For a long time, one of my greatest struggles in life was shame—specifically, feeling shame whenever I needed help. I lived for years under the belief that I was supposed to be the one who fixed things; that I was the servant, not the one being served.
Candidly, I’m not sure where that thought originated within my heart and mind, but I would wager it had something to do with messages I heard in my childhood community. However it came to find residence within me, it dug in deep and made itself a home. Shame became a constant companion, traveling with me wherever I went.
Be it school, college, young adulthood, career—any time I found myself in need of assistance or guidance or instruction, shame immediately reared its head and I immediately silenced my voice. I felt like I couldn’t ask for help because that would not only be weak, it would be selfish; and not just selfish, but pitiful as well.
To ask for help would reveal I couldn’t solve the problem on my own, with all those brains and creativity that supposedly made me special. I was gifted in ways that should preclude me from ever having problems, much less waste people’s time by asking them to help me with one. Others would kill to have my gifts in the face of their problems, and if they had those gifts, they sure as hell wouldn’t need someone else to come to their rescue.
Or, at least, that’s what shame told me.
It was a lie I believed for years.
Shame is the inevitable result of a worm theology, a religious persuasion that believes mankind is so corrupted by sin that we don’t deserve even the slightest kindness. Not from God, nor from anyone else. Worm theology holds that our hearts are so thoroughly seared with selfish desires that even with the grace of Jesus, we’re always going to fall and screw things up.
It is an ironic scene should you ever walk into the kind of churches I grew up in: people will sing “Victory in Jesus” at the top of their lungs, then “Amen!” a sermon about how humanity is beyond that victory. Worm theology excels at pointing out the flaws of human nature, and because shame is so prevalent amongst the people, they sit underneath that teaching despairing for this life while pining for the next.
They find comfort in the idea that Jesus will sneak them into heaven; because we’re covered by His blood, the Father doesn’t see us, He sees only Jesus. It’s the fundamentalist’s version of Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak.
Sneaking into heaven under the blood of Jesus is as far as their victory goes. There is no triumph over sin, there is no conquering the enemy; at least, not in this world. All of the good things that come from being saved by Christ will come once we die or Jesus comes back and sweeps us up into heaven.
It’s why you hear a lot of Christians longing for the Rapture or the Second Coming these days; the only way to survive the spiraling hellhole that our world has become is to catch a ride on the Jesus Express, Heaven-bound with a bullet and no looking back.
The only problem is that’s not at all what Jesus taught. It’s not the Gospel; it’s not Good News. It is shame attempting to avoid detection. It’s shame providing just enough hope that people don’t completely despair and give up. Because if we give up, if we just accept that there’s nothing good about us and we don’t deserve anything better than the misery we endure, then there’s nothing for shame to work with. There’s no fun to be had.
I’m anthropomorphizing shame here because I believe it’s a spiritual entity of darkness, a sentient being that’s not human, and certainly isn’t angelic; it’s a supernatural creature born of its own selfish desires, out to destroy other beings.
Shame is a demon.
And it doesn’t like you—or me, or any person—very much.
So now you understand where I’m coming from when I write about battling shame. It’s not a metaphor; it’s not a cute writer’s trope. It’s the position of Scripture that these supernatural enemies exist, and we’re commanded to pray against them, to remember that our battle isn’t with people, it’s with dark forces like shame.1
We’re equipped to win these battles because of Jesus. Because of what He did on the cross. But belonging to Jesus also ushers us into a community of people who are on our side, fighting the same battles against the same dark forces. We don’t have to stand alone; we can stand with others as claim our victory.
As I mentioned in the beginning of this newsletter, I battled shame since I was a kid and for years shame ate my lunch. In fact, shame got the better of me for 37 years, until 2013 when Rachel and I left professional ministry and I embraced my calling as a writer. I had zero idea of what was going to happen, but I knew if God was pulling us in that direction, then He would provide and we would follow His lead.
That was my first deathblow to shame. There was a lot of noise and confusion that fell away the minute I stopped trying to fulfill my life’s purpose through someone else’s desires. I had known for a long time that being a preacher wasn’t the right fit for me; it was a fit, sure, and I accomplished a lot of good things serving in that role. But I wasn’t free to truly be myself; I was living out someone else’s dream.
My next deathblow came when I joined The John Maxwell Enterprise. What I learned through the wisdom and principles within our catalog introduced me to a way of thinking I’d never considered, and the people around me showed through their actions how that mindset was lived out. It was within the safety of the Maxwell world that I learned to think abundance, to live according to Jesus’s teachings, and to serve others out of my strengths and gifts freely.
The biggest deathblow to shame came when the phone rang on March 14, 2019 and my doctor informed me that the pain in my back was due to cancer. Once the “C” word was tossed into my life and became my daily reality, shame has steadily faded and lost its power in my life.
