Lies I Used to Believe: Part 2

A Tightrope for Jesus

I experienced a personal revival at the age of 17. While at a conference, God got my attention in a powerful way and showed me that I needed to come to a place of being fully surrendered to His will for my life. This was a pivotal moment for me, and (for the first time since I became a teenager) I sincerely desired to follow God with my whole heart.

Soon afterwards, I graduated high school and moved to Indianapolis to work at a home for international orphans. This was a move of faith for me. Though I had been “saved” for many years, I was still very new in my walk with the Lord. I had been raised in a “Bible culture,” but very little of that knowledge had been practically applied to my life.

Now living in a deeply religious Christian community, I had a chance to learn those disciplines which come with the Christian territory. The practical application of scripture to my life was riveting. I loved reading though the Bible passage for the day and looked to see how I could walk out what I was reading in a practical way.

As soon as I arrived in Indianapolis, I went through a course on child training. One of the things we were taught to avoid telling the orphans was “you can do better,” because this isn’t something you should tell someone who may be trying their hardest. The fact is they may not KNOW how to do better. Instead of this discouraging phrase, it is much better to show them a practical way they can do better, but then also encourage them to keep trying.

Unfortunately for me, almost as quickly as the new growth set in my life, so did a wicked little lie. That poisonous thought was “Amos, you can do better. If you said and did X, Y, and Z, God would love you more.” So, over the course of the next year, I sought ways to make myself an even better Christian.

Whereas only weeks earlier I had been thrilled to even remember to read my Bible, I decided that I should read for at least 30 minutes every day. On the days I didn’t, I was not as worthy to be loved by God as on the days I did.

Matthew’s gospel mentioned fasting (or the giving up of food for a time in order to pray and seek God). I decided to fast, even though problems with low blood sugar have always made me sick when I fast. But one day wasn’t good enough! I should fast for a week! (Fortunately I was talked out of this one by a wise mentor.)

One day someone mentioned some amazing missionary that got up at four in the morning to pray and read his Bible. I started getting up at four.

Every week it seemed like I found new ways I could be better. Was I memorizing scripture? “No… I guess I should start that.” Did I spend time in the evening praying (even though I was already spending an hour praying in the morning)? “No, I guess I could use my time more wisely…”

More and more areas of my life started to jump into the dog pile of disciplines I was amassing. The people I worked with were all devoted Christians and were all very supportive of me. I doubt they knew the pressure I was putting on myself, but they themselves seemed to be adding to their own lists of improvements. I felt like I fit in with them.

Surprisingly, I kept up many of these things for several months. I felt so close to God. Surely He was impressed with how much I was doing to serve Him… and after all, I was working at an orphanage, wasn’t I? “That’s pretty much the purest definition of loving Jesus right there,” I thought.

Slowly, though, I slipped out of the habit of early rising. Four o’clock became five. Five o’clock became six. Finally I was getting up at seven, just to make it to breakfast on time. I was a horrible Christian. I still read my Bible, but not as much as I should have. My fifteen chapters a day were slipping to ten.

I was wracked with guilt for my lack of discipline. “Oh look how far I’m sinking!” I often thought. “I’ve done so much better before—God is probably very disappointed that I’m not as sincere in my devotion to Him as I used to be.”

I compensated by increasing my devotion in other areas. I stopped listening to the radio. Secular music was bad. Every time I listened to country music I would spend time repenting. “Only hymns from now on!” I stopped watching movies that weren’t explicitly Christian. I felt that that time could be spent memorizing scripture or doing something productive like witnessing to the poor.

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Remember that missionary I mentioned earlier? The one that got up at four to pray? Well, he had an amazing life that God greatly used. I felt that his success was because he got up at four. That’s why I started getting up at an insane hour. Obviously four o’clock had been magical for this missionary.

The truth of the matter is, though… his success had nothing to do with what time he got up. He could have slept in until ten for all it mattered. The reason why he got up at four is what matters. I sincerely doubt he said to himself, “if I get up at four I’ll have a greater ministry.” No, I suspect that he was a busy man. I suspect that he had a lot on his plate, but loved the Lord. How could he spend time with the Lord? By getting up early to pray and read.

That was the compelling force I missed.

I was perfectly able to spend time with the Lord without getting up at four in the morning. My schedule wasn’t in a state that demanded that level of inhuman torture. I surely wasn’t getting up this early because I enjoyed it or was especially productive—I was rising this early as form or superstition. “If I do this, then I’ll have more of God’s power in my life!”

 In fact, many of my little additions were not at all based on love of God, but on love of self. “What can *I* do so that *I* can make myself a better Christian?” “How can *I* be effective?” These were thoughts that controlled my extra measures of devotion.

For some reason, I had it in my head that God would not be satisfied with simple obedience to Him. No, I had to make it bigger; I had to make it better. And in and of themselves, the changes I was making were okay things to do. There is certainly nothing wrong with getting up early, avoiding movies, or reading lots of chapters in the Bible.

But my motives were wrong. They were centered on my works making me more acceptable to God. At the time, I would have been the first to tell you that our works are not enough to get us into heaven. Yet, there I was, working my hardest to gain God’s favor…

In essence, I was trying to impress God. I was stringing a tightrope to put on a show for Jesus. Now I know that the Creator of the universe isn’t impressed with our little shows, but at the time I believed the lie that said my devotion (and even asceticism) was somehow a way to make God love me more. I believed that *I* could do better…

The truth is that when God bought me with the blood of Jesus, His love for me was irrevocably set in place. He controls it. There is nothing I can do to deepen that love or diminish it, either. Nothing.

That is the truth I missed, and that is why I constructed a tightrope for Jesus.

Next: Tightrope Performer