A mere recognition of one’s sin is insufficient for salvation. Because we are saved by faith, through grace, I have a hard time understanding how one could believe in faith and be a recipient of grace, yet consider these as one would the contractual terms of an agreement. It is the very act of grace that compels and drives me to give my entirety to God.
I know that I have chosen the proverbial “road less traveled,” but how could I not? To believe that the only thing separating a believer from an unbeliever is the verbal terms of a prayer -- this is misconceived at best, and heresy at its worst. Grace is much more than God’s willingness to “look past” my sin. Grace is God’s deep and mysterious love provoking Him to resist serving the wages that I deserve -- and I deserve to die!
I didn't always understand my faith in this way. From the point of recognition and “the prayer of salvation” in 1992, I assumed that I was saved, and I wasn't too concerned with how I lived from that point forward. But scripture reveals to me that salvation is an ongoing action: that we are being perfected into the image of our Maker. I soon realized, I could not reflect the image of a God that I did not know.
I made a late decision to attend Bethel College in the fall of 1997. I was hardly a beacon of light for the Kingdom, but something (His Spirit) was calling me forth. I previously had every intention of attending a state school for journalism -- in choosing Bethel, I made a cognitive compromise. I told God that I would go, but as an Education major. I won’t describe the misery that accompanied my “compromise,” Needless to say, as I followed His hand, I was directed where He wanted me.
During the first full week of school, I made a special effort to know all of the people (i.e. girls) that could help me gratify my fleshly desires and soothe my insecurities. I became a favorite of the older female RAs, which gave me credence when I became interested in one of the girls on their floor. It was one of these RAs that invited me over to Shupe Hall for an evening prayer meeting.
My roommate went with me, and we entered the lounge expecting a mixed bag of motivations; a co-ed prayer meeting in a female dormitory will bring all sorts of guys out of the woodwork. God showed up instead. During our casual prayer, one spirit-led student felt it necessary to pray around the building and claim His territory. We did a “Jericho march” around Shupe while singing songs of praise. Gradually, more students began to join us -- the initial prayer group of fifteen grew to about fifty.
After deciding to do the same around the freshman guys dorm, we ended up out front -- instead we were led into a time of confession. As a few of us began to confess lifelong struggles with sin, a repentant heart was shared by the entire group, and the Holy Spirit began manifesting His power. [Bear in mind, the Missionary Church is one of those “we recognize the gifts, because scripturally we kind of have to, but if we focus on the likelihood of their abuse, we won‘t have to deal with them“ sort of denominations.] That night, in the presence of God and His people, I was filled with His Spirit and was claimed as His.
My initial struggle was understanding how identify with the world I had associated with for so long. Like Isaiah in chapter 6, I had seen the holiness of my God, and could do nothing else but give Him my life. Why He chose me in that place, at that time, I’m unsure. I must trust that He intimately understood the details of my call. But as He began to speak to me, giving me the ability to discern between that which is good and evil, I resisted this burden.
I looked around and saw my fellow Christians continuing to live their lives the way that I had before. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t get back to that place: to laugh, to indulge in entertainment, to crack jokes that would make me accepted and the center of attention. It was if my personality had been changed overnight. And yet, because I saw my former life around me, I felt as if I was all alone in the transformation.
Over the next four years, it gradually grew “worse.“ People continued to ask what was wrong. They wondered about my mood swings: how could I go from old Anthony one minute into contemplative, burdened Anthony the next? I attempted to reason it out through counseling. But I could not erase from my mind or spirit that which I had seen and heard from the Lord. It was this holy discontent that led me to search for an explanation -- if being aware of the truth only made me miserable, why would He give me this “gift“?
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