I have already discussed how Christians that defend sinful habits by an appeal to the love of Jesus Christ are incorrectly conflating being loved with being saved. But actually, I think there is an even more fundamental confusion than that. When they say, “well Jesus loves me anyway,” I suspect that most of them don’t actually believe that.
My reason for this is personal experience. For much of my life I was a slave to a sinful addiction, and through it all I would have adamantly insisted that Jesus loved me. But it was not an excess of Jesus’s love that gave me license to do evil, it was a dearth of it. For while I truly believed in Jesus’s love in my head, I did not feel it whatsoever in my heart.
Indeed, it was as I managed to break down my walls and actually start feeling his love that my behavior became more holy also. I could never feel the beautiful reality of his love and continue living in sin. That’s not say that I’m perfect, to say that I don’t still do wrong things from time to time, but I can say that I don’t live in sin like how I used to. What was once a way of life are now only slips were, and it was his love was what made that change possible.
A Recurring Pattern)
And I’ve been to enough 12-step meetings to know that this isn’t only true for me. One of the most common refrains I’ve heard in these stories is a severing of the connection to the love of Christ, and the resultant increase in sin. I’ve heard many of these men say something like, “I knew that Jesus loved everybody in the world…just maybe not me.”
For many people, sin is used as a drug to try and dull the sense of being fundamentally unlovable. They do what they do from a starvation of love, not an excess of it. Those that are truly secure in Christ’s love are freed from the spiritual pain that leads to wrongdoing. Those that are truly secure in Christ’s love, and know that he died for their sins, feel less compulsion to hurt him, not more.
I understand why people who are not ready to let go of their sins would look for a divine excuse to not change their ways. I think invoking the love of Christ is not only inaccurate, though, I think it is tragic, because admitting that they don’t feel any love is one and the same as hard as admitting that they’re not doing okay. They have my sympathy, not by disdain, but sometimes the kindest thing is to speak the hard truths that sting…and then heal.
In my last post I promised that today I would share a personal example of my own struggles with vice, how I exerted great effort to overcome them and failed, but then found that freedom could come at a much simpler price.
I have already shared before about my addiction to pornography, and how I spent many years under its power. Perhaps some people do not feel guilty when they take their first steps into addiction, but I most certainly did. From the very first day, I was ashamed and disappointed with myself. From the very first day I tried to stop. I had fits and starts, I tried to make deals with God, I told myself again and again that this next time would be the last time. But no matter what I tried, I remained a slave to my lust for twenty long years.
Because for twenty years I wasn’t willing to try the one thing that would actually work.
Practically from the very start of my addiction, I knew that I needed to make confession. My conscience would consistently prick me to shine a light on this secret shame, but I would always make an excuse not to. I told myself that all I needed was God. He and I would work this out somehow, no one else needed to be involved. God would know how to fix me. That was ironic, given that I was deliberately ignoring what God was telling me to do in my heart.
For so many years I couldn’t make a confession because I couldn’t tolerate being seen by another person at that level of intimacy. It was a boundary that had never crossed in my life, not even in my marriage, and frankly I didn’t think I would ever be willing to have it crossed. That was the part of my autonomy that I kept holding on to, the surrender that I wasn’t willing to make.
Light Streams In)
Then, one day, I finally accepted that there was no salvation in the path that I was walking. I finally admitted to myself that I was getting worse, not better, and that as ashamed as I was of what I had done thus far, I would yet do things more shameful. I realized that for all of my attempts to keep myself whole, I was fracturing apart even so.
That was when I decided to finally make the surrender that God was asking of me. That was when I made my confession. Not just once, not just twice, but over and over again to my wife, to spiritual leaders, to therapists, to twelve-step groups, and even to all of you reading this blog. I surrendered my need for darkness, and finally let the light in.
There were other surrenders that came as a part of this, too. I surrendered my need to hate and punish myself. I surrendered my pride, my need to solve things on my own. I surrendered the fate of my future.
Making these surrenders wasn’t easy, but the transformation that followed them was. In fact, the transformation was effortless. The very changes that I had been trying so hard to make for twenty years took place on their own practically overnight. I didn’t have to wrestle them into submission, I didn’t have to choke them out, I didn’t have to force myself to be worthy by sheer force of will. None of that. I just changed, and there’s no explanation other than that God worked a miracle inside of me.
Now, to be clear, I am not saying that I am impervious to temptation now. I do still need to watch myself. I do still need to make deliberate choices to remain true to who I was born to be. I do still need to remove myself from situations that are going in a bad direction. But for the first time I actually can do those things, and they actually work! I am not free from temptation, but I am free to deny it.
