Every Christian must be a Fourth Step person.  In case you aren’t familiar with the Twelve Steps, number Four is “take a fearless moral inventory.”  Scrupulously examine your life and lay it all bare before the throne of grace and the cross of Christ.  Of course, the Twelve Steps doesn’t actually say to strip yourself before Jesus, but every Christian knows who the higher power really is.  What’s missing from the Twelve Step approach is this:  a fearless moral inventory is not a one-time event.  Luther says that repentance is the daily practice of the believer.  I know this to be true, because I know that I need a daily fearless moral inventory.

I am disobedient.  I love the Lord.  I try to love Jesus.  When I hear Him say, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments,” pain strikes my soul.  I know that I have failed to keep His commandments.  Time and again I have let go of the discipline I need to be completely, radically transformed.  I live in a soup of distraction and disobedience – and it gets to me.

When I came back from my last trip to Haiti, I was sick for 16 days.  I picked up a rare parasite.  About every two hours I was in the bathroom.  It was not fun.  I spent most of the time in the bathrooms of airplanes and hotels while I tried to keep going with my business obligations.  Finally, the doctors identified the parasite and now I am taking the right antibiotic.  I can eat again.

Now I realize that God, who is sovereign over even microscopic parasites, had a lesson to teach me.  First, He wanted me to know what it is like to live in a place where there are no antibiotics.  He wanted me to know what it is like to be sick every day of your life.  But secondly, He wanted me to realize that I carry another kind of parasite for which there is no medical cure.  I have ingested a lifetime of sinful attitudes and agendas.  This diet makes me sick every day, and the only cure is confession, repentance and re-commitment – every day.

This is hard on me.  I want to feel like I am making progress.  I want to stop confessing and get on with victorious living.  I don’t want to stand in front of Jesus and say, “Lord, I am back again, down on my knees, confessing my failures to You.”  But just like the antibiotic I am taking so that I can eat, Jesus’ prescription is a daily dose.  If I want to be well, I need His grace every day.

I am addicted.  Over and over I have to fight the desire to have life my way.  I spent so many years manipulating life into giving me what I wanted that I might as well have been named Jacob.  Now Jesus says that He wants my every thought to be under His control.  If I thought conforming my actions to His will was difficult, I had no idea how hard it would be to bring my thoughts into submission.  But my fearless moral inventory demands that I examine my thought life too.  No excuses.  I am filled with chaotic confusion and self-righteous rebellion.  It pains me to look into this.  I feel ashamed.  But it’s there.

I am not compassionate like the Father.  I struggle to forgive those who would do me harm and those who oppose me.  I have a hard time blessing my enemies.  Secretly, I wish God would judge them – harshly.  It is too easy for me to forget that I was His enemy and I deserved His wrath.  I don’t weep over those who persecute His children.  I try to fix things rather than falling on my face in prayer.  I don’t know the first thing about real love – love at great expense, love that cuts to the soul.  I still want to protect myself.  Can you imagine what my life would be like if Jesus acted as I do?

I am a natural doer.  I rarely wait for God.  Show me the goal and I am off trying to accomplish it.  I have yet to learn to listen for His direction before I take the first step.  Don’t you suppose that after all this time God would be disappointed in my head-strong action?  He would say, “Haven’t you learned this lesson yet?  Wait on Me.  That’s the secret to success.  It has nothing to do with your timing.  It is all about My plans.”  Now I need to repent for simply not listening, even when I had perfectly good motives.

Finally (for now), I realize that I am quite comfortable with God, but I just don’t know what to do with Jesus.  I can deal with the transcendent Almighty.  I see that His hand guides history.  I recognize His power.  But when Jesus shows up, I am really at a loss.  I just don’t know how to make Him my friend.  I want Him to be my friend, but I’m not sure that I qualify.  He is so different.  His vision, His commitment, His language, His actions – all of this and more makes me wonder how I can ever be close to Him.  It makes me cry.  I am in desperate need of His friendship but I know I will never earn it.  That’s the problem, isn’t it?  I want to be worthy to be His friend.  I want Him to like me.  But the truth is in the fearless, moral inventory.  I am not worthy.

Amazingly, Jesus calls me His friend anyway.  I just don’t understand that.  It embarrasses me.  I don’t know what to do with it.  Underneath it all, I am still trying to find a way to prove that I am acceptable.  I desperately want to matter.  But the fearless, moral inventory teaches me that why I matter to Him has nothing to do with my failures.

Can I accept that?

And who would I be if I can’t?