Walk On Water, part 3

I have misunderstood God. In very short four words, that's what I learned in the past two weeks. I thought I was walking right with God, being part of this ritual-less generation of believers. It was only recently that I realized I have gravitated towards ritual as I walk with God. So little faith, I'm ashamed to say. It's easier with rituals, after all. It's like everyday life. You pay money, you get your stuff. With God and faith, there is no money to pay with. The concept of Grace and God as a Father, they exist outside the realm of logic. The concept of Christ dying on the cross to save humanity is based on the belief that we cannot save ourselves. In other words, for all our powers we can't do a lick to change our fate, to move a stone in the course of this universe. That's why God has to do these things for us. In my arrogance I have come to believe that I can do something about it. In my familiarity I thought I can create something that isn't already in God's hands. Easter bears new meaning for me this year.

Easter Sunday, as we prayed for communion, I thought I heard Steve slipped his tongue. I don't know if he really did slip, or did he do it deliberately, or if it was just me. When Steve prayed over the bread, describing again how this is God's offer to take part in him, I thought I heard him say, "Let me die for you." From that word, this became the first year in my walk with God that I had to take the communion sitting down. My legs went out, and I bawled my eyes out. "Let me die for you", I heard God said. I grew up a survivor. I learned to be self-sufficient. A long time ago a friend warned me that I risk dying alone because I have a problem receiving from other people. In Hillsongs a few years back Joseph Prince said that the church today doesn't have a giving problem, it has a receiving problem. Grace is an easy concept to understand, but nearly impossible for me to take in. I understood their words back then, but this time my heart was broken open.

"Let me die for you", Jesus said. He could've said "let me buy you dinner", or anything, I would've broke down just the same. "Let me" anything. It's been a long time since last time I let anybody do anything for me, anything significant beyond the little chores. I have asked favor from people, and received them, but those were matters of utilitarianism on my part. I was using them because I know those were easy tasks for them each. This time, it felt like completely something else. Somebody wants to do something for me, not because I asked, not because it's easy for him, not because I can pay him back. He just wants to. In my survivor's mind, that's crazy. Why would anybody do that? And it's a big thing as well. It's a matter of heart. I have quite a big privacy sphere. Anybody unwanted who enters this sphere will find themselves kicked out, first gently and later harshly. I have been told of this before, and that I will always be alone if this sphere keeps up. I know that in my head, but I haven't had the courage to let go. Taking it to an extreme, I can call this sphere the AT-field, otherwise known to [my type of] geeks as Absolute Terror field. It is true, most things that get that close to me terrifies me. But as Jesus said that, along with the bread and wine that I took, I was hit and hit real hard.

As I learn to accept and receive, I feel that I'm walking ever closer to the edge. I'm living more dangerously now, I feel. Take risks, let myself be hurt, keep going forward under a rain of fire, and my only defense is a deep breath. I'm a willing target now. As I put these thoughts down to words, my mind can see a big one coming, a blow to shatter me. But I have to learn. I have to learn that all things work for my good. I have to learn that my God is not a boss, my God is a good Father. Everything has been prepared for me, I'll just have to come and grab them on the right time. It's hard to believe. I'm walking on water right now. As the waves lick my feet, I become more and more afraid, the thoughts of drowning fills my head. But the thing is this: I'm wet, not drowned. Despite all this terrifying things ahead of me, I'm still alive, I'm still typing, and I'm still thinking [although maybe not very straight]. This is a different kind of survival. I am nothing. All I have to hold on to is God and God's promises. I'm walking on water, and this time the water is no longer calm.

I stare down the rain of fire
I gaze at the hail of swords
and all I can do is stand back,
be still, and know you are God