The Apostle Paul wrote a very intimate, personal letter to a series of churches (perhaps) in Galatia. Among the words he wrote were these: "Earlier, before you knew God personally, you were enslaved to so-called gods that had nothing of the divine about them. But now that you know the real God—or rather since God knows you—how can you possibly subject yourselves again to those paper tigers? For that is exactly what you do when you are intimidated into scrupulously observing all the traditions, taboos, and superstitions associated with special days and seasons and years. I am afraid that all my hard work among you has gone up in a puff of smoke!"
I've been in a pensive mood of late. We're going down through our checklist of those we want to say "goodbye" to as we prepare to move to a series of churches in the Lake Charles district of the Louisiana Annual Conference. I've had lunches with three great friends, time spent with others. As I've pondered all this (as I do often), I've thought about how much I've made a difference in the lives of those persons at these two churches in which I now serve.
I've come to the conclusion that I've actually made little difference. The ones who were spiritual when I arrived are spiritual now. The ones who weren't, still aren't.
I've wanted to change lives. I changed, well, little, in my opinion. I'm pretty sure when all is said and done, there won't be a building named after me. But that's okay, because I know I've tried. Gandhi once said, "My imperfections and failures are as much a blessing from God as my successes and my talents and I lay both at his feet."
My God is great. I know this. I know that He makes things the way they are or allows them. I know that the very act of attempting to make a difference is sometimes the ultimate step in hubris. It is not, nor should it be, about me.
When my soul sings about a Savior God to thee, it sings to the greatness of He who is me versus he who is in the world. I know this from the tips of my typing fingers to the ends of my toes.
Still, I look at the resume sometimes and I see, well, I see a couple of books, a few hundred sermons, a bunch of newspaper stories of which I was proud of about 10, a bunch of these musings in the past 14 years that might number more than 1,000 and, and, and, the dearth of human lives changed.
Someone else said, "Failure is not a single, cataclysmic event. You don't fail overnight. Instead, failure is a few errors in judgment, repeated every day."
I think we only fail if we believe we fail because we were born to fail on our own. In other words, I have succeeded in some eyes, but not my own because what I view as success is different that most. I want only to see Christ raised up. When people come to church without a thought of what worship is, I fail. When people come to church when it suits them, I fail. When people choose to quit coming to church, I fail. When Christ isn't first in the lives of my congregation, I fail. When holy hands aren't raised, when shouts of joy aren't offered, when the number crunchers don't see growth in my churches, I fail.
The odds of my failing are much, much greater than those of my succeeding.
Thus there is only one answer. "I can do all things THROUGH CHRIST, who strengthens me."
Ultimately my score card will have one success: Christ found me, having died for me while I was yet a sinner." Other than that, I fail because I am a born failure who can only succeed through Jesus. The odds of my succeeding in the field I call my own are about the same as a man coming back from death. One to a gazillion. But oh, what a one.
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