Psalms 51

I can be honest. I’m a skeptic of miracles and people “feeling the presence of God”. The Benny Hinn movement is partially responsible for my cynicism. I’ve heard the stories of people opening the bible and ‘randomly’ reading what they needed to hear, often I’ve wondered if they were reading into things they wanted to hear. I've always wondered if they were turning to parts of scripture that they knew already, then claiming 'divine revelation'.

Despite my criticism, last summer I experienced such a serendipitous experience. I’ve had a bookmark residing in the same spot in my bible ever since.
I felt weighed down by guilt and thrashed around by Satan during my wanderings in the spiritual wilderness of last summer. “Who am I really”, I wrote. “How could I ever be a spiritual leader when I hardly fight my sin? When I fail to struggle and give in to the silent voices bidding me to relax and wallow in my sin… I FEEL FAKE… Why am I not crushed by the weight of my sin? Why don’t I feel guilty?”

For one of the the first times in my life, God grabbed a chunk of scripture and slapped me in the face with it. Desperate, I opened my bible in search for something. I didn’t know what. BAM! The pages of my haggard old bible opened themselves to a passage I had never read before: Psalms 51. Words cannot express the feeling of reading that psalm, penned thousands of years ago by another man, another sinner, a fellow adulterer.

Psalms 51:1-4, 12-17

Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your unfailing love;
according to your great compassion
blot out my transgressions.
Wash away all my iniquity
and cleanse me from my sin.
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you are proved right when you speak
and justified when you judge.
________

v.12-17
Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.
Then I will teach transgressors your ways,
and sinners will turn back to you.
Save me from bloodguilt, O God,
the God who saves me,
and my tongue will sing of your righteousness.
O Lord, open my lips,
and my mouth will declare your praise.
You do not delight in sacrifice, or I would bring it;
you do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
a broken and contrite heart,
O God, you will not despise.

In the hour when I was looking into the dark cellar of my soul, I felt strangely closer to God than I do now. In my stagnant Christianity, I find the fleeting experience in chapel enough. I find my selfishness inoffensive, my pride enjoyable, and the worst of all: my apathy acceptable. I'm tired. Tired of the stress. Tired of being the example, the inglorious and unwanted authority, the pesky and ominous yet necessary evil. Despite this, I retreat. I enjoy the imagined sweetness of my broken cistern and not the true water.

I've been quite aware of my tenancy to draw from the mire rather than the water since I was saved. The last two years of my life have been some of the least enjoyable I've experienced thus far. I'm not complaining. I would much rather have the tormenting screams of the Holy Spirit rather than complacency, or even a dose of bliss brought on by ignorance. But really? I know God doesn't promise a lack of pain or some substantive regret, but why is it that now that I'm at a place where I have every reason to be running headlong yet I feel less close and less convicted than when I was in the wilderness?