Stories for Humans

In my Notes app I keep a list of quotes and ideas to come back to and look at more closely. Among these is this short but succinct little blast:

“Your comfort level is not discernment.”

The Oxford dictionary defines discernment in both a general and a Christian context, which I thought was interesting.

dis·cern·ment
/dəˈsərnm(ə)nt/
noun
1.the ability to judge well.
“an astonishing lack of discernment”

2.(in Christian contexts) perception in the absence of judgment with a view to obtaining spiritual guidance and understanding.
“without providing for a time of healing and discernment, there will be no hope of living through this present moment without a shattering of our common life.”

It’s a grey November day, but warm slivers of sunlight are slanting through the blinds as I ponder through my keyboard, a soft blanket shielding me from the chilly air. Though I work from home, I mostly forget about the comforts I could access. I probably haven’t typed from the couch in over a year, preferring to sit stiffly in an uncomfortable chair in my office, nursing frozen fingers and toes. Once in a while I remember to have a cup of tea or light a candle, though both often grow cold as the task takes over.

Comfort is generally not conducive to sharpness of mind, or judging a situation well. We don’t make difficult decisions while wrapped up in quilts in front of the fire; rather, we pontificate whilst marching or pacing or crouching in postures of angst, hands wrung, foreheads knit.

And yet, it seems many Christians have come to discern difficult situations through the lens of that which is easiest, satisfies the urgent, or feels right at the time. We bow the knee to whatever causes the least upset in our immediate vicinity. Our level of comfort dictates our discernment – not truth, not the word of God, and definitely not the ‘wounds of a friend’.

Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. Proverbs 27:6

Warnings unheeded become regrets entrenched. “Desire gives birth to sin, and sin, when it is fullgrown, gives birth to death.” (James 1:15)

King David wanted the prophet Nathan to tell him sweet nothings. But Nathan told the tale of the lamb that was stolen and pointed the finger right at the protesting, blustering David, telling him, “You are the man!” And to David’s credit, he actually listened. He repented. He wasn’t just sorry for getting caught, but truly turned from his ways. However, because David had “shown utter contempt” for God, Nathan prophesied that his extended family would suffer trouble ever afterward.

My comfort level is not discernment.

As a recovering people pleaser, this hits home like an aggravating, obnoxiously uncomfortable thorn in my side.

“I think God is saying…” Nope. You just don’t feel like admitting the truth.

“The devil is really attacking in this situation…” Maybe, but perhaps it’s the sin upon sin you’re adding to the equation.

“But people will be mad and they might reject me…!” Very possible. And yet truth and light always play the long game. Eventually, those who aren’t happy will see that you’re trying to help them, not harm them. It just might take a while.

Sometimes we think we’re being discerning because no one dared to challenge us. “Well, I must be right! Look, nobody said anything!” Or if we were challenged, it’s easy to defer to, “They just don’t understand”.

Sure, we might feel good about it, but that feeling is not discernment. Wisdom has been calling so long in the proverbial streets, maybe she’s really gone this time.

There are times when we falter and fall. There are times the burden is simply too heavy to bear for us humans; we drop it, the crushing load landing with a thud on the hard ground. We try to help each other but say the wrong thing. We feel deeply, and still don’t know what to say. The rest of the world isn’t terribly impressed with us – we who call ourselves “saved”, we believers in God. They see us making unwise choices just like anyone else, but the difference is we can never seem to admit it. The banner over us isn’t love, instead it reads: F O O L I S H N E S S.

We aren’t called to do whatever we feel like doing.

We’re called to be discerning, standing on the truth of Scripture, the evidence of the Spirit, and love that’s willing to say “No!”

If you haven’t said no to anything in a while, maybe take a minute to think about why. Is acceptance so cheap we can buy it with our ever-constant “yes”? Is love simply doing what everyone hopes we will do? I think love should be harder-won than that. Love that keeps smiling while asking too much of us or demanding attention while continuously taking what we need is not love, not even acceptance – it’s called being used.

I think it’s time we evaluated whether our comfort level is deciding our discernment. It could be a lonely road, but at least we will be walking with integrity. If it’s wrong – say something. Making a soft, comfortable bed for darkness leads to pain and confusion and ultimately, we’ll all be sleeping on a bed of nails.