Near the conclusion of J.R.R. Tolkien’s novel The Lord of the Rings, Frodo—the unlikeliest of heroes—is on the verge of completing his mission to destroy the Ring of Power. With the fate of Middle-earth hanging in the balance, all he has to do is drop the ring into the fiery abyss of Mount Doom.
There’s only one problem. Frodo can’t do it.
Even with so much at stake, and despite every noble intention, the brave hobbit is unable to let go of the ring. Its dark powers so intoxicate him they have overtaken his mind and his will.
We can identify with Frodo’s struggle. We hold things in our lives we know we should get rid of—compulsive, often secret habits that drain the life from us and hurt the people we love. We stand to lose so much, but we can’t seem to let them go.
We call these habits addictions, and they are no ordinary struggles. They threaten to consume our lives in destructive and dehumanizing ways.
Perhaps it’s the compulsive urge to look at Internet porn or read the latest racy novel. Maybe it’s something as innocent but habit-forming as social media or video games. Or we can’t stay away from the casino or keep from bingeing on alcohol. It might be overeating or compulsive exercise or intentionally hurting ourselves.
The truth is nearly anything can develop into an obsession that takes over our lives. Even though we know it’s harmful to continue down the path of excess, and we have vowed to quit more times than we can count, stopping seems impossible.
Why can’t we let our addictions go? In part, it’s because they promise to do things for us—things we’ve come to believe we can’t survive without. Unless we are open to discover and replace our addictions with something more promising, they will continue to draw us back the way bugs are drawn to a light.
There is another way—one that can replace such urges and render them powerless. Drawing from a worldview shaped by the story of the Bible, we can experience a hopeful alternative to the false promise of addictions. What Do Addictions Promise?
Many factors contribute to our harmful obsessions. Genetics, family background, social circumstances, or mental illness are some of the influences that make us prone to compulsive habits. Once begun, our obsessions grow more difficult to resist because of what they promise to do for us. Addictions offer relief and control in a world more painful, frightening, and unpredictable than we can bear.
The Promise of Relief
Most of us would admit that addictions make us feel good. Gorging on junk-food calories, gambling on the next “big win,” or clicking through pornographic websites causes the pleasure center of our brain to light up like a Christmas tree. The thrill triggers more cravings, driving us back for more and more of what gave us the spike in pleasure.
There comes a point, however, when an activity crosses a line into something more than a thirst to feel instantly good. Soon that rush of pleasure becomes a habitual way to escape reality.
Our addictions promise to dull or completely numb our painful memories and emotions that remind us of trauma, neglect, and abuse. And addictions deliver on that promise—for a while. But the relief that comes so easily wears off quickly. Temporary relief creates compulsive cravings for more relief. Before we know it, we are trapped in a destructive pattern of seeking relief through short-lived escapes.
Giving in to compulsion again and again always leave us worse off than it finds us. We not only experience the pain of withdrawal when our addiction is unavailable, but painful waves of shame and self-judgment begin to pound us. We hate our lack of self-control. We loathe how many times we’ve told ourselves the last time will be the last time. So much time, energy, and money wasted on a temporary solution that only makes us feel worse. Most of all, we are certain that if we told anyone our secret they would despise us as much as we despise ourselves.
These waves of shame and self-hatred build and become so intolerable we will do anything to escape them, including repeating the very behaviors that caused us to feel so awful. When the binge is over and the bad feelings return (as they always do), we feel the compulsion to keep engaging in the madness of trying to fix a problem with a problem.
This ever-elusive pursuit of relief not only reinforces toxic feelings of shame, it can eventually leave us feeling so dead inside that we can’t stand it. The numbing from the addiction stifles our capacity to enjoy experiences like music, reading, or a sharing a meal with family and friends. After a while, we can’t feel anything except shame. And so we find ourselves returning to our addictions as a way of feeling we are still alive. But this too quickly dries up. When the thrill of the moment fades, the urge to seek the relief of another instant high reels us in for more.
The false promise of relief—in whatever form it takes—become a vicious loop that seems even more unstoppable as it colludes with addiction’s equally strong promise of control.
