Abraham believed God, and this was credited to him as righteousness (Genesis 15:6).

It is impossible to please God without faith (Hebrews 11:6).

I would say that I experienced a blessed childhood. I had good parents, a stable family environment, lots of friends in the neighborhood and at school, no real fears to assail me. OK, there was always the vague threat of nuclear holocaust, but even that was something that mostly lived in the background of our imaginations. I also grazed on a steady diet of 1960s American civil religion, a kind of secularized Christianity that allowed a place for God, but not much more than that. Most of my compatriots, whether Protestant, Catholic, or Jewish, shared the same worldview – and so did most of our fathers and mothers.

Truth be told, we were rather willfully ignorant of the facts of being creatures, of being enemies of God, of the divine invasion into the human sphere, and of the Lord’s prerogative to order and determine the course and end of all existence. Apart from the regular careless use of his name, we prudently sought to not openly offend the deity – after all, most of us had absorbed an (un)healthy measure of superstition. Pretty much live like a pagan, but say your prayers, just in case.

Ignorance of God as the sovereign center of the universe presents one of the ultimate dilemmas. If he is not the eternal “that without which nothing is,” who or what should take his place? We had heard, over and over again, that we were the boys and girls that could do and be anything; the sons and daughters who would never suffer what previous generations had endured; the children who would make good on every promise that remained unfulfilled. So our answer to the question of who should govern our lives was simple: Me,Myself, and I – idolaters all. Once we were on that throne, we careened to the top of the self-worship charts. We even inspired Tom Wolfe to coin a special term for us: The “Me Generation.” Since then (according to Time magazine), my fellow Boomers and I have ceded that title to the Millennials (the “Me, Me, Me Generation”*), but we aren’t ready to surrender our title to the upstarts.

But surrender is where we left off last time, and is exactly what we need as a starting point for losing the idol-love that ensnares our hearts. We’re talking about the old Four Spiritual Laws diagram, and the question of who occupies the place of ruling power in our lives. We’re talking about giving up. Waving the white flag. Throwing in the towel. Just that simple, just that quick, right? A moment’s self-reflection and words from the old song say it well, “Breaking up is hard to do.” I really am enamored of my self-will, self-determination, autonomy, and of thoughts, actions, perceptions that I have owned and cherished for years.

It’s not like I haven’t given up many times since I first encountered Jesus. I can remember those first huge moments where I did the “Jesus Take the Wheel” thing. From the beautiful and glorious but frightening night where the Spirit won the initial decisive battle to more recent times of capitulation, I have an entire wardrobe of white flags with which to drape myself. But I still like to be king. How do I know? Because I still yield to sin, I continue to harm others, I engage in ongoing resistance to the Father’s commandments, and even to his love. So it looks like the surrender and the giving up – the movement from throne to altar – is a necessarily ongoing activity. This movement is one of changing and reordering loves. Therefore, it is purposeful, not random; it is clear in its signs of fruitfulness; it means being attentive and reflective, not heedless or careless. It means, very specifically:

The realistic humility of confession and repentance. In even slightly clear-headed moments I can see the baleful effects of self-loving idolatry. One of my me-gods involves the temptation to vanity. Vain thoughts and behaviors are funny things. Like other idols, they seek to convince me that they are based on facts that represent essential aspects of my identity. If I have talents, intelligence, any attractive qualities, I take these as traits of which I am proud, characteristics that I own and cultivate and protect, sources of security and comfort. My idolatrous “I” wants you to notice and esteem them. I worry and become defensive it they don’t produce the results that I hope for. Like all idols, vanity fails, deceives, parades around as just another naked emperor trying to fool the spectators. I am never smart enough, handsome enough, gifted enough. Grace says, “So what?” Those things don’t count in the kingdom. So let’s repent and believe that good news of God’s desire to save us from ourselves.

