Reformation

“If you abide in my word, you are my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.” (John 8:32)

Years ago, I sought counseling to navigate some parent-child dynamics. During one session, I mentioned—almost as a side note—that I had been wrestling with troubling, negative feelings toward my mother. I found her rare expressions of love or affection for me insincere, which triggered a reflexive internal sarcasm. My counselor suggested, “Why don’t you write a letter to your mom regarding these feelings—a letter you will never deliver—and let’s see where that takes you?” Writing that letter changed my life; it helped me uncover a powerful, alarming untruth that had been a quandary for years. After all, aren't we taught that a boy is supposed to love his mother?

My mother lived with chronic back pain for most of her adult life. She spent nearly six months of every year in traction and underwent several major surgeries. Consequently, she relied on heavy medication that kept her in a constant mental fog. Often, she would stare blankly out our kitchen window, barely acknowledging my presence when I came home from school. Moreover, during the typical squabbles between a father and son, she was never there to intervene or offer support.

Constructing that letter revealed that I had been operating under devastating false assumptions. As a child, I interpreted my mother’s distance as a clear sign that she did not love or care for me. Because seeking her affection was painfully unproductive, I subconsciously programmed myself to reject her first. It was a shield against the agony of perceived rejection. To boil it down to its simplest form: I finally realized that I did not "like" my mother because I actually loved her, and loving her simply hurt too much. A forty-year-old man was being dominated by an auto-defense mechanism—programming, if you will—installed by a child.

Our minds and spirits are much like a computer; our beliefs and understanding function as the underlying code of our operating system. Like any OS, “bugs” and “viruses” infiltrate the system. These anomalies slow, and sometimes altogether prevent, our mental and spiritual progress. When we update a computer, the result is instantaneous, but the reformation of a human mind and spirit takes time, patience, and, above all else, courage. We must be transparent and vulnerable to discover—and then reprogram—what Zig Ziglar called “stinkin’ thinkin’.” In counseling, the more fearlessly and inquisitively we approach the process, the more progress we make; the more we fear that process and lay blame on others involved, the more we remain stuck exactly where we are. The sorrowful truth is—we are all walking wounded—dealing with some level of such faulty programming, and some never seek help.

Our spiritual journey in the Kingdom of God can be equally challenging without the love and fellowship of transparent fellow-believers, constant time in the Word of God, and ceaseless, sincere prayer. Through these means, however, we arrive at new truths regarding God, Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and our own identity in the Kingdom. Learning the truth is often easy, but allowing that truth to transform who we are and how we react to outside influences cannot be willed; it must be received.

The life of Jacob is a fascinating example. You might not have noticed that even after Jacob wrestles with the pre-incarnate Jesus, the text vacillates between calling him "Jacob" and "Israel." This reflects his ongoing wavering between the two identities: Jacob (the carnal man defined by his shortcomings) and Israel (the man of God). This isn’t surprising when we consider that his name literally means "deceiver"—a reputation bolstered by his mother’s help in stealing his brother’s birthright. It is difficult to forgive ourselves for the wrongs we know we have committed. Guilt and shame cause us to doubt God’s love, and doubt is at the very root of all sin. It is the primary tool the enemy uses to isolate us from God. Jacob struggled throughout his life to overcome his poor self-image and truly embrace the identity God had offered him.

Without Jesus, Jacob’s struggle is our struggle. Faith in the finished work of Christ provides us with a legitimate birthright—one we are spiritually "born" into. Embracing this biblical truth is simple, but walking in it is a lifelong journey toward completeness. Imitating Jesus through sheer effort, however, is a futile, works-based endeavor. Rather, we must "let go" to become the spiritual temple God designed us to be, allowing Jesus—through the power of the Holy Spirit—to be slowly and systematically formed within us. Our prayer should echo John the Baptist’s final mission: “He must become greater, I must become less.” When we are weak, God can truly be strong through us.

Father, thank You for the truth that sets us free. Help us to identify the "bugs" in our own hearts and the false narratives that hinder our growth. We surrender our need for control and our reliance on our own efforts, asking instead that You continue the work of forming Christ within us. May we decrease so that You may increase, for the advancement of Your Gospel and the glory of Your name. Amen.

mgb