The apostles left the high council rejoicing that God had counted them worthy to suffer disgrace for the name of Jesus. ~ Acts 5: 41I read that verse and did a little bit of a double take. You know that "wow, did I really just read that?" moment you sometimes get when reading something really shocking.
I re-read the verse.
Yep, I really did just read that.
I re-read the verses before it.
And yep, I was right.
They were rejoicing about being flogged for teaching in the name of Jesus and being ordered to stop.
Cue the nervous laughter.
Rejoicing about being flogged?
I mean, I can understand rejoicing about the fact that they have been released with their lives, but rejoicing about being flogged?
I lowered my Bible shaking my head.
The boldness of the apostles amazed me.
I looked around the room. No one for me to ask the question that was now burning in my mind. No one for me to discuss the very troubling realization this verse had brought to me.
How many of us, here and now, rejoice that God has counted as worthy of suffering disgrace for the name of Christ when we encounter persecution?
And how many of us encounter persecution and recoil? How many of us say "Oh, no, God, this is too hard. I can't do this. Sorry."?
I will willingly, but very shame-facedly raise my hand and admit that I fall very firmly into that second category.
Very firmly.
So firmly that when a friend of mine tells me that my constant mentioning of Jesus and the Gospel and the Bible makes her think I don't respect her and her faith, even if I'm bringing it up solely in the context of my life, I quail and apologise and start bending over backwards to pacify her.
So firmly that if I anticipate an attack for standing up for what I believe in, and may I stress that this attack would be solely verbal and intellectual, I don't.
Yeah... rejoicing in persecution the way that the apostles did?
I am very ashamed to say, that hasn't really been my thing.
I say that I am not ashamed of the Gospel, for it is the power of God. And maybe I'm not, in my heart. Or maybe I've managed to fool myself into thinking that because I can boldly declare on the internet (where no one can actually see me) or when I am surrounded by Christian friends that God's gospel is the greatest thing in the world.
Which it is. Don't get me wrong.
I am a bibliophile (book lover), and the Bible and the truth it contains is the best of them all.
I would not be here today without it.
But, though my heart and mind my think it, may even believe it, my actions have been those of one ashamed of it.
Every time I have allowed the put downs and jeers of my peers or superiors to stop my lips, I have been acting ashamed of the Gospel.
I have been acting as though I do not truly believe that God is the most powerful, most wondrous being out there.
Every time I let the fact that someone would rather not hear about God stop me from sharing my story with them, I act as though I believe it all has been done in my strength and I forget that actually, I am not the One with the power in this situation.
Recently, I have been listening to a series of sermons on the book of Acts (which is why I was reading it) that Covenant Life Church in the States did about 8 years ago now. And in one of the sermons, Joshua Harris comments about the way Christians pray for an open door for sharing the Gospel.
He said it was like we wanted the door to be so open for us that God had actually taken it off it's hinges and highlighted it with flashing neon signs that say "Open door here!"
He continued to make the comment that if it isn't wide open, we act as though it is firmly shut. In fact, he continues, we often see a door that is only slightly ajar and think "oh that's not an open door" and then proceed to close it just so we won't have to proclaim the Gospel of Christ to someone.
And I realized: I have done that. I am doing that.
I have a friend, one who has been a great deal on my heart recently. I have been trying to reach her for years and she just keeps rejecting it. A couple of months ago, I sent her a message. I asked her if we could go out for a coffee, and that I'd love to tell her my story.
She wanted to know what I meant, and I explained that I wanted to tell her about the bullying I went through and tell her the truth about why I believe what I believe, why I love the God and why I want to serve Him with all my heart.
Her response broke my heart and sealed my lips.
She said that whilst she was happy to listen to whatever I wanted to say about the bullying and that she was sorry that terrible things had been done to me, but she didn't want to hear about God. She knew why I believe what I believe and didn't want to hear anymore.
And that broke my heart because she didn't actually know the truth. She didn't know why my relationship with God was a relationship and not just and intellectual exercise that I occasionally decide to engage in.
In that moment I realized that after 6 years of friendship, she still didn't know me. Not really.
Oh, she thought she did, and quite rightly too. 6 years is a long time to know someone, of course you're going to know everything about them!
Yeah... no.
And I have no one to blame for that but myself.
People often treat shame and pride as too separate things.
I've found that in my life they go hand in hand.
I have been filled with shame. And I have been too proud to let anyone see it.
Including those closest to me. My parents, my sisters, my dearest friends.
And know, those God has put in my life to reach, think they know me. Think I don't have anything to say to them.
And how can I blame them for that?
How can I really expect them to see and understand that depths of my joy, the totality of my dependence on God, the reality of His love, mercy and grace in my life if I have never, ever let them see the depths of my misery, the totality of my need for God and the utter, utter worthlessness, sin and shame that is also in my life.
And, as I read through Acts, especially as I read that verse, I find that God is convicting me of my pride and my cowardice.
How many doors have I closed in my attempt to protect myself?
Too, too many.
And, as I read through Acts, especially as I read that verse, I find myself yearning for the courage of the early Christians, the courage that the Christians in the persecuted church have, the courage that others here have.
The courage that I am lacking.
And I realize once again how completely and utterly I am dependent on God.
In Acts 4, the Christians have gathered together to pray about the persecution they are beginning to face.
And I find myself praying with them. "And now, O Lord, hear their threats and give us, your servants, great boldness in preaching your word." (verse 29).
I want their completely dependence, their complete trust, their complete conviction that no matter how pathetically they perform, God will do His thing.
I want their total understanding that God's mission is unstoppable.
That poorly formed words, ethnic barriers, language barriers, ethical barriers, persecution, fear, none of it can stop God's plan.
The fact that I am sitting here, writing about the message they carried 2000 years later, on the opposite side of the world, is testimony to the unstoppable nature of His plan.
So why is it that "no, I don't want to hear it" shuts me up like a clam?
How desperately I want God's Spirit to fill me with the boldness to rejoice I persecution and speak out because God is the One in control, not me.
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