my journey with jesus essay

How To Describe Your Personal Relationship With Jesus Christ

Welcome to our comprehensive guide on how to describe your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Building a personal relationship with Jesus is a deeply meaningful and transformative journey that has the potential to bring immense joy, purpose, and peace to your life.

Whether you are just starting out on your spiritual journey or seeking to deepen your existing relationship, this guide aims to equip you with actionable advice to express your personal experiences with Jesus Christ.

What Do We Mean by a Personal Relationship with Jesus Christ?

It entails a consistent commitment to know Jesus on a personal level, inviting Him into every aspect of your life, and experiencing His presence and guidance in a tangible way. A personal relationship with Jesus is characterized by a deep faith and belief in His divinity, acceptance of His teachings, and a heartfelt surrender to His will. And there exists a very clear 10-step process to know if you have a relationship with Jesus .

Key Aspects of a Personal Relationship with Jesus Christ

#1. faith and belief.

At the core of a personal relationship with Jesus Christ lies faith and belief. It involves acknowledging Jesus as the Son of God, your Savior, and placing your trust in Him. This unwavering belief in Jesus’ sacrificial death and resurrection forms the foundation of your relationship with Him.

#2. Acceptance and Surrender

#3. prayer and communication.

Prayer is the vital channel of communication in your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. It is through prayer that you establish a direct and intimate connection with Him. In prayer, you can express your thoughts, concerns, and desires, and seek His guidance, strength, and comfort. By fostering vulnerability in prayer, you invite Jesus to work in your life and deepen your relationship with Him.

#4. Scripture and Study

Engaging with the sacred Scripture is an integral part of nurturing your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. The Bible serves as a divine revelation, offering insights into His teachings, character, and plan of salvation. Regular study and reflection on the Word of God help you understand Jesus’ ways, align your life with His principles, and deepen your knowledge of Him.

#5. Worship and Fellowship

Worship and fellowship play crucial roles in your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Worship is a heartfelt expression of adoration, gratitude, and surrender to Him. It involves praising His name, singing hymns and worship songs, and acknowledging His majesty.

#6. Transformation and Discipleship

A personal relationship with Jesus Christ is transformative. It calls for a willingness to be changed and to grow in His likeness. As you follow Jesus’ teachings, you embark on a journey of continuous spiritual growth and discipleship. By cultivating virtues such as love, compassion, forgiveness, and humility, you reflect His character and become a living testimony of His love.

#7. Guidance and Empowerment

Benefits of a personal relationship with jesus christ, #1. forgiveness and salvation.

In a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, you receive the gift of forgiveness and salvation. Through His sacrificial death on the cross, Jesus offers redemption from sin and eternal life. By embracing Him as your Savior, you experience the liberating power of His forgiveness, and the assurance of a restored relationship with God. Salvation is often cited as one of the main reasons why it is important to have a relationship with Jesus .

#2. Peace and Comfort

#3. guidance and direction, #4. transformation and growth.

A personal relationship with Jesus Christ brings about personal transformation and growth. Through His presence and the work of the Holy Spirit, you are empowered to overcome your weaknesses, develop virtues, and experience positive changes in your character and behavior. As you continually abide in Him, you grow into the person He intends you to be.

#5. Hope and Purpose

#6. strength and empowerment, #7. relationship with god.

Ultimately, a personal relationship with Jesus Christ restores and deepens your relationship with God. Through Him, you enter into a loving and intimate connection with your Heavenly Father. You experience the joy of being known and loved by the Creator of the universe, enjoying unrestricted access to His presence and experiencing His fatherly care and guidance.

Tips to Describe Your Personal Relationship with Jesus Christ

#1. reflect on your journey.

Take time to reflect on your spiritual journey and how your relationship with Jesus Christ has evolved over time. Consider the key moments, experiences, and lessons that have shaped your connection with Him. Reflecting on your journey will help you identify significant milestones and articulate your personal experiences with clarity.

#2. Identify Key Beliefs

#3. describe prayer and communication, #4. share scripture and insights.

Discuss the role of scripture in nurturing your personal relationship with Jesus Christ. Share specific verses or passages that have been impactful to you and how they have shaped your understanding of His teachings and character. Talk about the insights and revelations you have gained from studying the Word of God.

#5. Express Gratitude and Worship

#6. discuss personal transformation, #7. talk about his guidance and presence.

