We Christians love
to talk about good works, as if the sanctity of the entire universe were
hinging on us making sure that everyone knows they need to be good as often as
possible. We have strapped on our gun and badge and made it our sacred duty to
secure the world from… well, knowing what most of us already know.
But we’re
not the moral police, we’re the love philanthropists.
Instead of being so keen to pick another unripe mess from
the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, we should be chomping at the bit to
speak love into the lives of others. But, because we’re so enraptured by the
idea of correcting people—some think it’s our job as Christians—and judging
their place in the body, we are more than happy to put ourselves in the morally
superior position and say that their relative ‘goodness’ is not enough.
The problem
with judging others is that there’s a tree-trunk sized blinder in our own
eye—our own moral failings—that keeps us from seeing clearly. So that causes us
to suck at judging and, so, our words to others mean nothing.
Sometimes, we can become so enamored with a religious idea
that we try to wedge that idea into every argument, every philosophy and every
religious thought we have. In this case, that idea is that we don’t believe
doing good works is given enough credit. So, every single time we think we hear
someone saying something that sounds as though good works aren’t getting their
due, we slip the argument out of our holy pockets and toss it in, whether it
fits or not.
We create straw men to do our bidding because, often, those
who believe God doesn’t need a bodyguard either won’t bother retorting or won’t
expend the energy it takes to upend our logically corrupt arguments—and that
feels like winning. And, to be honest, I’m good with words in an argument. So,
I get the temptation.
But then, God comes along to remind me—often after I’ve made
a fool of myself again—that winning, or acting like I’m protecting the truth
don’t matter—love does.
To be clear, I want to please God more than you can possibly
imagine. But I’m a terrible mess. Still, I trust that Jesus has done what needs to
be done to secure my place alongside him. And if that trust isn’t enough, then
we’re all going to hell in a very uncomfortable handbasket.
We've misunderstood what right judgment is. To say that one will look more like Jesus when they become a
Christian is undoubtedly true. However, to argue that someone whose heart is
desperately attached to God, who wholeheartedly trusts him for their eternal
security in his loving arms might not belong to him because they don’t meet
your current standards in their journey is both arrogant and superficial.
Because, if our faith in him is not enough—even the tiniest sliver of faith—then we don’t have a hope either.
Besides, you won’t find a single, solitary person
who has their hope alone in Jesus' gift of Salvation who is not also at least
budding with the flowers that promise fruit.
Instead of trying to fix everyone, and make sure they do this Christian life thing, in every detail, the way I do, we should love one another.
I should love you enough to pray for you rather than tear you apart.
I should love you enough to reach into your life when you've screwed it up big time rather than scoff at you and point at you as a good example of what happens to sinners.
I should, as God does, hold you at your weakest, envelop you with undeserved love, and woo you back into God's holy arms with sweet, gracious affections, knowing that I'm just as capable as you of failing; just as needy as you of God's grace.
-Chad West
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