Our Testimony, God's Story

Our stories—with both their past and ongoing heartaches, sins, rebellions and joys—are beautiful testimonies of God’s redeeming love and boundless grace towards us.  Every aspect of our testimony, from our prodigal son-like recklessness to humble repentance, contributes to our story.  Both the tragedies and triumphs are knit together in such a manner that they cannot and should not be separated—victories do not bring joy without the struggle that precedes them, and satisfying and beautiful rest is not seen as such apart from contrasting trials. And so you cannot have the one without the other—tragedy and triumph go hand-in-hand.  

When it comes to my testimony, I confess that at times I prefer to “leave out” some details, especially when it relates to my own shortcomings. Yet God has faithfully worked on me with His divine brush, so why do I attempt to paint a different picture of my life?  At times I’m ashamed of what I did and who I was—ashamed that I lived as I did and didn’t have my life more “together”.   In other instances, my pride influences what I share.  If something makes me look better, I’ll share it.  If it cuts to the root of my sinful heart, however, it’s conveniently left out.  In such instances, my shame and pride display both arrogance and a resistance to share my own struggles.

Maybe we wish our testimony was somehow different. Perhaps we think to ourselves:

If only I hadn’t been so stubborn in my sin… 

If only I would have repented sooner…

 If only I would have surrendered myself to Christ before this or that happened...

 If only I didn’t backslide…

Or maybe upon hearing the testimony of another, we hesitate to share ours, thinking:

How on earth am I supposed to follow on the heels of that testimony? Compared to that story, mine isn’t that profound.  I wish I had a more radical, compelling story.  Mine pales in comparison…

Or maybe we even feel:

Wow, their “sinful living” was nothing compared to the darkness I embraced.  They’ve hardly done anything wrong.  I feel so dirty compared to them.  Maybe I shouldn’t share my full story.  They’ll either be offended or write me off if they know the full extent of who I once was…who I am…

I think Satan hurls these lies against us in the hopes of keeping us from sharing our testimonies.  Why? I believe that in causing us to feel self-conscious or insecure about our story, the evil one hopes to turn our focus inward.  Our story, however, isn’t really ours —it’s God’s.  And that is precisely why we should share it and exactly why Satan will utilize all his power to try and keep us quiet.   

The reality of the matter, however, is that just because we each possess a different story does not mean that one testimony is somehow “better” than the next.  In fact, the uniqueness of our testimonies is beautiful because God specifically customizes His work in each one of us.  The end goal—our salvation and sanctification and His glorification—is the same for all, but the means by which we are drawn to Him and the processes by which He works in our lives are hand-tailored to each one of us.  We are not cookie-cutouts.  Different does not mean better, and we must guard ourselves against falling prey to such lies.  We need all sorts of testimonies, for they remind us that no one is beyond the reach of God’s grace or the need of God’s grace.

So yes, sharing our stories is important.  It encourages our hearts and the hearts of those around us in several ways.  First, sharing our testimony compels us to remember all that God has brought to pass in our life.  Personally, I am so prone to forgetting—forgetting how lost I was in my sin, the painful trials I struggled through, and God’s faithfulness in the midst of all.  I forget who I am and Whose I am.  When I share my story, however, I am quickly reminded I am more underserving and sinful than I ever dared think, but as God’s precious daughter I am more loved and accepted than I ever dared hope.   Sharing our story is thus the means by which we are reminded of who we are, but more importantly, Whose we are and who God is.  Secondly, sharing our story lifts our hearts and emboldens us as we are reminded of the power of the One we serve.  When we share our stories, we are reminded that the Holy Spirit works in profound ways and is able to accomplish beyond all we could ever ask or imagine.  So we can take heart, knowing that God is for us and fights on our behalf.  Thirdly, I think God is pleased and glorified when we share our stories with others.  If we share our stories in a truly honest and humble manner, the focus in the end should not be on us.  While it may appear as though we own our story, the reality of the matter is that Christ’s work in our lives should reflect God’s glory and place the spotlight on Him.   We see that God reaches all sorts of people, softening the hardest of hearts and drawing even religious churchgoers into personal relationship with Himself. It is God who fiercely yet tenderly woos us in.  We cannot take credit for this.    

