2:32 AM on February 3, 2006
"There are big pieces of my life missing right now, and I am really feeling like nothing can fill those voids in my life right now. It's starting to take its toll. I'm starting to question friendships, acting paranoid, and all that junk."
4:06 AM on February 16, 2006
"I wake up and I feel terrible. I know that the second my foot hits the floor I'm living one more day just because. My life has no purpose. I'm not special. I've touched a few lives. Touched. A gentle prick and then they move on. I'm not necessary. I'm not needed. I'm just wasting air."
2:22 AM on December 5, 2006
"[A] secret is a mistake, a regret, that you hide. We all have those things we regret doing. Those things we regret saying about someone. Things we shouldn't have done. We hide them. We cover them up. But they start to wear on us. They start to eat at us. The guilt starts to add up day after day, and you want to get it off your chest but you can't. You know that if you keep it a secret you will torture yourself with guilt, but if you reveal it there is a chance that a very dark and haunting part of your past might catch up with you. There's a chance that people don't know a side of you they should, and that scares you."
6:19 PM on March 22, 2007
(NOTE: The following post is somewhat circumstantial, but overall, it is not inspired by current events. Many of my readers may find this post addressing an issue that they have recently and tragically been exposed to. This post, however, is not intended as a response to those events. Providentially, the continuation of my conversion narrative revolves around the subject of my depression and my suicidal thoughts. By no means is this intended to be a commentary to recent events, and I ask that you read it strictly as a continuation of the narrative I've started in the months past. Thanks.)
At the very end of October 2005, I became a blogger. I had a Myspace account, and one of the new features on the social networking website was the ability to write blogs and share them with your friends. I had never kept a journal before, but this idea of blogging really appealed to me. I could write down my thoughts, post what I had written on a website, and then if any of my friends were interested, they could read what I had posted.
In February, 2009, I deleted my Myspace account because I had used it primarily as a dating website (with little success) and in February I had my eyes set on a beautiful college girl I'd met at church. Before I deleted my account, I decided to copy and paste all of the blogs I had written between the end of 2005 and the beginning of 2009. The endeavor took about thirty minutes to complete, and the Word document I saved them to was almost 500 pages long. These 500 pages document every thought, feeling, emotion, and idea I had the past three years. They document my conversion, but more than that, they document my struggles with depression and all that comes with it.
As I have mentioned before, although the exact day and time when I was justified before God by an outpouring of His grace is unknown to me, I often pin-point my trip to China as the turning point in my life. That trip took place at the very end of June, 2006. Reading through my blogs, I can clearly see a change in the things I write about. The change, however, is not what you might expect.
In her book The Secrets Thoughts of an Unlikely Convert (2012), Rosaria Butterfield places a unique spin on her description of Christian conversion:
"Conversion put me in a complicated and comprehensive chaos. I sometimes wonder, when I heard other Christians pray for the salvation of the 'lost,' if they realize that this comprehensive chaos is the desired end of such prayers. Often, people asked me to describe the 'lessons' that I learned from this experience. I can't. It was too traumatic. Sometimes in crisis, we don't really learn lessons. Sometimes the result is simpler and more profound; sometimes our character is simply transformed."
Butterfield utilizes the image of a train wreck to best describe her conversion to Christianity. I could not have described my conversion experience any better. It's not like watching a train wreck, but it's like surviving one. I was gliding swiftly down the tracks of life, my course in life seemed sure and set, and the next thing I know my train derailed.Things are going smoothly one second, and the next second you find yourself in the midst of savage destruction, twisted metal, charred wood, torn and broken landscape, and you walk away from it all bloodied and wounded but still alive. You look back knowing that what happened to you is nothing short of miraculous, but it was still excruciatingly painful to live through at the time.
