Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.” Since Jesus was referring to the Roman instrument of capital punishment, death of the disciple is clearly implied. Few people view death as a particularly worthwhile pursuit, yet that is what Christ is urging his disciples to undertake. Lest we think that Christ is being mean-spirited, we need to remember that this is the same Christ whose love was so great that it would drive him to give his all for the sins of all people. He is not offering death as a punishment but, because he loves us, he offers death as a benefit. This brings a whole new meaning to the notion of “death benefit”.

Jesus knows better than anyone that death is ugly and undesirable; indeed, the Spirit designates death as the last enemy. Jesus, along with the rest of us, knows that death is inevitable. What he knows that we don’t is that death is a critical component of our lives, referring to current life not end of life. Since Jesus’ words arguably were not intended to suggest that his disciples ought to commit suicide on a cross, “take up his cross” is a metaphor for sacrifice, suffering, and death-to-self. If I take the metaphor one step further, and observe that the cross is also the way to resurrection and life with God, I stand a chance of simultaneously minimizing the crucial point: a life of following Jesus involves sacrifice and suffering, to the point of death.

Through the metaphor of the cross, Jesus is warning us that, if we want to follow him, life will be hard, and at times, very, very hard. Why? because repentance, or “rethinking my life,” means that I will have to stop living for myself. That is easy to say, but excruciating to live out. Take an alcoholic as an example. Quitting alcohol is extremely difficult. It involves constant, uninterrupted, maximal effort. The risk of “falling off the wagon” is ever present. The psychological torment of purposefully not-drinking is inestimable and not understood by acquaintances of the alcoholic, sober or not.

Many are inclined to think that if an alcoholic wants to stop drinking, then he should “just quit.” Likewise, many believe that following the imperative, “Be holy as I am holy,” is also easy: “Just do it.” It doesn’t work like that. For an alcoholic, quitting alcohol is an excruciating experience and, for a sinner, so is quitting “self.” Both goals involve suffering and sacrifice on a level that is not understood except by others who are currently endeavoring to follow the same path.

Sinners undertaking the Spiritual Exercises are like alcoholics joining Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) in that serious life issues are identified and dealt with in permanently life changing ways. The process of the Exercises bears other characteristics in common with AA. Importantly, alcoholics learn that the sacrifice and suffering associated with recovery will last for the rest of their lives because whether they drink again or not, they will always be alcoholics. Similarly, those who do the Exercises will find the path difficult, the obstacles formidable, the progress slow, and that intense effort will be required for the rest of life. Both the alcoholic and the sinner must come to terms with the fact that their will is weak and that progress, if any occurs, comes through great sacrifice and suffering. They will be supremely disappointed to find that no matter how much progress is made, they will never be anything but what they are: an alcoholic or a sinner. In fact, over time they will discover that their condition is actually worse than they ever thought, which only compounds the suffering. The greatest paradox, though, is that alcoholics who join AA can anticipate that sacrifice and suffering results from having chosen to do the right thing. Likewise, sinners engaged in the Exercises will be astounded to find that suffering, rather than being diminished, actually intensifies, not so much as a direct consequence of sin, but as a result of having chosen to do the right thing: take up your cross, and follow the Savior.

Prior to taking up the Exercises, I anticipated that choosing to do the right thing by following Christ would lead naturally toward victory over sin, advancement in holiness, satisfaction in life, and a sense of accomplishment and spiritual progress. Instead, I feel more like the alcoholic who starts attending AA meetings only to find out that, rather than getting better, he’s getting worse, at least initially, even if he manages to quit drinking. He discovers that recovery is painful, depressing, and excruciatingly slow. He knows that there is a high probability for setbacks and even recidivism. Doubts about whether or not to continue arise, often. Fear of failure looms. A seemingly unconquerable desire for alcohol crops up out of nowhere and at the worst possible times. Even without drinking a single drop, every day will be dominated by alcohol. Much of the time, recovery will seem like death.

Quitting self is no different.

One day, Jesus pointed out to the disciples a woman who lived in the oasis and he explained how he knew this, even from a distance. Watching people drop their offerings into the basket at the Temple, he drew a contrast between the offerings of the rich people and a poor widow.

No doubt, the disciples, upon hearing Jesus say that the “poor widow [had] put in more than all of them,” must have had serious issues with Jesus’ facility with simple economics. Two small copper coins would not have paid for the nails in the Temple door jam! Surely, Jesus knew this. “What do you mean ‘she’s put in more than all of them’? The offerings of the rich are far larger that that of the poor widow, which was nearly worthless.” In response, Jesus, with Jeremiah 17 in mind, observed that by giving the way they did, these two people showed evidence of the land in which they each lived.

I have had conversations over the years about motive. The conclusion always ran something like this: “Doing something with a bad motive is not desirable. In fact, getting your motives straight, first, is of paramount importance, since doing the right thing with a wrong motive is not much different than doing the wrong thing.” Jesus’ observations about people at the Temple throws this out the window.

Even without knowing the motives that lay behind the giving of the two people, Jesus is quite clear, and confident, as he draws conclusions based solely on the manner of their giving. Suppose the poor woman was making a contribution at the Temple because she was afraid that, if she wasn’t generous, God would punish her. Jesus seemed to be saying that, even with that motive, the fact that she gave generously out of her poverty provided unequivocal evidence that she lived in an oasis, where the roots are deep, the leaves are green, and the fruit is plentiful. The underlying motive did not matter. Her sacrifice was possible only because she lived in an oasis. She saw “things above” as having more value than “things below”; the heavenly or other-worldly held more value than the earthly; the things of this life were not as valuable as the things of the next life. The rich people did not see the world this way, because they lived in a desert.

We might be inclined to think that motive is everything, but underlying motive is irrelevant. Actions are everything.¹ There are some behaviors that cannot be undertaken except by those living in the oasis. The motive may be questionable (e.g., bad, false, worldly, selfish) but the action betrays a particular view of the world. The woman in the story may have dropped her coins into the basket because “that’s what the Law requires” or because she thought that she could buy God’s favor. But, the extent of her sacrifice, as Jesus pointed out, told the important truth. Since the widow could hardly have afforded her sacrifice, dropping those two coins into the basket revealed what she believed about this world: material goods are worthless and God is everything. This woman had deep roots and green leaves. The behavior of the rich people cast the widow’s action into stark relief, because their giving betrayed, also, what they believed about the world: “I come first.” Their roots were shallow. They lived in an uninhabited salt land.

