The Rag Man

No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. -- Romans 8:37

I don't know about anyone else, but I don't feel like a conqueror most days.  More likely, I might feel like a survivor, someone who is barely hanging on, perhaps even just an "exist-er".  Some of it is coming from my age.  I went to a seminar on retirement the other night and sat with a roomful of people whose usefulness to the system is drawing to an end.  I wondered how many of us sitting there would die within days of no longer having a reason to get up in the morning and how many will deteriorate and decay without the push of something to keep them us, going.  It doesn't sound like a victorious life.

When I was younger, I always thought that achievement would be more -- I don't know, rewarding? -- satisfying? --  than it actually turned out to feel.  It makes me wonder if I didn't squander my opportunities and fail to achieve enough.  But then I look around and ask what more I could have done.  I might wish for a little more empty space around me but not a lot.  I've got all I'll be able to take care of, especially as the years continue to roll.  I might have done a few minor things differently, but they are minor.  It is as if I stumbled into a gravel pit and got up with gold in my pockets.  I'm happy enough in a basic, physical sense most of the time.

Maybe it's that I'm not the man I expected to be.  Despite bodily health, despite a family and, especially, grandchildren who seem to enjoy being around me, I ought to be a better person.  Am I really fit for heaven?  Am I living and thinking and acting in a way that is pleasing to God?  Is it too late to become a better man?  Is there any point to doing better now?

I think there is a reason to keep trying to live victoriously.  I think there is something more important than achievement and recognition, status and success.  

Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is.  And everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.  (1 John 3:2-3)

Someone said, "The only weapon to fight sin with is the spear which pierced the side of Jesus."  That is, we were crucified with Christ, buried with Him, and rose with Him.  The old life of sin is a ratty, threadbare, filthy cloak we try to hide behind when we ought to put on Christ.  The nagging sense of something missing is just my clinging to that rag, the remains of my security blanket.  It's worn out and useless and deep down I know it, but I remember when it was new and pretty impressive.  It was who I was.  Man, it was really something, but, I just don't need it.  I don't even want it.  What do I do with it? 

I think that I take it to Jesus, and I say, "Lord, You see this worn-out rag?  You know how proud I used to be of it.  You know I wore it as a great plaid.  It's hardly a loin-cloth anymore, but I can't see You until I'm rid of it altogether, and You can see me, as naked as You were on the Cross, with nothing to show and nothing to say, nothing to boast of and nothing left to give.  Help me get rid of it.  Give me the grace and the courage to cast it away and never drag it back around again." 

We have a term that we picked up from Hebrews 12:1 in the King James.  We refer to "besetting sins" -- the ESV says "sin which clings so closely".  Really it's the sin to which I cling.  It's that last layer separating me from Christ that continues to hinder my running.  Besetting sin always gave me the wrong impression.  I thought of it as something that jumped on me or hounded me, nipping at my heels like a yappy little feist dog.  It's not.  It's ragged, nasty drawers that I just can't bring myself to get rid of.  It's clinging to the rags that cling to me that keeps me feeling beaten.              

To see Him as He is, and so to be like Him, I have to know that He sees me as I am, not the rag man.