I do it. I climb up on my soap box, I pour over and over the facts, attempting salvation by nagging. “If I could just make them understand…” my mind screams.
Why? Don’t I realize that even my most selfless and humble actions can no more save them than myself? All the facts in the world won’t open their eyes, any more than forcibly holding open the eyelids of a blind man. It isn’t my job to save them! How freeing and terrifying at the same time! On one side of this coin it is liberating, I don’t bear the responsibility for the souls around me. On the other, humbling, if I am not responsible for their salvation, in no way am I for my own.
We are drowning in our own sin, and He through immeasurable grace swoops down from unimaginable glory to save us. How dare we claim the credit. How dare we, while we stand on the solid ground of Christ blood, make even the smallest attempt at taking that glory?
God is good. Jesus saves. Not us. Not our pastors. Just Jesus. All He asks of us is that we reach out to the hurting, wrap them in our arms, regardless of whether or not the hurting is a consequence of lifestyle, and love them.
Get messy. Get hurt. Love with abandon.