This story is an illustration of the choice about which Jeremiah wrote in chapter 17. Jeremiah presented a choice between living one way, in a desert, or living another way, in an oasis. Jesus put wheels on this idea, just by watching and commenting on a poor widow’s actions at the Temple. This woman lived in an oasis, making it possible for her to give beyond her means. She knew that sacrificing her material resources would make no difference to her real life. In fact, giving away two coins made her roots sink even deeper.

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I am one of those rich people whom Jesus saw dropping a boatload of money into the proverbial Temple treasury. I give a large sum away every year, but I give out of my abundance. In fact, I could give even more without risk of incurring any pain. I might have to rearrange my budget, but I would lack for nothing. It would be possible to behave like the poor widow, giving away money until I am at or below the poverty line. But I don’t. And I do not know anyone who does. Justifying myself is easy: “Look, I give away thousands of dollars every year. I do it with a good attitude and my goal is to be as generous as I can.” Jesus did not deny the generosity of the rich, but he was not impressed, either. What got his attention was the poor widow, her “two small copper coins,” and the fact that she lived in an oasis.

An important contrast that Jesus did not draw was between the poor widow who gives “all she had to live on” compared to the poor widow who gives nothing. If statistics coming out of the church in the U.S.A. are accurate, most Christians give little or nothing at all. If the rich do not give away money, the poor are even less likely to do so, meaning that there are plenty of people who contrast with both sets of people in the gospel story. Jesus’ observation that day, as he watched activities at the Temple, highlights the fact that it’s not about being rich or poor; and it’s not about the money.

Where a person lives, whether in the desert or in the oasis, has tangible effects in a person’s life, and those effects are most easily discerned in the context of sacrifice and suffering. As a general rule, the rich do not know sacrifice, and hard times are mitigated, even eliminated, with money. What wisdom Jesus revealed when he said, “It is more difficult for a rich person to enter the Kingdom of heaven than for a camel to go through the eye of a needle.”

The land in which I live is revealed for what it is when the charade that I have created with my wealth is stripped away by the “storms of life”: when wealth is lost, when comforts degrade, when grand visions falter, when distractions are unavailable, when freedom is removed, when loved-ones die, when health fails, when dishonor descends, when war is waged, when depression overwhelms, when the strong exploit the weak, when injustice prevails, when wrong pretends to be right, when evil wins. God is His grace continues to send storms across my land, so that I might know with certainty where it is that I live. If I live in the desert, my tree will wither, losing its leaf, ceasing to bear fruit. Life in the oasis, though, remains rich and deep, despite the storms. Every so often, storms make their way across the land where I live. The news is not good, because the storms reveal that I lived in a parched and weary land, where there is no water.

Part of me wants desperately to be the poor widow, whom Jesus Christ, God of heaven and earth, extolled that day. Part of me does not know how. Part of me, like the rich young ruler of Mark 10, is scared to death. God help me. And He will, for with God, all things are possible.

¹ In the same way, faith, if it doesn’t have works, is dead by itself. (James 2:17)

Jeremiah 17, like Psalm 1, presents a choice. It is a stark choice: black and white; right and wrong; life and death. There is no grey. No moral fuzziness. No half-way. It is this or that. Make your choice. Importantly, it is God who presents the choice, implying that the choice is crucial and unavoidable for life as a human being. It is not a choice of chocolate or vanilla, Republican or Democrat, Disneyland or the Bahamas. It is a choice between living one way or another way. It is life or death. Because there are only two choices, it can be concluded that everyone on earth has chosen one or the other, whether that choice was made consciously or not. Never choosing is to have made a choice, by default. All of us, including me, choose the desert by default. I am turned away from God, parched, living in an uninhabited salt land.

I live with this choice every day. I live in “a parched and weary land where there is no water.” The difficulty, the burden, of living in this land cannot be overestimated. It is no wonder to me that those of us living in the desert seek comfort in food and wine, work long hours, engage in distracting activities like hobbies and vacations and sex, spend money accumulating “stuff.” We want relief, but find it nowhere. So we eat more, work more, spend more, drink more, and have more sex. We are distracted but, deep down, the desert is still there. For some, the distractions make the desert bearable and livable for a time, even a whole life time, but distractions do not change the fundamental characteristics of the desert in which people live. In my case, God has gifted me, because I see the distractions for what they are; I know I live in a desert. That is the burden that weighs me down.

Jesus said, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.” Many are inspired by this offer. Just hearing it makes life better for them. When I read this verse, though, I am not inspired. Quite to the contrary, I am discouraged. Jesus holds out an offer that addresses the most basic need of my life, but I do not know how to appropriate it. The fruit dangles in front of me, but it is just out of reach, and the burden of life becomes, not lighter, but even heavier. I do not know how to take his yoke, to lighten the load.

Though counter-intuitive and unexpected, every religious activity in which I engage adds to the burden. In reading the Scriptures, I encounter a moral standard that I cannot meet. “Like the Holy One who called you, be holy yourselves also in all your behavior,” wrote St. Peter. I am tired just contemplating the effort involved. Attending a church service is a blatant cover-up: the desert persists. Prayer wearies me. It is not a solace, a comfort, a respite. It is hard work. Unlike eating a meal or grabbing a handful of M&Ms, prayer feels like an unnatural activity. It is not part of the flow of life. Prayer must be scheduled, otherwise it will not happen. I practice prayer intentionally in a way that eating lunch every day is not. When I pray, the burden increases even more.

Where is the water? Where are the deep roots? Where is the fruit?

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I have “been around” long enough to know where all this is going. There is a bumper sticker that says, “If you are at the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.” That’s cute, but the fact is that there is no knot. If I am wrong about that, then be assured that any knot in that rope will keep me in the desert. I need to, I must reach the end of my rope, for only when there is nothing left, will I find myself exactly where I need to be: in Jesus’ arms, where I have been all along.

There is an Ultimate Reality present around us and accessible to us. Apart from this Reality, nothing exists. The Absolute is Reality; He is the Real. Nothing exists outside of this Reality. All Reality resides in Him. This Absolute, self-characterized simply, but accurately as “I AM,” is the One from whom all else arises: all meaning, all explanations, all time, all power, all love, all origins, all means, all ends, all matter, all life, all death.

