Grace in Black and White

Too often we think of the Old Testament as the black and white part of the bible. There are no words in red, no words from Jesus, and we can look at this with a negative connotation. If Jesus wasn't there, what else was missing? We tend to think that grace and mercy would be missing as well. That's all Jesus, right?

Before Jesus, God was just smiting people left and right. He was condemning entire nations and making examples of people. If you messed up, BAM, fire and brimstone - no room for error, no room for second chances.

But, that's not entirely the case. There are some egregious examples of God's wrath in the OT, but there are also examples of God's grace.

In Numbers 13 and 14 a group of Israelites had lied about the promised land and invoked God's anger. They suffered the consequences. In Numbers 15, God talks to Moses about sacrifice. He explains how to make up for sins and wrongs. Then he brings up the idea of unintentional sin. In the case of this sin, which people don't even know they've committed, we might think that the OT God would just let 'em have it. They messed up, they pay the price, right?

Instead, God says that a sacrifice will be made on behalf of all the people, to cover over all these sins. He's not looking for an opportunity to punish, he's working to save. That's grace. The NT shows the same grace and highlights the lengths God is willing to go to offer it to us.

Pooped On

There's no easy way to say it. I got pooped on this morning.

We had yet another bird in our attic. (Guess what I'll be doing this weekend...) This one was a little different than some of the others. He was very persistent in trying to get out of the windows. Maybe this is because outside actually looks like outside through the new windows, but he wasn't giving up.

I entered the attic and opened the window closest to the door. My entrance spooked him away from that window and he fled to the another one. So, I went deeper into the attic, closer to the other window, in order to try to herd the bird to the open window. No dice. He just tried harder to get out the window I was headed towards. I saw this wasn't go to go smoothly, so I just went to open the window he was banging against.

As I reached for the window catches, he finally flew over my left shoulder and out the other window - leaving a present on my left arm as he went. Well, at least I had already taken a shower.

It's hard to blame the bird. He was trapped, he was scared, he was frustrated, he did mean to poop on me - right? Right?

What if we weren't talking about birds? What if we were talking about people? Because, plenty of people poop on us too. The driver who cuts you off, or doesn't hug the line when making a left turn so you can't get around or doesn't use their turn signal. The shopper who leaves their cart in the middle of the only open parking space. The weightlifter who leaves the weights on the bar and their sweat on the bench. If we think about it, we've all been pooped on in one way or another.

This morning I changed my shirt, washed off my arm and moved on. I hope it doesn't happen again, but in some form or another it probably will. That's life. That's the broken world we live in and the sinful flesh we're encased in. The problems really start when we let these little things build and get out of control. That's when our heads get filled with lies (or poop, if you will) and we start to be the ones who poop on others.

Mud

Love God and Love People. That is what we are called to do.

Sin rails against both of these. The classical definition of sin says that it is the violation of a moral or religious command. If we're trying to love God, it becomes obvious how violating what He's all about would be problematic.

Sin and people is a little bit murkier, muddier and more painful. There are times when we sin against someone - we gossip, we offend, we abuse. These are painful, but for the most part clean-cut and obvious. Both parties know something wrong happened. One person must repent and one must forgive. Hard but simple.

There are other times when sin tears people apart tangentially. Sin isn't just a wrong. It is a stain and a scar that tears deep into the fabric of our being. It doesn't just harm those we've sinned against, it harms us. We find ourselves guilty. Obviously, painfully guilty. We know that we've messed up someone's life and that just sucks. Even if we go through the divine process of finding forgiveness with God and then the painful process of repentance and seeking forgiveness of those we've wronged we're still left with the lingering, debilitating problem of shame.

Shame tells us not that we've done evil, but that we are evil. Not that we have messed up, but that we are messed up. Not that we've done wrong, but that in some way we ourselves are wrong. We don't measure up, we're not perfect, we're not worthy, we're not good enough,

We can fight these feelings, we can work through them and deal with them, but some part of our psyche makes them nearly impossible to eradicate. When we meet new people, when we are in tough situations, when we are stressed and worried those shame statements come creeping in - they speak up and tell us to run, to hide, to retreat, to embellish, to deflect, to lie. There's no way they will accept you. (Not if they knew.) There's no way they'll understand. (Don't bother trying.) You're not good enough. (Not anymore.) I can't tell them the truth. (That's not what they want to hear.)

These thoughts and feelings push people away from us. They cause us to create masks, false identities that we hide behind as we try to get by. They keep us from letting people truly get close, they keep us isolated and alone - vulnerable and weak. We rely on false intimacy and fake relationships to get through the day while the whole time we are scared that someone will find out and everything will come crashing down around us.

That's not a life, it's a collision course with disaster.

Unfortunately the church not only allows it to happen, we foster it. We put up false fronts and pretend to have it all together. We hide our own warts and imperfections, bury our past sins and smooth over our faults. When someone does have the courage to admit a mistake or more likely when someone's mask falls off we rush to "fix" them, to correct the problem to make everything status quo once again - always teetering on the brink wondering which gust of truth will send things crashing down.

