restored to grace

He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come.
~2 Corinthians 1.22

He owns me.

I don’t like that thought. The idea of being owned by someone or something makes me feel like I’ve lost my freedom.

Like I’m in chains.

I want to belong to myself. I want to choose where I go, who I see, what I do.

I want freedom.

But freedom is a lie. I always belong to someone. Or something. I’m always going to be a slave. But there’s only one Master whose chains bring fulfillment, joy, and. . . well, freedom (this time it’s not a lie).

The problem is that every time I seek freedom from His chains, I’m instantly enslaved by something else. But no one is as good a master as He is.

So I was captured. This time by a person. Through no fault of her own I was drawn away from my Creator, the one for Whom my heart truly beats, and I allowed myself to believe that my heart was my own, to be given to whomever I desired.

But it’s not. Giving a heart bought by God to anything but His plan will yield disastrous results. And in my foolishness I was left brokenhearted, weary, and destroyed. I sought a comforting voice among my brothers and sisters, but I couldn’t find any. And then a whisper broke through the darkness.

“Return to me. I’ve paid the price for your freedom.”

Father, I’m sorry for trying to take ownership of my heart and life. You bought me, and I had no right to try to take my life back. The price You paid was Your own blood and death. Thank You that the chains with which You’ve bound me lead to true freedom. And thank You even for the difficult lesson that what I may perceive as freedom is actually slavery.

Captivate my heart again, Father. I’m weary of chasing after things that aren’t in Your plan for me. I want to pursue Your heart, no one else’s and nothing else.

Tweet This Post

This post was originally written on 10.22.2008. I decided to bring it back because it’s so fitting to where I’ve been recently.

Imagine a scandalous love affair. One where a woman, unsatisfied with her husband’s provision and care, turns to a stranger to find the passion that seems to not exist in the promise made between her and her groom. The stranger enters her life, promising passion, affection, and desire. She opens the door of her heart to him, and he walks in offering her hope.

She also opens the door of her husband’s heart to him, and as he walks in, he carries with him an arsenal of weapons. He destroys everything. He ravages the innermost fabric of the husband, leaving him broken, shattered, and lost.

Who opened the door?

I did.

Every single day.

When God whispers to me, “Return to me. I’ve paid the price for your freedom.”

I open the door to that scandalous love affair when I forget my God.

When I put my own desires, pleasures, and needs in front of Him.

When I love myself more than I love Him.

When I ignore His children. . . the weak,

the poor,

the broken.

I break the heart of God. And I crucify the God-Man over and over again.

Because He died for the weak, the poor, and the broken. And when I, the Christ-follower, forget those whom He died for, I nail Him to the cross again,

with my own hands.

I break His heart when I seek fulfillment in secret evil pleasures like porn,

drunkenness,

promiscuity.

I break His heart when I long to connect with friends and family

more than I long to connect with Him.

I break His heart when my hobbies (books,

video games,

music,

movies)

replace His love for me.

I open the door to strangers and let them tear apart my true Love’s heart.

Is it not sufficient? Is His love not enough? Or must I find something else to satisfy? Must I elevate the gift above the giver? Will I find fulfillment in knowing more about a flower or in getting to know the gardener? Can I fall in love with the uplifting and encouraging words of a woman, or can the woman herself suffice?

Is the love of God more captivating than the Lover-God?

When the woman returns to her husband, he has lost no love for her, and he reaches to her with outstretched arms because he still wants her. Because he still loves her.

Because He still wants me. Because He still loves me.

Tweet This Post

God sends people into our lives for a reason. We don’t always know what that reason is, but there is one nonetheless. Sometimes it’s to teach us a lesson about him. Other times it’s to teach us a lesson about ourselves.

And there are times when he wants to teach us a lesson about both ourselves and himself.

When that person came into my life, I had no idea that God would be teaching me some very hard-hitting lessons. Not the least of which was that I sometimes need to let people out of my life, no matter how painful that may be.

