Stand and Fight

I don't remember my age—although I'm told I was four or five—but I remember vividly the day I asked Jesus into my life. I may have told it before, but such a day always bears repeating.

My sister, Connie, and I walked home one evening after church (we lived across the street). She asked me if I was a Christian. I told her yes. That night I lay in bed and analyzed my answer (I still do this with conversations) to make sure I had told her the truth. Since our father is a pastor, I've heard about Jesus while in my mother's womb. Yet, as I lay there, I realized He was not my Saviour.

It was as if a veil lifted from my eyes. One moment the state of my soul did not concern me. The next, I knew emphatically that I had not surrendered, but I needed to. No prayer. No special formula. God touched my eyes, and I could see.

Following up this moment, which I now claim as my conversion, I acted upon it by going into my parent's room and asking my father to lead me to Jesus. We knelt together and prayed, confessing my sins and my need of a Saviour. I waited three or four years before I had the courage to stand in obedience and  confess before our church that Jesus is my Lord and be baptised.

That was the easy part of my years as a Christian. I responded to a work of God in my heart. The hard part followed.

I have not had a rebellious life. I credit that partly to personality and a great deal to God's answering the prayers of my parents. I can't claim to have learned the hard way. In fact, my prayer has always been that I may learn the easiest way possible.

The battle for me is much more subtle. It's maybe like someone who grows up in a war zone. The bullets fly so continually around you that you begin to forget their significance, forget the threat they are to your life. Because I grew up dwelling on the spiritual life, it became easy to think going through the motions was good enough.

Don't get me wrong. I hate hypocrisy, so I run from anything that smacks of inauthenticity, even in myself; but it's not always so simple to see you've crossed that line. It wasn't bad things. No obvious breaking of the Ten Commandments.

It was the little things. The "lesser gods," as C.S. Lewis calls them. The gods that when given the place, block one's vision of Yahweh. 

Boredom, more than anything, is dangerous. The same Bible reading and prayer routine, when done as a routine, can lose significance. One can grow deaf. You know what I mean?

It hasn't been big moments or large chunks of time. Graciously, God gives me little "checks" to let me know I'm fading in my attention.

This thought came up while my mother and I were discussing a couple that not long ago was on fire for God, zealously attending Bible study and church. Now, they ski on Sunday, leave their Bibles on the shelf, and confess confusion that their daughters are going their own way.

I know how it must have started. At least, I think I do. You go to do the routine and wonder what's the point. You fail at the same things over and over all your life, what makes you think you're going to change now? Maybe, just maybe, you wonder if there isn't some easier way, some fun you're actually missing out on.

These have been fleeting thoughts, just enough to scare me back to reality. When I'm there, when my love for God is distant, I can do nothing, but tell Him. Tell Him the truth about where I am. Sometimes all I can say is "help."

The only solution for cold moments is to cry out to our Father. When we've put our guard down and the enemy points the gun in our face, only God can shoot him in the back and save us. There is no formula. No spiritual exercise.

The wonderful thing is, when we tell Him our failing, our wicked desires, He scoops us up in love. Instead of scolding us, because we've known better (we've told others the other side's not worth it), He blesses us with His grace because we called upon His Name.

His Name saved us in our first moments of rebirth, and it is the Name that will keep us till our dying breath.

Let's be on our guard then. Stand and fight!

Friendship is Unnecessary

"I have no duty to be anyone's Friend and no man in the world has a duty to be mine. No claims, no shadow of necessity. Friendship is unnecessary, like philosophy, like art, like the universe itself (for God did not need to create). It has no survival value; rather it is one of those things which give value to survival." ~C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves

True friendship never begins as a duty. As Lewis says, it begins out of camaraderie in purposeful activity. It is the cherry on the Sunday (or the chocolate, whichever you prefer).

