The alternative is just jumping in, head first underwater, total and immediate submersion. I don't know why this is such an intimidating prospect. I'm not afraid of water, or the bottom of the lake. Yet, every time my kids laugh at me as I yell "One...Two...Two and a haaaalf...THREE!!", run toward the water, and then cower back at the last minute. The funny thing is when I do finally dive in head first, it's great! The water is not nearly cold as I thought it was when I was wading in an inch at a time, and my body adjusts quickly to the point where it is more pleasant being in the water than out of it. But every time it comes to swimming, I go through the same battle of the will, the same "Shoreline Shuffle", as if I forget that it's really no big deal (and in fact, more pleasant) in the end.
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Jumping in a lake is kind of a silly example of how the 'battle of the will' plays out, but it strikes me every time I go through it (which is pretty much every summer). I wonder if it's the imagery, but it takes me back to when I read Confessions for the first time. It is a poignant scene, one close to my heart. In Book VIII, Augustine is on the shores of conversion and going through the birthing pangs of separating from sin into life in Christ:
"For I said with myself, "Be it done now, be it done now." And as I spake, I all but enacted it: I all but did it, and did it not: yet sunk not back to my former state, but kept my stand hard by, and took breath. And I essayed again, and wanted somewhat less of it, and somewhat less, and all but touched, and laid hold of it; and yet came not at it, nor touched nor laid hold of it; hesitating to die to death and to live to life"
Soul-sick, "rolling and turning in his chain," Augustine desires to reach the shores of Continence, put to death the flesh and leave his worldly life, going from dry to wet, yet is gripped by the fear of loss--loss of those pleasures, those:
"...very toys of toys, and vanities of vanities, my ancient mistresses, [that] still held me; they plucked my fleshy garment, and whispered softly, "Dost thou cast us off? and from that moment shall we no more be with thee for ever? and from that moment shall not this or that be lawful for thee for ever? Yet they did retard me, so that I hesitated to burst and shake myself free from them, and to spring over whither I was called; a violent habit saying to me, "Thinkest thou, thou canst live without them?"
However, a new voice has come onto the scene, one that:
"...spake very faintly. For on that side whither I had set my face, and whither I trembled to go, there appeared unto me the chaste dignity of Continency, serene, yet not relaxedly, gay, honestly alluring me to come and doubt not; and stretching forth to receive and embrace me, her holy hands full of multitudes of good examples...and Continence herself in all, not barren, but a fruitful mother of children of joys, by Thee her Husband, O Lord."
This existential moment of "leaping to faith," in the words of Kierkegaard, is a pivotal and terrifying moment: for how can we trust One who promises to catch us who we cannot see? Who promises life though death? The terror of self-destruction, that we will be wiped away, that nothing will appear beneath our feet--the burning away of the false self, like falling onto the surface of the sun--feels real. There is a war for our soul and our will in these moments, and all the cosmos holds its breath in anticipation of the outcome.
Lady Continence addresses this fear in Augustine, and salvation becomes a matter of trust in One who, unlike the false idols and worldly trifles, is trustworthy:
"Why standest thou in thyself, and so standest not? cast thyself upon Him, fear not He will not withdraw Himself that thou shouldest fall; cast thyself fearlessly upon Him, He will receive, and will heal thee."
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Have you ever been lied to? Taken advantage of? Let down? Sin does that. It promises but does not deliver. It meeks out 5 cent pleasure that costs us a dollar a shot. And it absolutely exploits the fear that we cannot do without it, in order to keep us from God.
I went through this recently when I made the decision that I did not want nicotine in my life anymore. For me, smoking/dipping/e-cigarettes was not a habit worthy of a disciple of Christ, and one I kept pretty hidden. It became a kind of puppet-master, an idol that controlled me by pulling strings to make me do things I didn't want to do. I would get anxious when I did not have it, and would not think twice about driving to Wawa at one in the morning in a thunderstorm if that's what it took to make sure I had a supply. It was, in Augustine's words, a "violent habit."
After twenty years of use, nicotine was no longer about pleasure--it was about an addiction making a home in my body, mind, and spirit, like a wasp laying an egg. Smoking was not altogether pleasurable anymore, but the alternative--not smoking--was absolutely painful. I had somehow gotten convinced that living without nicotine would be altogether too painful to endure.
For the first five days, it pretty much was. But then a funny thing happened--it was completely out of my system, and the physical withdrawal symptoms ceased. It then became a head game not to use, and I had to do some cognitive habit rewiring to help with ensuring success. This was hard too, but not impossible. And another funny thing happened: after a while, not having to smoke or use nicotine all the time became enjoyable in and of itself. There was a lightness to it. I gained some weight, but I also gained a modicum of control back, especially of my moods. The drug wasn't telling me what to do anymore. It was really freeing. It will be thirty days tomorrow without nicotine, and contrary to what fear of not using was whispering to me, life is not "barren, but a fruitful mother of children of joy."
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I write of this struggle of mine not because it is unique, but because it is easily substitutable. For me it was a big one. Maybe for you it is pornography. Or gossip. An abusive relationship. Or overeating, or drinking, or binge spending. Whatever it is, the promise is, I would guess, not living up to the reality. Maybe you're not even aware it is a problem. And maybe it's not--that's for you to judge.
But I will say--we are being fed lies all the time, red pill/blue pill style. Lies that force us to live in fear, chained to trifles. To stay with what's familiar but slowly killing us. The lie that this is all there is. Some things we work out of slowly, over time. Some people need to rip them off like a bandaid in one fell swoop. Faith is not dissimilar. But there does come that point when you have to go from dry to wet, when the change in substance becomes definitive, when you leap to faith and become a new creation in Christ. If you are on the precipice, it is terrifying. But I promise you...what is on the other side trifles cannot compare.
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