Virtue and Blind Faith

Devotional Classics, Blaise Pascal, Excerpts from Pensees

"I [Jesus] do not mean you to believe me submissively and without reason; I do not claim to subdue you by tyranny. Nor do I claim to account to you for everything. To reconcile these contradictions I mean to show you clearly, by convincing proofs, marks of divinity within me which will convince you of what I am, and establish my authority by miracles and proofs you cannot reject so that you will then believe the things I teach, finding no reason to reject them but your own inability to tell whether they are true or not." (p.174-175)

I have faced the tyranny of blind faith. I have been eaten alive with doubts and fears because I longed to hear God, to be near God. I was told faith did not need such things. Faith, I was told, is accepting what God has given and not demanding any more from God. We have the Bible. We have the promise of heaven. That is enough.

I found that such faith amounted to not much more than fatalism. Maybe I could make a few waves in my own little pool, but mostly I should just swim in the tank and not look beyond the glass. I found myself seeking to connect with other people since I obviously could not connect with God. He was out of the fish bowl.

Such tyranny has only been broken by the works of God. I could not have hoped in him unless the good news he preached worked. God needed to do something or say something to be real. A mere description of God is not enough; I need contact. So God came and changed things in my life I could not change myself. I saw him in the work he did in me. The good news made sense because it came to me: I could be like him and he could be with me.

God is not real like something I see and touch, but I do see him like I see the wind: by his works inside me and around me. What I am surprised about is that this is a surprise to me. But it is. Somehow I was taught to trust in God but not count on him. Since "his ways and higher than my ways," I could never be sure about him. What that translated into was this: only use God as a last resort. He probably won't come through. Go ahead and pray, but don't count on anything.

Yet, this same God, who probably wouldn't do much, demanded that I check in with him, or something bad might happen. Thus prayer and worship found their place. They were the cosmic time punch cards, to prove that I "believed" in God. This definitely looked like tyranny. No wonder I shook my fist at God when something bad happened and said, "Why me? I've been good!"

When God pulled me out of my muck and vice and put new and virtuous desires in my heart and mind, I found that he was not like that at all. He wants to be with me. (I hope that all the accusations I made against him will be overlooked because I really thought he was someone else.) He wants me to be like him. He wants to work with me as well. I certainly will not understand everything he is doing, but I will not be acting without reason or desire either.

Pascal's description of tyranny as the demand to believe submissively without reason really describes much of what I hear about faith. I am grateful to say it has little to do with God. His goodness is not just in a showcase or "mystery," it is meant to be practiced and used in life. Godliness and contentment that come from blind faith seem to look a lot like fatalism, but instead real contentment is the joy of knowing that the smaller things I am working with will yield bigger things I could not have dreamed when God's hands are at work over mine. Blind faith will not bring me virtue anymore than watching a football game will make me an athlete.

Lord, save me from the tyranny of this bland, blind faith! I want to see that you are real and work with you in real ways, not just in platitudes and empty sentiment. Let your kingdom come! Open the heavens and descend on me, on all who long for your coming and your work. Let the words without power dissipate and no longer distract anyone from following you with their whole life. Amen.

Virtue and Goodness

Devotional Classics, Blaise Pascal, Excerpt from Pensees

"To make us happy [true religion] must show us that a God exists whom we are bound to love, that our only true bliss is to be in him, and our sole ill to be cut off from him." (p.172)

I said to the LORD, "You are my Lord; apart from you I have no good thing." (Ps. 16:2)

I am delighted by this one thought: the gifts that God gives are so I can recognize and come to enjoy his goodness. What if God gave me good things, but was not really that good in himself? I would think he was bribing or tricking me. So his gifts are not good unless he himself is good.

Not only that, but that when I come to understand something true, it also brings me to love, admire, and worship God all the more. If the statement "The truth hurts" were always true, then I would not come to love the one who is the foundation of all truth and reality very much. The truth hurts only inasmuch as I come to find that reality and truth are what I run into when I am wrong. "True religion" brings me to a God I am "bound to love."

I can now seek him beyond and through the gifts he gives, taking them as pictures of his goodness. Without his goodness beyond the gifts, they could just as easily be bribes or distractions. When they bring me into a real relationship with him, they add to the bliss of knowing him by becoming signs and images of his great love for me and his great ambition to make me like Jesus.

