I Can Forget My Lines

I've got a pretty good memory. It's something I've always prided myself on, mostly because I've always been so forgetful.

You can say something to me, I'll have forgotten what you just said thirty seconds later (just ask my wife). Every time I go to the store with a grocery list, I invariably forget to buy at least one of the items listed. But as a teenager I could tell you, with no hesitation, useless information about movies (like which directors of photography Steven Spielberg had worked with on which films) and books (like the titles of every novel by Stephen King, and their years of publication). Practical, down-to-earth things slip my mind; but words, anything I can see on a page or hear repeated aloud, stick well.

So when I became a Christian, I was pleased to find that Bible memorization came easily to me. One year I memorized a passage a week; the next year I memorized Philippians and 1 John (the entire books). When I became convinced God was calling me to the ministry, I knew it would come in very handy.

Flash-forward to two weeks ago. As it was a very snowy Sunday, there were only about 20 of us in the congregation. Our pastor, Philip Moore, asked us what we could do to practically remember that God was with us every minute. One guy said admire His creation; another person said meditate on His Word. My answer seemed obvious: memorize Scripture, to be able to take that Word with us.

Not missing a beat, Philip asked, "Do you do that?" To which I proudly responded in the affirmative. He asked, "What was the latest passage you memorized?"

Suddenly I couldn't quite recall, so I latched onto the biggest one: "Philippians," I said, neglecting to add chapter and verse.

Philip said, "Okay, let's hear it."

And suddenly, I pulled a complete blank. I knew it started with Paul introducing himself, but I couldn't quite remember the words. I blubbered something like, "Paul, servant of Christ Jesus..." and couldn't get any farther.

You have to understand, I'm new at this church. I'm going through a church planting internship, and as it's the first time I've ever truly been in my element, I want to impress. I want these people to know they're not wasting their time with me; I want them to know I'm not wasting my time moving all the way over here to do this.

So after blubbering for a few seconds, I admitted I couldn't remember any more, and hunched down in my chair. I wanted to be a turtle who could just sink its head back into its shell.

But right on the heels of that embarrassment, I felt God speaking very clearly to me: Why are you embarrassed? Why do you want them to be impressed by you? Shouldn't it be enough that they're impressed with ME?

This is the simplest example of the sort of pride-leading-to-a-fall that could await me as a church planter if I let it take root. Because no matter how hard it is for my sinful nature to admit, the day I, Lord willing, finally plant a church, it won't be my church. When I perform any type of mininstry in the church, it's not my ministry. When I successfully manage to say something helpful to someone in need, it's not my success. It's God's success; it's His ministry; it's His church.
Paul said (in my precious, memorized book of Philippians), "Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but...Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant..." (Phil. 2.3, 5)

No one is going to remember my skills at memorizing Scripture if I don't use it to serve them. Even if I were able to recite the entire Bible by heart, it would have no lasting impact if it isn't coupled with an all-consuming desire to see God glorified in everything I do. "But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord" (Phil. 3.7-8). And as we have seen, Christ is remembered not for His miracles, not for His oratory presence, but for His service; for His emptying of Himself; for His bearing on Himself the weight of all our sins; for His all-consuming desire to see His Father glorified.

What I am doesn't matter. What people think I am doesn't matter. God knows who I am: His adopted son, bought by the blood of Christ, who suffered all the wrath I deserve for my sin. He called me long before I was equipped to do anything useful; whom God calls, He equips...not the other way around.

Before long, the embarrassment faded---because how could I, an adopted son of the Creator of the universe, be embarrassed while I'm wearing royal robes? How could I be embarrassed when my own perfection and performance don't matter the slightest bit, but only Christ's? How could I be embarrassed when His perfection and performance have already been credited to my account (2 Cor. 5.21)?

Good news: I can forget my lines. He's already recited them for me.