This One warns:

Look around you. All that you see, hear, taste, touch, or hear is real, but only in a temporary and purposefully limited sense. The possibilities for existence far exceed what you see around you, even though you have no access to them right now. The possibilities are without limit because I AM without limit. Therefore, put no stock in what you see. Do not try to extract meaning and significance from your present state of reality. Don’t allow your present existence to define who you are. Otherwise, you will be like a blind person who believes that what he “sees” is an accurate representation of reality.

Sooner or later, you will discover the depths of bankruptcy inherent in your current reality, because built into you is a strong sense that there is MORE. All attempts at extracting meaning or significance from your current reality will be futile. Scrambling to discover meaning will lead either to hopelessness and depression, or to a frantic life in pursuit of comfort and happiness in an effort to cover over the deep misery of your life. Because of the fundamental nature of your present reality, you will never succeed, and there is no greater curse. You may accumulate wealth and comfort, or adopt grand visions that produce great accomplishments, or engage in the most imaginative distractions, or make valiant attempts to rationalize your existence. All such attempts to convert the present reality into Ultimate Reality must and will fail. You will find yourself living in a wasteland, even if you succeed at constructing a life of material or psychological or religious abundance for yourself, because such a life will be nothing more than a charade, a cover-up, a cheap substitute.

The charade will be so effective in your mind that the wasteland will appear to be an oasis. Because your mind is so limited in perception, you will convince yourself that all the abundance that you have used to dress up your life is satisfying and meaningful. Material abundance will make life easy. Psychology will be used to bury misery. Religion will create an illusion of relief. But the wasteland will be revealed for what it is when the charade is stripped away by the “storms of life”: when wealth is lost, when comforts degrade, when grand visions falter, when distractions are unavailable, when freedom is removed, when loved-ones die, when health fails, when dishonor descends, when war is waged, when depression overwhelms, when the strong exploit the weak, when injustice prevails, when wrong pretends to be right, when evil wins. “Welcome to the desert of the real.”

A true oasis exists and that is the oasis of the Ultimate Reality, the Reality that extends above and far beyond the present reality. Wealth cannot take you there. Knowledge does not confer access. Philosophy does not point the way. Then how? I will draw all people to Myself. In this oasis, in the “I AM,” the present reality is cast in a different light and takes on new proportions. When wealth is lost, when comforts degrade, when grand visions falter, when distractions are unavailable, when freedom is removed, when loved-ones die, when health fails, when dishonor descends, when war is waged, when depression overwhelms, when the strong exploit the weak, when injustice prevails, when wrong pretends to be right, when evil wins, the oasis is unaltered. Beauty and truth abide. Honor and majesty flourish. Meaning and significance blossom. Love endures. The curse is lifted.

The desert of the real is superseded by the oasis of the Real.

Filed under: God, spiritual transformation Tagged: charade, desert, life, oasis, reality ]]> https://hebendsdown.wordpress.com/2012/05/07/oasis-of-the-real/feed/ 0 hebendsdown https://hebendsdown.wordpress.com/2012/04/22/the-good-life/ https://hebendsdown.wordpress.com/2012/04/22/the-good-life/#comments Sun, 22 Apr 2012 15:40:09 +0000 Rick Rawson https://hebendsdown.wordpress.com/?p=1569 Continue reading »

This post is based on a bit that I wrote about a year ago. I am revisiting and repurposing that piece because I have been praying recently about a central question that all humans face.

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One of the blogs I follow, Get Rich Slowly, focuses on personal finance. Despite the title, this blog is not about getting rich. The author is some guy who got into deep financial trouble and now writes about his experiences to help others avoid the same mistakes he made. A while back, the blog featured a post whose headline read “how to live a rich life.” While some of us might phrase it a little differently, isn’t this a key question for all of us?

Some people simply want to be rich. One person I know told me that he wanted to be a millionaire by the time he was thirty. Most of the rest of us don’t necessarily want to be rich, at least not filthy rich. Comfortable, yes, but not rich. Most people who win the lottery and become rich end up with ruined lives and none of us wants that.

But, the headline did not say “how to be rich.” It spoke of a rich life. Now, at least in principle, that’s different from being rich, and having a rich life is something most people are interested in. I am certainly one of those people, and so I wanted to know what Get Rich Slowly, a blog about simplicity, frugality, and common sense about all things financial, thought about a rich life.

“A bon vivant is a person who lives well — someone who enjoys the best things in life, especially with regard to food and drink. The stereotypical bon vivant is someone who can afford the best (or has generous friends), but that’s not the only way. You can be a bon vivant on a budget.” (Philip Brewer, guest post at Get Rich Slowly)

I had never heard the term bon vivant before. Fortunately, Mr. Brewer defined it: “a person who lives well.” The question, of course, is, “What is ‘living well’?” and the answer appeared right away: “…someone who enjoys the best things in life, especially with regard to food and drink.” The whole point of the post was not so much about how to be a bon vivant, but rather how to be a bon vivant on a budget. In other words, the message was, “Hey, folks! Do not let all this talk about simplicity and frugality keep you from having the best things in life.”

At first, I was repelled by the blatant materialism of Mr. Brewer’s view of what constitutes the good life. On reflection, though, I realized that there is a disconnect between what I say I believe and the way that I live. I believe that Mr. Brewer is dead wrong. I live as if he is dead right.

I live on a budget. Always have. Some might observe how I handle our household finances and wonder about my sanity. While trying to set her own budget, my daughter asked me how much my wife and I spend on food each month. The phrasing of her request made it clear that she wanted to know how much we spent last month. I sent her a graph showing our monthly grocery expenses from 1994 to the present, complete with a regression line showing that we spent in 2011 exactly what we spent in 1994, adjusted for an inflation rate of 3%. The fact that I can easily produce such a statistic is a little crazy, don’t you think?

Even living on a very strict budget, though, I have everything I want. I have a nice house, a big yard in the country, a nice car. I have very good health insurance and a retirement account. We buy the food and drink that we want. I have the usual gadgets: computer, digital camera, indoor-outdoor thermometer, television, radio. I have plenty of clothes. Our kitchen is well stocked with the latest appliances. The list goes on, and on. There is nothing unusual about my stuff: I am a pretty typical American. To be honest, there are things that we do not have simply because we do live on a budget, but we lack for nothing, really. I live the good life… on a budget, no less!

