Armchair QB

Lyrics from Unashamed Love
by Jason Morant

Of a childlike faith
And of my honest praise
Of my unashamed love
Of a holy life
And of my sacrifice
Of my unashamed love

You're calling me to lay aside
The worries of my day
To quiet down my busy mind
Find a hiding place
Worthy, You are worthy

Open up my heart
And let my spirit worship Yours
I open up my mouth
And let a song of praise come forth
Worthy, You are worthy

Sometimes it is the message of the preacher that grabs me.  Other times, it is the music.  Today it was both, affirming the sense of humor that God has since He enjoys being sneaky like that.

The lyrics of this song stirred something in my heart.  I think the exact thought was, "I am dreadful"  followed by:

I am not good at being holy.  I have a temper and can curse creatively.  I am awkward in social situations where I typically employ a "shock and awe" tactic so you can decide sooner, rather than later, to dislike me.  I am not the quiet woman who dotes on her husband. 
I am not good at being sacrificial.  I only gave up soda for 2 weeks of Lent before I blew it.
 I am a pretty dreadful Christian.  I am, simply, not good.
But (I wrote in my notes) I am in love with You, God.  I hope that is enough.

And then this is where God's sense of humor comes in, what might the text for today's message be???  This, of course!

I try to be a good Christian.  Really, I do.  But I find, again and again, proof that I am not good, that I can only rely on His goodness for my sake.  There have been times when I have seen the Pharisee in me.  I can be really self righteous, particularly when I feel the Church being oppressive or mean or thoughtless to those we ought to love, our missing brothers and sisters, like so many of my friends.  Today I felt the desperation of the woman.  Yes, it said she lived a sinful life.  It doesn't say exactly what or how long ago she may have left it or even if she had left it completely.  What is says is that she loved her Jesus.

Perhaps that is why I related to this woman who tearfully cleaned Jesus' feet then covered them in perfume-all I seem to have to offer is love and gratitude and even that is always done imperfectly.  Even her gift may have been imperfect.  I am not sure that she meant to give him a foot massage or if she was just so overcome and awkwardly out of place being a woman touching a man like this in that society that she just thought Jesus' feet were as close as she would get. 

I am never going to be the model Christian (at least I hope not), the kind of quiet, doting wife whose confidence in her womanhood I admire, or the effective communicator who leads multitudes to God.  I wonder sometimes if I am enough, just as I am.  But I do love Him. My hands and feet and mouth might fail, but my heart is His.

Simon may not see me since I have not been completely numbed by religious rules or because I do not learn in quiet as Paul instructs or because I refuse to be part of a boxed in church or worship a carefully contained understanding of God.  But Jesus sees me.

He saw me today as I felt the lack of good in myself but my heart swelled with gratitude for all He has done for me.  He saw me today when a godly man prayed for me, but my heart cried, "Heal me or not but do not leave me! Anything is bearable with You."  He sees me fumbling for words now to describe the magnificence of a life with Him.

He is worthy.  Of my childlike faith and of my honest praise and of my unashamed love.

And while I am empty of anything to give Him, I believe He tells me, "Your faith has saved you." 


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