I was much happier, in many respects, before I became a Christian. Life was good when I could live my life the way I wanted, try to keep everyone happy, and feel capable of doing so. My parents wanted a Christian son, and I could give them that, at least the façade of one. My friends wanted a smart friend, a caring friend, an emotional anchor to keep them grounded in turbulent waters, and I could give them that. I wanted to feel needed and wanted, and I could give myself that. Life was oh so sweet before I became a Christian. I played each of my roles to perfection, and my audience loved it. My parents had no idea that I was a troubled teenager, spending countless hours mesmerized by pornography, going to parties, and pursuing several girls who weren't Christians. My friends had no idea that I was a very conservative "Christian" who was supposed to be opposed to their entire lifestyle. I didn't know that my sense of belonging and companionship was just as fake as the act I put on to accumulate and keep friends. I had no identity, and I was okay with that. The meaning and purpose in my life was nebulous and ambiguous. I could be whatever anybody wanted me to be, as long as I was accepted.
In high school, I struggled with depression because no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't seem to get the girl I was infatuated with to notice me or return the infatuation. Fed with "love" junk food that I received daily through a intravenous supply of TV, movies, music, books, pornography, and social media memes, I knew what I needed but I couldn't seem to obtain it. The most popular message was be yourself, but it's hard to be yourself when you don't even know who you really are. I literally had no concept of self. The only way I could be myself was to be what everyone else wanted me to be. When I was truly myself, nobody seemed to like me. If I acted like the person people expected me to be, they seemed to like me. My identity rested in the desires of the people around me, and that was okay with me until Christ came around.
After my conversion, I was faced with a crisis. I now had a clearly defined, God revealed, biblically articulated identity, and for the first time in my life, I could not seem to play the role no matter how hard I tried. I was a new man in Christ. I was a new branch of the vine. I was a new member of the body. I was a new sheep in the flock. I was a new creation. To live is Christ, and to die is gain. I was Christ's. I was a Christian.
That might sound great to a member of the Cleaver family, but when your previous identity rests in an addiction to pornography, a life lived secretly away from your parents' view, a façade placed before the eyes of everyone at church, an act played out before each of your friends, and a lie that you have believed about yourself your entire life, then it doesn't have that Hallelujah! effect that most people think about when they picture a Christian conversion. You don't feel like a new man. You are a new man in Christ, but you don't feel like it at first.
I grew far more depressed after my conversion. I had days when I was sad and depressed before I was a Christian, but a solution always seemed to present itself. If I was heartbroken and crushed when my love interest had a new boyfriend, I found the solace I needed online. If I was distraught about work, school, and my life's lack of purpose and direction, I found the pick-me-up I was looking for on the internet. Pornography was my anti-depressant. It replaced my depression with a chemical buzz that left me feeling uplifted, loved, and appreciated. It fulfilled me.
My conversion didn't overcome my problem with depression, but rather, it exacerbated the situation. I know that I have talked about the way my depression and my addiction to pornography had a snowball effect before, but I want to reiterate it for those who may have just started reading. I would get depressed because I knew I was a sinner, I knew I was guilty, I knew I deserved to die, I knew that Jesus died in my place so that I could live a new life, and I knew that I was using the new life Jesus gave me to continue committing sin. I would instinctively turn to pornography, a learned behavior, and I would start feeling guilty and depressed all over again. When you find yourself in the midst of a relentless, endless, and destructive cycle like this, it begins to wear on you. A little bit of depression could snowball into a giant and great depression. What started out as a cloudy day quickly escalated into a torrential storm.
To a man whose life revolved around making people happy, Christianity sometimes felt like a curse rather than a blessing. I had Christian friends, but they didn't know me as well as my non-Christian friends. At least, that's what I thought. My non-Christian friends recognized that my "Christianity" was nothing more than a label that best defined my moral code as "the good guy." If nothing else, it described my approach to dating. I was Christian because I wanted to wait until I was married to have sex. I was Christian because I didn't drink alcohol and I avoided bars, clubs, and parties as places to pick-up ladies. I was Christian because I watched my language, I was courteous and polite, and I tried my best to be chivalrous. Essentially, what made me Christian to my non-Christian friends was the fact that I tried to be a gentleman. Therefore, that's all they ever expected from my "Christianity" when we went out. My Christian friends, on the other hand, always wanted to talk about faith, Christ, and the gospel. They just didn't get it. I didn't want to talk about it. I hardly knew anything about it.