The elephant in the room, though, is that I don’t feel like I am living the good life. It is no secret that material goods and riches do not make people feel happy or good about their lives. You don’t even have to be a religious person to realize this. Of course, material comforts can certainly cover over a great deal of pain and misery in life and this is one reason that people keep adding “things” to their lives. “Cover over” is the operative word, though. Deep down, most people, including rich people, know that, despite all the stuff in our lives, something important is still missing.

What makes for a truly good life? What would be good about it? Are we talking about finding meaning in life? significance? purpose? Mr. Brewer focused on maximizing the outward material trappings of life. Some of us have a sense that the truly good life comprises, not steak and fine wine, but something on the inside, deep in our souls. Since this is the domain of religion, then looking to the Scriptures seems like a logical place to go for answers, at least for a Christian. When I read the Scriptures, though, I am disappointed, because what I find there is unclear and, sometimes even cryptic.

Jesus said, “I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of.” (John 10:10, The Message) I expect that in 2100 years of church history, no theologian has ever argued that Jesus was thinking in terms of food or drink, or any other material effect. Thus, his answer to the most fundamental question of life is categorically different from that of Mr. Brewer and more in line with what I expect to hear from a religious book like the Word of God. But, even after Jesus has spoken, I am left wondering, “So, what is real life? Am I not living a real life now?”

Jesus said something else that might be helpful. No one can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and wealth.¹ Simply put: if you want to be materialistic, you cannot have God. What the smartest person the world has ever known is saying is that on one side, you have everything in the world, and on the other side, you have God. Make your choice. And why would Jesus make such a black and white statement unless he knew that one of these choices was far better than the other from virtually every perspective?

I want to choose God, but here’s my problem: the things in this world are pretty darned attractive. I like to eat good food, sleep in a comfortable bed, drive a decent car. I like work and sex and hobbies and watching movies. I enjoy reading good books and writing about life. I delight in my wife and children and grandchildren. I revel in the birds flocking around the bird feeder on the deck and the expansive view of the valley beyond. In short, I like living the good life.

And what comprises the God side of the equation? For most Christians, the God option is a Sunday-only thing, a religious thing. God is confined to religious activities like church attendance and prayer, Bible reading and witnessing.

Balancing the two sides of the equation, my material life wins every time, because the God side of the equation does not seem to hold a candle to the rest of my existence. I am not calling Jesus a liar, but I am saying that I do not understand what he was talking about when he said that he came to give me an “abundant life.” I know that my riches can be blinding,² but I am not so sure that even the poor of the world would understand Jesus much better. If you ask most of them what would make their lives better (whatever that might mean), they would not respond with “more time to pray” or “daily worship services.” They would want better food and decent health care. The point is that my problem is universal. It is a human problem. It is the human condition.

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This post frames the problem. In subsequent posts I will describe how I am responding to this issue in my life. There must be a response. Otherwise, depression  or even suicide ensues. That depression is the number one clinical disorder worldwide suggests that billions of people have not dealt effectively with the most fundamental question of life: what is the good life?

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¹ Matt 6:24

² I am sure that my wealth complicates my ability to understand, but I cling to hope because God has not barred the wealthy from heaven. (Mark 10:23-27)

Filed under: God, life, salvation Tagged: bon vivant, Jesus, materialism, rich ]]>

The first transition is associated with the wording “as much as I am able to understand.” This is an implicit acknowledgment that I have embarked on a journey and that I have a great deal to learn. Conversely, at the time, I began to realize that much of what I had learned over the previous 35 years, though interesting, was not very useful for my present purposes. I will unpack that statement.

My “present purpose” is, to use a phrase common amongst evangelicals, to learn how to walk with God. Ignatius framed this in more practical terms: to see God in all things and all things in God, and to make good choices in life, choices that are consistent with the values and mission of Christ in the world.

To the average evangelical, “walking with God” primarily revolves around doctrine. Getting to know God is equivalent to learning doctrine. This conclusion is based on the fact that church activities (church services, Sunday School, sermons) are aimed at informing people’s theology and what they believe, not their practice. The usually unstated presumption is that there is a direct connection between doctrine and practice since, as the Baptists put it, “right doctrine leads to right behavior.” Stated in stark and simple terms, this approach means that if I understand, say the Ten Commandments, correctly, I will behave well. This teaching contradicts clear statements in the New Testament (c.f., Matt 23, Gal 3). To pursue adherence to the Ten Commandments, or any other depiction of the Law or any other set of rules, is to agree with the apostle Paul, that “I would be rebuilding the same old barn that I tore down. I would be acting as a charlatan.” (Gal 2:18, The Message)

As if engaged in an exercise in insanity, I spent 35 years honing my understanding of doctrine and exerting significant effort toward bringing my life into conformity with that doctrine.¹ I largely succeeded, but as Jesus warned, “Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.” As a result of my focus on doctrine as the guiding light in my life, too much of the New Testament made no sense to me. Incorporating New Testament precepts into my life felt like trying to get a round peg into a square hole. For example, Jesus said, “Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” He implored, “Learn from Me,” but all I knew to learn was doctrine. And, so, my soul has never known rest. Never.

In all honesty, I have come to recognize that 35 years of focusing on doctrine has not been a complete waste. My familiarity with the Scriptures has some benefit. When I pray through a passage in the gospels, I already know what the words mean; I know where the events fit in the life of Christ; I can bring to mind related passages; I can connect the words of Christ to statements written later by Paul; my knowledge of the Old Testament informs my reading of the New. None of that is the point, however! “Learn from Me,” Jesus said. He did not say, learn from a sermon, or learn from a class, or learn from a book. He did not even instruct us (and some will take this as heresy) to learn from the Scriptures. He said, “Learn from Me.” And that is why I have so much to learn.

A second transition occurred in that, for the first time, I was understanding the Scriptures that I was praying over as being written to me. I was sitting in my office one day, praying through Isaiah 43:1-4 at noontime.

But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior. I give Egypt as your ransom, Ethiopia and Seba in exchange for you. Because you are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you, I give people in return for you, nations in exchange for your life.

In this passage, Isaiah addresses Jacob and Israel by name. Nevertheless, all of a sudden, I was struck that Isaiah’s words were written to me. This was not just a theoretical understanding; I heard these words being spoken to me. I cannot explain what I mean. Not only that, but I became acutely aware, not that God spoke these words 2700 years ago, but that God was speaking these words to me right now. I was overcome. I wept… right there in my office. (And then I realized that my office door was open and it is not unusual for me to receive random visitors. I would have been quite pleased to explain the tears, but I’m guessing a visitor anticipating a quick conversation would eventually wish they had not opened that can of worms.)

