Have I abandoned everything to Jesus, my Master? That is the question Chambers poses today. He differentiates between an emotional abandonment, abandoning stuff, and a crisis of will. He says the crisis of will is the one that counts. I wonder. I have committed many times to the abandonment of all I am to my Master. It’s just that each time, He takes it, but returns it when I demand it back. It has been a give and take with me.
In John 21:7, when Peter hears that the One on the shore calling to them is Jesus, he grabs his cloak and jumps overboard, not wanting to wait for the boat. This is before he has had a chance to speak with Jesus about his failure in the courtyard, but after he has denied the very Master he swims to seek. Using this passage is important for me. I learn some things here. I see in Peter the impetuousness of the man, but also the devotion. Sure, he lost his nerve when in the midst of the enemy’s camp. And debate over whether he should have been there or not is pointless. The reality of Peter’s situation is that he was there, he did deny Jesus, and now swims to have breakfast with Him.
In the rest of the chapter it is clear that Peter feels terrible about what he has done. He feels genuine remorse, and he has, it seems, since Jesus was crucified. So, he doesn’t jump into the water with the belief that, because Jesus doesn’t know what he did, they can go on as always. Peter has witnessed Jesus knowing things He was not around to know, he had to know Jesus knew. Luke says that Jesus looked directly at him in the courtyard at the rooster crow on the third denial. Peter knew Jesus knew, and still jumped, still swam to his Master. Jesus was still his Master. That is what I need to learn.
When I fail my Master is He still my Master? I believe this depends on whether I am willing to throw myself into the water, not waiting for the usual circumstance to bring us together. If, in spite of the failure, I jump in and swim to the One I failed, I demonstrate a very important belief. I demonstrate that I believe that it is better for me to be the punished stable-slave of my Master than to never return to His household out of shame. It is the story of the prodigal son played out over the Sea of Galilee. Am I willing to face my Master having failed Him, yet again? I know it is not a comfortable option. I know that I cannot pretend, because others may be fooled, but not my Master. I know that I will have to face my shame, and perhaps around a fire with my fellow servants as we share a meal with our Master. I can’t do it because I ought to do it, I must do it because I can’t avoid it. I can’t not do it. I must cast myself into the sea and swim to the One I betrayed, denied, and rebelled against because my very existence demands it.
Let me reveal a part of my dilemma in this. I still struggle with belief that this Christianity thing is real, God is real, Jesus is real, and so on. Every once in a while this thought sneaks up on me and plays games in the back yard of my mind. I hate it. It doesn’t stay around long. But it doesn’t leave because I reason my way out of it. I do not rehearse the arguments for God’s existence to show it the door. I worship.
Is it strange to defeat my doubt with worship? I worship the One whose existence I question. I sing and pray to the One whose enemy I entertain. I attend church, not to gain deeper insight into Scripture, nor do I attend with my fellow servants of our Master so that they can see me do it. I attend so that I can see them, so I can join them in lifting my voice in song, so I can join with them in seeking our Master’s Character in Scripture. I go and participate in church because I need these frustrating, frail, flawed fellows like me. I jump in and swim to my Master in a school of fellows. We beach ourselves in worship to our King, gasping for more of the scent of His presence. And we die there. And we are raised there. And we leave there with more life than we could imagine, a life shared, not just renewed.
Not everyone has that experience, and not everyone goes to church for that reason. But that is my experience. A beached dying fish is considered a very dumb fish, selected against in a Darwinian perspective. And some with whom I attend church subscribe to that perspective. As I said, my fellows are frail, frustrating, and flawed; just like me. But when I go, I go expecting that experience (usually). It helps to go somewhere familiar, but sometimes I need to go elsewhere. It helps to go with others who seek the same experience, but sometimes it helps to go with those who need to be reminded they are beached fish. I am sometimes the Darwinian fish afraid to hit the beach, and I sometimes abandon myself to the shore. But when I stay in the water it is because I forget why I swim, where I am headed, and Who waits for me. Rarely if ever is it out of fear.
Today is Sunday, April 17, 2011 and I swim for the shore to gasp in the fragrance of my Maker as I die on the sands marked by His footprints. Please forgive me if I sing off key. Gasping dying fish hold notes very poorly.
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