Seeking a Transformation by Serena Haneline

For the last three days I’ve been sequestered at La Foresta, a quaint little retreat house in Traveler’s Rest, SC. It has been a time of relaxation, rest and spiritual renewal. Most of all, it’s been a time of revelation.

I have been questioning for months what it really means to be a Christian. Surely it means more than just saying I believe in God and having accepted Jesus as my Savior 15 years ago, now just to go to church every Sunday and pray when I want something.

Of course, I know it’s not about “religion” but about a “relationship.” I’ve known that for many years, but my “relationship” with the Almighty, invisible, and holy God has been somewhat of a strained one, at least on my part. Reading the Bible, I have to admit, is harder than it should be. And it’s been hard to see God as a father when I have no point of reference.

I’m beginning to realize that it’s harder to be a Christian being surrounded by affluence and idols. I wonder if it’s not easier to follow God where poverty reigns. So many times we equate Christianity with being “blessed” and “fruitful” and comfortable. But is it?

Here lately I’m beginning to think not. Our “brand” of Christianity is not what Jesus taught the disciples to be and to do. He said to love our enemies, yet we are many times not known by our love, but by our hate. Just look at all the church divisions and the backbiting among believers.

He said that pure religion is to visit the orphans and widows in their affliction and to keep oneself unstained from the world (James 1: 27). I don’t want to be like the Pharisees in Jesus’ day who thought they were doing all the “right” things and following God, but were, in fact, not getting any of it. Not getting that the point of this life is loving God and other people. Nothing else matters. It’s all about bringing the kingdom of God to earth “as it is in heaven.”

Yet how many times do we walk past the broken and suffering, our pride and heads held high. All the while, crucifying Jesus with our twisted logic, our walled-up hearts, our firmly-set masks.

No wonder I feel a deep and nagging restlessness inside that tells me there is more to this life than what I’ve always known. The author of my story, the God of the universe, wants to write a better story, not just for me, but for all of us. For the whole world, because isn’t the “whole world” what Jesus came and died for?

I am finding that I don’t have to keep living the story I’ve been living—the isolated life lived in a Christian bubble that looks away from the poor and afflicted like I’m somehow better than they are. I have no righteousness apart from the righteousness Christ bestows. No one does. Our righteousness is filthy and worthless.

This life is God’s story, not ours. It’s a journey in which the destination is not even the main goal. The journey is—how we get there, and who we bring with us along the way. I am humbled in this serene place of silence and solitude. There is a whole world of hurting, suffering people who need to know there is a God and He cares. He loves and His love will endure forever.

As I took communion this morning, I heard my Abba Father say: “Allow me to open your eyes to the spiritual, to see with my eyes yourself and the world. I am writing for you a better story. Will you believe? You are the light to this world, this dark world, but I am the source of that light.”

I need to see God’s world through His eyes. So that my faith works itself out in real action. Action that is a bright, shining light to all who are blinded by the lies of the enemy, who are poor, afflicted, broken. I am on a journey to transformation and true relationship, not just with the ever-present, holy Father, but with His people, the ones He came and died for.