A letter of accusation against the mind (letter2)

Lord, I come now to accuse my mind before You. You gave me thought that I might observe Your ways, meditate upon Your word, and behold the world around me through the light You have given in Christ. In your infinite understanding you warned me that my ways are not Your ways, nor my thoughts Your thoughts, and still I allowed my mind to walk as though it could judge rightly apart from Your guidance. What had been given as a servant to truth began to trust too much in itself, and the very faculty meant to bow before You in humility wandered into counsels of its own pride.

When the old self found space within me, he went first to the heart, seeking to soothe my troubled soul from correction or worry. Then he turned and came for the mind. Cunningly he thought if heart and mind could be made to agree, each would lend strength to the other, a force to strong for a man with any pride. When the heart at first rejected evil plainly, the mind, already being tutored by the old self, would draw near to console it, to reason with it, and to soften its refusal until both were of one voice. So there arose within me a secret counsel bent toward destruction, a slow deconstruction of the soul’s desire for the nearness to You.

There were times when my thoughts would wander, and I would ponder what was holy, yet even there I found secret chambers where false thoughts could take root. Rejections of holy teaching were not always declared openly or loudly, but slipped quietly into the place where Your truth should have stood, replaced instead by my manly understanding. The old self handled this craft carefully. He knew enough of the secret workings of man’s speech to bend words toward submission. For he knew that if something came against reason too plainly, I might fall back and retreat, or stop and ask why I was walking in such a way. So he taught my mind to betray me with logic fitted to my pride, until what was false began to wear the face of thoughtfulness and what was crooked began to seem almost worthy of trust.

When the old self began to stir the passions within me, he came quickly to the mind and gave shape to sin in forms that did not seem reprehensible, but reasonable, something I could chew on without being disgusted by its taste. The spirit would argue, yet the mind would answer for him. It would tell me that it was no great thing to be tired, no great fall to wander from prayer for a night, no true danger to look upon what was sinful if I told myself I was only studying the enemy in order to destroy him, after all, have I mot encountered what others have?. The old self knew the mind was easier to persuade than the heart, for it could be soothed by logic, flattered by measure, and led astray under the appearance of thoughtfulness. Then, when the spirit spoke more loudly, the mind would rush back to stand shoulder to shoulder with the old self, and together they would begin their assault upon me. The cages You had once unlocked, Lord, allowing me freedom were the very same ones my mind laid hold of again, only to fashion new locks and name it prudence.

There were times, Lord, when my mind mistook understanding for obedience. I could name my condition, and foolishly I thought I had begun to master it. I could describe my weakness, I imagined I had already brought it into Your light, the battle therefore was won, what more did I need to do? I could speak carefully of wounds, passions, and fears, then in my wickedness I counted myself as one already walking toward freedom, while still dragging chains behind me. Thus my mind learned to use clarity as a substitute for surrender. It let me feel honest without yet becoming clean. It let me feel near to healing while still refusing the knife to cut away the infection.

My mind did not only want truth, Lord; it wanted mastery. It wanted to understand enough that it would never have to kneel in simple trust. It wanted language where You asked for surrender. It wanted explanation where You asked for obedience. It wanted to map the sickness without fully consenting to be healed. What should have brought me low often only made me more subtle in my pride.

Shall I then destroy my own mind, Lord? Shall I strike down what You have given me to seek You, to meditate upon You, and to draw near by truth? Even here, beneath the rule of pride and ego, my mind, though rightly accused, sometimes consents to its own ruin. The old self stands nearby in dark amusement, for he is neither friend to heart or mind, but only a servant of the adversary. Poison the well, and even the vessel lowered to draw water becomes an instrument of death; the thirst remains, yet the one who drinks comes undone by what should have refreshed him.

Still, Lord, even this must be confessed plainly, it's to easy to give much credit to the old self and to spare myself from correction, for he is not endless in invention nor creativity. There were times when I myself gave life to a thought created from worry and anxiety, the very things You commanded me not to be ruled by. From it I fashioned torments with my own hands, until even my mind, though stained, seemed to cry for help under the burden of what I had made. This was not only his doing. This was mine also: my own wickedness, seasoned through years of hiding beneath false theology, false modesty, and the slow rising of vain glory.

But here now, in the company of angels and saints, and before You, I lay open my soul to be examined. How wicked am I, Lord, that I should take an instrument You gave for understanding and turn it into a partner of evil, and then run back to it again for guidance and counsel? Are You not enough for me, Lord? Would You abandon me in my hours of darkness, my hours of confusion, when I lie amidst the ruins of my own destruction? No. This is what my mind despises, that Your mercy is not given to the wise in their own eyes, nor to the proud in their self-trust, but to the one who says to himself, “Today, though the odds stand against me, sit down and rest with the Lord.”

The old self cannot bear this. He fears eviction, homelessness, the loss of his hiding place. The mind, feeling its own throne threatened, calls to arms every device of wickedness it can reach, pulling and tearing until all within becomes restless. Yet You, Lord, knew my weakness and did not permit these things to remain hidden for long. You took the instruments of my corruption and melted them down beneath Your glory, Your mercy, and Your love, which no man can fully comprehend.

So now, Lord, to cry, “Take away the heart and imprison it; take away the mind and let it rot in its cell,” would be the easier speech of my pain. But I am only a man, like clay tainted with dirt and grime, discarded by the world, but for You Lord, your hands can make me into a trophy for Your glory, an example of kindness beyond understanding. It is easier for me to ask for removal than for renewal. Yet You do not deal with Your children by destruction, though you can if you so wish. But as my mind stands accused before You of grievous crimes, correct it in love. Teach it to seek peace not in logic, nor in theology bent to soothe my enormous pride, but in the quiet certainty of salvation through the death and resurrection of Your Son. What can the mind argue, and what schemes can it form, when it stands before you? Purify it, wash it clean, and let me, though a sinner, draw near again without fear. Only do not leave me to myself, Lord, for even I can twist what was given for good into an instrument of torment, I in the capability of my sinfulness can take something repaired and destroy it again. Shall these things perish, or shall You make me new I keep asking myself… yet I quietly remember You are not the God of death, nor do You delight in ruin. Let this courtroom hear and see that even where the charges are true, mercy still has room to speak.

So now, Lord, let the courtroom grow quiet. Let the accusations stand. Let the mind hear what it has become when left to itself. But do not leave it there. Take what has reasoned against me and teach it again to reason beneath You. Take what has wandered and make it still. Take what has defended corruption and make it love truth again. I hand You not only my guilt, but the very faculty by which I have hidden it. Judge it, cleanse it, and return it to me only when it has learned peace at Your feet.