The Promise of Control
Addictions mask the deepest heartaches of life. For a time, they can soothe the stress of past losses and trauma or distract us from present troubles. Whether we gamble online, vomit up our dinner, or absorb ourselves in a project to keep our feelings at bay, the relief we find seems to be within our control. We’re calling the shots. Deep down, that’s just what we want.
Addictions become so intoxicating because they promise us predictable doses of comfort and relief that create the sense of being in charge. But it’s all an illusion, promising us freedom and escape on our terms, only to trap us in a life-draining cycle of bondage and shame.
In exchange for the promise of relief and control, our addictions master us. They flip the script and impose their will on us, demanding more and more while delivering less and less.
Despite all the promises to stop, enough is never enough. We always need more. The sobering truth is that we end up enslaved to what had promised us freedom.
A More Promising Way
Starting an addiction is easy. Stopping is hard. Breaking free from the clutches of an addiction becomes a miracle in itself, but for most that miracle won’t be instantaneous or painless. We’ve come to rely on our addiction to such an extent that letting it go seems like losing a piece of ourselves.
One thing remains certain; addictions don’t bend to mere willpower. We won’t know freedom by white-knuckling our way through the urges. It’s not about making more promises to quit or trying clever ways to outmaneuver the cravings. It’s about trying something entirely new.
We don’t beat addictions into submission. We replace them. Addictive urges are rendered obsolete as we embark on a more promising journey of self-discovery and transparency—one that begins right where we are.
The journey is long and hard but wonderfully rewarding. While no one’s journey is the same, the ground we must travel bears many resemblances. In the remaining pages let’s unpack what taking this journey looks like when we begin to substitute addiction with something life-giving.
Admitting we are out of control.
Eventually we come to a point where we have to stop kidding ourselves. Even though we argue inside our heads that we can manage our behavior or quit at any time, one regretful experience after another tells us otherwise.
Many times this is a forced admission as the consequences of addiction catch up to us. Something happens that makes it impossible to deny how our addictions are running and ruining our lives. We get arrested. We lose a job. Our spouse leaves. Our kids stop talking to us. We overdose. We get ticketed for drunk driving. We fall into a debilitating depression. We become suicidal. We bankrupt our family.
The shocking reality of the sort of person we have become brings us to our knees. Once we acknowledge we are in trouble, we also need to admit we are powerless to stop on our own. This doesn’t mean we are incapable of making choices or participating in the process of getting well, nor does it absolve us of our poor choices. It is the profound and humbling realization that we need help outside ourselves.
Admitting our problem to others.
Admitting how unmanageable our life has become is hard, but it is a promising start that eventually brings us to a vital crossroad. With the walls of addiction closing in, we need to stop pretending we’re okay and tell others about our out-of-control obsession. If not, the addictions will surely continue.
At first, confession may feel like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. For years we’ve hidden our addiction from others, terrified that they would pull away in disgust. We feel the urge to retreat into isolation and figure a way out of our mess privately. But sooner or later we see that we’re only as sick as the secrets we keep. If we’re going to take our problem seriously enough to get well, we need to muster the courage to come clean about everything.
But we can’t tell just anyone. We can’t post our darkest secrets on social media for everyone to see . We can only admit our problem to people who are safe.
These trusted people will keep our struggles in confidence. They are willing to wade through the swamp of our addictions without giving up or looking down on us. Perhaps they were once trapped in addictions themselves. Such friends will humbly acknowledge they don’t have it all together and will talk candidly about their own fears and struggles.
This may be the first time we truly confess our secret. The rest and relief that confession can bring will surprise us. It is notably different than the superficial relief found in addictions. Confiding in someone safe unloads a burden we’ve carried far too long by ourselves. It lessens the shameful power our secret held over us. And it gives us the earliest glimmers of hope for a better way, a route to move ahead where there didn’t seem to be one.
Exploring the roots of addiction.
The journey of self-discovery calls us to do the hard work of exploring the roots of our compulsions. As we dig into what lies beneath the addictions, we might be startled to find the problem is not the problem. It isn’t about alcohol or pornography or the late night food binge. That is merely the fruit of deeper roots. We won’t get far if we just keep picking off the bad fruit only to see it grow back. The more promising approach deals directly with the hidden root system from which addictions grow and thrive.
The root of unbearable emotions. Addictive urges don’t strike out of nowhere. They stem from powerful emotions welling up inside us that usually go unnoticed.
