excursus

I wrote this on my notebook a few days ago. But it's not about the Ambassadors program, nor about the first few days of my summer vacation. It's about a far more pressing matter that I need you to be informed about. After all, said one good friend, Christianity is inevitably corporate.

I'm having chest pains.

My heart, ever the desire factory, has been churning out nothing but putrid sludge for the past few weeks. What's worse, there's nothing that I can do about it. I watch helplessly while my own filth threatens to drown me. My heart is hidden in a crevice too deep that's out of reach from my mind's prying hands.

It is impossible to force my fickle heart to love what it despises and despise what it loves. What a tragic discovery this is! I just can't make myself like what I loathe. Desire, hatred, rage, delight -- they are all unpredictably spontaneous. They are the tide on the shores of my psyche.

And so it is with my feelings for Him. I don't desire God right now.

I'd rather be a post-doctoral research fellow in Johns Hopkins, studying cellular and molecular immunology, than be with God. Let alone be a missionary in the steaming jungles of New Guinea, sharing the "Good News" ("What's so good about it anyway?" I ask myself derisively) to a posse of natives who are about to butcher me for dinner.

I don't desire God.

I'd rather enjoy a good laugh watching Raven's antics on Disney channel than sit down and have my quiet time. All those tiny meaningless words on those fragile brown pages of my Bible put me to sleep faster than a handful of Ambien pills.

I hate God. I hate the Light because He reveals my darkness.

I know I deserve to be cast into the deepest pits of hellfire for forsaking Him, the most beautiful and perfect Person that ever was or will be, for something as cheap as a temporary A on my college transcript. Or a three-second high. Or a few extra dollars on my allowance.

And yet, I don't feel remorse, even though I'm still helplessly groping in this dark chasm. Oh, how dead and blind I am not to realize my plight! How wretched, weak and sinfully guilty! Lord, I believe, help my unbelief!