A few months ago I gave Dawn a little statue of a couple dancing together after I had gone off to a spiritual retreat. I intended that the gift remind us both of the centrality of our relationship to my spiritual formation and work with God. I hoped that the gift would be a reminder of my love for her and my aspiration to be together in our life work for God.

When the goodness of God does not underlie the gifts I receive, I am always drawn to finding more gifts. They feed and exacerbate a hunger I have for true love and true goodness while not filling it. They can even blind me to God himself because of the intensity of my hunger. Somehow, my blind hunger for God becomes the very thing that keeps me from him when I try to live on mere desire. It is only when the consumption of mere gifts from God brings me to hopelessness that I can look beyond them and see that my "sole ill [is] to be cut off from him."

The continual embracing of God's goodness beyond his gifts begins with thankfulness. It moves on to worship. With worship comes virtue. Virtue is the imitation of the goodness of God admired in worship and embraced with thankfulness. If I do not walk with virtue, can I say that I have truly seen the goodness of God?

Lord, grant me a continuing vision of your goodness as I walk and live in this world. Let each breath, each sight, each word, each sound be the overtures to your goodness. As I become more aware of the goodness that lies beyond each thing, let me become good as you are. I know my gifts will reflect what is in me. Let it be virtue, my imitation of your goodness in the life you've given me to live. Amen.

Virtue and a Way Out

Devotional Classics, Blaise Pascal, Excerpt from Pensees

"Thus wishing to appear openly to those who seek him with all their heart and hidden from those who shun him with all their heart, he has qualified our knowledge of him by giving signs which can be seen by those who seek him and not by those who do not. There is enough light for those who desire only to see, and enough darkness for those of a contrary disposition." (p.175)

It seems there is plenty of darkness about. I am distressed when I read the news. I talk with people who are unhappy, sick, and tired. Even the good things in life seem to require so much work. It seems there is more than enough darkness to justify a "contrary disposition" when it comes to seeing God. I sympathize deeply with people who just can't see.

There is a part of me that wants to see the darkness. I used to fantasize about what I would do if something really terrible happened to me, like losing my whole family in a car crash. Then I would really let people have it, I used to say to myself. I would really tell them what I think. Somehow the thought of losing everything gave me a certain pride, a sense of hurt self-righteousness. I would be excused for being mean and losing myself in whatever pleasure I wanted because I had lost so much.

I don't play that fantasy anymore. Yet I do find that the darkness that I dwell on still gives me that "contrary disposition" and often precedes thoughtless acts that hurt myself and others around me. Somehow I need to give myself permission to be mean or lustful. I've heard this is not uncommon.

I have begun to get into a different habit. When the darkness closes in, I have started to call out, "Help!" to God. Usually, for a while I dwell on it or muddle around in it. I am beginning to realize when I'm stuck though. I pull and complain and eventually begin to despair. So I yell, "Help!"

You know what? God comes. Sometimes immediately; usually soon. His words to me change everything, even when the circumstances don't change. That is the power of his words. They bring light into that dark place. It doesn't necessarily take a lot of light to brighten some of those holes. And light always means a way out.

So virtue becomes a way out of my present darkness. It is not a mere "good thing to do" or credit in heaven or points with God. Virtue reminds me to look up when I'm stuck in that hole. It is the habit and practice of looking up at certain points in the day because very likely very soon I will be looking down at myself buried in trouble. Reading the Bible. Saying a practiced prayer. Helping someone out. Hugging a crying child. Such deliberate acts, whether regular or habitual, cause me to look up and cry "Help" in the darkest hours.

On the other end, vices and sins and addictions may take me away from my problem for a moment, but I only find myself buried deeper when I come back. And the darkness deepens. Such things are what I do when I give up and feel despair. "Let us eat and drink for tomorrow we die" is a statement of the utmost despair.

Lord, thank you for providing ways out of the darkness. There is indeed enough light to come after you. You are light; I need only look up. Lift up my eyes so I can see you each day, especially when the darkness is deep. Amen.

When a person is lost in the woods, they need to stay still and call out. What gets people killed is running around and trying to save themselves in a panic. What a good picture of virtue: stop and cry out. What a sobering picture of sin: run around until you fall off a cliff. Both lost. Both found. One alive and one dead.

