It was incriminating to realize that He who had given so much occupied so small a shelf in my life. In the quiet courtroom of my heart, I was suddenly the defendant... The questions were indicting. What had I been doing in seminary?
Had I been learning how to live my life, or had I simply been learning how to use my gift?
What had I been pursuing those four years? A Savior, or simply a skill?
Had I been reading the Bible the way Van Gogh's sister read books, "to borrow therefrom the force to stimulate my activity"?
Had I read it, searching for principles, to make my life in some way more successful?Or had I read it, as Van Gogh had read his books, searching for the man who wrote it?
Had I read it, searching for promises, to make my life in some way more safe?
Had I read it, searching for proof texts, to give certainty to my own faith or make it more defensible to others?
Had I read it, searching for preaching material, because that was my job?
Had I read it, searching for power, for whatever reason?
(Ken Gire, Windows of the Soul, 172-173)
I've totally been Van Gogh's sister a thousand times.
No comments:
Post a Comment