Learning To Love Jesus More Than I Love To Write About Him

A Confession

Christ Praying on the Mount of Olives, 1500. Unterlinden Museum, France. Public Domain.

For years, I’ve desired to teach about Jesus more than I’ve desired the person of Jesus. It took, and continues to take, much self-reflection to figure out why. I attended seminary part-time for four years, and throughout my studies, I hardly read the Bible devotionally. Not because my confidence in God was dwindling—quite the opposite, actually—and not because I didn’t want to. I loved learning about the historical context of Scripture and the martyrs. I enjoyed reading the Church Fathers and wanted to understand how they explained Christian doctrine. The Roman Empire was my Roman Empire. Writing about all that I learned was fun, and, in fact, I wrote for enjoyment in addition to my assignments. My newfound knowledge further compelled me toward Christianity and to grow closer to Jesus. But I hardly grew closer to Him. I stopped at the knowledge and didn’t enter the sanctuary of His presence.

I avoided God in part because of pretty awful circumstances. You can read more about my miscarriage, brain surgery, and epilepsy here. However, that was not the only thing that drew me away from the Lord. I saw the Holy Spirit acting in my life, and though I doubted while pondering the problem of evil and suffering, and acknowledging my health might kill me, what I learned was exciting, and I loved the idea of it drawing me closer to God. It did, in fact, deepen my confidence in God’s goodness. And yet…not my faith. Why didn’t I feel closer to God?

I continued to write and sought to publish my articles. I wanted people to read what I wrote, often because I am deeply insecure about not being taken seriously. I also wanted people to be excited alongside me, growing in their faith as they saw the narrative of God’s redemption in the Bible. But I cared more about encouraging others than about God encouraging me.

I often feel far from God. My old philosophy professor gave me a frustrating analogy that I have found to be true in my life. When you sleep train an infant, you leave her in the crib to practice self-soothing. Not forever, of course. But for those few minutes, you stand outside the door; you wait for her to learn; you give her love by letting her wrestle through the momentary suffering. Sometimes, I’ve wrestled with God in this way. But more often than not, it isn’t because He is putting me in the crib. It is because I am putting myself in the crib and thinking about God’s goodness rather than calling out to Him to show it to me.

And so I started to ask for that goodness. Most mornings, I spend time outside on my porch and stare at the lake. I pray, I read, I listen. Then I legitimately restrain myself from sharing what I hear during prayer with others because I know I need to receive encouragement solely for myself. The Gospels don’t record exactly what Jesus prayed when He left the disciples alone. However, I sometimes share about my time alone—we are not called to grow our faith on the porch by ourselves. We belong to one another. Our faith isn’t just our own. But the porch is now my sanctuary, a place to encounter the Holy Spirit. I want to enjoy God so that I can encourage others authentically to do so as well.

I will continue to write, but I pray it comes from a place of a cup that has been filled rather than dumped out by my own doing. So if I disappear periodically, now you know why.