Virtue and Pain

Golden Booklet of the True Christian Life, John Calvin, from Chapters 3-5

In short, knowing that whatever may happen is ordained by the Lord, he will receive it with a peaceful and thankful heart, that he may not be guilty of proudly resisting the rule of him to whom he has once committed himself and all his belongings.

Far be it from the heart of a Christian to accept the foolish and wretched consolation of the heathen philosophers who tried to harden themselves against adversity by blaming Fortune or Fate for it. They thought that it was foolish to be displeased with our lot, because there is a blind and cruel power in the world which deals blows to everyone, worthy and unworthy.

For he does not afflict to destroy or ruin us, but rather to deliver us from the condemnation of the world.

Scripture points out this difference between believers and unbelievers; the latter, as old slaves of their incurable perversity, cannot endure the rod; but the former, like children of noble birth, profit by repentance and correction.

For despair will be the end of those who let their patience slip into indifference and who contend that a man is strong and courageous when he makes himself a senseless block. On the contrary, Scripture praises the saints for their patience when they are severely afflicted by their adversities, but not broken and overcome by them; when they are bitterly distressed, but nevertheless filled with spiritual joy; when they are weighed down by anxiety and become exhausted, and yet leap for joy because of the divine consolation.

Nevertheless, our constant efforts to lower our estimate of the present world should not lead us to hate life or to be ungrateful toward God.

When we have come to this conclusion that our life in this world is a gift of God’s mercy which we ought to remember with gratitude because we owe it to him, it will then be time for us to consider its misery.

This we may positively state, that nobody has made any progress in the school of Christ unless he cheerfully looks forward to the day of his death and the day of the final resurrection.

For not only is a passion for earthly things accompanied by almost all other vices, but he who is impatient under privation will commonly betray the opposite vice when he is in luxury. This means that he who is ashamed of a simple garment will be proud of a glamorous one.

Pain is a great teacher, at least potentially. I do not say this because I see "lessons" in all pain or that it is handed out fairly, as I see it. I am speaking merely from my own life. Pain teaches me desperation. It peals back the curtain of this world to show the darkness that taints even the brightest moments. It makes me long for something else, something better, something relieving.

Pain is a great motivator. I do not say this because it always accompanies my wrong-doing. I can see how pain alerts me to the my needs. It can bring me to my knees in surrender or despair. It makes me see that something - maybe me, maybe this life, maybe someone - is wrong and needs fixing.

Pain pushes me into decisions. It forces me to my feet to find help. Pain makes me beg for solutions, answers, or at least relief. It only listens when its cause is addressed.

There's nothing really profound about this. What is surprising is that the typical answer to pain is consistent. Along with pain-killers for bodily pain, anti-depressants for emotional pain, there is philosophy for spiritual pain. Calvin calls such explanations a "wretched consolation" that "hardens" a person so that he considers himself "strong and courageous when he makes himself a senseless block" by saying, "There is a blind and cruel power in the world which deals blows to everyone, worthy and unworthy."

I am not against lessening pain. I take ibuprofen for all sorts of aches and pains. There is much pain that cannot be helped by medicine, however. If pain can only be lessened a little, then life is despair. Lessening pain only postpones this conclusion.

I think Calvin has a good point when he writes, "When we have come to this conclusion that our life in this world is a gift of God’s mercy which we ought to remember with gratitude because we owe it to him, it will then be time for us to consider its misery." Without the lens of grace, I cannot hope to work through pain and suffering. Unless I understand that God gives grace that overcomes all pain, even up to a tortured death, I will not be able to handle misery in this world. Whatever misery pain and suffering can deal out, God can trump with the good news of Christ.

Only in faith and trust in God to this degree can make suffering a teacher and a motivator. Calvin puts it better. Suffering in light of God's powerful grace can "deliver [me] from the condemnation of the world," make me "profit by repentance and correction," help me to "leap for joy because of the divine consolation," not lead me to "hate life or to be ungrateful toward God," but "cheerfully look forward to the day of [my] death and the day of the final resurrection."

This is indeed a powerful motivator for virtue in my life, especially when I realize how much of my pain is caused by sin and carelessness. Suffering quickly dispels "passion for earthly things" which accompanies "almost all other vices" when it is laid in God's hands. I will have my day when I call out in agony "Why have you forsaken me?" For that day I pray, "Deliver me from evil" and "May I never, no, never outlive my love to Thee."