  

Along with this, the question may arise as to whether or not we should care what others think of us as we share our stories. Yes and no.  Yes, we should care in the sense that we bear the name of Christ and are thus responsible for how we represent Him. The Gospel is offensive enough to many unbelievers—we ourselves should not be offensive.  There is also a sense, however, in which we should not care what others think.  When we share our stories, the emphasis should not be on our excellency, wisdom, or honor.  If people approve of us, it should be because they see and love and rejoice in Christ’s work in our lives.  In other words, they approve of us not because of what we have done, but because of what Christ has done in us and through us on our behalf.  There may be some, however, who upon hearing our stories reject us.  While no one whishes to be resisted or condemned, our identity does not rest on the opinions of others.  We should not attempt to change who we are or alter the theme of our stories simply to avoid rejection or win the approval of others.  I love what John Piper stated in a sermon on Christian identity and Christian destiny:

“[…] as a Christian you cannot talk about your identity without talking about the action of God on you, the relationship of God with you, and the purpose of God for you. The biblical understanding of human self-identity is radically God-centered…[God] has given us our identity in order that his identity might be proclaimed through us. God made us who we are so we could make known who he is. Our identity is for the sake of making known his identity. The meaning of our identity is that the excellency of God be seen in us.”

As the other day was Christmas, my stepdad sat and read John 1:1-18 to the family.  Prior to yesterday, I had typically overlooked John’s role in this passage and instead focused on Christ, who is referred to as both the life and light of men.  The other night, however, several things struck me regarding John.  We read:

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.  He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.”

First, what struck me is that John was a witness.  In other words, John’s role was to give testimony to others of who Christ was.   Secondly, when I had previously read “that all might believe through him”, I had always assumed that “him” referred to the “light”, or Christ.  I didn’t realize, however, that “him” refers to John—Christ’s witness.  What I find fascinating is that while it is belief in Christ that saves, most people come to see and believe in Christ through the testimony of others.  John was a witness proclaiming Christ such that others were drawn to faith through his testimony. We also read that “[Christ] was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.  He came to his own, and his own people did not receive him.”  It seems then that witnesses are important exactly because the world is hostile to Christ and the Gospel.  We ourselves are not the light, but we are responsible for reflecting and radiating that Light to a dark world.  Because of this, we cannot neglect our role since we are one of God’s means for drawing His children to Himself. 

So what does all of this mean?  Alone, you and I may be only one voice, but together we can live and proclaim God’s work in our lives in such a way that brings glory to Him.  As we are filled with God’s Spirit, our hearts should overflow with thankfulness for His merciful and gracious work in our lives and an eagerness to share what He has done.  Our words and actions and attitudes should proclaim and display the goodness of God—in the way we speak and live, we should portray Christ in such a manner that others are drawn to Him.  So out of our love for God and others, let us rejoice and boldly share who we are, Whose we are, who God is, and the glorious ways He is at work in our lives. 

My "Innocent" Sin of Busyness and Striving

One of my biggest struggles is the need to always be doing something—something productive, something meaningful, something worthwhile.  In this sense, checklists are my best friend.  I feel a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment when I can check something off one of my lists.  In fact, the longer the list and the more I’ve accomplished, the better. 

On the other hand, however, checklists are the thing I dread most.  An unchecked list screams of my failures and inadequacies.  And somehow, no matter how much I check off, the list never seems to get any shorter.  In fact, it’s just the opposite!  The more I check off, the longer it gets and the more frantic and frazzled I become. 

And yet, as much as I hate these lists, I can’t seem to give them up.  And this is what I’ve realized—the fact that I can’t give up my lists is a major indication that I don’t own them.  They own me!  As much as I hate this desperate need to always be on the move, I don’t know how to live any other way.  I can’t cope if I’m not doing something, not improving.  I have become enslaved to this go-go-go mentality and lifestyle, and as I strive to earn my keep, I feel a sense of worthlessness each time I find myself beginning to slow down. 

Unsurprisingly, rest is almost nonexistent in my life.  I feel so guilty when I take a break or a breather that I can’t even rest when I’m resting.  Take working out, for example.  Rarely can I just lace up my shoes and go for a nice jog outside.  That would be too selfish of me.  I don’t deserve a break.  I can’t justify working out simply for the pure enjoyment of exercise.  So what do I do instead?  I bike or I elliptical.  But I don’t just bike or elliptical. I’ve found a way to be productive even in my working out.  I’ve become the master at going through flashcards on the bike.  Textbook reading on the elliptical?  Check.  And so, you see, I’ve managed to kill two birds with one stone—by studying while I work out, I can get the benefit of a workout without the guilt of being unproductive.

