Emotional Christianity: In Defense of Forsakenness
Praise be to Jesus, who is our salvation
Not of our own efforts, but of His, as it has always been, and always will be.
Too much, far too much it seems, is given to the strength of our emotions to hold a weight so great as eternity. Surely it will fall, and all have felt the crushing burden of having to carry the weight of their faith, walking seven days a week until they can lay it down at the altar for an hour of sweet temporary relief, only to pick it up and carry it all over again. Worship is a refuge then from ourselves, that we could finally put down what we’ve so long held, and feel a minor relief as we unclench our hands and let them float to the ceiling because we are no longer holding onto our faith. We walk into a worship room like a gas-station to receive what it takes to make it through the days to come. Therefore we dare not ration our spiritual emotion poorly, for if we do, we will surely not have enough for the remaining days in which we are still to be Christians.
Human emotion seems to be one of the weakest faculties a person possesses. Suppose one Sunday I feel a strong urge toward Christ. This is all good and right so to do. I leave church encouraged and excited, get in my car to drive home and arrive perhaps slightly earlier than usual because on a day such as this, there could be no traffic, all seas parted for a wonderful continuation to an ethereal morning. Eagerly arriving home, I open the door to my house and walk in the living room, where, with the same breath given to me as was given Adam, I suddenly curse all things present and those to come as I kick the unliving leg of a table and make a significant indention in my most protruding toe. And in an instant my mood is changed. I feel an anger rise up within me that climbs slowly and shades in an unnaturally red face as I close my eyes and wince. In a vermillion rage I lose briefly all rationality and try to look back through the portals of time to discover the origin of this most deviant and pugnacious table. Its origin is unknown, but its effects linger on my pedal peninsula. For a moment, I imagine a court room and a trial in which the peg-legged criminal is brought to retribution for its insolence.
What then, is there to say for my faith? If this faith of mine is built on the same faculty which curses with human indignation that which cannot be responsible for the pain in my toe; if it is built on how I might react to the singing strings and thumping drums of the musicians on stage; if it hangs on the dynamics of a speaker; if it rests on the longevity of an induced emotion; if it is in any way dependent on me, then I ought to be worried. For if built on emotion as such, then it is necessarily not built on Christ. We are relying on our ability to understand a sermon or sympathize while we harmonize, and we’ve not let Christ be our hope and strength. Formal worship ought to put words to the way we are already living, a complement to our daily lives, rather than a single event toward which the entire week works. We may leave a worship, read a post, pray in a group, watch someone’s life be changed, and subsequently may not be moved emotionally, therefore we are discouraged and leave the spectacle unsure to the degree of our faith. Now of course an emotional reaction, as we might imagine, is in itself not a bad thing; the Lord absolutely moves us. But it cannot be our faith. And it cannot be made to be our faith.
For never has salvation depended on us. Such reactions have in fact no correlation to our standing with God. Of all the things controversial, and all the things ignored through Scripture, there is an overarching consistency: human weakness and holy providence. The Christian walk is not defined by a series of emotional upwellings; it is defined by a series of obedient steps, most of which will be taken in the dark. Never have we been called to be slaves to our emotional decisions, but always are we called to be slaves of righteousness, who is God. If my faith were built on this complex that changes with the blowing wind, I should be in and out of salvation every day.
Yet is it God who has saved me, not I who have saved myself through the medium of God. To rely on the emotional reaction consistently is to trust in human ability rather than God’s constant and salvific character. Diametrical to me in nature, God does not change. Therefore, if He has saved me, it is not by my own feelings that wax and wane like a moon, but by some mysterious and wonderful grace.
Let us then cease attempts to pierce so continually the heart of the Christian, which can be tossed to and fro and carried by every wind of doctrine. This should not be our aim, but God’s, whose word is alive and powerful, sharper than a double-edged sword. With each heart piercing, his own bleeds out and has nothing left to give for the next time it is meant to be punctured, becoming one of many deadened Christians that characterize the body today. So let us no longer send a message that Christians are to be the most feeling of all people as we grow in that salvation; forsakenness is a universal experience that none can deny–not even Christ himself–thus it should never undermine a single faith. Therefore teachers: we can no longer fall back on the same habitual message of prodigality and return–which is inherently emotional in its presentation–but instead must supply spiritual food which creates maturity rather than dependence. And finally, with a deep imploration, let us move away from an era that tries to rip tears from the duct of an eye, but instead points that believer toward a God who will wipe every tear away.
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.
Hebrews 13:8