Lord, I cannot explain nor understand all pain and suffering, but I do know that whatever suffering may come my way will not overcome your grace to me. Let me come to you, even when you do not take the pain away, and put my suffering into your hands to keep and watch as you comfort me on that day. I am never alone. You are with me forever. Amen.

Rather than panic in the face of suffering, I hope to learn how to pray and wait on God. Frantic solutions and fearful dreading are my usual responses. I want to learn how to put my pain in God's hands and not be led into sins that "deaden" pain or express my anger in the midst of pain.

Virtue, Holiness, and Self-Denial

Golden Booklet of the True Christian Life, John Calvin, from Chapters 1 & 2

Of the many excellent recommendations, is there any better than the key principle: Be thou holy, for I am holy?

Holiness is not a merit by which we can attain communion with God, but a gift of Christ, which enables us to cling to him, and to follow him.

Because the Father has reconciled us to himself in Christ, therefore he commands us to be conformed to Christ as to our pattern.

We should exhibit the character of Christ in our lives, for what can be more effective than this one stirring consideration? Indeed, what can be required besides?

The gospel is not a doctrine of the tongue, but of life.

It is an ancient and true observation that there is a world of vices hidden in the soul of man, but Christian self-denial is the remedy of them all.

The poor yield to the rich, the common people to the upper ten, the servants to their masters, the ignorant to the scholars; but there is nobody who does not imagine that he is really better than the others. Everyone flatters himself and carries a kingdom in his breast.

For we shall never arrive at true meekness by any other way than by humiliating ourselves and by honoring others from the depth of our hearts.

You cannot imagine a more certain rule or a more powerful suggestion than this, that all the blessings we enjoy are divine deposits which we have received on this condition that we distribute them to others.

I love the way Paul describes holiness as my essential quality when he calls followers of Jesus, "saints." Saints are merely "holy ones." And yet he also says that saints are "called to be holy." (1 Cor 1:2) So it is something given as a gift - I am made holy - and yet also expected as a growing quality - I am called to be holy.

It makes me think of my kid's friends. If they walked into my house without one of my kids with them, I would say, "What are you doing here?" They are not really part of my household without my children's presence with them. With my children with them, they become "adopted" into my home as my children. So Christ's presence and substitution for me gives me access to the throne room of God for Christ's sake. I do not have to face God's question of "What are you doing here?"

As any polite person knows, in order to remain in someone's house, they must pay attention to the rules and spirit of the house. Although there is forbearance, a good friend will try to imitate a good child in the house. This is being polite. I think it has some correlation to holiness, though. I have access through Christ so I can learn and obtain the quality he has. He becomes the pattern for my life.

And so Jesus gives a double gift in holiness. I am given access to the Father, so that I can indeed pray, "Our Father" with him. I am also given the perfect model of relating to the Father through Jesus the Son, who shows what purity and holiness really are in God's sight, and through the Spirit, who enables me to grow in the same way. Access to God without the growing "character of Christ" in my life is like one of my kids' friends barging into my house without my children with them; it's not only rude, but presumptuous. (I did this before as a kid; I wouldn't recommend it.)

Although my part is small in this - because I certainly could not get anywhere near the Father without Jesus - I do have something essential to do. In contrast to this presumptuousness of disregarding Christ's character and example to me and expecting access to God, self-denial is a good remedy. It is the heart of humility without which it is impossible to enter the kingdom of God (Mt. 18:4).

Many efforts at self-denial end up being more like self-immolation. Christian self-denial, or more specifically, Christ-like self-denial is what is called for. Without the enabling power of grace, self-denial quickly becomes either a show or self-destructive. But the effort remains, still.

The effort requires me to leave my self at the doorstep when I enter God's kingdom with Jesus. Children who come into my house and make demands for themselves contrary to the provision of my house are usually considered rude and presumptuous (or cute if they're very little, but only for a short time.) Being polite is accepting what is given to you and carefully asking for what is not. This requires that a person put the rules of the house before their own desires when they enter that house. In the same way self-denial is leaving behind my desires and learning to accept what is good from God. If I want to be his, I will be in his house with his Son, seeking to be like the family.

