Upon our arrival in South Africa in May 1990, I began the search to purchase a vehicle. I had R7,500 to spend and I wanted to spend it wisely. Having looked in the Junk Mail (whose name proved to be prophetic!) I found what I thought was a great bargain: a 1983 1.6 litre Ford Cortina sedan.
I drove to Brackendowns (close to where I now live), looked it over, took it for a test drive, and asked some important questions. After all, my first vehicle (1973 VW Beetle) was a lemon, and my Ford combi in Australia had been a lemon, so I was cautious to avoid another costly mistake. I remember asking, “Does it use much oil?” The friendly, and I assumed honest, seller assured me that it did not and that the vehicle was in very good condition. I paid the money and drove happily away. Happily, that is, until a few days later when I pulled into a petrol station (paying the horrific price of R1.18 per litre!) and was told by the attendant that I needed two pints of oil. That became my regular routine. I eventually felt like saying, “Please fill it up with oil and check the petrol.” I soon realised that I had bought another lemon. My record of costly failures now stretched to three continents. That Cortina required constant repairs, with no hope of a long-term solution. I was recently reminded of this as I’ve been reading the book, The Heart of a Servant Leader.
Jack Miller was a well-known Presbyterian pastor who, for many years, pastored in Pennsylvania, USA, travelled extensively for the cause of missions, and taught for several years at Westminster Theological Seminary. He was a wise, humble, faithful and therefore bold counsellor, helping many people, especially those who often felt like “lemons.” People like myself.
In this book, Jack’s daughter, Barbara, shares scores of her father’s letters to family members, church members, missionaries, fellow pastors, and even some strangers. They are of timeless help in their Christ-centred, humble, and helpful counsel. If you need help as you face your sins, and those of others, this book is well worth the read.
In a letter written to a friend, Miller wrote, “I refuse to see myself as a lemon made by an evolutionary production line, but as a sinner. You tinker endlessly with lemons, but with a sinner you have sure hope. Why? Because sinners can repent, whereas lemons can only be tinkered with; they are beyond repair.”
Miller was not speaking about a piece of fruit; rather, he was referring to a car like my Cortina. And I found his insight deeply encouraging. Unlike the “lemons” I’ve owned, as a child of God I am not destined for the scrap heap of failure for I am not beyond repair. The Lord is at work and one day he will present me blameless before him in glory (Jude 24–25). By God’s grace, we saints, who are yet sinners (1 Corinthians 1:2), have hope. We, in fact, have sure hope (Hebrews 6:19). And this good hope is meant to continually lead us to repentance (Romans 2:4).
The gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ continually calls us to repent of our destructive pride. The gospel calls us to turn away from our senseless and damning idolatries and to turn to the true and living God. The gospel shouts to us telling us that there is a better way than narcissistic living. The gospel cries out, “Why will you die? Turn and live!” (Ezekiel 33:10–11).
Therefore, rather than merely tinkering with our sin, hoping merely to get by till the next crisis of failure, let us grieve over our sin and labour to hate our sin as we seek the Lord’s face and grace to turn away from our sin.
Brother and sister in Christ, let us thank God that, though we are deeply flawed, by God’s grace, we are deeply loved and therefore not beyond repair. We are not lemons. We are beloved children of God. And this gives us great hope (1 John 3:1–3).
Hopeful,
Doug