After my conversion, my non-Christian friends found it very difficult to cope with the fact that Christianity was no longer a synonym for gentleman for me. I changed. I couldn't participate with them the way I used to. I had to sit trips out because I didn't think they were appropriate. I guess I became overly judgmental in the most passive sense (i.e. I didn't want to go to the bar = you're all sinners for drinking?). We didn't have anything in common, anymore. I could no longer bend and twist to fill their "Christian" friend niche, and I ended up fading away from their lives. I wanted to stay friends, I didn't want my conversion to ruin our friendships, but we were no longer compatible.
Before I became a Christian I could try to please everyone else, cater to their desires and needs, and try to implant myself into their lives. As a Christian, I was Christ's. Take it or leave it. My identity rests in Christ. There is no wavering. There is no gray area. There is no acting. I now know, with painful precision, the man I must be. I know what is acceptable and what is not. It's not an act anymore. I'm not acting like a Christian. It's reality. I am Christ's, I have been bought with a price, my ransom has been paid in full, and I have the sign and seal to prove it.
My Christian friends stuck around, but I found it nauseating to listen to them talk about Christianity most of the time. They talked about it as if it was the greatest thing that ever happened to them, but I was having trouble agreeing with them. My conversion experience had not been enjoyable in the least bit. I lost my closest friends. I gained an impossible new identity that I could never fulfill. I felt more sinful, dirty, rebellious, and estranged from God than I had ever felt before. I felt more alone and ignored than ever before. I felt like up was down and down was up. I thought I knew so much about life but now I felt like I knew nothing; I had to start all over from scratch. I felt more sad and depressed than ever before.
I felt like I was a convicted serial murderer, responsible for raping and murdering hundreds of women. I felt like I was sentenced to an unconstitutionally cruel and unusual punishment that I deserved, when along came a perfectly innocent man who took my place, died my sentenced death, and gave me his clean rap sheet as my own. I was released from prison and I was somehow supposed to live his perfect, spotless life after he died my sinful, cruel death. I got a gift, an extraordinary gift, that I did not deserve, and I was supposed to live with that for the rest of my life. I still felt like a serial murderer, but my rap sheet said that I was justified before God and that there was no longer any condemnation for my sins. I was very happy to get life when I should have gotten death, but at the same time, I was miserably depressed that the Son of God got my death when He is life eternal.
I kept letting God down. It was depressing. I would have a rough day, I would behave or act in a way contrary to the member of Christ's body that I was, and I would feel terribly guilty. I was given an extraordinary gift for an inmate on death row: not only did another man take my execution, but he gave me his clean record to boot. I just felt like I was taking his clean record and smudging it all up with my filthiness. I was perfectly justified, but I was in the very infancy of sanctification.
In my justification, I was a released convict from death row with a clean rap sheet. In my sanctification, I was still a released convict from death row with a clean rap sheet. I was still a convict. I was still a sinner. I was still a man struggling to find love and companionship by idolizing women and their sexuality. I was still a man struggling to combat my depression and my failure to find fulfilling companionship with pornography. I was still a man living a lie before his parents and his church. I was more broken in Christ than I ever was without Him.
Even more, I wasn't ever looking for salvation in Christ. My conversion was a lot like Saul's (i.e. Paul), in some respects. I was happy with the way my life was going. I was just walking down the path I had picked when Jesus appeared and nothing was ever the same after that. Saul was not looking for salvation. He was actually on the road to have more Christians persecuted and killed. That's what he wanted. He didn't ask Jesus into His heart. He didn't think that Jesus was the better way to a happier, healthier life. He didn't look to Jesus as the way to a life of prosperity and success. For Saul, Jesus wasn't a choice. Jesus saved his life and snagged him from the grave, but I am sure Paul would often think of his life from that point on as a living hell (albeit in a different sense). Saul's life would likely have been more successful, enjoyable, and carefree if Jesus had not shown up on his way to Damascus.
