Chapter 10

Jesus Is Better

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It’s hard to watch people you love limping through life because of past mistakes. They never get over what they did so many years ago and, therefore, their entire life is wrecked. Everything hinged on that one choice. I’ve seen it play out time and time again in friends’ lives, in the women I meet at events, in people everywhere. The feelings of guilt and shame never seem to go away.

I even suspect that sometimes these people don’t know how to function outside of feeling guilt and shame. They believe they’ve taken up their cross in life, which means being forever ashamed and guilty over what they’ve done. Staying in those emotions is the only way they feel worthy of being loved by God. His love and acceptance, they think, is contingent on their continued investment of shame and guilt. They seem to think that if they walked in freedom—the freedom that God truly offers—they would be saying, in effect, that they didn’t really believe what they did was wrong.

This thinking is so jacked up and anti-gospel, yet many of us get stuck here and don’t know how to get out. This whole book has been the story of my journey through this gauntlet. Have I arrived? Goodness gracious, no. I’m still such a messed-up person. My arrival will not happen until after I take my last breath here on this earth and open up my eyes to see my precious Jesus waiting for me. That’s arrival. And not a moment sooner.

Yet I can say confidently that I no longer dwell in shame and guilt. Do I feel it? For sure. I should feel it. It’s part of the warning system that God has built into our hearts, letting us know when we’re on the wrong track, when we’re sinning against Him. But I don’t stay there. In guilt and shame. I can’t anymore. I’ve experienced the freedom that comes from confession, repentance, and vulnerability, and I refuse to go back to living a life of “perceived perfection.” It’s not worth it to me. I’d rather you know all of my junk than try my hardest every day to keep up a persona so that you don’t know the real me. That’s exhausting, and I won’t do it anymore.

But I’m thinking right now of a dear friend who lives in shame and guilt. Years ago, he made a decision that altered his family’s life forever. He chose to have an affair, and with that one decision, the consequences poured in. He lost trust from his children, his wife suffered, and guilt flooded his soul with intense waves. Praise be to God and God alone, his marriage survived, his kids forgave him, and life moved on. God was gracious to forgive him, and he lived to fight another day . . . except that he’s too often been fighting a losing battle. He’s squandered a lot of time during this life, fighting a battle that’s already been fought.

I’ve heard him declare many times over the years, “I know in my heart that God forgives me, but I just can’t forgive myself.” I’m certain you’ve heard this statement before. You might even have uttered it yourself at one point or another—when you’ve felt as though your sin or failure or weakness was so big, you could never forgive yourself.

I’ve heard my ladies at the jail make this statement often, especially when they talk about how their crimes are affecting their children. It’s one thing when we make decisions that hurt ourselves, but what about when those decisions directly hurt the people we were supposed to protect and provide for, who don’t have any substitute for the role we were meant to play in their lives? These women’s kids are being forced to survive without their momma in their lives on a regular basis. And when you’re separated from your children for years like that, for no other reason than your own foolish choices, forgiving yourself is hard to muster up.

My friend struggles with this too—not being able to forgive himself for his decision and for the immense hurt it caused those around him.

What if I proposed to you, however, that we were never meant to forgive ourselves? I know it sounds a bit off, but think about it for a minute. It’s not our job to forgive ourselves. We can’t. We don’t have the power. We don’t have the ability. We don’t have the right standing with God for that. Forgive ourselves? Really? How would anybody actually go about doing that?

If you could forgive yourself, there would be no need for Jesus, right? And if there’s no need for Jesus, then this whole Christianity thing is false and we have wasted our lives.

In my brain, I really do get where these feelings are coming from. You might feel as though you somehow owe God a life of shame because of the choices you’ve made. Yet at the same time, the Bible is full of Scripture saying the exact opposite. God’s Word tells us that God sent His Son for us, to forgive us, to offer us new life, to redeem us, to bring us back to Him. How is anything we could ever do supposed to improve upon that?