The exercise of remembrance. It’s OK to ask the Lord, “What have you done for me lately?” This past week our family was with others for Thanksgiving Day. As always, the time came to express gratitude for what we have experienced over the last year. Diverse acknowledgements of favor – sometimes thoughtful, occasionally silly – cut through the cacophony of the room. At one point, a young boy succinctly declared that he was thankful “for everything.” Rather than doubt the sincerity or veracity of his claim, I suddenly thought that this was the most biblical comment of the evening. It dawned on me that the greatest reason to be thankful was that it was impossible to recount all the works of goodness and kindness that we have “heard and known” (Pss. 78:3; 1John 1:1). The Father’s relentless generosity is especially striking when stacked up against my persistent sinning. So let’s remember, return to the Lord, and worship.

The access to “strength in numbers. I have an absolute need for help from my fellow-sinners who can see the naked emperor parading around town better than I can. That is a frightening but inescapable reality. Confession, repentance, and remembrance require that my wife, a brother or sister, or God points out when I am thinking or acting out of a skewed vision of myself or of the world around me. At times such revelation from the outside feels deeply painful and humiliating. Just a few weeks ago I had a friend (not even a very close one) respond to my recounting a personal foible with the comment that I was simply “being immature.” Despite the accuracy of his assessment and the fact that everyone else in the group (and I) could have said the same thing, I felt that momentary flush of habitual denial rise up in my heart. Fortunately the Lord’s equally habitual grace quelled my internal opposition to the truth and showed me that there was no shame in being exposed as an idolater among other idolaters. So let’s embrace our common need and welcome the correction of those who are God’s prophets in our lives.

The release from false standards. There is a grave temptation to remain on our idol-thrones out of the scandalous realization that we just aren’t very good at stepping down from them. In the face of incapacity, we surrender, but not in the God-ward direction. We give up in a spiritual huffiness known as acedia. If we can’t do the Christian thing the right way and in a way that reflects well on us, we fall into indifference, sloth, metaphysical ADD. We have decided what measures we are to meet, whether they are God’s requirements or not. We often don’t even know exactly what they are – it’s the tyranny of an invisible high-jump bar. We jump until we’re exhausted or sick of the exercise. Then the choice comes into focus: fall into the hands of the Lord, or find a better (or improve the old) idol.

The problem here is that the basis of righteousness was and is the acceptance of depravity – that old, comprehensive term for why we need the Lord in the first place. It is helpful to recall two things about depravity: First, it remains the limiting factor to our discipleship all along the way marked out for us.  Second, it is what attracts and perfects God’s grace. Grace is what makes beauty from what we mar and builds a dwelling place for the Spirit out of our ruins. Grace is also what makes us truly and fruitfully desire the obedience that pleases the Father. So let’s accept our state as it is and say yes to all the grace that God lavishly provides to transform our condition.

The comfort of abiding in the Father’s presence. In John 6:67-68, Jesus has just asked the disciples if they intend to leave him as did so many others. In response, Peter makes one of the great faith statements in Scripture: “Lord, to whom else would we go?” How much more clearly can we articulate the heart of what it means to understand who we are and who he is?  And other verses describe the same epiphany: To be near God is my happiness (Pss. 73:28). One day in his courts are better than an entire lifetime somewhere else (Pss. 84:10). His love is better than life itself (Pss. 63:3).

Peter and the Psalmists speak from the faith that knows that we were made for the Lord alone; that he only is trustworthy when all else fails; that our thrones are shaky at best and doomed to collapse in the end. Strip away everything, and he still remains – faithful, overflowing with love, transcendently good when we are beset with evil from without and within, a place of rest and security when we are unsure and tossed about.

Our crying out for faith and for the Lord always begins in these places where the Emperor’s nakedness is finally and fully evident, the idols have yet again disappointed us, we have been tested in our playing god and have been found severely wanting.

So let’s run to the embrace of the Father. There really is nowhere else to go.

*Time, May 20, 2013