Do You Really "Love to Tell the Story"?

“I love to tell the story of unseen things above…” If you want to get a congregation singing with gusto, I mean singing to where you forget about how you sound type singing, you can’t go wrong with Arabella Hankey’s classic hymn. “I love to tell the story; twill be my theme in glory; to tell the old old story; of Jesus and his love.” Feels good, doesn’t it? But there’s just a part of me that has to ask everyone—including myself—who just sang “I love to tell the story”—do you really? Do you love to tell the story—and have you told it lately—or not?
If not—and if you honestly don’t always love to tell the story—you’re not alone. The fact is, we face intense pressure to keep quiet about Jesus. The culture in which we live tells us that religious faith is best kept private. Seemingly wise voices—some even from inside the Christian Church-- suggest that the exclusive claims that Jesus made—such as “No one comes to the Father except through me” ought to be downplayed, if not totally ignored, for the sake of tolerance. We won’t even get into the way that our entertainment loves to portray Christians as geeks for God, or severely serious, or downright dangerous hypocrites. Who would want to identify with such a group?
These rather dramatic pressures show up in more subtle ways in our social lives——the everyday exchanges you make with neighbors, friends, co-workers, family members, and even strangers. It may never be explicitly stated, but the Christian is always tempted to go along with the “unwritten rules” that can be summarized thusly: “Don’t talk about Jesus too much. Not at all would be better.” Unfortunately, fear is a willing accomplice to this temptation. Fear says, “Keep bringing up Jesus and you could lose your job.” Fear says, “Keep mentioning Jesus and your friends are going to think something’s wrong with you.” Fear says: “Keep talking about Jesus and you’re going to push away your family member—maybe forever!” Fear says: “Keep your faith to yourself and act like everybody else so they don’t think you’re weird.” Even pastors have the amazing ability to compartmentalize their lives—to say Jesus is in this part of my life, but not that part—and to choose silence for the sake of earning “cool points” or not getting into an embarrassing debate. Bad news, though. The false peace that exists when we don’t speak up for Jesus is not just a false peace—it’s a false god. We’re not doing anyone any favors when we sugarcoat—or worse yet—swallow words that would’ve put the focus on Christ. And it’s not that surprising to learn that the person we’re hurting most when we shut our mouths is ourselves.
Jesus lays it right on the line, as usual, when he says: “If anyone acknowledges me publicly here on earth, I will openly acknowledge that person before my Father in heaven. But if anyone denies me here on earth, I will deny that person before my Father in heaven.” Jesus says, “Don’t think you can have it both ways. Don’t think that I can be your little secret. You deny me, I’ll deny you.” This hurts. This exposes all the little deals we make with ourselves to not rock the boat, to just let it go, to promise to get to that Jesus discussion someday…but not today. If we serve the false god of false peace, Jesus’ words here confront us with the fact that we’re denying him at the same time.
What have we done? What can we do? Holy Scripture gives us two vivid case studies to consider: Jesus’ own disciples, Peter and Judas. Judas, of course, went way over the line of denying Jesus and into outright betrayal, setting Jesus up for his execution for a throwaway sum of money. And even though Judas realized his guilt, he didn’t take that guilt to God. He attempted to handle his guilt through the self-punishment of suicide—a tragically wrong approach.
At the same time there’s Peter, who withered in the face of social pressure. Fear whispered to Peter: “Save yourself.” And so Peter denied even knowing Jesus personally—not once—not twice—but three times, selling out for a pathetically low bid. Jesus had called it; Peter knew it. He went out and wept bitterly. And in a way, Peter cries for all of us who have ever said: “I don’t know the man.” But in that very dark place, with tears running down his cheeks, something takes hold in Peter that didn’t take hold in Judas—something that holds onto hope; something that is willing to throw everything we are upon the mercy of God—something called faith. What can we do? We can follow Peter in grieving over our sins, realizing that because of them we deserve nothing but Jesus’ denying us before the Father in heaven. And we can also follow Peter in holding onto hope by throwing ourselves upon the mercy of God. Not only was Peter forgiven and restored, but the Holy Spirit would eventually use his preaching to bring thousands of people to that same saving faith. As you come to the Lord, confessing your sin today, hear once again that He does not disown you; that in order to forgive and restore you, he disowned His own Son on the cross of Calvary. The estrangement from God our sins deserved was placed upon Jesus Christ, so we could be embraced by our Father. Every blow Jesus endured, every scathing word spoken to Him, every agonizing second he spent nailed to the cross, trying to breathe was spent to claim you. He did it all to forgive you. Without Jesus we would be marking the time until the full weight of God’s punishment drops on us. With Jesus, that time will never come, because he took the impact instead of us.
How can we be ashamed of the one who has done this great work for us? That’s the question posed by another hymn, this one written by Joseph Grigg and Benjamin Francis, which reads: “Jesus, Oh, how could it be true/a mortal man ashamed of you? Ashamed of you who angels praise, whose glories shine through endless days? Ashamed of Jesus, that dear friend on whom my hopes of heaven depend? No; when I blush be this my shame, that I no more revere his name. Ashamed of Jesus? Yes, I may when I’ve no guilt to wash away. No tear to wipe, no good to crave; no fear to quell; no soul to save. Till then—nor is my boasting vain—till then I boast a Savior slain; and oh, may this my glory be: that Christ is not ashamed of me!”
Christ is not ashamed of me. Christ is not ashamed of you. That means we can live compassionate lives, looking for someone to help. That means we can pick our spots to talk about our faith, and to do so boldly, naming Jesus as our Savior and giver of Life. We can stand for Jesus with out fear, because we have a God and Father who has already given us the greatest gifts and who knows us intimately—to the point that he knows the number of hairs on our heads. We can say along with the apostle Paul, “I am not ashamed of this Good News about Christ. It is the power of God at work, saving everyone who believes.” (Romans 1: 16) Let us find lasting satisfaction and purpose for our lives in telling the old, old story of Jesus and His love.