Becoming like Jesus

 Becoming like Jesus Christ—or what Scripture calls sanctification—is a challenge.

No matter how much we grow and improve over time—no matter how much more loving, joyful, peaceful, patient, kind, good, faithful, gentle, and self-controlled we are this year compared to last year (Galatians 5:22-23)—we rarely make progress in our character as much as we hoped we would.

Ironically, the more like Jesus we become, the less like Jesus we realize that we are.

When I first became a Christian, I had a brimming optimism about becoming the best version of myself. This, after all, is the promise of God to all who trust in Jesus—He will not merely help us turn over a new leaf; he will actually give us a new life. He who began a good work in us will be faithful to complete it.

As a newly born child of God, I was a new creation. The old Scott was gone, and the new Scott had come (2 Corinthians 5:17). The Holy Spirit had taken up residence in me. This meant that the same power that raised Jesus from the dead had been activated inside of me. This power would give me faith to trust and follow God’s word and God’s ways over my own flawed feelings, impulses, and ideas. It would give me hope in the face of life’s sorrows, letdowns, and uncertainties. Most of all, it would enhance my ability to love God and others. Along the way, I could become the kind of friend, neighbor, spouse, and contributor that might even win an award or two someday (Ha).

Like many Christians in their newfound faith, I felt really good about the kind of person that I was destined to become in Christ. I would, as the Apostle had written, be able to “do all things through Christ who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13). It was only a matter of time before I would become the very best version of myself.

Or so I thought.

Now, over thirty years later, I am more of a realist. These days, I often feel more sinful and less virtuous than I did in those early days as a new Christian. Although there are many ways I have become more like Christ, in other ways I still ignore and disobey and forget him. At my best, those who are closest to me will tell you that the fruit of the Spirit is at work in my life. At my worst, those same people will tell you that I also have a long way to go.

Sometimes, I get road rage.

Sometimes, I get too irritated with people who eat a little too loudly.

Sometimes, I think about money more than I should.

Sometimes, I find more satisfaction in the praise of people than I do in the grace of God. Sometimes I catch myself enjoying the sound of my own name more than I enjoy the sound of Jesus’ name. Yuck!

Sometimes, I can be selfish, cowardly, conflict-averse, jealous, and ambitious in the wrong ways. I can, like the Pharisees, use “ministry” for drawing attention to myself and applause from others that belongs only to God, who alone deserves glory.

Sometimes, when an immodest movie scene flashes in front of my eyes, I don’t look away.

Sometimes, I fear the future more than I trust God for the future.

I am a man who lives by fear as much as I am a man who lives by faith. When I see Jesus on the cross crying out, “My God, why have you forsaken me?” I often think:

“My God, why haven’t you forsaken me?”

I find Herman Melville relatable as I feel sometimes that I am “cracked about the head, and sadly need mending.” Over thirty years a Christian and the words of Brennan Manning in The Ragamuffin Gospel still ring true:

Can you relate to this?

Are we hopeless?

Thankfully, there is good reason not to despair. There is no such thing as a lost cause. Wherever people carry regrets, have made mistakes, and have hit bottom, Jesus is there not to shame and scold but to recruit.

Even the greatest heroes of faith were flawed and broken—wrecked, weary, restless, and sometimes tortured sinners—even at their spiritual peak. Read the list of names in Matthew’s ancestry of Christ and the “heroes of faith” in Hebrews 11. Then, do some research on who those people were in the story of Scripture and how most of them had made a mess of their lives. Continue your research and you will also discover how God met them in and carried them through those messes on their way to becoming the best version of themselves—not in spite of the messes but precisely because of them.

Aren’t you relieved that those you respect most in the faith also fell hard?

Aren’t you relieved that so many of the women and men in the Bible—people like Isaiah and Paul, Rahab, and Martha—also carried deep, abiding flaws?

Aren’t you relieved that every last one of these women and men was an incomplete work in progress whose less flattering features remained with them until their dying day, even as they awaited perfection in the New Heaven and New Earth?

How sad it would be if the valiant, self-sacrificing, heroic disciples of Jesus weren’t also damaged goods just like us. Their failings contribute to our comfort, just like the promises of God do.

Why is this so?

Because if there is hope for busted-up sinners like them, then there is also hope for busted-up sinners like us.