The Christian life isn’t comfortable.
We are comforted, but not comfortable.
There are many different calls to discomfort. There’s the loving your neighbor piece.
That can be difficult, particularly in any election season. It can also be difficult during rush hour at Walmart.
Obedience isn’t easy either.
Generosity, believing God in what He says, seeing the long way you have to go to be like Christ, excavating things in your heart that, honestly, you didn’t even realize were there: sometimes, the Christian life feels like you’re in a boxing ring, getting your teeth knocked out.
But the hardest thing is realizing that I am powerless to change me. Because, really, without that part, all of the above are impossible.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
I haven’t read through the Beatitudes in a long time, but for some reason, they just keep popping up. I could always attribute that to coincidence, but I don’t think that’s the case here.
If your parents were anything like mine, they taught you the value of self-sufficiency, of personal responsibility. I think that’s a good thing to teach a child: it’s a part of maturity.
And ultimately, that’s the life we live before God until we meet Him- really meet Him: it’s a life of self-reliance.
The call to faith and the acceptance of Jesus running the show starts with a pretty simple admission that I still struggle with: God, I can’t do this myself.
Maybe that’s why it’s the first beatitude?
That’s got to be the first step because, otherwise, really what use is God to us?
Why do we need Jesus if we’re bound and determined to save ourselves? How can God change us if we never humbly ask Him to do that?
The humility to ask Jesus to save us- to give Him the throne of our hearts- is the first step. But then, in my own life at least, my pride seeps in. I start to think that I can do this on my own.
I can run this show, surely, in a way God would like, right?
I can serve in church. I can give money. I can pray. I can sing worship songs.
Me. I can do this.
And yet, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
In other words, the joy- the only joy- is realizing I myself am incapable, yet there is a Savior who tells me He will gladly exchange burdens.
Instead of carrying the weight of white-knuckling heartless obedience, I can have His heart instead and, from that, there springs up desire and hunger for a life that is filled with Him and, in turn, looks more like His.
For the poor in spirit, there is the kingdom of Heaven.
When I’m filled with my own pride, I make my own kingdoms. Only, it’s little more than manure sandcastles.
I’m a poor builder.
What it all starts with is pure honesty before God.
From a common sense perspective, it makes no sense why that should be difficult: I mean, if I believe God knows everything, why in the world would it be hard to open up to Him- totally to the bone, all cards on the table?
I don’t know why it’s difficult. Probably because being poor in spirit means opening up about the filthy parts of myself. As someone who would pridefully consider herself a Generally Good Person™, that’s gut-wrenching.
Instead, I can play at prayer, say a few thank yous, pop in some prayer requests, and be done. I avoid depth and ignore the heart issues at hand.
Monday, I started feeling some anxiety start creeping up.
Only, it didn’t creep up: it opened the door and made itself comfortable.
This anxiety had been rolling around in my heart for a couple of weeks, but I was able to push it down because I am good at avoiding things.
That day, it was just too much, so I took Boone outside, sat in a chair with a notebook, and on a page, I just wrote out what was going on with me.
Just about every phrase began with, “I’m worried that…” or “I’m afraid…” I filled up an entire page with my anxiety, fear, worries, the whole thing.
Had I been talking to a person, they probably would have had me institutionalized or just told me to shut up by the end of it.
Praise God He didn’t.
When I finished that up, I flipped to the next page, and I listed out all of the ways I’ve seen God in ten years. And yes, I know, I know: that’s too much to fill up a page (all that Christian-ese). But I wrote down the moments that I knew I’d heard His voice, felt His leadership, or saw His hand.
It didn’t all get fixed right then and there, but I had more peace- and real peace, not just avoidance- than I’d had in a couple of weeks.
Blessed are the poor in spirit.
There’s a line in a hymn that always sticks out to me. It’s apt to get me a little emotional because I feel it in my heart:
Prone to wander, Lord I feel it: prone to leave the God I love.
Prone to choose the worst option for me,
Prone to want the reins, when no one has wrecked me more than me.
Prone to believe I know best.
Prone to offer God the scraps, rather than my first and best.
Prone to indulge temptation.
Prone to not want to give up my sin.
Prone to speak without thinking.
Prone to rage.
Prone to choose what feels good, rather than what is right.
Prone to put myself first.
Prone to want approval.
It makes no sense why God would choose me, and yet in His grace, He called me to Himself and continually calls me to come and sit and be honest.
In His grace, He calls me His child, and He reminds me of His sufficiency, His power, His heart for me, and His love.
The reminder is best heard when I remember my lack: when I see that I am impoverished on my own, yet Jesus Christ, Creator of the universe, has lavished me with His righteousness and His riches.
And when I’m reminded of that, the common sense thing to do is pass Him the reins.
He does this whole thing a whole lot better than me.
And isn’t that faith? Faith is trusting Jesus’ way of handling things over my own way. Another duh thing- no one has a worse track record than me.
The interesting thing about faith, too, is that it’s not about the size or strength of it.
Faith is solely the action of handing over.
Sometimes, it feels like I’m looking over Jesus’ shoulder, saying, “You know, I really wouldn’t do it that way.” And His reply?
“Well, yeah, that’s kind of the point.”
The freedom of the yoke of Christ is that it’s no longer up to me.
If I succeed? Cool. It wasn’t me in the first place (though, I may celebrate like it was).
If I fail? Well, it was a step in the right direction because the action was based on faith, which, really, is a win in and of itself.
Don’t know what I’m supposed to do just yet? Above my paygrade.
Wondering what’s coming in my future? God’s concern, not mine.
I’m in the valley of the shadow of death? He’s there, and He’s teaching me.
I’m woefully out of my depth? MY SAVIOR WALKS ON WATER, BABY. BRING IN THE CHOIR.
In all seriousness, outcomes aren’t my concern: having faith to act is.
I think the Lord delights when we say, “I don’t know how you’re going to make this work, but to be honest, I just don’t have it in me.”
This is the final small act of rebellion- a five-post series during this midterm season.
Each act has been a venture of being uncommon in a world that seems like it’s on fire. Each has been a challenge, but this one has been particularly difficult.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”
The King of Heaven stepped down to die on a Cross and rose from the dead to make this beggar a child of God.
And He desires that all should come home. He’s got more than enough riches and more than enough righteousness to go around.
Thanks be to God.
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