Many of us have a hard time identifying our feelings of any kind, let alone the more troubling and tender emotions like shame, fear, and disappointment. Long ago we learned to discount the importance of our emotional state, as though it was weak or wrong or a waste of time and energy. Best to shrug off unsettling feelings and get on with what’s important. Or we are so used to getting down on ourselves or being angry at others that we are aware of feeling little other than anger. Or perhaps we find any negative emotion uncomfortable and tend to look only for the best in every situation.
We start to grasp, however, that emotions are not something to trivialize or feel embarrassed about. They are a crucial aspect of what it means to be human. Until we learn to face our emotions, our addictions will likely worsen.
Undoing a lifetime of suppressing our most troubling feelings stretches us far outside our comfort zone. But we can learn to slow down and pay attention to what is going on inside us before we feel the urge to act out. We can get better at recognizing the stressful emotions surrounding everyday events and interactions with others—especially the more shameful ones, which repeatedly leave us feeling unacceptable, inferior, or undesirable.
The emotions we discover rising up in the minutes, hours, and even days leading up to compulsive urges may seem related only to recent events and interactions. Perhaps it’s a cold response from a spouse, a stressful meeting at work, or a friend who didn’t immediately return a text message. But the more we become aware of our feelings, the more we realize the emotions are much bigger than the current moment. They point to deeper, unresolved issues in our personal story.
Further exploration reveals a long history behind many of our most distressful feelings, often as far back as childhood. For some, these include obviously traumatic stories of physical or sexual abuse, betrayal, or outright neglect that carried the shameful message that we are bad or not enough. For others, the shame emerges in more subtle ways: moments of praise and encouragement never offered; hugs or a reassuring hand on the shoulder never given; effort and accomplishments overlooked; soccer games and band concerts missed; looks of disapproval or impatient tones of voice; interactions that leave us with little choice but to conclude we are a disappointment or unworthy of affection.
This is a hard part of the journey. It takes tremendous courage and intentionality to engage the stories that gave birth to our most distressful feelings long enough to be helped by it. At first, it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference, especially compared to the instant results from our addictions. Sometimes we can’t bear the pain we uncover, so we run back to old habits for solace. The cure seems worse than the disease. It is not.
Recognizing the truth about our stories provides a healthy outlet of grief for the emotional pressure pent up inside us. Most of us don’t realize the deep unrest lying there. Addictions mask this unrest. Letting it out is exhausting, but inner comfort and peace will come only after we allow tears to flow.
As we trace our hurts and fears back to those earlier scenarios when we first experienced them, the link between intolerable, neglected emotions and irresistible urges for relief becomes clear. Connecting these dots helps us see the emotional duress drawing us back to our obsessions. This gives us the chance to interrupt the cycle of addiction. Just as important, it allows us to engage our shameful struggles with grace and kindness.
We don’t look back at these touchstone moments and events to blame others or come up with excuses. We look back for the sake of moving forward in a promising direction, one that permits us to be truly known and cared for in our hidden places where the effects of loss, trauma, and shame lurk. But this is only the beginning. There is another root to uncover.
The root of false hopes. Anchoring our addictive patterns firmly in place is the root of false hopes. This root runs the deepest and proves the hardest to uncover, but we slowly begin to see that addictions are a way of turning away from our Maker in the false hope of finding a better life.
The New Testament reveals that “the God who made the world and everything in it” (acts 17:24) desires to have a deep relationship with us. He longs for us to seek Him, find Him, and experience the love of being fully known by Him without any hint of rejection. He created us to embrace His unconditional love and trust His ways for life. But we come to see the exact opposite taking place in our addictions. We are running not only from our history of unbearable feelings; we’re on the run from our Creator.
The apostle Paul describes our flight as trading “the truth about God for a lie” and serving “the things God created instead of the Creator himself” (romans 1:25). Whether it’s food, sex, money, power, intelligence, looks, or a relationship, we put all our hopes for life in something God made, serving it as though it is a god.
What is the lie that we exchange for our Maker? Ultimately, it’s the same lie that seduced the first couple, one that questioned their connection with God while offering the false hope of something better.