Like Saul, I had been given something I had not asked for. I didn't want to be a full-fledged disciple of Jesus Christ. I was as "Christian" as suited me, and I didn't want any more. Then, out of nowhere, Jesus chooses me. As a Christian, I often looked at the shambles of my life, and wondered, Why, Jesus? Why choose me? What good can possibly come from me? What about all those other people out there that are actually looking for you? What about all those people who are actually doing good things and could do even more in your name? Why don't you choose one of them in my place? I don't deserve this. I don't deserve your love, your forgiveness, your hope, your Spirit, or your grace. I wanted to say, "No thanks," to the gift bestowed upon me, but there wasn't a return policy.
Well, this isn't the usual conversion testimony that you hear from a Christian. Yes, things are very different today. The fact that I am writing this to you now shows that I have a found a sense of purpose and mission in my life. I am eternally grateful for the grace, love, forgiveness, eternal hope, comfort, and joy given to my freely by God in Christ through the Holy Spirit. Today, that is. A lot has changed. The world wasn't created in a day. God could finish what He started in one day, but He decided to take His time. I was miserable at the time, but I look back on these dark days and I'm thankful for everyone of them.
Sanctification takes time and a lot of patience on God's part. I was a convict released from death row, and the only thing I was able to cleave to for hope was that squeaky-clean rap sheet Jesus gave me when He took my place in the execution chamber. I felt more convicted of my sin than ever before, more depressed by my own wicked behavior, more aware of my deserved alienation and damnation by God, but no matter what, I kept opening up that rap sheet and there was never anything in there.
Thinking about justification in the legal sense of being released from death row, sanctification I guess could be likened to having God's Spirit as your parole officer. The Holy Spirit takes a supernatural interest in your case, and He's going to see to it that your new life with Christ's rap sheet is a holy one. He's going to be there when you're tempted to head down the path you went before, and He's going to tell you you don't have to and you don't want to go down that path again. He's going to check you into rehab, where you will be surrounded by hundreds and thousands of others who have a newfound life because Jesus died their death and gave them all His clean rap sheet too. The Holy Spirit is going to know how to comfort you and He'll make intercession for you when you don't know what to say or do. He's not only going to point you away from the man you were, but He's going to reveal and help you become the man whose rap sheet you now hold. He knows that man intimately, He knows the judge intimately, and He speaks to both of them directly about you, making intercession on your behalf. He takes you as a released convict and transforms you into the image of the man that took your place so that your life more and more reflects the clean rap sheet you cling to for hope. That is sanctification. It involves mortification (dying to sin) and vivification (living to Christ).
Shortly after my conversion (the first couple of years), I was having a hard time believing my sanctification was even possible. I was a released convict, and I knew that I could never clean up my act and deserve (or earn) the new life and rap sheet I was given. Those two years are unarguably the darkest years of my life. It might come as a surprise to hear that I became more depressed as a Christian than I ever was before I was a Christian, but it is the truth. My case is not the standard, but I don't think it's the exception either. I know that there are many Christians who will read this who can attest to an initial difficulty trying to reconcile who they were in Christ with who they were before and even after their justification. You don't leave the prison feeling any less guilty of your crimes. You still feel like a convict. Perhaps you feel even worse and more guilty about your crimes because now you know you're guilty and you know that an innocent man paid the price for your guilt instead of you.
The more depressed I got, the more dependent I became on pornography. The more dependent I became of pornography, the more depressed I got about my inability to identify with Jesus Christ, who became my new identity. I felt like I had been given an opportunity of a lifetime, but that I had blown it. I'd been given a new lease on life, and I had squandered and forfeited it. I'd been afforded the chance to re-run the race, I cheated, and I had disqualified myself. No words could describe my despondency. I was a failure. I had my chance and I had blown it. I wouldn't get another. I felt like I was a hopeless case that needed to be put out of his and everybody else's misery. I was giving up. I was checking out. I was calling it quits. Thanks for believing in me, but I'm tired of letting you all down. Satan slithered his way up to my ear, tickled it with his forked tongue, and said:
To live is Christ, and to die is gain. You've tried your best to live for Christ, and no one can blame you for trying. You put forth your best effort. Don't kick yourself, over it. You tried to live for Christ to no avail. To die now, is gain.
