Running after Christ

“God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams!…In light of all this, here’s what I want you to do. While I’m locked up here, a prisoner for the Master, I want you to get out there and walk—better yet, run!—on the road God called you to travel. I don’t want any of you sitting around on your hands. I don’t want anyone strolling off, down some path that goes nowhere. And mark that you do this with humility and discipline—not in fits and starts, but steadily, pouring yourselves out for each other in acts of love, alert at noticing differences and quick at mending fences.” (The Message, Ephesians 3:20, 4:1–2)

As Francis Chan observes in Crazy Love, it is difficult to eat a box of Twinkies while running. He shares that the secret to defeating sins, to avoiding them, is to be constantly running towards Christ. Only when I slow down or stop or go down rabbit trails do I end up falling. I am hungry, and desperately thirsty, for Christ. I feel like I’m pursuing Him, like a game of tag, and every time I turn a corner, I catch a fleeting glimpse of Him up ahead. I see enough to know I’m on the right track, but before I can be really satisfied, He disappears around the next bend. I keep catching whiffs of heavenly glory, tasting the tidbits of His glory, but being kept from the full meal. I was pondering these things this morning and realized that my me-focus (what Tozer calls the “self-life”) is what keeps rearing up and blocking my view of Christ. God is there, and His love for me knows no bounds. But I keep letting myself get in the way. One minute I’m passionately chasing after God, and the next, I find myself waylaid into a pointless running after His gifts. The cares of this world, the maintenance of my overabundant possessions, the creeping anxieties, these all rise up over me like aggressive weeds and threaten to choke my soul. At times, I envy those saints who had nothing, because I feel that they had a better shot at finding their satisfaction in God than I do. But I realize that is not really the whole picture—the problem is not the thorns and thistles without but the monster within. My stuff, my worries, my outward problems are small and insignificant, and would, in fact, be powerless over me if it weren’t for the beast within me, the beast that is me, and is constantly getting in the way of knowing God. Realizing this makes me appreciate even more Christ’s command in Luke 9:23–24:

“If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it.”

My heart’s prayer is simple: “Lord, kill me daily. Tear out of my heart any desire for anything apart from You. Crucify those desires, those wants, those supposed needs. Remove these scales from my eyes, so that I may see clearly. I want to see you, to know you, and I care not what it takes to get there. Accomplish your work in my life.”