This was written on Good Friday, but I waited to share it until now. It's best read in that light, and with a Fat Tire, which is how it was written.
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I was very afraid, as my friend came to visit, that there would be some kind of distance between us. There had been time between us, and miles, a state line or two. But their potential to separate was not as great as decision.
Last year was dominated, in every way, by a crisis in faith. Wrestling with doubt, wrestling with faith, questions, fears, anxiety, these defined my very breathing, eating, sleeping. They defined my relationships, on almost all levels.
And I feared that my friend would ask hard questions, like those I asked myself.
I feared he would ask:
Why don't your feelings match your beliefs?
Why don't you hear God more regularly? Or more explicitly?
Why doesn't God save everyone?
Why don't all who seek God find him?
Why do some, who have tried to submit to the Lord, walk away from the things that you (I) hold onto? Namely, the authority of scripture and limited salvation.
I feared these for two reasons.
1) Because I don't know.
2) Because I've chosen to believe a set of Truths that outweigh these questions.
I've chosen to believe that the Lord is good, and strong, and that He loves me. I've chosen to stand on the speaking voice of God and His continued presence in my life. I've chosen to stand on the general brokenness of humanity and the right of God to do whatever He pleases with us.
But, nothing new has brought these choices. No new feelings, or sensations, or knowledge, has driven me to this decision. And these beliefs have been affirmed in community, in meditation and listening, in scripture, and in experience. It's somewhere I've stood before, but last year I stood more on the questions. See paragraph 3.
And so, with our last expanse of time together being inundated and defined by indecision, could decision on such hard things break our companionship? Was I willing to let it break for my decisions? Part of me genuinely didn't want to. Our friendship, in many ways, stood with an inquisitive, open-minded-integrity. The questions have validity, as does uncertainty. But my fear and doubt had no integrity whatsoever; the presence of God, His working in the mundane and miraculous is validated time and time again.* I can't with honesty stand any other way. But to stand with a close friend is tempting, even over honesty. Do not love this world, He says.
What if my friend was unsatisfied with my answers? What if I discovered that I was unsatisfied with them?
And so I stood partially in fear. I could not prove my stance with novel evidence, to him nor to myself. I had pure choice, based in word and experience, but choice. Faith, as it were.
But after he arrived, in conversation, he told me of one of his friends. My friend's walk with Lord could not longer match the spirituality and struggle of his friend. And he could tell that his friend was broken, and hurt, by his change. Yet, he could no longer stand with his friend in indecision. Because he had grown. He believed new things, with greater depths and certainties. And he could not console her from a level footing with integrity. Because he was no longer there.
It was a bizarre moment of encouragement, a moment of remarkable kinship and understanding. I knew precisely what he meant, for I had feared the very thing just hours before. It was as though God was affirming my walk with Him, saying, yes, this happens to everyone. Sometimes faith comes not with peace but with a sword. Sadly, division often results from truth. We think that unity is a deep kind of love, and it is. But love without truth is not love at all. Unity without truth is not unity at all. Because unity without truth deceives either oneself or one's friend. It's coddling, co-depending, sickly-sweet and self-prostituting. Because ultimately it is love not of the person, but of the relationship.
Unity is so beautiful, and good. God desires it immensely; He died that unity could exist where only brokenness endured. And yet it required the breaking of Unity itself. He was separated from the Father on the cross, and in brokenness, in the separation of sin, the perfect reached into our brokenness and took it on himself. Brokenness was not excused for unity's sake. It was borne. In truth and love the Lord acted, in the joy of Unity to come. But he did not circumvent truth and love to reach His ends. Instead He was broken by them. He did not ignore them. He could not; it would be against His very nature.
For the sake of love and truth, God suffered brokenness. And, if we fear** Him, so must we. And it will hurt, as He endured hurt. Yet in breaking, we will find ourselves part of a greater Love, a greater Truth, a greater Unity than we have ever known.
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*I have a stack of flashcards listing the big moments, though the smaller are more frequent.
**To be addressed in a future blog post, either Sunday night or next Thursday.
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