I Am the First and the Worst

"I am the first and the worst!"

I had the pleasure of attending church with the incredible man I am dating and his family this past weekend. It was so refreshing. I love my job, but being able to worship anonymously is always so freeing.

Somehow, every time we visit we end up sitting on the same pew as this gentleman who serves as a deacon at the church and, let's just say, he's quite a colorful character. Very participatory, shouting "Amen!" and "Preach Pastor!" and repeating illustrations or predicting sermon points all throughout the message. To some he may be distracting, but to me he is magnificent. So unreserved...so alive.

Even better, his appearance matches his personality to the tee, with activator* in his combed back, shoulder-length, jet black hair and each finger on both hands adorned with rings the size of my eyeballs. Again, this man is nothing if not interesting.


Dr. Davis was driving home a point that referenced the Last Supper.** He spoke about how even though Jesus knew He would be betrayed by one of the men (disciples) sharing a meal with Him, He chose to bless them all anyway.

Digression: what an incredible display of grace. Not only was the grace given to them undeserved, it was given in spite of what was known to come.

Dr. Davis continued, bringing to attention that those at the table did something that is not very common in our culture today. Rather than query Jesus of the betrayer's identity out of nosiness, they inquired out of genuine concern and fear. Instead of saying “Who will it be?” the Bible records that each of the disciples asked, “Is it I?”

“Is it I?”

Such weight.

The pastor’s challenge to the congregation was to remember to ask “Is it I?” rather than “Whose fault is this?” when sin is revealed bringing the consequence of pain. He challenged us to remember our own sin first, before pointing out the sin of others.

At this, the deacon beside us bellows out, "I was the first and the worst!"

Because of his demeanor, and the fact that we had been listening to his personal commentary throughout the entire sermon, my boyfriend and I fought back giggles. Call us immature, but you would have laughed, too.

Nevertheless, as I reflected on the overall message later on, that event stuck out more and more in my mind. I have several friends who have chosen to live with their significant others outside of marriage and this is something that grieves me. I started thinking about how I can be quick to judge them for their actions, completely overlooking my own struggles with sin.

I’m blessed with a loving boyfriend who constantly reminds me, though, that my struggle is not their struggle, and theirs are not mine. To extend the grace that I am given is quite a task, but more than necessary. More importantly, all of our sins hurt God the same way. Rather than worrying about what others are doing, it would do me much more good to instead remember that I am the first sinner and the worst sinner.

Now, I'm not saying this in a true calendar sense. Clearly if someone is 43 years old they fell captive to sin before I did because they were born before I was. Don't get all legalistic on me.

Where I'm going with this idea is that just as God exists outside of the space-time continuum, so does our sin. We have all struggled with sin since the beginning of time and we won't be able to truly claim victory over it until we are on the other side of those gates o' pearl.

Take care to note that I am also not using this phrase in a self-deprecating manner. My intention, instead, is that I never want to forget that there is pain in the world because of the very sins I commit.

My secret judgment, 
my blatant disobedience, 
my lustful thoughts, 
my laziness, 
everything offensive thing that lives within me brings pain into this world, either through my attitude, words, or actions. 

Yes, the same kind of pain that murderers and abusers and rapists bring. 

That's not a tough pill to swallow. That is a revolting thought that makes me want to gag and vomit and expel all that is within and rid myself of it.
 

The beautiful gift of grace allows me forgiveness I don't deserve and freedom I often mishandle.

The beautiful gift of Jesus' love teaches me patiently how to extend that same grace to others, loving them as I am loved. In spite of myself.

If it seems as though I repeat myself a lot with this concept of grace, it is because I do. And I always will. I am captivated by grace. I am enamored with it. I am fanatically obsessed with it. I am desperately in need of it. 

For I am the first and the worst.

Yet, Jesus blessed me anyway.







*I know some of my audience may not be familiar with the "activator," so think of the product used to condition the Jheri-Curls in Coming to America. If you've never seen Coming to America, Google the late 70s & 80s. If my people weren't styling an afro, chances are they had an activator.


**Reference: Mark 14:17-26