Marred Identity

A windstorm came through my town this week and knocked out the power for a half-second. My wi-fi was down for a few days and I almost lost my mind... I mean, what am I gonna do? Read a book? First world problems... So here's a nugget on Marred Identity... A thought on what it means to have our identity uprooted and planted so deep into Christ's, so entangled in Him, that we really begin believing what God says of us - that we are new... 
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Marred Identity. 
Perpetual and undoctored scarring left to immortalize the fact that you are broken.  A nagging, ticking, monotonous, crackling voice that won’t let you forget that you are damaged goods - splayed out, exposed, and exhibited center-stage like a circus freak. When you’re broken you’re either shown off, experimented on, or thrown out. 

It’s not that way with Jesus. He came with the cure for marred identity in hand. He is the salve. He is the remedy. He is the cure. To the orphan He is Father. To the spouseless He is Lover. To the restless He is Peace.

The day that Christ died humanity’s infirmity met its match. Death met Life and couldn’t do a thing to stop it. He called out to the sick of heart, the scarred and mutilated mess that had become us, and declared in one fell swoop: “It is finished!” The ground shook and when the dust settled the knotted mess of man’s marred identity unraveled at the foot of the Cross.

To the forgiven Jesus said, “Go in peace.” They did not think twice or tie a theological noose around their faith. They simply believed they were forgiven and went on living their lives as if it were true. Maybe it is in the simpleton that salvation is most secure, for they have heard God’s voice saying over them “My Child!” and they go on to live their lives in light of that blessed fact. No second-guessing. No double-takes at the grave to make sure it’s empty.

I assure you, He is not here, He is risen. So stop overthinking it. God has said “I have clothed you in garments of righteousness,” so go on and live in them. God has said, “You are a new creation,” so stop feeling around for scars of the fall where you will not find them.

So often, I want to be used by God to address the marred identity of others before I myself have fully chosen to believe that I am actually a new creation. It is the moment in which we have fully surrendered to our new identity in Christ that we have become mobilized to address the marred identity in others, and no sooner. 

altar brawl.

There are "altar-calls" and then there are "altar-brawls." One resurrects souls, one buries them alive. One shuts up long enough to hear you surrender to God, the other tries to shut you up long enough to force your surrender to itself. At their most extreme the both of them will bludgeon your ego and make you cry. A few weeks ago one of my posts turned into a theological cat fight... an altar brawl. The Sonship Diaries was an ugly attempt at beholding the silky maleficence of sin and the glory of grace all in the same breath. I admit not only that I communicated poorly but that the reason behind my rhyme was peripheral at best. 

So I've been reading, thinking, and talking to Jesus. Flipping theological pancakes, if you will... And realizing that I've still got some exploring to do before I wrap my upper story around the whole mess. Yes, flipping theological pancakes. Don't think too hard about it. 
 
I'm sure tomorrow the whole knot will untie itself and God will throw the last punch. But today I'm re-reading forgotten pages in the Psalms and holding a match between my grubby little fingers and up close to the very combustable pages of "My Opinions" - a book authored mostly by me and mostly for me. 

Psalm 105, 106, & 107 retell the entire story of Israel... Start to finish. It's ten books condensed into three nail-biting chapters.  Somewhere in the middle of the story I tripped over this little biblical shoelace: 

In the wilderness their desires ran wild,
testing God’s patience in that dry wasteland.
Psalm 16:14

their. desires. ran. wild.  

Imagine. It overtakes you. An overwhelming, devouring, consuming desire. Adrenaline coursing through your veins. Mouth salivating. Heart pounding, harder and harder, in your chest. Eyes glazing over… And your mind becomes completely overwhelmed with ravenous lust. An ex-slave-master come to give you a taste of aged wine. Your entire being longs after it. It’s undeniable… you like the feeling. You let go... you give in. Wrong feels so right. 

Can it satisfy?
Who gives a rip?

This was Israel's attitude towards the God that fed them with magical bread and had worked no less than twenty monumental miracles for their sake in a matter of days.

Some nights I hear rapping on the door of my heart. Nearly Midnight. The old Slave-master waits outside uninvited. Dressed to the nines and whispering through the mailbox slit. His words are an intoxicating toxin. 

And then I awake from the dream at the mention of the name of Jesus. The old Slave-master is a dead man. His epitaph reads "It is finished" - chiseled into stone with diamond. His whispers are heard neither here nor there. He is dead, thus saith the Lord...

I forget often that I am not like Israel. Because somewhere between Exile and Pentecost something actually happened. Something actually changed... drastically.

I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.
Galatians 2:20

So today I reckon him dead because Jesus reckons him dead. 

And as He stands in victory, sin's curse has lost its grip on me. For I am His and He is mine, bought with the precious blood of Christ.

death by books.

Hi, my name is Kyle and I have a problem... I have book-paralysis.  

Book-paralysis stinks. 

It's a natural response to being smothered by your own inflated literary ambitions. It means I have accrued a mountain of unread books and now my desire to read is being suffocated by a torrential downpour of options. See, I want  to read more... I want to be "that guy" who reads his weight in poignant and well-reviewed books every month. However... my passion for books seriously overpowers my passion for reading them.

My machine starts to sputter when what began with a new book-interest ends a couple weeks and a few pages later with a disenchanted pit in my stomach that says, "I really thought this book would be the one." In short order the book makes its way back to the snowy peaks of my book-mountain and I start shopping around for another book... or two... or ten... Really it's just a bad love story. I have commitment issues. 

Yesterday I was in a bookstore drooling over books I loved the idea  of reading but knew I would probably never read... and it broke my heart. At this rate in fifteen years I'll have a Smithsonian-sized library and a pea-sized brain... So there I decided I've got to do something to overcome this crippling problem. Because, if I think about it, I realize that my book-mountain is teaming with untapped literary gold-veins, ideological treasures, theological and philosophical masterpieces, priceless relics of brilliance. 

So today I'm resolving not to buy another book until I dismantle my own heaping book-mess. Mark it down, today the demolition commences. Bring it on, book mountain... ya, I'm talkin' ta you.