While some might praise these efforts as an indication of hard work, dedication, and discipline, could it be that my strivings and inability to truly rest reflect the deeper state of my heart?  Is it possible I have fallen prey to the seemingly “innocent” sin of busyness and striving? I believe so. 

I am so guilty of resting in the gospel of self-improvement.  John Bloom put it perfectly in his blog post, “Sexy, Successful, and Smart”:  

“The world has a gospel and preaches it all the time: be sexy, successful, or smart and you will be saved. What you will be saved to are the heavens of others’ esteem, desire and envy — and the various perks that usually come with it. What you will be saved from are the hells of others’ rejection and indifference — and the various undesirable extras that usually go with them.

The more you have of sexiness, success, or smarts — and, even better, of all three — the more assurance of salvation you have. According to this gospel you are justified by others’ approval. You are sanctified by self-improvement.

But it’s no gospel. It makes big promises that prove empty. If we achieve the approval we seek, we soon realize it’s no salvation. Approval today usually turns to rejection or indifference tomorrow. Even sustained worldly success doesn’t produce sustained satisfaction. This gospel leaves almost everyone feeling condemned.”

And so, it seems, I am in reality running headlong into self-destruction at breakneck speed by striving and failing under the world’s empty gospel of self-improvement. 

My pastor from back home, R.W. Glenn, recently spoke at the Desiring God National Conference.  In his sermon on work and rest, my pastor spoke on the constant pressure we feel to always be “doing.”  As he explained, “the cry of busyness is more or less the anthem of our culture.”  And what are the implications of this?  We live in a “meritocracy”, whereby our identity is bound up in our achievements and we are addicted to merit. The problem with this, however, is that the Christian faith is not a system of achievement—it’s not a “do” faith, it’s a “done” faith.   Christ has done what we could never hope to do on our own!  Needless to say, my pastor’s sermon had my name stamped all over it.  After listening to my pastor’s sermon, I realize that my confessional theology and my functional theology are often at odds with one another. I see very much of myself in the following quote by Bryan Chappell which my pastor referenced:“After initially trusting in Christ to make them right with God, many Christians embark on an endless pursuit of trying to satisfy God with good works that will keep Him loving them.  This belief, whether articulated or buried deep in a psyche developed by the way we were treated by parents, spouses, or others, makes the Christian life a perpetual race on a performance treadmill to keep winning God’s affection.”

In my functional theology, how I actually live every day in my actions, I see now that I am guilty of acting, thinking and behaving as though Christianity is about what I do for God.  I guess I’ve never really considered the possibility that the reason behind my frantic schedule is that I may be frantic in my relationship with God and not resting in the finished work of Christ for me.  I have been driven by a perpetual quest for something.  Maybe some of you have as well. But is there somewhere we can find rest?  I don’t mean the superficial, unsatisfying rest we are all too familiar with.  I mean deep, true rest. Indeed, in Christ and the Gospel we are afforded this kind of rest, rest which frees us from our strivings—Christ has broken the chains of our enslavement! For me, I am slowly realizing that I can’t be more accepted by God than I already am at this moment, and instead of working to earn the acceptance of God and those around me through my achievements, I need to work on resting. I know this won’t be easy.  I’ve already established habits and thinking that are engrained into me and which won’t be easily uprooted.  My prayer, however, is that instead of focusing on myself and the worldly gospel of self-improvement, I will day by day come to remember more of the Gospel of Christ and all that He done for me.  I don’t need to strive towards becoming accepted by the culture because I am already accepted by the Creator.  As my pastor put it, “The only list of accomplishments the Father sees for you is the one amassed by Jesus, who said, ‘It is finished!’ ”  And I praise God for this, for I know that on my own I can add nothing to the finished work of Christ!