It ended up being far more difficult than I realized it would be, and took me a lot longer than it rightfully should have taken. And I’ll admit, the way I went about it wasn’t the most noble. Heck, it was sloppy and hurtful. But something happened the day I finally let go. God grabbed me again. He drew me close to his heart and said, “See, you don’t need someone else. You need only me.”

Why did I have to do that? Why did I have to let go? There are countless reasons, but none rings truer than this: someone had replaced God as the primary focus of my attention. First thing in the morning, I’d get a phone call from her. Right before bed, I’d call her. I’d spend four to six hours of my day in conversation with another human being. Shouldn’t those time slots have been reserved for God?

But now the question begins gnawing at my mind: do I seek restitution?

I know for a fact that what I did hurt her. I’m supposed to live at peace with all men to the best of my ability. And the hurt that took place could have easily been prevented. But I didn’t take any steps to prevent the pain, and the damage has been done. But when I ask for forgiveness, can I do so without allowing her into my life again? Or, if I do allow her in again, will I be able to keep my life Christ-centered and not person-centered?

But then again, after what I did, would she even want me in her life again?

Either way, this question still stands: can I keep Christ first in my life and not put others in his place? Because I learned something about him. He cannot, and will not, share first place in my heart.

Tweet This Post

The prophecy of Nahum is a pretty graphic poem. God pours out his anger on the Assyrians, and in a beautiful monologue, describes how he will ravage their capital city of Nineveh. But in the middle of the passage he pauses to give us a clue as to why he’s unleashing his wrath on the great city.

The LORD is good,
a refuge in times of trouble.
He cares for those who trust in him.

It seems oddly placed right after a passage about his fierce anger being poured out like fire and right before one that describes him pursuing his foes.

Or maybe not so oddly placed. For those of us who trust God, he promises to protect us. The “refuge in times of trouble” is most needed when we’re in the middle of violence and suffering. We can never fully comprehend the agony we have to deal with in life, but we can trust God because he cares for us. The almighty Creator and Judge of the universe has taken time to promise us that he cares.

Yes, God is pouring out violence on those who rebel against him. But he’s doing it because he loves us. It’s like the dad whose family is under attack. He explodes in rage and violence upon those who would threaten his loved ones. Yet he turns to them and says, “No more will the wicked invade you; they will be completely destroyed.”

Tweet This Post

I was browsing my RSS reader when I came across a new post from my favorite blogger. Her thoughts really got me thinking about the way we view church here in America, and the tension between what she refers to as “Pretty Church” and “Messy Church.” Regardless, I do believe that the Church has this purpose: to be a loving community of people who, above all else, long to serve their Creator.

Unfortunately, my church experience is drifting away from that.

I don’t want to make any excuses, but put a group of singles together week after week, all of whom are in their mid-twenties to early-thirties, and you’re asking for difficulties. Petty drama follows after foolish arguments. The childish nature of relationship-seeking Facebookers spills over into the mission of the Church and poisons much of our interaction.

I say all of this ironically because I’m the chief culprit.

But I’m quitting now. The urban tribe doesn’t belong in the Church, and I’m putting an end to my involvement in it on Sundays. I’ve turned the service and worship experience into a live-action social network and begun to feed off the silliness of my “Sunday-night playdates.”

As brothers and sisters in Christ, our primary aim should be to encourage one another in spiritual growth. But much of what I’ve seen lately has been just the opposite. I had to ask myself this question last Sunday night on my way home from Liquid: What am I doing to help my fellow Christ-followers grow closer to Him? Conversely, am I actively seeking relationships that will nurture my fellowship with Christ? Or am I content with hanging out with people who worship during the service on Sundays, but never ask me about my fellowship with my Savior? When was the last time I asked someone that question?

So, my experiment. . . I’m going to avoid the Qube Lounge after the last service this Sunday. If anyone wants to join me, you’re more than welcome. If no one does, that’s fine too. I know that at the end of 15 hours serving at church, I’ll probably need to spend some time alone with my God.

What about you? Have you turned your church into a social gathering? If so, do you think you’d be willing to join me in stepping away from your urban tribe and re-opening the Word by yourself or in small community within hours after the pastor has said his final sentence?

Tweet This Post