In my following posts I will break down a few key themes in this story, but for now I hope it is clear that God’s way is not one of constant, painful exertion. Following Him and becoming a better person is supposed to be easy and joyful, not tedious and brutal. Jesus was really telling the truth when he said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28, 30). In the following posts, we will examine more closely how that could be.
There are many that say the restrictive aspect of the commandments is made obvious by how many of them start with the words, “thou shalt not.” How can anyone dispute that God is trying to oppress us, given how He prohibits us from doing things? It seems from this view that a truly permissive and liberating set of commandments would be ones that started with “thou shalt.” But is that true?
Just looking at the two phrases at their most fundamental level, “thou shalt” is a call to action and “thou shalt not” is a call to inaction. “Thou shalt” requires doing, “thou shalt not” simply requires being. “Thou shalt” is effortful, “thou shalt not” is restful.
Even when we consider historical examples of inappropriate “thou shalts” and “thou shalt nots,” it is times when people were compelled to act against their will that seem even more oppressive than times when people were restricted from their will.
Or consider these thought experiments, would it be more perverse for me to require you to not have sex with someone that you want to, or to require you to have sex with someone that you do not want to? To not be allowed to speak a truth, or to be compelled to spread a lie? To refrain from punishing a person that you see as guilty, or to hurt a person that you see as innocent?
In short, it is strange to see people rankle under the term “thou shalt not,” when clearly its opposite has far more potential to be oppressive.
The True Taskmasters)
Of course, one might say the thought experiments I provided were poor examples, because they all involved being compelled to do or not do things against our desires. The problem with the commandments is that they hold us back from the things that we want to do, while a life of fun invites us to do them.
To that, I say, you haven’t yet seen just how dark “fun” can be.
That which we call “fun” is nothing more than indulging our appetites. Our appetites for food, for sex, for attention, for endorphins. And anyone with experience and perception will soon find out that appetites are the true slavemasters of all mankind. It is a mark of immaturity to still think that feeding the appetite is harmless fun. It is a mark of wisdom to know that what is once given to the appetite by choice, is soon taken by force. Ever notice that all of the twelve step programs are for people who became slaves to the “fun” things?
Just ask any world-weathered soul what it’s like to go on a bender and be made useless when everyone needed you most, or to sleep with someone you don’t even know because it’s the closest you can get to feeling loved, or to take drugs just to feel again.
These aren’t the actions of people doing what they want to do. These are the actions of people who are actually being oppressed, people being pulled by the “thou shalts” of a cruel and demanding taskmaster. Their appetites are their god, and that god makes them do things that they don’t want to do. They don’t like the music that is playing anymore, but their feet keep dancing to the tune. “I don’t want to do this anymore!” they cry out, but the chant continues, “Thou shalt! Thou shalt! Thou shalt!”
For people in such dire straits, there is no message more merciful than a God who would finally stop that dance. A God who would have the kindness, the leniency, and the liberality to finally give them “thou shalt not.”
It is common to despise our “worst self.” This is the self that is lazy, selfish, overly-indulgent, and perverse. That self always gets us into the worst trouble, imitates the behaviors we most resent in others, and frustrates all of our plans for self-improvement. I have listened to many addicts share their hatred for their “worst self,” going so far as to wishing that they could kill him!
But the thought has occurred to me that my “worst self” has also done the bravest and noblest things that I have ever done. It was while I was firmly in the gutter of shame and depression that I decided to ask for help from my addictions. It was while I was a sinner that I made the decision to repent. It was while God seemed farthest from me that I tried to follow Him most.
The “worst self” has its downsides, but when transformation does occur, it is necessarily that self who decides to make it happen. The “worst self” chooses to let itself die so that the “whole self” may emerge, and we owe it a great debt of gratitude for repeatedly making that sacrifice.
Recovery is a multi-stage journey. I, and many of the other addicts that I have known, experienced an initial battle with temptation and eventually a victory over it, only to feel new battles springing up around us some time later. After the initial success, we tend to experience setbacks, or new addictions forming off to the side, and it makes us doubt the control we thought we had gained. Most great battles in recovery seem to be followed by a sequel.
As I have reflected on this phenomenon, the thought has occurred to me that the more you press against your foe, delving further into the heart of enemy territory, the more unpredictable and treacherous the terrain becomes. The initial push and triumph in recovery feels fantastic, but that is nothing more than breaking through the front lines. Yes, it is a victory, but you have yet to capture the capitol. Or, to shift metaphors, perhaps you have chased the bear from your home, but in so doing you have followed it into its lair where greater challenges await.