I’ve come to accept I can’t face cancer alone. It takes help. It takes other people.
Specifically, it takes Rachel and Ella and Jon. They are my caregivers, my healers, my miracle workers. I simply couldn’t survive without them.
Of course, the way I’ve needed them has changed over the course of my illness. The first year, I was pretty self-sufficient, or at the very least could do a number of things for myself. But when the doctor informed us that my initial chemo wasn’t as effective as they’d hoped, everything changed.
With the new chemo drugs came new physical challenges, and those new physical challenges caused my body to deteriorate; soon enough, I was effectively an invalid, homebound and in danger of hurting myself by falling. The ascites started, and the swelling in my legs and abdomen and private area began to impact my ability to move without assistance. Soon enough, I couldn’t bend over to put on my socks and shoes, or raise my legs high enough to put on underwear or pants.
Lately, Rachel has had to bathe me, since I no longer have the strength to stand in the shower safely. I now sit on a plastic shower chair placed strategically on our tile floor, and Rachel will bathe me with a set of disposable sponge gloves. Then she’ll wipe me down, help me dress, then walk me back to a chair I can fall into and huff and puff until I’ve caught my breath and begun to recover from exertion.
Years ago, shame would’ve eaten me alive over all of this. And I’ve had to confess feeling ashamed while Rachel is bathing me; a young, healthy, beautiful, vibrant woman like her shouldn’t have to be on her hands and knees scrubbing down her husband’s rear end.
It’s a confession I’ve made on more than one occasion, and it’s always met with the same answer:
“If our roles were reversed, you’d do the same for me without complaint or hesitation.”
I don’t argue with her. She’s right. I’ve played nurse to her on a couple of occasions, and never thought twice about it because that’s just what you’re supposed to do for the people you love. You serve them through thick and thin because you love them. You don’t make them feel bad about being sick, or mock them for having weakness (like shame does). You just love them by taking care of them. End of story.
Whenever Rachel has to give me a bath, I think about her hands, and how gentle they try to be. Hers are healing hands, just as Jon’s sweet little hands are healing hands whenever I call for him and ask him to help me in some way. He’ll cheerfully chirp, “Sure!” and then do what I ask, followed by an offer of his fist for a bump. As soon as I fist bump him, he’s off into his room, singing happily.
Ella has healing hands too. The wrap around my neck as she lays her head atop mine and whispers, “I love you, dad.”
I’m surrounded by healing hands. But I had to surrender my pride in order to experience them. I’m glad I did.
Prayer Requests:
Jason—that the new chemo would not only continue to be gentle on my system with minimal side effects, but also prove to be highly effective against the cancer; that I would be grateful to my family for their care and support, and not dismissive because of shame; that I would be able to figure out how to get a good night’s sleep.
Rachel—for strength and stamina now that school is back in session; for peace and patience in dealing with the busy schedule she has to maintain; for her own physical and mental health to stay strong; for God’s blessings on her life and for His generosity to flow in all areas.
Ella—the return to school and the homework workload she must learn to navigate; the continued ramping up of her ballet schedule and the expectations put on her this year as one of the leaders in the company; for her to continue wisely navigating high school and teenage relationships.
Jon—that he would find his people this year and develop an interest in maintaining friendships; that he would continue to develop discipline in the area of homework and time management; for him to continue growing steadily and healthy so the spurts don’t hurt his body.
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My final thought for this edition is simple:
Don’t let shame rob you. If you are someone who believes in Jesus, then you have been given authority over shame through the work and person of Jesus Christ. If you will release your pride and confess that you need help, that will deliver a deathblow against one of the forces of darkness.
The key to this, however, is believing Jesus is the center, that whatever happens, happens to bring Him glory—even when we can’t quite see how. All of life is God’s Story, and we’re just small players.
That’s the Good News. That’s the joy-filled message of the Gospel.
And that’s all for this edition of my newsletter. Thanks for reading and supporting me with your comments, thoughts and prayers. They mean a lot to me and to my family, and we are grateful that you keep them coming.
All the Best,
Jason
Straight from Paul’s pen in his letter to the Ephesian church: https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Ephesians%206%3A12&version=NIV
Jason:
You absolutely amaze me by your wisdom, your strength, and your ability to write just exactly what people like me need to hear. You are truly blessed with a beautiful, loving and Godly Family. So many don't have that. Especially in today's world. I wish you could fill a book with all your blogs. You touch my heart each time I read these newsletters. You are awesome as is your family. Praying for healing hands to gently caress your body and rid you of your cancer. Sending love, hugs and prayers continuously.
Sheila Landress
And Thank you for sharing your stories and your journey.🙏