finding my religion

It was not too long ago that I had no doubt in me about who I was or what that meant in terms of living. The morning roll out of bed led me to my knees and between the pages of the greatest article of my faith. Now, I just roll out of bed. There is something lost in the withering days, some precious part of myself that I cannot find in present worship. It is true the seed must go into the ground, mimicking death, before it rises to die again. Somewhere between these two illustrations may lie my true state.
It is a hard fall to make from your estimation of yourself. It is not easy to admit that you have been falling and not rising. For we are not more than misplaced egos, temples to our own greatness and constant preachers, believers in our own personal gospel. It is not easy to admit that you have lost your way after being found. Ask King David who discovered a separate purpose by staring down at a translucent figure springing up from a pool of water, basked in total beauty. There was adultery and conspiracy and murder. Yet the throne was quiet until the prophet came with the news of God’s anger at, even, royal sin from a lovely king. We are like the fallen king. We hate sin and sinner as long as we are not given any of those monikers. We are unable to give grace outside but willing to escape the guilt inside. Takers but not givers of love or grace. No one I have met is yet a perfect picture of the Christ himself. Isaiah chapter two tells us, in the first few verses, who we can be and, in the latter part, who we are now. The latter flourish does not paint a flattering picture. When we read this book we are reading from a book of prophecy so we must not forget that it speaks of present state in light of future destination. The world as a whole is not whole. From continent to continent there is much to worry about and much to criticize. We may have had some ‘progress’ in areas to do with comfort and political organization but for so many and even us there is the feeling and knowledge that we are not yet at our best, that the narrow way still holds much more than the scourge of present living and we still seem unable to break the everyday violence of life. There is nowhere on this planet where life, by itself, is full.
I wake up every day with a fierce desire in me. It is physical, seeking pleasure, and it is spiritual, seeking fulfillment. They are opposed desires, at first glance, but their battle will determine the destination of my soul. Desire has been at the epicenter of human advancement but to really be fruitful it must be going somewhere. It cannot be an endless journey. It, like everything else, must find a home.
I have found or been found by the idea that my home is God. I do not think there is anything to match true fellowship with the ultimate deity. My whole life, it seems, has been a quest for the true religion of living in God. Nothing else gets me really going, I run out of air. Nothing else stays, I get lost in any other river.
So now I seek to find that narrow path daily where both desires become one and I am no longer at war with myself. Failing at it has somehow made it more beautiful, lovelier, more there. Failure has corrected and will correct me. I hope to live and love and be ensconced in the great river beyond twin-desire, beyond failure, beyond self. When I was a child paradise was an orange sunrise, the taste of particular cereal, my mother’s arms. Now I know these things to be inklings of an even greater reality, the finding of home, the end of a quest.
The question has always been: how should we live? I believe that we are all part of the eternal story and while we must face the temporal episodes with boldness and grace we must never forget above all that is the reality of an incarnation, a virgin birth, a life of glory, an innocent death and a resurrection to the life forever. This is my religion and I hope to always be found within its holy pages.