Becoming like the Messiah is so hard, though! I mean, we have the sinful nature that wars against our transformation into people who are like God in nature, people who model the life of Christ’s selfless, serving, sacrificial, and kind love. We are, in our hearts, selfish, greedy, and indifferent people, enslaved to our lusts and desires: they enchain us. Even though these chains are broken as the blood of Christ drenches them (just as acid tears through steel, so Christ’s blood tears through the chains and snaps them), so that we are no longer enslaved and under the control of our sinful nature, we still bow down to it and submit to its lashings. I think this is what Paul spoke of in Romans 7.

I look at my own life and I see how unlike Christ I am. I see all the selfishness, greed, and indifference that saturates my life. But at the same time, I hear God calling me to a “higher life,” a life that reflects Him as the reflecting pool reflects the Washington Monument (quite a good analogy, since I’m actually writing this from my hotel room in D.C.!). “But how?!” is the question I ask. I don’t think transformation into a creature who reflects God’s nature and the life of Christ is something we force ourselves into; I don’t think we simply examine the attributes of the Divine and wear them as a jacket, pretending to be like Christ (didn’t the Pharisees do this in their pursuit of righteousness, in being like their God?). Rather, I think true transformation comes from the inside-out. God is the one who does the changing. As we bathe in Him, He enters into our hearts and rebuilds them, and our actions (manifestations of the heart) show this to be true. So I could simply look at the teachings of Jesus and try to emulate them, or I could look at the teachings of Jesus, fall onto my knees, and cry out, “God, change me!” Because though, I believe, we have an important role to play in spiritual transformation, it is an error to believe that God is just sitting in heaven saying, “Get things together.” It is also as erroneous to say that we can just sit around hoping for spiritual transformation to fall into our laps.

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Dad and I went to a McDonald's today, and while we were there, a homeless man (or one claiming to be homeless) asked for money. As I walk the streets of D.C., I am always coming across people who are asking for money. I experience a tug-of-war within me: the compassionate part of me says, "Yes, give the poor guy some money," but the other side of me--perhaps a cynical side--says, "No. He's just going to use it on alcohol or booze, or he's just scamming you." So what do I do? I did some thinking today, and it's quite simplistic (in my mind). See, I don't think Jesus went around, evaluated peoples' hearts, and then decided whether or not to heal them. We see accounts of Jesus healing entire villages and communities of people, and one look outside our window (or, better yet, into ourselves) shows that having a community of heart-healthy individuals is impossible. But Jesus healed them anyway! He healed people even when he knew they would not follow him. He lavished his love on them anyway. I may not know what the homeless man is going to do with a buck or two, but I don't think I can let my cynicism drown out my compassion.