Picture the one person in the world you really wish were reading your blog. Write her or him a letter.
Look at that. I don’t even know what to call you anymore. You have become for me a nameless, faceless entity, grown out of control and out of reach. Your strength remains, yet too often is used to wound instead of heal.
So many things I want to say. Too many words rolling around to make coherent sense. Impossible to ‘boil it down’. Overwhelming to think of saying it all. But if this were my last chance to say what needs to be said, what would it be?
God has not lied to you.
He means what He says. He will never be too small to do beyond what any of us dare to imagine. He is everywhere, in everything. I know it’s hard to see that when you look around you. Maybe if you looked inside with honesty you would see that you are but a microcosm, a mere reflection of what you choose to vilify outside yourself.
Paul has not lied to you.
You think you teach grace, but spend all your words applying law. The letter really does kill. Only grace signifies. You focus on judgment, not seeing how that leads you into the very things you say you hate. Would that your eyes would focus on mercy. Would that you could see the living Word as the only lens through which you can interpret the written word. Bereft of grace you follow your fathers, eating from the tree of judgment – toward those who are different, those who are outside, anyone who does not hold to your dogma. Jesus does not believe your dogma, why should anyone else? Would you recognize the Lord of grace if He stood inside you? Or would you denounce the One you name Lord when you saw His refusal to adhere to your pet teachings?
It’s not about ‘us’ and ‘them’.
Really. It’s not. As long as you believe you have the only truth, you will never be able to reach anyone outside yourself. Not really. Not with anything that matters. Not with love. Not as long as you cling to your agenda. You know what I’m talking about. That ‘hidden’ agenda behind every relationship you make. The agenda to save. But you do not seek to save, only recruit. After all, someone has to fund the machine, I get it. What if everyone finally saw you for what you really are? What if God finally decided He’d had enough of your corporate machine? What will you do when He says, ‘No’? It’s coming. I’ve been hearing it for a long time. Your days are numbered … at least in your present state.
Hell is not a place, it’s a condition.
By making it into a place you cripple the ones around you already ‘there’, leaving them with no way out and no hope for the future. That you are a slave to it by your own fear is the saddest part of all. Fear is crippling your message, leaving you bereft of any joy to give to anyone, even yourself. You believe the opposite of hell is heaven, but Jesus said the opposite of hell is abundant life.
Abundant life is not a place, it’s a condition.
My heart breaks when I see what you have become … even more when I see what must happen for you to become. I have seen your death. ‘Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it abides alone.’ A chrysalis awaits to transform you into the bride you will be. You won’t see it that way when you face it. It will crush you to dust until you submit.
I have felt your loneliness. The utter disconnect overwhelms me at your gatherings. You meet together all the time, but face one direction (never one another). You force yourself to perform, else others would know the devastating emptiness inside you. Refusing connection within, fearing connection without, you content yourself with loneliness, assuring yourself that being right is what matters.
I have seen your pride. You can’t connect with anyone from the prison of your self-satisfied beliefs. The idea that your law-keeping, or Bible thumping, or finger-wagging secures God’s love breaks my heart. God is near to the contrite, the broken, the humble. He does not need your rod of correction for anyone. He needs you to open your heart to grace, forgiveness, hope, and love. Your pride divides, delineates, denominates. So certain that your belief, your prayer, your works have saved you from punishment, you never realize that your form has bound you to a lifeless corpse – a form of godliness, denying the power of His grace. Ultimately, you have boiled your message down to one miserable word: Believe in Jesus in order to avoid God’s wrath. But really I must believe in your version of the Gospel in order to be saved. Huh.
Still, I have heard His voice calling, calling even you. His patience will never run out. His heart will never let go. His love will overcome everything – sin and self-righteousness alike. He’s like that, you know. Relentless. You cannot escape His love, no matter how deep you run to hide in the recesses of your structure. He has torn it all down, removed every nook and cranny where you cringe in fear of His coming. But I have seen it. I have seen you – exposed.