Share instances where you have felt Jesus’ guidance and presence in your life. Discuss how you have sought His guidance in decision-making, experienced His comfort in challenging times, or recognized His hand in providential moments. Express how His presence has brought you peace, assurance, and direction.

#8. Highlight Relationships and Community

#9. explain the source of hope and purpose, #10. emphasize the personal and intimate nature.

Highlight the personal and intimate nature of your relationship with Jesus Christ. Express the depth of connection you feel, the comfort and peace you experience in His presence, and the trust you have in Him as your guide and companion. Emphasize the transformative power of a personal relationship with Jesus and how it has shaped your identity and purpose.

Sample Descriptions of a Personal Relationship with Jesus Christ

“My personal relationship with Jesus Christ is the foundation of my life. Through Him, I have found forgiveness and salvation, knowing that His sacrifice on the cross redeemed me from my sins. I communicate with Jesus through prayer, pouring out my heart and seeking His guidance in every aspect of my life. The Bible is my constant source of inspiration and wisdom, as I delve into its pages to understand His teachings and promises. My relationship with Jesus has transformed me, filling me with love, joy, and a desire to serve others. His presence is real to me, guiding my steps and providing comfort in times of need. I am forever grateful for His grace and the purpose He has given me.”

“For me, my personal relationship with Jesus Christ is like a steady anchor in the storms of life. Through Him, I find peace and comfort, knowing that He is always by my side. Prayer is my way of connecting with Jesus, sharing my hopes, fears, and dreams with Him. His words in the Bible are a wellspring of insight and guidance, illuminating my path and shaping my perspective. Worshiping and praising Him fills my heart with gratitude, and it reminds me of His majesty and love. His transformative power has touched every aspect of my being, helping me overcome my weaknesses and empowering me to serve others. Jesus is my constant guide, leading me towards a purposeful life and giving me hope even in the darkest times.”

“My personal relationship with Jesus Christ is deeply personal and intimate. I see Him as my friend, my confidant, and my source of strength. Through prayer, I pour out my heart to Him, sharing my joys and struggles, knowing that He listens with love and understanding. His words in the Bible speak directly to my soul, offering wisdom and guidance for my journey. When I worship Him, I feel a sense of reverence and connection, knowing that He is worthy of all praise. Jesus has transformed my life in profound ways, helping me overcome challenges and grow in faith. His presence is a guiding light, and I find comfort and strength knowing that He walks with me every step of the way.”

“My personal relationship with Jesus Christ is rooted in gratitude and awe. Through Him, I have experienced His boundless love and forgiveness. Prayer is my lifeline, allowing me to have an ongoing conversation with Jesus, seeking His direction and sharing my deepest desires. His words in the Bible are a constant source of inspiration and truth, guiding my steps and shaping my worldview. When I worship Him, I feel a sense of awe and gratitude, as I recognize His sovereignty and love. Jesus has transformed my heart and mind, helping me become more compassionate and patient. His presence is my source of strength, and I trust Him to guide me through life’s ups and downs.”

“My personal relationship with Jesus Christ is centered on His guidance and provision. Through Him, I have found direction and purpose for my life. Prayer is my way of seeking His will and aligning my desires with His plans. The Bible is a treasure trove of wisdom and knowledge, and I spend time daily studying His teachings, discovering new insights, and applying them to my life. Worshiping Jesus fills me with a sense of awe and gratitude, as I recognize His sovereignty and love. Jesus has transformed my life from the inside out, helping me overcome challenges and grow in faith. His constant presence and guidance give me confidence, and I am grateful for the abundant life He offers me as I walk with Him.”

In conclusion, describing your personal relationship with Jesus Christ is a deeply personal and meaningful endeavor. It requires reflection, openness, and the willingness to express your faith journey and experiences. Remember that your relationship with Jesus is unique and personal to you, and the way you describe it may evolve and deepen over time.

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Lectionary Essay for the January 23rd, 2022 RCL

Readings: Nehemiah 8:103, 5-6, 8-10 Psalm 119 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a Luke 4:14-21

Ray, please use the images from this archived essay: https://www.journeywithjesus.net/essays/2060-when-he-opened-the-book

Title: Today

For Sunday January 23, 2022

Lectionary Readings ( Revised Common Lectionary , Year C)

Nehemiah 8:103, 5-6, 8-10

Psalm 119 1 Corinthians 12:12-31a Luke 4:14-21

If your pastor told you to feast, celebrate, and rejoice right now, because today is a day “holy to the Lord,” how would you respond? If one of your spiritual mentors insisted that this year — 2022 — is “the year of the Lord’s favor,” what would you say?

