Not Mine

It's been a while again.  But nothing new.  This blog is intermittent.  Lately one thought has been passing through my head in many different contexts, which means I should probably pay attention to it.

It seems to me that the essence of contentment and goodness and even Christianity itself is the simple statement, "not my will but yours."  The 'your' here referring to God.

How much of our suffering and struggle comes from some facet of wanting our own will, our own way.  Me first.  Whether this is starting a new school, looking for a job, starting a business, finding a place to live, helping someone who won't listen, trying to get volunteers for some project, it doesn't matter.

Sometimes this selfishness is deeply rooted and obscure to our conscious thinking, but I can't help seeing it everywhere.  Buddha said that desire leads to suffering, which speaks to this same point somewhat.  Though I argue that there is a positive desire, a desire for betterment, for completeness.  Simply settling for anything opens the door for all kinds of evils to enter unchecked.

But if there was a supremely good being whose nature was love and fulfillment, whatever this being wanted would necessarily be better than what I wanted, unless of course those desires were aligned, in which case they'd be equal.

I think the primary failing of humanity is this selfish desire.  Therefore the primary goal should be overcoming that flaw.  What was Adam's sin, if not a desire for his own will at the primal level.  What infant, as early and innocent as they may be, does not exhibit this tendency in their grasp and cry and tantrum at not getting what they want, even when they have all they need or the desired item is not good for them?  What major religion or ethical system does not hold selflessness in high regard?

Of course, being so primal, it is also extremely difficult to overcome.  Perhaps the most difficult thing to overcome.  So much of our society even encourages selfishness, capitalizes on it.  Some of the shallowest of us even glorify it into a virtue.  But even internally, it is so hard to let go of our will.  If we don't look out for ourselves, who will?

But isn't that the question?  Can we trust enough to let out own will go?  I know I cannot do this on my own. In many ways, I can make the conscious choice to do this.  But in some of the closest to my heart, I cannot.  Try as I may, I do not have the strength or even the desire to do it...but even here, if I force it, am I not still motivated by my own will?

It's only in the truest loving trust that I can let my will go.  My wife can take so many liberties with me that I don't even blink at, because I see her through eyes of love and trust.  I know she means no harm, even if she is capable of causing harm inadvertently.  How much more could I trust one that will not ever cause harm? 

I know this in my head, but it's only when it becomes a natural reality in my heart that it overcomes the monster of self...or rather the scared animal of self...yes that metaphor fits much better.

Love and trust...these are the primary factors.  But God, how hard they are in some cases!

God, help me.

Christians talk of love.  We're told to overlook, forgive, bear with, no one is perfect, don't judge.  And yet, in so many cases, this is entirely the duty of the listener and not at all reflected by the speaker or his organization.

It starts to sound hollow after awhile.  So I'm supposed to be eternally forgiving offences against me, some of which are grossly wrong...morally, ethically, personally wrong...and yet the person/people preaching this are the very offenders who then refuse to show it to me, to bear with me, to overlook, forgive, withhold judgement of my faults.

Now the moralist in me is screaming that two wrongs don't make a right and that one must do right regardless of how one is treated.  OK.  I know this.  But it doesn't change the bitterness and anger that rise up at it again and again.  And it isn't everyone.  I know many people who do live out their faith and have shown me great love, even when I don't deserve it.  So again, I blame the institution for creating the paradigm in which a man can stand over anonymous heads and orate without having to answer to the eyes and mouths of those he speaks to.  Where he doesn't have to feel the full and immediate effect of his words.  There has to be a better way.

I feel like I know that way too.  I have glimpsed it, smelled it, but can't quite apprehend it.  I'm not planning anything.  I'm over trying to work my own will in these cases.  I just don't have the energy any more.  But I want to understand, to walk in it, to help it grow where it sprouts.

Am I missing something?  I find myself cringing from certain aspects of the faith.  Embarrassed by them.  I don't want to be caught listening to Christian radio.  I don't even like the music.  I just need some uplifting, faithful, stilling presence and commercial radio (at least the genres I can tolerate) is all about degradation and glory in low things.  I hate to pray over meals in public, though I do it at home with a will and a desire to instill it in my son.

Am I embarrassed by the faith?  No.  I'm not.  I'll easily tell someone I'm Christian, that I go to church, that I believe in universal Truth and live morally, etc.  I'll discuss my faith at length and detail in certain contexts, not just amongst other Christians.  So I am not embarrassed by the faith.  So what is it?

If it was just hokey contrivances, I would not do them myself.  So I see value in them.  This means the issue must be deeper.  Perhaps a fear of seeming naive or backward.  Perhaps of being misunderstood.  I can't tell what it is.  My Evangelical background steps forward at this point and begins condemning me that those who are ashamed of Christ, he will be ashamed of.  Words from his own mouth!  And my heart quails.  But yet I find the same reactions persisting.

I am fickle and inconsistent.  And then I am reminded quietly of Peter who denied Christ three times after just proclaiming his allegiance and even using a blade against an armed troop of men to defend Jesus.  I am reminded of Paul who could not do the good he wanted to do, though he knew what it was.

And so this Sunday, when I was sitting in church, at odds with the place and myself, the pastor, whom I don't even know if I like and certainly don't yet trust, calls us to take Communion in a way that does not put me off.  Not single serving plastic wrapped.  Not greatly orated.  Simply saying that we will serve ourselves because, "you need no one coming between you and your God."  And so I go forward, looking into my own heart, wondering what I will say to Him in the moment, though I feel something must be said.  At the same time, I dred that my heart may burst out my eyes in front of everyone, as too often happens when I encounter God.  I take the wafer, dip it in the cup, and at that second, my heart cries out, "God, help me."

I don't even know where it came from...well I do really.  But I was not planning it, I promise you.  I felt my eyes well, clenched my teeth to stop it, and rushed back to my seat.  Then it came to me that this simple line is the essence of my faith, of all faith.  I don't know.  I can't do.  God, help me.

And on this rock, I can stand.  Nothing more, nothing less.  God, help me.  God, help me.