The Good Things That Pull Us Off the Path

Last fall, during the appointed times of God, the Lord showed me something about myself that I had never seen before.

It happened on the Day of Atonement.

I had always understood the significance of the sacrifice. A lamb was offered, and blood was brought before God and placed upon the mercy seat. As a Christian, I could see the beautiful picture of Christ—the One who would ultimately fulfill what those sacrifices pointed toward.

But that year, God drew my attention to the other goat.

The scapegoat.

The goat upon which the sins of the people were confessed and which was then sent away from the camp, carrying those sins with it.

And suddenly, I saw myself.

I had spent years believing that my willingness to carry other people's burdens was evidence of virtue.

God showed me that sometimes I had made myself the scapegoat.

And I had called it service.

When Carrying Becomes an Identity

There is something that feels very noble about carrying what other people cannot—or will not—carry.

We are taught to serve.

To help.

To bear one another's burdens.

To lay down our lives for others.

These are good things.

But I began to realize that even good things can become distorted when they are disconnected from obedience.

I didn't always carry burdens because the Holy Spirit had asked me to.

Sometimes I carried them because I couldn't stand to see someone else hurting.

Sometimes because I knew I could fix the problem.

Sometimes because I didn't want to disappoint someone.

Sometimes because I believed that if I didn't step in, everything might fall apart.

And, if I'm completely honest, sometimes because I needed to be needed.

That is a difficult thing to admit.

Especially when you have spent your life believing that being helpful is a virtue.

But there are motives beneath our motives.

And sometimes the thing we call sacrificial love is actually fear, control, approval-seeking, or an unconscious desire to prove our worth.

The Scapegoat I Chose to Become

The scapegoat didn't decide that the sins of Israel were his responsibility.

God established the ritual.

God determined what would be carried away.

God determined where it would go.

That distinction became important to me.

Because I had been deciding for myself what I was responsible to carry.

Someone else's crisis?

I'll carry it.

Someone else's disappointment?

I'll carry it.

Someone else's unmet expectation?

I'll carry it.

A problem that needs solving?

I'll solve it.

A need that no one else seems to notice?

I'll take care of it.

And somewhere along the way, I began confusing responsibility with responsiveness.

I thought being willing to carry something meant I was supposed to carry it.

But willingness is not the same thing as assignment.

And compassion is not the same thing as calling.

The Savior Complex

Eventually, the Lord showed me something even more uncomfortable.

I had developed what I can only describe as a Savior complex.

Not consciously.

I didn't believe I was the Savior.

But I was living as though I needed to be the solution.

If I could see it, I needed to fix it.

If I could help, I needed to help.

If someone was hurting, I needed to intervene.

If something wasn't working, I needed to build something better.

And because I am capable of building things, this could easily masquerade as obedience.

That is where I had to confront my own "Greek thinking."

I had placed human wisdom at the center.

See the problem. Understand the problem. Develop the solution. Execute the solution.

It is a very reasonable way to live.

It is also a terrible substitute for hearing God.

Because God doesn't always ask us to solve the problem we can see.

Sometimes He asks us to wait.

Sometimes He asks us to pray.

Sometimes He asks us to speak.

Sometimes He asks us to act.

And sometimes He asks us to leave it alone.

That last one has been particularly difficult for me.

The Sixth Feast

There was another reason the Day of Atonement caught my attention last year.

The Lord had been drawing my attention to the number six.

The Day of Atonement is the sixth of the seven appointed times, and last year began the Hebrew year 5786.

That caught my attention because, for several years, I had been noticing what seemed to me to be a pattern between the years of the decade and the sevenfold Spirit of God described in Isaiah 11.

I don't present that as a formula for interpreting God's calendar. It is simply one of those patterns the Lord has used to get my attention and invite me to look more closely at what He is saying.

I had already written about what I believed He was showing me through this pattern, but last year the connection became particularly personal.

The sixth feast.

The sixth year.

And the Day of Atonement.

Atonement. Covering. Removal.

The sins of the people were not merely acknowledged. They were dealt with.

The lamb was sacrificed.

Blood was brought before God.

And the scapegoat carried the confessed sins away from the camp.

And that was when the Lord began showing me how many things I had been carrying that He had never asked me to carry.

From the Mighty to the Merciful

There is another transition that makes this year particularly meaningful to me.

As I understand the pattern the Lord has been showing me through the sevenfold Spirit, 5786 has been a year associated with the Mighty.

And now we are moving toward the next year—the year I have come to associate with the Merciful.

That feels significant.

Because what does mercy do?

Mercy doesn't simply make us feel better about being off the path.

Mercy calls us back to the path.

Mercy sees our brokenness without leaving us there.

Mercy doesn't say, "It's fine. Keep going."

It says, "Come back."

That is what I needed.

I didn't need God to affirm my ability to carry more.

I needed Him to show me what I was carrying that didn't belong to me.

I didn't need another assignment.

I needed mercy.

And perhaps that is one of the great dangers of spiritual maturity: we can become so committed to doing what is right that we forget that God's mercy is always inviting us back to Him.

Not back to our productivity.

