The Confession of St. Todd
Finally some fellow laborers are stirring the pot a little bit through writing. Welcome Todd Baker to the fray - this is his inaugural post on the blog. But be warned: Todd's not the kind of guy to mince words. So if you don't like getting challenged, you might be better off to stop reading...
When I first decided to give my life to Jesus I knew that it would cost me everything. I had to give up my own life, my dreams, my riches, my idols, my family, my friends, my idols, my job, my car, my idols, and the affirmation of this world; from this end, and only from this end, could I pick up my cross and truly follow after Jesus.
I knew at that moment that I would be forever called out of the United States to minister to the poor. I knew that wherever God sent me there would be civil war, malaria-infested mosquito epidemics, no clean water, and that my martyrdom would likely await me around every corner. I knew that my decision to follow Jesus meant that my death was now imminent.
Laugh at me, fine, but know that I was truly convinced that all these things were all true. I remember feeling the cold beads of sweat wandering aimlessly down my back, the way the first few raindrops do when they hit your windshield. I remember trying to swallow only to find myself choking on my own Adam’s-apple. I remember being terrified. When I finally mustered up enough courage to accept Jesus Christ as Lord I wept like a small child, tears careening down my face. I had never been so afraid and yet so overjoyed. I had just inherited eternal life, by no work of my own, and all it had cost me was the messed-up, sorry excuse for 21 years on this earth that I had called my life.
I HAVE NEVER LOVED JESUS MORE THAN I DID AT THAT VERY MOMENT. HE WAS EVERYTHING THAT I HAD AND APART FROM HIM I HAD NOTHING. HE WAS SO PERFECTLY WORTHY OF THE SACRIFICE–OF-SELF THAT I WAS MAKING. THE TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY FACE EMBODIED A THANKSGIVING FAR TOO DEEP FOR ANY WORDS TO DESCRIBE.
In that very moment I knew the joy and the excitement that the first disciples had experienced when they threw down their nets, and their lives, in order to follow Christ. That moment was the closest that I have ever come to loving God with all my heart, soul, strength, and mind. Within moments I desired the community of believers who could sympathize with my experience and who could coach me in the road that lay ahead. When I found this community I was warmly welcomed and then immediately corrected in my naïve assumptions of the sacrifice and romance that defined the Christian life.
As it turned out I would not have to “give up” my own life as much as I would simply have to serve Jesus with it. I would not have to give up my dreams, just modify them a tidge. I would not have to give up my riches, only 10%. My family and my friends were still safe! I just had to convert them. My job, my car: I would simply have to use them for the glory of the Lord. Best of all, I would be able to stay in the comfort of my own home. I didn’t have to follow Jesus anywhere; that sort of mission is apparently reserved for Christian all-stars somewhere between years 10 and 95. My dying flesh had received new life! No one was going to rip the idols of my old life from my not-dead-yet-fingers. I didn’t have to give up them up; I just had to re-carve them so that they could be rearranged into a mosaic that spelled “Jesus.”
Yes, my flesh rejoiced, and continues to even now. But my soul was saddened that day. Because my ears were so quick to hear this “good news” in addition to the “GOOD NEWS,” my idols, which were lying on the ground, suddenly found their way back into the hands of my new life - the life that I had just been freed to live in the joy of Christ alone. Now I follow Jesus with them in my knapsack. I don’t know how to get rid of them anymore. They, like the thorn in Paul’s side, will likely never fully leave me.
It is my own fault. I sit and I wonder sometimes nonetheless: If following Jesus had actually cost me everything, every idol that I had, how much differently would I feel about the Christian life that I now live?
When I first decided to give my life to Jesus I knew that it would cost me everything. I had to give up my own life, my dreams, my riches, my idols, my family, my friends, my idols, my job, my car, my idols, and the affirmation of this world; from this end, and only from this end, could I pick up my cross and truly follow after Jesus.
I knew at that moment that I would be forever called out of the United States to minister to the poor. I knew that wherever God sent me there would be civil war, malaria-infested mosquito epidemics, no clean water, and that my martyrdom would likely await me around every corner. I knew that my decision to follow Jesus meant that my death was now imminent.
Laugh at me, fine, but know that I was truly convinced that all these things were all true. I remember feeling the cold beads of sweat wandering aimlessly down my back, the way the first few raindrops do when they hit your windshield. I remember trying to swallow only to find myself choking on my own Adam’s-apple. I remember being terrified. When I finally mustered up enough courage to accept Jesus Christ as Lord I wept like a small child, tears careening down my face. I had never been so afraid and yet so overjoyed. I had just inherited eternal life, by no work of my own, and all it had cost me was the messed-up, sorry excuse for 21 years on this earth that I had called my life.
I HAVE NEVER LOVED JESUS MORE THAN I DID AT THAT VERY MOMENT. HE WAS EVERYTHING THAT I HAD AND APART FROM HIM I HAD NOTHING. HE WAS SO PERFECTLY WORTHY OF THE SACRIFICE–OF-SELF THAT I WAS MAKING. THE TEARS STREAMING DOWN MY FACE EMBODIED A THANKSGIVING FAR TOO DEEP FOR ANY WORDS TO DESCRIBE.
