Breaking Inertia

The hardest part is just getting started. Today was back to school day. The kids are all extra tired, overwhelmed, convinced that their subjects are too hard and their days are too long, at least one of their teachers is too strict, and sure that something like a 5-paragraph essay looms in the near future. "Yes, that may be true" begins the Dad reply, "but you have just done the hardest part--you have broken inertia." [Disregard the "what's inertia?" whine.]


Supertechnically, there must be more inertia in late August facing a return to *school* than there is keeping the space shuttle on its launch pad. Gravity must have greater influence in the matters of transitioning a child's orientation from Summer to Fall. But the hardest part is over. To fully break free from the gravitational pull of summer will take a full month, true. But the hardest part of the hardest part is over.


So it is with all of us, whether we return to school or to the post-summertime routine. Ah, yes, but the hardest part is almost over now that we have crossed through that eventless/eventful "first day" threshold. Perhaps there will be a groove we can all find. Perhaps there will be an updraft we can all navigate. Perhaps there will be a little more confidence, a little more determination, a little more delight in "day two." Perhaps we will find that grace is already in place. Well ... you know ... the hardest part of the hardest part is just getting started. Lord, help us.

Can't Be Polite About This

To tell you the truth, I am so completely fed up … sick and tired … downright spitting angry at my pesky, tricky, uninvited, unrelenting tendency toward sin (e.g. my “flesh”). Grrr. No matter if I fill my mind with the higher virtues of grace and mercy, practice love and generosity, or meditate on patience and contentment—my “flesh” is there the whole time, as able to poison the work of God in me after a breakthrough in spiritual development as it is able to calcify the work of God in me after a breakdown in spiritual discipline. Double Grrr.

In our Christian subculture we often talk in such ways to suggest that one of our core values is politeness; that impoliteness is a chief sin. But I can't be polite about this—I hate sin. More specifically and because I have a front row seat, I hate my sin. I hate my expertise in sinning. I hate my self-justification before, during, and after sinning. I hate that my sins are thematic; that they are often the same core issues reemerging over and over again. I hate that my sin never remains just my sin; it eeks out to harm those whom I love dearly, whether directly or indirectly (there are no victimless sins). I hate, Hate, HATE this.

Sure, the Lord has caused me to be faithful with regard to those sins that are culturally unacceptable: stealing, murdering, speaking against University of Arkansas sports teams. But I hate my sin with regard to those culturally acceptable vices: self-righteousness, self-ambition, self-exaltation. True, these so-called “minor” sins rarely see the “light of day,” but they run like mice in the walls of my heart. “Don’t appear weak.” “Make sure he knows it was you who did that kind deed.” “Don’t be the first one to apologize.” “If you can’t win, don’t play at all.” “Keep some leverage for the future.” Triple Grrr.

But the piece that infuriates me most; I can’t overcome my “flesh” with my “flesh.” In other words, I am powerless to correct, not to mention cure, my internal bend toward self, which operates in league with the world system and the enemy (1 John 2:15-18). I cannot strengthen my resolve to stand against my pride, for instance, or else my resolve becomes self-righteousness because it does not spring from faith in Christ. I cannot strengthen my humility enough to undo my tendency to put my wants/needs ahead of those wants/needs of others or else my humility becomes a dead work. I cannot successfully tell myself, “Don’t think of revenge, don’t think of revenge, don’t think of revenge” without … you guessed it … thinking of revenge more than ever. In the end I am doubly wrong—for the sin and for the attempt at self-redemption to fix myself. I cannot overcome my “flesh” with my “flesh.” Hallelujah, we are forgiven for even these sins through the perfect propitiation of Christ’s sacrifice—nevertheless, I hate that I am powerless in my own strength to escape sin’s gravitation pull on me.

But there is hope. Although we cannot overcome our “flesh” with our “flesh,” we were never meant to be our own messiah. The one Messiah is Messiah enough for the universe and for all time. Stop trying to overcome and start trusting that Christ has already overcome the world, the devil, and yes … even the principle of sin housed in what we call “the flesh.” This is the life of faith—“put on the Lord Jesus Christ and make no provision for the flesh in regard to its lusts” (Romans 13:14). Grrreat is our God!