Every fall, I spend a few days alone in a hotel room somewhere recalibrating my life. I slip away from the chaos of 21st century existence to strengthen the spiritual center I need so desperately to survive.
On each of these occasions, I write down what it is I think my life is supposed to be about – as a follower of Jesus, a human being with relational and intellectual needs and potential, a husband, father, friend, spiritual leader, and servant to my neighborhood, community, and world. I revisit values and set goals for another year of (hopeful) progress as a person of faith.
It starts with a single phrase, intended to guide all I am and do. That phrase has been refined over several years until it has become:
To know God and reveal what I’ve discovered of him to others.
That is why I believe I’m on the planet. And although the language may differ, it’s why I believe you are as well.
The trouble is I’m finding this “knowing God” thing trickier than I’d assumed it would be. It’s one thing to type it up as a lofty principle and aim; arranging my life around it has proven more elusive. Sometimes I feel like I’m getting closer to understanding; at other times, I realize I’m laughably distant – as if knowing God were London and I’m stuck somewhere in South America trying to figure out what went wrong.
And yet I want to know him. It’s a deep and persistent passion. So how can an ordinary guy like me – and an ordinary person like you – know God?
It seems to me that at the heart of such a deep connection lies a profound exclusivity. Knowing God means a decision to pursue him to the potential neglect of anything or anyone else.
And this is where we stumble.
The apostle Paul put it this way: everything else is worthless when compared with the infinite value of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord (Philippians 3:8 – NLT).
To know God I have to begin with a willingness to know nothing else with any lingering loyalty. To place him above all and before all. It means that, For his sake I have discarded everything else, counting it all as garbage, so that I could gain Christ.
Perhaps the reason I end up somewhere else other than the hoped-for destination of knowing God is because I allow my attention – and devotion – to be distracted by something else.
The success I’m tempted to pursue outside of Christ.
The religion I’m duped into thinking will save me.
The pleasure I’m sure I deserve in return for all the sacrifices I’ve made.
The fantasy life no one else knows I’m engaging in.
Like Paul, I want to know Christ. And to know him is to seek him exclusively, to the disregard of all other priorities.
Do you know him?
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