily sought by perpetuating stereotypes about men for perpetuating stereotypes about women. Now I've given it more thought and read into the core of the movements.

There have been different waves of feminism, each with unique arguments and goals. I am oversimplifying and in no way do I encompass or exhaust the full ideologies of each.

First wave: All American women are American citizens and should have full realization of the rights promised to American citizens. This recognition as a human being with inherent rights before the law should extend globally, and each government is responsible for granting and protecting fair rights and protections for both sexes.

Second wave: All women should be allowed to pursue a career (or to not), and if she attains the same job, with the same education, same level of experience, and she performs it with the same proficiency as a man, she should be paid accordingly. If she does it better, she should be paid accordingly. Though many blame the "Well, men are more likely to ask for a raise," or "They have families to take care of," it is undeniable that men are considered more inherently capable, and women are forced to prove themselves.

Third wave: Feminism can look like many things, and it should be a more individualized movement. Violence against women needs to end, and all have the right to speak and to be listened to. People in power should not be protected against the consequences of their actions resulting in fear on the part of the victim to speak up.

I support being proud of who we are, confident in our skills, caring for ourselves, but "self-actualization" is often hatefulness dressed up as freedom. "If you can't handle me at my worst, you don't deserve me at my best" is a toxic, me-first attitude that does not promote any personal responsibility or reflection. It is reactionary, it is angry, it is destructive, and it is not done in love-- for ourselves or others. This is not love for ourselves, though it proports to be. It does not give people the opportunity to grow and yet it is totally unaware of it's own need for growth or it's own affect on others. People are allowed to be offended and hurt by your actions. Thinking someone is toxic for confronting you while you're just trying to live your truth is the toxic behavior. And it is contagious, it is the Fruit that Satan holds out to us, promising wisdom and fulfillment, promising that we will be like gods.

I don't believe the road to equality is traveled more quickly by blaming those ahead of you for being ahead of you. Work hard, and prove yourself able. Be reasonable, and prove yourself reliable. Be humble, and prove yourself honorable. That won't always be enough, because of your gender, your skin color, your temperament. But let it be a comfort that you are doing your best, and your best is beautiful.

When you find someone that doesn't comply or that holds to discriminatory ideas, I believe more will reconsider when shown kindness than obstinance. Despite their contemptible behavior, you acknowledge that they are human beings. Disrespect them and you undermine your own argument; respect them and you prove you believe it. If you see a woman being disparaged, stand with her. If you see a man being disparaged, stand with him. Not everyone needs a warrior, some people just need a friend.

Respond with grace while others are at their worst, celebrate with them at their best. Give everyone the benefit of the doubt. Just as you expect others to accept the excuses for your actions that hurt them, practice empathy in seeing it from their perspective before you respond. Then forgive them, fully and forever; holding grudges, promoting hate is not a step forward. Justice is a step forward, honesty, transparency, open communication makes steps forward.

The feminism I support is that which promotes true equality, that isn't fighting for the usurpation of the oppressor's throne, but rather the dissolution of the oppression entirely-- fighting for equal representation and provision for any and all to whom it has previously been granted or denied.

"For where jealousy and selfish ambition exist, there will be disorder and every vile practice. But the wisdom from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, open to reason, full of mercy and good fruits, impartial and sincere. And a harvest of righteousness is sown in peace by those who make peace. What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you? Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you? You desire and do not have, so you murder. You covet and cannot obtain, so you fight and quarrel." (James 3:13-4:12)

"To have [unsettled disputes] at all with one another is already a defeat for you. Why not rather suffer wrong? Why not rather be defrauded? But you yourselves wrong and defraud-- even your own brothers!" (1 Corinthians 6:7)

In the Name of God our Creator, Christ our Example, and the Holy Spirit our Guide, find and reflect the "love that covers a multitude of wrongs" and "looks not only to [your] own interests, but also to the interests of others," the love that "lays down [its] life for [their] friends" and "outdoes one another in showing honor." The love that "does not grow weary of doing good" but "makes every effort to do what leads to peace and to mutual edification."

"Carry each other's burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ."

"Christianity isn't a religion, it's a relationship"? Part Two.

In Part One, I talked about the confusion between people who grew up in church and those who did not when hearing "Christian-ese," those catchy phrases churches like to use. Specifically, "Christianity isn't a religion, it's a relationship."

Before we can use this phrase with any efficacy, I think it's important to define the term "religion."

Like I said, when churches put this on their signs or their twitter bios or their what-have-you's, it probably doesn't convey the message they want it to (at least not to people that aren't Christians, which I generally assume to be their intended audience). Christians typically use this phrase as a paraphrase of "I desire mercy and not sacrifice." Like, "I love God, I don't just do a bunch of traditions in a designated building once a week." Which is good; please don't. 

But the truth is-- although Christ is the basis and the greater meaning behind all the former laws and prophecies-- Christianity is a set of teachings and it does have rituals and actions specific to it. Christianity isn't simply knowing Christ, it is the way in which we are told to follow Him in response to getting to know Him better. And that is the definition of "religion."

