Over the last two months, I've found that Sundays tend to be emotional for me. I go to church and find myself confronted with Leviticus and what God expected back in the "olden days." What is great for us on this side of the coin is that everything in the law defined in Leviticus has been satisfied; it all points to Jesus and as my pastor says, if you don't understand Leviticus, you don't fully appreciate Jesus. Makes sense.
It's that darn law that kills me. I know Jesus defines me, I know it's been done. Intellectually I know this. However, I can't sit in that service though without realizing the depths of my sin. The judgement I harbor. The desire to look outwardly and make fun of others rather than inwardly and seeing what I am. The desire to be in control. The desire to lie, cheat, make idols, lust, undermine, expect too much, it's all there.
Sometimes I just want to run. Run run run from myself. It's not about running from the responsibilities, that's something I can "do" and accomplish and use to make myself feel better than others. It's about wiping the slate clean and starting over and trying for that second chance at making it right like I mentioned in my angry phase. The thing is, I can't. I can't, I just can't. We're not meant to make it right. Yes, we're meant to have infinite chances with the God of the universe - with a contrite heart, I think. But not with the people here. We don't have infinite chances with others. How depressing. But still...for believers I suppose that's the point? Here is not our home. Here is littered with the scabby, slovenly, sad, sin-filled messes we've created. I can't even properly love my servant-hearted mostly deaf arthritic mother, for pete's sake.
Total depravity? Oh, yeah.
