by John Ortberg
This is what it means to lose your soul. It is not a cosmic threat. It is a clinical diagnosis. It is not “I could end up there.” It is “I could become that.” If you are a lost soul, your surroundings don’t matter — I mean this literally — one damn bit.
THE DANCE WITH SIN AND THE SOUL
I suppose that the person I have sinned against the most is my wife. She was the first really serious girlfriend I ever had. I had been on many first dates, a fair number of second dates, a few third dates, but no fourth dates until hers.
The biggest difference between our maturity levels is that I thought I was far more mature than I was. I had never been in love before, but I had great confidence that when it happened, I would know. I had asked that question many times: “How do you know when you’re in love?” The answer I always got — the answer I wanted to believe — was “You know.” Actually, it was “You just know,” said with a smile and a knowing nod.
With Nancy I just knew. Except for when I didn’t. Except for when she did something that bothered me, something that didn’t fit perfectly with my idealized, romanticized notion of what it would mean to have the greatest relationship ever.
When she would do something I didn’t like — when she disagreed too vehemently or I felt as if she was getting too directive — I would feel something turn cold inside of me. I would distance myself from her by making less eye contact and touching her less and speaking a little coldly. On the night of our rehearsal dinner, which was supposed to be all music and magic, she did or said something that I did not like (and that I no longer have any memory of), but I remember with great clarity sitting in the car with her late into the night. In tears, Nancy said, “If you don’t want to marry me, say so.”
Love, anger, withdrawal, coldness, pain, guilt, melting. All this at a level too deep for my knowing. I had to keep two incompatible thoughts in my mind: “I am a good person” and “I want to inflict pain.” So I had to separate them from each other; I had to disintegrate my mind. This pattern became so embedded that my will couldn’t stop it.
We honeymooned in Wisconsin. A few days into our marriage, she moved toward me romantically, but I withdrew behind a book. I would intimate to her that I did not want sex, even though really I always wanted sex. But I knew my coldness would hurt her a little. My sin crept into my sex life.
Sometimes if we were with other people and she said something I didn’t like, I would get a little distant and polite with her and make a little more eye contact and grow a little warmer toward whomever we were with. My mind was conflicted with thoughts of love and thoughts of bitterness; my feelings were split between intimacy and coldness. My will would move away from her in anger until things got really bad and she cried and I would feel guilty and move back toward her. My face and the tone of my voice could create the effect on her that I wanted without ever being totally open about the deeper recesses of my mind and will. Sin was in my anger. Sin was in my deception. Sin was in my body — the way I would use my face to both conceal and to hurt.
Nancy wanted us to see a counselor. We did for a few times that first summer, but I did so quite grudgingly. And then no more after that, not for many years. I had a doctorate in clinical psychology because I believed other people needed help, but not me. Sin was in my pride. Sin was in my stubbornness.
Marriage is revealing. If only I had eyes to see the sin in just about every area of my life. . . . This dance of withdrawal and approach continued on-and-off for fifteen years. It was not the only dynamic in our marriage; we genuinely loved and enjoyed each other. But withdrawal was always at least beneath the surface, hibernating until the next painful episode.
And then it got much worse. I had been colder longer and meaner than maybe ever before. Nancy got back from a two-week trip, but I still did not thaw. I remember picking her up at the airport and still being politely distant; I can remember our eight-year-old daughter at the airport trying to push the two of us together for a hug. She knew that we were pushing apart. Children always know more than we think.
That night Nancy told me that she could not do the dance anymore. She wasn’t going anywhere. But this dynamic was not about her. It was trouble inside of me, and I would have to work it out somehow. This began a year of anxiety and depression, of counseling and journaling, of little steps and painful talks and looking at the ugliness inside myself that I had never known was there.
The lost soul that I had gone into ministry to save was my own.
I called Dallas and flew back to Box Canyon. We went for a long walk and a long drive. I tried to describe what was happening with Nancy and what I was learning about my own need to be seen — and to see myself — as someone other than who I really was. Dallas’s wife, Jane, joined us for a while; she works as a counselor and a spiritual director. She drew a little diagram that I have to this day, illustrating how certain people view themselves as either the inflated superior being or the worthless empty person no one could love.
I began to feel my deep lostness.
As I unburdened myself to Dallas, I began to understand another soul truth: Confession really is good for the soul. The soul is healed by confession. Sin splits the self. It split me. It meant I tried to pretend in front of Nancy; I tried to pretend before the church that I was a better husband than I was. Sin divided my will; I wanted closeness, yet I wanted to inflict pain when I felt hurt.
As long as I keep pretending, my soul keeps dying. Oddly enough, I don’t just pretend in front of other people. I pretend with God. My friend Scotty says that sometimes we ask for forgiveness, but we know full well we will go back to the same sin tomorrow. We don’t really want forgiveness; we just want to get out of trouble. He says it would be better to pray like this: “Dear God, I sinned yesterday, I sinned again today, and I’m planning to go out and do the same sin tomorrow. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
It may not quite reflect the maturity of “Thy will be done,” but it is better to be an honest mess before God than a dishonest “saint.” “You desire truth in the innermost parts,” the psalmist said to God, and that’s soul-talk. This is part of the sheer healing power of AA — Alcoholics Anonymous. Confession is good for the soul.
