My faith in God is not based in my mind. There are too many questions there. We are talking about things that are completely beyond what at least my mind can grasp. Faith is like quantum physics. My mind says, “Huh? Can you show me that please? Cause it makes no sense at all, and I’m not quite sure I even like it.”
My faith in God is not based in my emotions. My emotions are all over the place. My emotions are wrapped in abandonment and despair. How could they possibly support the idea of a God who loves and cares for me? How can I open myself up to the possibility of further abandonment, not only by a God I put my trust in, but by people because of that trust?
Instead, my faith in God is based in experience. It is based in God calling to me, speaking to me, very occasionally holding me.
For a long time, God was not speaking to me. I lived in unbelief, wanting to believe, but God was silent. Yet I kept chasing God, calling to him. And finally, when I reached a bottom of sorts, he spoke. The first word was a passage from the Bible he had used to call me before. I’d tucked a highlighter randomly into the middle of my Bible, and when I opened it I thought at first it was a psalm someone else had mentioned that I’d intended to look at more deeply, so I stopped to read it before moving on. I was surprised and encouraged when I saw it was a passage in Hosea which was so personal and special to me. The next day again, a similar passage, this time in Joel, verses in which God is calling Israel back to himself, telling them that his love for them is unending.
The next day I read a blog about the prodigal son, about the Father being so overjoyed about his son’s return that he ran to him when he was still far off. The son had thought the father would be angry at him for leaving home and squandering his inheritance, but he wasn’t. He was just happy to have his son back.
And the next day, I read a meditation by Ted Dekker, and it also was on the prodigal son.
One message, two confirmations.
This morning I was sitting here, feeling a little sick, my mind not lining up still, my heart honestly just grieving. In my Bible reading, I was in John 20, the resurrection story. I read that when Mary went to the tomb, she met Jesus there, but she didn’t recognize him until he called her name. And I thought yes, that is me. It takes him calling my name for me to see him. The Bible itself says that the message of the gospel is foolishness to those who haven’t heard that call. Yet I am still with Thomas, saying wait, let me put my fingers in the holes in your hands.
Then I am with Peter. I identify so closely with Peter, with Jesus telling Peter that he would deny Jesus three times, but when he returned he should strengthen his brothers. In the final chapter of John, Jesus asks Peter three times, “Do you love me?” Peter gets exasperated over this repeated question, saying, “Lord you know I love you.” But each time Peter answers, Jesus tells him, “Feed my sheep.” For each of Peter’s denials, Jesus has given him an affirmation, and has reinforced his direction to strengthen his brothers, to feed his sheep. And finally, “Follow me,” even after predicting that Peter would die for his faith.
I was also listening to worship music this morning while I was doing my Bible study, and as I was digesting this, I was reminded that wandering is not unique to me, or even to modern times. The 18th century hymn, Come Thou Font of Every Blessing, says, “Let that grace now, like a fetter, bind my wandering heart to thee. Prone to wander, Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love. Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it. Seal it for thy courts above.”
Then the next song came on, one of my favorites, Brokenness Aside by All Sons & Daughters. “Will your grace run out if I let you down? Cause all I know is how to run. Cause I am a sinner. If it’s not one thing it’s another, caught up in words, tangled in lies…. Will you call me child when I tell you lies, cause all I know is how to cry.”
Again, one message, then one confirmation, coming right on top of one another.
And yet, as I believe, still I doubt. Maybe I’m just crazy. Is it all just coincidence? Maybe I’m making things up to make myself feel better. But perhaps that is the purpose of these messages, to tell me that God knows this, that I wander and doubt, but he still seeks me, still calls me, that he will make it beautiful, that perhaps even he will use it to some day, some way, to feed his sheep, to strengthen his children.
As God seeks me, I seek him. Through the rain I seek the rainbow. Lord, make it beautiful. Please. My heart is aching.