The Worst One He Saved First

(A letter from Paul to his friend Timothy, 1 Timothy 1:12-17)

Do you know the feeling of being sure you are the bad one? Not the one who made a small mistake. The one who did the worst thing. The one who is sure there is no coming back.

There was a man named Paul. And once, before he ever wrote this letter, he had been exactly that.

He had hurt the people who loved Jesus. He had chased them and frightened them. He had been so angry, so sure he was right, that he did terrible things. If anyone had ever earned the word "worst," it was Paul. He knew it. He never once tried to hide it.

Then Jesus came for him.

Jesus met that angry, ashamed man on a dusty road, and Jesus was glad to find him. He had been wanting him all along. There was no long list of wrongs waiting on that road, only a voice saying his name. Jesus took hold of the very worst of Paul and lifted him up into a brand-new life.

So now Paul sits down to write to his young friend Timothy. His hand moves across the page, and he can hardly believe what he gets to say.

"I was the worst one," he writes. "I really was, Timothy. And that is exactly why Jesus saved me first. Me, the worst, so that everyone who came after me would know there is room."

Paul is like the first one through the door, turning around to wave everybody in. If mercy was wide enough for him, then no one who comes next has to be afraid of being too far gone. Look at me, he is saying. I am the proof.

Jesus is patient like that. His heart leans toward the one who feels too far past forgiving. None of it was because Paul was good. Paul wasn't, and he says so plainly. It was because Jesus is kind, and gentle, and glad to bring someone home.

The "worst one" Paul is writing about could have your own name written in it too. Whatever you have done. Whatever you are afraid to say out loud. However certain you are that you are the bad one.

There is room. There has always been room. A place at the table kept for you on purpose, and Jesus made sure of it with a man like Paul, so you would never have to wonder.

By the end of the letter, Paul cannot even sit still. His words spill over into a song:

To the King who never ends,
who never fades, whom no one can even see,
to the only God,
honor and glory, always and always.
Yes. Yes.

The rescue had already found Paul, and a rescue like that has a way of reaching the ones who think they are last in line.

He came for the worst one first.

Then Paul dips his pen and signs his name at the bottom of the page, the worst one, saved first, holding the door open for whoever comes next.