an irresistable haunting
I think at times of my journey I have asked myself why do I believe in Jesus? And as a matter of reality- being ruthlessly honest with myself, and even grossly and selfishly hoping that my answer will be “no” so I can move on with my life, I’ve asked myself…”do you really?”. So I don’t have to interact with religious pharisee’s within the halls of religious institutions or in my own heart- so I can bask in my own folly perhaps, or so I can sleep at night. Because if Jesus is real, if the gospel is real, then this should turn my world upside down- not for a moment, but continually, right?
I’ve even had a real sense of anger at times, wanting to not only be a prodigal son, but leave and never come home.
Why? That’s a bit more complicated, maybe- I think it’s a mixture of my own crap mixed with the deafening words of the religious. Which I find deeply in myself. Matter of fact I’m my own worst Christian. Martin Luther said, “Religion is the default of the human heart” – Maybe because our nature is not to want a SAVIOR, but because we want to be the savior. We want to be great, and wanted to be needed- not to need.
But, alas. I do. Matter of fact there is no other deeper reality in my life. I can’t even describe it, and I don’t even know that should- maybe try, but not to beat myself up for not. I think there is a matter of mystery involved in everyone’s relationship with Jesus, being at least a bit different from each others, because no one can have a relationship with God through each other’s faith, but through our own- which is only a gift that’s given or found, but in my opinion, was only found because it was given.
Jesus haunts me. I have an admission- I don’t think I’m supposed to be here. I have this special and yet grossly dark memory. I remember being an angsty teenager, wanting to kill myself, and I strongly believe that if it wasn’t for the reality of Jesus-God. I would’ve done the deed. So as I look back throughout the last 16 or so years, I think I’m lucky to be here. If I would’ve had my way, I would be dead, but I do think God had other plans.
Much like an alcoholic may be tempted with liquor, I’m an alcoholic with depression. I do hear my brothers and sisters about not finding my identity in what I’ve done, or what’s been done to me, but solely in Jesus. Right, I agree, but there is something broken in me, that no amount of brainstorming, contemplating, or tears can fix this brokenness. And I can’t help but think Jesus is okay with brokeness. Yes, I believe he wants our identity to be wrapped up in Him, but I don’t know that means if I have brokeness that it’s not. I don’t think we will be completely healed, and the tears will not be wiped away from my eyes till the day I see Him face to face. I day I have been praying for since I was 9.
I was 9 when I was at the funeral of a family member, who had committed suicide, and since that day I’ve been a depressed alcoholic.
I can only think that I know Jesus is real, because it’s a gift. I’d rather not be haunted by this reality, but I’m so glad I am. I’m so glad, because out of Jesus’ great compassion, he’s the only thing that can comfort me when I am at the bottom or when I’m at the top. Because even bottom isn’t the correct reality, neither is the top. A true bottom would be a life without Jesus, which I know that taste, every moment that I’m a prodigal…and the top isn’t the correct reality, because we feel we are on top, because it has something to do with us…I got a promotion…I got married…I got $…fame…attention…an ice cream cone…but the top would simply be I have Jesus, or rather Jesus has me.