My friend finally asked a question that seems to have been
burning in her mind through many previous conversations: “When you say all
these things… how can you be so certain? How is your faith so strong?”
Whoa.
I realized in that moment just how falsely I had been
portraying myself all along – perhaps through our entire friendship. I begged her forgiveness.
Plain and simple, I am not
that certain. I suspect I may also speak for others who are seen as “strong
Christians” by their communities. Though I had been exhorting my friend
fervently, I am not without my own doubts. In fact, part of why I speak the
truths I know so boldly is that my own mouth needs to confess and be saved, my
own heart needs to hear and be reassured.
There are some strong philosophical evidences for
Christianity, which can satisfy at an academic level. And most of the time I am
fairly convinced that the gospel is true, but at its core in my heart, my faith
is merely this: the gospel is the most beautiful story I have ever heard or
ever will hear, and it requires my all. I do not know for certain that it is
true. But the more I come to know God,
the more strongly I believe that there is
no one else worth giving my life to. And beyond that, I realize more and more
how desperately I need God. So I give him my all and accept the risks.
As I told my friend, when I say that Jesus longs for an
intimate relationship with his people, it’s not that I somehow have this unattainable
faith and I’m 100% certain. It’s just that I’m betting my life on it.
I am convinced that this confession of my own falseness and
my own doubts was infinitely more helpful to her than any reassurances I could
have given.
In home group this week, I re-encountered a constantly
reoccurring theme in the arena of evangelism (and, I am convinced, discipleship):
modern Westerners have no concept of their own sin, and thus, their need of a
savior. The goodness of the Good News is contingent on understanding the bad
news of the fall, which non-Christians have little incentive to study and
Christians themselves may question (particularly those who grew up in the
church). I recently heard that a funeral singer was asked to sing Amazing Grace, but not to sing “a wretch
like me,” since after all, the deceased had been a nice person.
Many condemn “the angry god of the old testament” because
they see no need for his punishment. They have no understanding of the nature
of the relationship between creation and Creator, nor of the gravity of our
offenses against him. Without such an understanding, they see God as
vindictive, controlling, and immature. Yet any careful study of human nature
surely concludes that human beings are corrupt. How many times have I heard
complaints against corrupt politicians? Or cynical assumptions that societal
self-interest will prevent the changes we all claim to long for? And here in
Cambodia, with fewer incentives for people to act honestly, it’s common
knowledge that the extent of corruption is almost without limit.
Do we truly believe that a society of blameless people would
end up this way? Surely not! I suppose we could shun free will, blame imperfect
systems, and consider people innocent of committing crimes that the system
incentivizes. But then… who created the imperfect system?
And if humanity as a whole is guilty, it follows that you
and I are individually guilty, whether we seem like nice people or not. When I stop
and meditate on God’s nature and remember my place in relation to him, my
hidden guilt (perhaps much of it not-so-hidden to others) is overwhelming, save
for Christ’s assurance. Perhaps our (and certainly Satan’s) reason for
preserving the perpetual commotion of our lives that drowns out such introspection.
So if the West is in great need of truthful introspection (I
say the West because I don’t know enough about the rest of the world), what are
we going to do about it? I know from experience that it’s no good listening to
a sermon and thinking, “gee, I wish what’s-her-face were here to hear this,”
because the Spirit convicts me that the reason I, and not what’s-her-face, am
sitting in the pew is that I’m the one who needs to hear the sermon. If we truly
want to meet this need for introspection, we will start (however painfully)
with ourselves.
Once we understand our own desperate need for the mercy of
God because of our sins (and here I overstep the bounds I just set in the
paragraph above by telling you this
before I dare to practice it myself), I propose (I know this is really new and radical) that we actually
confess these sins, and ask for forgiveness from those that we offend,
especially non-Christians.
For so long, Christians – no, I myself – have caused or let
themselves be seen as holier than average. To prove that we are Christians, we
hide our sins. I confess I am an expert at avoiding obvious sins and indulging
in hidden ones. This causes other people to hide their sins around me, too. And
it becomes a vicious cycle. Have we forgotten that the saintlier we truly
become, the better we understand the truth, and the more clearly we see just
how far we have fallen from God’s holiness?
What if instead, Christians were seen as particularly
willing to confess our own faults and ask for forgiveness? How much more would
that open doors and hearts for others (unbelievers and fellow believers) to see
their need for a savior?
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