Perusing my journal, I have concluded that my prayer, quoted at the top of this post, resulted from a similar phenomenon occurring repeatedly over several preceding days during the middle of August of 2011 as I sat down to do the Spiritual Exercises. The significance of this change in the way I understand the Scriptures cannot possibly be overestimated. It is a gift of God and He has continued to gift me in this way.

There is room in this wide world for analytical, word-study, inductive, and deductive Bible study. Bible Gateway offers a plethora of tools: “Search the Bible by verse or keyword, or simply navigate to a specific passage. Start (or continue) a reading plan, and get automatic reminders for each day’s reading. Deepen your Bible study with commentaries, dictionaries, and audio Bibles. Compose notes on a subject or sermon, or attach notes to specific verses.”

Over the course of my life, I have spent considerable time and effort engaged in such activities. A Christian may use such tools to “deepen your Bible study,” but it is a misguided notion to think that these are the means by which a person deepens their life with God. Jesus said, “Learn from Me.” That is what I am doing.

¹ Sundar Singh understood the real impact of such an effort: “I studied theology in a theological seminary. I learned many useful and interesting things no doubt, but they were not of much spiritual profit. There were discussions about sects, about Yesu Christ and many other interesting things, but I found the reality, the spirit of all these things, only at the Master’s feet. When I spent hours at his feet in prayer, then I found enlightenment, and God taught me so many things that I cannot express them even in my own language.” (Sundar Singh, The Widsom of the Sadhu, Kim Comer, ed., Plough Publishing House, 2007.)

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Journal entry; Preparation, week 1, day 4

Mark 12:1-12 – Parable of the Vine-growers

The characters:

• The landowner – God, who built the entire vineyard
• The vineyard – the earth or the “world” left in our care or, perhaps, in a broad way, God’s kingdom
• The tenants – the people of this world, including me, who are on the earth or in the world or in the kingdom (broadly speaking)
• The servants – God’s prophets
• The son – Jesus
• The others – the gentiles?

The tenants were busy doing their own thing, uninterested in the affairs or interests of the landowner. Over time, they came to act as if the vineyard belonged to them. It does not seem that they truly believed that the vineyard belonged to them, otherwise, what would their motive have been to kill the emissaries of the landlord. If they believed that the vineyard was theirs, would they not have simply told the servants to go jump in a lake? Rather, it seems that they knew what they were doing when they killed the servants, and the son. They were effectively cutting off all communication with the landowner so as to maintain the charade that they were the sole owners of the vineyard.

The tenants behaved as if they believed that the only role of the landowner was to create the vineyard. After that, the tenants could do whatever they wanted. In fact, the value of the landowner, beyond initial creation of the vineyard, is not a focus of this story, at all. That the tenants would recognize the inherent value in the landowner is an unstated, but fundamental, assumption of the story.

If it were not for the landowner, the tenants would have nothing. Only arrogance would allow them to think that the vineyard was theirs, all theirs. The landowner was happy to share some of the fruit of the tenants’ labor with the tenants, but that did not work the other way around. The tenants were not at all inclined to share the fruits of their labors with the landowner.

The landowner made many, many attempts to contact the tenants, but they rejected all of those efforts. He was extremely patient, but his patience had an end.

The landowner in this story is more important than he seems at first, for his son is the cornerstone, a very important stone. Certainly, if the cornerstone is tossed out, the building cannot be built.

Why did the Pharisees get so angry upon hearing this story, angry enough to want to do harm to Jesus (which is what the tenants in the story did!)? Why do I not feel this story? In what ways do I behave like the tenants? Am I self-righteous in this matter since I, certainly, would never attack or wish to kill one of God’s prophets… not like the tenants in the story! Have I ignored his prophets, which amounts to the same thing? Do I blissfully go about my daily business thinking that “all this belongs to me!”

There are two ways of responding to this parable:

• Rebel – Like the Pharisees, see yourself in the parable, but see it as an attack on your life and lifestyle and your practice of religion and your values and get very angry.
• Repent – Listen to how the tenants behaved and resolve to feel badly about the way that they behaved.

It is not my job or my career, it is the work that he has given me to do.
It is not my house, but the house that he has given me for my health and protection.
It is not my car, but the means of transportation that he has given to me.
It is not my life, but the ________________ that he has given me.

It’s not that life has no meaning or makes no sense. It’s that life has no intrinsic meaning, apart from God.

Observations

1. It is not my job or my career, it is the work that he has given me. In telling this story, Jesus’ intention was to force the Pharisees to understand their true relationship to God. Things were not as they seemed. In prayer this night, however, the Spirit is using the exact same story to highlight a different message: what I generally take as mine, is not mine, at all. I know, at this point in time, that living in the light of this truth will not come easy.

2. It’s not that life has no meaning or makes no sense… Like many people, I struggle with the meaning of life and God knows this. He is beginning to draw me into a world where the whole question is subsumed in His person. I do not know what that means at this time, but I have a sense on this night that God knows my struggle and He will help me. How He will help me is not clear right now.

Comments

Over many months since this night of prayer, I have struggled to internalize the message that what I consider to be mine is not really mine. How I view my career, my belongings, my relationships, determines how I treat them, how I respond to loss or gain, and how I see myself in the world.

There are two models to consider:

• I am at the hub of a wheel, and all of the various specifics of my life (career, relationships, money and finances, hobbies, desires, dreams, etc.) emanate from and surround me like spokes. Being at the hub, I tie all the various components of my life together and it is up to me to pursue and support all the spokes or to switch out spokes as needed, or as I might desire.

• God is the hub of the wheel of my life and my life is embedded in Him. The spokes, the various facets of my life, were created by and emanate from Him. The spokes are those aspects of my life that are consistent with God’s hopes and dreams for me. The spokes may change over time in accord with God’s will and in concert with His wisdom and goodness toward me.

My natural tendency is to subscribe to the first model, seeing myself at the center, where everything in my life is subject to my will, as manifest in my desires, intentions, and actions. The fact that such an arrangement does not work out so well on many occasions does not deter my effort to exert my will and maintain control. In other words, I sympathize completely with the tenants in the vineyard.