And that's why I think it's incorrect to say that Christianity is only relationship and no religion.

Well, maybe not incorrect, but incomplete.

It isn't legalistic to love the Law of the Lord. It isn't wrong for us to think about how to put the Word into action in our lives, even if it's a disciplined reaction and you aren't that excited about it at the time. That is where I get a little afraid of this phrase's implications.

As a response to the accusations of legalism from the world, who say we don't love them because, we tell them they will have to change after we tell them they can come as they are. We can't love God and keep on doing what He hates with reckless abandon.

We shouldn't try to sound like we are these free-loving, only-grace-no-judgement people who "just love Jesus," because that's misleading to people who currently define love as "someone who benefits me and thinks I'm awesome and doesn't try to change me." Do you see the difference? Do you see the problem? 

God made up the laws and rituals of obedience and repentance through sacrifice (religion). He doesn't hate them. I mean, heck, He was a sacrifice. These laws were given as a map to living a life that is pleasing to Him. But we're really timid to say that, to say that there are rules to follow. When Jesus says, "Go and sin no more," we see that there is more to following Christ than just thinking He is really great and believing He has the power to make us feel better.

I've been reading through the Gospels these past few weeks and what keeps catching my mind is the difference between being amazed by Jesus and being changed by Him. Since my earliest readings of the Bible, I've been confused about why Jesus told people not to tell everyone about the miracle He'd just done. My interpretations have ranged from an appearance of humility to "but ugh why??" scribbled in the margins.

My most recent thought is that He was trying to prevent people from coming to see Him for a show rather than for teaching. I say this because when we see those that have been healed still tell people (understandably), literally the entire town and a few surrounding ones are soon crowded around Jesus waiting to be healed or to see someone else healed.

They wanted a spectacle. They weren't looking to understand of Who He was/is. They'd follow Him around as long as He was looking powerful and beneficial, but miracles are not all He came to do. And I think that is why He told people not to tell anyone-- so that His teaching might be the central focus with miracles a whispered side note in confirmation of His authority.

And I think that is the danger of saying that Christianity is relationship only. We're like "Hey, just let me love Jesus, I don't need all that other stuff." But it super doesn't work that way.

Because, Christianity isn't only a religion or only a relationship. It is both. Christianity is a religion because it is the means by which we follow a personal God, and it's a relationship because He is an autonomous Being with His Own thoughts and feelings resulting in the specified way He desires to be followed (as He details throughout the Bible).

He is the Relationship (Jesus the connection) and the relationship is the religion, because it is done according to His commands. That's how we relate to Him, how we worship Him. Relationship and religion can't be separated when it comes to Christianity. The Person and the ways in which the Person wants to be related to are One.

We don't decide the terms of His covenant, He does. We don't get to decide what we do or don't want to believe about Jesus's teachings. It's all or nothing. 

Christianity is a religion, it just isn't an impersonal one.

"Christianity isn't a religion, it's a relationship"? Part One.

"Christianity isn't a religion, it's a relationship."

A lot of people fault the church for having their own vernacular that doesn't cater to those who are outside it. A lot of church members hear that complaint but don't know how to remedy it. In fact, we often try to redefine the world's conception of our terms without really asking what their original conception is.

I personally think this is one of those cases.

We want people to know that God is a personal God and that there is more to following Him than rules, so we try to pick on the word "religion" right along with them. But I feel like we end up looking like those people that try to jump in on other people's inside jokes, making everyone feel really uncomfortable.

Of course, not everyone has the same connotations. It depends a lot on who they've come in contact with and the people they admire or dislike.

But most people don't define religion the same way the church does. When people who haven't grown up in church say they hate religion, it typically isn't them saying they hate ritualistic actions that aren't backed up by a true spirit of reverence and love for God.

That's the "Christian-ese" definition.

And we should hate heartless rituals because God hates them, too (Isaiah 1:12-15, etc). We should strive to have true motivation in everything that we do, and that comes through personal growth and pursuit of understanding through the Word and prayer. And that is a relationship. 

But I think there's something we all need to accept:

Christianity is also a religion.

You can't have Jesus without His decrees. We can't separate the teachings of the Person from the Person teaching. And that's what we're doing. Or at least what it sounds like we're doing.

Hey, maybe that gives us an opportunity to get into a discussion with the unbeliever who is really confused about the Christian that says they hate religion. That's good, I hope that happens. But it's hard to see the benefit of the saying being plastered on billboards or twitter feeds with no further discussion.

Connotation is important. And their connotation is probably different than ours and maybe it's counterproductive sometimes.

(It's so funny, though, the satisfaction churchgoers seem to get out of confusing the outside world with semantics. Like the "Wait, what?" of an unbeliever echoes internally as a giddy little victory for us. "Look at us, stunning the world with what really goes on inside these doors. Silly misconceptions. I bet you wanna be a Christian now, right?")

