I’ve been in church since I was born. I’m guessing that you could count on one hand the number of times I missed a Sunday growing up; it just wasn’t an option. And spending the night with grandparents or great-grandparents was the same. I was in church at Plum Creek, First Pentecostal, or Hannegan. But going to church didn’t mean I knew who the Jesus of the Bible was. That’s an entirely different story that’s honestly pretty messy. So when I heard something on the radio the other day it landed deep in my heart. The host said, “Finding Jesus can be messy”.
Going to christian camp every summer at Mahoning Valley was a tremendous part of my life. It taught me vital disciplines and the importance of community. Singing with my grandma, aunt, mom, dad, and sisters was a gift I didn’t fully appreciate until many years later. The words to those classic hymns and the writing genius of Bill and Gloria Gaither, Andrae Crouch, and so many others are chiseled in my memory as if on stone tablets. While all of those things are great, they aren’t the most important.
There’s no way that a blog post holds the space for all of the encounters that opened my life to Jesus. And certainly the story that each of us tells is unique. But messy is a fairly accurate descriptor. I didn’t suddenly wake up one day and declare, “Oh there you are, Jesus! Now that I’ve found you I won’t ever make another mistake.” I know people who seem to have that experience, but that’s definitely not me.
My story is more like an episode from a sitcom where the main character experiences the same drama over and over again and never seems to learn. As a viewer of that show, the first few episodes make you belly laugh (or cry, depending on the situation). However, not many weeks go by before you’re wondering when the character development will begin.
I was on stage singing very early. That didn’t give me a personal relationship with Jesus. I was baptized, but that didn’t do it either. Camp was great, but still not the answer. As the Church, I think we’re often guilty of believing that once someone declares their faith in Jesus that they won’t ever screw up again. That is rarely, if ever, the case. It most definitely didn’t happen that way for me.
I experienced little glimpses of who Jesus was. Every time I cried out to God I was met with grace and mercy. But I kept allowing myself to be lured by the world. Thankfully, God doesn’t have a cut off. Until I take my last breath, He will continue to receive me with open arms. I’m not insinuating that anyone has a license to live however they want and just dance back into His grace. There are consequences to sin. I’ve known many of them personally. But it’s often through our messes that we ultimately encounter who Jesus really is. People need us to show them Jesus even when (especially when) they’ve screwed up. Again. Those people were priceless to me!
Each Sunday, I sit in church very keenly aware that I’m a sinner. Until the day I die, I’ll be a sinner. In the seats around me are sinners. Alcoholics still carrying the scent of the bottle with them. The 38-year-old single woman, who finds herself pregnant and believes that abortion is the only option. The thief wondering if today will be the day the boss finds out. The abuser sitting beside the girlfriend he lives with. The one addicted to prescription drugs who struggles silently and alone. Or it could be the 85 year old woman who is consumed with pride and looks down on everyone else. Finding Jesus can be messy. But I pray that God continues to give me a heart that remembers who I was before I found Jesus. I was a mess. He loved me still.
Romans 5:8 ~ But God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.