It's said that every Christian has a real personal relationship with God. I believe that's the way it's supposed to be. Surely Jesus's words in John 17 and the analogies God uses to convey His relationship with us leads to this conclusion. I have become convinced of it in my own life. For most of my life, I cannot say I've had a personal relationship with God. I had what I called a spiritual life, which was something of a business arrangement: I do my part by doing all the things any good "Christian" should and God does His part--that cross-thing and whatever crumbs of favor He decided to throw my way. Now, I cannot say my relationship with God resembles anything so near as an intimate personal relationship, a romantic relationship with all the trimmings. I don't know if this is typical of Christians. It's not something I've ever discussed before--for fear of sounding like a lunatic, mostly. I need to write it down now, though, if for no other purpose but to remind myself.
By the way, reader, this is your warning: if you keep reading, you may come to the conclusion that I'm totally and blasphemously insane. If you find that a young man speaking frankly of having a romantic relationship with the Deity is unbelievable or even offensive, then feel free to hit that little back arrow on your browser right now. Trust me, I'll understand. A few years ago, I probably would have hit it, too.
I said, a couple of posts back that I needed to learn to let go and let God romance me. I can't control Who God is, how He chooses to reveal Himself to me, or what He does. I wouldn't want to, for I'd foul it up entirely, I'm sure! Sometimes, I'm tempted to add to this list of things I can't and don't do and say defensively, "I didn't choose to have God do thus-and-so." But that's not entirely true. Although I'm not in control and shouldn't be and don't desire to be in control of my own romance, I'm not passive and things don't happen without my involvement. Although I didn't choose the ways God has chosen to reveal Himself to me, I have and must continue to choose to open myself up to His actions--for He refuses to force Himself on me.
This brings to the first unconventional feature of my relationship with God: His pursuit. In most religions, we approach God. We pursue Him, as it were, going to meet Him in churches and offering Him gifts. When we sin, we have to do some sort of penance--some special effort of pursuit--to make things right, and then we may approach Him as normal again. I think all human religions work this way. It is the boilerplate under-girding all the different cults I've had discussions with, I know. I also know that I mistook this kind of religion for Christianity. For years, I practiced this sort of pursuit. I found it exhausting and fruitless. A man cannot catch God, and he can only ruin himself in trying.
Here in college, I've been slowly turning from that religion to this relationship. In the relationship everything's flipped around. I don't pursue God; He pursues me. He comes to meet me in unexpected places, such as my bedroom--at least, it used to be unexpected. Thinking about it now, I realize that it's become something I've come to count on. The place where I used to abuse my privacy to indulge lust is now the place where I wait in privacy to revel in the intimate presence of my Creator. Outdoors is another such place--God well knows that the vistas of nature soften my heart and He takes full advantage of it. Today, tonight, the back desk where my computer resides was another such place, but it was unexpected. He told me He would meet me here, but I confess I doubted. The computer has been my place for dreary work, absorbing-but-pointless games, and sickening lust. How could it be sanctified? But, I shouldn't have doubted. He always comes through and always wins out in the end. He gives me gifts. They're mostly little things, tokens: a song or two, a moment, a little miracle I want but don't necessarily need (like finding my favorite calculator again, my TI-83--though I haven't used it since I found it), little indulgences and favors like that. Other gifts are bigger, talents, promises, His presence, forgiveness...and some things I'm not at liberty to discuss here, at least, not yet. We do have some secrets.
When I sin, which happens quite often--distressingly often--, there is a special effort of pursuit, but it's not my penance. It's His rescue. When I sin, it's like I'm running away from God. For whatever crazy reason--I don't know why I do it--, I close off my heart to Him and start trying to move my thoughts someplace else, getting myself caught up in some handy distraction like a woman looking for an affair. I don't want to, but I do it anyway and I know somehow I'll do it again. We made a deal once, God and I, not too many months ago that no matter how long and hard I ran away from Him, I would come back. He said He would always make sure I was able. Now, I know another oath was bound up in His part, which He has made explicit to me tonight: No matter how far you run from me, how long, how hard, or where, I will come to your rescue. I will pursue you to the end of the world.
I can vouch for that. His pursuit is relentless. He will, as Hosea says, frustrate my efforts to escape Him. I will unexpectedly stumble upon some token of His that cuts through all my resistance and brings my heart back to my love for Him, or, like the whore in Hosea, I will eventually become disgusted with my flight and turn back. When this happens, I usually find myself facing what seem to be immense walls between myself and God. My sin lies between us and all my defenses guard my heart against Him lest He should break through in anger or--worse still, not come at all. My prayers, when I pray them, are careful, hesitant. I want to be forgiven. I want to come back and bask in His love, but I'm not sure I can and I'm terrified of what horrible unknown thing might befall me if I can't. What if I lose this relationship? It is all I want. The life I used to have, the one I used to dream about won't do it for me anymore. It's almost worse than suicide to me, and I don't want to consider either as a possibility because either way I lose all I love, my Enemy wins, and my life is reduced to pointlessness at best.
That's where I found myself last night at about 2AM. I felt surrounded, trapped by the lust and sin I'd indulged all the hours before. I was sick of it, but I could see no escape. I wanted God, I wanted to feel close to Him again. It was all that mattered to me, but I knew that if I couldn't escape lust, I couldn't have God. Sin and Him don't mix. In prayer I cried out in desperation, laying out my fears, my terror that, no matter what I did, our relationship would never work out. I cried out that maybe our relationship was doomed. Maybe we were just two star-crossed lovers, as they said of Romeo and Juliet's ill-fated romance. From my end, tragedy was the only ending I could see. I was weeping (yes, literally crying). But I sensed that God was determined still to have me. He forgave my sin by the power of His cross. Now, the only thing lying between me and Him was my own defenses. I was hesitant in my response. "Are you really willing to come down into this muck and rescue me?" I asked. "I'm not worthy--" But you need it, and I want to, came his response. At that my defensive barriers melted like wax, I let Him back into my heart and I don't remember much in the way of coherent thought after that (more on that in another part).
For now, let me offer a summary: in this relationship, God pursues me, not the other way around. My part--and it is an important part--is to be open and receptive to His advances.
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