It is good for the Church to define our terms when interacting with the world. What do we really mean when we say   insert churchy jargon here  ? I think it's equally important for us to understand what they really mean when they give their opinions on   insert anything here  . We can get so offended sometimes that we don't even realize the disagreement is mainly between what we hear them saying and what they actually mean to say, and vice versa. 

Not that our worldviews don't fundamentally disagree; I'm really just saying we can debate all day about how, for example, faith is either stupid or life-giving, and get nowhere because their definition of faith is "believing without evidence" and ours is "trust based on fulfilled prophecy, recorded eyewitness testimony, historical evidence of dependability, persistence of followers, and personal experience." So, from the outset, we're doomed to disagree.

Define your terms.

So, let's define this particular term: religion... in Part Two.

Remembering Christ After Choosing Sin

“Simon, Simon, behold, Satan demanded to have you, that he might sift you like wheat, but I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail. And when you have turned again, strengthen your brothers” (Luke 22:31-32).

One verse that strikes me every time I think of it is Luke 22:61. Jesus stands before His accusers when Peter, lost in the crowd, denies being His close friend and follower. Immediately, Jesus "turned and looked at Peter." Heartbreak.

We're given no description of the expression on Jesus's face, but that look reminds Paul of what Jesus told him only a few verses earlier. It reminds him of his subsequent promise to never leave Jesus, even in the face of opposition or unpopularity. It reminds him of his inability to keep that promise for even one day.

And he runs out, weeping bitterly.

It is in our nature to run from the wrong that we do, from the ones we have wronged, and especially from those that have the authority to give us the consequences. Peter's consequence was a look from Christ reminding him of their conversation.

We make similar claims. We feel in the moment that we will always hold fast to the One we call Lord. Then the moment changes and what was once only a dark improbability has become the inescapable reality. And it's so much more difficult than we thought it'd be. 

We conjecture that no pain will be too great to cause us to doubt His care, that no disappointment will be too complete to cause us to question His wisdom, or that no hardship will last long enough to wear us down to a point of losing hope. But then it's here and a hundred of your emotions are at the surface and yet nonexistent at the same time. All your previous thoughts seem so foolish and so prideful and so useless, and like maybe this is it, maybe this is what will finally make you walk away or make Him give up on you. Lost in yourself with a whole crowd of people huddled around you, watching your reactions and trying to measure you up against some arbitrary standard.

You give in to despair or boredom or anger. You give up on the fight for holiness. 

And then He looks at you and you remember everything He's ever said to you, everything He's promised you. And there's pity and there's justice and there's hope and there's peace and there's comfort in the light of His face.

In brokenness, you are strengthened. In repentance, you are renewed. Because of He Who looked at you, Who reminded you that you are not on your own, that He has already prayed for you, that He is still praying for you.

He is with you. He is in you. He prepares the way before you and stands guard behind you. He gives life to the weary and the downcast. 

And His is not an arbitrary standard. When He looks at you in your disobedience, He not only knows your sinfulness completely and still holds on to you; He also knows your choices, having faced them Himself, "tempted in every way," yet every time choosing to do what was pure and righteous and good (Hebrews 4:15).

When He looked at Peter, it was not yet from a position of the conquering warrior but the submissive sacrifice, with immense suffering still looming imminently before Him. He knew Peter's denial. He knew Peter's betrayal. And still He put Himself into the violent hands of those who hated Him. 

Peter didn't just need an Example; He needed a substitute. We all do. When we reject God in order to please ourselves, we need one Who rejected Himself in order to please God. It is only in His power, by His prayers, that we can turn around and do differently and see differently. Jesus didn't put His hope in Peter, that he would decide to turn again after thrice choosing disobedience. Jesus put His hope in God, that He would "cause [Peter] to be born again into a living hope" (1 Peter 1:3). Peter's return was assured by the God from and through Whom salvation comes, for "no purpose of [His] can be thwarted" (Job 42:2). 

Peter saw himself finally as the Lord had seen him all along and he "wept bitterly" because of it. But he didn't give himself over to that feeling forever. Jesus had prayed for him, that his "faith would not fail" and that he would "turn again" to "strengthen the brothers."

It was this prayer on his behalf and the knowledge that Jesus was able to look at him and still love him-- with full knowledge of his past and future failings-- that strengthened his faith and encouraged him to stand and continue.

This truth and those prayers stand firm throughout the ages to meet us here today. Because Jesus did conquer death, "He is able also to save forever those who draw near to God through Him, since He always lives to make intercession for them" (Hebrews 7:25).

There is no power which can take us from His might, no disobedience which can cause Him to reconsider His promise of salvation to us, because "'when we are faithless, He remains faithful' for He cannot deny Himself" (2 Timothy 2:13).

He is just, and He is merciful, and through Christ He is able to be both at once, saving forever those who still mess up despite a great salvation. He has redeemed us. He is making us new.

He will keep us until the day we are taken to His side, where finally "we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is" (1 John 3:2).