This self-denial cuts to the very core of what keeps me from God. I may want to "visit" God, giving up certain things for a short time, but knowing that I will get back to "my house" where I can do what I want to, or as Calvin puts it, where I am king in my own kingdom. This is not self-denial. Self-denial only comes when I decide I want to move in with the Father, Son, and Spirit, abiding with them all my days. There is no "vacation" in this adoption. Vacation negates self-denial and makes me a mere visitor.

Self-denial happens not only when I decided I want to remain with God all my days, but when I follow Jesus back out into the crowds and "honor them from the depths of my heart." In my family the word "honor" means more than respect. It means respect plus genuine care, generosity, and helpfulness. Self-denial means imitating Jesus in his desire to serve and not be served, give himself as a ransom for many, and lay down his life for others. It is not a series of rules to follow, but a general attitude of "putting others interests before your own." (Php. 2)

Nothing will be earned in doing this. Christ made it clear that the service itself will reward: "It is more blessed to give than to receive." Where self-denial does not bring joy, I am not yet resigned to living with the Father. I am still holding out for my own kingdom, my own way, and not trusting in his goodness and generosity. He will provide and the greatest gift of all will be my "family likeness" to his Son.

Father, thank you for inviting me in with Jesus. Let me stay with you. Let me marvel in the love of this household you have. Let me live as your son with other people, acting on your great blessing and provision rather than on the fear of not getting my own way. Mold my desires into the ones that Jesus has. You are indeed my Father in heaven. Amen.

This self-denial is like stripping off layers of paint and varnish from an old piece of furniture. It is work. It is a process. I think, by God's grace, some of the "true grain" will show in these days and God's work will become apparent as holiness. Holiness is that true grain, being completely God's, completely different, and completely myself.

Virtue and Turning

Devotional Classics, Richard Rolle, Excerpt from The Fire of Love

"Before we can experience even a little of God's love, we must be really turned to him, and, in mind at least, be wholly turned from every earthly thing. The turning is indeed a matter of duly ordered love, so that, first, we love what we ought to love and not what we ought not, and, second, our love kindles more towards the former than to the latter." (p.162)

Being virtuous its rewards. Freedom from shame and guilt. Newfound strength. Reconciliation in relationships with others. But at the top of the list is the experience of God's love. Actually, I find without this "reward," none of the others make virtue stick.

This is the reason that turning is required. I must turn not only to God, but away from every "earthly thing." Contrary to popular opinion, I do not think this is because God is the cosmic killjoy. This has to do with the nature of the human heart and with the nature of love itself.

There is only room for one God in any persons life. One of the greatest problems with polytheism is its denial of reality. The same holds true for agnosticism. I cannot serve more than one god, neither can I not serve any god. In the end, whatever service I render to other people, gods, or desires comes down to one focal point. That focal point is the place of worship to my one god.

Jesus explains it this way: "No one can serve two masters. Either he will hate one and love the other or be devoted to one and despise the other." (Mt. 6:24) In the ten commandments, it goes this way, "I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery. You shall have no other gods before me." (Ex. 20:1-2)

Instead of turning away from other "gods" and toward the true God, I want to have God AND other things. Instead of turning, I find myself stacking. I try to gather all the things that make me feel comfortable, safe, and happy into a pile that I can pick and choose from. Unfortunately, with stacking, there still is an order - something ends up on top.

So turning is a matter of "duly ordered love." What's on top? Rolle says that the way my deck is stacked will be obvious soon enough. "Love for God and love for the world cannot coexist in the same soul: the stronger drives out the weaker, and it soon appears who loves the world, and who follows Christ." (p.163) As much as I would love to stack and "have it all," I find that virtue - loving God and his ways - lies in a completely different direction than loving the passing things of this world. One must be ignored to seek the other. So I must turn.

Rolle explains such turning in two steps. First there is doing what I ought to do. This is deciding upon what is good and right and from God and seizing upon it. Then love kindles or alights in the process of decision and action. If I wait until love kindles without doing what I ought to do, I find myself merely doing what I desire, good or not. This leads to confusion and almost inevitably toward vice rather than virtue. If I do what I ought and love never kindles in me, I am on the fast track to burnout and despair. I think virtue begins with duty and ends with delight when it is practiced correctly.

Lord, I think I can have the world and you. I end up running back and forth between the two, or stretching my life to encompass both. Help me to let go of this world and turn to you. In many ways, I think the biggest challenge is the letting go and trusting that the delight will follow. Bring to mind your many delights and blessings and stir gratitude in my heart so that my turning may be complete. Amen.

