Proverbs 22:1: “A good name is to be chosen rather than great riches, loving favor rather than silver and gold.”
This is absolutely true. I believe it: It is the word of God. But I do know, from experience, that at times we believe this to be true to such an extent that we seek a good name and esteem from our own strength instead of pursuing the One whose name the Christian should desire to have.
I came across this verse this morning during Sabbath School, while I was supposed to be paying attention to the lesson. But I couldn’t focus on it because my heart was heavy. I had just come inside from talking to my mother. While still at home this morning, I had behaved in a way that offended and deeply hurt her. We were almost leaving for church. I knew what I had done immediately after it happened and was sorry. When I got to church, heart heavy, I knelt in the sanctuary and asked for forgiveness, humility, and meekness. I knew why I had acted the way I did—it was a combination of some hurt related to my mom (over something kind of trivial but that is important to me) and stress over things completely unrelated to my mom. I woke up this morning knowing I was off and asking God to put His joy in me and help me start the day right, but I failed.
I understood the extent and impact of my failure when we got to church and, instead of sitting in either of the empty chairs on either side of me, my mom walked past me to the end of the row and sat down, several seats away. Ouch.
The song leader started a hymn, “Tu nombre es dulce, buen Jesus” (Your name is sweet, good Jesus). I tried to sing, then mouth the words—pretend to sing—but my mouth would barely move and my eyes glazed over. What kept coming into my mind was the principle in Matthew 5:23-24: “ Therefore if you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go your way. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.” How could I offer this song of praise knowing that my heart wasn’t right and that my words and actions were the reason (or one reason, at least) that another worshiper’s heart wasn’t right?
I knew that getting up in the middle of song service, tapping on my mom’s shoulder, and motioning her to follow me, then walking out, having to greet some church members with the expression that was on my face, would look—well—not right. Like there was something wrong. Like—gasp!—there was a problem between us. And to make matters worse, when she finally decided to come out, I reached for her arm, which she kept stiff, and led her outside for a private conversation. Oh, what would people think? They barely know me. The question did cross my mind. But which was more important? Saving face, or heeding the Holy Spirit’s conviction that we needed clean hearts and a right spirit?
My whole life, I have been viewed as someone who “is good” and “does what is right.” Not a bad thing, right? In reality, I’ve been raised in such a way that I want to be good, and I want to do what is right. And I thank God for that. Along with this, however, has been the recognition that the better I am, and the better I do, the more I please people and improve their image of me; and the more this happens, the higher I set the standards for myself (which were already high). Unfortunately, I sought to reach these standards for the wrong reasons. So it goes with many of us, if not all of us, in our social circles, including the church. We want to be viewed as good, as doing good, as on the right path, and we try to reach the right standards in the wrong way and for the wrong reasons. We value that good name so much that we try to hide the reality that we are broken, imperfect people who make mistakes and need Jesus.
There may be some who have had the opposite experience—viewed differently than how I’ve been viewed, and who, whether for their own reasons or as a reaction to people’s judgment of them, have acted differently. (Maybe they’re not pursuing a good name for that reason.) Although it may appear like a different situation, I think we have the same problem at the root: a problem of the heart. (What am I trying to say?) We become prisoners of others’ opinions and expectations, and especially in moments of conflict, or when the time comes to lay our souls bare to God, the hardness of our hearts prevents us from taking the steps that allow us to be in the right state with the One whose opinion is ultimately the one that matters. By surrendering to the power of the Holy Spirit that Jesus granted us, we allow Jesus to live His life in us and give us His good name, the name above all names, and the only name by which we must and can be saved. Oh, that we would allow Jesus to soften and change our hearts, to be like His!
I asked my mom for forgiveness, explained what I understood to be the reason for my behavior (which I did not justify; it wasn’t right, no matter how hurt or stressed I was), and asked her to pray for me. Now, I don’t mean to “call out” my mother. I have a very good, loving relationship with her. She is a sweet, gentle woman who loves God and serves Him as best she knows. But she, too, is human, and struggles with her own world of difficulties that Jesus knows about. As we spoke, she didn’t look me in the eyes. She forgave me, hugged and kissed me, but didn’t want to pray for me at that moment, when I asked her to. She finally did after I insisted two or three times, and her prayer began, “Heavenly Father, I’m not worthy to pray now. And I don’t want to, because I don’t feel it.” She asked for forgiveness for herself and for me. The prayer was rough around the edges. No frilly words, no extras. But it was—I believe, anyways—a sincere, beautiful prayer.
After staying behind to wipe my tears and wash my face, I tried to avoid eye contact with people—sin is shameful—and sat down to write. As I think about it, yes, sin is shameful, but Christ has promised His forgiveness if I confess my sins, and He has promised to be the lifter up of my head. It’s time to accept the truth of His promise. I can look others in the eye and let them see the pain in my eyes. I can allow myself to be vulnerable in that way, because I am a broken, imperfect human being who makes mistakes and needs Jesus. My jaws felt stiff and reluctant to sing. I still felt unworthy, but my conscience was clear. Praising God at that time was not a part of the routine, just to participate in the church service. It was an act of faith. And, praise God, I sang.
I wrote all this hoping not to put myself down or lift myself up, but hoping instead to lift up Jesus Christ, who promises me peace and abundant life in this world and in the world to come. I also write to protest that mentality that leads us to wear masks and try to hide our problems and defects, even (especially) in church. We can’t hide from God, and we both deceive ourselves and do ourselves a disservice by not dealing with our baggage if and when we know how to do it in a healthy way. (I say if and when because, in all fairness, not everyone knows how. And I’m not trying to say, either, that we need to publicize or constantly talk about all our problems, either. But how terrible is it to try worshiping God when there are fresh or latent tensions and hard feelings between brethren?)
Today’s sermon highlighted, in part, the question posed in Revelation 6:17, when the day of God’s wrath arrives: “who shall be able to stand?” The answer is found in Revelation 7:9, and the same group of people is referenced in Revelation 14:1-5. They stood before the throne and in the presence of the Lamb, dressed in white robes and having palm leaves in their hands (Rev. 7:9); they stood with the Lamb, and had His good name and the good name of the Father written in their foreheads (Rev. 14:1). The names weren’t literally written there: the character of Father and Son had been stamped upon their character, transforming them by the power of the Holy Spirit. That good name—Christ’s perfect character—is the one we must seek with our whole heart. It’s a search God is pleased to honor with success.