Virtually every addict finds that his bad behavior comes about by the following sequence:
He has many hurts and frustrations in his life
Those hurts and frustrations put him into a perpetually dejection and faithless state
While depressed and faithless, temptation easily has its way with him
The first fight for recovery has to do with short-circuiting this pattern. The addict learns how to manage or mitigate his pain, removing unnecessary afflictions, ending negative relationships, and stopping behaviors that add stress. Less frustration means less dejection, and less dejection makes him stronger against temptation.
And this is all well and good, but the solution will last only as long as his management and mitigation efforts are effective. Sooner or later life will throw something new and unexpected, as it always does, and all his perceived progress will be undone. He will find out that his sobriety is dependent on life being easy, and no one’s life is always easy.
So the addict must go further into enemy territory, deeper into the heart of the problem. Sooner or later he has to learn to break the connection between the pain of life and becoming dejected. He has to learn how to be peaceful and content, no matter the simultaneous pain. This is a very difficult thing to do, of course, but if he can succeed in this critical battle, then the world will no longer have any power over him. He will have captured the heart of the enemy’s power, and the war will be over.
In my last two posts I have described two parts of a paradox in addiction recovery. Part one was that we have the greatest success when we do not ruminate on our failures, but simply let them go. Part two was that the addict who breaks beautiful things and hurts loved ones feels it is too flippant to just let those things go. It seems necessary that the addict should be devastated about his failure for some time.
Thus, the addict finds himself caught between the surrender of guilt that would give him the best chance of recovery, and the sense of justice that demands he pays for what he has done. Thankfully, there is a third element that comes to bridge this terrible gulf, to provide a ladder from the darkness to the light.
The Need for a Savior)
At the core of the addict saying that it is right and appropriate to feel devastated for his failures is a recognition that he has broken a moral crime, and so justice ought to be carried out on him. But once we recognize that this is a matter of paying the price for a moral crime, Jesus Christ steps into the picture. The whole point of Jesus Christ is that he, himself, paid the price for these crimes so that we wouldn’t have to.
If I responded to my most shameful acts with nothing more than a “yeah, that happened, but moving on…” then yes, that would be too flippant. But there’s nothing flippant about saying “My best friend died for what I did, so that I could go free.” If anything, that adds even greater gravity and weight to the situation, while also justifying me in letting go of my shame and moving on.
Yes, it is appropriate to be devastated about the seriously wrong things that we do, but Christ offers to feel that devastation for us. When we take him up on that offer, and surrender the weight to him, then it is entirely appropriate for us to get right back in the saddle and try again.
I think this is why having a Higher Power, and more specifically a Savior, is essential to recovery, because when I don’t account for the fact that someone paid for the price for me, I get stuck at an impasse between parts one and two. I need this final part to bridge the gap and bring it all home. It allows me to live as if I had never done anything wrong, while also not minimizing the very real wrong that I really did do. Bringing Christ into the recovery allows us to exchange our worst for his best, and thus the captive may go free.
Yesterday I considered how obsession with failure only tends to yield further failure. In order to change our lives and habits, we have to let go of our tendency to punish ourselves, we have to forgive ourselves for falling short, we have to get right back up and resume living our commitments.
Speaking for myself, just by understanding this fact I do find it easier to let go of my more minor indiscretions. If I eat too much at a party, if I stay up too late playing games, if I find myself distracted at work, I find it within my reach to set aside the self-resentment and instead say, “yes, that happened, but I should get right back to living my commitments, hopeful and trusting that I’ve still got this.”
But not every wrong fits into that “minor indiscretion” category. We addicts are defined by how consistently and repeatedly do heavy and major wrongs. We do things that not only hurt ourselves, but those we care about most. We break beautiful things and cause irreversible damage. And just letting go of that doesn’t feel so easy. In fact, it feels disrespectful and inappropriate to just let it go. It seems too flippant to say “yes, that happened, but moving on…”
And yes, focusing on the guilt and failure of our major wrongs is still the surest way to end up repeating those painful behaviors. Pragmatically we ought to just let them go, but in our hearts it feels like we should be distressed and devastated for a time.
This is a great conundrum then. It is the impassable gulf, the catch-22 of recovery. How are we to do make the surrender that help us get better when doing so feels actively wrong? This is the gordian know we will untangle tomorrow.
In my spiritual journey, through my experiences of addiction and recovery, I have seen a difficult impasse that many addicts have grappled with, myself included. There are two aspects that seem to be fundamentally at odds with one another, creating what at first appears to be an unfixable situation. We’ll look at the first point today, the second one tomorrow, and the surprising resolution after that.
The Need to Move On)
One thing that psychological research has found, and that I have seen within my own self, is that dwelling on one’s failures is the surest way to repeat them. The more we obsess over what we’ve done wrong, the more we are aligned to returning to that polluted well again and again.
