The Struggles of The Christian Man

Oh, Wretched Man That I Am

Oh, what a man that I am — full of malevolence, filth, greed, and lust for that which can only kill me. Oh, what a man that I am. Who will save me from myself? Myself — the man in the mirror, filled with pride, consumed by ego. What have I become? An empty soul drifting through existence as though I rule over matter, time, or space.

Have I regarded myself greater than the gods, demanding worship, expecting my verdicts to stand unopposed? What exactly have I become? Have I forgotten my roots? Have I disregarded memories painted with humility? Was I ever humble, or was I merely humbled?

Have I grown to become the villain I once hoped to conquer, living in the duality of self — the hero and the villain coexisting, each struggling for relevance, each hoping for the other’s death? Have I so easily forgotten that my just penalty was death — gruesome death? Have I walked past Heaven’s throne without fear and trembling, as though I were the one who inhabits that throne?

Oh, what a man I have become, struggling to meet the very principles I once upheld, setting new heights for evil. What have I become?

Even now, I feel the weight of my imperfections — the struggle between my flesh and my spirit. I am a living contradiction: a saint clothed in the rags of a sinner. One moment, my heart burns with zeal for God, and the next, it flirts with the temptations of this fleeting world. How fragile is my resolve, how easily swayed is my loyalty.

I am torn between the man I was and the man I ought to be. The echoes of my past taunt me, while the promise of my future beckons me. Yet, I stand in the valley of decision, my feet sinking into the sands of doubt. How long will I waver between two opinions? How long will I live as a double-minded man, unstable in all my ways?

I yearn for freedom from this body of death. But freedom requires surrender, and surrender demands trust. Can I trust the One who made me, the One who knows my every flaw yet loves me still? Can I truly yield to His hands, like clay to the potter, allowing Him to break and mold me as He pleases?

The journey of faith — oh, what a journey, a path plagued with errors and forgiveness, with sin and mercy. Today, I am delivered by mercy; tomorrow, I fall victim to sin. The next day, I stand at the door of forgiveness, pleading for another chance. Yet the day after, I invite the errors of life to dine with me.

What is truly wrong with me? Have I not known Christ? Has He not revealed Himself to me? Why then do I live like this? Why don’t I reflect His glory? Why are my ways the antithesis of His?

Have I not looked upon the old rugged cross? Have I not seen the glory of the Resurrected Christ? So why am I like this? Why do I speak like the world, act like the world? Why is this journey of faith such an uphill battle? Every step upwards increases the potential of danger. Why is there such a great disparity between who I am and who I ought to become?

Oh, the journey of faith — what a paradox, that to live, one must die. One must die to self and be born again as a “new man.” But I died years ago and was reborn, so why am I still here? Why does the old man still linger? What is dead should remain dead. Or did I truly die? Was I buried alive?

Perhaps I was buried alive — the old, formidable man, interred with the hope that the lack of air would suffocate him. Yet he survives regardless, and because of this, the new man isn’t fully born. Oh, what a careless executioner I have been, making this grave mistake. What was, still is.

The man. The journey of faith.

There must be another element to this madness. The man isn’t fully dead, and the journey of faith is arduous, tiring, sometimes insipid. But giving up isn’t an option — or rather, it is an option, but not a desirable one. So there must be a way to make sense of all this.

Ah, yes — there is one more element: the Holy Spirit. The Lord, the Giver of Life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son, and with the Father and the Son He is worshipped and glorified.

What if the old man doesn’t necessarily die all at once? What if he dies with every step forward on this journey and is resurrected with every step back? What if the journey of faith is a continual dying of the old man and a constant birthing of the new?

I will die daily, surrendering the old man bit by bit, and rise daily, becoming the new man piece by piece.

What if the Holy Spirit fills us bit by bit, droplet by droplet — not because He can’t fill us all at once, but because it depends on every step of our journey?

The death of greed is in the progress of contentment. One step into the light is one step away from darkness. One more minute in prayer is one minute further from the consequences of neglecting prayer.

So, it’s not about instant death but continual dying. It’s not about instant birth but the gradual emergence of the new man.

The Hope Beyond the Struggle Yet, even in this battle, hope remains. For His strength is made perfect in my weakness. His grace is sufficient for me. When my faith falters, His faithfulness endures. When I am unworthy, His love remains unwavering.

I am not alone in this journey. I am surrounded by a cloud of witnesses who have walked this rugged path before me. They stumbled, they fell, but they rose again because God’s mercy lifted them. So shall I rise.

Though I wrestle with doubt, I will cling to His promises. Though I war against my flesh, I will pursue His Spirit. Though the old man resists, I will press on toward the mark of my high calling in Christ.

I am not yet who I ought to be, but I am no longer who I used to be. I am a man in progress, a sinner saved by grace, a pilgrim on a journey to eternity.

So who am I, then?I am merely a man in progress, climbing the hills of faith, with one assurance: Christ died and resurrected so that I may die and be resurrected. The wretched man must give way to the new man.

Until then, my mind is in constant battle — light or darkness, sin or righteousness, hope or fear, love or hatred. But above all, it is a battle between God and all that isn’t Him.

In the end, God wins.