"Friends are not primarily absorbed in each other. It is when we are doing things together that friendship springs up—painting, sailing ships, praying, philosophizing, fighting shoulder to shoulder. Friends look in the same direction. Lovers look at each other: that is, in opposite directions." ~C.S. Lewis, Present Concerns

This arose in thought while contemplating the other characteristic (besides honesty) that I greatly admire—loyalty.

In ancient times, and indeed in some cultures today, your survival depended on the loyalty of your friends and of your family. If a traitor dwelt in your midst, your life's hourglass just ran out. You could not storm a castle, more-or-less defend one, if someone close to you divulged your secrets to the enemy. Numbers alone could not determine who won, as much as strategy and, underneath it all, loyalty.

To use a shady example: the old-time Mafia. In high school I became fascinated with studying them. I never glamorized it, yet (and please don't get me wrong) their code of loyalty always intrigued me. You sacrifice yourself before you become a "stooly" on "the family." 

I speak of the "old-time Mafia," because anyone who knows anything about them now knows betrayals, power-struggle-killings, anything is permissible. One writer compared the decline of any so-called "moral code" in the "family" with the United State's moral decline (Italy's problem is another story). As America moved father away from God and ethics, the crime syndicate moved away from their own "ethics." But I digress.

A better example: the spy world. Antonio J. Mendez, in his CIA autobiography The Master of Disguise, explained a deception he had pulled on his trainer, which almost cost him a job as an agent. He said: 

"I had violated a basic tenet in a profession where deception is the stock and trade: You never lie to or attempt to deceive a fellow officer in the service. Once you crossed this line, there was no going back. In what has been aptly termed a 'wilderness of mirrors,' a solid foundation of trust among colleagues had to exist."

How does this all swing back around to friendship?

The reality of my last post was neutralized by the grace of friends. The reality still existed, but these friends figuratively fought alongside me. Instead of wielding swords against an enemy, they shared a meal with laughter and good conversation. At another time I've shared a heart-disappointment, and my friend has offered to "fight him" for me. Neither of us took this offer with any seriousness. Yet, the sentiment is real. He's the defensive older brother I never had.

As Lewis explains in depth in The Four Loves, friendship is not a jealous love. Each friend brings out a side of another that no one else could draw out. If one friend dies, that part that he or she brought out of the other dies too.

No longer do I call you slaves, for the slave does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard from My Father I have made known to you. John 15:15

All this makes Jesus' statement to His disciples (and now to us) even more significant, don't you think? 

The value of noncompulsory-loyalty in friendship is balm for the soul. It is like glitter falling from heaven's golden streets. Every mile with a friend lightens the burden.

Honestly Me

One of the characteristics I've prized since I was a child—besides loyalty—is honesty. I can get along better with friends who are a little testy but I know where they stand, than ones always kind to my face but I never know how they feel.

Being a pursuer of honesty sure sounds virtuous, but it has a snag. How much is too much? 

This came up this summer. I had a roommate who was raised to believe that showing annoyance or even weariness is not acceptable. That one should always be pleasant.

I don't disagree that there is a point for this; one doesn't need to reveal every feeling nor should one. But there seems an element of dishonesty when one is upset by something someone has done, yet acts as if one is still on the best of terms with the other.

Because of this internal dilemma, I find I instinctively wish to avoid the person who has hurt me. This gives me time to figure out the storm within me and pray for peace. My reaction to a situation too is usually delayed. Anger or hurt often arises after a time of reflection. Dealing with this before being faced with the provocateur allows me to react in an honest, but appropriate matter.

Truthfully (since we're on that topic), if the hurt is deep, I would prefer to forgive them, but not ever have to face them again. Maybe I have done that in my past. 

Lately, God has brought several people into my life to humble me, yet He won't let me run from them. I'll have to face them again. I'll need to deal respectfully with them. Yet, I also want to be honest in my interaction and not treat them differently to their face than I feel behind their back. 

I know prayer is the best way to change an attitude, but it still isn't easy.

Have you wrestled with this? If so, what has helped you?