“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”
-Romans 8:1
If I’m honest with myself, even as a Christian, guilt and shame are two things I struggle with immensely. I often wake up feeling as if the weight of the world is on my shoulders, as if there is no way to escape all the times I’ve failed and messed up. I’m a moral perfectionist: I feel pressure to be someone I can’t, to live up to the standards of perfection I was never meant to attain. I’m a people pleaser: I feel drained when I attempt to be liked by everyone and meet their needs, often to the point of suffocating my own mental health. I’m an over-thinker: I snatch the smallest detail, mull it over in my mind, and transform it into a problem that isn’t even there.
Sometimes, I just wake up and think to myself: “goodness, I’m a mess.”
And mostly, that’s true. I’m a broken, sinful human in need of a Savior’s grace. I need something outside of myself to save me from myself.
Of course, I know what Christ has done for me–I am firm in that fact. But that doesn’t always stop the whispers and lies the enemy will throw at me. So it’s a fight. A fight for my soul.
This is why I believe it is imperative to preach the gospel to myself daily. I wake up and somehow forget it. I go throughout my day and somehow lose track of the grace that is pursuing me. Why? Because I’m human. 8 hours of sleep works wonders, but it also gives me just enough time to forget who I am in Jesus.
Therefore, even when I don’t feel like it, or even when I don’t think it’ll do me any good, I must preach the gospel to myself. It is my only hope. It is all I have. On my own, I am weak and hopeless and failure-ridden.
I wrote this poem as a declaration of Romans 8:1. Some days I believe this promise quickly; some days it takes me a few hours to grasp it’s unshakable truth. But by God’s grace I am daily reminded of His freedom: Christ has taken all my sin, and there is no condemnation for me. It is finished. Will you believe that with me today?
//
Why do I look at myself and see nothing but a mess? Why do I look at myself and see all I should confess? Sin upon sin racks upon my shoulders, Threatening to shove me back to my endless failures. No matter where I run, there’s always that old whisper: “You’ll never quite be good enough”—I try not to listen. Yet it’s so hard not to, because I see some truth in it. On my own I’m weak. hopeless.. finished… Finished? Isn’t it finished? Isn’t the power of sin and grave broken and diminished? Diminished? More like extinguished. On Christ my payment full and sure was placed in holy justice. Justice. How much He loves us! The Son bore every ounce of shame so I would be made righteous. Righteous. It is accomplished. I never have to feel the weight because He felt it for me. —Me—A little, lost sheep. He cared enough for me to give me grace to set me free. Free. How can it be? He tells me all I have to do is trust Him and believe. Believe. I will believe. I will preach the gospel to myself, daily I will see. See. Look on His hands and feet. The Lamb of God—crucified—is my sanctity… // On and on, it could go, the case that’s made for me: Condemnation's powerless for those the Son sets free.