“Let us therefore strive to enter that rest…”

(Hebrews 4:11)

Pride, Unbelief, and the Failure to Forgive

“But if you do not forgive men, then your Father will not forgive your transgressions.” (Matthew 6:15)

“Judge not, and you will not be judged; condemn not, and you will not be condemned; forgive, and you will be forgiven; give, and it will be given to you.  […] For with the measure you use it will be measured back to you.” (Luke 6:37-38)

In response to being forgiven by God, shouldn’t our hearts overflow in love and forgiveness towards others?  Shouldn’t we be so in awe of the underserving mercy God has shown us that our lives are characterized by an outpouring of grace towards others?  Why then, when we are wronged, do we feel a driving need to call out the unjust?  Why do we hold grudges, and why do we possess the urge to defend ourselves and show others the offenders’ true colors?  Why does anger and resentment eat away at our souls, and is there a better way to respond when we feel unjustly aggrieved?

For myself, I am learning that the gnawing I feel within to have vengeance and set things right stems mainly from a heart of pride and unbelief.  One of my greatest idols is man’s approval.  I’m a people-pleaser, and as such much of my identity is wrapped up in how others view me.  While being a people-pleaser may cause me to appear humble, the reality is that my people-pleasing behavior actually stems from a twisted sense of pride—pride that demands others respect me and hold me in high esteem. Any slight against my character or person is thus a danger that threatens to destroy my world.  How do I respond to such slights?  Anger.  Bitterness.  Resentment.  Despair.  I believe also that my failure to forgive arises from a heart of unbelief which manifests itself in two ways— unbelief in who I am and unbelief in Who God is.  What do I mean by unbelief in who I am?  I mean that I fail to recognize how sinful I really am—I write my sins off as trivial compared to the sins of others, refusing to believe that I’m really that bad.  What a lie.  And then there’s my unbelief in God which doubts His sovereignty, goodness, and justice.  And what does this cause me to do?  I take matters into my own hands.               

C.S. Lewis writes on the problem of forgiveness in the following:

“. . . you must make every effort to kill every taste of resentment in your own heart—every wish to humiliate or hurt him or to pay him out. The difference between this situation and the one in such you are asking God’s forgiveness is this. In our own case we accept excuses too easily; in other people’s we do not accept them easily enough.

As regards my own sin it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are not really so good as I think; as regards other men’s sins against me it is a safe bet (though not a certainty) that the excuses are better than I think. One must therefore begin by attending to everything which may show that the other man was not so much to blame as we thought.

But even if he is absolutely fully to blame we still have to forgive him; and even if ninety-nine percent of his apparent guilt can be explained away by really good excuses, the problem of forgiveness begins with the one percent guilt which is left over. To excuse what can really produce good excuses is not Christian character; it is only fairness. To be a Christian means to forgive the inexcusable, because God has forgiven the inexcusable in you.

This is hard. It is perhaps not so hard to forgive a single great injury. But to forgive the incessant provocations of daily life—to keep on forgiving the bossy mother-in-law, the bullying husband, the nagging wife, the selfish daughter, the deceitful son—how can we do it? Only, I think, by remembering where we stand, by meaning our words when we say in our prayers each night ‘forgive our trespasses as we forgive those that trespass against us.’ We are offered forgiveness on no other terms. To refuse it is to refuse God’s mercy for ourselves. There is no hint of exceptions and God means what He says.”

If I cherish and nurse a grudge against a fellow man, how can I dare approach God and demand mercy? If I—a depraved and sin-soiled sinner—demand justice when I am slighted, how much more should the holy and all-powerful God of the universe demand justice when His name is scorned?  Why should God have mercy on me if I fail to render to Him that which I demand for myself from others?  He shouldn’t.  In fact, the intensity with which I hold others guilty bears testimony to the fact that God will hold me guilty for my sins against Him.  It seems then that Christ’s command to “Forgive that you might be forgiven,” is not just a suggestion—it’s a rule!  I like how John Piper states it when he writes:

“God treats us in accordance with the belief of our heart: if we believe it is good and beautiful to harbor resentments and tabulate wrongs done against us, then God will recognize that our plea for forgiveness is sheer hypocrisy—for we will be asking Him to do what we believe to be bad. It is a dreadful thing to try to make God your patsy by asking Him to act in a way that you, as your action shows, esteem very lowly.”

