A pastor acquaintance of mine once came in and collapsed into the chair across from
where I was sitting with another friend. He looked at us and said, “I’m done. I
don’t want to be a pastor anymore.” He was tired of wearing the masks. I told
him, “Don’t play the games,” but I wasn’t that religious about it. I think he
thought I was joking—or that I was crazy (I get that sometimes.) But I was
deadly serious.
Church should be the place where sinners gather to lick our wounds and encourage one another with the Gospel. Instead, church is a costume party, and everyone’s dressed as the best person there. As someone has said, it truly is the most dishonest hour of the week. There have been plenty of times that I felt like I could be more honest with the gas station attendant than with my congregation.
Church should be the place where sinners gather to lick our wounds and encourage one another with the Gospel. Instead, church is a costume party, and everyone’s dressed as the best person there. As someone has said, it truly is the most dishonest hour of the week. There have been plenty of times that I felt like I could be more honest with the gas station attendant than with my congregation.
I don’t know about you, but I’m
tired of playing games.
I’m a sinner, and not just in the winking way we acknowledge that before other Christians. I’m corrupt to my core. (You too, by the way.) I sicken myself with the things I do and think and say. Most moments of most days I doubt my worth and would probably corrupt myself further just for a moment of your acceptance and friendship. My neutral gear is to run away and hide. Things get hard, I’m not going to seek you out, I’m going to be in a hole, feeling sorry for myself. I’m getting better, but not because of trying harder.
Grace frees you up. Before, it was all about keeping rules and looking good. No matter what was going on inside, I needed to keep up appearances in front of the lost, because that was my witness. And I didn’t want to send a poor soul to a fiery eternity in Hell by not always pretending everything was great, did I? There was so much guilt I couldn’t stand it. And all that smiling and pretending only served to either convince people we were lying (because some can see right through our masks) or that there was no way at all they could be good enough to come to God (because they believed our lies.)
People used to come up to me as a pastor and talk about how great my marriage, life and relationship with God must be. I would often just laugh. But sometimes I just couldn’t let the compliment pass and I pretended like it was true. Then I’d spit out some nonsense about praying more or studying the Scriptures more diligently. While they were applauding me, I was tumbling down the mountain of a crumbling marriage and church.
I did so many things wrong that I can't even begin to recount them all. But I won’t pretend to erase it, because of the Gospel. It’s important to me to stand up and say I'm screwed up, because very few people do. I’m good at the religious game. I could slip into that role and play it like a champ. To be clear, I’m capable, but not able. The longer I was in that world, the more I realized that playing the game—while it would give me longevity among certain Christians, as well as admiration—was downplaying the Truth.
The gospel saved my life years after the Good News of Jesus saved my soul. I had a high view of my sin and a low view of the gospel. I would sin, and find myself ashamed before God once again. I couldn’t imagine that he was so patient that I couldn’t out-sin his grace. Could it have been that I just had a high view of myself? How foolish was I to think that I could out-sin God’s love? Writing those words, words that once brought me to my knees in fear and shame… Now they make me want to dance in giggling joy at the silly idea of out-sinning God’s ravenous love—the core of the Good News.
Photo used under CC
I’m a sinner, and not just in the winking way we acknowledge that before other Christians. I’m corrupt to my core. (You too, by the way.) I sicken myself with the things I do and think and say. Most moments of most days I doubt my worth and would probably corrupt myself further just for a moment of your acceptance and friendship. My neutral gear is to run away and hide. Things get hard, I’m not going to seek you out, I’m going to be in a hole, feeling sorry for myself. I’m getting better, but not because of trying harder.
Grace frees you up. Before, it was all about keeping rules and looking good. No matter what was going on inside, I needed to keep up appearances in front of the lost, because that was my witness. And I didn’t want to send a poor soul to a fiery eternity in Hell by not always pretending everything was great, did I? There was so much guilt I couldn’t stand it. And all that smiling and pretending only served to either convince people we were lying (because some can see right through our masks) or that there was no way at all they could be good enough to come to God (because they believed our lies.)
People used to come up to me as a pastor and talk about how great my marriage, life and relationship with God must be. I would often just laugh. But sometimes I just couldn’t let the compliment pass and I pretended like it was true. Then I’d spit out some nonsense about praying more or studying the Scriptures more diligently. While they were applauding me, I was tumbling down the mountain of a crumbling marriage and church.
I did so many things wrong that I can't even begin to recount them all. But I won’t pretend to erase it, because of the Gospel. It’s important to me to stand up and say I'm screwed up, because very few people do. I’m good at the religious game. I could slip into that role and play it like a champ. To be clear, I’m capable, but not able. The longer I was in that world, the more I realized that playing the game—while it would give me longevity among certain Christians, as well as admiration—was downplaying the Truth.
The gospel saved my life years after the Good News of Jesus saved my soul. I had a high view of my sin and a low view of the gospel. I would sin, and find myself ashamed before God once again. I couldn’t imagine that he was so patient that I couldn’t out-sin his grace. Could it have been that I just had a high view of myself? How foolish was I to think that I could out-sin God’s love? Writing those words, words that once brought me to my knees in fear and shame… Now they make me want to dance in giggling joy at the silly idea of out-sinning God’s ravenous love—the core of the Good News.
Photo used under CC
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