I like bread. Not in an obsessive sort of way – I don’t dream about bread, or spend all of my waking moments thinking about bread – but in a steadier, more quotidian sort of way. It’s just part of the rhythm of life.
After three repetitions of the chorus from “10,000 Reasons” at church, I’m ready to call a time-out and connect with the maroon cushions, not stay on my feet for another four songs.
I tried to peel myself off the alley as the Spanish words got louder, men’s voices, but my Columbia pants stuck to the dirt. My bones ached and bowels churned. Montezuma was mounting his revenge and it was one of the worst hours of my life.
A stranger’s fingers grip mine. The words reverberate from my throat and into my ears. Liturgy is new for me–but stepping into the same words every Sunday works like a garden hoe on my heart. After weeks and months of hands grasping mine as we pray together, “Our Father in heaven,” two realizations have churned up from this regular tilling of the Lord’s Prayer.
God isn’t waiting for us to master the art of being a Christian—not in the way that we conquered first grade math, said goodbye to our teachers, and could count to a hundred on our own. He’s not expecting for us to navigate the politics at work, without his help. He’s not hoping that we’ll grow our own supply of patience, and not need his.
University was the beginning of the end for me. The end of innocence. You might think that statement hyperbolic, but I promise you it’s not. It is the end of innocence for most people. However, I think it can be a particularly jarring experience for believers. Everyone else goes to university expecting and hoping to lose their innocence; Christians go to university hoping against hope to keep it.
“The End” seems to indicate that whatever has transpired has completely rolled over into lifeless annals of history without any ability on our part to reach out and resuscitate it, leaving nothing in our hands but a shadowy memory of what no longer is.
I’m tired of the assumptions that I am unhealthy, debilitated or fragile. My bone disease doesn’t break my zeal for life, it breaks my bones which are two different things.
At this point in life, I do not feel the joy of salvation. I’ve been so consumed by my own life and the seemingly meaningless tasks I have to complete day by day, that I cannot see the larger picture of salvation and glory. I stand with David, or rather, I fall to my knees in front of the Father with David, crying out for the clean heart and the joy of salvation I desperately need. That we all desperately need.
Dr. Craig Lounsborough reflects on the dangers of worshiping the wrong thing.