My greatest challenge now and then seems to be keeping true to Philippians 2:3.
For the most part, I think I can handle other people being more accomplished than I. I even really, really like some people whose good deeds laced with great humour have inspired me to be that much kinder and more vigilant in looking out for the needs of others.
But there is this really small group of people whose motives I hold suspect and everytime they get attention for doing good, this small, sour part of me wants to run out and kick a gerbil.
It's not for me to know if their motives for doing good are ultimately building blocks to sainthood or purely attention-seeking sophistry. I know the only person I can truly examine and judge is myself on this. In this verse alone, I strike out on 3 counts; I am selfish, I probably would like some attention myself, and I certainly have a great deal of trouble esteeming said group of people higher than myself.
I think I have major problems knowing how to celebrate the successes of some people. Even the successes of church workers with shiny teeth.
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
Monday, January 30, 2006
The dialogue within the chicken-hearted
A part of me is itching to say something, and then there's a part of me which prefers to shut up and look on.
I don't know when I stopped being confrontational. It might be that time a long-time friend called me a bitch for speaking plainly, or it might be the countless of other times well-intentioned advice went unheeded and unappreciated. I am also a great one for ignoring my own advice, particularly when it comes to relationships.
I've been told that she will have to find out the hard way; that she won't listen anyways, so why say anything at all. And of course I know that's highly plausible. Apart from sounding like the killjoy if I were to speak, I also have to deal with the seeming hypocrisy.
Because it'll never look like the advice was the benefit of hindsight. Not when she is in too deep and yet thinks herself immune and smart enough to muster the circumstances. And think them unique.
The tussle between the conscience and the mind is always something of a pain. If only I didn't prize her friendship (and approval of me) so highly - I might then have the guts to look her in the eye and tell her she's starting to look a wee bit desperate to the rest of us. Because I'm sure I looked that way at some stage, to her.
I don't know when I stopped being confrontational. It might be that time a long-time friend called me a bitch for speaking plainly, or it might be the countless of other times well-intentioned advice went unheeded and unappreciated. I am also a great one for ignoring my own advice, particularly when it comes to relationships.
I've been told that she will have to find out the hard way; that she won't listen anyways, so why say anything at all. And of course I know that's highly plausible. Apart from sounding like the killjoy if I were to speak, I also have to deal with the seeming hypocrisy.
Because it'll never look like the advice was the benefit of hindsight. Not when she is in too deep and yet thinks herself immune and smart enough to muster the circumstances. And think them unique.
The tussle between the conscience and the mind is always something of a pain. If only I didn't prize her friendship (and approval of me) so highly - I might then have the guts to look her in the eye and tell her she's starting to look a wee bit desperate to the rest of us. Because I'm sure I looked that way at some stage, to her.
Sunday, January 22, 2006
Hymn 728b, with feeling
Funny thing about this blog. I started it some time ago and it was meant to be a sounding board for myself; a means to reflect on where I'm going, what I'm convicted of, what I'm confused about and what I have done about it.
The problem is that I've started plenty of posts and have never finished them. Because they were never long enough/insightful enough/in-depth enough/Christian enough.
That's the problem, isn't it. The whole facade thing. I've been battling this with myself, my belief in God, and my relationship with the church for my whole Christian lifetime. On the one hand, we're supposed to be family and we came to Christ on the very premise that we are flawed. And yet the other premise is that we have repented of our past, we understand how base we are and we are supposed to "put on and put off" - put off the past life and put on Christ. And because of this last bit, we think we're supposed to behave perfectly - even though we preach that we're still prone to sin. But if we can't wing being perfect or close to it, then let's at least appear to have it all together.
This will be my 15th year as a Christian. 15 years since I had the sudden epiphany that whatever lessons I've been hearing on Sundays actually pertain to me - I need to change, I need to be sorry (repentance is still a huge concept to me at 27; being very sorry is easier to understand) and I need to get dunked in the water.
Five years into my Christian walk, I realised that there was a very crucial part of my faith missing, and that was the heart. Ironically, having grown up emotional and rather impulsive at times, my borrowed faith had always been bred in me somewhat stone cold and factual. I could quote bible verses and exercise apologetics fluently and be passionate about giving an answer that is correct and biblical... but the overall faith always rang slightly hollow.
Five years into my Christian walk at age 17, I tried to articulate to many people the need to balance the head with the heart; the need for worship to be emotional as well as rational. I don't think I had the accurate vocabulary at 17, and it's taken me 10 years to start putting across to close family what it was exactly that I had meant. I'm still learning.
Here's my quandary at 27, 15 years as a Christian who has never missed a gathering with the church on Sundays. How many of those weeks did I actually spend worshipping God? Have I ever behaved in those 15 years as someone who believes that my God is Alive?
I read Phillip Yancey's "I was just wondering" last morning, and something shot out of the page and slapped me about because it was so poignant to me. A female friend of the author was trying to explain to a non-believer what her faith was about. And the non-believer's comeback had been, "But you don't ACT like you believe God is alive."
I want to know what it means to have a God that is alive. If I hear one more sermon about how knowledge of God's word is all-important - and that emotion is irrational and therefore to be avoided because of its unreliability - I think I might scream.
But that wouldn't be loving, would it.
The problem is that I've started plenty of posts and have never finished them. Because they were never long enough/insightful enough/in-depth enough/Christian enough.
That's the problem, isn't it. The whole facade thing. I've been battling this with myself, my belief in God, and my relationship with the church for my whole Christian lifetime. On the one hand, we're supposed to be family and we came to Christ on the very premise that we are flawed. And yet the other premise is that we have repented of our past, we understand how base we are and we are supposed to "put on and put off" - put off the past life and put on Christ. And because of this last bit, we think we're supposed to behave perfectly - even though we preach that we're still prone to sin. But if we can't wing being perfect or close to it, then let's at least appear to have it all together.
This will be my 15th year as a Christian. 15 years since I had the sudden epiphany that whatever lessons I've been hearing on Sundays actually pertain to me - I need to change, I need to be sorry (repentance is still a huge concept to me at 27; being very sorry is easier to understand) and I need to get dunked in the water.
Five years into my Christian walk, I realised that there was a very crucial part of my faith missing, and that was the heart. Ironically, having grown up emotional and rather impulsive at times, my borrowed faith had always been bred in me somewhat stone cold and factual. I could quote bible verses and exercise apologetics fluently and be passionate about giving an answer that is correct and biblical... but the overall faith always rang slightly hollow.
Five years into my Christian walk at age 17, I tried to articulate to many people the need to balance the head with the heart; the need for worship to be emotional as well as rational. I don't think I had the accurate vocabulary at 17, and it's taken me 10 years to start putting across to close family what it was exactly that I had meant. I'm still learning.
Here's my quandary at 27, 15 years as a Christian who has never missed a gathering with the church on Sundays. How many of those weeks did I actually spend worshipping God? Have I ever behaved in those 15 years as someone who believes that my God is Alive?
I read Phillip Yancey's "I was just wondering" last morning, and something shot out of the page and slapped me about because it was so poignant to me. A female friend of the author was trying to explain to a non-believer what her faith was about. And the non-believer's comeback had been, "But you don't ACT like you believe God is alive."
I want to know what it means to have a God that is alive. If I hear one more sermon about how knowledge of God's word is all-important - and that emotion is irrational and therefore to be avoided because of its unreliability - I think I might scream.
But that wouldn't be loving, would it.
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