American merit monger

Growing up in modern American evangelicalism, I have my fair share of cringey memories.

Like the time I wore my smug t-shirt that cleverly disguised the name “Jesus” as the Reese’s logo.

Or the time I was the only kid in my religion class who knew what the word “incarnation” meant, and all the kids snapped around in their seats to gawk at me for being a weirdo nerd.

Or the time I imagined that I heard God tell me that the quarter I lost in my friend’s backyard was “right under my nose.” I told my friend that we would definitely find that coin now!! Either God was wrong, or I was wrong. Idk, it was probably me.

But if I’m honest, the worst memories were my many, many failed attempts to “get right with God.” The trips to the altar to rededicate my life to Jesus again, or the rote prayer I recited at night when I couldn’t fall asleep and was afraid I’d die before I woke.

I remember feeling terrified by the knowledge I wasn’t doing enough — didn’t pray enough, didn’t want revival enough, didn’t worship hard enough, didn’t do enough good works. Didn’t want God enough.

That kind of mental anguish really stuck with me because, in the words of Dr. Michael Horton, I’m a merit monger. I want to earn it. Whatever God gives, I need to be worthy of it.

Grace has not been an easy concept for me to accept. It isn’t in my hardwiring to lean on the everlasting arms. As a Christian, I struggle against the part of me that still thinks I can do enough. That I can be enough.

And I’m not the only person who has this proclivity. Christians are always being entreated to do more, in the hopes that when they finally step over that misty threshold, they will reach a higher level of Christianity. Super-Christians. Super close to God, super good at killing sin, super spiritually disciplined, super well-behaved.

This isn’t taught in Scripture, of course. Scripture looks more like this:

In fact, the prevailing imagery of the Christian life is affliction, patience under trial, and thorns in the flesh. We are told to expect hardship and testing, not with the hopes that it gets easier, but with the assurance that Christ will not be ashamed of our weakness, and that He will not abandon us.

I can’t speak for other cultures, but specifically within the American context, strong emphases are placed on the entrepreneurial spirit, the romantic notion of pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps, and the Disney happy ending.

Many of the best-selling Christian books in the American market have to do with self-help and being a better you. Underneath the biblical-sounding language, there is an unmistakable, irresistible message: Better. Be better. Do better. Live better.

This optimistic outlook is one of the reasons America has such a successful space program, so many amazing cities, and has been the birthplace of so many technological innovations. It’s the reason people still want to come here — because of the belief that you can improve your life here. And for many, that’s exactly what happens. Upward mobility, the ability to change your station or status, was one of the reasons New Amsterdam, a fledgling Dutch colony, grew to become one of the most influential cities in the world. In America, you’re not locked in a caste or a social class. Anyone can be anything.

If you can dream it, you can achieve it.

This is a high ideal, and it’s not a bad one. But it’s not a Christian one.

The great lie of the Pharisees was that you could do enough to be on good terms with God, and that was why Jesus got so angry at them. They turned people away from God’s grace and convinced them they just needed to be a little better.

If you feel weary and guilty for not being enough, it’s not because you haven’t read that book, or because you haven’t taken that podcaster’s advice, or because you just haven’t tried hard enough yet. It’s because you’re really truly, in all honesty, not enough. And you never will be.

And Jesus knows. He knows that you’re never going to love Him as much as you should, or want to obey Him as much as you should. He knows that you’ll never be good enough or disciplined enough. So He calls you to come and take up His easy yoke. The yoke of His Gospel that says, Take Me upon you and I will give you rest.

I love being an American, but there are inevitably going to be times that that identity clashes with my Christian calling, and one of them will win.

It’s un-American to admit failure. But Christians call it “repentance.” It’s un-American to surrender. But Christians call it “obedience.” It’s un-American to lose. But Christians call it “gain.”