Lesson: Learning exactly where my limitations lie
“For God so loved the world that he gave…” – John 3:16
I’m at the literal end of my rope. In January, 2019 I uttered the words, “It can’t get any worse than this.” 2019 showed me that wasn’t true. And so far, 2020 has shown me that it can always, always be worse.
My pastor would often quote Theodore Roosevelt’s famous saying, “People don’t care how much you know until they know how much you care.”
Everyone says they care, but no one uses their brain enough to define anything they say they’re committed to.
I go to a church that reaches over 20,000 people each weekend. I serve every week, I give my money, and so on. I don’t regret a single thing I do to further the organization’s mission and God’s plan for redemption. But when I’ve found myself in need, the organization has let me down in ways I have never let the organization down. So many churches actively pursue a futile argument of the book of Acts being theologically descriptive versus prescriptive, and I think that’s an excuse to make ministry comfortable for themselves. If you don’t understand that, just Google it and know it’s all BS. Very few people have made sacrifices for me, and virtually no one makes an effort to get to know me.
2019 also taught me to reach out for help. I’d supported myself and done things on my own for years, but I was willing to grow. Sadly, 2019 also taught me that everyone who says, “Let me know if you need anything,” will ignore your calls and leave you on read if you ever seek to take them up on their offer. When I did reach out, it was almost as if I was told that I shouldn’t actually need help, especially more than once.
Churches tell people about the importance of community, but we negate our biblical message with the demonic advice that we ought to live without any need to ever be reliant on outside support. We ought to build our own kingdoms, hoard our barns, and sprinkle blessings on a massive vacuum-organization that has a sole desire to build a kingdom of its own.
I was taught that there’s only one kingdom we should be building, and that we should have an all-or-nothing, by-any-means-necessary mentality when it comes to building that kingdom. The reason I’m convinced of that is because, like the first-century church, I’ve been able to take those words from the pulpit, and through professional theological education and years of personal church experience search a 2,000+ year-old 66-book historical document that verifies that those words have been consistently notated as coming from God since the beginning of time. On the contrary, the comfortable conglomerate-pushing I’m taught by church leaders to believe in in private, I’ve actually found nowhere in scripture. Not once. Not even a, “Hmm…that MIGHT be saying what they’re saying….” Never.
The people who claim to care about me so much have actually never taken it upon themselves to ensure I’m ok. They actually know nothing about me or the life I live. Oh, but I’ve been promised many things on numerous occasions. Christian pastors, Christian business leaders, Christian administrators, Christian executives…always Christians. “I’ll text you so we can meet and see how you’re doing.” “I really want to support your ministry.” “Let me know if you need anything. Christian, I mean that…anything at all.” It was 100% BS. No one has delivered. They just don’t know what else to do but lie. The truth is awkward.
I understand why they lie. Being a real Christian hurts. It costs you a lot. The other day, I had an Uber passenger leave something in my car. I called and volunteered to drive it back to him. I was going to charge him the $15 return fee through the app, but when I returned the item, he gave me a $5 tip. I thought about applying the fee anyway because I’m really short on funds and he paid me less than Uber would have, but I couldn’t shake my conviction. That wouldn’t have been right.
About a month ago, someone sent me a message on social media saying they had nothing to eat, and they asked if I could spare $10 for them to have a meal. I knew the work that person does is very physically taxing, and they need strength so they can work. I didn’t tell them that $10 was all I had, I just understood that if I only give when it’s convenient for me to do so, then how can I, when I’m a pastor, expect people to trust God enough to sacrificially give and support his very expensive mission when circumstances look bleak?
While my hatred for flawed organizations may rise, my love for people runs very deep. But in the past year, I’ve had to exercise the many sermons I’d been taught, and love and kindness has put me at a loss many times. To think that I should no longer be expressively loving and kind is a very American individualistic idea, not a God idea. To clarify, I am not saying I give beyond the scope of wisdom and without considering my own predicament, but I consider God’s grace for me every time I must make a decision. I’m not a hero. I’m not some great wonder; I’m a Christian–changed by a great, wondrous hero named Jesus.
Most Christians make Christianity look so unappealing, then wonder why no one respects us and no one wants to become Christian. You even have countless Christians divorcing themselves from the biblical name we’ve tainted so disgustingly. And we have the nerve to pair God’s word with our hatred, “If the world hates you, know that it has hated me before it hated you” (John 15:18-27). We are NOT hated and persecuted in the same way or for the same reasons Jesus was hated and persecuted. People hate us because we do nothing more than spew hatred while wrapping it in a bow we call love. I say to the modern-day American church, the world doesn’t hate you; everyone does. Christians and non-Christians alike. You have not remained true to your calling, so the hatred grows and grows. Jesus has nothing to do with that hatred. Many hate you for the sake of Jesus.
Here’s the moment of authenticity. I have thought a lot about suicide in the past year. I’ve admitted that in a previous blog post, and to no surprise, no one reached out. Two things have kept me: (1) my devotion to live out the ministry God’s called me to. There’s no greater reason to live. If I’m meaningful to God and called by him for a purpose, then living that out is my utmost desire. (2) My love for people. I’ve thought about the damage this would do to my mother, my siblings, my cousins, aunts and uncles. Some friends even. The thought alone makes my heart sink.
But what’s made me reconsider my reconsideration is the obvious evidence that many people just don’t care about me. Sure they’ll care once I make a headline, and the very slight chance that that might change people into authentic Christians who consider others before themselves makes me think it’s worth it. Why didn’t you send that text you promised to send? Why didn’t you visit me in school like you promised? Why didn’t you help me financially when you had the means? Why didn’t you hold me accountable? Why were you too concerned about things being awkward to ask me about the details of my struggle? Why couldn’t you celebrate the small steps of transparency I made without telling me I need to do more? Why couldn’t you be consistent enough to reach out to me when I was too weak to even leave my bed? Why did you lie and tell me you’d be there for me? Why did you lie and tell people I harassed you when I was grieving over my mother’s cancer diagnosis? Why did you tell me I was wasting my time pursuing my education? Why is it that you, a church leader, choose to constantly tell an overworked, chronically depressed young adult pouring his all into your ministry for free after working a full-time job that still makes finances difficult, that he’s not doing enough? That’s what my suicide note would say. It’s your fault. And people don’t change until tragedy changes them.
I care so much about other people, but at some point, I have to care about me. And I can’t take it anymore.
Unapologetically Christian 