I’ll be honest; I would say, “You’ve got to be kidding me. This year?  This one? Today? Right now? How can that possibly be?”

I don’t think I’d be alone in my skepticism. As I type these words, Omicron is overwhelming the planet. Hospitals are reaching capacity, physicians and nurses are exhausted, national and local economies are flailing, and Covid’s death toll continues to rise. And this is before we mention any of the other challenges facing us. Wars and threats of wars. Violence of all stripes. The catastrophic effects of climate change. The long shadow of racial injustice. Alarming breakdowns in civility and basic kindness. Rising epidemics of anxiety, depression, addiction, and despair.

Who on earth would reasonably call our current moment holy, or favored of God?

I ask, because our lectionary this week does exactly this. In two distinct stories of worship, two stories about people gathering to read, hear, and inwardly digest the word of God, we hear a call to attend to now.  Both stories end with an invitation to recognize the sacredness of the present moment.  Both stories insist that when we seek the divine — in worship, in the reading of scripture, in the intentional gathering of the beloved community — today shimmers with the presence, the blessing, and the favor of God.

This is true regardless of circumstances. Regardless of the trials we face, the sorrows we carry, and the pain we bear. Not because God’s exultant “today” is dismissive of our hardships, but because God’s presence infuses all things. God’s joy — the joy which is our strength — has within it the capacity to hold and honor our tears.

The first story this week is from the book of Nehemiah, and it describes a tender and hard won moment in Israel’s history. If you need some context: Nehemiah is a minor figure in the court of Artaxerxes, the king of Persia. When Nehemiah hears that Jerusalem is a broken, fire-razed wreck, he begs the king to let him return to his homeland and rebuild the city of his ancestors. The obstacles to the rebuilding are fierce and numerous, but Nehemiah persists, and finally succeeds in restoring Jerusalem’s wall and gates. He then invites his people back from exile, and asks them to gather in the square before the Water Gate for an assembly.

Our lectionary picks up there, at the moment when the prophet Ezra “opens the book in the sight of all people,” and reads from the law of Moses. He reads until the assembly of men, women, and children gathered in the square open their ears, stand up, raise their hands, worship “with their faces to the ground,” say, “Amen, Amen,” and weep. The story ends with Nehemiah and Ezra telling the people to dry their tears, return to their homes to “eat the fat and drink sweet wine,” and share the feast with those who are poor. Following an intense divine encounter, the people embrace the day and time they live in as “holy to the Lord.”

I love this story because it offers us a beautiful and multifaceted picture of what can happen when we seek the presence of God together, and allow that presence to infuse every part of our lives. Remember, the Israelites who gather at the Water Gate to hear the reading of the Torah are not people living in a “happily ever after,” all their trials and travails behind them. They are people newly returned from exile to a homeland that’s still in ruins. Their traumas are fresh and their future is unclear. Their most recent memories are memories of loss, dislocation, oppression, and chaos.

And yet, something powerful happens among them when Ezra opens the book and reminds them of who they are in the long arc of God’s story. What happens is not magic. Neither is it manipulation. What happens is transformation. As the people consent to listen to God’s word with their whole hearts, to receive what’s read in a spirit of openness and vulnerability, and to express their comprehension as honestly as they can, everything changes.

To be clear, the honesty they express includes sorrow, lament, and repentance. Ezra reads for hours — from early morning until midday — and in that time, the people enter into a period of deep reflection and remembrance. I imagine that when the Israelites hear the sacred stories of their tradition — the stories of the Exodus, the stories of God’s provision in the desert, the stories of their ancestors’ failures and rebellions — they feel everything from nostalgia to elation to horror to happiness. They weep in gratitude over God’s goodness. They weep in bewilderment over God’s silence. They weep in regret over their own sins. They weep in mourning for all they’ve surrendered or lost. And they weep in relief that the exile is over, and Jerusalem — razed though it is — is once again their home.

God’s word — living and active among them — holds all of this.  It allows all of this, and blesses all of this. When the time is right, God transforms the entire encounter into an experience of joy.

