A return to form

As anyone who’s ever met me will attest, I’m not perfect. I am, much like the rest of you out there, an imperfect person trying to do my best in a world that’s, to steal a phrase from C.S. Lewis, enemy occupied territory. I bring this up because I’m about to say that for the last few years I’ve read my Bible and prayed daily (or nearly daily). I don’t want you to jump to conclusions about the content of this post when you read that. You see, it’d be easy to read that line, say to yourself, “Another post by another self-righteous know-it-all Christian trying to force his opinion of God down the throats of anyone who will listen,” and then stop reading.

That’s really not what I want to say at all.

So, now that you’ve been properly prepared, I can say this: I’ve read my Bible and prayed daily (or nearly daily) for the last few years. So, when I say that in the last month or so, I haven’t done either regularly, you can see that it counts as a fairly large change of routine. The why behind the routine change is fairly long and would completely overshadow what I want to say with this post, so it’ll have to suffice to say that I did not become a hard-drinking, womanizing heathen bent on my own self-destruction in that month. I just didn’t pray much or read much.

Last Thursday, after I went through my morning routine, I sat down on my couch and looked at my Bible sitting there on the shelf, gathering dust. I looked at it, but didn’t read it. Later in the day, I was walking around the ferry terminal at lunch, enjoying the sunlight and the way it danced over the small waves of the bay. There’s something hypnotizing about the water on a sunny day, something that unwinds me and lets my thoughts roam free. In the midst of all those free roaming thoughts was this one: I wonder if I should go back to God.

The thought struck me because I didn’t remember consciously leaving. Surely leaving someone like the Almighty Creator of all that is would require some sort of choice on my part. It shouldn’t be the sort of thing that just happens. Wasn’t I still a Christian?

Let me put it another way. Despite all my talk about the amazing grace that Christ offers, despite my convictions that why you do what you do is more important than what you do, that living a good life is meaningless without being born anew in Christ… in the face of all that, did I really believe that I could earn my way to heaven, earn my way into Christ’s good graces, by jumping through hoops?

That, my friends, is a theological/spiritual/personal dilemma. You see, it put me in the unpleasant predicament of having my stated beliefs in direct contradiction to my actual beliefs. And, the best part is, there was no easy way out. If I really believe what I say I believe (which is what I want to believe) than I shouldn’t have been so horribly uneasy about my salvation. After all, my salvation, my real life, was based on my faith in Christ, not whether I logged enough reading and praying time recently. But the fact was that I was horribly uneasy about my salvation. I wanted to run back home right then, crack open my Bible, and start reading frantically to avoid the lightning from heaven I knew was only moments away. I wanted to put my faith in my actions rather than put my faith in my faith… if that makes sense.

I didn’t run home. Not for any deeply spiritual reasons, mind you, but because I was on my lunch break at work and I had stuff I needed to get done after lunch. It’s funny how easy it is to push questions of eternal salvation aside for things like work and food.

I went camping with some friends this weekend. I brought my Bible but didn’t read it. We went on motorcycle rides (I even did a wheelie… don’t tell my mom), and we hiked on a five mile long spit to see a lighthouse. We burned wood, threw Frisbees, and generally had a good time. Through all of that, that same thought kept coming back to me: I wonder if I should go back to God.

Somewhere in that weekend, in one of those moments where everything seems right, I came to a realization.

I never left Him.

What makes me a Christian is not how often I read my Bible. What makes me a Christian is not how often I pray or how many times I go to church each week. It’s not any of those things. What makes me a Christian is this: It is the belief that Jesus Christ the Son of God came to earth, was crucified for the sins of mankind, and rose three days later. It is the knowledge that this sacrifice is a free gift to all who accept it, that Jesus came to save us all, the whole, imperfect, bruised, bleeding lot of us. It is accepting this gift as such, a free gift that I cannot earn, cannot repay, cannot begin to understand.

The Apostle Paul said that all things are permissible to Christians. That includes not reading your Bible, not praying, and not going to church. He also said that not all things are beneficial.

Let me put it a different way. If you’re married, you don’t have to talk to your spouse to stay married. You don’t have to interact with them in any way shape or form. During that not-interaction, you are still technically married. But what kind of marriage would that be? What kind of marriage could it be? Why would you pick the former over the latter?

I don’t have to pray. I don’t have to read my Bible. I don’t have to go to church. But, oh, what am I giving up if I don’t? What opportunities to grow am I passing by, what chances to learn, to love, to truly live am I missing simply because I’ve already “got it in the bag?” Therein lies the real motivation for all these things that Christians do. Not that we might be saved, but that we might truly live after we’ve been saved.

This morning, after I went through my morning routine, I sat down on my couch and looked at my Bible sitting on the shelf. I pulled it down and began to read. Not because I had to, not because I felt that if I didn’t I would go to Hell for eternity, but because I wanted to. I read. Then I prayed.

Have you ever run into a good friend you haven’t seen for a few years and started talking to them like nothing had happened, like you were always right next to them? It felt like that.

To those like me, to those that have faith and doubt that faith, to those that long to fly but feel crushed by the weight of this world, I have this to say: there is hope. There is always hope in Christ.