I call myself Christian, but what is the difference between me and an atheist, or an agnostic, or someone of another belief system? Am I saying that what defines me is my Christianity, my beliefs, or is my identity shaped by grace--the inexplicable, unfathomable, incomprehensible, overwhelming, life-changing and unearnable gift that isn't contained in any belief system? This grace is articulated by the Christian belief system, but other belief systems, acknowledge it as well, often as a shadowy mystery that cannot be contained in an explanation. It is pointed to by the billions of lives who say they aren't religious, but who hunger for God's love.
My point is that when those who are Christian describe themselves as "believers" and others as "unbelievers" they are pointing to a belief system as the defining difference.  It is often said as if there is some insider privilege.
Frankly, to separate people on the basis of believers and unbelievers strikes me as ridiculous, as if the belief system is what matters. And if the belief system is what matters then we are operating by religious works rather than grace. That is the opposite of the humility that grace endows. If we are to divide people between believers and unbelievers I prefer to speak of "those who know God loves them despite all that is unlovable" and "those who do not yet know God loves them unconditionally." This difference is entirely about something that has been revealed to us. It isn't about something that puts us in a better position with God since God loves "the world." My religious knowledge (belief system) is valuable to me, but it only points to the gift, it isn't the gift.
And in seeing the difference as between "knowing" and "not knowing" God's love, my living is focused on being loved in such a way that my life points to the unconditional love God has for others, not in converting them to a belief system.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

I have come to view spiritual growth as catching up consciously with what God does for us in an instant. Those who have days and months and years to embrace and appropriate and acclimate themselves to the gift we are given by God are simply catching up to a reality that we are unable to see or recognize as we are still steeped in the swill of the world.
Spiritual growth is the process of shedding all the baggage we think we need, but in truth we don't. God equips us fully in an instant and the journey of the spiritual life is about discovering all that our hearts need and seek is already given to us.
Long ago I remember the revelation that as followers of Christ we have both arrived and are on our way into God's kingdom, that it is simultaneously true that we are there spiritually and we are on our way there spiritually. The notion of spiritual growth being a process of discovering what we have already received is simply a different view of this truth.
The erroneous notion about spiritual growth is that wherever we may be at any given time is all that we are, much like the temporal and spatial realities we experience as we are on a trip from one location to another. The difference, however, is that what cannot be experienced in time and space is the reality spiritually, because the physics of time and space are not limitations.
Another erroneous notion regarding our experience of spiritual growth is that wherever we may be at any particular moment is the furthest there is, that each stage of spiritual growth becomes the destination, when it should only be a way point.
The trouble this creates is stagnation and legalism--even for those who have grown beyond legalism, for they see the grays in black and white as they judge those who see in black and white.
The truth of spiritual growth is embraced most fully by the understanding that we have all we need, but we haven't a clue how rich it is. Each step we take reveals in greater glory the gift we already have received.

© 2016 Stephen Carl

There is something peculiar and ironic about becoming and being a Christian, a follower of Jesus Christ, one who acknowledges God's love for all of us. On the one hand, one's experience is often of warm fellowship, communion, and deep comfort that you are claimed and belong and are secure in God's mercy and deliverance. On the other hand, however, what happens if one persists in being a disciple, is that eventually one is metaphorically set out in the middle of a desert with a tiny canteen and a granola bar and a scrap of paper with the words "trust me" written on it in God's hand writing. After a time of wandering in different directions, the canteen is dry, the granola bar long gone, and the words on the scrap of paper fade or you lose the scrap altogether. The next part of the story isn't particularly pretty. There are a lot of puddles of scummy water you use to fill your canteen and all you find to eat is discarded chicken bones with most of the meat already gnawed off, first by people, then by whatever rodents might be fortunate to find them. Of course, the desert isn't really a desert, but a nice home in the suburbs, and the scummy puddles and gnawed chicken bones may actually be icy alcoholic beverages served poolside or ultra-purified artesian spring water, and six course meals by candlelight. That's because the challenge of trusting God absolutely can be a terribly difficult one to discern and recognize.  We are much more likely to come to trust when we have no alternatives or options. Though this option is effective and often necessary, it is not easy to be stripped of all alternative safety nets--especially because we have so many that we can't even inventory. The truth is, when we have whatever we may feel we need to feel secure (job, income, friends, family, money, insurance, health, the fellowship of the faith community, and a host of other good things), then articulating trust is as easy as ignoring the fact that we aren't really trusting.

Of course, one of the subtle lessons is that God's love and grace are not dependent on my ability to trust. What I have discovered, however, is that the more I trust (code for releasing my false securities), the richer my experience of God's grace becomes and the less insecure I feel.

© 2016 Stephen Carl