Sermons, and salvation.

I want desperately to write about tonight, but I am speechless. And speechlessness doesn't generally make for good blogging. Writing tends to be language-based.

Wait, my verbosity..it's coming back to me. Aaaaand, we're good.

As Lindell began to talk, I realized immediately the direction in which his sermon was going. And I thought I might fall out of my chair. I felt myself begin to shift from side to side, crossing and uncrossing my arms, hoping to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. My mind raced. Is it possible that he actually does have access to this blog? No, of course not. This is one blog in millions. I'm sure he's got better things to do. And even if he did, he doesn't choose sermon topics based on the blogs of precocious 20-somethings. So the other option is that there is in fact a God much more personal than I had imagined, and that this God had at some point not only impressed upon Lindell this topic, but also given him the exact words necessary to kill my arguments, on the spot.

These thoughts, and many, many more, streamed through my mind. And by the time he began to really get moving on how we can't and won't understand God, and in so trying we reduce God to no God we want a part of, I sat there, shell-shocked, thinking "Holy F***," or, as my Southern Baptist-raised mother would have put it, "Joseph, Mary, and the camel!" Then she'd have had a glass of wine, which is exactly what I'm doing now, because kids, my nerves are shot.

In retrospect, is there actually a camel in that story?

Regardless, I'm digging back through my recollections of the sermon, and I'm at a loss. I need to hear it again. And I need to do some sifting. And some thinking. Or maybe I need to do less thinking. I'm plenty thoughtful. It's the faith I lack.

I wrote earlier this week that I have found myself in something of a fix since realizing that I am not a Christian. In particular, I was worried that people "wouldn't be nice to me," and I know now that that's not exactly what I meant. I was more concerned with whether people would now treat me differently--with kid gloves, and happy faces, and non-Christian etiquette. You know the act--"Let's look perfect so the non-Christian wants to join!" Perfection grates on me. I also know now that it doesn't matter how anyone treats me. Whether or not things change between me and them. Mine is a path with a singular goal.

Having said that, I have now been entertaining a number of concerns. Volunteering, for instance. Should I just not mention that I'm not technically a Christian? Or would that make a difference to them? I don't want to be dishonest, but if it doesn't matter, I don't want to belabor the point. I still want to help. Or Life Group. I'd hate to make anyone uncomfortable, so do I offer to bow out? I don't know. "Christian world" is now a minefield of possible etiquette faux pas.

More on that sermon later, after I regroup. It was an amazing, inspired, unbelievable, beyond-words kinda sermon. But I can't base my salvation on John Lindell's persuasive prowess. I've done that kind of thing before. And my faith fell. I want something that stands. I need some time to deal with the ideas.

But wow. Wow. Also, a strange thing happened tonight during the time we prayed over the prayer cards. I suddenly sensed humility, and in asking myself why, I felt that God had entrusted those two cards to me. Sure, two people had filled out the cards, and thrown them in the mix, but tonight, God gave these concerns, these intimate details, to me. Not because I could necessarily be a part of the physical resolution, but because I could talk with Him about them. It was an odd moment. I didn't expect, nor have I before experienced, the humility.