Watching Making a Murderer is an exercise in frustration. There are moments when you believe, without a doubt, that you have zeroed in on the truth. You shake your head, believing, that you’ve finally gotten that key piece of evidence that makes all the jumbled pieces shake into place. Then it all falls apart. The picture that looked so clear moments before is skewed and unsatisfying. It is a peek into the complexity, and injustice, of a fallen and broken world—no matter your final belief about the people involved.

It is a reminder of our inability to rightly judge another.

It is unfortunate that anyone has to be in a position to decide whether someone is innocent or guilty. But, without a system of justice, and those willing to put their lives on the line to uphold it, society would fall apart. I get that. But it is a flash of divine wisdom, I believe, that we would—when considering any life's future of those made in the image of God—consider any reasonable doubt must be fully accepted as that person’s innocence.

In criminal law, Blackstone’s ratio is that "It is better that ten guilty persons escape than that one innocent suffer".

I don’t think many Christians believe that at times.

Our ability to judge is severely limited by a) our own sinfulness, and b) our lack of insight into the life and motivation of others. Yet, even knowing that, I'm sure I'll judge some poor sucker before the day's over. 

Once we have been redeemed, we sometimes tend to fall into an ideology which tempts us to harshly judge those who “are as [we] once were” (1 Cor 6:11). Steve Brown often says that a cat will never sit on a hot stove more than once, but he’ll never sit on a cold stove again either. His point is that we sometimes mislearn lessons. 

That’s what I think happens to us as Christians.

Instead of realizing the simple fact that Christ saves sinners, of whom I am the worst (sorry, Paul), and offering the gift of free forgiveness we were given in Christ to others who are perishing in their sin, we instead see ourselves as better than them.

How dumb is that?

It’s like the story Jesus told about the guy who owed a bajillion bucks (I paraphrase) to the king in Matthew 18:21-35. The debtor couldn’t pay him, so the king ordered he and his family be sold to repay the debt. The man begged for mercy. Then, in a wild act of grace, the king felt pity and forgave the debt. THEN, the first thing this guy did was run out and grab a man, who owed him just a few hundred bucks, by the scruff of his neck and demanded repayment. This guy also begged for mercy, but the debtor had none and threw the guy who owed him a pittance compared to his own debt in jail until his debt was paid.

Do you see it? How foolish we are to point out the speck of sawdust in another’s eyes missing the two-by-four in our own? How ignorant of the mercy we’ve been shown when we hold back forgiveness because we perceive someone’s debt bigger than the one we owed.

Jesus’ parable shows that every sin against us is a pittance compared to what He has forgiven.

I don’t know if Steven Avery is innocent. That's not what this post is about. But I know that his story, as presented in that documentary, reminded me that my judgment is weak. That I don’t know the whole story of anyone’s life or how someone else has twisted it for their own purposes or filtered it through their own prejudices--even me.

All I know is that my debt is forgiven, and that my job is to love, not pass judgment on any and everyone (1 cor 5:12). Love, boys and girls, triumphs over judgment (James 2:13). Human judgment  itself is an exercise in frustration when it is done outside of the knowledge of God's grace in one's own life.

grace judging

2:43:00 PM

We make a lot out of the New Year. I’ve never really thought about it as an odd thing until this year. It was just what you did. You celebrated with friends, watched a ball drop (!) and screamed like a silly person at midnight. Then you make promises to yourself about how you’re going to do better this year, and hope like heck you actually follow through.

I think that’s the evidence that all the weird ball-worshipping, booze swilling hoopla comes from a desire for a fresh beginning. We’ll do anything for a new beginning.

A Stopped Clock

If you want to be realistic and overly rigid about it, there’s really no difference in December 31^st and January 1^st. It’s just another step down the road. Another sunrise like any other sunrise. But it’s symbolic to us. It’s the burning remains of all our bad choices and cruddy decisions finally sizzling to a stop and then wildly rising from the ashes once more. It’s that fabled fresh slate made whole cloth from an arbitrary date on a calendar.

A chance to forgive ourselves.

We tell ourselves that all that garbage happened last year—in another life. This is the new me. This is the 2016 me. 2015 me ate too much, drank too much, smoked too much and was a bit grumpy. But 2016 me is going to break the mold and finally reach those goals that seemed ever further out of reach every day until the clocked struck midnight.

