We Aren't The Saviors
Sometimes, you read something and it stops you dead in your tracks.
I had that experience Friday night, and I knew immediately that I’d be bumping my planned post for this one.
I was reading thru a book called “Trains, Jesus, and Murder” for research on a post I’ll be writing on Johnny Cash & Ecclesiastes. The book, written by Richard Beck, is about Johnny Cash and his faith.
In a chapter on Cash’s visit to Folsom Prison, Beck posits that “in a very real way, …the inmates of Folsom Prison saved Johnny Cash” and then he talks about the Parable of the Sheep and the Goats in Matthew 25.
Now I’ve read that parable many times, so I wasn’t expecting to be dazzled by what I read, but then I read Beck’s conclusion to the parable:
In the story, Jesus isn’t identified as the sheep, the do-gooder who is visiting the prisoner, clothing the naked, and sheltering the homeless. Jesus comes to us in the parable as the homeless and the prisoner. We visit prisoners and shelter the homeless not to be like Jesus but to welcome Jesus. When we welcome the homeless and the incarcerated, we aren’t the saviors—we are the ones being saved.
WE AREN’T THE SAVIORS – WE ARE THE ONES BEING SAVED.
That line brought me to tears.
See, my faith exploration tends to be long periods of me groping my way in the dark interrupted by powerful experiences of turning into Jesus by happenstance as I flounder about. And when I do turn into Jesus, all that baggage I’ve been lugging around drops out of me like I’m an overstuffed grocery bag.
So, if you saw me get choked up in the break room at work, you got to see Jesus show up and my bag burst.
But you may be wondering what struck me as so powerful about that line.
Well, I like to help people.
You might be thinking that is a noble virtue so what could be wrong with that.
On the face of it, nothing. But, if you dig a bit deeper, my dysfunctional esteem thrives on being a savior. I don’t think I’m unique; I think many people who are “fixers” share this messiah complex. We are easily identified because we love helping others get out of jams, but we don’t like accepting help when it is offered to us.
I’m not a shrink, but I don’t think this is a conscious decision on my part; I’m not an arrogant prick who looks to lord over people. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. At some point as a child, someone so damaged my esteem that my psyche discovered helping others as a way to realign the power dynamic that had been stolen from me.
But Jesus, being Jesus, has another way for restoring me.
Let me explain with a story.
If you’ve worked with me over the past two months at the casino, you may have noticed me talking to myself.
I’m not just mumbling to myself; I’m praying.
This started because one day as I was in the shower, I was commiserating with myself and loathing going to work. I’m washing my hair and bitching that I can’t stand going into the casino and watching a large part of our customer base feed their addictions.
Then something happened that’s only happened 2 or 3 times in the 8 previous years I’ve been a Christian.
The Holy Spirit spoke to me.
(Sidebar: if you think it nuts that I believe that 1/3 of the Trinity spoke to me in the shower, I hear you. It sounds crazy to me as well, but it happened, it’s my testimony, and I think it important to be honest about it regardless of how I look. So, if you think me a loon, I’m quite fine with that. And if you’re seeking spiritual healing, well, I hope it happens to you; it’s a game changer)
And the Holy Spirit, in a tone that wasn’t very lovey-dovey, said “if you care so much about these people then why don’t you pray for them?”
As I had just started a practice of reciting the Jesus Prayer a 100x daily, I adapted the prayer for my casino customers and co-workers:
Lord Jesus Christ
Son of God
Have mercy on
The players on 106
Lord Jesus Christ
Son of God
Have mercy on
The crew on 604
Lord Jesus Christ
Son of God
Have mercy on
The man in the Bears hoodie
Instantly when I adopted this practice at work, my attitude towards my job, and my perception of it, changed. It was as if I was under new management.
But I am a difficult disciple and in the last week or so, I began to wonder why I was doing this prayer practice and to what effect. It wasn’t satisfying enough that I was able to stomach a job that I’ve detested for decades. No, of course, I needed more validation.
Mind you, I never contemplated stopping the practice.
I’m embarrassed to confess that I’m not always overly compliant about following Christian doctrine. However, when I get revelation from on High, I am vigilant to the point of being obsessed. Personally, I wish the Holy Spirit would have some shower conversations with me about lust and procrastination, but as an AA friend once told me, “that’s a management decision, and you’re not management”. But I digress.
So here I am on Friday night, praying obediently at work but questioning my sanity in the process, when I read Beck’s passage while on break and the tumblers in my head all fall into place.
WE AREN’T THE SAVIORS – WE ARE THE ONES BEING SAVED.
Jesus doesn’t NEED my petition to have mercy on people. And I’m not wielding prayer like a holy antidote to cure the masses. I am not required in this equation, but Jesus has chosen me to participate with Him.
I’m like a 3-year-old handing his father a wrench so he can change his car’s oil. The oil is getting changed regardless, but the loving father has chosen to include his son (or daughter) so they can experience the joy of completing a project together, so parent and child can deepen their bond.
Jesus is gonna get it done, but He wants to get it done WITH ME. And He wants to be the connector in my relationships with others:
“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them” (Matthew 18:20, NIV)
I don’t pretend to understand what is going on with this 8-year renovation project Jesus is doing with me. I do know that when I am groping around in the dark that life has no taste like my soul has gotten Covid, and when I do stumble into Jesus it is like being reborn and flooded with flavor. You’d think as an addict, I’d stay permanently turned into Him, but I’m also addicted to playing at god.
But it’s getting better; I’m slowly giving up being the savior and allowing myself to be saved.
Normally, that last line would be a fine conclusion, but I’m going to beg your patience for one last anecdote.
About a week ago, a co-worker (and she’ll be reading this) told me that she can hear me praying behind her. Now as I pray A LOT at work, I’m certain that no one can HEAR me as I scan the faces of scores of people each night as I pray, and I’ve NEVER seen anyone cast a look at me.
But she insists that she can audibly hear me as clear as day. And I believe her.
Perhaps prayer gets transmitted on some spiritual frequency that we just have be tuned into. So, it warms my heart that as I wander thru the casino that I’m some type of transmitter that some co-worker or random stranger is going to pick up and get the Jesus message they need.
That Jesus allows me to hand Him the wrench to get to work on changing someone else.
I’m just glad He included me in His project to change all our spiritual oil.
Lord Jesus Christ
Son of God
Have mercy on
All of us
Amen.