Ned sits down next to his wife, Tanya, in the church his family has called home for many years. He smiles, waves, jokes, and engages in friendly banter with everyone around him. He is a fixture in the church, having been involved in leadership for many years. Ned is well known, well liked, and deeply admired for his spiritual life. Frank, one of the men he has discipled, waves to him from across the church. Ned smiles and waves back. He remembers sharing with Frank how to live the Christian life. Suddenly he feels a pang of guilt.
Who Are We Serving?
It happens slowly, subtly. Most Christians aren't even aware of it when it happens. The "it" is a spiritual deception. What others see of our faith and service to Christ has become distorted—inevitably in our favor. We've become fakers.
Years ago I was in a church where a new and exciting ministry was opening up. I was hoping to be chosen to lead the ministry. I felt I was the best qualified and was sure I would be chosen. I wasn't. I was frustrated, angry, and jealous. Of course, I didn't show it.
I see it clearly now, how I was motivated by ego, pride, and ambition. But these are "hidden" sins, so very easily cloaked. This is not to say I did not love God. I did. But sadly, I wanted to serve me more than I wanted to serve Him.
By withholding this opportunity, God was working to dislodge a destructive attitude that would threaten to destroy any sincere ministry I might attempt. I had forgotten that my gift had not been given to me for my personal glory.
When you represent God so visibly, such as with a teaching gift, it can be nearly impossible for anyone to detect you're a fake. You're saying such great things about God that you outwardly appear to be the picture of sincerity. No one may ever know. Except for God.
You may read your Bible regularly, listen to Christian radio programs frequently, or watch Christian television religiously. You may read Christian books by the most popular Christian authors, go to Promise Keepers or Women of Faith conferences faithfully. You may be a popular leader in your Christian circles. You may even feel very spiritual at times, but you're a fake, an imposter.
Secret Identities
I have, on numerous Sunday mornings, preached a message that deeply moved members of the congregation. Ironically, I had "prepared" for ministry that morning by arguing with my wife on the way to church, or made life miserable for my children because they were making us late. But years of practice came to the rescue, and I easily morphed into "Pastor Dan." I was instantly compassionate, holy, and spiritual. I was faking church.
When Jesus sent out His disciples on the first mission, they came back and exclaimed with great excitement "Lord, even the demons submit to us in your name." He encouraged them, but also warned them: "Do not rejoice that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven" (Luke 10:17-20). It is addicting to be the center of attention in ministry.
When I counsel with someone and she or he tells me how great a listener I am and how much I have helped, it feels good. When I teach and I am praised for my insight or delivery, it feels good. When I visit the sick and they express their appreciation, it feels good. Doing good is not often as rewarding to me as looking or feeling good. I can do some really good things for some really lousy reasons. Feeling needed, respected, wanted, and significant can become as great a motivation as love for Christ.
A. W. Tozer once wrote, "Many a solo is sung to show off; many a sermon is preached as an exhibition of talent; many a church is founded as a slap to some other church. Even missionary activity may become competitive, and soul winning may degenerate into [something] to satisfy the flesh."
We're all fakes. Oh, we're not all fakes all the time. In fact we can spend a good deal of our time truly and genuinely serving. But most of us would admit that the spiritual image others have of us isn't always accurate. It is a fearful thing to let others in on the dark secret.
Like Ananias and Sapphira
I don't want to suggest that we never truly serve Christ. More to the point, we begin to serve ourselves just a little more than we serve Him. And over and over again the story of Ananias and Sapphira is played out—in the church and in us.
In Acts 5 we read the story of this couple in the early church who, on seeing the generosity of other believers who gave up land and possessions to be sold to give to the poor, decided that was a great idea—in principle. What they were really attracted to was the increased spiritual standing that each of these people who so unselfishly gave received.
Ananias and Sapphira are the original church fakers. They decided to sell a piece of land they owned, but secretly gave only half the proceeds. They wanted a spiritual reputation, but they didn't want to pay retail. This deception, revealed by the Holy Spirit, was dealt with severely. Fortunately, their secret defection now serves as a warning to us.
We are taught to loathe their example, but I'm afraid we've often copied it. There is a great deal more of Ananias and Sapphira in me than I care to admit. The answer to this dilemma does not lie in removing ourselves from our ministries or positions, or our churches. Church is the ideal haven for fakes and sinners of all kinds. We simply need to be willing to admit we've been faking it. I have found that the Holy Spirit can very effectively reveal my less-than-noble motivations upon request. I have also begun to discover the much more fulfilling ministry of genuine service.
We need to ask God to begin to reveal to us improper motivations for service and spiritual reputations we do not deserve. This is at first depressing. But it is also freeing, as the truth always is.
Faking church will always be tempting, but when we admit the truth, it becomes a temptation we can resist.
Adapted from Moody (July/Aug. 2003), © Dan Schaeffer. Used by permission. Schaeffer is co-pastor of Shoreline Community Church in Santa Barbara. He expands on this theme in his book Faking Church (Barbour).
