The Proof Is in the...

About a month ago I found myself stuck in a frame of mind saying "Perhaps religion is indeed the opiate of the masses. And if so, a damn fine opiate it is." Maybe it's only as real as I believe it to be; if it's this personal faith that I claim it to be, there's no need for it to resound with anyone else. For some reason, I was OK with that line of thinking. Perhaps in some way I "tolerated" myself into tolerating my faith. Over the course of the last week, however, I've come to realize, see, and just flat-out believe that that's not good enough.

I do believe our God is personal, and our relationship with Him/Her is personal. And indeed faith can and very often does make otherwise intolerable circumstances bearable. But I've just become absolutely convicted that it's real.

Last weekend I went home to lead music at Discovery, a 48ish hour youth retreat, for the sixth consecutive year. I was unenthused, to say the least; it had become such a routine, and the circumstances were frustrating. I was piecing together a band, with no practice, and more importantly little concern to how good it was. But, as seems to so often be the case, everything fell into place. I don't think God did that for me, though; it almost seemed to be in spite of me, in spite of my lackluster attitude, until Saturday afternoon. My wonderful sister had decided that for "Mission Time" one of the 3 groups of tweens was going to the Magnolia House (a nursing home about a hundred yards away from the fellowship hall in which Discovery weekend is spent) to sing to and just generally be around old people. You know what singing means: James is going to lead music again. With this news, my already ebbed enthusiasm further waned.

I generally don't vibe well with the elderly. But after playing "Amazing Grace" with about twenty youths and fifteen people over 80, I was really enjoying myself. Then an elderly man very dear to my heart spoke up after a few minutes of conversation with, "Oh, do y'all do 'Amazing Grace'?" Right in the middle of Round 2 of perhaps the greatest song ever written, my heart completely melted. I'd come back home to a truth that I easily stray from in my daily dealings: My Jesus lives in music. It's what I'm supposed to do and where he always seems to find me, or I find him. I'm not sure which direction that flows.

Back to the universality point I began this rambling with. I absolutely cannot believe that human beings crafted "How Great Thou Art," "Because He Lives," and "Amazing Grace" on their own. There's just no way. Those songs, and countless others, are where my God constantly abides. He's everywhere, so I'm told, but that's my center. Many years ago I remember hearing someone say "If you find yourself farther away from God, guess who moved."

I'm very Methodist. We don't mention "Hell" much, or "the blood" much. Perhaps rightfully so. I buy into the goodness of Christ and his Grace being infinitely greater than any pain or suffering Hell could inflict, so we ought to moreso focus on the positives. But this phrase absolutely will not leave my little head:

"And when I think that God, his son not sparing

Send Him to die, I scarce can take it in.

That on the cross, my burden gladly bearing

He bled and died to take away my sin."

That's real.

"Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come

'Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far, and Grace shall lead me home."

A person couldn't just sit down and say, "I'm gonna write a song for my opiate" and come up with that.

He. Is. Real.

And for that, my soul sings to my Savior, God, "How great thou art."