To think: All this time I called myself a Christian. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've spoken in tongues with the Pentecostals, attended Bible study with the evangelicals, kissed icons with the Orthodox, worked for justice with the liberals. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've gone to church and said amen, I've sang the alleluias. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've prayed Christ’s words, I know them all by heart, I've even eaten the bread of life and drank his cup. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've kept the Lenten fast and kept the vigil, sang Easter hymns, said Christ is risen. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've studied Christ, read books about him, and as if that weren't enough I'm writing some now. But Christ lay dead in me.
With the gift of prophecy stirring in my chest I've climbed the narrow steps into the pulpit. I've looked out on the faces of the waiting worshippers. I've preached Christ to them as though my life depended on it. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've prayed my daily prayer offices, I've lit candles and knelt before the cross on the altar of our home. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've gone on pilgrimages. I've visited great and old churches. I've prayed at the relics of saints and martyrs. But Christ lay dead in me.
I've prayed O wisdom, O Adonai, O root of Jesse, O key of David, O morning star, O king of nations, O Emmanuel. Every Advent I pray as if I'm expecting something. But Christ lay dead in me.
The doubts began in 2008. I was in the midst of a life-struggle with cancer. So we're not talking the nagging doubts that come when you're at a new restaurant, deciding between the grilled chicken or the sirloin tips. No, these were soul-rocking doubts, earthquakes that bring down roads and shift houses off foundations. What's more, these doubts had names: Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. Four witnesses who said that Christ was still alive. But I knew for sure the place where they had laid him: For Christ lay dead in me.
I've taken the consecrated bread. I thought, this is either the greatest mystery or the greatest folly, who knows which. I've eaten it as though eating death. Because Christ lay dead in me.
When they told me lift up your hearts, I lied and responded on automatic, we lift them to the Lord. My heart was ashes, not thanks and praise. I couldn't lift it if I tried. Christ lay dead in me.
Then ...
Then I sought and found others, even my enemies, the ones I loved the least. It was early 2010 -- two years had gone by to nearly the day -- and I looked in their faces. I took care of their wounds and fed them when they didn't have strength to feed themselves. I called them my friends. In short, I love them as God loves me.
Then Christ stands up, alive in me.
Then Christ, alive as on that third day, moved inside me.
And then big as a stone moving to life, the grave of my heart opened up.
And then I believe: Christ lives in me.
You see, it's not what you know or do that's the proof. Faith is great, but it isn't enough.
Only love.
Love is the greatest.