I’m no saint.
I walked into my fifth grade class upset one morning. Though, I guess I wasn’t as upset as I was
pissed. Yea, I was pissed. The teacher saw my attitude – I made it quite
obvious – and she quickly addressed the events of the night before.
Wait. Before I
continue, fast-forward with me real quick to last month in Trujillo, Peru, when
God reminded me of that morning in fifth grade.
It’s funny how sometimes we can read a quote, see an image, recall a memory
hundreds of times, and then suddenly, one day, it has an entirely new meaning
or perspective. And for the first time,
this particular memory got me thinking about who we believe we are, and who we
are.
The first answer is, I think, a lot. Let’s run down a few adjectives just to set
some things straight.
Sinners? Yep. Children? Yep.
Imperfect? Yep. Loved?
Yep. Chosen? Yep. Royal? Hmm…
okay, I guess. Saints? Hold on… back up. Not sure about all that. I mean, there’s even a phrase for that… ‘I’m
no saint.’
Not sure I can just agree to that one. Back to the story.
I was in fifth grade and I was not happy. The night before,
President Clinton had
defeated Bob Dole to be elected to his second term in office. “It’s okay if who you wanted to win, didn’t
win, kids. It’s only four years,” said
my teacher.
Now, to clarify, even today I don’t know a whole lot about
politics, and right now I could probably tell you more about the political news
of Ecuador than of the U.S. But in fifth
grade I really knew nothing about
politics, nor did I care. I barely knew
who Bill Clinton was! So, why, at
10-years-old, did I care who was president?
Because my family cared.
Like many Tennesseans, dad was not happy that Clinton was
re-elected, and I heard about it. He
cared so I cared. He wasn’t happy so I
wasn’t happy. I heard so I
believed. I knew nothing about politics,
yet the outside influences in my life changed my opinion so much that it
dictated my attitude and my entire day. The
opinions of others became facts to me.
This got me thinking.
If I could be that easily and greatly influenced
by outside thoughts and
opinions over just the course of a day or two, what outside opinions over the
course of my life have influenced the way I think? What else do we just automatically believe
without much thought because it was something that had been engrained in my
mind for so many years? Whether from
friends or family or community or church, what lies do we let become common thought? And who have I been told – been
convinced – I am that I’m not?
We need some more adjectives. Unforgiven. Alone. Average. Unworthy. Abandoned. Lost. Weak. Guilty. Enslaved. Scared. Defeated. This is
who I have been convinced that I am.
I’m no saint.
That’s who I’m told I am. That’s who we’ve been told we are.
John Eldredge wrote, “Every man carries a wound. I have never met a man without one. No matter how good your life may have seemed to you, you live in a broken world full of broken people.” If I could have my
entire day dictated by hearing an opinion for a few hours on a president I
didn’t care about, could I have my entire life dictated by hearing opinions and
lies for years and years?
Unforgiven. Alone. Guilty. Unworthy. Average. Abandoned… Definitely
not a saint.
But, still, there’s this verse I can’t stop thinking about;
this verse that I can’t let go.
‘So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are
a son, God has also made you an heir.’
Made me an heir?
The Master’s was this week, and I followed the final day
on the computer. It reminded me of
another story.
A couple years ago, Tiger Woods was at the Oakmont Country
Club, giving a private tour of the course to a few lucky American Express card
holders. He walked with them through
each hole, explaining strategy, hitting some shots and taking pictures.
I was fortunate enough to go to Oakmont in 2007 with a group
of guys to watch my good friend, Philip Pettitt, play in the US Open as
an
amateur. What I remember most is the
extreme difficulty of the course, and the Church Pew bunkers – huge sand
bunkers with seven grass covered ridges across each one.
So Tiger and the rest of the group approached the
bunkers. They were awed, taking pictures
around the bunker and marveling at how far from the hole it was. Finally, one of the fans asked Tiger if he
would hit a ball out of bunker. He
quickly refused.
“Will you teach us how to do it?” someone asked.
“Hit it there,” Tiger said, and pointed toward the fairway.
They asked him again, and again, he said no. After a few more requests, he did step into
the sand for a photo, but even then he refused to have a golf club in his hand,
and he refused to hit a golf ball out of the bunker. He said he would never hit one out of the
bunker even during practice, either.
Why not? Because, he said, he had absolutely no intention of
being in that bunker. Ever.
If we knew who we are – no, if we truly knew, really believed,
fully understood that we are heirs to
a King, we would never listen to or believe anyone else’s opinion. Average, weak, guilty, scared… we would never
consider those words again. We would have no intention of being in that bunker
again. Ever.
But we do think about it. That bunker, I mean. Those lies
that
only enslave us and those opinions that only sink us deeper into the
sand.
And then there’s
the King. Desperately desiring, asking and reaching for his son or daughter to
grasp their royalty. Can’t you hear his desire?
‘Stop. Don’t step
into that bunker. Don’t look at it.
Stop. Don’t even think about it. Look here.
See me. See my glory, it’s yours, too. You are my son, and with you I am
very, very pleased. You were once a slave, and now you are an heir to my
throne.
Therefore, you
are no longer to act like a slave.
You are no longer
to look like a slave.
You are no longer
to feel like a slave.You are no longer
to talk like a slave.
You are no longer
to think like a slave.
You are free, and
more than that.
Now, you are to
act like a beloved child.
Now, you are to
look like a victorious conqueror.
Now, you are to
feel like a chosen prince.
Now, you are to
talk like a righteous noble.
Now, you are to
think like a royal heir.’
Saints?
Depends on who you ask, I suppose. Ask the world who you are, and you’ll be told what the world thinks you are… and you may just believe it. Ask God who you are, and, well…
This is who I am.
Always.
One that
maintains a high standard – a righteous standard – no matter who he’s with,
even if it’s no one else. One that
worships his King and Father despite the circumstances, emotions or
feelings. One that is grateful in
worship when he can feel God’s presence, because God is with him, and one that
is grateful when he can’t hear His voice or feel His presence, because God is
with him. One whose confidence demands
respect when he walks into a room, and whose attitude alters the color of
it. The colors are vibrant even on the
least of days, because he has beliefs greater than himself, and selfishness has
no place in him. One that leads and protects women
with divine decision-making and a trust developed through actions.
One that knows
and lives in Christ’s relentless grace therefore is relentless in the pursuit
of knowing and living in Christ’s righteousness.
God looks at me
and this is who He sees. This is who I
am. Always. Sometimes I don’t act like, look like, feel
like, talk like, or think like that person, but it doesn’t change the
fact.
Saint – [seynt] –
noun – any of certain persons of exceptional holiness of life, virtue, or
benevolence
“But you are a
chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people belonging to God,
that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his
wonderful light.”
And that is why
we’re saints.
* In love with New Song Mission, the church I’m working with in Candelaria, Nicaragua, as well as our contacts here, Lisa and Diego. Off day tomorrow, so we’re planning on surfing down an active volcano, then camping out in a cave underneath a waterfall. No big deal, really. *
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