Is Christianity All Doom-and-Gloom?
Or: what was Bonhoeffer talking about?
In The Cost of Discipleship, famed theologian Deitrich Bonhoeffer wrote that, "The moment we begin to feel satisfied that we are making some progress along the road of sanctification, it is all the more necessary to repent and confess that all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags. Yet the Christian life is not one of gloom, but of ever increasing joy in the Lord."
Essentially, he writes: we should be always aware of our own sin, never feel too self-confident…and yet somehow in the midst of that we are to be joyful.
For years, this sentiment bothered the hell out of me. I just didn't see how it could be possible. When I saw Christians who highlighted their own sin in the way that Bonhoeffer recommends, I assumed that they must hate themselves. I assumed that I was seeing people who walked around in a state of permanent mental self-flagellation, achingly aware of and judging themselves for every small misstep; and that their endless guilt and shame must crowd out any joy or peace they might otherwise feel in their lives.
In its focus on sin, Christianity struck me as a profoundly doom-and-gloom faith. How, I wanted to ask, could any part of this endless awareness of our own sin be joyful?
But having walked with God for several years now, I think I'm coming to a deeper perspective. I think Bonhoeffer was right. I think we can be both deeply aware of our own sins, and deeply joyful. In fact, the more aware of my own shortcomings I become, the more joy seems to suffuse my life.
How can this be?
First, as a result of my walk with God I no longer feel the shame that I once did.
My shame used to be crippling. I used to hate myself. I assumed everyone in the world was better than me. I saw myself, on the deepest and most subconscious level, as fundamentally unworthy of love.
It was in the context of that shame that I used to think of my sins. I thought I was worthless, and so my sins became the external manifestation of that worthlessness: evidence I could point to that I was a bad person. The more I dwelled on my sins, the more I felt like I was admitting to myself that I was defective and shameful. After all, look at all the bad things I had done. Look at all the awful thoughts I had ever had.
But over the past several months, God has helped me to let go of that sense of shame (well, mostly; I'm still a work in progress). The scars of my abuse have started to heal, and I no longer feel quite so defective as I did in my 20s.
Instead of feeling defective and worthless, now I bask in God's love for me as His treasured child. When I sin, I no longer take my sin as evidence that I am worthless; because I now know that I am not worthless. My sin doesn't affect God's love for me one iota (as theologians Jamie and Donna Winship write in their Becoming What You Believe course, "Remember, he [God] is never mad at you, never disappointed in you, and he is never far from you"). My sin doesn't affect how God sees me, and therefore it has less bearing on how I see myself.
As a result, now I can see my sins somewhat dispassionately, almost as an observer. I can see them, not as a referendum on my worth, but simply as areas in which I have the opportunity to grow. Indeed, I can see them as areas in which I am excited to grow, because asking God to help me let go of a given sin will bring me deeper into relationship with Him.
The second reason that becoming more aware of my own sins seems to correspond with an ever-deepening joy is this: when I see my own sins more clearly, I see that I am not perfect at everything. As a defense mechanism against my shame, I became quite hubristic; convinced that the only way to not feel ashamed of myself was to be perfect. To be perfect, of course, is to be better than everyone else at everything else.
But as I let go of my shame, I also let go of my hubris (well, somewhat; I am, again, a work in progress). When I see more clearly the ways that I fall short, I can also see more clearly the gifts that other people have.
And let me tell you: people are incredible. Every single human being is absolutely awe-inspiring. When I go to martial arts, I used to feel challenged and poked by my sparring partner, because he's a better fighter than me. But lately, I've been able to sit back and marvel at his skill. I can marvel at more than his skill. He's an incredible teacher (something I am still working on); he takes lots of private lessons, and then distills down the teachings to show me how to do a given technique better. He's amazingly humble. I look at him, and I see his beautiful and shining and radiant essence; and I am filled with awe and joy and love for this incredible man.
The same holds with my relationship with my beautiful wife. She can do many things that I cannot. In many areas where I am sinful, she is not. But that doesn't bother me or make me feel inferior. Instead I can just bask in the sheer beauty of her soul and in her amazing talents. I can feel overwhelmed with joy and gratitude and love as I see all of the ways that she complements me and all of the ways that (as our pastor said at our wedding) we fill each others' gaps. When I accept all the ways that I am not perfect, I can look with awe and wonder and delight on the skills and gifts that she has that I do not.
Recognizing my sin no longer makes me feel shameful. Instead, I can see my sin as something to work on, as an opportunity for growth. And, as my awareness of my own shortcomings grows, so too does my awe and wonder at the radiant and beautiful human beings all around me who are close to God in 1,001 ways that I am not.
So how can we see and acknowledge our sin without feeling bad about ourselves? How can we cultivate the sense of "ever increasing joy" that Bonhoeffer describes, rather than the doom-and-gloom and self-flagellation of simply feeling ashamed of our flaws 24/7?
I think the first step is to turn our attention to God, and ask Him a simple question: how do You see me?
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