I have many times found myself repeatedly and profusely apologizing, spelling out every reason why what I did was wrong, and focusing on how fundamentally selfish all my actions were. The result? All of that self-flagellation sent a message to myself that I was fundamentally no good, hell-bent on doing the wrong things, and so that’s exactly what continued to happen. I continued to do the same things again and again, because that was just the garbage sort of person that I was.
On the other hand, being willing to set aside my shame and believe in myself in spite of my failings was fundamental to overcoming these negative habits. I had to sincerely believe there was a better, truer me beneath the bad actions before he could come forward into reality.
There is a caveat to this. One who is in complete denial, who is constantly minimizing his wrongs, who is dismissive of the pain he causes, he may require a sharp wake up call to really face how messed up his behavior really is. But for any self-admitting addict who is genuinely remorseful, the pragmatic next step for him would be to set aside every failure and just keep moving forward.
There is an obstacle to doing this, though, which we will discuss in the next post.
Carl Jung is known for his quote “The brighter the light, the darker the shadow.” By this he meant that the more a person fixated on trying to be better, the more the darkness inside of him would lash out in defiance, leading to a pendulum swinging back-and-forth between periods of extreme good and extreme evil. Jung therefore recommended a sort of gray area, a place where a person could embrace both his vices and virtues, letting neither get out of balance.
The first time I heard this perspective I was struck by how it contradicted some of the most sacred experiences I have ever been witness to. In the twelve step group I attend we frequently express how good it feels to finally shine a light on the darkness and feel it dissipate from us. Men come to the meetings and confess all manner of temptation and unholy desire, and then tearfully express gratitude that the darkness is leaving their hearts even in the telling of it. There is no sense of the shadow growing darker, for the light is permeating all the way through and coming out the other side.
But as I gave Jung’s words a second consideration, I realized that I knew a few instances where I would agree with his assessment. I think that Jung’s perspective does have value, but that it is incomplete. In my experience, there are three types of shining a light on a problem, each with different degrees of usefulness.
Outer Light)
The first kind of light is one that one person shines on another. An example of this would be getting caught in a lie, or with incriminating evidence, anything that exposes one’s secret wrongs. There was no intention in the guilty to expose his secrets, but exposed they have been!
This light could be useful, depending on how the exposed person reacts to it. Ideally he would turn this embarrassing exposure into a wake-up call. Maybe he was horrified when he first got caught, but later on he says that he is so grateful that it happened. Having been seen at his worst, he could finally begin the work of becoming his best.
Alternatively, though, he might be resentful at being caught. Perhaps his exposer gives him an ultimatum and he does recovery work, but only begrudgingly. In this case he will have no gratitude for the light that shone upon him, and he will take the first opportunity to recede back into the darkness. He will pretend that he is cured, but all that he really learned was to be more careful in his lying. This therefore leaves him worse off than before.
The Light in the Cave)
The second kind of light is when a person fixates on his own problems. He is still in denial towards the rest of the world, but not towards himself. Silently, in his own head, he continually berates himself for failing to live in harmony with his conscience. He launches many campaigns against the darkness, trying to force himself to be better by sheer force of will, but these efforts always end in failure.
A person can white-knuckle his way to some length of acceptable behavior, but he hasn’t actually destroyed the darkness inside. Sooner or later it comes back, and this time with a vengeance. Inevitably the person slips back into his old ways, and usually delves deeper into them than before.
This is the sort of light that Jung was able to observe, and he was correct to be skeptical of it. However, his conclusion that there was no appropriate way to change one’s life was incorrect. A better conclusion would be that repentance was never meant to be an isolated experience.
Bringing Into the Light of Others)
The third kind of light is the one that I mentioned at the start. This is when the guilty freely confesses his wrongs to another. The key difference between this light and the first is that the person wasn’t caught against his will. This time the person is bringing his shame to trusted friends of his own volition, not trying to face the darkness on his own.
All throughout the scriptures we are told that we must confess. Confession is only confession when it involves another. We do not confess to ourselves, or by being found out. We confess by taking the initiative and sharing the darkest parts of our soul with another trusted person. Because of our shame, most of us would suffer in silence for years rather than take this step. Some will suffer in silence for their entire lives, feeling in their hearts as though being truly honest would kill them!
And in some sense it would. It would kill the dark self and replace it with the light. This effect might be difficult to accept by a modern psychologist, but only because it isn’t a natural, measurable thing. It is a miracle. It is absolutely real, but it defies intellectual explanation because God is in it. God is the light that dissipates the darkness, where our own light often only hardens it.
Exactly why God’s light shows up when we confess to one another could be a topic of study in-and-of-itself. For now, let us content ourselves with the fact that one reason why God shows up in these moments is simply because He promised that He would:
Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed. For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them. -James 5:16, Matthew 18:20
Spiritual Wanderings 