never too late

There’s something going on. Something potentially big. Something good … wonderful really, and we need to consider being a part of it.

I’ve been watching. I’ve been a part of ‘it’, although I didn’t know it existed as such. I’ve read, and thought, and soul-searched and wandered, and wondered … and found myself in the company of like-minded Jesus people, albeit a surprise to me. And it keeps coming, like a fresh tide.

There’s a context, of course. The context is human history; the immediate context is the last few hundred years, beginning around the time of the Reformation with Zwingli and Luther and Calvin and … so on.

For a long time the Christian religion had been state-sanctioned; the two sleeping in the same bed, birthing children, rearing families, ordering societies, breathing their blend of morality, branding the ‘immoral’ as outlanders and punishing them, often severely, sometimes with torture and death. Both had their reasons, their agendas, and they apparently were better able to realize those agendas through their licentious relationship.

Most of the ‘christianized’ world lived under the reign of Roman Catholicism – suffered under it really. For a long time. Then Luther erupted and others followed suit, and a rebellion ensued; a good rebellion for the most part. It overturned the sickening rule of the RC church and started a move back to Scripture, back to the roots, driving back the wickedness, the abuse, the horrors, and opening new doors for liberated people, at least those who dared to follow. Much of it was good. But the overriding error is that the Rebellion took along a bag when it left the ruling church instead of leaving all the junk behind. To envision that bag look at the Anglican Church (Episcopalean) and compare it to the RC church. There are many similarities. Way too many. And that extends throughout Protestantism to one extent or another. They too hoisted their flags, climbed into this or that bed, and enacted their own rule-of-law, punishing the offenders just as their forefathers had done. Sick! Why don't we learn?

Why on Earth did they have to pack that bag?? They should have burned the whole thing, and re-started, from scratch … I think, anyway. And ever since Christianity has struggled between the apparent need to govern its people and the Spirit’s cry of “freeeedommmmmm ! “, reminiscent of William Wallace’s agonizing cry as his innards were ripped out in Braveheart. For God invites freedom in the Spirit, and dismisses regulation by law. Jesus, bless his name, put an end to that – he burned the bags; all of them. A L L.

Some Christians began to wonder at the rules and the straightjackets and shackles … “Aren’t we supposed to be free of these things?” Free. Ruled by the Spirit of God, not the commandments of men, or so Scripture seemed to say anyway. And some of them began to speak out, to question, to re-search the Scriptures, to rethink and reboot – reframe the box that christianity had been shut-up in. The movement was small, and often elicited cries of ‘blasphemy’. But it hasn’t stopped. It thrives. And I, for one, am blessed. Thoroughly. I grew up in a regimented rules-driven religiosity. I wore the shackles.

I found myself questioning and always wondering why this was so onerous. Why? Is it supposed to be like this? It’s hard. I’m always under condemnation, mostly my own. I feel constantly judged, under this huge burden of guilt … kind of how Luther felt, I guess, and why he beat himself with a whip every night, thinking that would atone for some of his sins…

I had been raised in a Protestant church, American-styled Fundamentalist Baptistic like. And the Scripture was the basis for everything. And the teaching was mostly very good, and motivated by right-seeking preachers and teachers. Why then the guilt, the whip? I had become a Pharisee. I lived according to the rules and regulations of religion, and the bylaws of my church. And I suffered dreadfully under the load. My fault. Noone else’s of course. And it hurt like hell. I castigated myself for my sinful self, and caused myself much disappointment, depression, failuremindedness … dread. I dared not die, for God would surely judge me to the full extent of the Law. Branded.

And all that time I portrayed myself in public as some good Christian person, by default righting all the wrongdoers, pointing out the right way – the lonestar Christian bible-slinger, ready to draw at the hint of error, and draw from either hip at that. I never meant to be that. it wasn't like i was trying to be deceitful, speaking with forked-tongue, fooling people. I never set out to purposely offend people or judge them. It wasn’t my intention to be the shooter. I was simply trumpeting truth. It just came with the territory, and I bit the bullet and rode the trail. I turned myself into God’s defender … ha! .. me, sinner of sinners.

Then crisis hit my life, and it brought wakeupsy; massive soulal heart attack. In my crisis I began to search like never before, looking earnestly for the god of the bible. I challenged my assumptions, my presuppositions, my Christianity, my theology, my salvation, my entire spiritual life. I was in search of me, and in search of the God I knew was there. Everything was loseable. Nothing was sacred. Everything could be dumped on the table to be shuffled, sorted, inspected, cut-up, discarded, filed, or re-confirmed and treasured as I reexamined every piece of me, my beliefs, my life, my heart, my God.

There are others like me out there. Maybe not many as bad-off as I. Maybe not as poor. Maybe not as destitute. But they struggle in their own way, in their own world, under whatever rules them, looking for release, for redemption, for the ‘easy yoke’, the ‘light burden’ – for freedom in the presence of Jesus.

I admit that I have reservations about the teachings of some of these new theologies, new Bible-think. I admit to questioning and looking to see how they get where they are on this or that issue. But I am in. I have bound myself to a journey that leads i-don’t-know-where for i-don’t-know-how-long .. till I get there, I guess. I just know that back there is death, and i have to move forward. I travel light. I grasp lightly the things of this world – they are mostly a drag on my trek, an added burden. I carry a small pack with a Bible, and a staff, and have a bushy-tailed companion who reminds me that life is for racing around the next turn, lots of tail-wagging and smileys, each new day dawning in anticipation.

I walk now without the whip, holster trashed, away from the old Christianity, headed into a life of freedom in God Spirit, available to be used by him if ever he has any task, and always thankful for it, thankful that he would even consider using such a one as I.

I think mostly he just wants me to help someone here and there as I trek. Nothing big, nothing notable; just bit by bit, as I see someone in need, helping out if I can. And that smells like the Kingdom to me, and the scent is flat-out rejuvenating, fresh as a sea bath to my soul.

Surely there are the stresses, there is the ongoing madness igniting and exploding all around me, and I have to run for cover from time to time, get some r-and-r, re-centre, balance. But that’s all part of walking this road, ‘cause there’s another accuser out there (besides my self) who wants me dead dead. I respect that Accuser – he’s a wily and powerful foe, not to be taken lightly or underestimated at all. But I also have a committed brother-friend that has his eye out for me who (more often that I am aware of, I’m sure) gets my back.

I relish it. Vastly different from what was. Life. Life with passion. Life with vision and purpose, with verve, freeness, unencumbered by the things of this Worldsystem. Headed along the Kingdom road, whistling, looking at the flowers, listening to the birds, looking for the next place to lay my head, the next neighbour in need.

Join me … you’ll never go back.

shalom