After the dawn of creation, Satan, in the form of a shrewd serpent, approached Eve and planted seeds of doubt in her mind. He asked her, “Did God really say you must not eat the fruit from any of the trees in the garden?” (genesis 3:1). Satan’s question wasn’t concerned so much with Eve getting her facts straight. He wasn’t trying to help Eve mine the depths of God’s ways. His hidden agenda, as psychiatrist Curt Thompson observes, was to raise doubts about her connection with her Creator. If Eve misunderstood what God had said about eating fruit from the trees in the garden, what else might she be getting wrong about God? Perhaps Eve wasn’t nearly as important to God as she thought. Perhaps her relationship with Him was at risk.
Thompson points out, “So often when we doubt ourselves, especially in the face of what we consider to be important events in our lives, we are actually doubting our sense of connection with others, not least with God. We doubt we will be okay. To be okay as a human is first and foremost about being connected to God and others.”
As uncertainty and doubt toyed with Eve, the serpent offered her two promises that not only further questioned her understanding of what God had said, but t. They offered her a compelling “solution” to the relational dilemma churning inside. First, the serpent assured Eve, “You won’t die!” (genesis 3:4). In other words, Eve didn’t have to live as a created being with limitations and boundaries. She could do whatever seemed right to her without suffering any negative consequences.
The second promise Satan made to Eve was “you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (genesis 3:5). In other words, knowledge is power, and you can know everything God knows. You are equals. You and your husband can run the world as you see fit, and God can go do His own thing. You don’t need Him as much He led you to believe.
The serpent said these things to Eve as an indictment of the Creator. He emphasized to her, “God knows that your eyes will be opened as soon as you eat it,” and, by implication, He doesn’t want you to know it. Maybe God isn’t telling you everything. Maybe He doesn’t care about you as much as you think.
We can only guess at the emotional turmoil within Eve. She knew the intimacy of being created in the image of God (see genesis 1:26–27; 2:7,21–22). No reason existed to question God in any way, especially His love or His plans for her and her husband to join Him in taking care of His good creation together. And yet in the serpent’s words she heard doubts. Perhaps it was all a ruse by God. Maybe He didn’t even mean what He said. Simultaneously she felt the seductive pull of something that promised to be better. Perhaps eating the forbidden fruit was the path to a life that God had concealed from her.
Satan didn’t execute human rebellion, but he certainly instigated it by cleverly planting seeds of doubt and insecurity. Tragically, Satan’s tactics convinced Eve to do the unthinkable, and Adam followed suit. By eating the taboo fruit, they said no to their Creator and yes to the lies of the Evil One (genesis 3:6).
Adam and Eve didn’t merely rebel against a rule. Just as we do in our addictions, they felt deeply insecure and turned away from relationship with their Creator. They reached for resolutions in something else He created. And they instantly realized that it wasn’t working out as they’d hoped.
The couple suddenly felt overwhelming shame at their nakedness. And they reacted like all of us do when we become aware something is profoundly wrong with us. They hid (genesis 3:7–8). Afraid of letting each other or God see their flaws, they panicked and sprang into fight or flight mode. After they tried to cover themselves with fig leaves, they pointed fingers of judgment and blame when God sought them out (vv. 9–13).
No longer unashamed in their nakedness, Adam and Eve feared they would end up all alone—the very thing God said was “not good” for humans to experience (see genesis 2:18). But being alone is exactly where hiding and blaming leaves us—isolated without the resources of relationship and our God to put back together the broken pieces of ourselves.
The nightmare Satan lulled Eve into fearing came true. And following his “solution” made it far worse than she could have imagined. Connection with God and with each other was gone. Hiding and suspicion replaced openness and trust. Vulnerability no longer seemed safe. The world had suddenly become a scary, unbearable place.
And so it is with our addictions. At their core, they are reenactments of the same tragic story of false hopes as told by the Genesis account. Addictions offer the same empty promises that assure us we can be in charge and live outside of connected relationships, without limits, struggles, or needs. They guarantee us god-like power and control. They tell us there is a safer, more predictable path to life that will protect us from harm, resolve our insecurities, and satisfy our souls. But as with Adam and Eve, the result is greater shame, more hiding and finger pointing, and increased isolation. We can’t bear to let God or others see how deeply flawed we are, for that will end badly. It seems that fight or flight (or freeze) are our only options.
