This is a continuation of my previous post. After four years of living like a legalistic, modern-day Pharisee, I was exhausted, humiliated by failure, and desperate for freedom. Despite my good intentions, I had turned my life into a spiritual circus act. I followed as many rules as possible, only to discover that following the rules can’t make you holy – but rules can make you very aware of your sin (see my previous post).
This is a continuation of my previous post. Three years into college, I had done everything in my power to grow into the man evangelical Christianity wanted me to be. But I could never do enough, and the pressure was making me physically sick and leaving me with a sense of worthlessness.
This is a continuation of my previous post. The visiting evangelist paced back and forth, vigorously preaching the fear of the Lord. He had a microphone, but Lord knows he didn’t need one. He shouted at the packed room of petrified charismatics, denouncing a litany of sins – and not just the classic ones. He zeroed in on rebellious attitudes, careless words – and, yes, he even condemned those who engaged in “habitual mas-tur-bation!”
This is a continuation of my previous post. I nervously invited the two, attractive, college freshman girls to join me for lunch. I hardly knew either of them. After they put their yellow trays on the table, I took a deep breath and formally stated my intentions.
This is a continuation of my previous post. I began my journey into rabid, spiritual legalism during my freshman year of undergrad. I didn’t start out aiming to be a stress ulcer in the Body of Christ. I just wanted to get my life right with God, so I began praying that God would send along some friends who would help me live for Him.
This is a continuation of my previous post. I sat in the recliner uncomfortably watching Steve, my college pastor, flip through the channels. At 20-years-old, I was two years into a self-imposed, religious fanaticism that focused more on following rules than following Jesus. And Steve was violating one of the central tenets of personal holiness: thou shalt not watch non-Christian television [insert thunder and lightning here]. But I enjoyed spending time with Steve, so I bore with him as he watched TV (after all, it was his house). However, I did not – no, I could not – look at…
My wife owns the workout video series P90X, which features a hyper-fit, 50-year-old guy named Tony Horton. Tony has the face of a heavily Botoxed 39-year-old, the body of a 23-year-old, unnaturally black hair, and an annoying habit of referring to his adult audience as “boys and girls.” Go Tony.
In my recent article, “Time for a Breakup,” I wrote about the inability of many single men to maturely initiate with women. My theory is that a lot of men have a basic problem: they are already committed, and there’s simply no room for someone else. That is, many of these guys have ongoing, highly involved relationships with (1) their imaginary girlfriends, (2) their moms, or (3) their tag-along “friendgirls.” This article evoked more of a reader response that anything I have written up until this point, especially regarding my point about unhealthy, “friendgirl” relationships between men and women. Though…
Once in a blue moon, I end up in regular, close proximity to someone with a unique combination of characteristics which painfully grate on my nerves. Sometimes, these are people with whom I do my best to keep a distance; but other times, these are friends or family whom I welcome into my life with open arms, but clenched fists.
I remember the first moment I knew I loved my wife. We had been dating about a month and a half and, one day, we went to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier in Arlington National Cemetery to spend some time together.
In my early days of working out my faith, I was fully convinced that God had a big, long list of losers, a list He glared at daily. If these losers actually got into heaven, I figured, they would only have Him to thank, because it sure wouldn’t have anything to do with any their good deeds. I was relieved to know that I was not one of those losers.
I’ve made some seriously stupid mistakes, and I know I’m not alone. Remember that stupid thing you did that time? I’m not talking about your most embarrassing moment that makes for a cute story at a dinner party. I’m talking about that big kahuna mistake, the one that could take you down if you ever ran for public office.
Ask anyone what their prayer life is like, and they will probably respond with a sentence that has the word “should” or “ought” or “could” in it somewhere. “I should probably spend more time in prayer.” “I probably ought to do better about spending time with God.” “I could definitely pray more regularly.”
Joshua Rogers 