Okay. Despite what I told myself I would never do, the blog is back. Before I explain, I ask you grant me the slack to sound judgmental and perhaps a bit dick-ish. You have my word that I will bring the conviction-hammer down on myself near the end. I digress.

When I returned from South Africa, I found myself discouraged at the caliber of Christian by which I was surrounded. My skin itched from the lukewarm water in which I found myself wading. In prison, via the inmates and the people I had the blessing to work with, I encountered the type of faith that moved mountains; the type that people were willing to stake their lives on and happily die for, knowing that the gates of heaven laid before them.

As is a theme of my life, I choose to dance with the greatest of my personal demons; the voice of the critic. The voice of the critic is one that whispers comparisons in your ear, disguising the insecurities it creates as self-betterment. It is the voice that reminds you how far you have to go and how insignificant the little victories really are. I fought to match the faith of such men as Maxwell Benjamin and Andrew May and by God, that pursuit changed my life. In my mimicry of them, I encountered the spirit of what it means to live for faith and the reckless abandonment of ones security in exchange for just a glimpse into the greatness of God.

My point is that for 6 months, comparing my faith to those around me pushed me further and further into the life that God has in store for me. Unfortunately, the waltz didn’t cease when I returned to the States. I found myself nose deep in notebooks and study guides and when I looked up, I no longer saw the type of faith that moved mountains. I saw the fragility of a college faith. I saw faiths that, I thought, were incapable of understanding what I had been witness to.

There was a shift, from the type of man who was ready to die for his faith (quite literally) to the docile faith of those unwilling to take a biblical stance on sex before marriage. The people I’m talking about are the people who are oh so very concerned with being called a “christian” because they dont think the world really understands christianity and dont want to be associated with bigots and racists. I have no quarrel with this fear, in fact its one I myself have struggled with greatly. What I have a problem with is their willingness to stand by, with no fire in their hearts to see Christ represented accurately to the world. Rather than going into the world and fighting to see Gods love and grace recognized and”to their loss they are crucifying the Son of God all over again and subjecting him to public disgrace”. They lay content in their Tuesday services and with “Church Leadership” to put on their resumes.

This is what I returned to. This is what I was comparing myself to as I let the voice of the critic roam free in my head. And what do we as humans do when we (naively) believe we are winning a race? We slow down. We cut back on our disciplines and tell ourselves “Hey buddy… theres no reason to be working so hard. You’ve got this in the bag”.

Theres the long standing joke, that once you get married you can let yourself go because you no longer need to compete. The game is over. The race is won. When I returned from South Africa, I let myself go. No, I didn’t pick up any destructive habits or flee from God, I just slowed down. If no one else is running this fast, why should I? I let go of my disciplines and I grew sluggish in my pursuit of truth.

And that brings us here. As I write this, I cringe at the arrogance I see dripping off of my own words. In my self created storm of pity and feelings of isolation, I allowed myself to write off those around me.

Two days ago, I left a conversation with a ex professor of mine and his closing words to me where simple. “Dan…” he said, looking over his shoulders as paused midway up the stairs “Keep the faith”.

“Finish the race” I responded, with a grin on my face.

Im writing this blog because Ive done a shitty job of keeping the faith and I certainly have yet to finish my race. I allowed myself to forget that the kingdom of God arrives on a road paved in love and grace and that it is these things that “make straight the path for the lord”.

This is my race.

Until I may be taught again,

D.M.