I have continued praying, thinking and reading about this, trying to understand some things about myself, and about other people whom I know. Why do we have such a struggle with relating to God?

I think there is the obvious element of fear: If we are truthful, this invisible but very obvious God leaves us edgy. I think it’s a little like being in a situation where we have absolutely no control. We don’t like it, sort of like feeling like life is like a bus, and we are passengers, and nobody is driving. Not a fun place. God is driving, but we are not sure we trust his judgment. Actually, that was Adam’s problem, too.

So there is a fear of God. But there is another fear, I think, one that is more pertinent to us in the context of our relationship with God and each other. That’s an internal fear, the fear of being found out for “who we really are.”

I wonder, too, if there is not in men an awareness that we mostly live our lives for something that is ultimately unfulfilling. We live, we work hard, and we die. And overwhelmingly, we leave nothing of consequence to show for having lived. Do we, perhaps without conscious awareness, wonder if we are somehow missing a very important mark? I certainly have done that.

Everyone seeks meaning in life. Nobody wants to “just be.” Life is hard, and for it to be both hard and pointless is too much to bear. Pain with purpose is bearable and can even bring good. Pain that is random is unbearable. And the idea that we can “invent our own meaning” is nonsense. The only person who gets to write the rules is the one whose game it is. Life is not ours to define. God is the source of life, and only God can define success and failure in life.

So what is God’s standard for us? Of course, the first thing that comes to mind is to be good, upright, and people of character. We are to love our wives and children, work hard to provide for them, and be all-around good guys. But that’s not it. That’s not what God really wants from us. That’s only the surface, the easy part.

To understand more, we have to look at Genesis, the account of the beginning of “us.” That account (Chapters 1 & 2) tells us something important about men and women: We were intended to live in open, transparent relationship with God and each other, and our “job” was to be God’s “agent,” acting on his behalf and with his authority, in governing the earth. We were to multiply and subdue the earth, making it productive and orderly. In a more concise way, we were to represent God, being his “junior partner” in running the world. We didn’t do that very well then, and we don’t do that very well now. In fact, I think the whole idea is a complete blank for most people. It’s beyond our imagination.

There is certainly present in men as a group a desire to build, to subdue and to make things happen. We are by nature doers, and that has brought some very good things. It is that inherent urge that has led to the development of advanced technology, and life-saving medical treatments. Sadly, it has also led to conflict and war, and great human suffering.

That urge was put in us by God. And, despite distortions, it remains that God intended that we be his “junior partners” in running the world. We have fallen far short of that. Compared to that original -- and still valid -- purpose, no matter what else a man might accomplish, it is in itself far short of being God’s representative on earth.

When Adam and Eve sinned, God found them hidden and covered with leaves. It is the first occurrence of shame in humans, a shame that came out of betrayal.

I believe that every sin involves a betrayal. Adam and Eve obviously betrayed God. I think we might also say that Adam betrayed Eve, in not protecting her. In some of the sins we commit, we betray friends and family. In others -- more private -- we betray ourselves, offending our own integrity and worth. And in all, we betray God.

Every betrayal brings guilt. Betrayal is an offense against a person, and brings the consequence of guilt before the offended person. The most difficult aspect of having betrayed, however, is not the guilt incurred. Guilt -- a legal concept -- is resolved by forgiveness from the one offended. Guilt is relatively easy to deal with. The bigger issue is shame. Shame is internal, and cannot easily be done away with. “I forgive you” does not touch shame. And shame -- which is seldom discussed or considered -- is a huge factor, because shame warps our self-image into something with little resemblance to the one God created us to be.

Stories are common of those who were caught in some major moral failure, something that brought humiliation on the person, and great pain and betrayal to others. But then there is a confession and a seeking of forgiveness; those offended are quick to forgive, and the offender is joyfully accepted back into the community. Then, after a time, everyone is surprised when the forgiven offender takes his own life.

The problem is that forgiveness by others could relieve the offender only of his guilt. A guilty person who is forgiven is still guilty, but the claims of the offense are eliminated. The guilt is, in effect, done away with. But forgiveness does not touch shame, and shame made his life unbearable. Shame is at the root of many addictions, much destructive behavior, and, I suspect, many suicides.

So coming back to the issue of intimacy with God, is it possible that our problem with intimacy is due to an inner shame -- perhaps deeply buried -- over falling short of what God called us to? A shame over an ultimately wasted life? A shame over betraying both our own potential and our God? I don’t know the answer, but I think it’s worth considering.

I tell people that my greatest talent is making mistakes. Big ones. And sadly, when I look back at my life, that’s more true than I like. However, when I look a the lives of others, I think perhaps “my” talent is not uniquely mine, but is rather a characteristic of people in general, and perhaps men in particular. When I look back at my life, I grieve at the lost years and opportunities. I grieve at the waste I have made of the talents and abilities that God gave me. And, truth be told, I have been inwardly ashamed. I can identify with what Paul wrote to the Corinthians (1 Cor. 6:9a): “Or do you not know that the unrighteous will not inherit the kingdom of God?...”

Continuing, Paul lists a pretty sleazy sounding bunch. You can check it in your Bible if you want the gory details. It’s really easy to look at them and feel at least a little bit superior. But the truth is, the difference between them and me is a matter of degree, not of kind.

While writing this, I finished reading a book called “The Gospel According to Judas,” by Ray Anderson. It is a study in forgiveness, and examines the betrayal of Jesus by Judas.

There is perhaps no name on earth as maligned as that of Judas. Even people who don’t know the history know that to be called a “Judas” is no complement. He is remembered as the ultimate betrayer.

But the truth is, I am little different than Judas. I have betrayed Jesus, repeatedly doing things that I knew grieved him, things that I knew were wrong. I knew and I did them anyway. And I betrayed Jesus, not out of a mistaken zealotry like Judas, but out of a selfish insistence on my own pleasure and will.

But….

But Paul also wrote the following verse: “11 Such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God.”

Notice the tense: Such WERE some of you. I WAS something worthy only of shame, BUT I was sanctified -- set apart for God. BUT I was justified, restored and able to be united with the One who loves me so well, knowing full well all that I have been.

What is the remedy for shame? It is not forgiveness. It is certainly not denial. It is not casting out “spirits of condemnation.” We cannot talk ourselves out of shame.

The remedy for shame -- and there is only one -- is to begin to understand the deep, passionate love of God for me. It is to understand -- only a little -- the joy God takes in me, just as I am.

I know me. I know who I am and of what sort I am. And I am amazed that God would have anything to do with me. But he did and he does, knowing full well who I am and of what sort I am. And I am not where I want to be, nor am I where I am going to be, but I am growing in the likeness of my Redeemer, and I am no longer ashamed.