In that very moment I knew the joy and the excitement that the first disciples had experienced when they threw down their nets, and their lives, in order to follow Christ. That moment was the closest that I have ever come to loving God with all my heart, soul, strength, and mind. Within moments I desired the community of believers who could sympathize with my experience and who could coach me in the road that lay ahead. When I found this community I was warmly welcomed and then immediately corrected in my naïve assumptions of the sacrifice and romance that defined the Christian life.
As it turned out I would not have to “give up” my own life as much as I would simply have to serve Jesus with it. I would not have to give up my dreams, just modify them a tidge. I would not have to give up my riches, only 10%. My family and my friends were still safe! I just had to convert them. My job, my car: I would simply have to use them for the glory of the Lord. Best of all, I would be able to stay in the comfort of my own home. I didn’t have to follow Jesus anywhere; that sort of mission is apparently reserved for Christian all-stars somewhere between years 10 and 95. My dying flesh had received new life! No one was going to rip the idols of my old life from my not-dead-yet-fingers. I didn’t have to give up them up; I just had to re-carve them so that they could be rearranged into a mosaic that spelled “Jesus.”
Yes, my flesh rejoiced, and continues to even now. But my soul was saddened that day. Because my ears were so quick to hear this “good news” in addition to the “GOOD NEWS,” my idols, which were lying on the ground, suddenly found their way back into the hands of my new life - the life that I had just been freed to live in the joy of Christ alone. Now I follow Jesus with them in my knapsack. I don’t know how to get rid of them anymore. They, like the thorn in Paul’s side, will likely never fully leave me.
It is my own fault. I sit and I wonder sometimes nonetheless: If following Jesus had actually cost me everything, every idol that I had, how much differently would I feel about the Christian life that I now live?
posted by Bob | 12:49 PM
3 Comments:
I really like what is being said here. Very true, American Christianity has a way of looking like everything else wants to look like-easy, effortless, and free. Thanks for bringing this up.
Replace Jesus with Muhammad/Allah in the first half of this post, and you could be reading the diary of Hamas' latest recruit. Believe and die is ultimately a copout of the more difficult task to which Jesus calls us.
I can relate to the philosophy of 'Jesus only!' implied here. I'm looking for something to give my life to, something meaningful and significant. But the truth is that Jesus left us here to live in this broken world, and that means loving the lost and hurting and drawing them to Christ. I doubt the way to do that is through wild-eyed asceticism and sacrificial chest thumping. We live in a marvelously complex world, and very little is all good or all bad. Living in tension is our lot here.
The appropriate response to God's provision in our lives is not guilt or repugnance, but humble thanks and the intention to serve others with what we've been given.
But I can relate, Todd, as one who frequently lambasts himself as a professional sellout to the man/world. Things aren't bad in themselves, their moral value is determined by the motivations with which we use/pursue them. They can be very good used in the service of God. The nuance herein is the result of a lot of wrestling and frequent mope sessions, and I still don't fully buy it. But God is not a formula, but a Being who we get to have a relationship with, and there is no reason to expect that life can be reduced to a formula either.
Lane,
I hope you have not misunderstood me…
This post is only a confession of the doubt and struggle that wages war in the recesses of my own mind. I never intended to offer a formula, nor did I intend to make a persuasive argument for wide-eyed asceticism. I merely confess that I am sick. At the deepest part of my being I can’t help but wonder at the shallowness of the Christian life that I am currently living:
I respect your response to my post. I affirm your orthodoxy and admit that your thread is the response of reason that I fully expected to receive in light of my emotion fueled blog. Nevertheless, I have hid in the comfort of the same ‘orthodox’ logic for three years with the result being an unopposed idol of comfort that now rivals Jesus for the space inside my heart.
I am not struggling with a desire to be irrelevant. I am not struggling with asceticism or sacraficial chest thumping. I understand the need to live out mission in the context where God has me. I am struggling however, with the commands of Jesus found in Luke 12, “do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell.”
Jesus follows with the parable of the rich farmer:
“Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions… The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops? And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So is the one who lays up treasure for him-self and is not rich toward God.”
Jesus goes on to say, “don’t worry about food, drink, or clothing: seek me and I will take care of those things (my paraphrase).” Salvation, Justification, Sanctification: all of these things are found in Christ alone. That does mean that scripture does not provide guidelines, even formulas, for God-honoring living however.
The truth is Lane, I do fear man, often even more than I do God. I don’t have a barn, but I do have a house that is bigger than my old apartment, which was bigger than the apartment I had before that. And truthfully, I worry more about food, drink, and clothing than I do about the kingdom of God. Even still, I am found blameless before the throne of God. How can I not feel that conviction? I must; and then I must turn to the cross and worship Him who is worthy!
“Believe and die” is not a copout; it is the explicit command of Christ in Luke 9:23-24. Suicide is a copout. Martyrdom is the life-blood of the church. We are all called to be martyrs whether we die at the end of a spear, or of old age. Following Christ requires no less; though we may live, we may live for none other than Him. To the Muslim convert in Saudi Arabia, Christ’s message is literally; “Believe and then die.” But whatever you do, “do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell.”
As the war wages on in the recesses of my mind I now see with clarity the end that I am approaching: Live and rejoice in the grace of Christ, by the power and love of the Spirit, with a fear and commitment worthy of the Father. That is the lot we have been dealt; quite-a-lot I would say. (I'm not sure if I intended a pun there or not :-)
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