The second story takes place centuries later, in the backwater town of Nazareth. It’s a Sabbath day soon after Jesus’s baptism and temptation in the wilderness. “Filled with the power of the Spirit,” Jesus returns to his hometown, enters the synagogue he has likely attended since boyhood, and stands up (as is the  custom) to read from the Prophets. He asks for the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, unrolls it, finds the passage he wants, and reads aloud. By the time he’s finished reading, every eye in the synagogue is fixed on him.

Luke offers us this reading scene as the inaugural act of Jesus’s ministry. An act in which Jesus proclaims his identity, his purpose, and his vocation. What I love about the scene is that Jesus chooses to reveal the meaning of his life and work through the beloved and well-worn words of Scripture. Words his audience has heard a thousand times. Words no doubt rich with communal memory and meaning, but also words in danger of losing their power through over-familiarity. It’s not as if the Son of God is incapable of penning a new and shiny mission statement; he is the Incarnate Word himself.  But he doesn’t improvise; he opens the book and makes the old words of the tradition his own: “God has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” As if to say: the Word lives, here and now.  Today. It is organic, it breathes, it moves in fresh and revolutionary ways.  The Word of God is neither dull nor dead. It is alive.

Of course (as we will see in next week’s lectionary) the opening of the book doesn’t always go smoothly for those bold enough to attempt it. Unlike the assembly that receives Ezra’s reading with open hearts, Jesus’s audience recoils in shock and outrage when he dares to suggest that the divine word is a word for their contemporary moment. They take offense at the fact that God’s “today” is not a day to postpone and defer.  Not a cosmic fairytale ending to expect in some fuzzy, indistinct future.

Of course, what's surprising about this story is that the very people who need the freedom Jesus offers, find his invitation of freedom intolerable. What offends them is not the ancient prophecy of their beloved ancestor. After all, Isaiah’s words offer nothing but good news.  No, what offends them is the suggestion that the good news is available right now.  That the time for transformation, renewal, and metanoia is at hand.  That they must change today.  Lean into liberation today.  Accept the joy of the Lord today.  The time of the Lord’s favor — luminous and rich — stands in front of them, embodied before their very eyes, if only they will dare to see it. “Today this scripture has been fulfilled in your hearing.”

As I contemplate these two stories, I realize how reluctant I am at times to embrace the holiness of “today.” Perhaps like some of you, I have spent the past two years living “on hold.” Deferring and deflecting, as if the days we live in right now don’t count as “real life.” “Real life will resume after the pandemic,” I tell myself. Real life will resume when church services go back to being in-person.  When we can celebrate the Eucharist with bread and wine. When we put away our masks for good.  When we get some sort of handle on climate change, police brutality, teen depression, and sectarian violence.

I wonder if I do this because I am like Ezra’s listeners, full of pent-up grief, longing, regret, and lament that have nowhere to go. Maybe I assume that I can’t lean into God’s joy until all my sorrows are spent. Or that worship can only be an articulation of happiness — not grief or anger or confusion or doubt. If so, can I remind myself that God’s embrace is wide enough to hold all of human experience? Can I trust that divine abundance is possible now, even in the midst of uncertainty and pain? Can I say “Amen” to God’s word in the complicated circumstances I live in right now? Today?

Or perhaps our ambivalence around “today” has more to do with a deep-seated fear of change. Like Jesus’s listeners, we long for liberation — but we want to control what that liberation looks like.  We don’t want to face someone who looks and sounds and loves and probes like Jesus. How dare he mess with our traditions, our boundaries, our well-established norms around how God works in the world? We’d rather put salvation off than confront its alarming presence in our lives right now.

Perhaps we need to accept the possibility of holy discomfort.  Perhaps the “now” of God means we have to stand up, shake the dust off, and move.  What if the release of the captives and the healing of the blind require that we step out of our prison cells and open our eyes? It’s one thing to scan the horizon of someday for the “year of the Lord’s favor.” It’s quite another to live boldly into that favor now.

During this season of Epiphany, we are invited again and again to look for signs and glimpses of revelation.  Of light.  Of God's transformative presence.  We are asked to hold in tension chronos time and kairos time — the linear, "ordinary" time we experience as human beings, and the sacred time of God's perpetual inbreaking.  We are called to trust that even in the mundane day-to-day of life on earth, God's "now" brims with the possibility of joy and feasting. 

“This day is holy to the Lord.” “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”   May it be so.

Debie Thomas:  [email protected]

Image credits: (1)  Bible History Online ; (2)  Seattle Pacific University ; and (3)  Bible HIstory Online .

