Search me, O
God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; And see if there be any hurtful way
in me, And lead me in the everlasting way. (Psalms 139:23-24 NASB)
What
is the part of you that God cannot reach?
What is the part that He is unable to heal? What is the last remaining addiction that is
doing for you what God cannot do? These
are the questions we most avoid asking ourselves during the Broken In sessions.
These are the “hurtful ways” in the Psalm above. We point to other things that we have
conquered through God’s grace in our lives and count those things as sweeping
steps of progress, because indeed they are.
Appropriately we praise Him and thank Him, and we rejoice with each
other in our growth. And then, having
progressed that far with tangible proof of success, we mount up and ride that
pony as far as it will take us.
At
some point, however, the pony becomes exhausted. We’ve given him no rest, no nourishment. He’s gone as far as he can go. We realize that we have stopped in our
progress, but the path has not ended.
That’s why we always recommend a second cycle through the Broken In
program. The purpose is to peel back
another layer to find the addiction, or the idol, or the mask that we still
cling to, the one that we pretend does no harm, the one we’ve replaced the more
“serious” addictions with since it’s not quite so bad. We can joke about
it; pass it off as minor. Certainly God won’t mind if we don’t trust
Him with just this one little thing. Can
you name yours?
And
having named that addiction then, can you describe what exactly it’s doing for
you? Are you finding in it a comfort for
which God’s comfort runs a distant second?
Or is it a matter of stimulation?
Does it give you a rush that God can’t duplicate? Is it that rush that gives purpose to your
life, or that covers up the pain that God is too preoccupied to attend to?
At
the bottom line it is peace that we seek; that antithesis to the
stress that presses in on us every day from every direction. It is peace that our empty
spirit most desires. But in our
desperate broken state, we’ll accept “comfort” in its place if we can
get it at a cheaper price. And comfort
seems so much more accessible than peace.
Comfort is Satan’s substitute. It’s
his shortcut. It’s more immediate and
tangible, and touches our physical being first, which makes it so sensually
attractive. Why are we willing to pay
such a heavy price later on for this immediate gratification? We know from previous experience that the
interest rate will far exceed the principal, yet we recklessly sign the
contract. Why? Because later on is later on, and immediate
is NOW.
And so, when the
Spirit tells us in 1Peter 3:11 to “seek peace and pursue it” we choose comfort
instead, because that’s what Satan offers us without the burden of “pursuit.” He says, “Come on, pursuit takes time, and
here, right in front of you; comfort. It will make you feel better NOW.” But God pronounces no beatitude on the “comfort-makers.” There is no joy in comfort, only
pleasure. Pleasure fades more quickly
than joy, and must be maintained at greater and greater cost.
Comfort
costs US. It costs our true selves. We must pay the bill, and the interest
accumulates faster than our ability to remit.
Peace, on the other hand, was purchased for us. Christ paid the price for peace. It’s duration is eternal. Doesn’t it cost us something? Well yes, but consider this analogy:
I
dig through my garbage until I find the squirming remains of an old, half-eaten
chorizo burrito from a couple of days before.
I manage to scoop it into a Zip-lock which I seal immediately to cut off
the nauseating smell. I take it to The
Cheesecake Factory and offer it to the waiter.
I ask, “What can I get for this?”
The waiter says, “Follow me, please,” and leads me from the bustle of
the main restaurant into a private room set with long tables of their best
salads, soups, appetizers, dazzling entrees, and mouth-watering desserts;
tables overflowing with everything they have on the menu, and items the chef’s
designed just for you alone. He takes my
zip-locked bag from me and gestures toward the indescribable feast. “Please help yourself to anything and
everything you want.”
“Thank-you,”
you barely manage to stammer out, “How long can I stay?”
“As
long as you wish, of course. And come
back again tomorrow, and the next day, and as long as you like for the rest of
your life.”
And
that analogy doesn’t begin to cover it.
The
difference is, peace doesn’t cost my true self. It costs only what destroys me. I must give up the putrefying,
maggot-riddled, pseudo-self that Satan tempts me to sustain. That is my last
remaining addiction.
Pornography? Cigarettes?
Sexual gratification? Bitterness
from past abuse? Personal offense at
some slight by another Christian? What
is YOUR maggot-infested burrito? Are you
willing to bring it Friday night to Bridging the Gap and put it in the “God
Box?” Are you willing to leave it there
permanently in exchange for peace, for the banquet that God
offers?
We
begin in Psalms 139:23. We ask God
Himself to scour every dark corner of our spirit and ferret out anything that
has become infected; anything and everything destructive to us. And then, in contrition, we implore Him, “Lead
me, Abba, in Your indestructible path; the path that leads me out of myself and
into You. Forever.”
Amen.
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