Satan is the master of taking the Word of God out of context, misconstruing it to convey that which God never intended it to convey, and presenting the lie in such a way that it appears to be to our advantage. His beguiling worked against Adam and Eve, and creation was forced into a fallen state of sinfulness by their disobedience. "Did God actually say...?" He met his match, however, when He tried to misconstrue the Word of God to the Word of God incarnate, Jesus Christ.
And he (Satan) took him (Jesus) to Jerusalem and set him on the pinnacle of the temple and said to him, "If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, "'He will command his angels concerning you, to guard you,' and "'On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.'" And Jesus answered him, "It is said, 'You shall not put the Lord your God to the test.'"
(Luke 4:9-12)
Essentially, Satan set Jesus on the highest point in Jerusalem and said, "Jump!" The temptation is lost on many Christians because we imagine that if Jesus jumped then angels would bear Him up. Certainly, this was not a temptation of suicide as much as it was a temptation to prove that He was the Son of God, we often think. However, Jesus did not possess an ability to fly, and angels did not regularly minister to Him during His earthly ministry in a supernatural manner. Satan was tempting Jesus to kill Himself, but that is often lost on us because we cannot comprehend Jesus dying after jumping from that point. I do not doubt that many new converts and even some more mature Christians have been tempted to "put the Lord [their] God to the test," with suicidal thoughts.
Here's the continuation of one of the blog posts I shared earlier:
Suicidal? Hardly. I'm past that. That's selfish and cruel. My life's not a burden, but it's not the life I wish I had. I wish I didn't have to call my friends to get them to hang out with me. I wish just once someone would call me, and ask me to do something with them. I wish just once someone would tell me how special I am to them. I wish I didn't have to remind everyone how special they are to me. I wish I could just show it. I wish that I could put my guard down and be myself. Talk to my friends about my problems instead of reading them off to this stupid computer screen. There's no gratification in that.
No, I'm not suicidal. I'm not manic depressive. I'm sinful. I'm selfish. I'm proud. I think I deserve better, but I deserve worse. Day in and day out my mind's cluttered with the most disgusting, vile, and wretched thoughts. I can't think straight sometimes. Who thinks about veering into the other lane on the highway and causing an accident? Someone who wants to end it all or someone who realizes that it can end at any moment?
...
My smile is fake. My mood is fake. I'm not happy. I'm not satisfied. I just smile and act happy around you because you smile and act happy around me. I'm hurt so deep that I'm slowly dying. There's a point where I will give up and totally withdraw myself from a society that doesn't want to embrace me in any way. A society that will want to have nothing to do with me.
I hate to give up, so I continue to try...
(2:22 AM on December 5, 2006)
I know what it feels like to have the greatest gift of all given to me and yet feel like I am squandering it. I know what it feels like to have the promise of everlasting life but continue to live a life wherein you feel like you're slowly dying from depression, guilt, and lack of hope. I know. I've been there.
I was instantly justified, but not instantly sanctified. For the longest time, I felt like a terrible convict that got a clean rap sheet, but that didn't change the fact that I was a terrible convict. I had been given a new lease on life, and I felt like I was selling it to the devil. My justification did not make me feel like a Christian instantly, but rather, it caused a lot of depression, guilt, confusion, and chaos in my life. My new identity rested in Christ Jesus, the Son of God, but I still felt like a man who was living a secret life, worshiping the companionship of a woman and friends, deeply desiring to know what it feels like to be loved for who I am, deeply depressed, and deeply entangled in coping with depression and other destructive emotions with pornography.
Sunday worship services were torture. Part of me felt like I could no longer live this lie, and my behavior and actions were more consistent with the world I came from than the Body of Christ I was grafted into. The gig was up, and I couldn't continue to act like I was something I wasn't around these people. The other part of me told me that I was in the right place, where I belonged, and I needed to worship God, hear the Word preached, fellowship with the saints, and pray with my brothers and sisters in Christ. I didn't belong with these people, but I needed to be there.