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When your faith begins to feel too small, too confining, you could choose to leave it. But what if the faith we inhabit is roomier than we'd thought? What if our collapsing faith is just a closet in a much larger dwelling?  Disillusioned by narrow theologies, church dysfunction, and constricted readings of Scripture, people are leaving Christianity in droves. But Jesus describes the reign of God as a house with many rooms. The kind of God who decided to experience the world as a guest likely feels constrained by our pinched theologies too. What sorts of ruptures and revisions would it take to find a more spacious faith--and then to inhabit it with authenticity and joy?

A Faith of Many Rooms: Inhabiting a More Spacious Christianity

TESTIMONIALS

For years, Debie Thomas has offered fans like me a winsome, enlightened approach to the word of God. This time, in this book, she opens the door to God's whole, colorful, many-winged house—a house where our cultures are gifts, our ancestors are prophets, everyone’s story matters, and God is always near. Brilliant, carefully crafted, and heart-stopping in its beauty and honesty, this is Debie Thomas at her best.”

THE REV. STEPHANIE SPELLERS Canon to Presiding Bishop Michael Curry and author of The Church Cracked Open

I have been feasting on Debie Thomas’s words for years. I often say that she reads the Bible like a radiologist reads an MRI, seeing things I could never see. But in this book I get a glimpse of Debie herself, and I’m grateful. The story of her journey from the cramped closet of an evangelical childhood to the “many rooms” of a more generous faith is one of her greatest gifts to the church, and one I hope she will continue to share. It inspires my own journey.

THE REV. JIM SOMERVILLE Pastor of Richmond’s First Baptist Church and Founder of  A Sermon for Every Sunday

I found myself feeling very at home and unexpectedly exposed reading Debie Thomas's quest for a faith and a place to be at home and not an outsider. Thomas rests in Jesus's promise of a spacious, roomy Christianity that travels with us, crosses borders, and bears our sorrows. If you are curious about a faith capacious enough to embrace the entire world with reverence and humility, this story of one Malayalee woman's journey to bare her whole self to the God of the universe is a must read. Me too, Debie, I have caught myself saying blessed Thomas (and Mary) of India, pray for us.

THE REV. WINNIE VARGHESE Rector of St. Luke’s Episcopal Church, Atlanta, GA

I’m the author of  A Faith of Many Rooms: Inhabiting a More Spacious Christianity , and  Into the Mess and Other Jesus Stories: Reflections on the Life of Christ . I’m a columnist and contributing editor for  The Christian Century , and from 2014 to 2022, I was a staff writer for  Journey with Jesus: A Weekly Webzine for the Global Church. I now serve as the Minister for Lifelong Formation at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Palo Alto, CA.

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my journey with jesus essay

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• Leaving Jesus

Lectionary essay for the August 25, 2024 RCL

TITLE: Leaving Jesus

Images and descriptions for the lectionary essay: (1) Tabgha mosaic in Galilee, 5th century:  https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d6/Tabgha_Church_Mosaic_Israel.jpg  

(2) Eucharistic bread and fish, Catacomb of Callistus (Rome), 3rd century:  https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1a/Eucharistic_bread_and_fish.jpg

(3) Exodus 16 manna from heaven, Book of Hours, c. 1440,  https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/31/Gathering_of_the_Manna_-_Hours_of_Catherine_of_Cleves_-_MS_M._917-945_137v_-_Morgan_Library_New_York%2C_around_1440.jpg

(4) Feeding the multitude. Armenian manuscript. Daniel of Uranc gospel, 1433. Scroll down a bit.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Feeding_the_multitude#/media/File :Feeding_the_multitude,_Daniel_of_Uranc,_1433.jpg

Image for upper left module:   https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/3/31/Gathering_of_the_Manna_-_Hours_of_Catherine_of_Cleves_-_MS_M._917-945_137v_-_Morgan_Library_New_York%2C_around_1440.jpg

Poem for upper right module: Heber, Bread of the World ,   https://journeywithjesus.net/poemsandprayers/570-reginald-heber

Image for upper right module: Reginald Heber,  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reginald_Heber#/media/File :Reginald_Heber.jpg

Teaser text for upper right module: Reginald Heber (1783-1826) was an English priest, bishop, and hymn writer. After sixteen years as a country cleric, he served three years as the Anglican Bishop of Calcutta, until his death at age 42.

