Except Jesus

Lately I'm struggling with being a Christian. Similar to past instances, I'm struggling again to find where I fit.

I love Jesus. He's my life. And I don't say that in a pious, holier-than-thou kind of way. I say it in a desperate, I-need-him-every-single-second-because-I-know-what-I'm-capable-of-without-him kind of way.

Yet Jesus doesn't seem to be enough for many Christians. Moralism is the added factor.

This weekend, as I witnessed another Christian's complete lack of grace while spewing pious, arrogant moralism, I commented: If they claim to be Christian, I don't want to be one. In another instance where someone was {understandably} completely disheartened by Christian moralism, I became frustrated and angry with the seemingly whitewashed tombs: Does the heart even matter?

I don't think I fit in the game of religion. Nor do I want to. Unfortunately, sometimes it's to the point that I want to forget it all. I want to throw my hands in the air, run away from the church, and pretend I never knew a thing about being a Christian.

Except Jesus.

He's the reason I don't completely lose faith. He's why I persevere. He's why I hope...why I write...why I sing...why I believe that maybe, just maybe, He's going to use all this struggling.