As I read through my Old Testament textbook, I thought to myself: I wonder if Solomon ever wished he was David or Peter ever wished he was John or if Barnabas ever wished he was Paul? David was “a man after God’s own heart,” John was the Beloved Disciple, and Paul wrote majority of the New Testament. I would be jealous of the other disciples if I was Doubting Thomas. I imagine each one of them responding with something like this:
The point is not how big of a role I get in His story, but that I get to have Him as my God and Father.
The point of their lives was not to have the greatest title, but to point to the One who does. What would satisfy their soul was not their ranking, but walking closely with their God.
This is so often where I get it wrong. My heart’s motives often seek to impress. I long to appear super-Christian so that I can be praised. This is meaningless. It is the brokenness, the messiness, the human-ness, that brings others to praise Christ. It causes us to look to him and burst out, “Wow, if he did such an amazing work in that mess of a sinner, he can do it in me too.” Even for those who die as martyrs, Christ’s goal is ultimately not for us to exclaim, “Wow what faithful followers they were!” More than that, his goal is for us to cry, “What amazing grace that he sustained those who were so prone to deny him, so that they would proclaim him to the end!” He did not come to redeem super-Christians. There is no such thing. Any time I have felt like a super-Christian it has been a mirage, opening my eyes, not to the abundance in Christ, but the emptiness of self. And the more I see the ugliness of my own heart, the more I feel like a phony trying to portray myself as the perfect Christian. I do not in myself possess the faith to believe. I do not have what it takes to obey. I do not love him or love my neighbor like I ought. And this here, is the beauty of the gospel. Where I lack is where he comes through with grace. Where I fall short is where he forgives. He draws near time and time again and calls me to look to him– the Only Perfect One. Savior. Father. Redeemer. Friend. Bridegroom. Lover of my Soul.
Paul G. Hiebert in his book Anthropological Insights for Missionaries speaks of how missionaries are especially expected to be super-Christians:
“There also hangs over us the sword of unrealistic expectations. The public’s image of a missionary is a hardy pioneer who suffers great deprivations; a saint who never sins; an outstanding preacher, doctor, or personal worker who overcomes all obstacles– in short, a person who is creative, brave, sensitive, and always triumphant. When we are young, we almost believe that we can become such persons when we cross the ocean” (p. 73).
I once believed I could become this person. That is, until I saw the reality of my sin. My complete inability to follow Christ in my own strength was devastating. My pride was crushed, but then I began to see how glorious it is that I am not capable of being this super-Christian missionary. Only Christ fits the description of a super-Christian and that’s why I need him. And what a beautiful thing that is.
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