It’s not my fault …

The apostle Paul had wept, prayed, taught, and suffered among the believers in Ephesus. They knew his voice. They had seen his tears. But in Acts 20, as he gathered the elders of the church for what would be his final address to them, his tone was solemn. He had one last burden to release before sailing away to face chains and trials: he had done everything God had asked of him. If anyone perished, it would not be because Paul had failed.

“I declare today that I have been faithful. If anyone suffers eternal death, it’s not my fault, for I didn’t shrink from declaring all that God wants you to know,” Acts 20:26–27.

These are not the words of a self-righteous man defending himself. They are the words of a man who had counted the cost of obedience and paid it in full. A man who had no regrets about whether he had told the truth, borne the message, or fulfilled his charge. This was the conscience of a true ambassador – one who had not just carried a message from his King, but had made the King’s plea his own.

Paul’s claim isn’t a badge of honor, it’s a mirror. Every Christian is called into the same ministry of eternal significance. Paul wrote elsewhere, “This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun! And all of this is a gift from God, who brought us back to himself through Christ. And God has given us this task of reconciling people to him. For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people’s sins against them. And he gave us this wonderful message of reconciliation. So we are Christ’s ambassadors; God is making his appeal through us. We speak for Christ when we plead, ‘Come back to God!'” 2 Corinthians 5:17–20.

This is not optional. To belong to Christ is to be appointed as His ambassador. And to be appointed is to be entrusted with a message that we are responsible to declare. Not just in pulpit sermons or tent revivals, but in office cubicles, kitchen tables, pickup basketball games, and noisy coffee shops. We don’t get to pick the message, and we don’t get to decide who’s worth hearing it.

But here’s the piercing question: Can we say what Paul said? Can we stand before the people in our lives — the ones we love, the ones we avoid, the ones we barely notice — and say, “If they are lost, it’s not my fault”? Can we say with integrity that we did not shrink back from declaring all God wanted them to know?

Most of us can’t. And that should break us. Not to paralyze us with guilt, but to drive us back to our assignment.

We shrink back when silence feels easier than honesty. When people seem too far gone. When we’re afraid of ruining relationships, stirring anger, being laughed at, or losing influence. Paul felt those things too. He was misunderstood, mocked, imprisoned, and nearly killed more than once. Yet he stayed faithful to the task, declaring the whole message God gave, not editing it for comfort or convenience.

The church today is not short on strategies or slogans. But we are often thin on obedience. The message of reconciliation has not changed. The world’s need for it has not diminished. And God is still making His appeal through us – if we let Him.

We cannot control who listens, who believes, or who responds. But we can control whether we shrink or speak.

Can we say it yet?

It’s not my fault.

Scotty