Recently I talked with a lady in jail who says it wasn't her idea to become a Christian. In fact, she was opposed to the idea. But then God came and found her, and she seems pretty happy about it.
Her testimony reminds me of things the pastors at church say. Things I haven't quite known what to do with. They testify that God chose them before they even wanted to be His, while they still wanted their sin. And that God worked and bent their will to line up with His, and that now, as His chosen children, they have nothing to worry about ever again, because God is taking care of every detail of their lives just like Jesus said He would. And they say that God has chosen each one of His people, despite there being nothing good in them to make Him choose them, and we can know that He loves us because of it.
It sounds good. It makes me feel like God loves me a lot, but it doesn't agree with what I have been taught all my life. So lately, I've been meditating on the question of whether we choose God, or He chooses us. I'm not a theology expert and may never work out the finer points of this question. Chances are they would keep the best theologians arguing all night. But I'd like to present you with a simple illustration.
Imagine there's a toddler in an orphanage who decides he needs a new
daddy. So he comes running out into the parking lot and jumps on the
running board of a pickup truck and hollers to the driver, who just
happens to be Jesus: "I'm going home with you, like it or not!" And he
spends the rest of the journey clinging for dear life, hoping he doesn't
fall off, trying desperately to believe that Jesus loves him and is taking care of him.
Contrast
that with another scenario. Jesus comes into the orphanage and finds
this little kid and bends down and says, "Guess what? I'm going to be
your new daddy." Whether the kid loves Him or hates Him at that moment
doesn't make a difference. Jesus signs the papers, picks him up and
buckles him in the back seat and drives home. The kid has done
nothing. But he need never worry again, because he has the
best daddy ever, and that daddy has chosen him to be his son and is
committed to doing whatever it takes to raise him and care for him and
love him. The kid can't fall out of the truck, and he doesn't need to ever
wonder whether Jesus loves him, because Jesus went out of His way to
choose him and adopt him as His own.
Like I said, I'm not a theology expert. (Just in case you couldn't tell that from my illustration of Jesus driving a pickup truck.) I don't know exactly what's taught in strict Calvinism or Arminianism. I'll let those who do, carry on the centuries-old debate between free choice and divine choice. For me, the question boils down to this: Either God initiates my relationship with Him, and God keeps that relationship going, and God directs and powers the changes in my life, and God upholds and protects and provides and keeps me secure in that relationship with Him as His child, or else I initiate the relationship. I keep it going. I direct and power the changes in my life, and I uphold and protect and provide and keep myself secure in my relationship with God. I ask you, which scenario makes more sense? In which scenario is God being the father and I the child?
Growing up, I believed it was all up to me. It was up to me to lay aside my beloved sins and get myself cleaned up and do good deeds (which I hated) and build a relationship with Jesus. It was up to me to repent, to seek Him, to choose Him, to keep myself on the straight and narrow every day. I never felt secure, and I could never trust God or rest in the knowledge that He loved me. I felt like that little kid, clinging on the outside of the truck, afraid I was going to fall off, telling Jesus I was going home with Him when I didn't even know Him.
It was painful, it was difficult, and it didn't work. Even though I had asked Jesus into my heart as a child, I did not love God. Sin and fear controlled my life. Somewhere in my mid-teens, I concluded I was not truly born again.
At that point I might not have cared, except that I was hungry for love. Starved might be a more accurate word. My Christian upbringing caused me to believe that if I got saved, I would experience God's love. The dilemma was how to make that happen. Especially since I could not stop sinning and didn't even want to. Since (as I believed) it was all up to me, it looked impossible.
But I tried. I made promises to stop sinning which I could not keep. I did more and worse sins, hoping to earn the compassionate mercy of God. I read tracts and prayed dozens of sinner's prayers, hoping the words held some magic to change my heart and quicken my spirit. I read a book which said if I prayed for salvation, God would hear me and I would be saved. All I had to do was believe and hold onto what the Bible said about that. So I prayed again and tried hard to believe. But afterward I was still the same person, insecure and afraid because I knew maintaining the relationship I had supposedly initiated with Jesus was all up to me. I still wanted to sin. I still needed to sin. I knew there was no way I could deny myself and perform all the good deeds I deemed necessary to keep myself in good standing with God every day. I was scared because I knew that five minutes down the road, I was going to lose my tenuous grip on the side of Jesus' truck and that would be it.
Being stubborn, I kept on trying. I was determined to do the impossible and get myself saved. My most memorable attempt involved a crazy plan to make myself get tired of sinning so I would quit. Whether this was intended to bring about my salvation, or only to improve my health, I don't recall. I made a strict rule that increased how much I had to sin to the point that it was a burden to do it. If I broke the rule and failed to perform the required deed for even one day, I promised to give up this sin I loved so much.
In retrospect, my rule was not only foolish and dangerous, but it also held no power to change my heart. I know I would not have given up my sin as I had promised, for that was where I derived my self-worth. But at the time, it seemed to work; for a little over three weeks later, my heart changed quite suddenly. I spent that evening praying instead of pursuing sin. God opened my heart and mind to hear and understand the gospel through a tract. I prayed, an extremely simple prayer which I never finished because Jesus came into my heart and I KNEW He was there. I also knew I was never going to be the same person again.
Because of my belief that it was up to me to choose God, I of course concluded that my rule forcing me to sin more was what led me to find Christ. Sounds a bit weird, doesn't it? I can't recommend anyone else try it, that's for sure. In light of what I've learned recently, here's what I believe actually happened.
I made a new rule that I had to sin more. I had a few miserable experiences but kept stubbornly on, because I really wanted to keep sinning. (Despite the unpleasant consequences, it was actually easier to follow the rule and sin more than it was to quit.) In the middle of this sick experiment, God stepped in and said, "Enough!" In His mercy, He changed my heart, opened my mind to understand and believe the gospel, and saved me. HE did it, not me. Jesus chose me that night. He lifted me out of my sin, the sin I had wanted so badly, and gave me a new life... and I was pretty happy about it.
This new version makes WAY more sense. I'm relieved to finally know the real story of what happened to me. And I'm very happy to know that God did choose me. Because if He didn't -- if my belonging to Him was my idea, not His -- then I would be on shaky ground. Because then perhaps He doesn't really want me, and He's only permitting me to stay... if I behave well. And if that were true, I am right back to where everything is up to me, because I have attached myself to a God who hasn't promised to be my Father. I'm an illegitimate child. And I can't trust Him to provide for me; I have to worry and beg Him for stuff and hope He agrees to give it to me. Or else go out and try to find my own provisions. I have lived this way for too many years.
I am so glad God chose me and picked me up and buckled me into the back seat of His truck. I am safe. I can't fall out of the truck, and I don't have to wonder whether God really wants me or loves me enough to handle my bad attitudes. God chose me because He wants me and He loves me. Knowing that, I can dare to relax and learn trust Him.