What if we all just admitted we've crashed already? What if we were the place where past failure was a badge of honor, a purple heart that shows where we've come from? What if sinners were more welcome in our midst than Pharisees? What if we loved people the way Jesus did? What if we loved like we've been commanded?

That would be loving God by loving People.

Yet

"Hosea, name your son 'Jezreel' because I will soon punish the house of Jehu for the massacre at Jezreel."

"Hosea, name your daughter 'Lo-Ruhamah' (not loved) for I will no longer show love to the house of Israel."

"Hosea, name your son 'Lo-Ammi' (not my people) for you are not my people and I am not your God."

"Yet the Israelites will be like the sand on the seashore, which cannot be measured or counted. In the place where it was said to them, 'You are not my people,' they will be called 'sons of the living God.'"

YET.

We sin, yet God forgives.

We suffer the consequences, yet God comforts us along the way.

We fall, yet God lifts us up.

We push away at every turn, yet God pulls us closer.

We are faithless, yet God is faithful.

We turn away, yet God remains.

We fail, yet God brings success.

We run away, yet God welcomes us home.

We grumble outside, yet God invites us in.

We do everything we can to make God angry, yet His love never falters or weakens.

Acceptance

Paul and Barnabas are sent out (after a word from the Lord) and begin their missionary work. In Psidian Antioch, they meet at the Jewish synagogues to preach the good news. In doing so, Paul recounts the history of Israel, starting with "God chose our forefathers..."

Put yourself in the place of the Gentiles at the meeting. There were those there who feared God, but were simply born into the wrong race. They were excluded from the promise. They were outsiders, outcasts who for years had heard that God loved someone else. Put yourself in their place, your heart sinking as Paul recounts the history of his people, but not yours. Paul tells about his savior, but not yours. You would feel dirty, neglected, left out and unappreciated.

Fast forward 2000 years. You've heard about Jesus, but you've also seen the way that Christians respond to those who mess up or struggle with certain issues. They label them, tell jokes about them, look down on them or simply ignore them. They scoff at those who have yet to hear and believe or who struggle with changing their life. Not all Christians do this, but the loud ones do. The ones in the news do. The ones you hear about outside of church do.

Paul repeats God's words to the people:

"I have made you a light for the Gentiles (sinners), that you may bring salvation to the ends of the earth."

Look at their reaction:

"When the Gentiles heard this, they were glad and honored the word of the Lord..."

A few verses later:

"And the disciples were filled with joy and the Holy Spirit."

Imagine the weight lifting from the shoulders and spirits of the Gentiles when they heard this message. Salvation could be theirs, despite who their fathers were. Forgiveness could be theirs, despite what they had done. God's loving embrace could be theirs, despite what they had been told in the past.

We have the same message to offer sinners that Paul offered to Gentiles. But, in order to offer it, we have to mean it and live it.

Broken Rearview

The wheel feels familiar beneath my hand, the worn leather over soft foam giving beneath my skin as the stitching pushes back against my grip. The gas pedal gives way beneath my foot, as the orange needles on the dashboard shakily climb higher.

In a sequence practiced hundreds, thousands of times one foot rises as the other lowers, one presses and the other releases. An orange needle drops and a tug on the gearshift causes the pinion to disengage with a dull click like a key being removed from a lock. For an instant things flow freely on their own, power disconnected from direction.

Pushed up and to the right, the gearshift finds the next ratio. The mechanism gives with only the slightest effort and grasps the intruding lever, holding it tight as the clutch reengages, the pedals switch places and power and direction are joined again, hurtling the vehicle forward and causing both needles to rise again.

Outside, things become more and more confused. On the right, telephone poles whiz past, their proximity is felt in the ears as much as it is heard. On the left, the lane divider seems to change from short white lines to blurred white dots to a single translucent white line. Trees, houses and oncoming traffic quickly come into a peripheral focus and even more quickly disappear, devoid of detail and strangely misshapen by speed.

Up and to the right a different view is found. A small window to a more stable world. The things behind are clear. Dotted lines remain dotted lines. Telephone poles are not blurs, cars have detail, houses have shape. The world looks right, normal, calm, comfortable.

Ahead, insanity reigns. Curves, turns, traffic, lights and rules jump out in front, demanding action, demanding effort and reflex and change and pain. The mirror shows peace. It shows where I’ve been, what I’ve come through, what I’ve learned, what I’ve loved. There is no madness, no grief, effort, turmoil.

The mirror shows an image of the best of what was. But it is only that, an image. And it is a twisted one at that. It is protected, shaded from the true harsh nature of what is there. I protect myself by dulling the edges and angling the details. The view through the mirror is nothing like the view was through the windshield.

No matter how pretty the picture, how comforting the view, my focus must be forward, on the road ahead, not the one behind. I cannot go back, I cannot retreat. And even if I could, what I found would be much different than what I remember. The good old days are not as good as I delight, but they are just as old. And no matter how much I may painfully long for the contrary, objects in the mirror are NOT closer than they appear.