How Faith Changes the Way We Hold Control
Surrender is one of those words that has been used to do a lot of harm. I’d like to take it back. It has been said to women in dangerous marriages. This has been said to people who needed a doctor. It’s been used to mean stop asking questions, stop advocating, stop being difficult, and accept what’s happening to you.
None of that is what the word means, and any theology that leaves somebody in harm’s way in the name of trust is a theology I’ll argue with all day.
What surrender actually gives up
Surrender gives up the outcome. It does not give up the effort. That distinction is the entire post, and everything else here is just working it out in real situations. You still go to the doctor. There are days when you still leave the dangerous house. You still have the hard conversation, get the lawyer, apply for the job, do the work in therapy, say the true thing out loud.
What you release is the requirement that all of it produce the result you specified.
Where faith actually changes something
I’ve worked with plenty of people who let go of control without any faith framework at all, and they did fine. I’m not going to pretend it’s the only route. What faith changes, for those who have it, is who’s holding the thing you set down.
There’s a real difference between releasing something into nothing and handing it to somebody. Same release, completely different experience. One is a kind of resignation. The other is a transfer.
It also changes the weight of outcomes. If this life is the entire scope of the story, then every bad ending is final and the pressure to prevent them is enormous. If it isn’t, the pressure changes shape. That doesn’t make loss hurt less. I’ve sat with too many grieving believers to ever claim that. It changes what the loss means, which is not the same thing as making it smaller.
And it changes who you think you are. If your worth is settled before you produce anything, then failure stops being a verdict on your existence. That’s a load-bearing belief, and a lot of exhausted people don’t actually hold it, whatever they’d say on a survey.
- The spiritual bypassing problem
I have to name this, because it’s rampant and it hurts people. Spiritual bypassing is using faith language to skip a feeling or avoid a responsibility. It sounds like “I’m just giving it to God” when what’s happening is you’re refusing to have a conversation you’re scared of. It sounds like “God’s in control” said to a person in month two of grief, which is theologically fine and pastorally awful. Or it sounds like praying about a marriage problem for four years and never once going to counseling.
Here’s my test. Does the surrender make you more able to do your part, or less? Real release frees up energy for action. Bypassing removes the action and calls it holy. The other tell is feelings. Bypassing usually requires not feeling something. If your faith is being used to keep you from grieving, being angry, or admitting you’re scared, that’s not trust, it’s a lid. Scripture is full of people yelling at God. The Psalms are practically a manual for it.
What it looks like on a Tuesday
Do your part completely, then stop. Not partway then stop, which is avoidance, and not do your part plus theirs plus manage the outcome, which is the thing we’ve been discussing for seventeen posts.
Hand it over out loud, specifically, with names. Vague surrender doesn’t hold. “This is my son’s decision and it isn’t mine to make.” Expect to take it back, usually within a day. Hand it over again. That’s not failure, that’s the actual rhythm, and anybody who tells you they surrendered something once and never picked it up again is either exceptional or not being straight with you.
Stop calling worry prayer. A lot of what we label prayer is rehearsing the disaster with a religious accent.
Let other people do things badly. Particularly at church, where control hides best because it looks like commitment.
Keep your body in it. Prayer with no sleep and no food and no rest is a person trying to spiritualize their way out of being a creature. You’ve got a body and it has terms.
Where I actually am with it
Not on the finished side. I fix things. I have prayed about something for ten minutes and then spent three hours arranging the answer myself, and I’d be lying if I said that was in the past tense.
What I’ve noticed is that the peace never comes before the release. I keep waiting for it to arrive first, as proof that letting go is safe, and it does not work in that order. You let go while it still feels terrible and some time later you notice you’re breathing differently.
Do your part. Say the true thing. Then open your hands and go to bed.
This is education, not therapy. If you’re in crisis, call or text 988 for the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. When sitting with your feelings takes you somewhere too big to handle alone, that’s exactly what a therapist is for, and in Kentucky you can find me at Circle of Hope Counseling Services.
