Some people have called me good. Some people have called me
an angel.
Both of these are untrue. I am not good. I am no angel. I am
a Christian. When I follow Christ, He can do good things through me. He can
mold my wicked heart to be more like His perfect one. When I do not follow
Christ, I am a mess. I cannot do any good thing.
“Jesus’ instructions
with regard to judging others is very simply put; He says, ‘Don’t.’”
“You must constantly
be aware of anything that causes you to think of yourself as a superior person.”
“I have never met a
person I could despair of, or lose all hope for, after discerning what lies in
me apart from the grace of God.”
“The greatest
characteristic of a saint is humility, as evidenced by being able to say
honestly and humbly, ‘Yes, all those, as well as other evils, would have been
exhibited in me if it were not for the grace of God. Therefore, I have no right
to judge.’”
“Who of us would dare to stand before God and say, ‘My God, judge me as
I have judged others’?”
My Utmost for His
Highest by Oswald Chambers
These are difficult words. Chambers’ words often are. But he
doesn’t write anything not already found in Scripture, he doesn’t tell us what
we ought already know from reading the Bible. However, many of us still
consider the Bible some impossible standard from which we are excluded. From
which we are superior.
Oh, superiority.
That’s what I have to say today. Far too often I consider
myself superior. Far too often I elevate myself and look down on my brothers
and sisters. I see their long list of sins, their faults, their lack of fruit
or obvious shamefulness, disregarding my own.
Psalm 130:3 cries, “If you, O LORD, kept a record of sins, O
Lord, who could stand?” (NIV)
Well, certainly not me. I cannot dare stand before God and
ask to be judged by the same harsh standard with which I have judged others. I
do not want to be treated as so many times I have treated others.
Yes, I work for Jesus in the mission field, but I do not
always emulate Jesus. Not always in action, definitely not always in speech,
and even more rarely in thought.
The other day I was reminded heavily of my own wickedness. I
was humiliated. Very necessarily so.
When we are tired we are often unguarded, saying and doing
things we normally would not. But this liberality reveals our human character.
What are we truly like uninhibited?
The other day I arose from a nap groggy and hot (welcome to
Haiti in June.) Unintentionally I had fallen asleep in the middle of the day
and woken up just in time to join Beverly. Two housemates and one student had
follow-up appointments with the doctor and needed medication from the pharmacy.
Toting little bag and empty water bottle I shut my door and
headed downstairs to the refrigerator. There should be several pitchers in
various stages of freeze always stored inside. Some days there are none, or
several pitchers with little or no water set back unfilled. This was one of
those days. At the same moment I reached the freezer a guest, relative of
Madame Rose, reached it, too. I began filling my large HydroFlask water bottle
with one of the near-empty cold-water pitchers. I emptied it and then began
filling from the second near-empty cold-water pitcher, noting a third, full
pitcher in the freezer that was not yet cold.
The relative said as I poured, “Hey, okay, that’s enough for
me.” He meant I should stop so he could have the rest of the cold water.
“Not for you, for me,” I said, continuing to pour.
I took the cold water for myself.
I was selfish. Rude. Mean.
There are some other unpleasant words but you get the idea.
The relative was upset. He said some unkind words to me in
return, which I laughed about to myself as I topped off my water bottle with
warm water from the bucket and headed out the door (Beverly was already in the
car.)
I could justify this situation with grogginess, explaining
that I didn’t understand his words until afterwards, thinking he meant I was filling
the water bottle for him, that when I said, “for me,” I meant that the water bottle was for me, not him. I don’t
share my personal bottle with anyone.
I could also say that this relative is rarely serious and I
didn’t consider his feelings were legitimately hurt by my action and that I
laughed as a natural reaction to his words.
I could continue to explain my general relationship with
this relative, rather one of mutual tolerance than any friendship.
We always try to justify our sins. Explain away our
shortcomings.
After a minute or two I became angry at the relative for his
unkind words to me. They were completely uncalled for.
He had said, “You are not a good Christian. You just go to
church but you are not really a Christian. I am a better Christian than you,” as
he walked away from me, turning his back
on my offer of a fraction of cold water.
