Hot Air: the condensation of shapeless faith

Pt 2. of the series 'Full-bodied Gospel'

Anchor

Salvation belongs to the Lord; 
  your blessing be on your people! — Psalm 3:8

Photo by Jon Tyson on Unsplash

Sea

Salvation? Oh, mine? Or should I say His?

Personal. Painful. Iterative. Literary. In-my-body experiences of "and [then] there was light." 

I notice a distinct yet similar phrasing each time it’s happened. Despite the difference in pace, music, and tone, I know it’s the same Musician composing the song. 

I suppose salvation can be described in many ways. For me, it always involves a thermodynamic transition of knowledge from one state to another, like when a gas bypasses the liquid phase entirely and immediately becomes a solid. From belief to knowledge—it's like going from light to photosynthesis or from food to fuel. Each one of my salvation experiences have involved some heady, theological premise about God sliding down into the pit of my guts and into my blood so that the removal of that knowledge would either require lying or disembowelment. 

I wanted to start this newsletter with the etymology of the word 'salvation,' but the Spirit prompted, "Begin with story." My story, is one of God’s great many novels. Yours is, too.  

I will have to summarize because how could a newsletter describe thirty-five and a half years of God at work. Romance and unrequited love. Rebellion and anger. Fear, so much fear, translating into faith and lasting adoration. To understand me, you have to get this story. 

6

I was first 'saved' when I was six. I said a rough version of the sinner's prayer at my kitchen table under my mom's guidance. I didn't have all the theological apparatus (and baggage) that I have now. But I got the important parts. I wanted to go to heaven to be with Jesus and my family. It seemed so logical, way better than that other place.

From what I knew about Jesus, he was pretty cool and powerful. He was never going to leave me, and I wanted to be with him forever. I wanted to walk on water (which I actually tried that next summer). I wanted to go on adventures. He was God, King of Adventures, so it was natural that I'd be with him. 

It also sort of felt inevitable. Maybe that was the Spirit and my strong prophetic gifting kicking in, but my mom was a believer already. I thought I'd better get after it. She started following Jesus at 12 or 13, but I was only six. I could get a head start.

The next day I went to school carrying a precious secret that wouldn't remain a secret for long. I had changed. I’d been saved. I was going to heaven. 

At the quiet time, I took my friends one by one into the reading corner and started telling them about Jesus and eternal life. I successfully shared the gospel with two of my classmates that day. 

Loving God came easy to me. I read my Bible faithfully and prayed every night. Nobody had to drag me to church. I was the one doing the dragging. Taking friends and taking notes. I wrote poems and letters to God. I had dreams about fighting spiritual battles and nightmares about martyrdom. 

Loving God, easy. Loving others, not so much. 

Whoever claims to love God yet hates a brother or sister is a liar. For whoever does not love their brother and sister, whom they have seen, cannot love God, whom they have not seen. And he has given us this command: Anyone who loves God must also love their brother and sister. - 1 John 4:20-21 (NIV)

I didn't like people saying untruths about my Heavenly Father. I didn't like the way my episcopal high school collapsed Christianity into good manners. I didn't like my classmates taking the Blood of Communion in vain. It made me rageful. I refused to take communion for the entirety of high school. I hated all of those filthy sinners who were drinking and having sex, lying to their parents and teachers, and not caring at all about rules and God, who was the only thing that really mattered anyway. But truth be told, I was a little sinner, too. I had no concept of grace, no appreciation for the grace I was feeding on even then, the grace that enabled all my self-righteous condescension and judgement. Unlike them, I had always been good, obedient, smart, pious, and 'right.' Traits I believed I was responsible for initiating and maintaining.

I thought I knew a lot. I knew I knew a lot about God. But I’d never truly experienced what I thought I believed. Oh, the lessons God was about to teach me.

To be continued…

Stay tuned for later on this week when I send out the rest of this newsletter. In it I’ll talk about how God used heartbreak and a whole other religion (Islam) to bring me salvation and a deeper desire to know Him.

Sail

To the Only Wise God,
You poet, You. Thank You for doing 
all things well. You builder of beauties, 
penning little poems whose titles match 
our names we uncover. You
Literary Mastermind, Architect and Finisher 
of our faith, thank You for being the writer
who authored himself into the story 
so his characters could 
meet him and ask the question we’ve 
been dying to ask: if You’re real,

then we are.