I sometimes long for anonymity
I work at a church. It’s a blessing and a gift, and I don’t want to ever say otherwise. In fact my next couple of confessions might be in connection with this hard line between ministry and work that us ‘proffesionals’ create for ourselves, but I want to be sure to let you know that confession does not equal condoning.
Today, I am going to confess to the prodigal heart inside of me. Because I am a pharisee most of the time, I spend my life making sure I get recognized for all my good deeds. I remember struggling with the decision to come on staff because I knew my temptation so clearly. The temptation to love being the visible Christian; to love being noticed and seen all day on a Sunday. I struggled [and struggle] with testing the motivations of my heart.
But today’s confession is a weird development that has only happened recently. In spite of my life long battle with the desire to be noticed, these days I mostly long for the anonymity of not being noticed. Some days, like today, I would give a lot away to be able to come into my church and sit in the back and weep and fall on Jesus and be able to walk out of the sanctuary with blood shot eyes and a snotty nose, and not worry about who my next meeting is with. I’m sure it seems like I can still do that, and maybe there’s a balance I haven’t yet found, but mostly I think Sundays are just different for me. I have been called to spend this day loving on girls like me crying in the corner. I’ve been called to lay down my right to cry in the corner this one day a week for the glory of God.
And there’s some pharisee thrown in to this confession too. While the prodigal in me longs to just proclaim my brokenness to the world, it’s my pharisee that keeps me desperate to do it anonymously; it’s the pharisee in me that longs for a place where no one knows my name and where no one is taking notes.
Tomorrow’s confession is going to touch on all this self-pity that I’ve been seeing in my heart latley, so, for all those pharisees out there who want to slap me around and tell me to get over it and try harder, tune in.
Jesus. Only in Jesus do I get all the needs met that my prodigal and pharisee try to address. Only in Jesus do I get brokenness without needing anonymity. Only in Jesus do I get to be known and be loved and be strong all the while standing on my weakness.
Jesus knows my name. And He knows my heart. And I don’t understand how it all works, but I’m hoping He’ll teach me more each day. I’m counting on it.