Chewing these words in my head I got in the car angry. For
about ten minutes I was angry, righteously angry, thinking how dare he say such
a thing to me. How dare he, a sinner, a person with a visible list of
wrongdoings, accuse me of not being a Christian, of being a better Christian
than me. He doesn’t go to church at all,
he’s done this, he’s done that, what kind of fruit does he show in his life?.....
And then, after these accusations swirled for ten minutes, I
deflated, realizing what I had done. I had taken for myself. I had, in front of
him, seized for myself. And then made light of it.
Jesus expects us to always put others before ourselves. He
expects us to offer our cloak when someone wants our tunic. He expects us to
walk two miles when we are asked to walk one. To give to the one who asks of us
and not turn away the one who wants to borrow (Matthew 5:40-42). He expects us
to love our neighbors as ourselves. He says everyone is our neighbor, even
those we dislike. Even those we feel superior to.
Ah. There is the issue. I consider myself superior.
I elevate myself above others. This relative is one whom I
struggle to love. Struggle to treat with Jesus’ compassion. One I assure myself
is not as good as me.
The clinic and pharmacy took two hours. We returned to the
house for a meal, the relative was not there. I told Madame Rose he was angry
with me. I continued to make myself out to be not at fault. To make light of
it, although my conscience was troubled.
“Okay, God,” I prayed. “I’ve done wrong. I’m sorry. Please
give me the opportunity to make it right.”
I was afraid to let this lie.
After eating we left for another two hours delivering food
to staff and a few students.
When we returned, sweaty and tired, I saw his car. He was
sitting outside visiting with Rose. In the freezer were two pitchers, one with
enough cold water to fill a cup for him.
I put down my bag and took a cup of cold water out to him.
“This is for you,” I said.
He wouldn’t even look at me.
He shook his head, “No, thank you.”
Rose looked at him.
“Did you drink water already?” she asked.
He shook his head again. “No. I don’t want it.”
I continued to hold out cup.
“I did wrong, and this is my apology. Will you accept it?”
He shook his head, “No.”
I tried again. “I should have given you water first. I’m
sorry. Will you forgive me?”
He shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “Life continues.”
“Yes, but when I do wrong I want to make it right. I’m
sorry.”
There was some exchange while the relative explained to Rose
what I had done, why he was angry, and said he did not think I was truly a
Christian. Rose did not accept this. And I did not accept his aversion.
This had to be made right.
So I stood there before him, holding out the water, not
looking to the right or to the left, not noticing who was standing around to
see my apology, my humiliation. Of course, witnesses were surely in my favor.
It’s harder to deny someone in front of an audience (and audiences are part of
Haitian life.)
He took the water.
“It’s not Christian to not forgive,” I reminded him. “Please
look at me.”
He finally did look me in the eye. I don’t know if he was
too angry to look at me or felt awkward to be confronted with an apology.
We parted with a handshake. He said we had no problem
between us.
“You are a good Christian,” he said. “Anyone can make a
mistake but you make it right.”
“I don’t think there are good Christians and bad Christians,”
I answered. “There are only Christians. When I follow Jesus, I am okay. When I
don’t follow Jesus, I am bad.”
He did not agree or disagree, but went back to his phone.
Is he truly a Christian? Does he follow Christ? I don’t
know. That is between himself and God. Like my conscience.
Perhaps spiritual fruit is visible in my life. Perhaps
people have no trouble seeing I am Christian. But perhaps they do. How often do
I mess up, like I did that day, and blend in with this wicked world? How often
do I do good with my hands and even my tongue, but harbor wickedness, jealousy,
superiority, in my heart?
Far too often.
Oh, thank you, God, that you do not judge me as I judge
others. That you do not keep record of this long list of sins I commit.
I thank God for humbling me this day. For making me stand
and account for my wrongdoing before a person I usually struggle to love.
Frequently I pray God would crush my pride, our pride, any pride that makes us
own the ministry or take credit for God’s great work here in Ti Gôave, in our
own redeemed lives. Well, He answered.
I will continue to pray this prayer because pride is
slippery and invasive. Pride rises quickly. And I pray that you will see what a
wretched person I am. That there is no good in me apart from Christ, and I am
constantly in need of His forgiveness. I am no better than anyone else. I am
not good, I am no angel.
God has saved me and every moment saves me again from my own
wicked self.
“Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from
this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is in Jesus
Christ our Lord” (Romans 7:24-25 NLT). Amen.
