The Most Important Thing

This blog is mostly about my writing journey. But I want to take a moment to tell you about the most important thing.

I prefer light topics on social media in general. I don’t need to flaunt my politics or “attack” the opposition. People, no matter how “other” they seem, are not my enemy.

Many of my friends and social media followers express different worldviews from me, both politically and personally. But no matter the chasm of difference, we have one thing in common:

We are human beings.

This means we are made in the image of a personal and present God, and our value cannot be diminished by any opinion, action, or inaction. We could talk all day about who is right, who is wrong, what constitutes good or evil.

But today, off all days, I am reminded that we are equal—in dignity and depravity. I dare anyone to say they are perfect, and that they are unequivocally righteous even by their own standards. Many religions postulate that measuring up is the way to being “good” in relation to their standards and their gods. Even atheism and vague spiritualism have their own moral standards.

I’m convinced, however, that none of us “measure up.”

A plethora of religions, philosophies, and self-help gurus promise that, if we just alter our thinking, change our actions, and leverage our bank accounts, we will achieve earthly happiness and, depending on the worldview, an eternity of bliss.

Years ago, on my way to work, a woman stopped me and asked if I know how good people go to heaven. She proceeded to give her religious elevator speech and handed me a pamphlet. It spoke about good people and their ticket to eternity. I politely went on my way because I didn’t want to offend. I wish dearly that I’d spoken up.

My idea of heavenly candidacy could not have been more different from her. 

I’m not a good person.

Not by any religious or philosophical standard that I know. I try, I really do. But I fail time and again. If we’re honest, we all fall under this umbrella. Even by our own moral standards, be they stringent or loose, we fail. Even when we believe we are “good enough” despite our flaws and mistakes, there is a deep sense of longing to be better, to fix our shortcomings.

“None is righteous, no, not one,”[1] says a first century man named Paul to a group of people trying their best to live in a way worthy of the precepts of their faith. Paul, who used to go by Saul, lived a “good” life according to his previous religious loyalties. He came to realize that his zealous adherence to his religion had turned him into a violent, hateful person, woefully falling short of righteousness in the eyes of his own God.

After a supernatural encounter, Paul became the epitome of what he used to despise, proclaiming the resurrection of a man named Jesus, who was crucified for claiming to be God incarnate.

Paul had no qualms about proclaiming his new beliefs and encouraging his fellow believers, even to the point of arrest and the threat of torture and death. Paul lived this way because he was convinced that the value of what he believed outweighed the earthly consequences of declaring it. 

I want to live like Paul, willing to die on the hill Jesus died on, willing to declare hope for humanity even if it offends people, even if the earthly fallout is inconvenient or dangerous. I have a lot of respect for people willing to live against the grain, willing to be true to themselves even when it’s hard.

The woman who approached me with her “good news about good people” was willing to risk discomfort and rejection because she truly believed in her religious conviction. But her message was woefully lacking in one critical fact: we are not “good” people.

The message that we can be “good enough” or, dare I say, perfect on our own volition leaves us on a path of disappointment and frustration. If we’re honest, we feel more like we’re stranded in rough waters, waiting to drown under the wake of our own impossible standards.

If you can’t relate to this feeling, if you truly believe you’ve got it all together and are “good enough” on your own, then this message will fall flat. But for the rest of us, for those who are deeply honest with themselves and are tired of the pendulum swing between “I’ve got this” and “I can’t do this,” I want to tell you something:

You will never measure up, and you don’t have to. Someone has done it for you.

Today, we celebrate Easter Sunday. For some, it’s a celebration of Spring and new life ushered in by a rabbit that inexplicably lays eggs. It’s fun and fantastical. As fantastical as a man rising from the dead.

This I believe with my whole heart: God incarnated in humanity, fully deity and fully mortal, something impossible for us to fully understand. His purpose was to achieve what we could not, to “measure up” to his own standards, and then to offer that perfection to us through faith by becoming the victim of humanity’s flawed sense of justice. Today, Jesus-believers around the world celebrate their belief that Jesus' crucifixion was not the end of his story, that he rose from his own grave, thereby creating a path for us to eternal righteousness.

I am not a good person. I mess up all the time, even by my own mediocre standards of goodness and especially by God’s impossible bar of perfection. I do not follow Jesus because I live by a set of religious rules. I follow Jesus because I believe God loved humanity enough to suffer mortal incarnation, endure a torturous death, and defeat the condemnation of sin by rising from the dead. I follow Jesus because He offered grace, an underserved reward, to anyone who would take him at his Word.

I live the way I live, talk the way I talk, believe what I believe, not as a way to “measure up,” but in gratitude and honor of the God who measured up for me. This fact is worth sharing with you, even if you never want to hear a word from me again because of it. If you have been hurt because of “Christians,” I am sorry. There’s a reason most of the Bible’s New Testament talks about problems inside the Church and not outside of it. It’s because we are messy people who don’t measure up, trying and failing to live in gratitude and honor of a savior who made a way for a desperate and depraved humanity.

I hope that, despite the failings of his people, you can see the outrageous grace of Jesus—the immeasurable love of a God who, while we were still his sinful enemies, reconciled us “by the death of his Son.”[2]

If you get nothing else from me in our relationship, no matter how deep or superficial, know that I believe this with my whole heart and wish for you to share in the amazing, undeserved, regenerative gift of grace through faith in Jesus Christ. Everything I do—in writing, in speaking, in action—is a genuine, often flawed, short-falling response to this gift of grace.

[1] Romans 3:10

[2] Romans 5:10