And so, what can I take away from this?  If, in my pride, I hold fast to an unforgiving spirit, I am proving that I do not trust Christ and His way of life, for how could I withhold forgiveness for mild offenses when my monstrous debt against the most high God has been paid in full?  I know I can’t earn Heaven by forgiving others, but my prayer is that I will cease to be like the unforgiving servant Jesus spoke of in Matthew 18.  Through the power of the Holy Spirit, may I come to resist revenge against those who have hurt me, grieve at their calamities, pray for their welfare, and seek reconciliation so far as it depends on me. 

“When he was reviled, he did not revile in return; when he suffered he did not threaten; but he trusted to him who judges justly.” (1 Peter 1:23)

Shadows that Haunt

The shadows of fear, anxiety and self-indulgence all too often become ghosts and phantoms that haunt us.  The slightest gust of wind fills us with terror and a creaky floor causes us to freeze.  Friends become backstabbers, our parents our adversaries, and God—an enemy.  With darting eyes and racing hearts we find ourselves hurrying along, occasionally daring to rapidly glance back over our shoulder. 

Why this running and hiding lifestyle as though we are escaped convicts? Is it possible that all the worries of this world, combined with a sin-soiled conscience, have made us restless and prone to fear and avoidance?  I think so.  Maybe we have a sense that someone or something is out to get us, that we are being pursued. It is this terror that quickly consumes us, causing us to turn and flee in fear and mistrust even when we are not being pursued.

“The wicked flee when no one pursues…”

Proverbs 8:21a

Our guilty conscience condemns us, and in our wickedness and despair we are fearful.  But is there hope?  Is there somewhere we may find rest and boldness, somewhere we may shed our fears? 

Indeed, there is one great shadow we need not fear and from which we need not flee.   It is beneath this shadow—the shadow of the cross—that we are freed from the nightmares of our sins.  Here alone are we blessed and here alone do we find rest.  And it is here, in the shadow of the cross, that we are confronted with the Gospel and all that Christ has done on our behalf.  

“But he was pierced for our transgressions;

he was crushed for our iniquities;

upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace,

and with his wounds we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray;

we have turned—every one—to his own way;

and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.

Isaiah 53:5-6

As believers, we have a mighty and merciful message in the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  This is a great hope and security in the face of a guilty conscience that threatens to destroy us.   No longer does every breeze that blows or every floor that creaks condemn us.  We need not agonize over the voices that once joined in unison to testify to our guilt, for in Christ all is washed away and we are freed from fear and healed of our sins!   

“..let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith,

with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience

and our bodies washed with pure water.”

Hebrews 10:22

“…for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart,
 and he knows everything.  Beloved, if our heart does not condemn us, 

we have confidence before God…”

1 John 30:20-21

“Blessed are those whose lawless deeds are forgiven,

and whose sins are covered;

blessed is the man against whom the Lord will not count his sin.”

Romans 4:7-8

“There is therefore now no condemnation

for those who are in Christ Jesus.”

Romans 8:1

“So if the Son sets you free, you will be free indeed.”

John 8:36

What great and glorious truths! We are freed and protected and glorified when we hide ourselves within the shadow of Christ and the cross.      

“And I will be to her a wall of fire all around, declares the Lord,

and I will be the glory in her midst.”

Zechariah 2:5

So let us hide ourselves within the fiery walls of protection afforded us by Christ's sacrifice, and when Satan tempts us to despair and our guilty hearts cry out of the guilt we hold within, may we boldly look to the cross and hold fast to the promise and reassurance and hope we have in Christ: 

When Satan tempts me to despair,

And tells me of the guilt within,

Upward I look, and see Him there

Who made an end to all my sin.

Because the sinless Savior died,

My sinful soul is counted free;

For God the just is satisfied

To look on Him and pardon me
(Before the Throne of God Above)

So what does mean?  It means we can stop running and hiding.  In Christ we are promised protection from the fires and shadows that haunt us.  His guiltless blood shed for us has covered all our sins and they are remembered no more.  No more! They have been removed as far as the East is from the West.    We may now come to the Father not as vile convicts but as sons and daughters of the King.  Unlike the shadows of our past, the shadow of the cross will never threaten or haunt us.  Rather, it is in the shadow of what Christ has done on the cross that we are granted the greatest blessing of all—we are invited to come and forevermore be filled with the infinite joy of God’s glory and presence.    

“For I will satisfy the weary soul,

 and every languishing soul I will replenish.”

 Jeremiah 31:25