They call me a Christian.
I am not a Christian.
They tell me that I am a Christian and that I should not be ashamed to be a Christian.
I ask them what it means to be a Christian.
They tell me that a Christian is one who has, at one point in their life, asked God to forgive his sins; has asked Jesus into his life.
If that is all it means then I am not a Christian.
A single “Yes” may make a Christian, but it cannot make a disciple. A man may be a Christian if he bows his head to Jesus once in his life, but a man can only be a disciple if he bows his head to Jesus every day.
I am not a Christian.
Call me a follower of Christ, one who hopes to walk so closely behind that he is covered in the dust that is thrown up as his master walks.
Call me a slave to righteousness, one who has relinquished all rights to himself but instead allows Jesus to live through him.
Call me a joint-heir with Christ, one who inherits what was not his, and seeks nothing more than to announce his brother’s kingdom to the world.
Call me free indeed, and one for whom it is no hardship to submit that freedom to Him who makes me free.
Call me a New Creation, God’s Workmanship, a Living Stone, a Holy People, a Saint, a Son of the Living God.
But do not call me a Christian.
