Just Like Them

In reading the gospels this time around (which I always do at this time of year in John MacArthur's "Read Through the Bible in a Year") I am struck by the patience of Jesus. Not just the patience with the crowds, although that alone is amazing: we read how He was surrounded by people almost continually, moving from place to place, constantly being importuned by individuals about their needs, from healing to spiritual warfare to who will feed them. The part that has really spoken to me is His patience with His disciples.

The more times I read, the more I am struck by the fact that the disciples were human, totally so. They missed the point - almost constantly, sometimes. They argued. They tried to determine how Christ should act ("Lord, should we command that fire come down from Heaven?"). Sometimes they tried to manage who came to Christ (as in the children), sometimes they put the whole crowd on Christ ("Who can feed this multitude?"). And most of all, in the most critical part of Christ's earthly ministry, His death and Resurrection and the redemption of mankind, the disciples never seemed to get it. Day after day, with the Son of God preaching repentance and the Kingdom of God, they seemed never - up to the very last moment and a little beyond - to get it.

Which, in an insane way, give me hope, because more often than not, I'm just like the disciples.

I argue. I try to determine how God should. I try to manage how people come to God, or turn the whole responsibility (including my legitimate role) over to Him. And so often, even though I am on the other side of Easter Sunday, I still fail to get it. My repentance is shallow, my service light, my faith more often bolt on that an integral part of my life.

But the part I must cling to in these times is that Christ loves me and is patient with me no less so than the disciples - or for that matter, the men and women that have gone before me for 2000 years. Christ never (thankfully!) forgets that we are human - not that that becomes an excuse for remaining where we are, but a confidence that even where we are, He still loves us - and puts up with us.

Because, I suppose, if there was hope for Peter, there is hope for me.