If you’re feeling as though you just can’t forgive yourself today, I want to say to you in the firmest, yet kindest pastor’s wife voice I can possibly make: “YOU CAN’T, SO STOP TRYING.” When you walk around feeling as though you still need to forgive yourself, what you’re saying to God is that His sacrifice wasn’t enough. His only Son dying on a cross for your sins wasn’t enough. More is needed for you to feel forgiven. So, by your continual yearning to forgive yourself, you are actually creating a life where Jesus’ blood and sacrifice aren’t enough, leaving yourself essentially a works-based religion to follow, where if you could just do a few more “good things,” you could possibly begin to forgive yourself.

See any problem with that? Of course you do. You know what I’m saying is true. But I’ll bet, within the few moments it’s taken for you to read this one tiny paragraph, you’ve already begun coming up with excuses for why your situation is different and why the same gospel parameters don’t apply.

This is where we as Christians begin to live in bondage. We become shackled to our sins, our pasts, and our regrets, instead of shackled to Jesus, whose “yoke is easy” and whose “burden is light” (Matt. 11:30). We become ruled and dominated by what we’ve done, rather than freed for abundant life by what Jesus has done.

My friend who is waddling around in his shame, regret, guilt, and “unforgiveness” has missed out on years of abundant joy. He’s continually looking to God and proclaiming (in words he would never actually say out loud), “Thanks for these promises and all, but I pass. I’d rather sit here in my guilt and shame. Isn’t that what I deserve? Isn’t that what You want of me?”

No. It isn’t.

A life of guilt and shame does not proclaim the goodness of God; it proclaims the impotence and inadequacy of God. He can do a lot, we say from inside our sadness and self-pity, but I’ve proven to be too tough a challenge for Him. What prideful people we are to think that we are actually too much for God.

I’m sorry, but I don’t think your best attempts at being good enough to feel forgiven are going to be better than what Jesus has done. In this way and a million others, (say it with me . . .)

Jesus is better.

My friend isn’t living as though Jesus is better. Nothing in all his guilt and shame is giving off the impression that Jesus is better. All I’m hearing is that God came up a little short on this one. So why would anyone look at my friend’s life—based on how well he’s learning to apply the grace of God to his heart—and say, “I believe there’s hope for me in this Jesus that I hear about.”

The reason why I want to be an open book is not so I can say, “Look at me,” but because I want to say—in every way possible—“Look at Him!” Look at all the ways He has used me in spite of my stupidity. Look at all the ways He has endured with me, even through my many self-inflicted sorrows in life. Look at all the ways He has blessed me, even when others would have given up on me. I want to constantly shout, “JESUS IS BETTER!”

Way better than anything else I’ve got.

I love how the book of Hebrews speaks to this. The author of this book from the New Testament spends so much time telling us how much better Jesus is than anything or anyone else. He’s better than the Law; He’s better than the priesthood; His new covenant with us is better than the old one. He is our only hope not to remain unclean forever.

Hebrews 9, for example, talks about how we are cleansed through the blood of Jesus, not like in the past through the blood sacrifice of animals. In the Old Testament, before Jesus came, the high priest would go in once a year with the blood of animals and offer it as a sacrifice to God to purify the people from their sins. But every year a new sacrifice had to be made. The people weren’t clean for a lifetime, only for a year.

When you think about how you believe God handles your sin, are you still sort of living out the practices of the Old Testament? Continually trying to make amends for the sins in your life? Every year (every month, every week, every day), you’re always trying harder, working to atone for your mistakes. I can picture my friend feeling this way, fighting to do better, year after year, hoping he might somehow feel forgiven eventually.

But get this . . .

But when Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things that have come, then through the greater and more perfect tent (not made with hands, that is, not of this creation) he entered once for all into the holy places, not by means of the blood of goats and calves but by means of his own blood, thus securing an eternal redemption. (Heb. 9:11–12)

Did you spot some of the “better” words in there? Jesus is the high priest of “good things,” appearing in a “greater” tabernacle, a “more perfect” place, doing a better job of making atonement than animal blood could ever do.