Old, untended hurts and fears and the embracing of false hopes—these roots continue to produce the bad fruit of our addictions. It isn’t until we dig down and identify the roots feeding the addictions that we come to a point on the journey where we can believe a different outcome is possible.
Drawing Near
After Adam and Eve had rebelled, the Creator came looking for them, calling out to a hiding Adam, “Where are you?” (genesis 3:9). In a similar way, Jesus came looking for us. Most of us know of Him. Some of us pretend to know Him well, even though it has been a long time since we’ve taken Him seriously. Others of us don’t want anything to do with Him. We wrote Him off long ago, or at least we dismissed who we thought He was.
Yet there Jesus is—looking our way. A section from the New Testament describes a scene from His life:
“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were confused and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (matthew 9:36).
“Confused and helpless” sums up our condition. Slowly we begin to realize that Jesus doesn’t look away from us. Nor is put off by what He sees. He sees us with great compassion. The last book of the Bible pictures a resurrected Jesus seeking us out.
“Look! I stand at the door and knock. If you hear my voice and open the door, I will come in, and we will share a meal together as friends.” (revelation 3:20).
To those of us who struggle with addiction, the idea of Jesus knocking on the door of our lives may seem terrifying. Like Adam and Eve, we can’t bear to let Him in and see us like this. If we do, He may make us feel worse about ourselves than we already do.
But Jesus isn’t going anywhere. While He never compels us to open the door or expects us to clean up the mess of our lives before He enters, He continues to knock patiently. With Jesus things are different.
Eventually we realize that the One knocking not only sees what no one else sees, He already saw everything as if there were no door between us. He sees the shocking secrets, the double life, the shame, all the pain we’ve inflicted on ourselves and others. He knows every lie we’ve told to cover our tracks and every broken promise to quit. He sees right through our superficial spirituality. And still, He isn’t going anywhere.
It starts to dawn on us that the One who knows everything there is to know about us isn’t trying to get our attention so He can condemn us. He knocks at the door of our hearts with an invitation to be fully known and accepted; to know forgiveness, reconciliation, and the opportunity to address the roots of our addictions together with Him, rather than by ourselves. We need to say, “Yes, Jesus, come in. I’m tired of hiding and pretending to be better that I am. I’m ashamed, scared, and confused. I desperately need You!”
Surrendering to Jesus’s invitation initially feels terrifying. What we find, however, is that opening up to Him is the most rewarding path we could ever take. The more we draw near to Jesus, the more we sense Him drawing nearing to us (see james 4:8–10).
When we experience the safety of being known and accepted by the One who always gives more than He takes, a fresh perspective emerges. We reimagine a future where we aren’t hopelessly addicted. No longer is it a foregone conclusion that our unpleasant feelings and painful memories will drive us back to the old false comforters. Where once we thought we had no choice but to give in to our compulsions, we now learn to bring our emotions into relationship with Jesus and others.
Choosing to open up.
Drawing near to Jesus doesn’t instantly curb our compulsive urges, but it does awaken hope to address the unresolved roots of our obsessions. The way forward isn’t to hide what’s happening and try to reason our way out of the urges. That clearly doesn’t work! It is to open up and let others into the pain and fear that fuels our cravings.
Our true friends will provide a safe place where we can begin to share all that is going on inside of us. They understand that our deepest healing and freedom will come through being transparent with them and experiencing their unconditional love. Knowing that we are accepted is even more important than stopping our addiction.
The people we can open up to don’t try to fix us. They don’t pretend to have all the answers or pressure us to get over it, nor do they minimize what we are feeling. They genuinely want to know how we are doing without requiring us to change. They continue to give us the time and space to explore and put into words what we typically don’t give a second thought. And when are unready to talk or can’t find the words, they patiently wait.
The friends and family we find safe will share what is going on inside of them too. They will model reaching out and talking about our troubling emotions before they morph into uncontrollable cravings.
Those who travel the path of vulnerability with us can teach us how to ask what we need when old feelings well up and start to overwhelm us. We discover that we need someone with us in our pain, to hear us out and understand us. We need people to love us with their words and actions in those places where we carry our greatest shame, even when can’t receive love.
