Where the Light Fell

by Philip Yancey

It is easier to live in the world without being of the world than to live in the church without being of the church. —Henri J. M. Nouwen

The church tells me what to believe, whom to trust and distrust, and how to behave.

We read to know we are not alone. —William Nicholson, Shadowlands

Nothing in one universe reminds me of the other, and yet each seems real and true until I step across the fence.

I can never figure out how to have a friendly conversation with someone when my main point is that they are going to Hell.

I start viewing my own community of white-racist-paranoid-fundamentalism as its own kind of culture. I don’t like what I see.

One thing becomes clear, though. If this is the Victorious Christian Life—if this is what a person who hasn’t sinned in decades looks like—then I want no part of it.

Our school, I realize, is using tried-and-true methods of social control.

Jesus appears wistful, even forlorn, showing no interest in compelling belief.

from the Bible I am learning about a God who has a soft spot for rebels,

A basic question occurs to me: Why would anyone anticipate a better life without experiencing at least hints of it here?

I am creating something of soul-calming beauty. Doubts, social snubs, buried wounds, hypocrisies, insecurities—they all vanish, displaced by the music. In a way that I feel in my gut but cannot articulate, I leave the chapel more hopeful that all shall be well. For a moment the world is a smiling place.

As G. K. Chesterton put it, “The worst moment for the atheist is when he is really thankful and has nobody to thank.” Nature teaches me nothing about Incarnation or the Victorious Christian Life. It does, though, awaken my desire to meet whoever is responsible for the monarch butterfly.

our Western concept of love is an invention of twelfth-century Italian troubadours.

Augustine said, “Show me a man in love; I’ll show you a man on the way to God.”

In the end, my resurrection of belief had little to do with logic or effort and everything to do with the unfathomable mystery of God.

“An idea cannot be responsible for those who claim to believe in it.”

In the churches of my youth, we sang about God’s grace, and yet I seldom felt it. I saw God as a stern taskmaster, eager to condemn and punish. I have come to know instead a God of love and beauty who longs for our wholeness. I assumed that surrender to God would involve a kind of shrinking—avoiding temptation, grimly focusing on the “spiritual” things while I prepared for the afterlife. On the contrary, God’s good world presented itself as a gift to enjoy with grace-healed eyes.

I came to love God out of gratitude, not fear.

Above all else, grace is a gift, one I cannot stop writing about until my story ends.

Soul Survivor:

Disappointment with God

What’s So Amazing About Grace?

Where Is God When It Hurts?