Not to be a negative nelly, but you probably won’t. Reach those goals, I mean. You might! Hope springs eternal, and all that. And people do accomplish things. Dreams come true left and right. But what if they don’t? What if this year is just another uneventful slog through the calendar? Worse, what if life decides to give you a good old-fashioned punch in the gut? What if you screw up worse than you ever thought you could and face next year’s midnight shame-faced and tired again?

What if I told you that you didn’t need to wait until next year for a clean slate? What if I said that all your resolutions can swirl down the potty of good intentions and you could still stand absolved? What if there was some sort of eternal state of New Year’s, where the clock stopped at midnight and decided to stay there, right at the moment of your fresh wholeness?

A Different Kind of Water

Jesus came to a well and a woman was there. She offered to get him a drink of water and He said, “I’ve got water you don’t even know about. Water, that if you drink it, you’ll never be thirsty again.”

So, the clock just stops. You’re in an eternally present new beginning. Everything’s fresh, new and forgiven. You’re clean. What do you do now? 

What would you do if you fully realized that you didn’t have to work for it? If you knew you were forgiven and couldn’t screw it up because every moment was New Year’s? Every split second was a new beginning? If you could get out of your own head and just trust that you weren’t going to die of thirst?

How would you live?

As a follower of Jesus, your thirst is eternally slaked. You’re forgiven. Clean. You live in the eternal Happy New Year. Now that you don’t have to worry about earning it, what are you going to do?

Christian Life grace

11:46:00 PM

When asked about things like homosexuality, abortion, atheism, and the like, some Christians will go on about how those people are ruining America, or how God’s going to send fire down from heaven to judge those suckers soon, or how we need to pass laws to keep them out of, well, wherever it is we think they’re threatening us at the moment. But then if you ask those same Christians if God didn’t tell us to love everyone, they’ll say something which sounds more level-headed like, “Oh, I’m not saying I don’t love them. I love them. I just don’t agree with them.” 

It's like hearing a blue bird suddenly bark.

grace

2:51:00 PM

Do you see it? I’ve seen it. 

The helplessness is like standing over the barely breathing form of a loved one, slowly slipping away. It’s the ache of staring at the no longer stirring forms after they’ve gone. Except I’ve done it. I’ve skipped into the room of my beloved, and twirled on my heel as I pulled the pillow from underneath their head and pushed it down over their face.

forgiveness grace

10:12:00 PM

For years, I’ve been saying that I’m a sinner. But I don’t think people have really believed me. When I say that, I’m not giving you a half-smile and a wink. It's not a necessary pretense. No, I need the new nature that Christ has given me, the Holy Spirit forming me into his image. I need the resurrection work of God, because I am just as apt to fall to temptation as anyone else. 

And I often do.

To be clear, I want to please God. I want to love more. I want to forgive more. I want to think more of you than I do of myself. But you could find out my secrets tomorrow. Not the socially acceptable stuff, either. My closet of skeletons could break open under the weight of my sin and spill out for all to see. And, if that happens (and it could happen to any of us) I want to remind you that I told you so.

I don’t say that as some kind of excuse. I’m ashamed of my mistakes. I say it because I’m irrelevant. 

I don’t tell you God loves me because I’m hiding something. I don’t tell you God loves me as an excuse to hide my sin. I tell you God loves me in spite of knowing the depths of my sin. Because I know it’s true. Because, without the truth that while we were still dead in our sin, Jesus died for us, I’d either be trying to convince myself that I’m not as in need of forgiveness as I am or a cowering, devastated mess. I tell you because God loves you too.

In spite of ourselves, we’re loved. Imperfect messengers are all there are, and imperfect messengers don’t lessen the truth of the message. Not when the message is that we are weak, imperfect messengers loved by a kind, gracious God.

grace

6:12:00 PM

Growing up, my view of Christianity was kind of outwardly focused. I would say that I, at least partially, defined who and what I was by how others acted. If someone cursed, did drugs, slept around or got divorced I pursed my lips and thanked God I wasn’t like them. I wanted to save people from their crappy lifestyles, not to reconcile them to Love himself. 

