I don't know how it happened, but one thing ingrained in me since childhood is the notion that "legalism" is probably the gravest danger when approaching our Christian faith. Being a little bit of a free spirit in some ways, this was a reassuring notion to me. "I don't have to worry about changing the carefree way that I want to be, because the alternative would be LEGALISM, and that's a sure path to dead religion...."
It's interesting how easy it was to rationalize or gloss over both Bible verses and church teachings about spiritual disciplines. It was only as a young adult in a BSF class that I really looked at the value of discipline. Isaiah speaks poetically about a garden that is carefully tended by the gardener, with weeds regularly pulled out and the plants frequently trimmed and pruned. The alternative, and also what the wicked people had become, is a wild garden, overgrown and unwildy, which no longer bears any fruit.
Given my casual personality, the "wild garden" tends to feel more freeing and relatable, while the "well-pruned garden" feels both unattainable and a bit boring. But it occured to me - the well-pruned garden is the one that is used for the master's will. The wild garden is abandoned by the master and is allowed to self-destruct.
Do I want to be allowed to self-destruct, or do I want to be well-tended? Even if that trimming and pruning changes the very shape of who I think I am? (This is a hard question, because I've typically liked myself just fine the way I am. There has often been a quiet fear about the nature of whatever "change" and "growth" God might have in store for me. What if he wants me to become something less fun than what I am right now? I want to have a certain measure of control over how much I am to change, and in which direction I should grow.....after all, it's MY life, right?)
At some point, God brought me to that difficult place of surrender. Or at least, of wanting to surrender, even if I don't do it very well most days. And it finally occurred to me that, being creator of my very being, as well as the "author and perfector of my faith," it is GOD who has the best blue-prints for my life. I don't have to worry about him "remodeling" me into anything less than what I was always meant to be.
And when you're finally open to the idea of discipline as a way of aligning oneself with the master gardener's blueprint (and get over this crazy idea that it's in some way earning salvation), it suddenly becomes clear that it is not only good but absolutely necessary.
What is a Christian, after all, if not one who is aligned with God's will and used for His purposes?
I'm guessing everyone would give a quiet nod of agreement about this last point, but what I fear is that we live in a culture that subty justifies our own entitlement. Because there is "freedom," (which we will defend to the grave, even at the expense of other theologies), God really doesn't expect us to give up all that much in our daily lives. Nor does he expect us to follow any rules about the way our lives are managed from day to day. All of that business is best left between each Christian person and God himself. After all, it's a personal relationship God is after, isn't it? Far be it from the church at large to tell any one Christian how to relate to God.
Trouble is, I think we give ourselves far too much credit on that last point. I don't know about you, but my track record of "working out how to relate to God" has been fairly one-sided. That is, I'm mostly focused on myself. Not that I'm TRYING to be self-centered and short-sighted.....I just come by it naturally. And because I'm so immersed in myself, my approach to God seems to shift with the tide of my own current. For a God who is never-changing, I very much doubt this pendulum swing of "Katie-directed" religion is His highest goal for our relationship.
So when a church with several thousand years of tradition offers tangible answers to that question, "How do I relate to God," it doesn't (as I used to fear) hinder my freedom. The truth is that my freedom had actually become my noose. I was fighting tooth and nail to defend a notion that had become my own poison. And why? Because when I said "freedom," what I meant was "entitlement." I felt entitled to make my own choices, to seek my own path. While I've always been an outwardly compliant and basically gentle spirit, deep down inside there was a hardened stubbornness that said, "I can do what I want, and I will not yield." The worst part is that I couldn't have named it if I'd been asked. I didn't even know that sin was buried so deeply inside me.
And this, friends, is precisely what I mean when I say that we may trust ourselves more than we should. When God mercifully brought me to a place where I could recognize (if only in part) just how broken I am, and how blind I am to my own depth of sin and selfishness....that is the moment I became keenly interested in what the Church has to say about its various disciplines. I knew I needed someone else to help guide my pruning and trimming, since I could no longer trust my own judgment. If left to my own devices, I'd choose the wild, overgrown garden every time.
Many might say, "Just go to Jesus. Pray and ask God to show you the next steps." That is good. Very, very good - and I dare not slander that advice. But dare I say - if the Church is to be the body of Christ here on earth, is it not in the same breath a wise choice to go to Her for wisdom also? When I'm looking to Jesus, may I not at the same to look to the Church? We may be unaccustomed to this idea, but perhaps that's because we've grown too comfortable living amidst the many fragments of churches we see around us. This subdivided group can only in part, and without complete unity, represent our Christ - so the idea that the church is the "Body of Christ" naturally finds a more symbolic role in our theology. But perhaps when confronted with a church that has remained consistent from the beginning, we would begin to trust Her yet again...
And that's where I am. When looking into my own heart, I see shifting shadows - even some that pose convincingly for truth. When I seek a sturdier ground to stand on, I cannot find even one aside from the Church that has stood for thousands of years.
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