Weekly Prayer  at end of essay: Gateley, Silent God ,  https://journeywithjesus.net/poemsandprayers/564-edwina-gateley-silent-god

1 Kings 8:1, 6, 10–11, 22–30, 41–43 or Joshua 24:1–2a, 14–18 Psalm 84 or Psalm 34:15–22 Ephesians 6:10–20 John 6:56–69

From Our Archives

Michael Fitzpatrick, Sun and Shield (2021); Debie Thomas, Choose This Day (2018); and Dan Clendenin, A "Profound Mystery."

This Week's Essay

John 6:66, "Many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed Jesus."

For Sunday August 25, 2024

Lectionary Readings ( Revised Common Lectionary , Year B)

For five weeks in a row now, the lectionary hasn't budged from the lengthy Bread of Life discourse in John 6. After feeding the five thousand with literal bread, Jesus urged the crowd to seek spiritual bread. He called it true food, bread from heaven, bread of life, the bread of God, living bread, real food, and, in Psalm 78 a few weeks ago, the bread of angels. In a mysterious paradox that has flummoxed people ever since, Jesus said that we discover this spiritual bread in his physical body.

Just as he compared himself to "living water" that quenches our parched souls (John 4), Jesus called himself the "living bread" that satisfies our deepest hungers. The ancient Hebrews ate miraculous manna from heaven in the desert (Exodus 16), says Jesus, but they nevertheless died. The five thousand who were fed, with an abundance of leftovers, were nonetheless hungry the next morning. In a stark contrast, Jesus says that he is "the living bread that came down from heaven. If a man eats of this bread, he will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world."

All this sounds great, but some of the crowd wasn't having it. People started leaving Jesus.

If the Bread of Life discourse sounds crazy today, we can console ourselves that it scandalized the original audience. "Does this offend you?" asked Jesus. Some of the crowd "argued sharply among themselves" about Jesus comparing himself to God; wasn't he just the son of Joseph, "whose father and mother we know? How can he say such things?" Conscientious Jews took offense at the repulsive idea of "eating flesh and drinking blood," which were strictly prohibited. Even his own disciples objected: "This is a hard saying, who can accept it?"

And so the long and lofty Bread of Life discourse of the last five weeks ends in conflict and controversy: "From this time on many of his disciples turned back and no longer followed Jesus."

The apostle Paul coined a term for this. He called it "shipwreck of faith."

Many people left Jesus for many different reasons. Judas betrayed him for money. Peter denied even knowing Jesus, then lied about his denial. At the crucifixion all of his closest disciples fled in fear. When some Athenians in the Areopagus heard Paul proclaim the resurrection, "they sneered" at the "strange demons" he advocated, and ridiculed him as a "rag picker." John Mark deserted Paul on their first missionary journey.

In 1–2 Timothy, Paul says that Hymenaeus and Alexander "blasphemed" the faith. Phygelus and Hermogenes "turned away" from him. Alexander the coppersmith "did him great harm." Philetus "wandered away" from the gospel. Demas "loved the world" and deserted Paul. There are many, Paul laments, who "fall away from the truth." At his trial, he says that "everyone deserted me."

Those of us who are submerged in our Christian sub-cultures — Bible studies, weekly liturgy, denominational meetings, mission projects, youth groups, summer camps, Christian schools and colleges — might raise our eyebrows about church dropouts, but that attitude risks self-righteous sanctimony. In our enthusiasm to commend the gospel, we can soften its hard edges, domesticate its subversive message, minimize its mystery, and dismiss uncomfortable questions. In his book  What Jesus Meant , Garry Wills writes that Jesus is always "more outrageous, [and] more egregious" than we ever expect. Even if scholars found the "true and original" Jesus "behind" the Bible texts, says Wills, he would appear  more  rather than less incomprehensible to us.

Some time during my high school years my father stopped attending church. He never explained why, and I never asked. To make matters worse, since my mother never learned to drive, every Sunday he still dropped us off and picked us up at our small-town Presbyterian church. I still remember how awkward that felt as a teenager, Dad waiting at the curb for us in his car, seeing and being seen by our neighbors with whom he used to worship.

