Trapped

O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be.

Let Thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee. 

Prone to wander Lord I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.

 Here’s my heart oh take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.

 

Why I’m writing this hasn’t yet become clear to me. I have a story that I’d like to share and maybe someday it will find its way into the hands of others who might benefit from some of the things that I’ve learned. I don’t claim to be a theologian. Far from it. But these are some simple truths that God has pressed against my heart and I feel compelled to share them. 

I love the ending verse to the hymn “Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing.”  The opening verse is just as beautiful:

 

Come thou fount of every blessing.  Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Streams of mercy never ceasing, call for songs of loudest praise.

Teach me some melodious sonnet sung by flaming tongues above

Praise his name I’m fixed upon it, the name of God’s redeeming love.

 

The line that has the most impact on me is the first, “Come Thou fount of every blessing.” Fount of every blessing, that’s what God is.  He is the fount of all things physical, and all things spiritual.  And, yet, while it is easy to say that God has bountifully blessed us with all things physical, the water becomes a bit more murky when we begin to talk about God blessing us with all things spiritual. 

 Why is not as easy to say that God has given us faith, redemption, security, as it is to say that he has given us grass, water, and trees.  Until recently, I was a good Christian girl who knew that Jesus was her Savior and that He died and rose again for her.  But from there I thought the rest was up to me.  I knew I was saved, but being saved now meant being good, living a good life, being a good Christian. 

Romans 7:18 I know that nothing good lives in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.

 I feel the Apostle Paul’s pain in the above verses. In verse 18-19, he goes on to say exactly the same things I think to myself nearly every day.

 “For what I do is not the good I want to do: no, the evil I do not want to do – this I keep on doing.” (vs19)

The problem is that even though in my heart I want to be good, I want to follow Christ, I want to live a life that is God pleasing, I just can’t.  It is as spiritually impossible for me to be good down to the depths of my soul, as it is physically impossible for me to change the color of my eyes. A leopard can’t change its spots.  I am what I am.  And what I am is a Christian trapped inside a body of death. 

 “When I want to do good evil is right there with me,” wrote the Apostle Paul. (vs 21)

 Just recently I’ve come to understand what he was speaking about when he penned these words by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Here’s how the story begins.  Or more appropriately where, for me, it all ended.

 I’m a critical person by nature.  If I told that to most people who knew me they’d say “Oh no you’re not, You’re a great person, a patient person, an understanding and sympathetic person.  I’ve never known you to be critical at all.”

 The problem is - even though it might make me feel better; I know that deep down inside  what they might say isn’t true.  It just isn’t.  When I say that I’m a critical person, I’m not saying that I tend to be critical, or that I sometimes am critical; I’m saying that critical is what I am.  It’s part of my nature.  In other words, I can’t separate myself from it. 

A few weeks ago, my husband and I had the first big argument we’ve had since being married.  What it was about doesn’t really matter as much as what happened when it was over.  It seemed to end on a positive note; we both apologized for the things we’d said and done that were wrong.  But all week long after the fight, I felt like a dark and gloomy cloud was hanging over my head.  It seemed that even though the fight was over, something still hadn’t been resolved.  I felt awful.  I felt hollow inside.  I felt lost. 

Then one night in bed, we began to talk about the fight, and how we both felt like something was still wrong between us.  I didn’t want to say I was sorry.  I thought at the time that I didn’t need to apologize. But the truth of the matter, the heart of it, was the fact that I didn’t want to apologize because if I did it would mean that I would have to change.  I would have to stop being so critical. 

But you see, I’d tried to stop being critical.  I honestly had.  Every time I felt the least bit critical of him, I’d resolved to stop.  I tried to beat my critical nature into submission.  The problem was - I couldn’t.  Oh, sometimes I was fairly successful.  I bit my tongue, or  ignored, or even sometimes bent over backwards to be nice when I wasn’t feeling so nice inside.  But the critical thoughts were still there.  It was like a poison that I couldn’t get out of my system.

Romans 7:24 What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body of death?

Yup, Paul summed it up pretty nicely for me. I didn’t want to be critical, but there it was I just couldn’t help myself.  Reflecting on these things even as we talked I finally confessed to my husband in a despondent voice, “Listen. I know that I’m too critical of you, but I don’t know how to change it.  I’ve tried. But it’s like I’m caught in a cycle that I can’t find my way out of.”  (When I want to do good evil is right there with me).

Spoken straight from my heart, these were the truest words that had ever come out of my mouth.  In saying this to my husband, there was a sense of release for me.  I had come to the end of myself.  Do you know what I mean when I say that?  For me, it was like an epiphany.  I was a Christian, I trusted completely in Christ for my salvation.  But did I trust him for the rest, for sanctification and the good works that should be flowing out of this saved sinner’s soul?  It was as if God were waiting for me to come to the same conclusion that he already had: I was a Christian trapped in a body of death.  I needed him, not only for salvation, but for all the rest as well. 

What I love about the above verses penned by the Apostle Paul is that they have a happy ending. In the muck and mire of what he’d written, Paul seemed so despondent. And he was. He was trapped in a body of death and could find no way out. Finally, as I had to, as we all have to, Paul came to the end of himself. In his despondency, he turned to the right One, Jesus Christ. And though the beginning verses of his Struggling With Sin chapter are all about despair, the verse that packs the biggest punch is tucked neatly away at the end of the chapter.

Romans 7:25 What a wretched man I am. Who will rescue me from this body of death? Thanks be to God – through Jesus Christ our Lord!

 I can’t think of a better way to end this entry. So, I won’t even try.