My Report Card

Romans 8:26-39

There it was, towering in the sky above me like an atmospheric report card on my life: Two clouds in the shape of a perfectly formed “C minus.” Great. It couldn’t have been a floating elephant or a fat baby. No, of all the clouds in the sky that morning, mine had to be “C—“. What a way to start the day.

We all, to some degree, look to our accomplishments as a means of determining self-worth. While God does consider the things I’ve done in this life as a basis for my heavenly reward (Mt 5:12; 6:1; Eph 6:8; Rev 22:12), my value to him isn’t based on my accomplishments. My value, my true worth, is based preeminently on the truth of God’s love for me. His love for me proves my worth. And even when my achievement fails to measure up to some worldly standard He will not change his mind about loving me.

God’s passionate and irrevocable love motivates him to work for my good. He does this when I return his love and align my life with the purpose of being conformed to his Son, Jesus. When I am aligned with God, he empowers and equips me so that I will be “more than a conqueror.” No achievement that he has purposed for my life is beyond my reach, and nothing can separate me from the love that makes that achievement possible.

As I continued gazing at the sky, I witnessed a reassuring spectacle. My “C—“ was erased by nothing more than a little wind.

Resounding Gongs and Clanging Cymbals

“If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” (1 Corinthians 13:1-3)

My family visited a church this morning. In fact, we were the only visitors in the small congregation—evident from the surprised and effusively warm welcome we received upon walking in the door. This is a church that evidently isn’t accustomed to having many visitors. At the appointed time for the worship service, most of the seats in the nearly dark room were empty and no one else entered the church to fill them.

A few minutes late, the band emerged from a hidden door at the back of the stage, took their positions, and launched into the first song as lights flooded the stage in the dark, smoky room. The music was so painfully loud and sonically distorted that it was impossible to discern the melody with certainty or to enter into worship. Even my teenage son said so. He’s a bass player and knows something about sound systems and balancing sound with mixers.

Off to one side of the stage, a woman danced zestfully to the beat of the drums, skipping and swaying and leaping while waving a large Star of David attached to a flowing banner that shimmered and glittered in the light. Backlight from the stage made her long white skirt semi-transparent, revealing that she was wearing white shorts or granny panties underneath. It was hard to tell. King David danced in his underwear (2 Samuel 6:14), so maybe this was just the latest worship trend. We’ll all be dancing in our underwear soon. It could be a great new evangelistic tool. Think of the unbelievers who would come to watch and then hear the gospel and get saved….

After the band played about three songs, and while the music continued, the hefty senior pastor strode forward with a swagger, took hold of a microphone and began exhorting the crowd to worship. Within ten or fifteen minutes, he segued into a pre-sermon address about faith coming by hearing the word of God (Romans 10:17). He said this was something God had given him that morning before eating his breakfast cereal (amazing self-control for such a well-fed man!). Pacing back and forth on the floor in front of the stage, he then bounded up the stairs and down again, and—impressively—even stood on a chair in the front row that was able to endure his massive weight. He waved his arms, shouted at us and leapt to the floor, strutting to and fro while he continued shouting incessant biblical insights and exhortations to the congregation over the near deafening music.

Within another ten or fifteen minutes, his audience had been overwhelmed by the musical fusillade and beaten into submission by the sound of his voice. They were ready to heed his call to come meet the Lord. So, waving an arm in the air, he commanded everyone forward to worship at the altar. Most people complied. We stood by our seats along with about a dozen elderly people and young children who were some distance away. And the band played on while people cried out, and some—at his instruction—got down on their knees to seek God. Noticing my family standing alone, he looked directly at us—and, uncomfortably, right at me—and said something like, “…and I’m sensing from God that there are visitors here this morning who don’t know Jesus. Now is your time! There is a place here at the altar for you! Come to God and get saved!” Great. We’d been “outed” in front of the entire church. He might as well have redirected a spotlight on us.

Of course, if God had really been speaking to him, God would have told him that I began my life as a born again Christian at the age of 18. Since that time, I have followed Christ and continued to seek and serve him. I have been ordained many years and served in various churches in several ministry areas. My salvation and call to ministry are beyond question. In fact, I have personally explained the gospel to hundreds of people who have received Christ. But the pastor knew only that we were resisting his appeal to come forward and—thus—must certainly be resisting God for salvation. Of course, it could have been the way I was dressed. My yellow gingham shirt was tucked neatly into British khaki slacks, both from Brooks Brothers. In contrast, the preacher’s portly frame was concealed by a black untucked shirt that had a large iron-on transfer on the back and that, by now, was soaked with sweat. It’s easy to see why I looked like such a sinner.

Having stood for about forty-five minutes by this time, we sat down and waited on the show to end. The word “show” aptly describes the superficial scene we had been observing. The pastor’s showmanship was a poor knockoff of bad Pentecostal evangelists. He had learned some mannerisms and techniques for whipping up a crowd. But his manipulative approach was an unappealing substitute for the genuinely convicting presence of the Holy Spirit. He was so full of himself that he had no room left for Jesus.

At about the time when all this was running through my brain, my wife leaned over and shouted into my ear over the racket that she was thinking of leaving, which was pretty interesting. Because about two minutes later, while the pastor continued spewing his virtually unintelligible spiritual insights on Elijah and Romans, he said, “And listen to me, people, if you’re not feeling God’s presence right now you need to get up and walk out the door.” It was the only thing he said that spoke to me. We weren’t feeling God’s presence, so we did. We got up and walked out the door. We didn’t want to stay for his regularly scheduled sermon—which hadn’t yet started. The appetizer had left a bitter aftertaste that unsettled our stomachs. It was time to go.

What made our experience especially sad was that the pastor’s denomination has been especially effective at reaching unchurched people with the Gospel and growing churches. Admittedly, he is not the best representative of his fellow clergy. But it is still a wonder to me that any preacher could be so evidently devoid of God’s love that he would substitute for authentically anointed ministry nothing but a “resounding gong or a clanging cymbal.”

Preacher, I don’t care how much noise you can make. I don’t care how you can manipulate a crowd. Assuming your doctrine is biblically solid, all I care about is whether you have God’s love in you and that you are showing it to me. If you don’t and aren’t, you have shown me nothing and you will gain nothing of eternal value. You won’t see me back at your church.