For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the sprinkling of defiled persons with the ashes of a heifer, sanctify for the purification of the flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without blemish to God, purify our conscience from dead works to serve the living God. (Heb. 9:13–14)

Yeah, “how much more” can His blood “purify our conscience from dead works”—which, by the way, are the only kind of works we’re able to offer—so that we can “serve the living God”? And isn’t serving Him the only right response of someone who’s been so completely forgiven of their sins? Do shame and guilt do that? Do they help us serve Him well and faithfully?

Saying, “I’m not good enough,” and leaving it there doesn’t present a whole gospel. Yet saying, “I’m not good enough, but Jesus is better,” proclaims the hope that lifts you out of the bondage of feeling unforgiven and transforms your life into a megaphone of the whole gospel message to others.

Listen, if I’ve come off sounding too blunt here, I hope you haven’t taken it that way. I can sympathize all too well with being overwhelmed by guilt and watching it burrow down into shame. I just hope you’ve seen through this book—as perhaps you’ve seen time and again in your own life—that guilt and shame make for a hard place to set up house in. They come with constant worry, constant anxiety, constant depression, and a constant need to do more. Shame never brings freedom. But Christ came to purify our conscience. God always knew the sacrifices in the Old Testament were not enough. We needed more. We needed a perfect sacrifice to actually take on our sin, in order that we could be fully clean. All those sacrifices in the Old Testament were leading up to the one true and final sacrifice in Jesus. He is the only One who can take that stain away. Jesus deals finally and fully with our guilty conscience, which is what’s under attack when we feel shame.

See why there’s no need to keep living in it? See why you can feel released from all the hard work of forgiving yourself?

See why Jesus, as always, is better?

Shame over past sins that have already been forgiven is not from God. No matter how much you go to church, or read your Bible, or give away lots of money, you’re not improving on Christ’s forgiveness of you. Certainly, those are good things that will come as an overflow of your faith. They’re evidence that you’re giving Him a stronger hold on your surrendered heart. But you can just sit back now and rejoice in the fact that “while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8). His death brought you into a relationship with God and secured your eternity with Him. This isn’t just good news, isn’t just church-sounding news; this is freeing news—believing that what God says is actually true. You can live your life now as a forgiven person, based on what He’s already done and said, and not on what you may feel about yourself.

A few years ago, my husband and his friend Brett wrote a song that our church has grown to love, as well as churches around the world. I know why it resonates with me, and I think it’s the same for everyone else who belts it out as well. The song is called “Jesus Is Better,” and each time I sing it, I’m reminded that what the Bible says about Him is true, even when I’m not sure I know how to believe it and hold on to it.

This reminds me of a story in the New Testament where a father approached Jesus, asking Him to cast a demon out of his son. “If you can do anything,” this father begged, “have compassion on us and help us.” To which Jesus answered, repeating the man’s words, “‘If you can’? Everything is possible for the one who believes.” The father’s response, however, is what I find myself saying and wanting so often as well. “Immediately the father of the boy cried out, ‘I do believe; help my unbelief!’” (Mark 9:22–24). That’s what I feel when I sing this song. Lord, help me believe!

Throughout many seasons in my life, I’ve needed to recite things to myself so my heart would continue to believe them. When a family finds out that sexual abuse has occurred within their home, I have to remind myself that God wasn’t surprised by this and has not forsaken anyone who’s been harmed by such betrayal. When our friend’s daughter, who they’ve been fostering for many months, is sent back to a home that we believe is not safe, I must remind my heart that God loves this little girl more than any of us ever can. When someone who has led me in ministry confesses to a sin with lasting consequences, I’m reminded that God is my only leader, and that He will never fail me. Sometimes we must proclaim things with our lips as a way of reinforcing them in our hearts.

And “Jesus Is Better” is that kind of song for me. Part of it goes like this . . .

In all my sorrows, Jesus is better—make my heart believe.

In every vict’ry, Jesus is better—make my heart believe.

Than any comfort, Jesus is better—make my heart believe.

More than all riches, Jesus is better—make my heart believe.

Our souls declaring, Jesus is better—make my heart believe.