Christian Life grace

5:39:00 PM

I’m tired of telling people how to be good people. When I do it, I feel like I’m preying on the low self-esteem of those who just want to do the right thing and are berated for inevitably failing. When I tell them how to do the right thing in the right way, I’m just preaching the law to those in need of grace. Sometimes I feel like I’m just encouraging the lie that if people get their acts together, God might deign to throw some acceptance their way.

grace legalism

10:37:00 PM

When you grew up with the idea that you had to work your fingers to the bone or God would be displeased, it’s really difficult to shift that way of thinking. No matter how much good theology you throw at it. So it's like rediscovering the Good News every day. 

grace law

6:00:00 PM

I was at a get-together the other night and someone asked if anyone else had the experience of feeling guilty and not being able to tell if it was true guilt or if it came from the years of the superficial guilt over everything we were indoctrinated with by the weak religion of our youths. It was one of those moments where my chest tightened with excitement and my eyes widened. It’s a struggle I’ve had for years.

If you don’t know what I mean by this, I’ll try to explain. As a Christian, there are certain other Christians who—well-meaning or not—ground the idea of a petty and petulant god into your skulls. Things like dancing, certain (well, most) forms of entertainment, fermented beverages and not being a doormat wife made him quite huffy. So, having spent your formative years with that idea of God can make you neurotic about what’s truly a negative waste of time and what’s harmless fun.

I’ve come to question a great many rules in the last several years. I even went back and looked at the moral Law in the Old Testament, only to find that it was largely rules about treating neighbors respectfully, taking care of the poor and not cheating people in business—so, basically, love. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a demand for perfect love, but, nonetheless, love. Not the burdensome majoring on the miniscule that we’re taught is true spirituality.

I’m of the belief that asking the question, “Why?” can be a spiritual discipline. If you have some long-standing rule in your life, or if someone is attempting to put another log on the pile, simply ask yourself, “Why?” If you can’t come up with a suitable biblical reason, drop it.

It’s not up to you, anyway. There’s only one way to get to God and to gain his favor—the death and resurrection of his only Son, Jesus. The other way is perfect perfection, and none of us got that. The beautiful thing about grace is that what you can’t do, God finishes. We reach out in our piddly love and God extends it. We try to watch with him just one hour and we can’t even stay awake. But he does. And, because of that, we’re good. Jesus finished it on that cross and gave us hope for a future three days later.

In Between Noon & Three, Robert Capon writes it better than I can when he writes, “...there is therefore now no condemnation for two reasons: you are dead now; and God, as the Lamb slain from the foundation of the world, has been dead all along. The blame game was over before it started. It really was. All Jesus did was announce that truth and tell you it would make you free. It was admittedly a dangerous thing to do. You are a menace. Be he did it; and therefore, menace or not, here you stand: uncondemned, forever, now. What are you going to do with your freedom?” 

Photo used under CC.

grace law

10:15:00 AM

I haven’t met a single person (including myself) that doesn’t think they have at least one aspect of life figured out. We generally go around rolling our eyes and wagging our heads at the behavior and words of others. At our jobs, at grocery stores, bars and church. If only they knew what we knew!

I do it all the time. I saw a lady coming out of Publix the other day, apparently healthy, young, beautiful and holding her very expensive purse on her arm as she pointed an elderly employee, who was pushing her very full cart, toward her fancy car. Oh, I had plenty to think and say about her.

I always know better. We all do, don’t we?

Christians do this to each other concerning theology too. Some worse than others, yeah, but we all think we’ve got at least one aspect of our faith pegged. And we search like a hungry lion for someone to correct.

I sincerely despise seeing this in Christians. It’s one my major pet peeves. I want to choke them out, screaming, “It’s about love, you moron! Love!” …Yeah, I know I have issues.

But it really is about love, you know?

John 13:34-35 says, “a new command I give you: Love one another. As I have loved you, so you must love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another.” (NIV)

(Also, to name a few more: Mt 22:37-39, Rm 12:10, Jn 4:7-8, Mt 5:44-45, John 15:12-13, Rm 12:8, etc.)

To be sure, the command to love is such an overwhelming part of Scripture that you’d think it’d be hard to ignore. But I do it every day.

Love, the bible says, is how the world knows we’re from him. (Not our goodness, it’s important to note.)

Knowing that not only are you loved, but the whole world (jn 3:16) is loved too means gives us freedom to interact with the lost. But we also have to understand that we aren’t going to the lost as those who are better than them, but sinners who’ve found God’s grace. To quote Luther, we are “beggars telling other beggars where they found bread.”

