I needed this reminder, maybe you do too

I’m glad I answered the phone

When I got off the phone last night, it was hard to put into words the feelings that I had. I suppose the best way to describe it, although admittedly these words seem to sell it short, would be a nervous anticipation. Not dread at all. Much more on the side of excitement.

To be clear, this isn’t about Christmas. At least not exactly. Preparing the message for church on Sunday, I’ve obviously been reflecting on what Scripture says are the reasons for the coming of Christ into our world. And the testimony of God’s Word is pretty clear that one of those reasons is this:

John 12

46 I have come into the world as a light, so that no one who believes in me should stay in darkness.

The superficial reading of that passage would be to note that during His ministry, Jesus healed blinded eyes – that people who lived in literal darkness would have their physical eyes opened to the world of light around them. But the Holy Spirit makes clear to believers as He teaches us through the Word, that the physical existence is often at the periphery of what Jesus is doing. It is the spiritual eyes that Christ’s coming most greatly affected.

Because of Christ, the moral blindness that the world is consumed in has an antidote. There is a Truth that when exposed, upon believing, will cause the scales of confusion to fall from our eyes. We come to know the Truth, and that Truth sets us free (John 8:32).

So perhaps it is only fitting – one of God’s clever reminders that His timing is always perfect – that I find myself at the very moment of our calendar when we celebrate the coming of that sight-restoring Truth, that I had the phone conversation I did last night.

There is an element of confidentiality that I obviously won’t break in the course of this Memo, but I will speak in generalities in the hopes that it offers others of you reading this some encouragement and hope.

A young man whose parents have agonized over his lost soul for the last 10 years of his life, who has always been drawn to dark things – horror movies, violent fantasies, and other elements that his parents have diligently attempted to shield him from (even if it proved ultimately futile), who has succumbed to many of the world’s lies regarding sexuality, gender, and the appropriate expression of both…he has at long last opened the door to the possibility there is a better way.

Specifically, his dad told me that though they have faithfully brought him to church for years, it has only been in the last year that he has been listening to my sermons and has confessed to them that he does, in fact, believe in God, but he still has so many questions. His dad said, “He respects you and is open to talking with you,” before then asking me, “would you be willing?”

First of all, what kind of person would I be to say no to that? Everything else aside, as I talked about this with my wife, we both put ourselves in the shoes of those parents. What if that was us? What if we had been trying so hard, seeing so many destructive and frightening decisions being made, struggling so hard to know how best to love him and navigate the situation, praying so intensely without seeing any light at the end of the tunnel? My existence as a parent alone compels me to say yes to such a desperate request.

But more than that, I can’t express the affirmation the conversation was to where I am and who I am at this moment in time. Though I’m a little embarrassed, I think there’s value in admitting that for several years of my life (and not that long ago, if I’m honest), there was too large a part of me totally driven by human ambition. I wanted to be the next Rush Limbaugh. And after my radio show came to an end without a large syndication deal or anything remotely resembling it, and my speaking engagements ramped up, I wanted to be the next highly-coveted convention or apologetics speaker.

My eyes were unquestionably fixed on attaining worldly heights – yes, speaking and teaching about Godly things, but doing so in a way that yielded earthly glory and fame.

No, I don’t think I’m alone in that desire. And no, I don’t think I’ve completely conquered it. But conversations like last night are all the confirmation I need to know that God has me right where He wants me. Knowing that in some way God might be using me to forge a loving relationship with a young man who needs Jesus? Knowing that boy trusts me enough to talk to me because of the Jesus he’s been able, through the work of the Holy Spirit, to see in my life? That’s it. That’s what matters.

I say this probably more often than I need to in messages on Sunday mornings – likely because I need to hear it more than anyone else. But ultimately you and I are not judged based on how big of a splash we made in the world’s pond. We aren’t judged based on how large our sphere of influence became, how many debates we won, or how many people think about us when we’re gone, or for how long our name is remembered.

We will be judged based on whether we were faithful to the great task of revealing that Light of the world, the one Light that heals spiritual blindness, to whoever God places us near, wherever it may be. Maybe that will be in the courts of a Pharaoh, a palace in Persia, from a golden microphone across 300 American radio stations, a small village in remote Africa, a mechanic’s shop in Brussels, a factory in some Detroit suburb, or a small country church outside of Greentown, Indiana.

Wherever it is for you and me, what a privilege we have to be used in our fleeting few moments here, by the God of the Universe. If you think about it and are willing, pray for my coming conversation with this young man – that Christ would be glorified, that the boy’s heart would be irresistibly attracted to the Light, and that you and I never forget how incredible it is to serve the King.

---

ICYMI

I had a couple commentaries on the culture that I published this week. If you missed them or were interested, you can find them here:

• The NCAA and Democrat assault on women is unconscionable

• It’s never “for the children,” so let’s stop saying it