My Sin, My War-Room, and My Comfort

“He who spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give all things?” ~ Paul’s letter to the Romans

I long interpreted this verse with selfish literalism that went something like this: God loves us so much that He will give us everything we can conjure up (within His will, of course). For some, it’s a more lucrative job or an ideal relationship; for others, better health; for the very spiritual, a better relationship with Him. But my reality wove a different story. Untold thousands of believers (author included) still pine for what they want – and they are not bad things – while those who seem to have the life we would die for are, more often than not, miserable. Reality cast shades of doubt on what seemed at the outset to be such a beautiful promise.

But what is this reality’s composition? Is it God’s inability to keep His promise? Surely not. Yet as days turn into weeks and so on, we wonder how good desires and dreams – some of which have been fostered by Scripture and the church itself – turn into that hope deferred that “maketh the heart sick.” And so we justify closing our hearts off to examination by ourselves or others, creating conditions for the sore to fester into a putrid bitterness that occasionally seeps out in the form of envy against those who have what we want – or even anger against God. Even if no outward evidence is given of its existence, in this war-room my sinful self indulges in self-pity and plots a passive-aggressive battle with a God acting more like the guiding father of a toddler than the subservient genie I had in mind.

This reality is, in fact, one we have constructed for ourselves, and it completely ignores one of the most crucial elements of actual reality – namely, our greatest need. By strategizing about how to get God to give us what we want, we’re demonstrating the very self-centeredness and sin we needed to be saved from in the fist place. To my shame, I don’t live every day as if I’m convinced that my sin really is that terrible – even as I demonstrate my own propensity for conniving and manipulation.

If I was utterly convinced of the gravity of my sin, I would begin to grasp the fact that God has already given me everything, and my life would be characterized by the joy that comes from rest. A rest that says, "I'm done chasing the wind. I have been spared the spiritual death I deserve. I am justified before God, and He is sanctifying me" - even as I too often turn in on myself, instead of to Him, in times of distress or plenty.

No sooner have we taken the “all things” we were promised then we begin taking them for granted. I suppose it’s the difference between being heavenly-minded and earthly-minded. But it’s hard.

Yet, is there any greater comfort than the knowledge that no need will arise in life so great as the one that has already been met? Even my worst days after redemption are infinitely better than my best day before Christ – or the days I try to live without Him. There are days it doesn’t feel that way, but thank God that my feelings have no bearing on capital-r Reality. And that He knows the difference between our needs and wants, even if we don’t.