Stating that this issue is a central struggle for me understates the enormity of its influence in all areas of my life. While it is accurate, applying the label “selfishness” further trivializes the issue and is, therefore, not very useful. Bringing to light the way we see ourselves in relation to God was a major message that Jesus preached, over and over, illustrated in the parable of the vine-growers, and summarized when he said, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” (Matt 4:17) Most Christians can recite this verse, but many do not realize the extent of the requisite repentance. Most take it to mean that a person, to be saved, must confess their sins to God and ask for His forgiveness. In practice, this view, while not inherently incorrect, amounts to our fiddling around the edges of our lives, never getting down to brass tacks, to the center of all the mischief that is rooted deep down in our souls, where God dwells with us. Adopting such a shallow understanding of repentance may allow us to live comfortably however we please, but we miss the breadth and depth of Jesus’ life-giving call: The orientation of our whole life must change. Dallas Willard has helpfully elaborated on Matthew 4:17: “Rethink your life in light of the fact that the kingdom of heaven is now open to all.”¹

I grew up in a coastal town in eastern Massachusetts. In the 1960s, environmental analysis revealed that the town beach, which is, in fact, a very large sandbar, was eroding at an alarming rate. Plans were drawn up and immediately implemented, at great cost to the taxpayers, to prevent the otherwise certain disappearance of the beach. Happily, the beach is still in existence today, but that result has come about only through persistent and costly countermeasures against the enemies of the beach: wind, waves, human traffic, and loss of natural vegetation. If the struggle is halted, even for a short time, the beach will suffer great harm. Left to itself for long enough, the harm would be irreparable and the beach would be lost.

So it is in my life. Without a considered and, ultimately, costly approach to my life, great harm will come to my soul.² In recent months, I have come to appreciate that “rethinking,” in contrast to the relatively easy “just pray a prayer of repentance” approach, is very hard work. A new way of envisioning my life does not come easy. It does not arise spontaneously. Change is not automatic. Success against my enemies is not guaranteed. Rethinking my life is a daily, explicit effort, one in which I must depose myself from the center and recognize God’s true role in my life. Sometimes I am successful. Often I am not.

Only two things stand between me and relentless erosion and the ultimate demise of my soul: prayer and God’s gracious gifts to me. This is the reason that I practice a daily Prayer of Examen and have engaged with the Spiritual Exercises.

¹ Dallas Willard, The Divine Conspiracy, HarperOne, 1997, p 274.

² Beloved, I urge you as aliens and exiles to abstain from the desires of the flesh that wage war against the soul. (I Peter 2:11, my emphasis) I have written previously on the war that is, right now, being waged, to the death, against the souls of all human beings, including Christians: adulteresses, lust (it’s not what you think), what of the soul?, and waging war. As I point out in several of these posts, most people, even Christians, are oblivious to the activity of the enemy, unable to discern the harm being done in their souls as a result of a relentless war that is well underway, often at a level that is as subtle as it is deadly.

I have prayed and asked God to teach me how to love Him and walk with Him. As best I can, I believe that He will answer this prayer, in His own time and in His own way.

Since then, God has been answering this prayer, day by day, in specific ways. This blog is largely about that process, a process in which I am facing my own demons, those things that keep me from God. One of those demons is my opinion of who Christ is. It is a question that Jesus viewed as important enough that he posed it to the Twelve on the way to Caesarea Philippi: “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” The disciples returned a list of three possibilities. In the modern age, time and vivid imaginations have served to expand our view of Christ:

• the Christ
• my Master
• my God
• a teacher
• a moral guide
• the Beloved
• a brother
• a shepherd
• a friend
• a prophet
• just another voice
• a philosopher
• a distraction
• a hobby
• an idol
• Santa Claus
• a fix-it man
• a magician
• a crutch
• one answer among many
• someone to emulate
• someone to study
• a good luck charm
• a political leader
• a religious leader
• a judge
• an accountability group leader
• a ticket to heaven
• a supplier of material goods

Truth be told, depending on circumstances, I believe Jesus fills the role of any of the items in my list, save just a couple. In other words, I must admit that I am not absolutely certain who Jesus is. Of course, I know lots about him. He is the Son of man, the Son of God, the Lamb of God, the Christ, the Messiah, very God of very God, begotten, not made, being of one substance with the Father, Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. I am very good at putting accurate labels on him. But I do not know him.

In asking, “Who do people say that I am?”, Jesus was not expressing concern, for his own sake, about what people thought about him. I am inclined to think that Jesus did not really care about other people’s opinion of him. On the other hand, he was clearly interested in what his disciples thought, for their sake. “But who do you say that I am?” he asked.

If I do not know who Jesus is, I am in good company. At one point, the apostle Peter did not know Christ, either.

When Jesus posed the question of his identity to the disciples, Peter, speaking for the rest, spoke up right away, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” Six verses later, Peter chewed out the person whom he had claimed was the Messiah, God’s only Son. Who would knowingly and blatantly rebuke God to his face?!?

Following Peter’s tirade, Christ rebuked him, and purposefully did so right in front of the other disciples. We cannot know how Peter felt about being treated so severely by Christ. Almost certainly, Peter was confused. He thought he was doing a good thing for his friend, but he understood neither Christ’s identity nor his mission. I do not really understand, either. I know what the Scriptures say, but I do not always know how it all relates to my mundane, routine, everyday life, lived out in a world that often makes little or no sense and where most all of us struggle to find the true meaning of life. Often, my lack of understanding manifests in an expectation that Christ will take on a convenient alternative role in my life, depending on circumstances. When I need a friend, he is there for me. When I need safety, he is a good luck charm. When I’ve done something bad, he is a judge.

The question of Christ’s identity is arguably crucial. One would think that Jesus would have been keenly interested that his disciples, of all people, would get this straight as soon as possible. Yet, Christ, in rebuking Peter, said nothing about his identity. Instead, he unexpectedly accused Peter of being Satan! Though Christ knew that Peter’s knowledge of him lacked any useful depth, Jesus did not lecture him or make any other attempt to straighten him out. That does not make any sense, because it is not what we would do. We tell people straight up: Jesus is the Savior. That way, there can be no uncertainty about their knowing the truth. The only problem is that cognitive psychology, as well as extensive experience, informs us that, using this strategy, people will end up knowing like I “know,” and that level of knowledge is frankly pretty worthless. Peter would not learn about Christ the day he was rebuked, or the next day, or the next. It would take him a good while to learn who Christ was, and Jesus knew that. Likewise, I will not learn, today, or tomorrow, who Christ is, either.

