Somewhere along the way I realized how lost I was, how futile my efforts to change people, how inept all my outward actions directed at changing the world. I realized how well-intentioned others had deceived and used me, how I had deceived my own self, how skilled I had become at criticizing and ostracizing those that failed to share my own well groomed and culture-warped narrow opinions.
I’ve changed a lot over the past decade of searching my soul, diving into the depths of my interior regions, seeking and searching for the Christ who is not concerned about time or culture or my personal egotistical preferences.
It’s not been easy. It has been relationally expensive, costing me quite a number of what I thought were friendships, a hard price to pay for simply walking an unexpected but divinely ordained path. Nor is the search anywhere near complete. Though an overwhelming peace permeates my soul, every wakening day draws me to the conclusion that my spiritual journey is far from complete.
I think we are all pretty badly bent. The world’s conglomerations of people-folk remind me of buckets full of rusty bent nails eroding away by the effects of the atmospheric conditions, no longer able to recognize the growing rust devouring them. Only it’s not oxygen and water that are the destructive culprits.
It’s the preferential forces of social and economic time unmercifully hammering and bending and pulling and discarding people. This alone, I think, reinforces the imperative, the need and necessity, to rest one’s soul’s eternal welfare upon the truths contained in the ancient and unchanging creedal statements that define the Christian faith, and in those models that most aptly characterize these truths.
Destruction will come to an eventual and perpetual end. So intimates the Psalmist. But how many will be consumed before it does?