Someone recently asked, “Are you sure your ministry and your
writing isn’t becoming more about you, and less about God?”
I could barely understand the question; no one plunged headlong
into this work ever thinks this way. To think this way requires 1) an unhealthy
examination of self, and 2) an unhealthy spiritual dichotomy that must doubt,
moment-by-moment, the indwelling spirit.
Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 4:1-5:
Thus let a man be reckoning with us as deputies of Christ,
and administrators of God's secrets. Furthermore, it is being sought in
administrators that any such be found faithful. Now to me it is the least
trifle that I may be being examined by you or by man's day. But neither am I
examining myself. For of nothing am I conscious as to myself, but not by this
am I justified. Now He Who is examining me is the Lord.
I,
too, am an administrator of God’s secrets. As such, I am expected to be found
faithful in all aspects of life, personal and spiritual. Rightly so. Of nothing
am I conscious as to myself. In other words, I believe myself to be a good
representative of Christ. Does this justify me, in the personal sense? No. How
can anyone know the depths of his or her own soul? If these inner caverns are
hidden from each of our eyes, what is to be done?
Self examining self
The
temptation, for an administrator of God’s secrets, is to examine himself; to
continually question his motives: Am I doing this for God, or am I doing it for
myself? This is a useless, hazardous enterprise, as it takes energy from
the work at hand and directs it self-ward. Self-examination—as far as
proclaiming the evangel goes—is a trap of the Adversary.
Paul
wrote to the Philippians:
Some, indeed, are even heralding Christ because of envy
and strife, yet some because of delight, also; these, indeed, of love, having
perceived that I am located for the defense of the evangel, yet those are
announcing Christ out of faction, not purely, surmising to rouse affliction in
my bonds. What, then? Moreover, seeing that, by every method, whether in
pretense or in truth, Christ is being announced, I am rejoicing in this also,
and will be rejoicing nevertheless.
Some
of the brethren, grieving for the jailed apostle, heralded Christ out of
delight for the message, probably hoping to delight Paul at the same time.
Others, jealous of Paul’s position in the ecclesia, worked hard to gain
converts, hoping to “gain ground” on Paul during his Roman layover. Some say
the factious announcers brought a tainted message. This is impossible; Paul
would never have countenanced that, let alone rejoiced in it. No, the message
was pure, it was the motive that was tainted. As to that, Paul didn’t care. As
long as the message was pure, a potted plant could announce Christ.
Paul
was much more than a potted plant. Was he perfect? Of course not. He refused to
let his imperfection, however, derail the task for which he was born and
called. Here is a devious trap of Satan: Are you sure you are doing this for
all the right reasons? Maybe you ought to stop and examine yourself. Paul said,
“Forget it.” To him, it was the “least trifle” to be examined by his fellow
saints. For surely, there were those who would make a career of examining Paul,
and others like him. If Paul paid constant attention to, or responded continually
to, these critics, he would never have written or spoken another word.
Theodore
Roosevelt describes the “armchair quarterback” syndrome:
It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points
out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done
them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose
face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and
comes short again and again; because there is not effort without error and
shortcomings; but who does actually strive to do the deed; who knows the great
enthusiasm, the great devotion, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at
the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst,
if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall
never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.
It is
easy for spectators eating popcorn in the bleachers to tell soldiers how to
fight. Funny that none of the critics ever wants to take the place of the
soldier.
Paul
refused to let others examine him, for neither did he examine himself. In the
first place, human examination along this line is impurely sourced; it comes
from “man’s day.” The only one capable of discerning true motive is the Lord,
and Paul contented himself to wait upon Him. In the meantime, he brushed
aside the “man’s day” brigade. (I’m still working on that part.)
Barnum and Bailey
A
petty criticism leveled against this work (by only a few over the years) is
that the worker is a showman, a performer. I am what I am, and what I always
have been. I missed the cookie-cutter-man-of-God assembly line, sorry;
I was out picking daisies, rolling down hills, and constantly entertaining my
classmates at school. One of my uncles
is a Hollywood playwright, another joined the circus when he was fourteen and
eventually married the Sheep-Haired Woman from the sideshow.
Any
further questions?
What
is the problem?
As
I’ve always said, there are those who are pious and humble on the outside, but
who inside are full of pride. Then there are others, like me, who may be a bit blustery
and showy on the outside, but who inside know that they know that they know
their sufficiency and ability come from Christ.
The new "I"
Galatians
2:20—
With
Christ have I been crucified, yet I am
living;
not longer I, but living in me is Christ.
This
speaks to the second point mentioned at the start of this blog: It takes an
unhealthy spiritual dichotomy to continually examine one’s motives in proclaiming
the evangel.