At the end of the day, Dallas and I prayed together. I prayed for forgiveness and healing. Dallas did something no one had ever done for me; as we prayed, he placed one hand on my chest over my heart. He asked God to bring wholeness to my soul. It felt to me about as close as I have ever felt to someone actually touching my soul. Finally, I began to move toward being whole. It is a source of joy to be able to say that. But even so, I struggle. I have other sins with Nancy. Then there are the sins that stand against me as a parent. And there are my sins as a friend, a pastor, a neighbor, a son, a consumer, and a global citizen.
As I had realized before at the conference full of twenty-somethings, I sensed now for myself that the soul searches for a father.
DISCONNECTED FROM GOD
The apostle Peter says, “There are sinful desires inside you, and they wage war against your soul.” Your soul is what integrates, what connects, what binds together your will, then your mind (those thoughts, feelings, and desires going on all the time), and then your body (with all of its appetites, habits, and behavior). God designed us so that our choices, our thoughts and desires, and our behavior would be in perfect harmony with each other and would be powered by an unbroken connection with God, in perfect harmony with him and with all of his creation. That is a well-ordered soul.
The soul is what connects all those innermost parts together, connects them with God, and was made for harmony all the way through. Notice how the psalmist writes, “Bless the LORD, O my soul: and all that is within me.” In other words, it is my soul that connects “all that is within me” and that cries out for integration, for wholeness, for oneness, for harmony. This can only happen when my soul — my whole life — is connected with God.
This is precisely why when somebody asked Jesus once, “What is the most impor
tant of all the commandments?” he answered, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” It is not coincidental that all the parts of the person we have been talking about are here in the most important commandment. Your heart (that is, your will, your choices), your mind (all your thoughts and desires), your strength (all of your body), and your soul are all to be bound together and focused on love of God, and then the love of all that flows out of this.
What sin does is break this connection, with God and his love, and it disintegrates one’s life. That’s why the basic human problem is at the soul level. James uses a really interesting word — twice. In James 1:8 he says, “A double-minded man is unstable in all his ways” (KJV). Then later he repeats, “Wash your hands, you sinners, and purify your hearts, you double-minded.” The word translated “double-minded” in the New International Version is the Greek word dipsuchos. Psuche is the Greek word for soul, and literally it could be translated “you double-souled,” “you split-souled,” or “you fractured soul.” Sin fractures and shatters the soul.
Even though we don’t talk much about the soul, our language reflects this in such deep, often unconscious ways. People will say things such as “I feel like my life is falling apart” or “I just can’t seem to get myself together. I just can’t seem to get my act together. I seem to be going to pieces. I am coming apart at the seams.” These are the cries of a soul that was made to be whole. As Parker Palmer puts it, “The divided life is a wounded life, and the soul keeps calling us to heal the wound.”
The heart is primarily the seat of the choices we make from the core of who we are. So the picture here is a person who does what is right, sometimes, but is torn by the desire to do otherwise. Perhaps it means I avoid outright adultery but allow myself other forms of sexual gratification that dishonor my spouse. Or I avoid stealing, but I never live with openhanded generosity. I have my foot on the accelerator and the brake at the same time.
When my will is consistently, freely, joyfully aligned with what I most deeply value, my soul finds rest. That is wholeness. When I live with half-hearted devotion, my soul is always strained.
God’s intent is that my will would be able to oversee, or direct, my mind and then my body. So if everything is working right, if you are as God created you to be, then your body will be the obedient, easy servant of your mind and your will, what you choose. Your mind also will think about and feel those things you direct it to.
My will exists to be surrendered to God in every way. My mind should be under the control of my will. If that were the case, I would simply be able to choose life-giving, truthful thoughts and healthy desires. In turn, my body would always submit to my mind. My habits would line up with my values. My appetites would be governed by rational thought.
But too often the will lacks the power to control the mind, allowing it to go places we don’t want to go. Our bodies are these collections of appetites that veer out of control and habits that drag us down paths we don’t want to travel. I am having lunch with a friend, and one of us orders dessert even though the person knows he should not have ordered dessert. To make matters worse, when the dessert is served, it is huge. It is on this gigantic plate. There is whipped cream all over the place, embarrassing the eater. It makes that guy appear to have a huge appetite for sweets. Then a solution to his embarrassment appears. The plate is so large that the huge dessert might seem small by comparison. The next sentence to come from the guy who ordered it?
“Big plate. Little dessert.”