Truth, even a truth as crucially important as the identity of Jesus Christ, is not conveyed by a lecture (a.k.a., a sermon or a book). As Margaret Silf puts it, life is a bakery: “truth is delivered to us daily, fresh-baked in the ovens of our own experience.”¹ Ultimately, Peter would figure it all out, but only by spending time with Jesus, watching him live out his life while abiding by a set of values that would strike Peter at the time as being at odds with everything he knew. Mark 8:31-33 is case in point. Sooner or later, the truth about Christ would dawn in his soul.

The Spirit of God is teaching me who Jesus is in exactly the same way. All I have to do is pay attention.

¹ Margaret Silf, Close to the Heart. Chicago: Loyola Press, 1999.

Ms. Silf does not elaborate on this statement in her book. On first reading it, though, it sounded a lot like “everyone has their own version of the truth” and that she was giving credence to relativistic morality or universalism. Having read a couple of her books, I am certain that this is not what she had in mind. Rather, she holds to a poorly appreciated, but supremely important, theme conveyed in the Scriptures: God does not remain outside our history, but enters into our history and walks with us through it. We experience Him in the context of our individual lives and, therefore, each of us comes to know Him in a very personal way. It is unavoidable. It is purposeful. It is real, one day at a time.

Luke 5:27-32

After this he went out and saw a tax collector named Levi, sitting at the tax booth; and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he got up, left everything, and followed him. Then Levi gave a great banquet for him in his house; and there was a large crowd of tax collectors and others sitting at the table with them. The Pharisees and their scribes were complaining to his disciples, saying, “Why do you eat and drink with tax collectors and sinners?” Jesus answered, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick; I have come to call not the righteous but sinners to repentance.”

Jesus lived a completely holy life in heaven when one day the Father asked him to go to earth and live amongst the people there. Jesus did not object, saying, “But if I live amongst these unholy, sinful people, they will interpret my presence as God condoning sin.” This commonly applied logic did not stop Christ from coming. Furthermore, it did not stop Christ from fully mingling with sinful people. Apparently, he was not worried that:

1. Other people’s sin would rub off on him.
2. People would think that he condoned sin.
3. People would think that he was not serious about his religion.
4. People would not take him seriously when he spoke about God or challenged them to repent.
5. People would think that he thought they were just fine the way they were.

Jesus did not require that people change before they began to follow him. They followed and, over time, they changed as they were exposed to Christ. When Jesus said, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me,” he did not mean to imply that this was the means by which one becomes a Christian. Rather, this would be an end result. The means to this end is simply following Christ.

It is highly unlikely that Jesus picked Levi because he was rich or because he had a good sense that Levi would be able to throw great parties or feed him well or be a great resource for material goods. Rather, his interest in Levi was related to an interest in Levi himself and, possibly all of the people that Levi knew, since he was clearly well-connected. Jesus did not think, “Wow, what a great party,” but rather, “Wow, what a great network of people.”

How very lucky were the tax gatherers and sinners because they were graced by the presence of God, while the religious folks were kept on the outside looking in with jealousy and incredulity, if not hatred. Contrary to conventional wisdom, it is not sin that keeps God at arm’s length, but it is religion and legalism. God seems to welcome people who want Him for His own sake.

Jesus was just eating and drinking with tax gatherers and sinners. It’s not like he was going into business with them. Yet, the Pharisees grumbled even then. They thought that a religious person should have no contact with such people. Jesus apparently thought that one did not become unclean or less holy in any way by associating with sinful people. If anyone was at risk of being defiled and corrupted by sinners, it would be the holy Christ. The rest of us are already dirty; if there is only “dirty” and “clean,” then playing in the mud will not change our fundamental state.

Who are the tax gatherers, sinners, and lepers in our society? gays, HIV-AIDS victims, the poor, homeless, drunks, transgender, bisexuals, criminals, the mentally ill, philanderers, bar owners, porn purveyors, porn users.

These are the classes of people identified by the religious as being on the fringes of society, people whom any reasonable person would judge as being far from God or unlikely to be religious or the last ones that God might be interested in. After all, look how God has treated them so far! Doesn’t their chosen lifestyle already scream that they are not interested in God and have no interest in being holy and upright people? And for them to be worthy of any interest by Christians, should they not provide even a little sign that they are willing to change, to adopt a more reasonable lifestyle?

Yet, Jesus asked none of this from Levi, or anyone else, for that matter (with the exception of the Pharisees and other religious people.)

What does it mean that I find myself in a class of people whom God would not be terribly interested in (a religious person)? Putting myself in the crowd in Levi’s house, I understand that God is interested in my whole life, not just my religious life, that I do not have a Christian life and then the rest of my life.

On the other hand, knowing intellectually that I am no less sinful than people I listed amongst the outcasts of our society, why do I see myself as being somehow more worthy of God’s attention than people in that list. Are we not on the same boat? Why do I see myself as being more righteous than those people? When Jesus said, “I have come not to call the righteous but sinners to repentance,” was he suggesting that there were, in fact, righteous people around him? Or was he saying this only for the benefit of the Pharisees who thought themselves righteous. Kind of like how he told parables specifically so that people would not understand him. How much risk do I bear that I might not hear him any better than the Pharisees?

Do I believe that, because of the way that I live and the choices I have made, that I am better than those in the list above? Maybe I really don’t believe that I’m any better or much better than my socio-religious peers. But, I certainly believe that I have a leg up on those on the margins. Why? Do I think that my choices in life have made me into a being that is more in line with what God expects? that I am closer to being a godly person than any of the outcasts? Doesn’t this betray what it is that I believe allows a person to get close to God? Isn’t that legalism, cloaked in some kind of quest for self-made holiness? Are the things that I believe are an honor to God actually offensive to Him. Where does love of God come into play? Do I love Him or am I like the elder son, who claimed to have always obeyed, but who never really loved the father for who the father was. Do I need to love God? I mean, really love Him. How do I go about doing that? If I were in Jesus’ shoes, I would have noticed Levi, and walked right by. Thankfully, when he saw me, he stopped, and invited me to, “Come. Follow me.”

Observations

1. This prayer time is characterized by a certain level of angst that I, a religious person, might be passed over by God in preference to those who, in my mind, are much less deserving. I realize that I am much more like the Pharisees than the tax collectors and that Jesus chooses to spend time with the latter.