I was
crucified with Christ 2,000 years ago. But wait: I am still living. But
wait again: the “I” that was living before being crucified with Christ, is
different than the “I” living after, because now, “living in me is Christ.” In
other words, “the spirit of God is making its home in [me]” (1 Corinthians 3:16). The pronoun is still, “I,” but the
change could not be more profound. I have graduated from a self-centered “I,”
to a Christ-centered, “I.”
 |
| Regressing toward the old "I" |
A lot
of people don’t get this; they stumble at the word “I,” whether pre or
post-Calvary. This is the dichotomy I spoke of. The mature person assumes
Christ within and has no problem saying, “I”; the immature person lives much of
his or her life on the wrong side of the cross and is constantly suspect of “I.”
These immature are the ones continually trying to sound humble; they have yet
to appreciate, “I live; living in me is Christ.”
Then
there are those like me who have given up the game of trying to sound humble, who appreciate the death of the old “I” at Calvary, and who
therefore use the new “I” with relish. Those able to do this are, in their
liberated, guilt-free use of the infamous pronoun, actually on the right side
of Calvary—the post "death-to-self" side.
(An obsession with "I" is the resurrection of self; a denial of the truth of Romans, chapter 6.)
Because
I rarely consider myself on the pre-death side of Calvary
where “self” is constantly alive, kicking, and troublesome, I generally assume
other people to be where I am. I give others the benefit of the doubt, later to
find—when they attack me for self-obsession—that the benefit is undeserved. It is those on the wrong side of Calvary—who
assume my abandonment of false humility to be self-obsession—who are, in fact, self-obsessed.
To
the one who has died with Christ, there is only one “I.” To constantly jump
that chasm back and forth between pre and post Calvary, is not only exhausting, but unnecessary. It is also
unspiritual.
Who wrote my books?
I
asked one of my detractors recently: “Since you think there is too much of me
in my work and not enough of God, maybe I should just put “God” as the author of
all my books.” (You can see the “lose-lose” proposition here.) If my books are
by “Martin Zender,” I’m promoting myself. But if I take the absolute tack and
make “God” the author of my books (this is supposed to be the humble
approach?), then how dare I claim to be the Deity?
Lose-lose.
I
laid a little trap for one brother recently, telling him, “I have brought many
people to Christ, through my books.” He took the bait, and said, “You have
brought many people to Christ?” (He sounded incredulous and shocked to hear me “taking
the credit.” ) “Yes,” I repeated, “I have brought many people to
Christ.” He could not believe I could be so arrogant as to emphasize the
pronoun, “I.” Surely, this proved that my ministry was “all about me.”
After letting this go on a while, I quoted Paul in 1 Corinthians 9:22—
“To
all have I become all, that I should undoubtedly be saving some.”
“ ...
that I should undoubtedly be saving some,” said Paul.
(But
Paul, I thought Christ saved people—or does God do it? In any case, how
can you say that you save people? Do you think that maybe your ministry
is becoming more about you, and less about God?
This
is a clear case of the absolute vs. the relative perspective—and of
misunderstanding it. “Be carrying your own salvation into effect, for it is God
operating in you, both to will and to work for the sake of His delight”
(Philippians 2:12-13). Here is the absolute and relative perspective within two
verses. God does things through us. The “I” (or the “us,” in this case)
is relative, not absolute.
There
is not a religious qualm in the world—voiced by another—that could make me
abandon my healthy use of the pronoun “I.” There is not a religious qualm in
the world—voiced by another—that could keep me from putting my name on the
books I write. (“How dare you say you wrote these books!”) Rather,
I have put aside these religious over-sensibilities and have embraced the
post-Calvary “I”: God does this mighty work through me;
through me.
God employs cracked pots
 |
| Jesus had a Messiah complex. |
This
does not mean any of us are perfect. (I have been told that I think I am
“nearly infallible” and that I have a “Messiah complex.” Really? I should be
having a much better time of things in this life, then. I thought I was a
mistake-riddled human being struggling through an evil eon; I could actually use
a Messiah complex about now.) It does not mean we do not make mistakes.
What it does mean is that we refrain from analyzing our motives for heralding
the Word. It means we refrain from answering every critic along that line. When
it comes to heralding this evangel, self-analysis is a useless, unspiritual
enterprise.
In my
last blog, I explained how the term “sex-obsessed” described, not those for
whom the marvels of sex are a regular part of their conversations, but rather
those chronically offended by sexually-oriented things. It’s the same
thing with self-obsession. “Self-obsessed” describes, not the Scripture-worker
doing his job, unconscious of any blatant wrong-doing, but rather the person who
is constantly worried whether or not an act (his, hers, or someone else’s) is
“of the self.” This is the self-obsessed person.
It’s all I’ve got
“Herald
the Word, opportunely and inopportunely” (2 Timothy 4:2).
For
me—still in the midst of trial, enduring fightings within and without—this seems
like one of the most inopportune times ever to herald the Word. So what do I
do? The only thing I know how to do:
Herald
the Word.
© 2012 by Martin Zender
