Some years ago, I read through The Journal of John Wesley. In a part of the journal, Wesley reflects on his mission effort among the American Indians. A few minutes ago, I read these lines again:
"I went to America, to convert the Indians; but oh! who shall convert me? Who, what is he that will deliver me from this evil heart of mischief? I have a fair summer religion. I can talk well; nay, and believe myself, while no danger is near; but let death look me in the face, and my spirit is troubled…" (Thursday, January 24, 1738).
I remember reading through that paperback book from the library. I got to these lines and stopped. I am not sure what it was that moved me. Perhaps it was Wesley’s humility. More likely, I identified with him as a person who was teaching/preaching about Jesus and yet desperately needed to be taught and fed as well.
The other line in the paragraph that I found very moving was his comment about his having "…a fair summer religion." I’m not sure what it is about these words, but they caught my attention. Maybe they caught my attention because that is very familiar territory.
Reading this paragraph again is a reminder to me that I will never get beyond Jesus. I will never grow beyond him. I will never get to the point where it is only others, un-believers, who need to hear the Gospel about the one who died for our sins and was raised. I need to hear this story again and again.