2024-02-04 A Meditation on Our Rational Side

“25 I have thought it necessary to send to you Epaphroditus my brother and fellow worker and fellow soldier, and your messenger and minister to my need, 26 for he has been longing for you all and has been distressed because you heard that he was ill. 27 Indeed he was ill, near to death. But God had mercy on him, and not only on him but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow. 28 I am the more eager to send him, therefore, that you may rejoice at seeing him again, and that I may be less anxious. 29 So receive him in the Lord with all joy, and honor such men, 30 for he nearly died for the work of Christ, risking his life to complete what was lacking in your service to me.” (Phil 2:19-30 ESV)

To find a more calm and rational side to ourselves, is no small feat when confronted with the brazen persistence of human sin. Would that we could reason together. Would that we could vouch for our own recognisance: yes, we are listening; yes, we are determined; yes, we are willing. But the sin-addled last man standing, is a fruit of forgotten plight. We forget the brazen nature of sin. We forget its persistence. We forget the wow factor at just what extents we are expected dutifully to attain unto.

I gave it my all, and look what was there waiting around the corner. I gave it my everything, and look what was the fly in that ointment called my own blessed homecoming. I had just resolved to pat myself on the back, say day well done, when I was asked to do something more. I had just put aside something prideful, then look at what or who or how I was visited in a dastardly dream. I had just completed my marathon, my circuit jog, my smiling and gladhappy clean labors, when rebellion busted its way in. The forbidden snack. The lustful bullheadedness. The question marks around decisions should of would have could have made long ago: I thought all this was behind us. I thought all this was the new me. I thought, in short, that I could get by with the religion of accomplishment, the religion of sanity and patient wise and calm walk, the religion of fond reminiscences of what things I no longer do partake in.

Then to the ramparts and the patrol! Sometimes so ably to focus on the Christian task, is correctly to be at the ready and on the watch of a sort that does pay dividends. We were abiding in the Scriptures. We were watchfully praying. We were pursuing a Calling most holy, but then also one at the very limits and reaches of what was possible: how can I go on, we asked. How, to write yet more or put in a word of enthusiasm and encouragement. How to compensate for the true dynamic that we forgetfully observe: it isn’t a mark of failure, the bullheaded push for that lust or that vain fantasy, but rather it is a mark of steps taken, of accomplishment: the sin only reveals itself when rightly we have started to tackle it. That is the time for gratitude. That is the time to awake from our beleaguered, laborious sleep, with a grin on our face: these things and more shall pass. These things and more shall edify. These things and more mark me as one no longer self-righteous, no longer pristine and composed, but in the thick of things and carrying on in full acceptance, determined acceptance that God is for us, to live and to life, to together walk and persistence unfold. And where and if we do fall away, His is the character accomplishment that will always restore us. Is that believable? That life and church and community may throw us out, throw us away, but nothing can take us from the love of the Father. No silly deeds or needless hungers can ever separate us from His redeeming, restorative, respectful care. He cares, as we patrol. He cares, as we throw caution to the wind and allow ourselves some distraction from the spiritual Gamesmanship, Persistence, Obsession, and Watchfulness. See, we were running well; it was no sin that hindered us but a dastardly accusing spirit. A spirit who hates and is given yet license to trouble the saints. Who most of all cares not over our deeds, but over our composure, our certainty that we are forgiven. All this to make of us New Creations, despite the faltering humiliating damning failure of a works-righteous stance.