Polygrafik

I’m more sinful than I could ever imagine. And the worst thing about it is that I have to stick around to find out.

I thought about that yesterday in my random, displaced times of reflection and sighed. I’m not a good man by a long shot. Sometimes, it seems difficult enough viewing myself as so. There’s always a wild circus of  shenanigans in my head and when I get a chance to remember that the air I breathe was a gift from the Creator, I survey my barren heart and think: “Is it too late for me?”

“Whatever does not proceed from faith is sin.”
Romans 14:23

Oh, alright. Faith is a resourceful thing to have. Especially when you’re at odds and logic doesn’t give you the way out that you think you should take. It’s in the heart, right? If I believe from deep within myself that something is right, then it has to be an automatic fruit of faith; it has to be right. Right?

“All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person” Mark 7:23

What? I can’t trust my heart? What am I then? Why even try to crawl if I’m only moving backwards? Am I not safe in my own skin?

“I know that no good dwells within me, that is, in my flesh”
Romans 7:18

I’m in a wavering state right now. Sometimes, the reality of God’s breath on my brittle soul is so warm and real that I can see the horror of my rebellion against him. I see myself in action, I comprehend why, and I get a glimpse of the actual offense I commit against myself, my Father, and the people whom I’m called to lead. Other days, I just don’t. That day is today. These are the days when my very skin likes to have a field day with my heart and allow me to forget about the life I yearn to live, the transformation I dream to experience, the people I desire to love, and the past I can’t wait to leave. I usually give in. Today doesn’t feel especially magical, though my firm stance at the foot of the cross despite the temptation to leave doesn’t feel like legalistic white-knuckling: it feels like I’m patiently waiting for something.

I’m waiting for God to lift me in His arms. No purity is in my flesh? Fine. All the more reason to rejoice in the God who loves me and lifted a man off of his feet to show him the framework of His creation. My life is a mess. And yeah, my ankle-joint jitters as I wait for a period of clarity and refinement in this life. So maybe I just need to kneel. I know that y’all out in interweb land have back-pains too. Let’s stand together.

One of my closest friends retorted my initial comment on my sinfulness with this: “You are more loved than you ever dared hope, and the best thing about it is that you get to stick around and find out.”

Be careful when you think to yourself and throw words around. “Broken” has become a word that evangelicals throw around a lot. Lovers of God professing “I’m broken, you’re broken, we’re all broken!” It is true. Man is fallen beyond all recognition – literally. We are, in a sense, broken. But living inside of those who comprehend and look to the Holy sacrifice of Jesus Christ have something inside of them that isn’t: The Holy Spirit. He isn’t broken. And even he breaks us. But not in the sense of failure and inadequacy. No, he breaks us in; more like a pair of fresh new tennis shoes, so that we might become stronger and more weather-resistant to the atom-piercing force known as life. Paul admitted that he had a thorn in his side; that his flesh was constantly at war with his spirit. And it’s by Christ’s sacrifice for our lives and the transforming power of the Holy Spirit that he endured and “ran the race.”

Falling to sin can’t be our destiny, and perfection will not come until our God brings it on that day. So until then, make it a war.