Heath, Ohio and Jacob's Ladder

The Gospel is unexplainably powerful.

If you are even a casual reader of my blog (I still have all my old posts which can be cut and pasted at any time back on here…get off me) you know that my struggles are deep, ongoing, and unbelievably frustrating. I have a hunch that, instead of making me unique, this makes me “normal” among the Beloved, of which I am a part, only if God will let me stay. I did not say this to minimize the seriousness of my sin. I said it because I don’t want you to think I see myself as special or different. I don’t. And I don’t know how deeply you struggle. I can only speak for myself. It’s pretty brutal.

Blah, blah, blah, same old thing.

But I can’t do anything without hours and hours of introspection. For better or worse (probably worse), that’s how I roll. I will sift where to eat for lunch like wheat (that’s not good, by the way).

Preaching has brought me back to this blog. And the fact that, even though I will relay this in person as well, I owe a profound thanks and debt of gratitude to my friend, Darby Livingston (www.profoundmystery.blogspot.com/www.flyoverplanting.blogspot.com/www.cayaf.org).

Darby is my friend. There are few men who have felt the brunt of my wandering like Darby has had to put up with. I don’t know of anyone that knows me like he does or how deeply my struggles run, outside of my precious wife who knows me in ways that I wish she didn’t (Kristie, you are the woman the Bible talks about when it speaks of exemplary women – I mean it with all of my heart). And yet, I can make this statement with no hesitation, no doubt, no worry: Darby is my friend.

In this world, where I live on the brink of spiritual death every second and most of the time I can’t see two feet in front of me with my soul, you cannot put a premium on this kind of friendship. And I guess that’s why I’m writing. It is the Gospel that makes Darby this kind of man and this kind of friend. It is the Gospel that is guiding the steps of my life, even when I think my direction is away from it.

I cannot turn my back fully and finally on the Risen Christ. Trust me; hear what I say right now: I have tried for over a year solid to do so. Given my nature, instincts, sin and my inexcusable wanderings, to make that statement is physically, naturally, and logically impossible.

But with God, all things are possible. Perhaps above all, the final salvation of men like me.

I have to preach on Sunday at Come As You Are Fellowship. Darby is letting me preach at his church. That is almost unbelievable to me. I deserve none of their kindness, none of their friendship. And yet, it is extended nonetheless without malice. I don’t know how you make up for your past. And mine is a mess. I would give almost anything to go back and try to do the last seven years over. I really mean that. But I can’t. I have no other option but to put my head down with a profound sense of informed humility and walk on. When I say that, it sounds prideful. Like, “that’s easy for you to say.” It’s not; I assure you. I feel a tremendous amount of regret on a daily, hourly basis; believe me. It could be pure pride in thinking far too much of myself – that others don’t view me as so important that I’ve left a scar on their lives. But maybe I have. And, given the depth of my depravity, I’ll default to the latter. It could be that I worry far too much of what others think (this is pride; I just can’t handle people thinking poorly of me). But maybe it isn’t pride. Maybe it’s chastisement for my wake of quitting and avoidable failures. I don’t know. But I know I cannot go back. There are two options: stand still and die or go forward. I know you may not like me very much or think very highly of me or anything I have to say but, I hope you can understand that I don’t want to stand still and die. That’s about all I’ve got. Just this sense that it’s not done. It’s a small sense that I doubt even as I speak, but it is there.

And this I know: that sense to go on, to do the right thing, to make much of Christ for the sake of His name and His Gospel with my life…oh that doesn’t come from inside this flesh. All that is counter to such a thing comes from inside this flesh, from conception to delivery. This desire could only come from Christ. It could only come from Him. So, I bow before it. I don’t know what else to do because I can’t do anything else. And I know this is where I want to be and that is what I want to do, even if it seems impossible.

So, what is the point of all this? Shoot, I don’t know. It’s the way an introspective, depressed, hopeless, sinful, cautiously excited, hopeful man who might be on his way back says “hey, how have you been?”

But, this Sunday I’ll be preaching (God-willing) from John 9:35-11:44 (it will be shorter than it sounds). My tentative title is “Too Good to be Untrue”. This passage is where I ended up when I considered what to preach. While it may look self-serving to preach about a Shepherd who won’t let go of His sheep, I can assure you: this message is to the glory of God.

And to Darby, my friend and my brother, to Francis Thompson and the beautiful poem, “The Hound of Heaven,” thank you.