Nearly every time we actually do open up and accept their love, we heal a bit more. We make the surprising discovery that there are wounds and places of shame that only love from Jesus and others can begin to touch and mend.
We may be surprised at how much help we need to sort through the old, shameful messages that tell us we’re not good enough. These lies tell us something is terribly wrong with us; that nobody would want us if they knew what we had done or what was done to us. Lies that seduce us to isolate further from God and others and entice us to flee to our addictions.
Most of us will learn the value of a friend we can contact at any time of the day or night. We discover that we need people who won’t give up on us. We need the reassurance that we are going to make it, even if we experience a setback. We need them to keep inviting us back to the more promising way of vulnerability.
Allowing ourselves to grieve.
Vulnerable relationships should be the norm. As we practice opening up to each other, our emotional awareness and capacity to grieve deepens. Further grieving opens our hearts to receive deeper moments of care and comfort that resonate with the words of Jesus:
“God blesses those who mourn, for they will be comforted” (matthew 5:4).
Jesus invites us to mourn when the brokenness of life confronts us. He knows that much love, grace, and comfort awaits those who grieves.
Mourning opens us up to view those young and wounded places inside of us in new ways. For the first time, we are able to take into account all the factors involved when people we loved ignored us. We begin to accept how small we were in comparison to those who hurt us, and that there was nothing we could do to stop or change what happened. We realize we were not wrong for wanting affection and attention; that we didn’t lead our perpetrator on; that our bodies couldn’t help but feel aroused by our abuser’s touch. Through grief we can experience an unburdening of that old shameful lie that says the neglect, abuse, or assault we suffered was somehow our fault.
In time, we find that shared, cared-for, and grieved emotions no longer get triggered and take us over us as they once did—even if they remain for a lifetime. Grieving and experiencing the love of being truly known makes the seemingly unbearable much more bearable. Step by step, we realize freedom from our addictions.
A Better Promise
The promise of God’s new world. Addictions block us from receiving life, but opening our hearts to Jesus and to others has the opposite effect. We start to engage heartache and suffering without it overwhelming us. And we begin to taste the “living water” Jesus talked about in John 4.
As Jesus rested by a well, a hurting woman came to draw water. Contrary to the social norms of the day, He struck up a conversation with her. Soon she was admitting to Him the places where her life was most broken. In her case, it was a string of failed marriages and living with a man who wasn’t her husband (see john 4:16–17).
This woman had a choice when Jesus brought up the topic of her spouse. His words were pointed, but tender and revealing: “Go and get your husband.” Jesus was knocking on the door of her heart. She could have ignored Him. But there was something about the One talking to her that drew an honest response:
“‘I don’t have a husband,’ the woman replied.
Jesus said, ‘You’re right! You don’t have a husband—for you have had five husbands, and you aren’t even married to the man you’re living with now. You certainly spoke the truth!’” (john 4:17–18).
This woman, riddled with shame, chose to be transparent. And Jesus applauded her willingness to answer out of her vulnerability, giving Him access to the place where her pain and shame was most profound. Her decision to let Jesus see where she carried her greatest shame was a moment of vulnerable surrender that altered the direction of her life. It was the start of letting go of life as she knew it, a life she felt utterly trapped in, and embracing the freedom of a brand new life Jesus offered.
Figuratively speaking, Jesus told her those who “drink” (that is, those who willingly open up and receive His “living water”) will find that it quenches their deepest thirst. This water will refresh their soul with a new and lasting life that into the world through Him (see john 4:13–14).
When we stop hiding, we start noticing the same new life bubbling up inside us. It happens as we give Jesus and others access to our most broken places. Something deep, ancient, and true begins to resonate inside of us. It’s a powerful taste of the most promising reality of all—God’s promise of a new world, one that includes the forgiveness of sins and the renewal of all things.
After the first humans went their own way, the Bible unfolds the tragic story of how rebellion and brokenness spread like a cancer. But God promised He wouldn’t leave it that way.
The good news of the Bible is that a loving and merciful Creator didn’t write off the human race. Nor did He abandon the good world He had made to the evil and all the brokenness corrupting it. Instead, God promised to bring an eventual end to all that is broken. He pledged to bring a worldwide blessing of rescue and renewal, one that reaches into the hearts of people from every corner of world and every square inch of creation itself (see genesis 12:1–3).
