The Echo of Guilt

Recently the thought occurred to me that there might be a moral to the failures of my recent past.

The dreams of a young man are like unto weeds. They grow quickly, choke out fruit-bearing growth, and, if left for a season, are nigh impossible to kill.

As soon as the thought took root, I was offended by it. From whence did this thought come. My imagination took flight with the trite image of an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other. It was indicative of the fact that I am, of late, conflicted with myself in the broadest of terms. I had constructed a grand vision. It had failed. I was/am confused.






I could reject the thought, naming it Faithless, and re-commit myself to my values. I could ignore the critics. I could take on the mantle of a prophet. I could make myself a martyr, bearing witness to the transcendent. I could always just try harder. After all, the vision didn't fail because it was inherently flawed. It failed because I am human; because we are human.


But, and I'm just spit-balling here, if I were to place a bet on this contest, I wouldn't put much money on myself. Striving for objectivity, I would admit that there hasn't been one time when the gymnastics of self-help has really produced much result. To try to commit myself again would require that I am a different person committing myself. Otherwise, it would come to the same result. Thus, any repetition of commitment must emerge from a changed self, and to that I must remain passive, receptive, childlike. Trying to grow up only leads to shallow roots and a spindly stem, bending and breaking in the wind, pliant to the crowd of weeds.


Or, I could accept the thought, naming it Faith, and resign myself to the necessity of the practical. I could listen, for once. I could take on the mantle of a gardener. I could make myself a mother, bearing witness to the momentous. I could take it easy, and rest. Perhaps the vision was flawed. Perhaps I suffer from a common ailment of our times, an over-realized eschatology. Perhaps I am a perfectionist in need of the Gospel. Perhaps it failed because I'm not God; because we're not God.


But, and I'm just a critic here, I've seen this movie before. All around me are examples of churches, of congregations made up of individuals, who seem to be taking this more practical, sometimes scenic, route. This is why I took the other, less travelled path, in the first place. Perhaps the problem with judging is that faith goes incognito in the world, not drawing attention to itself. The Word of God is conspicuous, surely, but the faithful gather around to hear it with heads covered, hand over mouth. Have I mistaken Knights of Faith for fools? Have I merely alienated myself? Is there anything to do but just return to what is, to make compromises, to give up the dream of coherence?


I honestly do not know. Thanks be to Him who sees the hearts of men, and may He judge me on the merits of Christ, according to the Promise.