It's not about me . . .

I have not written many blogs in recent months because I have struggled to have any words to say that would be remotely helpful to me or anyone else in these deeply troubling times. Silence seemed the best option. This blog might well prove that point - feel free to fast forward . . . or, even more helpfully perhaps, to respond in any (gentle!) way you see fit . . .

I read Christian stuff online and listen to podcasts that are generally helpful and uplifting, but I am troubled a little by those who seek to advise others and at the same time claim to maintain a spiritual equilibrium and unshakeable, unquestioning certainty in their understanding of the ways of God whatever they are faced with in their personal lives, and whatever is happening in the wider world.

Those who know me will be well aware that I am not one of these people. I love Jesus, I wish I loved him more, I long for nothing more than to draw closer to him every day, and at the same time I am drawn to and encouraged by the writings and thoughts of fellow believers who question, who struggle with their faith, who are deeply troubled by the pain of this world, and who don’t see every situation of life as just another opportunity for triumphal statements about winning the battle between God and Satan in the heavenly realms as if the outcome depends upon me.

As far as my admittedly limited understanding goes, after almost half a century of stumblingly following Jesus, it is not an equal and opposite fight. God’s Son, in a mind-blowing act of humility and self-sacrifice defeated all the powers of evil by his death and resurrection, and yet we will not see the ultimate outworking of that victory until God’s plan reaches fruition at a point in history only he knows. Until then it is beyond any human capacity to presume to know and to proclaim with unshakeable certainty the detailed workings of God. Yet in every generation of Christ followers there is it seems a desire amongst some to proclaim with bold prophetic certainty their own unique insight into God’s mind that sets them apart from us more questioning disciples.

That may be one of the reasons why, to our shame, there are more than 45,000 Christian denominations worldwide - all doing it ‘their way’. Egotism and arrogance is a human failing common to all people and as old as time. I'm not talking styles of worship, contemplative vs charismatic, liturgical vs. informal etc. There are countless ways to appropriately worship God, according to our personal temperament and preference. It is when we insist that there is no theology but our theology, that we have the monopoly on biblical truth, then we all walk on shaky, self-serving ground. As Dallas Willard says, "arrogance of doctrine or tradition is still arrogance. It is one of the things God hates" (Renovation of the Heart p.111).

Nothing exemplifies this more than the events of Holy Week. Right from the start Jesus’ final entry into Jerusalem demonstrated that his purpose was to demolish the religious and political expectations of those of us who want him to do it our way.

That first Palm Sunday was a million miles away from an innocent child-centred palm waving, hero worshipping victory parade. Palm branches were a highly loaded nationalistic symbol and a declaration of war. The crowds who waved them were coming out in their thousands to welcome a warrior king who would defeat their enemies and restore freedom and national pride. They thought they understood Jesus - and how wrong they were.

So when he rode into Jerusalem, not on a mighty charger but on a donkey, the symbol of peace and humility, and when it became plain that his agenda was the polar opposite of theirs, all their songs of praise turned to cries of condemnation and hate-filled demands for blood, his blood. Jesus doesn’t do it our way, he never has. He is not a politician; he is the King of a radically unique kingdom, a King who “made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant . . . who humbled himself even to death on a Cross”; a King who feeds the hungry, heals the sick, loves the unlovely, comforts the grieving, parties with social outcasts and seeks out the have-nots and the are-nots of this world for his special loving care and attention.

I understand the desire to be special, to stand out from the crowd, it is a frailty I share with the rest of humankind, the need to prove that I am worth loving. I know from personal experience that whenever I doubt that God could possibly love me, I almost unconsciously try to replace it with the need to be somehow important to him, to be a great prayer warrior, to have a significant ‘ministry’, to be someone people recognise as a person of faith . . . all pointless attempts at earning a love God has already poured into my life, and which he will continue to pour out however many times I doubt him, fail him, even betray him. He loves me, all of me, but it's not about me . . .

. . .and it’s not about the claims of any particular denomination, or self-appointed spiritual elite, or 'fresh move of God', or about claiming knowledge of who is ‘saved’ and who is not. Being a Christ follower isn’t about making the cut, it isn't about my spiritual standing, my ability to do something 'for God', it's about surrendering my ego knowing that the most important thing I can do is to build a relationship with Jesus, the lover of my soul, who died for me.

Henri Nouwen, as usual, says it so much better . . .

“For most of my life I have struggled to find God, to know God, to love God. I have tried hard to follow the guidelines of the spiritual life—pray always, work for others, read the Scriptures . . Now I wonder whether I have sufficiently realised that during all this time God has been trying to find me, to know me, and to love me. The question is not “How am I to find God?” but “How am I to let myself be found by him?” The question is not “How am I to know God?” but “How am I to let myself be known by God?” And, finally, the question is not “How am I to love God?” but “How am I to let myself be loved by God?” God is looking into the distance for me, trying to find me, and longing to bring me home.”

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Artwork (if my memory is right!) by a very young Benjamin Lee Elliott