Commandments vs Shame

There is a particular conundrum that has troubled me all my life. On the one hand, I believe that God fiercely and lovingly calls me to be better. Because He cares for me, and wants me to have a fullness of joy, He invites me to step out of my baser self, inspiring and motivating me to become the sort of man that I can be proud of. Part of Him calling me into that higher place is the giving of His commandments, which I truly believe in my head are a sign of His love.

On the other hand, I still struggle to get that conviction down into my heart. When I am reminded of all the commandments, and particularly the ones that I’m not doing so great at, I can’t help but have a great upwelling of shame and resentment. In that moment the commandments don’t feel like a balm of love at all, they feel like a stick of punishment. Perhaps it is due to the way that I was raised. I don’t have any memories of being told, “I love you so much, and I don’t want this behavior for you because I know it will hurt you.” I heard things that sounded more like, “How could you even do that?! That’s so disgusting! It’s so beneath you!”

The result: I feel like I am caught between a false choice. If you’ll excuse the mixed metaphors, on the one hand I can take God’s commandments and the shame of not living up to them together, which is like eating a cupcake with a razor blade in it, or I can discard them both, which is like throwing the baby out with the bathwater.

For a long time, I didn’t even know that this was a false choice, because I didn’t know there was a third option until I became immersed in my therapy group, 12-step meetings, and spiritual retreats with Warrior Heart. In these places I found the elusive union of commandments and love that I had been starved for. I found brotherhoods of broken men who were very real about wanting to be better men, but who strove for it with encouragement and connection instead of disparagement and abandonment. In these brotherhoods shame only made an appearance when it was being laid to rest, and transformational change actually seemed like a joyful thing, even something fun!

But while I’ve seen that there’s a better way, I don’t stay in that message at all times. When I go back home I start slipping back into my old mindset of commandments=shame. I set goals for how to step further into the life God has for me, I fall short on those goals, and I feel ashamed for not measuring up.

Jesus promised us that he would put within us a “well of water springing up into everlasting life” (John 4:14), which sounds to me like having a constant connection to the love of God. Jesus even said that those he gave access to this water would “never thirst again,” so why do I find myself getting thirsty again all the time?

I don’t know that this is the full answer, but the last time I read these promises of Jesus I noticed he never said that the establishment of this constant nourishment would happen in an instant. Out in nature, rivers do not burst forth all-at-once in full force. First there are little creeks that twist and turn around every bend and obstacle. The creeks combine into medium-sized streams that babble happily over small rocks that once would have stood in the way. Streams, in turn, merge into full-sized rivers, strong and purposeful, that carve the very earth to accommodate their passage. Maybe Jesus has put a little creek in me, and I’m still finding my way to the stream, the river, and the deeper seas that lay beyond. That’s alright. I can just allow myself to be part of the flow, winding back-and-forth around the obstacles that I can’t pass over yet, staying with the trickle to see where it takes me. Maybe just by learning to go with God’s flow I’ll already be adding a few more drops of water to my channel.

By Abe, Writing Team

Dropping Back Into the Valley

Today and tomorrow are a stark re-entry to “normal” life for about 120 men who have been in the cooler, high-altitude mountains of northern Arizona at a men’s bootcamp. Keeping the spiritual high can be extremely challenging while resuming work, reentering a home that may be under attack, or finding a frazzled wife who has been single-parenting for several days. As I reflect on this experience, I have a few thoughts and experiences to share.

Having attended several camps, one temptation is to come home and do a full download to your family. This can be challenging because it is hard to translate three days of actions into words without the experiential immersion. I have learned to jump in and help, give my wife a break, and wait until she is in a relaxed state before sharing the insights gained. Also, I’ve found it is best to start slowly with what I learned and what new insights were gained - focusing most on the renewed connection to my Jesus Savior and to my band of brothers.

For me, the greatest takeaway is how to pray with self-surrender to seek a deep connection to God and to get my worth and acceptance from God, and only God. Only after that can I approach others in an attitude of love and strength, to give rather than trying to take.