Jesus was known, because of his indiscriminate love, as a friend of sinners. If we’re not in danger of being labeled that too by the uptight religious sort, we’re doing something wrong. Because of God’s unlimited love, not only are we free to have dinner with prostitutes, it’s important that we do. Unconditional love reaches out to be friends with the sexually deviant, play cards with the drunkard, laugh with the inmate.

An understanding of our deep need of God’s love and grace lets us do that without an ounce of pride. It lets us see ourselves as no different than (dramatic music!) them! The only difference, to be clear, is that we already received the free gift which is also available to them.

If you need a little help with that last bit, 1 Corinthians 5:12 says, “What business is it of mine to judge those outside the body.” That’s God’s business, the verse goes on to say. It does say, however, that we’re to judge within. But keep your guns in their holsters. Even that’s not what you might think.

Here’s the thing: We’re not anyone’s mother. When I see you going what I consider a little too far I don’t have to feel the need to correct you. When you say something I wouldn’t necessarily say, I can let it pass. Of course, if you come to me talking about cheating on your spouse, I’m going to tell you the truth. But my point is that I don’t have to correct your course in every opinion you have that I disagree with or every action I couldn’t imagine doing myself.

Let each other breath. We’re all imperfectly growing in Christ.

Love is the key to all of this. Doing to others what you’d have them do to you is a beautiful example of love in action. I don’t want to be talked down to. Check. Don’t do that to others. I don’t want to be shamed. Check. Don’t do that to others. I want to be loved unconditionally.

Check. Do that to others.

Photo used under CC

God's love grace

4:33:00 PM

God’s love is crazed. There’s nothing seemingly rational about the way in which God shows affection to his creation. When we talk about love, we throw all of these catches on, just to make sure nobody that doesn’t deserve loves accidentally gets some splashed on them. But, God, he turns the bucket completely over onto the undeserving and smacks the bottom.

I can’t help but think this is the kind of love Jesus is talking about when he says that all the law and the prophets can be summed up in a lifestyle of loving God and loving your neighbor. All of God’s commands are summed up tidily in the command to love. But not our kind of love. Not the kind that expects something in return or doesn’t give until it receives. It’s God’s love—the kind that breeds scandal and misunderstanding from those with their underwear on too tight.

Jesus told stories about God’s type of love. He talked about people showing up at the crack of dawn to work in the boiling sun getting paid a fair wage only to see the no-goods who showed up an hour before quitting time getting the same amount. He talks of parties where the important people are all too busy to show up, so anybody from any gutter, street corner or bar stool could come as long as they were willing. It’s crazy, upside-down, nutso world, where the least of these are the most of the these and the last in line find themselves getting first place while the first are standing on their tippy-toes just to catch a glimpse.

It’s a love that accepts us just as we are, soaking us to the bone with grace. Then we find ourselves whistling the tune. Doing a little jig to the music. Dancing and singing like we never thought we could. There is no comprehending the logic of God’s love. It doesn’t follow our broken rules. It sounds stupid to help those who can never help you back. It seems foolish to we criminals who worship justice. But to those who recognize that they’re withering away in this weltering world, it’s butter, baby. And it’s free.

God's love grace Jesus

8:55:00 PM

We all have this place inside of us that we store it all. The socially unacceptable, the irreligious ideas, the things that would lose friends and uninspire people. Questions, worries and doubts that we know we can’t share, but ache to say. That place is quickly cramped and uncomfortable, tearing at its seams.

It’s hard for me to find a church. I want to, but when I go, I just end up leaving angrier than when I came. The judgment, the silly rules, the passive-aggressive jabs. It’s weird when you’ve been on the inside. You see things more clearly. Know all the abominable tricks.

Some friends and I got together the other night to talk about that. How we could maybe get that need met with each other. The Church without the junk. Well, not that kind of junk anyway—not the plastic kind. But full to the brim with the real deal. All those socially unacceptable, irreligious ideas. That was when I realized that’s what I’d been longing for all along.

The superficial judgment I felt in church, the rules I balked at, and the jabs that made me want to jab back weren’t the main things keeping me away. They were symptoms. They were walls that kept me from my soul’s need to unburden itself.

In my relationship with God, I found freedom. I found permission to tell the truth, because a) God’s not fooled by my self-righteous act, and b) God loves me anyway. It was no wonder that I wanted that from the local gathering of fellow Christians that I attended: The freedom to share the unshareable.