My pastor would faithfully preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ every Lord's Day. That, more than anything else, kept me going. He had no idea what I was going through. He had no idea that a year ago I only came to church because I had to keep my "Christian" image up with my parents and friends. He had no idea that I was struggling with pornography. He had no idea that I had deeply rooted issues in my life that were making my recent conversion a living nightmare. He didn't know, but he preached nonetheless. I would sit under his preaching, and I could swear that he was looking straight at me most of the time. He preached about sexual immorality, hypocrisy, coming to the Lord's Table in an unworthy manner, apostasy, and I felt like he was calling me out on every one of them. I felt singled out throughout most of the sermon, as if the message was for me and the desired effect was for me to pack up my bags and get out.
That, however, was never his message. He made me feel rotten, unwanted, unworthy, despicable, despised, chastised, and guilty for ninety percent of the sermon. It was brutal and it was relentless. I remember quivering and practically shaking in my chair when he looked at me. Somehow he knew who I was, he knew what I had done, he knew that I didn't belong there, and it scared me to death. I came to church feeling guilty about being depressed in the midst of faith in Christ, about spending the night before looking at pornography, about keeping it a secret from everyone, about acting happy and jubilant when I wasn't, and about presumptuously worshiping with Christians when I really felt like I had no right to be within two hundred yards of the gathering of God's people.
Then there was that beautiful and wonderful ten percent of his sermons that still bring tears to my eyes today. It was that, "but God" in Romans 5:8 and Ephesians 2:24. It was the Gospel of Jesus Christ unequivocal, unwavering, unashamedly preached that kept giving me hope through the despair.
I had a clean rap sheet, it had my name on it, but it felt like a mistake. Satan took advantage of that, tempting me to put its legitimacy to the test. My life didn't seem to be for Christ, so the only way to prove it was in death. Twisting Paul's words, Satan wanted me to believe that I had a lot to gain by dying. I was tempted to believe that if I took my own life then I would only stand to gain everything I was lacking. The pain would be gone, the sorrow would abate, the tears would be no more, and I would be free. My pastor, however, unbeknownst of my situation, combated Satan's lies with beautiful, gospel truth.
For over two years, I was a deeply depressed Christian. I was a suicidal Christian. I was obsessed with fatal car accidents. For two years of my life, I wanted to die in a fatal car accident. I welcomed the thought, and several times I was tempted to put my thoughts to action. All of the chaos, the guilt, the unworthiness, the confusion, the tears, and the heartache could be over by letting my car drift across that middle line as a semi truck approached. It would look like an accident. Nobody would have to know how depressed I felt. Nobody would have to feel guilty. It would appear to be a terrible tragedy. It was a real temptation of mine, and it didn't become a real temptation until after I knew that I was justified by faith in Christ. I didn't feel like I was up to snuff in the Christian world. I didn't see an end to the snowball effect of my depression and pornography problem. I didn't foresee forgiveness from others when they found out that I had been living a lie. I didn't foresee any hope of marriage after what seemed like a lifetime of virtual fornication. I foresaw a life with no friends and no wife. I was hopeless.
Ironically, I had spent my life up to this point not knowing what grace was. Amazing Grace was only the alma mater of funeral homes and really outdated choristers. Now I can't help but get severely choked up every time I hear the song. How sweet the sound, indeed. That saved a wretch like me, indeed. It was the Gospel of Jesus Christ, salvation by grace through faith in Christ alone, that not only saved me from my sins but saved me from myself. I looked at my life, and I did nothing to deserve salvation. I looked at my life, and I continued to do nothing to deserve salvation. I was unworthy when Christ called me His own, and I continue to be unworthy of Christ's name, placed upon me in my baptism. Christ died for me while I was still a sinner, therefore, He will continue to love me while I remain a sinner until the last, great day. I did nothing to earn my salvation, and I can do nothing to lose my salvation. Grace and grace alone is the reason Jesus died for me and I was raised in Him.