2. Do I think that my choices in life have made me into a being that is more in line with what God expects? God is beginning to raise my awareness of self-righteousness, framing it in the context of the Pharisees, while making it plainly and painfully clear that the Pharisees are not God’s favorites.

3. Thankfully, when he saw me, he stopped… The prayer ends on a note of hope, and appreciation that grace has been extended to me. God is saying, in effect, “I welcome you back tomorrow. Keep it up. Don’t stop.”

Comments

1. The contrast between the way Jesus treated the outcasts and the religious is obvious, unexpected, and overwhelming. It is “obvious” because the gospels are full of these stories; they are impossible to miss. It is “unexpected” because, from a human perspective, we would predict that God would cheer on those who apparently were paying attention to Him or trying to please Him. It is “overwhelming” because God’s ability to love the worst of the worst is intolerable to us.

2. Rethinking, reorienting, my life so that it is congruent with Jesus’ life will require nothing short of conversion. I need to convert from one way of life to another. Such conversion does not happen overnight and it is not easy. Moses spent forty years in the desert before he was ready for a new life with God. Likewise, I have spent 40 years in my own barren wilderness.

3. During this night of prayer, my appropriate concern with self-righteousness precluded my attention to a crucial feature of Jesus’ relations with people. It is not that Jesus is not interested in the Pharisees, the religious. It’s that the religious are not interested in God. This is a surprising conclusion, perhaps the most surprising of all, but it is unavoidable. “But woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you lock people out of the kingdom of heaven. For you do not go in yourselves, and when others are going in, you stop them… This people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me; in vain do they worship me.” I can detect in my prayer from this night that there is great concern that my worship, my seeking of God, all my religious efforts, could well be in vain. At the same time, there is an implicit trust that God has led me to the Exercises on purpose. He wants to help me, and I want His help. It will be many months before I see in what that help consists.

4. Contrary to conventional wisdom, it is not sin that keeps God at arm’s length, but it is religion and legalism. I wrote that statement because that is what I saw in this story. “Seeing” and “believing” are two different things, though. Months from now, I will discover that I believe that sin does keep me at arm’s length from God. How is it possible for a person to read this story in Luke 5 and not understand that Jesus welcomes me, just as I am? Yet, it happens (to me!) every day. Behaving in life, and especially in prayer, as if God welcomes me, a sinner, is nonsense. What kind of God could possibly stoop so low? Consistent with our culture’s view of God in which we have molded Him into our own image, we endeavor to clean ourselves up, at least a little bit, before approaching God. Or else, we stay away from Him. In this way, we promote, not Christ, but the antichrist.

5. Jesus asked none of this from Levi, or anyone else, for that matter (with the exception of the Pharisees and other religious people.) What does it mean that I find myself in a class of people whom God would not be terribly interested in (a religious person)? Religious people (it hardly makes any difference what religion) are prone to drawing lines in the sand. We are on the inside; everyone else is on the outside. Jesus reversed this. The religious people were on the outside; everyone else was on the inside. Ultimately, though, Jesus erased the line. There is no inside or outside. That we continue to pretend that the line is still there is antichrist.

Haven’t you always known this? I mean, isn’t this a clear teaching of the Scriptures and haven’t you heard this since you first became a Christian?

Yes, you are absolutely correct. But there is a world of difference between being taught theology and being taught by theos Himself, which, in Christian terms, is the Spirit of God. “But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth.” Theologians don’t teach the truth; the Spirit does.

*   *   *   *   *

Here is a recent entry in my prayer journal:

All day long, I have struggled with arrogance and self-promotion. People all around me have stumbled over my sin in visible ways, running into it as if it were a brick wall. Why do I behave so badly? God cannot be blamed. He has done nothing wrong. He decorated my day with good things only, good things for me, and good things for other people in my life. And all I do is use and abuse those things which God intended for good. Continually.

I can only give thanks to God for those good things and ask Him for forgiveness for the way I have so badly handled them. How do I go on? How do I proceed? I know that tomorrow, despite all my promises to myself and to God right now, I will repeat my offenses or invent new ones. Yet, even now as I pray, while I realize that I am perfectly righteous before God, at the same time, I know that my standing with Him has nothing to do with me or my efforts.

In the world in which I live, offenses require justice, if not repayment; they cannot go unpunished. Murderers are imprisoned; fraudsters are fined; spouses demand an apology, if not penance: “I’ll make it up to you.” There is no possibility of freedom, of being let off the hook, until justice has been served.

The gospel, the good news, is that God forgives. Freely. But I cannot accept it. I must pay for my wrongs. That is the human way. That is what we do, every day, with the people whom we harm and wrong and sin against. Somehow, we make up for our wrongs. In the least, we feel bad, feel sorry. One way or another, we must make up for our offenses. God asks for no such thing. But, it can’t be. The world simply does not work that way. Forgiveness in return for nothing is not possible.

Three days later, I wrote in my journal:

I need to stop kicking myself for my failures. Such behavior indicates that performance expectations are driving me, adherence to a law. Grace and freedom must rule. But they don’t. God help me.

Forty years of sound theology has not taught me the truth. I can recite the propositional truth regarding grace and freedom. I can quote chapter and verse. But, I cannot live it. The Spirit of truth is the only One who will lead my soul into the truth that will change how I see myself in relation to my Creator, in the depths of who I am.

Here is how it is happening. Every day, I bring my sinful self into His presence and, there, every day, instead of finding condemnation, I feel His loving gaze upon me. There is never a hint of condescension from God, of how I have hurt Him, or offended Him. I do not even have a sense that He forgives when I recount my sin. I do not hear Him say, “I forgive you,” because His forgiveness precedes my confession. He does not forgive because I confess. He forgave me before I even started talking. He just listens and takes pity. And loves.

Figuratively speaking, I get away with murder. Considering that the rest of the world does not work this way, it is nothing short of scandalous. If anyone would not allow me to get away with murder it would be a holy God. Yet He is precisely the one who lets me “walk.”

Even more outrageous is the fact that He expects me to forgive the same way and to the same extent that He does: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” There are no exceptions: self-centered, self-willed, liars, cheats, frauds, haters, hypocrites, slanderers, the malicious, the arrogant, the mean and angry, mockers, drug-users, porn purveyors, murderers, warlords, dictators, terrorists.

Theologians cannot teach me to forgive. Only the Spirit can do that, showing me the way by forgiving me first. In so doing, the Spirit welcomes me into the Great Scandal.