Like Jonah.

Once again I am reminded that I live for You Lord, and not You for me.

I attended Prayer & Praise for the first time tonight. After arriving 15 minutes late to find that I had been locked out of the premises, I drove back home. On route, I decided to phone a fellow student to ask if I had, perchance, been mistaken as to the details; was Prayer & Praise in fact on a Tuesday night? was I entreating entrance at the proper door? was I too late to participate? was there word of my arrival, and did someone decide to cancel last minute as a result?

In actuality, I had not been mistaken. I had ascertained the time, date and location. I had also forgotten my campus elevator key.

And since I was on my home anyway, I madly searched after it. And once attaining the key, I promptly returned to the campus, nearly 30 minutes late.

Once I arrived and had gained entrance to the facility, I immediately chose the path of least resistance and sat in the first available seat. Singing had commenced and I was unsure of what direction the worship service would take. So I remained silent. And quite penitent.

Knowing none of the songs that were being sung, nor any of the students seated near me, I believe that I engendered a posture as awkward as my emotional state had suggested. But I decided to maintain a spirit of worship nonetheless.

And as worship came to a close, a student arose to speak. The topic was “God of the City” and the monologue was a colloquial summary of the life of Jonah. And that’s when it happened.

He spoke in hushed tones about the anger that arose in Jonah’s spirit; about the contempt for “lessers” and “sinners” and those whom Jonah looked down upon. He pointed out the hardness of Jonah’s heart that caused him to deny God’s imperative. He spoke of the city of Everett and likened it to Ninevah. He said that God’s spirit dwells with drug dealers and prostitutes and those who are homeless. He then spoke of the apostle Peter and said that we get to share in Peter’s revelation. He said that Peter was told through a dream that God did not look downward upon the “unclean” with disgust; rather, it was God’s desire that Peter see them as God did, as “being made clean.”

And as the lesson came to a close and singing once again began, my heart broke. I am still uncertain why, or even what. But something in my heart broke.

The words resounded in my heart, “Holy, Holy, Holy Is The LORD GOD ALMIGHTY.” And like the sounding of a massive bell, the sounding of my heart grew in intensity; the presence of God overwhelmed me; my heart melted like wax within me.

Tears and mucus began to flow in embarrassing quantities. Part of me was ashamed at the unrighteous state of my heart. I have always loved Jesus, but have always failed Him. I have always despised my own nature.

I remember praying aloud that God take my hands and use them for His purposes. I raised up open hands before Him and chose to bless His name; I chose the path of stewardship and integrity, no matter what pain accompanied it.

I remember feeling God’s love in a way that I had not experienced for too long. I might have served to resemble a righteous man in deed, but my heart was shamefully far from Him. I felt reminded of Joseph’s success as second-in-command of Egypt at the cost of his every thing. I felt reminded that Joseph emptied himself of his self and practiced the presence of God. I felt reminded in prayer of the words that John the Baptist coined: “[Jesus] must increase, but I must decrease.”

And as I poured my heart out, the words came. “I will become even more undignified than this.” So was it pride? Was it arrogance? Was it a form of malignant narcissism or glorified self-perception? I cannot say for certain. But I can assert with authority that my heart became prostrate and my spirit contrite within me. My sense of “me” was replaced with a sense of “Him.”

In God’s presence I am woefully aware of my unrighteous standing before Him. And it causes me an almighty amount of pain. Though if given the option between experiencing a closeness with God marked with an overriding sense of blistering moral inadequacy, or a great distance from God in which there exists a vacuum devoid of feeling whatsoever, I will choose pain every time. The presence of God is all I have; I would do nothing to have it removed.

And as the evening came to a close, I found myself walking towards the street corner and then waiting at a red light. Waiting. And as the other students passed me by, I felt a strong desire for the closeness of community; for one of them to reach out to me in some way. Yet I turned my face towards the red light. Waiting.

Waiting.

And as I waited, a wind swirled around me. “Your love is a hurricane; I am the tree.” The feeling of searing loneliness was met by the humbling and devastating love of my Lord and Savior. I diminished. He increased. And once again, Lord, I am reminded that I exist for You. And You desire me. And that is what love is when it is complete.