“Dear God, I cannot love Thee the way I want to.
You are the slim crescent of a moon that I see
And my self is the earth’s shadow that keeps me from seeing all the moon…
I do not know you God, because I am in the way.”
~Flannery O’Connor, A Prayer Journal
Flannery O’Connor’s personal writings show a heart that longs for intimacy with God. Her initial entries, however, reflect feelings of failure. As a Catholic, she knew traditional prayers but noted, “I have been saying them and not feeling them. My attention is always very fugitive.”
One particular phrase caught my attention. She asked God what He really wanted from her, hoping to avoid the pitfalls of “scrupulous nervousness” and “lax presumption.” I believe countless people of faith either live in one mindset or the other. Or worse, they ping-pong between the two.
Think about it for a moment. Does the Christian life feel like a perpetual labyrinth, requiring constant attention to avoid a wrong turn or falling into a hole? Do we have to keep some sort of perfect equilibrium to get through the minefield of carnal life and finally win the pleasure of God?
Or do we compartmentalize our faith into something we do on Sundays? Does our prayer life boil down to “Help!” in times of urgency? Still, we’ve been baptized and know the Scriptures, and occasionally give a dollar to that guy on the street corner. So we’re set.
Is God breathing down our necks and wagging a finger? Or is He off in the distance, giving us an occasional thumbs up? Of course, neither image characterizes God.
I closed O’Connor’s book and felt a wave of gratitude. For years now, I have been free from the shadows of condemnation. As I describe in my book—being under condemnation feels like God is constantly disappointed with you. You come up short every day and say with resolve, “I’ll try harder tomorrow.” You spend hours baking cherry pies only to find out that God really prefers apple.
Somewhere on my long journey of faith, I discovered that freedom from condemnation is not presumption.Continue reading