Losing an idol and finding a God
HAVE you ever experienced losing Jesus? The Jesus whom you adored as the God who could always pull you out from difficult situations and problems? At one point in my life, I have.
Well, to be honest, I did not really lose him. I deliberately gave him up.
For a long time I thought of Jesus as the God who closely monitored my every move. He would get angry whenever I sinned, and jealous when I indulged in anything pleasurable. I looked at suffering as his way to straighten me out.
Loving Jesus then meant doing everything so he would notice my dedication and sacrifices. I went to Mass and confession regularly, prayed the Rosary, observed quite a number of penances and mortification in order to impress him. I was like the Pharisees who tirelessly worked their way to his heart, piling up good acts as evidence of their goodness. Their meticulous attention to rituals had become a substitute for love.
Worship served as my payment for the blessings I had received from him. My Jesus was synonymous with prosperity, good luck, and success. I was no different from those who walk on their knees, join processions, and afterwards rush to lotto outlets expecting an instant win. I didn’t know that by praying that way, I was limiting his actions according to my hopes and demands, never allowing
him to surprise me.
It took many years before I realized that I had been worshipping, not the authentic Jesus, but a caricature of Him. I adored an idol whom I could manipulate, bribe, and cajole; a god whom I turned to whenever I needed something, and conveniently ignored when I was busy. He was a heavenly crutch that propped up my weak and vulnerable self.
Losing that idol helped me discard a faith that was toxic, a faith that harms rather than heals. I learned to distinguish between the God who is and the god whom I want. Now I know that the real God not only asks me to kneel in supplication, but also commands me to “stand up and be a man!”(ICor16:13) He does not want me to act like a wimp, always asking Him to do for me what I could very well do myself. St. Augustine once wrote: “God created me without me, but God cannot save me without me.”
Today, my faith rests not on miracles that an idol can magically produce for me, but on my conviction that I am made after God’s image. As such, I am basically good, and blessed with a mind to understand what I believe in, talents to help me achieve my dreams, and a capacity for work that can transform my possibilities into realities. Paraphrasing what St. Paul wrote, I now declare: “When I was a child I believed like a child, but now that I am a mature Christian, I believe not only in the limitless grace of God, but also in the immeasurable goodness of being human.” (1Cor 13:11)