Lenten Journey to Return to Our Calling: The Point of It All (Week 5)

Reflection by David Lai

Education Team Leader

In the evangelical church culture where I came to faith, I remember being encouraged to become a strong Christian. There’s a lot of ways this came across, but perhaps the most iconic way was the VBS song “Milk:”

Milk

Drink the milk

Eat the Word

And get stronger

Mr. Postman sent to me

A copy of the Bible

I read the Bible to get stronger

I can’t stop any longer

And like this song suggests, I was taught that one became strong in faith through daily disciplines: daily Bible reading, verse memorization, prayer, and church attendance. Strength also meant holding firm to one’s convictions: while weak or backsliding Christians might give in to peer pressure, faith would naturally guide the strong to make good, Bible-based decisions. They would be the ones that would stay pure and avoid temptation and immorality. 

And to my young self’s credit, I kept up these habits through high school even despite a few crises of faith. However, when my grandmother fell seriously ill my sophomore year in undergrad, I stopped enjoying most of these traditional daily practices. I wasn’t encountering God in daily devotionals, none of the verses I had memorized helped me make sense of anything, church became an obligation more than anything else. My faith was damaged: I would say then that while I knew all the right things, I struggled to find much joy in God.

The notable exception was prayer: that did help, and I found comfort through that time that all this was okay. And the more I sensed things were wrong, the more willing I was to try new approaches and give up old ways. One thing that I eventually threw away was pursuing strength in faith: rather than embracing discipline, I instead emphasized enjoying God in freedom. I had learned through those years that God doesn’t desire me to be strong in faith so that only then I can be used for His purposes: rather, God desires me to be rooted in the certainty that I am loved and called to love others regardless. 

I bring all this up because this week’s readings highlight a similar tension between obligation and freedom. While my high school understanding was that I was still responsible for my own growth, Brueggemann instead emphasizes that God is the main character in all our stories, including mine. God is the one that, in the midst of empire, reminds the exiles that he can provide strength “like eagles renewed.” God calls us not to live in fear of the world’s corruption – because that leads people to “use too much energy on protection of self” – but rather live unafraid lives that naturally will lead toward advocating for others. God is the one that brings about miracles unimaginable to us, like geriatric Abraham and Sarah conceiving Isaac. God is even the one that chooses to forget the wrongs and harms we have done to Him and to creation so we can live in freedom from fear. 

We are, then, to pursue God’s presence over our own strength. Brueggemann notes that churches can distort this and insist instead on pursuing wealth and power and influence, all in the name of making an impact upon the world. But if God is truly omnipotent, then God can use ordinary lives for His purposes just as much if not more. More than knowledge and church attendance, what God desires is a simple “yes, I will” in faith rather than a “yes, but:” this answer animates the everyday miracles that keep food kitchens and hospitals open. 

And so the point of it all, ultimately, is not becoming strong but communing with God. This is what both Psalm 73 and the Prodigal Son – two stories I never bothered to connect before – surprisingly share in common. The first story puts into song a sharp envy of the world, which seemingly prospers despite its lack of respect to God; while the younger son in the parable gets the rare chance to experience the idealized version of that life with inherited wealth. In both stories, though, there’s a sea change: the Psalmist experiences God in the church, where he realizes (vs. 25–26):

Whom have I in heaven but you?

    And there is nothing on earth that I desire other than you. 

My flesh and my heart may fail,

    but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

And of course, the Prodigal Son’s wealth does eventually run out, and when he’s destitute and in need, he finally “comes to his senses:” remembering that he remains “a beloved son of the father.” 

Reflection Questions:

• What faith practices spark joy for you? 

• Have you ever felt insufficient in faith, or too weak? What was the answer you heard during those moments? Was that helpful? 

• What does it mean to live out freedom in faith?