It takes awhile to understand that Jesus isn't just fire insurance. All that we know at the beginning is that we're helplessly tied up in the sins that trouble us. We have these amazing desires, especially if we have faith. We see clearly what God is offering, and we want it.
The trouble is our sins, or more accurately, how we react to our sins. I think many of us take our awareness of our sin as an opportunity to tell Jesus that he made a mistake. This could go on a lifetime.
But with the mystic vision, we begin to see our sin as the remnant of our unredeemed self. Temptation is closely related; it's a call to prayer. The sin in my members, as it were, is a siren call to dark places. We don't like to go there, but fear and selfishness call us there, like a compulsion or a sickness. When the Scriptures call us "double-minded," they mean that we both love and hate the siren call. We are like two people: the one who loves God, and the one who loves the carousing in the dark places.
The siren call is a quicker hit, a bigger high. "Forget God! What good has it ever done to be good? Don't you deserve to be happy? What's the harm?" If Jesus isn't here, it's an easy win for the evil one. There's no rule, no reward that the system can offer, stronger than sin. Even to be told that a soul free of mortal sin is in a state of grace is not enough. What does that mean? For me, a state of grace meant I was merely acceptable, tolerated, not despised. No wonder sin looks so good!
But the reality was that I was the unfaithful wife of a devoted husband. No matter how many times he came to find me in the center of the city, binding up my wounds given by my abusive lovers, I would accept his kindness, his tender words, and then when I was well, I'd leave again. He never tires; he never fails to seek us. At some point, I started to believe that he loved me, and that he'd never stop. And that the trouble was me. Why would I leave this one who loves me so much? Even now, as my heart longs for that reckless passion, it passes in a moment. I am learning to love in return. I don't need to run. I tell him of wanting to run. I tell him of previous times I ran, and what it felt like.
I see the eyes of Jesus. I see his face. He's here now. No one needs to ask me if I care about my salvation. "My salvation" was too abstract. Heaven itself was too abstract. Let me see the face of Jesus. In his eyes, I am seen. I am Home.
The trouble is our sins, or more accurately, how we react to our sins. I think many of us take our awareness of our sin as an opportunity to tell Jesus that he made a mistake. This could go on a lifetime.
But with the mystic vision, we begin to see our sin as the remnant of our unredeemed self. Temptation is closely related; it's a call to prayer. The sin in my members, as it were, is a siren call to dark places. We don't like to go there, but fear and selfishness call us there, like a compulsion or a sickness. When the Scriptures call us "double-minded," they mean that we both love and hate the siren call. We are like two people: the one who loves God, and the one who loves the carousing in the dark places.
The siren call is a quicker hit, a bigger high. "Forget God! What good has it ever done to be good? Don't you deserve to be happy? What's the harm?" If Jesus isn't here, it's an easy win for the evil one. There's no rule, no reward that the system can offer, stronger than sin. Even to be told that a soul free of mortal sin is in a state of grace is not enough. What does that mean? For me, a state of grace meant I was merely acceptable, tolerated, not despised. No wonder sin looks so good!
But the reality was that I was the unfaithful wife of a devoted husband. No matter how many times he came to find me in the center of the city, binding up my wounds given by my abusive lovers, I would accept his kindness, his tender words, and then when I was well, I'd leave again. He never tires; he never fails to seek us. At some point, I started to believe that he loved me, and that he'd never stop. And that the trouble was me. Why would I leave this one who loves me so much? Even now, as my heart longs for that reckless passion, it passes in a moment. I am learning to love in return. I don't need to run. I tell him of wanting to run. I tell him of previous times I ran, and what it felt like.
I see the eyes of Jesus. I see his face. He's here now. No one needs to ask me if I care about my salvation. "My salvation" was too abstract. Heaven itself was too abstract. Let me see the face of Jesus. In his eyes, I am seen. I am Home.
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