The "hard sayings" of the enigmatic Jesus are only one reason why some people quit the faith. I suspect that my father lost faith in the church as an institution. Others leave because of boredom, legalistic pettiness, partisan politics of both the left and right, superficial platitudes, unanswered prayers, bitter disappointments, intellectual doubts, nagging questions, or life traumas that "crush the spirit" (Psalm 34:18). In her memoir  Leaving Church  (2006), Barbara Brown Taylor seems to have left church precisely in order to save her faith.

One of the most powerful portraits of a near shipwreck of faith is the book  The Diary of a Country Priest   (1936)   by George Bernanos. The novel won the  Grand Prix du Roman , one of the oldest and most prestigious literary awards in France, and was made into an award-winning movie in 1951.

Bernanos tells the story of a young, unnamed priest who struggles with his sense of vocation. Despite his earnest efforts, and the encouragement of a trusted colleague, he feels like a failure. From a human perspective, he's not mistaken. 

His small, rural parish is bored, boring, and petty. They gossip about him as a "secret drinker" and a womanizer, both of which are ludicrous accusations. He gets hate mail. His catechism class and sports club both falter. He gets embroiled in the bitter struggles of a wealthy family. He clashes with clergy bureaucrats over how to do his job.

Nonetheless, the priest perseveres. He loves his people. He visits every home every year. He prays for them.

His personal life is just as bad. He broods about the shame and pain of his peasant upbringing. He suffers from a chronic illness, an impoverished diet, and no money. He's self-conscious about his "superhuman clumsiness" and his social awkwardness. He has an "insuperable disgust" with his "absurd self."

There are also theological questions. He's powerless in the presence of suffering, and ponders the mystery of prayer. He's lonely and isolated. He sometimes feels like he's play-acting and merely parroting pious cliches.

Reflecting upon his "wretched weakness," he confides to his diary: "Oh, yes, I've worked hard enough! I've done my best, and what's the use? My best is nothing." 

He compares himself to "a hornet in a bottle," and so he keeps his diary — to keep himself honest, unburden himself to God, and record "the simple trivial secrets of a very ordinary kind of life." 

His diary reflects his sense of futility about his call to ministry. "We pay a heavy, very heavy price for the super-human dignity of our calling. The ridiculous is always so near to the sublime. And the world, usually so indulgent to foibles, hates ours instinctively." And so he frets: "Am I where our Lord would have me? Twenty times a day I ask this question."

Faced with this looming shipwreck of faith, an older colleague affirms the young priest. He encourages him with wise advice: "Keep saying your lessons. Go on with your work. Keep at the little daily things that need doing, til the rest comes. Concentrate. Think of a lad at his homework, trying so hard and his tongue sticking out. That's how our Lord would have us be when he gives us up to our own strength. Little things — they don't look like much, yet they bring peace. Like wild flowers which seem to have no scent, till you get a field full of 'em." 

"Keep marching to the end," he tells the discouraged priest, "and try to end up quietly at the roadside without shedding your equipment."

And that's what the young priest does. In one turn of events, he's shocked to see how God clearly used him in the life of a parishioner. "Oh, miracle, thus to be able to give what we ourselves do not possess, sweet miracle of our empty hands."

By the time he dies of stomach cancer at a young age, Bernanos has painted a portrait of a genuine saint. "Well, it's all over now. The strange mistrust I had of myself, of my own being, has flown. I believe forever. That conflict is done. I cannot understand it anymore. I am reconciled to myself, to the poor, poor shell of me. How easy it is to hate oneself! True grace is to forget. Yet if pride could die in us, the supreme grace would be to love oneself in all simplicity."

The young priest does not shipwreck his faith. He ends up right where the Bread of Life discourse does in John 6:68–69. When Jesus turned away from the doubting crowds, and the many disciples who stopped following him, he asked "The Twelve" a question: "Do you want to leave too?" To which Peter responded, "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life. We believe and know that you are the Holy One of God."

Weekly Prayer Edwina Gateley Silent God From Edwina Gateley,  There Was No Path So I Trod One  (1996, 2013) This is my prayer— That, though I may not see, I be aware Of the Silent God Who stands by me. That, though I may not feel, I be aware Of the Mighty Love Which doggedly follows me. That, though I may not respond, I be aware That God—my Silent, Mighty God, Waits each day. Quietly, hopefully, persistently. Waits each day and through each night For me. For me—alone.

Dan Clendenin:  [email protected] et

Image credits: (1)  Wikimedia.org ; (2)  Wikimedia.org ; (3)  Wikimedia.org ; and (4)  Wikipedia.org .

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