The prospect of my new life in Christ looked bleak indeed, and Satan took full advantage of my weakness. He hated the fact that I was justified by God's grace and not by any of my works. If my justification depended on my works, then I was truly hopeless, and he really wanted me to believe that. He hated that while I was still a sinner, Christ died for me, the ungodly (Rom. 5). He hated that my rap sheet became Christ's and Christ's rap sheet became mine. He knew that I graciously received what I did not deserve, he knew that I was the recipient of a gift that I could never earn, and he hated it. He would make sure I knew how unworthy, how undeserving, and how ungrateful I was. He knew that Christ died for me while I was still a sinner, and he knew that he could get under my skin by making me feel like I was ungrateful. He made me feel like nothing had changed in my life except that I was more acutely aware of how sinful I was. He made me feel like I had tarnished the blood of Christ, blinding me to the reality that Christ's blood made me clean.
My pastor preached the gospel. As much as his preaching convicted me of my sin, it also pointed me to Christ and His sufficiency for the forgiveness of sins. As low as he made me feel, he always lifted me up at the end by encouraging me to look to Christ's righteousness, reassuring us all that that is all God sees when He looks upon us. We're not saved by works, but by grace alone. God's grace does not give us newfound license to continue sinning so that God can forgive more and be more and more gracious. Rather, God's grace has the common effect it had on me: it humbles you and causes you to cling to Christ for salvation. You hate sin, you hate yourself for sinning sometimes, and you feel like you've forfeited the grace of God. However, my pastor repeatedly and consistently reminded me that salvation has never been based upon my works of righteousness or unrighteousness, but wholly upon the grace of God. It was amazing grace that kept me alive, and allowed me to combat my suicidal thoughts and inclinations!
After your justification, you feel like a convict released from prison. You still feel like a criminal, but your crimes have been expunged. You walk but a few steps from prison before you mug an old woman walking by. You didn't want to, but you're still a convict with criminal intent. Surely, you've blown it now. You've taken a clean slate and you've ruined it already. You look at the rap sheet again, expecting to see your new crime listed, tainting Christ's righteousness, but it's still clean. It's as if nothing happened. You take a few more steps, and you commit another crime. You look at the rap sheet again. Clean. How can this be? Christ's righteousness is yours unconditionally, and His "rap sheet" will never change. Your rap sheet, every sin you ever committed, was nailed to the cross in Him (Col. 2:14). Your rap sheet grows every day, but it was nailed to the cross in Christ. Christ's rap sheet remains the same forever, perfectly clean, and it's yours, remaining perfectly righteous, forevermore.
Essentially, I was condemning myself when God was not. I was justified before God. Satan kept accusing me over and over and over. I believed Satan's accusations. They were true, after all. I was a sinner. I was guilty.
But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which he loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ--by grace you have been saved...
(Ephesians 2:4-5)
I was suicidal, and the only hope I had to cling to was the grace of God freely given to me in Christ Jesus, my Lord and Savior. As Paul asks in Romans 10:14, how is anyone to call on Him whom they do not believe, and how are they to believe in Him whom they have never heard, and how are they to hear without someone preaching? Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ (Rom. 10:17). Notice, it doesn't say that justification, salvation, or redemption comes from hearing, but faith.
Many pastors today reserve preaching the word of Christ for special services. When they are feeling missionary or evangelistic, then they whip out the gospel as their secret weapon. They reserve the gospel for Easter Sunday and Christmas Eve services when many non-believers are roped into going to church. Otherwise, it's all fire and brimstone or fluff and prosperity. It's all Law or false gospel. Neither of which increases one's faith. The gospel is often viewed as the key that opens the salvific gates, and after the gates are opened, it's not needed anymore. Why would I preach the gospel to a church full of Christians? That's tantamount to preaching to the choir. That's funny, I don't ever remember Paul saying that salvation alone comes from hearing the word of Christ. Doesn't he say that faith comes from hearing the word of Christ preached? I don't know about you, but what Christian can complain about having too much faith? In Luke 17:5, the apostles asked Jesus to increase their faith! Surely, if the apostles wanted an increase in faith, then surely I should as well.
