Parents, don’t raise good kids. I’m a recovering good kid, and I’m here to tell you that the gospel isn’t for good kids.
I was pretty easy for my parents to raise. I was generally compliant,
had a buoyant, warm personality, didn’t get into any serious trouble,
was liked by my teachers for the most part, usually did respectably in
school, was a leader in my church groups, and had plenty of friends. My
adolescent, wild-oat sowing would only generate smirks and eye rolls.
My folks and most adults in my life affirmed me as a good kid, and I believed it. Which posed a problem for me: I struggled to grasp the gospel.
Me? Hell?
Though I believe my pre-adolescent conversion was real — God is
gracious to produce and honor a small seed of real faith — it was hard
to swallow that I was that bad. God showing favor on me in
redemption made sense because others had shown favor on me. But it was
hard for me to see that this favor was not the approval of a good kid
but the pardoning of a condemned sinner. Really? Me deserve hell?
It took quite a while — I am, in fact, still recovering — to see that
in reality I was (am) profoundly depraved. Much of my outward good
behavior was fueled by evil, selfish motives. Underneath my good-kid
veneer was a glory-stealing, envious, covetous, idolatrous, lecherous
person. Continue at Jon Bloom
No comments:
Post a Comment