James, in one of his presentations, reminded me what it looks like to do this in a deep, two-way prayer. I first approach my God in reverence and thanks. I pour my heart out to what I am feeling. I ask Him specifically what I need and what it looks like. “God, I am feeling vulnerable and misunderstood. Please show up for me, help me see myself as You see me. I am tempted to seek validation from others, let me feel your love for me.”

When I feel safe in my identity, I can then approach others in strength.

A second take-away for me is the living experience I’ve had of seeing beauty rise from ashes. Beginning three years ago, we had a significant life threatening disease begin to manifest symptoms in our family. It was a time of terror, frustration, fear, exhaustion, and turmoil. Looking back, it is easier to see the hand of God in our lives and how He delivered us.

For me personally, I would wake up each morning with my stress level at a 9.5 out of 10 and it wouldn’t take much to get to the 10 and descend into a valley of anxiety and desperation. I had good friends who would piece me back together each morning and night, and I constantly relied upon prayer to get through each hour. While it was a time of terror, I also learned how to give it all to God as the weight was too much for any other option.

Fast forward a few years, and while the medical condition remains, new medicine and treatment have our family living a fairly normal day to day existence. This week - by no coincidence - I met a man who is deep in that all-too-familiar valley. As we prayed with him, and he collapsed into us and sobbed, I could feel and be present with his emotions that were a reminder of where I have been. Now, though, I’m out the other side, have hope, and was able to share that with him in a deep and empathetic way beyond a mere surface, “don’t worry, it will be okay.” And so I finally begin to understand the lyrics “you give beauty from ashes.”

So, men, have grace for the situation you are dropping into. Thanks for sharing your hearts and allowing me to share mine. But keep the experiences real and alive. Refer to the notes you took to relive the spiritual experiences and promises of change you want to make.

And keep reaching out, being vulnerable, and praying for each other. That is my commitment as well. God bless.

By Pete, Writing Team

Love that Changes

I heard this author-unknown statement recently on a podcast and it stuck in my mind, “Love that doesn’t try to change you, changes you.” It reminded me of this statement that passed my way several months ago, “Love is what happens when we stop trying to figure out who deserves it.” (Karen Faith TED talk).

When the second statement was rolling around in my mind, I easily applied it to God’s love. It was a refreshing reminder of a truth that had already been settling into my belief system: I don’t deserve God’s love and yet He loves me anyway. But I struggled when I tried to apply the first statement to God. “Love that doesn’t try to change you, changes you.” Can God love me without needing to change me? Isn’t my transformation one of the main points of a relationship with God? This is the question I want to wrestle with in this post.

I see two possible conclusions. First, perhaps it’s literally true that God loves me without trying to change me. Maybe this is the essence of the agency that He gives me. The idea that He will love me even if nothing about me ever changes does seem to add up. Grace, after all, really does mean free. Nothing I’ve done qualifies me for His love and the same can be said of the future; nothing I will ever do will qualify me for His love. So in the end, my transformation truly may not be the main point of a relationship with God. In the end, God will love me regardless. This truth astounds me every time I express it.

Second, it’s possible that this statement simply doesn’t apply to God. It certainly applies to mortals. Any relationship that is contingent upon change isn’t building on a foundation of love. The relationship between a professor and a student is based on the student being changed into someone with new knowledge and abilities. Love can be applied in that relationship, but it isn’t the foundation. In a relationship between a parent and their child, love should be the foundation and remain unchallenged by either the parent or the child’s failings. Change can (and should) be applied in that relationship, but it should not be the foundation. Likewise, God’s love may remain unchallenged by the state of my transformation but change must be applied because it is one of the main points of a relationship with Him.

These two conclusions feel mutually exclusive - if one is true, it seems the other must be false. Perhaps, though, they can both be true at the same time. If so, it paints an interesting picture of God for me. It’s as if His love were a bonfire; it will warm me without regard for my state - whether I come to it feeling cold or already warm for example. Even though it’s ambivalent to my state, its very nature affects me; changes me.

God isn’t ambivalent to my state, but like the bonfire, His very nature affects me; changes me. So the two conclusions may converge on a fundamental truth about God’s love: its ability to change without coercion. If so, His love IS change. It isn't bound by the need for transformation yet still manages to change. It may indeed be a love that doesn’t try to change me that, ironically, changes me.