Not back to our reputation.

Not back to our ability to fix things.

Back to Him.

Back to the center.

Back to the path.

Mission Creep

So when I recently heard Rick Joyner talk about "mission creep," I recognized something I had already been wrestling with.

We tend to think of getting off God's path as rebellion.

We imagine that we leave because we have chosen something sinful over something righteous.

But what if sometimes we leave the path because we are doing too many good things?

What if we become so responsive to needs, opportunities, expectations, and problems that we slowly stop listening for our actual assignment?

We can build things God never told us to build.

We can carry burdens He never gave us.

We can say yes because someone else needs us to say yes.

We can allow urgency to become our compass.

And eventually we may find ourselves exhausted, frustrated, and wondering why the thing we thought would bring life has become so heavy.

Perhaps the question isn't simply:

Is this a good thing?

Perhaps we need to ask:

Did God ask me to do this?

I Keep Producing

This is where I find myself right now.

I keep producing.

I write.

I create.

I develop curriculum.

I see connections.

I imagine possibilities.

I build.

And sometimes I look at everything I am producing and wonder:

How does all of this fit together?

For a long time, my instinct would have been to solve that question by creating something else.

Another framework.

Another program.

Another product.

Another plan.

But perhaps the Lord is teaching me something different.

Perhaps I don't need to produce more.

Perhaps I need to listen more carefully.

Perhaps I need to discern what He has actually asked me to build.

Because my ability to build something is not evidence that I have been assigned to build it.

My compassion for a need is not proof that I am responsible for meeting it.

And an open door is not necessarily an assignment.

Telling on Myself

One of the things the Lord has taught me is to tell on myself.

To bring my motives into the light.

To admit when I have been driven by the approval of people.

To acknowledge when my desire to help has become a desire to control.

To recognize when I am serving because I genuinely heard the Spirit—and when I am serving because I cannot tolerate being unnecessary.

I have discovered that confession is incredibly freeing.

I don't have to hide the ugly parts from God.

He already sees them.

I can tell the truth.

I can say:

I wanted to be needed.

I wanted to be the one who could fix it.

I was afraid to say no.

I thought I knew better.

I was building something because I could, not because You told me to.

And somehow, in telling the truth, I become less afraid.

Because I am learning that I don't have to hide my weakness from the King.

I can stand naked before Him because He has covered me.

Not with my accomplishments.

Not with my usefulness.

Not with an image of spiritual maturity.

He has covered me with grace and truth.

The One Who Already Carried It

This is where the Day of Atonement became so personal for me.

I had been trying to become the person who carried everything away.

But I already have a Savior.

Christ does not need my help being the Savior.

He does not need me to carry what He has already carried.

He does not need me to redeem what He has already redeemed.

He does not need me to be indispensable.

He asks me to follow Him.

There is a profound freedom in that.

I can serve without being the savior.

I can love without taking responsibility for everyone's response.

I can have compassion without assuming every burden.

I can build without needing everything I build to succeed.

I can say yes when He says yes.

And I can say no when He says no.

A Trumpet Is a Call to Wake Up

Now we are approaching the fall appointed times again.

And this year, I find myself thinking about them differently.

The Feast of Trumpets is a call to wake up.

To hear.

To pay attention.

To remember.

And perhaps that is exactly what I need.

Not another strategy.

Not another productivity system.

Not another opportunity to prove that I can make something happen.

I need to wake up and listen.

Because our lives are short.

Autumn has always reminded me of this. As the leaves darken and curl and the fragrance of burning fires fills the air, I am reminded that time is fleeting.

We don't have an unlimited number of seasons to build everything that could possibly be built.

So perhaps the question isn't:

How much can I accomplish?

Perhaps the question is:

What has God actually given me to do?

And perhaps obedience sometimes means being willing to leave good things undone.

That may be one of the hardest lessons for a servant to learn.

I Am Not the Savior

I am still learning this.

I still catch myself wanting to fix things.

I still feel the pull to respond to every need.

I still have to examine my motives.

But I am learning to recognize the difference between being led by compassion and being driven by the need to be needed.

I am learning that there is a difference between carrying someone's burden for a season and making their burden part of my identity.

And I am learning to trust that God is capable of being God without me.

That may sound obvious.

For me, it has been revolutionary.

Christ is the Savior. I am not.

And because He is, I am free.

Free to serve without needing to be needed.

Free to give without needing recognition.

Free to confess without shame.

Free to glory in my weakness.

Free to leave some good things undone.

Free to build what He has asked me to build.

And free to let Him carry what was never mine in the first place.

Perhaps that is what it means to return to the path.

Not doing more.

But listening.

And when He speaks—

obeying.

As autumn approaches...

The fall appointed times invite us into a rhythm of awakening, repentance, atonement, and dwelling with God.

Last year, the Day of Atonement confronted me with the things I had been carrying.

This year, as the Feast of Trumpets approaches, I am asking a different question:

What is God calling me to wake up to?

If you're asking that question too, I'd love for you to join me.

I'll be exploring the appointed times, Scripture, identity, formation, and what it means to learn to live from the center rather than from the pressures around us.