To Be A Tax Collector
A journal entry. Twilight. First week of January.
I am saved.
I know this. The Spirit bears witness of Christ in me. Yet I utterly reject nor will I hold on anymore to the quip of one evangelist, 'You can't be a saved sinner. You're either saved or you're a sinner', for I will always be a sinner in this earthly vessel. Not that I live a double life or that I seek to sin, but never before has my nature been so openly revealed to me in such a light, that I despair for my soul, and see no hope, or a will to even continue on to God. My nature is what I am, and I am inclined towards sin helplessly until my demise. I am altogether confounded. I throw myself at the mercy of my God. He is just to judge me. He is just to withdraw mercy from me. My spirit is calloused, nay, leprous. Every vein, every bone. The very fiber of my innermost being, one despicable wretch worthy of the lowest chambers of the abyss. A conceited, heartless, thankless and unlearned hypocrite, who professes to know something of Christ, yet in truth I know not as I ought in this body. I strive to be holy, though I am not as holy as I ought to be. I yearn to pray more, but I do not want to pray as well. I want to know Christ more, yet I am often too tired to do so. I cannot even watch with my Lord as He prays for me. In this time of my affliction, I am brought ever so low to the dust, and see nothing worthy of attention in the world but the old and lonely cross of my Christ.
I love my Christ, yet I miserably fail Him. I deeply desire to be like Him, but I seek the impossible. I want to commune with Him, but I despise Him in prioritizing other concerns. Like Peter I say, Behold Lord, I have left everything; but should my Lord really thank me for doing that which is expected of me? And what of my faith? Dare I believe that I truly believe? Have I really fallen to the ground and died? Am I still abiding alone?
Let Christianity congratulate itself with its programs and accomplishments. Let them marry and give themselves in marriage. Let them busy themselves in taking vain pictures. I detest all of it. Let them boast of their good deeds in exchange for commendations. While people who profess religion paint themselves in the same color as this God-hating world, I find it extremely difficult if not impossible in me to even begin to think of pointing the finger at my Master's servants now. "What is he to thee? Follow thou me", answers my Lord. I will not ask anymore. I abhor myself rather, and repent in dust and ashes.
Without God's grace, I am another Satan. Tis His hand that upholds me, preserves me, and comforts me. I see nothing in myself, I have nothing in myself. I will again go out as I am bidden, for great is the LORD's faithfulness. What good is my life if I do not use what remains of it to point people to the Savior? But I cannot bear to lift my head up anymore. There is nothing in this world to lift it up to. There is no one in this world to lift it up to. The world has no need of my mind. I turn my back to it. I turn to my God. The light of the glorious face of my Christ refreshingly shines on my soul and bids me come and drink freely at the fountain of God's grace, and that to me is sufficient. May this miserable worm take its last breath and perish at the foot of the cross.
LORD, strengthen me just this once and let me die.
I know this. The Spirit bears witness of Christ in me. Yet I utterly reject nor will I hold on anymore to the quip of one evangelist, 'You can't be a saved sinner. You're either saved or you're a sinner', for I will always be a sinner in this earthly vessel. Not that I live a double life or that I seek to sin, but never before has my nature been so openly revealed to me in such a light, that I despair for my soul, and see no hope, or a will to even continue on to God. My nature is what I am, and I am inclined towards sin helplessly until my demise. I am altogether confounded. I throw myself at the mercy of my God. He is just to judge me. He is just to withdraw mercy from me. My spirit is calloused, nay, leprous. Every vein, every bone. The very fiber of my innermost being, one despicable wretch worthy of the lowest chambers of the abyss. A conceited, heartless, thankless and unlearned hypocrite, who professes to know something of Christ, yet in truth I know not as I ought in this body. I strive to be holy, though I am not as holy as I ought to be. I yearn to pray more, but I do not want to pray as well. I want to know Christ more, yet I am often too tired to do so. I cannot even watch with my Lord as He prays for me. In this time of my affliction, I am brought ever so low to the dust, and see nothing worthy of attention in the world but the old and lonely cross of my Christ.
I love my Christ, yet I miserably fail Him. I deeply desire to be like Him, but I seek the impossible. I want to commune with Him, but I despise Him in prioritizing other concerns. Like Peter I say, Behold Lord, I have left everything; but should my Lord really thank me for doing that which is expected of me? And what of my faith? Dare I believe that I truly believe? Have I really fallen to the ground and died? Am I still abiding alone?
Let Christianity congratulate itself with its programs and accomplishments. Let them marry and give themselves in marriage. Let them busy themselves in taking vain pictures. I detest all of it. Let them boast of their good deeds in exchange for commendations. While people who profess religion paint themselves in the same color as this God-hating world, I find it extremely difficult if not impossible in me to even begin to think of pointing the finger at my Master's servants now. "What is he to thee? Follow thou me", answers my Lord. I will not ask anymore. I abhor myself rather, and repent in dust and ashes.
Without God's grace, I am another Satan. Tis His hand that upholds me, preserves me, and comforts me. I see nothing in myself, I have nothing in myself. I will again go out as I am bidden, for great is the LORD's faithfulness. What good is my life if I do not use what remains of it to point people to the Savior? But I cannot bear to lift my head up anymore. There is nothing in this world to lift it up to. There is no one in this world to lift it up to. The world has no need of my mind. I turn my back to it. I turn to my God. The light of the glorious face of my Christ refreshingly shines on my soul and bids me come and drink freely at the fountain of God's grace, and that to me is sufficient. May this miserable worm take its last breath and perish at the foot of the cross.
LORD, strengthen me just this once and let me die.
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