I grew up being taught in church that the supreme goal of the Christian life was the transformation of my character into the image of Christ; to become Christlike. All my early years in church were oriented around the various ways and means of obtaining transformation. How can I pray more, evangelise more, serve more, etc.
While there’s nothing inherently wrong with discipline and habituation, I have now come to see that it is possible to take our formation too seriously. After all, the Christian life is not first and foremost oriented around our transformation. It is oriented around God and our being present with him – what the ancient writers called “communion with God.” Transformation is just the natural outworking of communion. In the apostle John’s language – the primary call of the Christian life is not to bear fruit, but to abide (relate, be present to) in God. Bearing fruit is a organic consequence of truly abiding. As such, if you find little fruit in your life, the first turn must not be to ask, “How can I bear more fruit?” but rather “How have I been abiding in God? Have I truly been abiding, or merely imitating a form of it? Where are the ‘rivers of living water’?” That is the biblical logic of formation.
But aside from the call to abide in God in this life is also the call to patience and hope. Individual redemption takes place within the larger context of cosmic redemption. Many Christians are familiar with the narrative that all of creation is groaning and awaiting final redemption. But few are taught to draw the link between that and individual transformation. We, as Christians, are also part of creation that is groaning and awaiting redemption. And in a very real sense, there is nothing we can do but wait, and hope for the final redemption when we, like all else, will be made new.
1 John 3 tells us that “when we see Him we will be like Him.” It is not a coincidence that the Bible consistently contrasts ‘faith’ with ‘sight.’ This life takes place within the age of faith – which is seeing through a glass darkly. But John reminds us that there will come a time when we see Christ face to face – and only then will we be fully like him. An obvious implication of this is that part of the reason our formation can never be complete in this life is that it just isn’t time. The time for complete formation will only be when Christ returns in glory.
So while it is certainly possible to care too little about our own formation (which Paul does give us many exhortations and injunctions to holy living), it is likewise possible to be overly anxious and neurotic about our own perceived lack of transformation. It requires wisdom and community to discern the middle way between the two extremes. I just don’t think that this point is made often enough – that formation is not the chief goal of the Christian life. I suspect that most pastors are antsy saying this for fear that it will lead to the licentious lifestyle that Paul rebukes in Romans 6. But it is interesting that Paul, in addressing that concern, does not say, “Therefore, remember to keep trying very hard and that your effort is important to make that difference.” No! Instead, Paul goes on and continues to hammer home the utter finality of what Christ has done on the cross and its utter sufficiency and completeness. This ought to flag for us that the dynamics of Christian formation is very unlike what most of us are used to in natural human character/habit-formation.
This leads us to the very name of this blog – Hidden with Christ. Taken from Colossians 3:3, it is meant to serve as a constant reminder to me that a part, in fact a very large part, of my own new life in Christ is actually not visible to me in the here and now. It is hidden with Christ in God. If I am truly so completely and utterly united with Christ in his death and resurrection such that Paul can say that, “It is not I who live but Christ who lives in me,” then it must be the case that a part of my “I” is indeed ‘with Christ’ and no longer ‘here with me.’
This is significant because it means that I am not to be overly harsh in judging my own failings as a child of God. Certainly I am not to define myself as simply my character as a child of God. I am not to find my identity in my habits and how good or bad I perceive myself to be.
The thing is we might not even realise when we’re doing that. How can we test for that? Observe your conscience the next time you come to the awareness of your own failure or sin. What does your heart do? Does it immediately become overwhelmed by guilt and shame that generates promises to ‘do better next time?’ to fix yourself? Or does it fly to God in truth: “Father, look at me. I did it AGAIN. I said I wouldn’t before. I’ve committed not to do it again. But I’ve done it yet again. I AM indeed a spiritual failure. Father I need you. I can’t believe that you love me in all of this. Help me, I need you.” Often times, I suspect that prayer of truth is much more precious to God than the ones I grew up with: “God, I’m sorry I did that again. I promise I’ll work on it and not do it again next time. Please help me not to do it again next time.” The two prayers might sound similar, but they come from very different places.
The prayer of truth is oriented towards God and being with him in our weakness and neediness. It is allowing ourselves to open to the depth of our own failure and acknowledging that at bottom, we can’t do this. The second prayer is oriented around the failure itself, and God actually becomes a means/tool to help us not fail again next time.
Here we come face to face with a deep truth and pathology of the fallen (even though redeemed) human heart. We, like Adam and Eve in the garden, do not want to be seen in our bad by God. We want to be able to cover up ourselves and hide our failures, only projecting our goodness and strengths at God and others. But God call us out of our elaborate fig leaves of promises, habits, and service into the truth of our hearts. The truth that we would rather be perfect without God than have to wrestle our sin in the presence of God. That is part of the corruption that we inherit from Adam, and also part of what Paul refers to by “walking in the flesh.” It is living life in the weakness of human autonomy, living life with God and solely relying on our own willpower and fortitude.
What would it look like to re-train this fundamental instinct of the heart? To learn what it means to be with God who is always with us? It must reach deeper than merely the level of habit or what we can do through sheer force of will.
The next time when you come to the awareness of your failure and sin, notice what your heart does. What are your heart’s strategies for coping with failure and the guilt and shame it triggers? Open to God there and then, in the midst of your strategies to manipulate God (you aren’t consciously doing it, but that’s what a lot of it actually is). Open to the depth of your failure and what a complete and utter wretch you are. Open to Christ in that place, not only after you’ve promised to do better next time and feel better about yourself. You’ve made a mess, refuse to clean yourself up before coming to God; come to God in your mess.
That is one of the most basic ways of engaging in what the saints called “communion with God.”
Faith Seeking Communion 