Our song eternal, Jesus is better—make my heart believe.7

Singing this song over and over for the past several years has helped me worship God through the remembrance that no matter what, He is better. I don’t need to live in shame and guilt—Jesus is better. No matter what I’ve done in life, I can walk in forgiveness—Jesus is better. I’m not held in bondage to my past—Jesus is better.

Jesus is better.

Be reminded of that today.

Jesus frequently reminded His disciples about the things that matter most in life. Many times, He had to reset their affections on kingdom things instead of on earthly things. Right before He pursued the cross, He gathered His boys around Himself and gave them an incredible illustration to remember . . .

He said to them, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you, I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” And he took a cup, and when he had given thanks he said, “Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.”

And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” (Luke 22:15–20)

“Do this in remembrance of me.” Remember. Remember.

Faithfulness to Him comes from remembering all He’s done for you. His entire Word is a reminder of all He’s done for you. My whole reason for writing out this story of how God redeemed someone who looked so unredeemable, and how He continues pursuing me until I look more like Him, is to help you remember, through what He’s done for me, what He’s done and can do for you.

For in remembering, you find the fullness of your forgiveness.

In remembering, you find your freedom.

In remembering, you can live radically for Him.

About a year ago, I was attending a service that my husband was leading for all of his staff on the worship team. Using these same verses from Luke 22, he talked about our need to keep remembering throughout our lifetime what Jesus has done for us. But he also used this passage to show that our God is communal. Jesus’ desire around the table that night was not only that His followers would receive His word as individuals but as a community.

Aaron was specifically speaking to the community in front of him, of course, but I want to talk to you. I’m a part of your community now because of spending these few hours together as you’ve been reading this book. (And goodness gracious, I shared some vulnerable pieces of my life and invited you in!) God has set up community to be a place where we remind each other of His faithfulness to us. Where we remind each other of all that God has done in our lives, and as we tell each other, our hearts start to believe more and more that what His Word says is true. We have the history of God to bank on. He can be nothing but faithful to His children—it’s a part of His character. He can be nothing but kind to His children—it’s a part of His character. He can be nothing but full of grace to those who follow Him—it’s a part of His character.

I want you to look around and think about your own community. Who do you do life with? Who are your people? Community matters in reminding us of the truths that Jesus is better. And as you think about your community—whether one you’ve already established or one you need to establish—I challenge you to see your role among these people in a new way.

Instead of trying to be better than the rest of them, become willing to confess your sins and struggles with them.

Instead of being appalled at their failures and inadequacies, become a safe person for them to share their worst fears and shortcomings with.

Instead of using them as a more accurate indicator of your identity than the one that Christ has already given you, become anchored in the unchanging truth of His Word.

But instead of thinking you can make it just fine without them, become convinced that your ability to put His Word into practice and bring maximum glory to God is through humbly serving Him together and serving each other, not in staying aloof and keeping up pretenses.

Early monastic followers of God received Communion in a unique way. When they gathered around the table, they were given a glass of wine and a chunk of bread, and were each asked to say two things. First, they were to testify to the faithfulness of God in their life. Second, they were to confess their sin and their need for Him. Then at the end of each person’s statement of confession, everyone in unison spoke aloud the words, “ME TOO,” reminding each other that they were experiencing Communion with God together as sinful people, saved by grace. As they took a bite of bread and remembered His body crushed for them . . . as they drank the wine and remembered the blood of Jesus poured out for them . . . they remembered also that as members of this community, none was better than another. All were equally in need before the fountain of God’s mercy. Only Jesus was better.

I want us to be a generation of women willing to say, “Me too”—that I get your pain, I get your struggle, I get your sorrow, I get your weariness. Know why? Because it’s mine too. “Me too.” When you see a friend who’s battling, when someone confesses sin to you, sit with them, listen to them, point them to Jesus, and quietly say to them, “Me too.”

The pages of this book are drenched with “me too” tears, poured out over a so-far lifetime of failing and following, failing and following. Yet God has forgiven me, just as God has forgiven you. And even on days where we may see more losing than winning, His faithfulness and forgiveness will hold us together.

For as bad as it’s been, and as bad as it can get, Jesus is better.

Let us all be women who believe that to be true.