Idolatry

     Brad and I have found ourselves pulled to attend The Compass church in Naperville.  The teaching pastor there, Pastor Dale, is so gifted and the word pictures he uses make a point like no other teacher I've heard.  And I've heard some gifted teachers.
     For me to try to retell his messages here would be futile, I could never reach the level of Truth he seems to effortlessly attain.  But I can work to share my reactions to his teaching at times.
     The church's current series is centered on the Ten Commandments, and last Sunday was the second.  The Message shares it this way, "No carved gods of any size, shape or form of anything whatever."  What do I picture when I hear this?  The golden calf, of course.  Set in current times, I picture Buddha statues or heavy religious sculpture encircled by people bowing down.
     I've always felt I was okay with this commandment, check it off, no guilt found.  I have no carved gods.
     Pastor Dale went on the explain that a "carved god" or a false idol could be one's job, one's passion for things, a loved one, or money.
     Have I known workaholics?  Yep.  Do I know people who shop too much or live beyond their means? Absolutely. Have I seen people who are obsessed with the other people in their lives--spouses, children, boyfriends? Sure. I have also known people destroyed by the pursuit of money, and the effects are devastating and stroked with a broad brush.  It was so easy for me to judge identify people with those idols.
    But, silly me, I kept thinking I still don't have an idol I deal with.
    I'm all good.
    Then, I was slapped with the realization that my very own body and the too often loathing I feel toward it is my false idol.  I put my hate for my body in front of God.  I obsess about it.  I think about its flaws and failures.  I obsess about it.  When things are bad (and thank you God, they have been good for a few years now), I have abused it by starving it.  I obsess about it.  I wish daily it looked different. I obsess about it.  I don't praise it, I don't love it, and the hate I feel is sometimes so strong, I can be overwhelmed by it.  Words from outside voices, words of love and approval, often cannot reach through the self-messages of disdain.  I just choose to not listen.
     My body, this shell, gets in the way of my relationship with God.  I put myself in the way of Him in my own heart and head.  My vessel is my own idol.
     I'm not spilling this to fish for compliments. I'm not spilling this for reassurance from anyone. I'm writing this mostly for myself.  I love God, and I do need to get over myself, so I must adhere to this commandment by letting go.
     He made me.  He loves me.  He must be sad when I hurt myself with words.