(Tense Truth: The perfect truth of the gospel was placed into the hands of a group of people whose lives were a complete mess. Jesus knew this, but commissioned them anyway.)
Picture the scene in that upper room on the day of the Resurrection. Rumors and testimonies are flying! A strange mixture of fear, joy, and disbelief. Suddenly, according to John’s account, the Lord Jesus appears and says, “Peace to you; as the Father has sent me, so I’m sending you” (John 20:21).
Hello and head out! Victory and a vision. A Conqueror with a commission. And now these disciples would duplicate on earth what was first transacted in heaven. “The Father sent me. In the same way, I am sending you.”
But wait a minute. Before we glory in our visions of Pentecost, it would do us good to remember who it was the Lord was talking to. So send I . . . WHO?
So send I you, the failure.
May I remind you that the greatest display of God’s power at Pentecost was manifested through the preaching of the greatest failure at Calvary? Somehow in a way that only grace can account for, God turned a vascilating failure named Simon into a rock of strength named Peter. Your failures are no different.
Thank God there was somebody in the Bible who didn’t use up all his mistakes before he was saved. Maybe there’s hope for the rest of us. To hear some people talk, there is a future for failures only when your transgressions happened during the pagan years. And yet here is the Son of God making it clear that the Father had changed neither His plan nor his personnel.
Were there lessons to be learned? Of course.
Were there tests to pass? Absolutely.
Was there a season of healing, retooling, and rediscovery of God’s power? You bet.
But when the fire fell and the curtain rose on the Church Age, there in front was the man who wept bitterly because of his failure.
So send I you, the frightened.
All the disciples had forsaken Jesus and fled.
Scared out of their wits.
Out of their wisdom, too.
This bunch was so blinded by their fear, they were totally oblivious to the fact that on at least four occasions, Christ Himself had said He would rise from the dead. Now think about it: who would you be more afraid of? A couple of Roman thugs with swords or a Savior able to conquer death? And now this risen Lord had the amazing foresight to commission a pack of cowards. And when it came to sending them forth, Jesus didn’t water down the message or excuse the messenger(s) just because they were trembling in their boots. Hey, even Paul said later, “I was with you in weakness and fear and in much trembling” (1 Corinthians 2:3). All He promised was that in the most fearful of times, He would be there.
I find it fascinating that Jesus didn’t wait around for everybody’s fears to vanish before opening the world to them. He won’t wait for yours to disappear, either.
So send I you, the forsaken.
That night, the Son of God spoke to a room full of broken dreams. Their hopes dashed, their minds confused, their plans dismantled, their grief very real, He said to them: “It’s your turn.”
Was training available? Yes!
What about healing? In there.
So was direction and purpose and deliverance and forgiveness and vision and power. But He didn’t wait around for them to be great in order to send them out. Broken lives have a ministry, too.
Somehow we’ve gotten the idea that ministry is reserved for a special class of Christians with no problems, no fears, or no closet skeletons. But when Jesus said, “So send I you” the first time, those disciples were a far cry from that. They were people. Just people. Ready, available, teachable, useful, yes. But people nonetheless.
So send I you. Yes, you!
Led by the Spirit, anointed for ministry, but you nevertheless. No matter how broken down or frightened you are, the mission still waits. The Master still calls. And it’s you He truly wants.
Broken pieces and all.