I won’t lie. I am struggling with the news of Feb 12. I was stunned for a while. For me, that is surprising since I had prepped myself up all my life for it. I have even written about it, fallen myself, and yet, I still can’t wrap my head and heart around it. 

This is the news on the first day of Chinese New Year: The great apologist Ravi Zacharias (who passed on in May last year) had been investigated posthumously for sexual misconduct, an investigation commissioned by his own ministry helmed by his beloved daughter. And he had been found wanting, to put it mildly.

Alas, what would Christ say to Ravi then: “Welcome into my eternal rest, My good and faithful servant?” 

More than 10 years ago, I held in my hand a book entitled Can Man Live Without God? (by Ravi himself). I devoured that book, highlighted, dog-eared and quoted the book excitedly in my cell group. His style of writing, though highly academic, was indeed a living wellspring to my unsettled heart looking for unshakable faith in a world of fallen souls, including myself. 

(I even purchased the book and gave it to my elder brother, who was then an atheist, a staunch one. He still is, and I guess that book, in the light of the dark revelations of Ravi’s carefully concealed private life, has lost a significant lustre in convincing my brother that he is not like the rest who have fallen. Alas, he is no exception, and I should have known better.)

Yesterday, I read it, highlighted it – that is, the “Report of Independent Investigation into Sexual Misconduct of Ravi Zacharias” dated February 9, 2021, written by Lynsey M Barron, Esq, and William P Eiselstein, Esq, from Miller & Martin PLLC. (Trigger warning: The 12-page report contains disturbing content and graphic language.) 

I was ashen in reaction, thinking how a defender of faith, and such a sagely one, with voice and sincerity that have melted hearts, could fail so shockingly to defend his own virtues and marital oath to God and man. 

Yes, I know we serve Jesus. He is our unshakable anchor. Misplaced faith thus pays a heavy price. I have asked for it. Indeed, I should have known better. But I have not. 

A proxy of faith

At this point, I recalled a little girl kneeling by her bedside, and her father came in and asked her what she was praying about. She said that she is praying for a God with more skin so that she could see and touch Him.

Similarly, Ravi was someone with skin to me, and for a long, long time, I admit that he stood as a proxy of my faith with God. Whenever I felt a hole in my faith, I remember his writings, and those of CS Lewis and Timothy Keller, for example, and I comforted myself, muttering under my breath that I had someone who had gone before me, with legs and heart firmly grounded, unshakeable. Silly right?

Anyway, Ravi’s life and writings shone a light on my cobblestone pathway. It was a journey for me to be more like Christ, and Ravi went before me. In his ministry, he had made an impact, and I always wanted to follow some of the steps he had taken because I believed they were the same steps our Saviour had taken in His road to Calvary.

But alas, Ravi, according to the report, made many detours in that shared journey, and as I read them, I was crestfallen.

Yes, I know we are all fallen. We are only human. Even King David had committed adultery and conspired to murder. I hear you. But mind you, he repented. David was at first clueless about Prophet Nathan’s accusations, but finally cried out in remorse and accepted the very dear price he had to pay – which he did. (2 Samuel 12:4)

For doesn’t the Scripture read: “David burned with anger against the man.” ‘I solemnly swear, as the Lord lives,’ he said to Nathan, ‘the man who did this certainly deserves to die! And he must pay back four times the price of the lamb because he did this and had no pity?’ (2 Samuel 12:5-6)

Alas, Ravi had lived his life. He had made his choices, choices to live for God, and choices to die with so much unsettled questions left unanswered. Usually, when a man (or woman) of faith, like Billy Graham, leaves this world, he (or she) carries with them a candle, so that even in their absence we can still feel the warmth of their testimony and the light that guides us.

But, with a broken faith, I can’t say the same with Ravi Zacharias, at least not at this moment, even though he was the one who had written many books I secretly go to every now and then to find a small estate of uncharted territory to stand on as I cling on to faith and hope in the many storms of disappointments.  

Ravi had in living taught me many lessons about growing strong in the faith, and looking straight into the eyes of an atheist, telling them that my faith is worth defending because there are still genuine leaders out there who had lived a life of integrity, honesty and overcoming (and there are undeniably many who have died with their faith intact).

Personally, I still believe that, or want to believe that, but it just gets so much harder with a life that has given me so much cause to hold on, and yet, at the same time, so much cause to put it down in serious quiet reflection.

The betrayal of deception

Let me end with the words of Ted Roberts in his book, Pure Desire: How one man’s triumph can help others break free from sexual temptation:

“God doesn’t bring us into a time of testing in order for Him to see what’s in our hearts. He already knows that better than we do! The trials are for us to discover what’s in our hearts. God set up the trial so we can discover that we can make it.”

We are forgetting that a man, leader or otherwise, goes through many trials in his brief life. Some trials are very public. And before a crowd of witnesses, he often comes up shining. He then becomes a city on the hill, for all to see, for all to marvel.  

There are also some trials (if not just one) that are hidden. They are hidden for a reason. They are hidden so that we don’t need to give an account of them. And they are hidden so that he who diligently hides them can garner the strength to go through trials that are more visible to the public eye. 

From Ravi, quite ironically, I have learnt that faith is therefore not about winning public trials just so that we can hide (or indulge in) private ones. One can never be a means to the other in the same way that one cannot serve two masters. Stop deceiving ourselves!

If we as believers are really serious about our faith, and desire to set the example for people who look up to us (with skin) for hope (like I had looked up to Ravi for anchorage), then don’t ever boast about coming out – like gold – in trials we secretly desire people to see, and then wallow in our own private trials that we do not want anyone, not even our loved ones, or especially our loved ones, to see.

If you want to boast in public, then settle first your own private, signature sin you have endearingly kept in the private chambers of your heart. For some demons are jealously preserved by us so that we can continue projecting an “overcoming” image many hope to emulate. The attention we get is often the fuel we need to nurture our darkest fantasies. But the insatiable appetite for popularity often backfires, even if the seeds we plant bear a bountiful harvest.

For that is the worst kind of deception, a deception that betrays not only our faith and the faith of our loved ones, but our God to whom we declare publicly we have nothing to hide.

Republished with permission. This is an extract of Michael’s reflection on his blog. The full post can be found here. 

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