In our culture, this message is being communicated with increasing fervor. The drum beat has been taken up by every group, regardless of ethnicity, religious affiliation, political beliefs, or sexual orientation. The thing is, we're all correct. We are ALL doing something wrong.
As tension over these differences increases (and it IS increasing all around the world), I don't believe the answer is to say there is no such thing as right and wrong. After all, that would be suggesting it's WRONG to believe in right and wrong. Don't worry. You haven't ended up in a college philosophy class by mistake. My point is simply this: we will never effect change by trying to convince people to adopt our version of what is right and wrong. We CAN change the world by the solution we offer, however.
Jesus didn't spend his ministry time trying to convince people that sin was sin. Instead, He offered a solution for it: Himself. I remember counseling a young woman who had recently become a Christian. Her concern was that she had to quit doing everything she was currently doing. She felt she had to listen to different music, watch different movies (if she watched them at all), quit going to the same places where her unbelieving friends were and on and on. Not surprisingly, she was not joyful about hearing the Good News! In fact, the Gospel for her was more bad news: she was a sinner and everything she wanted to do was sinful.
If we aren't careful, we can change the Good News into bad news for the people we witness to. Are we spending our time talking about how sinful and wrong people are being? (As if this were news anyway!) Or are we sharing the Savior who gives us the want to and not the have to change our sinful ways.
In his book, The Life of Trust, George Muller shares the story of a godly man who paid for the education of promising young men. One particular college student was known to be a brilliant debater and an unbeliever. The older benefactor invited the young man to live with him while he went to school, and provided all of his meals for him as well. Knowing the young man's desire to take him on in matters of faith, he avoided the discussion for months. Instead, he lovingly served him by making sure he had a warm meal and light to study by each evening. Finally, the young man was so flabberghasted by his benefactor's loving treatment that he asked, "Why are you treating me this way? I don't understand!" The kindly man told him it was because of what Jesus had done for him and if he wanted to know more, he could read the book of John. He did so and came to share the joy his benefactor had in experiencing the Good News.
May the Lord enable us to be loving reminders, not of all we're doing wrong, but all that the Savior has done right for undeserving sinners like us.
If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. (1 Cor. 13:1)
My dad changed dramatically when he retired. He had worked his entire life and he was truly happy when his time was his own. He quit smoking after five decades and spent lots of time fishing and spoiling my youngest brother. It was heartbreaking, when it seemed my dad had a new lease on life, to learn that he had COPD. He eventually required full-time oxygen.
I had a hard time watching my father, who had never been afraid of anything, have panic attacks when he couldn't breathe. Traveling and any activities that required him to walk became nearly impossible. At one point, he developed pancreatitis and was given a 50/50 chance of making it. He survived, but I had been warned. My dad was mortal.
Warning or no, I wasn't prepared the evening I got my mother's phone call telling me that my dad was near death once again. I cried and cried and kept saying, "I'm not ready. I'm just not ready." I had recently developed a habit of asking God to communicate with me through His Word. I begged God to let my father live. I loved him so much and I wasn't even sure of his salvation. I opened the Bible randomly and read from Isaiah 38:16, 18
You restored me to health and let me live. For the grave cannot praise you, death cannot sing your praise; those who go down to the pit cannot hope for your faithfulness.
I was absolutely convinced that the Lord had heard my prayer and was giving my dad more time. I wasn't disappointed. My dad recovered. He had to move to a nursing home to get the care that he needed, but he never complained. He seemed to enjoy teasing the nurses and staff. I used the extra time with my dad to write him a letter explaining the Gospel and expressing my hope that he had received Christ as his Savior.
During a visit following my letter, my dad said, "Let's talk about what you wrote." He told me that he believed in God and had been baptized in infancy. I still had my doubts. My dad was a humble, generous man, but he had never said anything about God. Was it just because he was quiet? Or did he lack an authentic faith?
My dad and I had a routine. I called him at the nursing home the same night every week. On occasions when I had something else planned, I almost always forgot to call him until the next day. Dad was never upset when I forgot to call, though I always felt awful. I knew he looked forward to our talks. I did, too!
One evening, I realized that I was supposed to be at church the next night, which was my regular night to call Dad. I decided to call him right then. I joked with him that I was really on top of things this time and hadn't forgotten until it was too late. We did the usual chit chatting. I told him about our new mini-van with the remote control door. I said I was walking around like the Queen of Sheba, expecting every door to open for me at the touch of a button. He laughed. He told me that a pastor had come and talked with him for a long time. My dad said, "And you know what? I agreed with everything he said." I was so happy to hear that. I was sure that the pastor had shared the Gospel with my dad and my dad once again affirmed that he believed.
The next evening I was getting ready to go to my church meeting when my mom called. My dad had had a heart attack, she said. They didn't think he was going to make it. In that moment, I knew he wouldn't. When I returned home from church, I got the phone call that confirmed it. My dad was gone. Although I felt ready in comparison to the previous time his life was in danger, I still felt like someone was trying to rip my heart from my chest. I am so thankful my husband was there to hold me up.
Even in my grief, I recognized how loving a God I serve. I'm fully convinced that He moved me to call my father a day early and made sure that I knew my father's salvation was secure. The Lord continued to comfort me as I attended a memorial at the nursing home where he lived. The staff seemed more broken up than I was! Today I continue to be comforted with a vision of my father living in perfect health and peace with the Father of us all.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. (Matthew 5:4)
I’m a Christian psychologist turned homeschooling mother of six. My life can be a little crazy, so I look for sanity-saving ideas to use and share. I hope you’ll read my About page to learn more.
