As soon as He was alone, His followers, along with the twelve, began asking Him about the parables. And He was saying to them, “To you has been given the mystery of the Kingdom of God, but those who are outside get everything in parables” (Mk.4:11, NASV).
What is the mystery of the Kingdom of God?
New birth takes us through stages and phases. In those years of milk, we are given a measure of faith to call on His Name, confess Him as Lord, be buried in baptism, and thus bridge the gulf that stands between us and the Father. The sin problem for us becomes forever settled in Heaven and we get transformed from the kingdom of darkness into His marvelous light.
Then, we are taught by our preachers and Sunday school teachers that we must become fishers of men.
I was not a fisher of men for a long time. In fact, if I’m honest, the thought of Jesus did not occur to me on most days other than on Sunday morning.
I knew I would go to church, but I didn’t think much about Jesus.
And if I happened to run into one of those excited church people while pumping gas or buying bread – the kind of person who managed to turn any conversation to Jesus – honestly it made me feel uneasy.
I could never imagine myself being one of those people.
I also could never imagine myself being one of those people who go knock on doors – something the church used to do frequently. I just didn’t know what I would say. Our church went door knocking one Saturday a month. I always avoided it. I did not understand the magnitude of Christ’s sacrifice for my sin, and I had no real Bible knowledge. I had made a decision for Christ because that’s what everyone does at some point in their church life. That was just my thinking. But to relay that information to someone else was beyond my skillset. The only point of reference I had to even relay to another person what I had done was to use the church language I was accustomed to: “I got saved”. Saved from what I really didn’t know. I just knew ‘I’d been saved’ and that made me “a member of the church” and, according to them, a future citizen of Heaven.
It’s all so confusing now as I try to wrap my mind around it. And experience tells me I’m not the only one who has experienced this awkward phase of growth. I know many people now who profess to be Christians but talk about so many things in their life that do anything but glorify Him. But they are not at fault. Don’t get me wrong – I’ve been there too and none of us are perfect. In fact, that grain of mustard seed faith really is effective in bridging the gulf from us to Him no matter our condition.
But we must go on from there.
At some point, the mystery of the gospel became so real to me that now I cannot help but talk about Him. I can no longer separate myself from His wounded side. I think of Jesus when I awake, throughout the day, and when I go to bed. Of course, that doesn’t always mean I make the perfect decisions. I still tend to want to cut peoples’ ears off like Peter or nail them to a cross like the Pharisees did Jesus. I still struggle so much with how to love like Jesus.
But it’s getting better. I’m learning to nail my own self to the cross instead.
Prov. 3:3 says, “do not let kindness and truth leave you; bind them around your neck; write them on the tablet of your heart”.
What began with deliberate intention is now desperation.
I’m desperate for His help in all things. I’m desperate for His guidance. I’d desperate for Him to give me power to change my attitude. I’m desperate for Him to make me more like Him. I’d desperate to rid myself of my selfishness, pride, and my-way thinking.
But it started with intention.
Circumstance at last drove me to His Word. I had to be intentional about finding out Who He is and who I am in light of that truth. I forced my will to come to the scriptures and find it out for myself.
Over time, Jesus revealed Himself to me.
The mystery of the gospel is being revealed more each day. His face shines bright into my life. I know I’m forgiven. I’m not condemned by my faults and failures. I’m set free from that condemnation. I have this hope that lets me know He is always singing over me, rejoicing over me, celebrating me, and moving me from glory to glory and faith to faith. His nail scarred hands have never been more real to me and I’m bathed in the blood and water that poured from His side.
I’m no longer a believer.
I am a desperate follower.
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