Now, where did that sentence come from? It came from the mind. What is the mind doing? The body said, “I want something. I want dessert. I want fat and sugar and all that stuff that’s not good for me.” The will said, “Okay, fine with me. Go for it, buddy.” That leaves the mind with a problem: “I want to think of myself as a person of self-control and strong will, and yet here I am indulging in something I know is not going to be good for me. And I also don’t want my friend to think of me as gluttonous or unhealthy.” The mind could go back to the will and say, “Hey, will, don’t do this. You don’t need all those calories and fat. Besides, your friend will think you have no self-control.” But the will is not going to do that. The will has already said yes to the body, so what does the mind have to do? The mind has to find some way to rationalize the decision the will has made so that the mind can continue to feel good about the kind of person he is. Does any part of this sound familiar?
Thus, out of the thousands of things the mind could notice, it focuses its attention on the ratio of the dessert volume to the surface space of plate, which is actually larger than is the case for desserts in many restaurants. The mind says, “Now, what this means is that if I only look at the dessert, I am an out-of-control pig. I can’t deal with that.” So the mind goes straight to the obvious deception: Big plate, but little dessert.
All this happens way faster than we can consciously process. Then the mind continues, “Not only is that thought true, but if I could get the mouth to express that thought out loud, then it can help the other person realize I am someone with greater self-control than dessert size alone might indicate.” So not only can I rationalize what my will is doing, but I can also control the thoughts that others are having about me. All that in four little words: “Big plate. Little dessert.”
I won’t mention which of us ordered the dessert, because the sanctity of confidentiality between priest and penitent is absolute.
That may seem like a trivial example, but behind it are all the dynamics that make jealousy, lust, greed, anger, abuse, and deceit possible. We find ourselves, because of sin, in this odd place where we want to do good things, but we don’t. We go to church, we read the Bible, and we think about God as a God of love. The fruit of the Spirit is love and joy, and we say, “Yeah, that’s what I love.” But when we look at our lives, the real problem isn’t just the stuff we see; it’s the thousands of things we don’t. “Big plate. Little dessert.” This is the human condition.
Paul says, “For in my inner being [in my mind and even in my spirit] I delight in God’s law.” I’m pro-love. I’m pro-joy. I’m pro-truth. Who isn’t? “But I see another law at work in me . . .” — that is, the members of my body. The habits that my eyes, my hands, and my mouth violate all the time. They violate way, way, way more than I’m aware of. “. . . waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me” — my body.
Jesus made this diagnosis a long time ago when talking about temptation. “The spirit” — notice the language again — “is willing, but the flesh [the body] is weak.” This is very true and largely ignored and forgotten in our day. Habits eat willpower for breakfast. So there is the will, there is the mind, and there is the body. They are working badly, sometimes in ways that are kind of humorous to us, but often in ways that are horrible and unspeakably tragic.
Sin is the sickness that our souls have inherited.
CHAPTER 5
SIN AND THE SOUL
Fake sunglasses can damage your soul.
Researchers at Duke, North Carolina, and Harvard universities have all examined the impact of “fake adornment” on our ethics. In one study a group of women was given expensive Chloé sunglasses to wear, but half of them were told the glasses were cheap knockoffs. Even though they were assigned at random, the knockoff group was more than twice as likely to both cheat and steal in a subsequent study than women who believed they were wearing the real deal. In another study, people who thought they were wearing fake sunglasses were more cynical in their attitudes toward other people. We fake it in life to bolster our ego. But the result is, we feel like phonies and become more deceptive and cynical with others — so exquisitely sensitive is the need of the soul to be whole.
How do I come to grips with the truth about my own soul? Why is it so evasive? Why can I often see other people more clearly than myself? Soul language has to involve sin language.
Why? Because sin disintegrates, obliterates, wholeness. Your soul cannot function properly if sin is present.
Sin is not just the wrong stuff we do; it’s the good we don’t do. It’s the starving children we don’t want to look at, the volunteering we avoid, the poor we don’t want to serve, and the money we don’t want to give. How can good church folk turn their backs on the people Jesus called “the least of these”? Diversion and collusion. First, we remind ourselves that we haven’t committed the really bad sins such as bank robbery or serial murder. Then we make a pact with each other: I won’t call you on it if you won’t call me on it. I have been told by religious book publishers that no one will buy books about feeding the hungry or clothing the naked. Collusion is pretty widespread.
NO LITTLE SINS
Unlike our legal system, sins are not weighted by their seriousness. There are no misdemeanors in the realm of sin. Sin is sin, and it is serious because of what it does to the soul. The apostle Paul wrote, “Here is a trustworthy saying that deserves full acceptance: Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners — of whom I am the worst.” Why does Paul say he is the worst? The late John Stott wrote, “Paul is not saying he did a careful study of every sinner in human history and found out he came in last place. The truth is, rather, when we are convicted by the Holy Spirit, an immediate result is we give up all such comparisons.” Paul was so vividly aware of his own sins that he could not conceive that anybody could be worse.
This is the language of every sinner whose conscience has been awakened and disturbed by the Holy Spirit. There is real neurological evidence for the power of spiritual reflection to make us aware of our sin. Christians actually use a different part of their brain to self-evaluate than non-Christians. In a study conducted in Beijing, researchers compared which part of the brain people used to evaluate both themselves and others.