The Bible paints the most compelling story of all: God so loves us and the world He created, He entered it in order to redeem and restore it (see john 3:16). Long before Jesus met us in our individual brokenness, He came to earth and brought salvation to humanity and to all of God’s creation by dying on a cross and bearing the sin and shameful curse of human rebellion. Three days after His death, God raised Him from the dead (1 corinthians 15:3–5).
Jesus’s death and resurrection marked the turning point for our broken world. The dark powers enslaving us in sin, shame, and death were defeated on the cross so that the promised new life of God’s restored world can rise up. God’s creation and the people in it have only begun to experience a sample of what He promised, but an unstoppable force of love and healing and life surged into our broken and dying world the morning a crucified Jesus came out of the tomb.
Easter morning shouts that the Creator-God who made the world and saw humans rebel against Him has begun to rescue and restore all things. The resurrection anticipates the end of the story (which is really a new beginning) when Jesus will return to this earth and complete what God began when He raised Him from the grave:
“Look, I am making everything new!” (revelation 21:5).
Jesus coming out of the grave showed that the first of so much more healing and restoration to come had already arrived in the world, waiting to break into every corner of life today. The resurrection flows into our lives the more we open up and let Jesus and others into our pain, fear, and failure.
The work of recognizing and revealing our hurts and fears is long from over. We need to continue practicing transparency as often as possible. But the fruit of this labor is not merely for the sake of our own healing and transformation. Like the woman at the well, the day we opened the door and gave Jesus access to our most hidden and broken places was the last “normal” day of our lives. It was the important first step away from isolated ways of survival to a new normal—identifying ourselves with all God has promised to do in the world through Jesus.
Living for a greater mission.
The story of Jesus Christ is the game-changer! His story doesn’t replace our individual stories. It rescues, transforms and gives them greater meaning. Slowly, His story starts to shape the way we look at everything. As C.S. Lewis said, “I believe in Christianity as I believe that the sun has risen. Not only because I see it, but by it I see everything else.”
Stuck in our obsessions, we settle for existing in a tiny story. Getting the next fix consumes our thoughts and crowds out any idea that there is anything bigger to live for. But Jesus’s amazing story of rescue and restoration open our eyes to see God inviting us to participate in what He’s promised to do. For Jesus didn’t come only to save us from our sins. He saved us for a greater mission—to proclaim and demonstrate God’s promised blessing in the world, just as humans were always meant to.
Jesus’s death and resurrection laid the foundation for God’s Kingdom to begin. The time had decisively arrived in which the Maker of heaven and earth was starting to do fresh and amazing things He promised long ago to do. Forgiveness of sins, peace with our Creator and each other, healing for our most broken and shameful places and freedom from that which enslaves, these and many others aspects of new life were opening up with boundless possibilities.
We can keep saying no to addictions not only because we start to say yes to the promise of God’s new life for us, but we can also join Jesus in declaring and bringing more of His life into the wider world around us.
We harbor no grand illusions of bringing about the Kingdom Jesus introduced in all its glorious fullness. We won’t accomplish that. Only Jesus can when He returns (see acts 3:21). But before He returned to His heavenly Father, Jesus called His followers to act as witnesses and agents of His promised Kingdom, humbly advancing it “to the ends of the earth” (acts 1:8).
When we offer help to the least of these in the world, we are partnering with Jesus. When we care for orphans, create music that touches the soul, paint pictures to express and celebrate goodness and beauty, or and act as wise stewards of the world’s resources, we bring a taste of God’s healing presence to today’s broken world.
The apostle Paul put it this way:
“God saved you by his grace when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” (ephesians 2:8–10).
This great mission is ultimately a way of showing everyone that God’s new world has started to bloom. This is what Jesus unveiled through His teachings, His miracles, and the radical ways He interacted with people. He pointed to a new world, a realm in which enemies are prayed for, the marginalized feel loved, the broken and scared are invited into safe, transparent conversations that lead to peace and wholeness, and that which is dead comes back to life.
All the amazing things Jesus did were glimpses of what God’s promised new world looks like—the very thing He’s calling us to be agents of today. We, the healing and forgiven followers of Jesus, can advance God’s Kingdom. Big or small, public or private, we are part of a story with infinite significance.
