For years, it was about me

For years, it was about me.

You learned to play guitar…for whatever reason. Maybe you were like me: 15 years old. Just saw my friend play Johnny B Goode and Enter Sandman in his parents’ basement and realized, “Wow, normal people can actually play guitar? I need to do that.”

I was hooked.

This set me on a trajectory of self-serving guitar playing for more than 10 years. I had worldly fun. I thought I was a rock star at times, playing Stevie Ray Vaughan and Jimi Hendrix covers in a band with my dad and best buddies until the wee hours of the morning, at various states of inebriation at various bars in my town and others. Stories on top of stories could be told. But that’s not important, nor is it the point.

For years, it was about me.

How great can I play and sing to impress people? I may have not said that aloud, but it was true. Despite having many friends and being “popular”, I was quietly insecure, to be frank. When people complemented my ability or I was able to impress a female because of this apparent skill, I loved it. It provided a temporary healing to my soul and boost to my ego.

For years, it was about me.

What guitars and pedals can I buy to ensure people know I’m good at this thing and that I take it seriously? “I’m not just your bedroom rocker, and this silver Klon pedal and boutique amp you’ve never heard of will prove it.” I bought these things in an attempt to satisfy a longing in my soul, despite the mountain of credit card debt I was buried under. Satisfaction never came, but the bills kept coming. I never missed a payment, thank the Lord. He spared me the grief from dealing with that. However, I missed fullness, joy, contentment, purpose.  Never could get ahold of those . . .

Then, one evening, it all changed. In 2009, I was 25 years old, a new friend (who would soon become my best friend and my brother-in-Christ) sat with me on New Year’s Eve and started talking to me about Jesus. Admittedly, I was a bit buzzed from the night. I was an unbeliever with a bunch of believers. I was uncomfortable, so I drank. It was normal for me to do that…every night. However, Jesus sobered me up for that chat. And that chat changed my trajectory . . .

Easter of 2010, I played at church (with that friend, and would play with him for almost 10 years after) for the first time. I was not yet a born again Christian. I played Eric Clapton and John Mayer major-blues licks over EVERYTHING. It was hilarious. But, you know, although I didn’t know much about God, Jesus or the Christian worldview, the lyrics of the songs really struck me. Strange. Something was happening deep in my soul, so I kept coming back—partly to play, but also because I knew something was happening to me.

One weekend—I wasn’t playing—I went to church just to go…just to be there. First time I went to church by myself in my entire life. The band played You Lifted Me Out by Chris Tomlin…and I broke.

Just broke. Jesus wrecked me.

Lost is where You found me
Shattered and frail
But You love me still
Trouble may surround me
My heart may fail
But You never will
You never will 

You lifted me out
You lifted me out
And set me dancing, dancing
Free, now I am free
Your love rescued me
Now it’s the anthem I’m singing

I was baptized October of that year. And the biggest part of me, my persona, my essence to that point—guitar playing—took a new aim. Instead of aiming at my glory, and me, Jesus convinced me to aim my efforts at him and his glory. He taught me that the biggest part of me, my persona, my essence, is HIM. Not ME. Therefore, all I do should be for his glory and not my own.

So let’s make this real for all of us. This might hurt a little…

Has there been that turning-point for you where this guitar-playing thing became all about Jesus? If not, get on your knees and pray about that. Do you secretly play guitar in church for you, not Jesus? Have you ever realized there’s more to this than gear, playing some cool parts and pretending to be a rock star? Worship culture has told us to look cool and do what all the cool kids do. That could not be further from the truth. Psalm 99 paints a much more serious picture:

The LORD reigns, let the nations tremble; he sits enthroned between the cherubim, let the earth shake. Great is the LORD in Zion; he is exalted over all the nations. Let them praise your great and awesome name— he is holy. The King is mighty, he loves justice— you have established equity; in Jacob you have done what is just and right. Exalt the LORD our God and worship at his footstool; he is holy.

Psalm 99 tells us we should tremble because he is holy. The earth should shake because the enthroned King of the Universe is mighty. If we don’t adopt this posture, we will fall into the following snares:

• Worship becomes a stage for us to display our talents instead of Jesus’ glory.
• Worship becomes a creative outlet instead of a way to focus on eternity, the gospel, the creator God, and to use our God-given talents for his church.
• We care less about what’s needed from us during worship times: playing parts correctly, which helps us reduce distractions; sculpting a pleasing, non-distracting tone; and contributing to worship in a positive, selfless way to ultimately point people toward Jesus.
• We care more about what we want out of worship times: to showoff a particular tone or part, or play how WE want instead of in a way that best serves the worship time.

In essence, worship becomes a worldly activity to serve our glory-hungry souls.

But when we take our own pleasure out of the equation, the crooked paths start to straighten. John the Baptist has wise words for us concerning this matter:

“Therefore this joy of mine is now complete. He must increase, but I must decrease. He who comes from above is above all. He who is of the earth belongs to the earth and speaks in an earthly way. He who comes from heaven is above all” (John 3:29-32, ESV).

• When we decrease, Jesus increases. It’s his stage, not ours.
• When we surrender this guitar-playing thing to the sovereign Lord of the universe, we rightfully give him all the glory, because he’s the only one who deserves it.
• When we decrease, we make room for self-evaluation; this introspection allows us to be thoughtful as it relates to playing parts, sculpting tone and serving the song and worship time in a way that exalts Christ and minimizes the amount of “us” in the equation. This self-analysis also allows us to increase teamwork and appreciation among other worshipers on the team. “Count others as more important than yourselves…”, right?
• When we decrease, we don’t play based on personal preference. We play to contribute positively to a worship time, always having Jesus’ glory and the souls of others as our motivation.
• When we decrease, we realize God isn’t concerned with giving us an outlet. He’s concerned with glory—his, not ours.

Jesus changed my motivation. I no longer play guitar for me. I play guitar for him, his purposes and his church. I don’t make worship guitar resources for me. I make them for people who want to bring Jesus glory through their guitar playing. I don’t go into debt to buy gear (that’s idolatry), because if he doesn’t want me to have it, he won’t provide the means for me to buy it outright.

Now, this isn’t to say I nail this all the time (except the debt thing–never giving a penny away in credit card interest again). I don’t. But I do pray against the worldly pull. I do actively fight against it. When I fail, I fall on the mercies of Jesus. Praise him that those mercies are new every morning.

He picks me up and tells me to keep fighting, and provides the sustenance to do so. I repent and move forward.

I find encouragement in one of Matt Chandler’s oft-used platitudes, “It’s about progress, not perfection.” We need to pray for the desire to give this guitar-playing thing solely to the Lord.

He gives us talent. He gives us the air we breathe.

The stage we stand on. The church we attend. The team we serve alongside. All from him.

Best of all, he gives us salvation.

He gives us himself.

In turn, we give him all the glory.

For years, it was about me. Then, it wasn’t.