Mister Preacher: God's Love Makes You Do Crazy Things.

Love is a complicated issue.

It’s an issue we’ve all dealt with, in one way or another, our entire lives. You’d probably be surprised how many of your personal issues can be traced back to love—it being withheld, or tainted in some way. Love is ubiquitous in life’s story. When people say that we’re losing any sort of common ground with the lost I always think, That’s not possible! We all need love! Love, or lack thereof, affects almost everything we do. As I’ve said, it’s that which we all need and strive for. But it’s also something that we have a difficult time accepting.

In the religious tradition in which I grew up, we talked a lot about what we weren’t supposed to do. There was a junk-load of conversations about sin and getting better every day in every way, but—to my memory—there wasn’t a lot of love to give that stuff context. So, God became a taskmaster so that I flinch a little when I hear His name.

Needless to say, I didn’t grow up with a very healthy idea of what love was.

And so this idea of God’s grace has been a tad intimidating for me to get grasp on. My concept of God-love has been, whether I want to admit it or not, tit-for-tat. Now that I think about it, that’s probably the same idea that a lot of us have, and most likely the assumption that pulls us in weird directions. It’s the impression that God’s love for us only becomes available once we are saved.

That idea may not be the answer you’d give to an essay question on the topic of God’s love, but it might be what you actually believe deep down, where it can do the most damage. Even after all these years, that sinister thought has been dwelling in my head until I recently came to blows with it. If asked, neither would I have told you God didn’t love you before he saved you. I would have cheerfully said that he loves the lost, and seeks after them.

But there was always a squeak of a voice somewhere

deep

inside,
saying: 
     “Yeah, but not in the same way.”

Last night, at around one, (because I’m an idiot who doesn’t know how to go to bed at a decent time) I was lying there, thinking about this. And this morning, I saw a tweet from a pastor named Scott Sauls, who I don’t know from Adam, that quoted John 8:11, where Jesus is talking to the woman caught in adultery, that says, "Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more." and this guy tweeted, “if you reverse the order of these sentences, you no longer have Christianity.” 

That hit me really hard (in the best of ways) and sort of finished my thought on this topic of when and why we are loved. He doesn't ask us to clean up before we come to Him. We do. But God doesn't. (And that's a problem.) But Christ's response begs the questions and gives the answers:

Why are we loved? Because God loves us.

When did we start being loved? Always.

Paul said that “while we were still sinners, Christ Jesus died for us.” (Rom. 5:8) That utterly crushes any idea that anything secured the love of God.

Love is why He came for us in the first place.

If you think that your Salvation was what made you lovable then you will conversely believe that those who have not found the free gift of God in Christ are hated. "Go, and sin no more. Then God won't condemn you," we lie. That’s the danger I talked about earlier. And it’s not just some potential, theoretical danger.

We see it every day.

Christians holding up picket signs that say, “God hates fags!” Believers burning down abortion clinics. Followers supporting other followers who say extremely hateful things in the name of God. This and a million other things, all because those outside of the body are somehow less to us. Those for whom Christ died that have yet to, and may never, find his grace, but are made in His image, and loved desperately nonetheless.

WHILE WE WERE STILL SINNERS… Christ died for us.

You want to talk about dangerous. That’s dangerous. Dangerous in the best possible way. It’s dangerous to judgment. It’s dangerous to hate. It’s dangerous to legalistic manipulators who get a thrill from controlling others.

Think about it:

How does knowing that God knew you, depravity and all, before the foundation of the Earth, and loved you, affect what you believe? How does that affect how you serve him? How you treat others? When you really get your head wrapped around it; when you actually let your doubting heart believe it,

it

will

change everything.

“Neither do I condemn you. Go, and sin no more.”

If God loves you, you don’t have to work for His love. Now go love Him. If God loves sinners, you don’t have to make non-Christians lovable (that was never your job, anyway!). Go love them. You were, and are, and will be, loved. Go, and sin no more.

That scares yesterday’s dinner out some people. “But,” they want to say. “Don’t forget to add,” they politely remind you. “Well, you don’t want to encourage sin,” they say, patting you on the head.

Did you know you don’t lose brain cells if you drink. That was a “lie for the greater good” made up during the temperance movement to discourage people from drinking. Can you believe that? I’ve believed that lie all my life. Here’s the thing—it never kept me from drinking too much, but it sure made me feel guilty afterwards.

We sort of tell a lie of omission “for the greater good” when we don’t present the full Gospel. Because the Gospel scares us. We’re afraid if we tell non-Christians that Christ died for sinners because they might not get better. We don't tell Christians they're forgiven because we're scared they’ll go crazy and rob a liquor store or hire a prostitute! We’re terrified to let Christians know that God loves them, and always has, because part of us believes they’ll walk away. So we load them down with guilty burdens until they actually do walk away. 

Then we say, “Well, they must have never been believers to begin with.”

You want to feel guilt? You should feel guilt for that. (But, go to Him. He forgives you.)

Knowing that I’m forgiven. That I stand before God with the righteousness of Christ credited to me. That there’s nothing I can do to lessen God’s love for me. That even when He doesn’t like what I’m doing, He doesn’t walk away—He pursues me, because of that love. Well, that makes me want to give Him everything I am. It makes me want to learn God’s ways and be more like Him.

That’s Him working in me.

Guilt may drive a person for a time. But it will eventually destroy them.

Love, on the other hand. Love makes you do crazy things. (Just not the ones you may be worried about.)