I can tell you from continuing experience that we never stop learning things about ourselves. The work of Christ illuminates that self-willed inner us and asks—again and again—what we intend to do about it.
Case in point. I was checking out several sites for an upcoming family photo shoot in our beautiful county on a recent Saturday. It was raining. It had been raining on and off for months. I’m not complaining, mind you, because drought conditions are still fresh in the collective memory of Californians, and we dare not complain lest a lack of gratefulness for rain results in—not enough rain. Again. So as I was driving in the rain, heading from a beautiful winery to a state park some miles away, I decided, while pulling onto the freeway, to see if there was a shorter route between the winery and the state park. Of course I needed to use Google maps on my phone—perched on its holder within easy reach. Simultaneously the thought crossed my mind, as I pulled onto the freeway in the rain, that it would be best to type in the desired destination while sitting quietly on the side of the road. Not surprisingly (to me, at least), a familiar inner voice suggested softly:
No need to take the time to pull over in this rainy mess, dear. You know where everything is on the screen. Just type it in quickly. Maybe slow down just a bit.
So I did. Because it was what I wanted to do. To save time in the rain. On the freeway. While driving.
Imagine my surprise when I glanced in the rearview mirror and saw what looked very much like the front of a CHP vehicle. Even though it has been a number of years since my last ticket, in that moment I realized that the successive sensations of disbelief, panic, higher insurance premiums, and, finally, resignation, have not changed. At all.
I pulled over, stopped, and reached into the glove compartment for registration and insurance while lowering the window on my side of the car. I heard a tap on the passenger side window and immediately rolled my eyes at myself. When I lowered that window a young man, looking to be about nineteen years old, greeted me. He asked where I was going. I said I was driving to Jack London State Park to check out venues for our family pictures, then inwardly winced at myself. Did he need to know about family pictures? All the while he’s glancing around the car and, thankfully, could see the telltale road map on my phone, which meant I was at least being truthful. “You were weaving a bit and I just wanted to make sure everything was all right. Can I see your driver’s license?” That was one thing in my disbelief, panic, higher insurance premiums, and resignation, that I had forgotten. I retrieved it and handed it over. “I’ll be right back,” he promised.
“How humanly typical you are,” I said to myself, sitting there by the side of the road in the rain. “You want to do this thing, you rationalize, convince yourself it will work out, no one will notice. You want to do what you want to do. And so you do. Here, dear, in this particular situation, are the consequences.”
It seemed like a long time before he reappeared. (Did I have a record about which I had forgotten?) Handing back my license, he delivered a kindly, richly-deserved warning, and returned to his cruiser.
Back on the freeway, I continued to ponder my folly. I might have caused an accident that ended badly in any number of ways. But the overriding of what I knew was the right thing to do bothered me. A few days before, I had been reading about the young man who comes running down the road, catches up to Jesus, kneels in the dust, and, in a kind of breathless beseeching, asks what he needs to do to have eternal life. According to Mark’s Gospel, he’s also a “ruler,” likely in the synagogue. Since he has addressed Jesus as “Good teacher,” he isn’t convinced of Jesus’ divinity, but does appears to be sincere, direct, observant of the Law, and outwardly moral. He is also extremely wealthy. Jesus, masterful at dealing with the root of anything, ultimately responds with the light of truth shining squarely on his love of wealth more than love of God.
Wealth, with its status, perks, and privileges is not to be interfered with in this particular heart. “I want,” he says by his response, “to inherit eternal life my way.”
Jesus and his disciples were blessed throughout those three-and-a-half years by folks with significant resources who gladly supported them. Mary, Martha, and Lazarus are good examples. The difference, of course, is what we esteem. And all of us, to some extent, esteem having our own way.
Our particular barrier to complete obedience likely looks very different than that of Mr. Rich Young Ruler. And we probably won’t just turn and walk away feeling sad. Sometimes it’s passive resistance: God loves me and he won’t mind. But this war with our will is lifelong and demands that we are vigilant—oh, so vigilant—even in the small things such as but everybody does it sometimes, typing on the phone while driving in the rain, moments.
No one, after all, will stand before the Great White Throne on That Day, singing, “I did it myyyyyyy waaaayyyy!”
In My Utmost for His Highest, Scottish evangelist Oswald Chambers wrote:
If we are saved and sanctified God guides us by our ordinary choices, and if we are going to choose what He does not want, He will check, and we must heed. Whenever there is doubt, stop at once. Never reason it out and say—’I wonder why I shouldn’t?’ God instructs us in what we choose, that is, He guides our common sense, and we no longer hinder His Spirit by continually saying—’Now, Lord, what is Thy will?’ (emphases mine)
Wise counsel, on the road and off.