Walking Worthy

“It is the path of humility and self-denial that leads to healing and spiritual maturity. It’s the decision to make another’s well-being more important than your own, even when that person has brought you great sorrow.” – John Bevere

Sorrow.

I find an inexplicable depth in those two syllables. More than a mere sadness that resides on the surface, easily swept away like dust, sorrow is a deep, quiet, yet dependable reminder of absence. Buried in my bones, awakened only when acknowledged, but unlike the things it constantly reminds me of, it itself is never lost.

Sorrow. Gifted by many, requested by none.

It is the “many” that come to mind when dissecting Bevere’s statement. Each name and face, what they did, what they took, how much it hurt, and how little they deserve from me, if anything at all.

How quickly sorrow gives way to resentment.

It’s easy.

Sorrow was never meant for us to have and to hold till death do us part yet, somehow, we find ourselves in a sacred covenant with misery. We would say we do not wish to define ourselves by the wrongs done to us but the truth is, we’re tired. For those who bring us great sorrow often gift us great weariness as well.

Weariness dilutes purpose, blurring the lines between what happened to us and what limits us. In order to make sense of why we are not where we think we should be, we revise “should be” into “would be if not for...” and then list every name and subsequent action that shoved us into this miserable hole.

Here, purpose no longer writes our stories; weariness does.

It’s here that we learn to justify our hate. It’s not our fault we’re tired, it’s theirs. It’s not our fault we’re stuck, it’s theirs. They need to apologize. They need to make things right. They need to give back what was never theirs to take. Until they do, we cannot be all that we were meant for, and because they don’t, they are the bane of our existence and deserving of our hostility.

It makes sense. It really does. But the decision to justify our hate cannot coincide with our decision to heal, nor a claim to spiritual growth. Because it’s not how we were called. We are called to walk worthy.

Cool. Worthy of what?

This is an important question. The answer we give not only defines our call but dictates the sobriety in which we accept it. Worthy denotes a sense of standard and value set by the one who gives it. That one, having earned the authority to make such a claim.

So. Worthy of what? Worthy of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.

I’m jaded by the amount of religiosity that surrounds this Gospel. I’m convinced we humans eagerly exchange grace for earned keep because we fail to see the sorrows we ourselves have caused. If we truly knew how often we dig the holes we mourn we would be far less likely to measure out and compare our individual goodness and much more likely to cry out in desperate gratitude to the only One whose goodness never lacks.

Instead, we wreak havoc on ourselves and each other, insistent we reclaim our dignity by denying theirs. We make those who hurt us our enemies, justifying our hate by our hurt. But hate does not heal. We might call our recovery self-love, but by what standard and whose expense?

So then, what to do? How do we walk worthy in light of the sorrow we carry?

We refuse to pay back evil with more evil. We hate what is wrong, hold tightly to what is good, and find joy in honoring others. We don’t just pretend to love others. We really love them. We choose to act in such a way that everyone who watches sees we are honorable, doing all we can to live in peace with everyone. When times are hard, we don’t curse those who mistreat us, we are patient and we pray that God will bless them. We never take revenge ourselves, but leave it to the righteous anger of God. Instead, if our enemies are in need, we help them. For we are not to be overcome by evil, but to overcome evil with good.

Before you call the plagiarizing police that was Romans 12:9-21 NLT summarized. Go ahead and fact check me on it. There’s no way I made that up on my own. The idea of handing over my hurt to God and going out of my way to bless the ones who hurt me is almost comical and definitely unsupported by my natural instinct. Must be God.

And it is.

Galatians 5 tells us how contrary the Spirit of God is to our human flesh. The spicy side of me says I’ll throw my hair up in bun and remove my earrings before showing you what’s up (assuming we are the same size). The realistic side of me quietly withers away into a miserable puddle of “how could you’s” soothing my aching heart with embittered hostility. Neither is correct, or even helpful for that matter. But anything more holy requires an empowerment from the Holy Spirit Himself.

But that’s the thing about God. Everything He calls us to, He equips us for. If we’re willing.

And that’s the thing about life. We always have a choice. Maybe not in what breaks us, but in if and how we piece ourselves back together.

I still find myself, without method or conscious decision, mourning the silent tragedies of my heart. The harder the hit, the harder it is to forget. But it is not mine to hold on to. It is mine to get rid of all bitterness, anger, and rage, trading what kills for what heals – kindness, compassion, and forgiveness, just as God, through Jesus, forgave me (Ephesians 4:31-32).

This isn’t easy. As Bevere says, “it is a trail that leads to humiliation and abasement.”

But.

“It is the road that leads to life.”

Colossians 1:9-10. Colossians 2:6-8. Ephesians 4:1-3. Ephesians 4:17-31. Ephesians 5:1-2. Ephesians 5:8-9. Philippians 1:27. 1 John 2:5-6. 1 Thessalonians 2:12. 1 Thessalonians 4:1.

2 Thessalonians 1:11.