I return once more to Saul's conversion on the road to Damascus. Look at what Jesus tells him:
'I am Jesus whom you are persecuting. But rise and stand upon your feet, for I have appeared to you for this purpose, to appoint you as a servant and witness to the things in which you have seen me and to those in which I will appear to you, delivering you from your people and from the Gentiles--to whom I am sending you to open their eyes, so that they may turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins and a place among those who are sanctified by faith in me.'
(Acts 26:15-18)
As a new convert in Christ, I had received forgiveness of sins, but I did not possess a place among those who are sanctified by faith in Christ. I needed faith in order to open my eyes, so that I could turn from darkness to light and from the power of Satan to God. Where does faith come from? Faith comes from hearing, and hearing through the word of Christ. I needed to hear the gospel preached after my conversion so that I could look to Christ not only for my justification but for my sanctification. I needed my pastor to preach the gospel so that I knew God's grace and rested in it. I needed my pastor to preach the gospel so that my eyes were opened to see Christ and Him crucified. I also needed my pastor to preach the gospel so that my eyes were opened to see Christ raised from the dead and seated at the right hand of the Father. I also needed my pastor to preach the gospel so that my eyes were opened to see the indwelling of God's Spirit within me, conforming me into the image of Christ Jesus. We are justified by faith, and we are sanctified by faith. Every Christian needs faith, and faith comes from the word of Christ. Pastors need to preach the word of Christ, and Christians need to hear it (Col. 3:15-17).
"We must know that all mankind is naturally deprived of those good things which Christ says we have by believing the gospel; so that it follows that all are blind, because they be lightened by faith; that all are the bond-slaves of Satan, because they are set free by faith from his tyranny; that all men are the enemies of God, and subject to eternal death, because they receive remission of sins by faith. So that nothing is more miserable than we, if we be without Christ, and without his faith, whereby it appears how little, yea, that nothing is left for the free will of men’s merits. As touching every part, this lightening is referred unto the knowledge of God, because all our quickness of sight is mere vanity and thick darkness, until he appear unto us by his truth. That reaches farther which follows afterward: To be turned from darkness to light; for that is when we are renewed in the spirit of our mind.
(John Calvin's commentary on Acts 26:18)
I look back on those dark days, and I see God at work. It was an excruciating experience to go through at the time, but God was with me the whole way. To this day, I still struggle with depression, but nothing compared to what I used to. Thankfully, many years of reading Scripture, hearing the Word preached, and God pouring out grace upon grace, I am no longer suicidal. It was a hard and difficult process to go through, but it made me stronger in my faith. If I ever feel overwhelmed by life, overwhelmed with guilt, or overwhelmed with sorrow, then I only need to read Romans 8 and break down before the throne of grace and pray. Nothing can snatch me from the hand of God, no, not even me. Amazing grace, how sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but now I'm found; was bling but now I see. I'm an exclusive psalmody guy, but I really like that hymn.
I will close with the last part of what I wrote at 2:22 AM on December 5, 2006:
I know that in the end it's not about how many relationships a man has, but the greatest test of man is the strength in the one relationship that is truly everlasting. Riches are worthless. Achievements are rubbish. Family is valuable, but not conclusive. Friendships are a luxury. What it all comes down to is did you take up your cross and follow him? As much as I feel deprived and worthless, I feel more wretched and greedy. Have I not been given the greatest gift a man can receive? What selfishness and pride! I am not satisfied...please forgive me Father, for I am a wretched, vile, disgusting, and despicable person.
Some people focus on money. Others focus on pleasure. I'm focused on my friends and making new ones. I'm over doing it, and I need to remember that life's not about making friends and making people happy. Life's not about being the person that brings a smile to people's faces. Life's not about pitying yourself, and wishing you were more likeable. Life's purpose is to glorify God and enjoy him forever. How soon I've forgotten. How soon indeed.
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