Saturday, March 13, 2010

Finding my way home again

Life has been speeding past apace, so much so that I haven't even had time to mention Mark Driscoll the pastor at Mars Hill Church in Seattle and author, not to be confused with Mark Driscoll the screenwriter. Anyway. Mark has been in town the past week or so, teaching at various locations and we went to hear him on Wednesday.

As with many Christian talks, a lot of it was stuff I already knew. He spoke on the cross of Christ, and related, in gory detail, the medical facts about crucifixion. As usual, hearing them made me feel not just uncomfortable, but almost ill. I wanted to stick my fingers in my ears and sing 'lalalalalala'. He did make one point that sticks rather vividly in my mind though. In explaining the background to the sponge soaked in wine and vinegar, he described what he learnt on a recent trip to Turkey (I think it was). While on a visit to an ancient (historical) public toilet, the tour guide informed them that while a particular channel of water had been used by frequenters to wash themselves, soon local beggars exploited the opportunity to make a quick buck. They got sponges, put them on sticks, and offered to wash the frequenters genitals. However, this soon spread disease, so rather than washing with water, the sponge on the stick was soaked in wine and vinegar. Was then, Driscoll questioned, the intended purpose of the sponge on the stick stuck into Jesus' mouth yet a further insult, or an act of mercy (giving the crucified person a drink of something to dull the pain)? He believes it was the former.

Shortly after that event in Jesus' crucifixion, he called out in a loud voice "It is finished', and died. He did not die from asphyxiation (which is what usually killed crucifixion victims), but of a heart attack. We know this because Jesus was able to draw sufficient breath to shout.

With that in mind, at the end of his talk Driscoll asked us to imagine every sin we've ever committed and place it on an imaginary sponge. That done, he asked us to imagine the scene of Jesus' crucifixion, with ourselves present in front of the cross, and then sticking that sponge into Jesus' mouth. As I did so, I found myself unable to push the sponge into Jesus' mouth. I felt unable to commit such a vile act. Yet, as I struggled with this, Jesus raised his head and looked at me, and first smiled, then nodded his head at me. I was, at first, astounded. But then the Spirit spoke to me and reminded me that Jesus DID want to take all my sin and evil within himself. Only if he did that could I be forgiven, cleansed, made new. Not only that, but the Spirit reminded me that I had already placed all my vileness on Christ, and defiled him, at the moment that I first gave my life to him (which was way back in the early 1980s). This was merely a re-enactment of that moment, a reminder to my own soul of the price that Christ paid.

Of course, realising afresh what Jesus had done for me - the act of taking all my vileness, evil and sin into his own body and cost of doing so - made me burst into tears. I could so easily have got stuck there, on the wrong side of the cross, as it were. While it's entirely appropriate to repent, it's not appropriate to stay in that place. Driscoll called on us to declare that 'In Christ I am free', but I was struggling to let go, struggling to accept that I am cleansed and made whole, struggling to rejoice in the freedom won for me. I said it, but I couldn't appropriate it. All I could see was the enormity of my sin.

We began to worship again, and as so often happens for me, it was in worship that I found my freedom. I don't know why the sung word should have greater power than the spoken word, but for me, it often does. Then the Spirit spoke to me again and showed me that what had taken place that evening was like a line drawn in the sand behind me. I had stepped over it and now had to walk away from it. In part, that's why I'm recording this here now - it's too easy, after some time period, to pretend that what happened was just a figment of my imagination, that it didn't affect me as profoundly as I recalled. This post will hopefully serve to remind me that what happened was real. In Christ, I AM free. The old is gone, the new has come. I am redeemed not just from my own sins, but from the sins others have committed against me.

The challenge now is indeed to walk away from the line, to leave it behind me, not to keep looking over my shoulder, but to look forward instead to the glorious future Christ has prepared for me.

As I've been writing this, and reflecting on the evening, something else has struck me. I recall thinking to myself at the start of the evening, 'I wish that God would speak to me the way he used to.' Time was that when I read the Bible it was fresh and new, and God would speak to me. Time was that when I prayed, God would answer me and tell me things. Time was that God and I used to be much closer than we are now. (Of course, we'll never get close again until I make the effort to make the time to build the relationship, I know, but that's besides the point right now.) And now, I realise that God answered that prayer. Back in the days before Zoe's death, I used to get words and pictures from God on a regular, frequent basis. Since her death, it's hardly happened at all. When it has, I've doubted that it was God, convinced myself it was just my imagination. But on Wed, it "felt"* just like it used to - like there had never been any gap or break in our relationship - like I was back in that time when God used to talk to me a lot. It "felt" so 'normal' that I didn't even think to stop to question whether or not it was God, because I knew it was.

And so now that line in the sand seems more real than it did previously. Somehow, God has draw me along the road, drawing me closer back to him, restoring me, and while nothing's changed on the outside, I know that Wed night was significant. It was a definite boundary point for me.

And I'm exceptionally grateful and pleased that I'm on the other side. God is talking to me again, he is answering my prayers with yesses again, plus now I seem to have the faith to believe it's him. This feels like home again, and it's so good to be back.

*spiritual things have a particular 'feel' to them that isn't necessarily an emotional thing, or a physical thing, although it can include either or both, but is rather a spiritual thing. I don't really know how to describe it, and I can't adequately explain how I know when something is of God or not. There's a certain peace that underpins the whole experience, but it's not merely an absence of fighting or war... it feels more like a groundedness, an anchoring, coupled with a sense of rightness, and there's just this knowing that goes with it. Sometimes there's a physical sensation - like a sensation of warmth on my skin, or a hand touching me. Sometimes there's an emotion that goes with it, like joy. I guess it's something you have to experience to understand.

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