Sure enough, he spent the first hour testing my theology, trying to out-Bible me, and hoping to justify himself and intimidate me. His poor wife cowered in her seat, fearful that I felt as bullied as she had for sixty years.
I spent an hour showing him what the problem was and what was keeping him from being where he claimed he wanted to be. But he didn’t get it.
“So what steps should I take?” he ordered, whipping out a notebook. “You need to assign me some things I can do.” He lifted a brow at me, waiting expectancy.
“I’m not giving you another book or any outward steps you can take,” I told him. “You’ve read enough books. This is a heart issue and until you let God knock some of that arrogance out of you, you’re not going to get anywhere. Everyone but you will know that nothing’s changed and then you’ll justify the continued estrangement by saying that you tried. So no. You’ve got to humble yourself and I’m not sure you know how to do that. Get on your face before God and ask Him what the problem is.”
He put his notebook away, but he wasn't happy about it. He was convinced that if I would give him some steps and an action plan, he could win back the people he’d alienated. But I refused because he did not need another external activity that would make him more self-righteous. He needed a heart transplant and only God could do that.
Then Covid hit and I assumed I’d never see him again.
Last month, he was back, but this time with a new humility. He was desperate, watching time slip away while he sat on Pride Mountain alone. I challenged him to begin writing letters to those he’d hurt and we talked about what needed to be in them. I had to approve them before he sent them and that was gonna take a while.
This week he arrived thirty minutes early with a thick folder. As soon as he sat down, he pulled out a sheaf of papers and looked at me, eyes dancing. “I could hardly wait to get here!” he cried. “I’ve been so eager to tell you about this. I’ve been working on what’s wrong with me and I read Galatians 5 and it hit me so hard. It talked about what a Christian looks like and I thought, ‘It’s not me! That’s never been me! I’ve been so blind, like Paul was when he met Jesus. I’m a Judaizer, a Pharisee. I cried my eyes out for days and now I’m a new believer! And I’m so excited I’ve haven’t slept for a couple of nights!”
He was like a little boy, chattering about this new love he’d found and dying to tell everyone about it. One indicator that repentance is real is the desire to accept full responsibility for the damage we’ve caused, and he’d never been fully on board with that. There were always reasons, excuses. It was their fault too.
But this week, he was owning all of it. Grief twisted his features as he confessed how much he’d hurt people and turned them away from, not toward God. This former Pharisee, who’d baptized many, will be baptized himself this Sunday at his church in another city. The remaining years of his life will be more fruitful than the 80 before them.
I just love it when God does stuff like that!