There is "botched" virtue that practices virtue as a duty, but never learns to delight. I find myself swimming in this kind of virtue frequently. I feel the lack of delight because I have not let go entirely of the delight in the sin or distraction. Since I still hold on, my duty always remains a strain and I find it hard to see any delight in being with God instead. Trust is the vital ingredient. I can only let go completely when I know that something much better awaits. Thus I must pray, read, and ponder about such things since they are frequently clouded by lies and distractions.

Virtue and Shame

Devtional Classics, Richard Rolle, Excerpt from The Fire of Love

"The eager love of the wicked. . . is always for what is shameful. They have ceased from all spiritual exercise, or at least are flabby and feeble. Their love has no pattern, being given more to things that are of this world than of the next, more to bodies than to souls." (p.163)

Isn't it amazing that I can love something shameful? It seems almost a contradiction in terms. Things that inspire love are beautiful, true, right, and good, not shameful. So how does this desire get planted in my heart?

Perhaps one reason is that shameful things are easy things. Almost without exception. The only thing that makes them difficult is the effort to look good while trying to do them. Then comes the lying, hiding, accusing, etc. Loving shameful things is like walking downhill, going along the broad road and the wide gate. Cruising.

Maybe another appeal to shameful things is how I can "fall into them" without planning or thinking things through. No exercise is needed, just relax and enjoy the ride. Somehow, such things just "come up" easily without any intention to do them at all. They seem to look for me, so I do not have to look for them.

Perhaps they are more available. No waiting. Live in the now. They involve what belongs to this age, what is right here, right now. There is little need for hope and expectation. The things of this world, this age are so easy to come by, while the things of the Age to Come are much harder to find, seemingly.

Maybe the pull of my body is so strong, that shameful things are inevitable. My soul seems to be a wispy, immaterial thing meant for another day, another time, another life. The demands of the body are so obvious, so powerful, so hard to ignore. When the body calls, very few people will question its needs. I can excuse my love of shameful things and even call them "bodily needs," like getting hungry or thirsty. Who can deny that?

And yet there is that nagging feeling of shame with the the sobering thought of "Maybe this isn't a good idea." If the love of shameful things is all so inevitable, where does that come from? Merely a nagging superego, a left-over parent who doesn't know when to be quiet? Social and cultural pressure? Maybe. Not all the voices in my head are true.

Then there is the possibility of evil. My soul may be bent out of shape so that I do what I do not want to do, as Paul writes about in Romans 7. I find that I am not in control of my life. Parts of my life are opposed to another, so I do shameful things, things I do not want to do. This is a broken soul: one that does not bring my life together, but makes my feelings and my thoughts serve desires I do not want to have.

"What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me?" Paul exclaims in exasperation in Romans 7. It certainly seems to have the upper hand. Virtue may not be natural, like these shameful things, but one of the great rewards of a virtuous life is the lack of shame. The lack of shame is not necessitate self-righteousness. Really I find that self-righteousness is a defensive posture that works hand in hand with shame.

No, freedom from shame through virtue brings the opposite of what these desires for shameful things bring. Instead of being feeble and flabby from lack of spiritual exercise, there is a sense of spiritual strength and wholeness. Instead of being blown here and there by every wind of desire, life and love have a pattern and a meaning. Instead of merely living in this present evil age, the Age to Come breaks into this existence, showing the "world" is not all-encompassing, but really a small rebellious faction that will be removed in time. Instead of following bodily desires around to the point of distraction and misery, my soul takes form so that the parts of my life - my thoughts, my feelings, my body as well - begin to work together for good instead of pulling in opposite directions with disparate desires.

Lord, I see the good news from you is that the horizons of virtue have expanded through Jesus. No longer is virtue isolated to religious moments or to just the right kind of people, but now it is open to every moment in my life and to everyone who would follow Jesus. Christ is the pattern of life and of love that can make virtue a powerful presence in my life. Free me from shame, feebleness, and flabbiness in my spirit by the grace present through your Spirit and by the hope present in Jesus, my Father. Amen.

Shame can spiral me down into further degradation. I get ashamed so I need my "fix." Instead, I want to let my experience of shame propel me into the hope of a life without shame. I will let me shame be my guide into what areas of my life need a "work out." (After all, aren't I supposed to "work out" my salvation?)