It’s only unshareable because we’ve so spiritualized our churches that we can’t actually be honest with one another. We have to fake it. I don’t want that anymore. Frankly, I don’t need that anymore. It makes me soul sick. (There’s a vast difference between loving correction and nitpicking, moralistic narcissism.)

Our hearts yearn to be heard without fear of judgment. Our souls feel tight and cramped in the phony religious box in which we’ve allowed ourselves to be placed. True worship flourishes in raw truth. When we dump our doubts and fears out on the floor, a warm, wet mess for all to see, and watch them shrivel and die in the light, a song of praise finds our tongues.

Our deepest hurts lie hidden because we refuse to acknowledge that others can bear them. We refuse to acknowledge that they even exist so—like unseen plaque in our arteries—they build up like a dam, threatening death to our faith and fellowship.

To openly hurt, to stand naked for all to see, is no easy feat. It takes Gospel guts. It takes a full knowledge of God’s love for us, and that he has paid for our sins. That Jesus’ death wasn’t a band-aid, but the full cure.

To have those that accept us with no judgment as we stand before them, every blemish visible, is a gift beyond measure. In Genesis, God looked at his perfect creation and said something was missing. He said, it’s not good for man to be alone. Was that an accident? Did God forget to add a dash of self-sufficiency? Of course not. We were purposefully made to need others.

That need is where our desire to be heard comes from. It is the very reason we have that place in us that we store it all. We’re waiting for someone who will listen. We’re waiting for open ears and open hearts. It’s the only thing that will allow us to shrug off that burden.

So, watch.

Listen.

And don’t just unpack. Look for opportunities to take part in the wonderful, filthy business of helping unpack the pain of others also.

Picture used under CC

Christian Life church grace

10:38:00 PM

A pastor acquaintance of mine once came in and collapsed into the chair across from where I was sitting with another friend. He looked at us and said, “I’m done. I don’t want to be a pastor anymore.” He was tired of wearing the masks. I told him, “Don’t play the games,” but I wasn’t that religious about it. I think he thought I was joking—or that I was crazy (I get that sometimes.) But I was deadly serious.

Church should be the place where sinners gather to lick our wounds and encourage one another with the Gospel. Instead, church is a costume party, and everyone’s dressed as the best person there. As someone has said, it truly is the most dishonest hour of the week. There have been plenty of times that I felt like I could be more honest with the gas station attendant than with my congregation.

I don’t know about you, but I’m tired of playing games.

I’m a sinner, and not just in the winking way we acknowledge that before other Christians. I’m corrupt to my core. (You too, by the way.) I sicken myself with the things I do and think and say. Most moments of most days I doubt my worth and would probably corrupt myself further just for a moment of your acceptance and friendship. My neutral gear is to run away and hide. Things get hard, I’m not going to seek you out, I’m going to be in a hole, feeling sorry for myself. I’m getting better, but not because of trying harder.

Grace frees you up. Before, it was all about keeping rules and looking good. No matter what was going on inside, I needed to keep up appearances in front of the lost, because that was my witness. And I didn’t want to send a poor soul to a fiery eternity in Hell by not always pretending everything was great, did I? There was so much guilt I couldn’t stand it. And all that smiling and pretending only served to either convince people we were lying (because some can see right through our masks) or that there was no way at all they could be good enough to come to God (because they believed our lies.)

People used to come up to me as a pastor and talk about how great my marriage, life and relationship with God must be. I would often just laugh. But sometimes I just couldn’t let the compliment pass and I pretended like it was true. Then I’d spit out some nonsense about praying more or studying the Scriptures more diligently. While they were applauding me, I was tumbling down the mountain of a crumbling marriage and church.

I did so many things wrong that I can't even begin to recount them all. But I won’t pretend to erase it, because of the Gospel. It’s important to me to stand up and say I'm screwed up, because very few people do. I’m good at the religious game. I could slip into that role and play it like a champ. To be clear, I’m capable, but not able. The longer I was in that world, the more I realized that playing the game—while it would give me longevity among certain Christians, as well as admiration—was downplaying the Truth.

The gospel saved my life years after the Good News of Jesus saved my soul. I had a high view of my sin and a low view of the gospel. I would sin, and find myself ashamed before God once again. I couldn’t imagine that he was so patient that I couldn’t out-sin his grace. Could it have been that I just had a high view of myself? How foolish was I to think that I could out-sin God’s love? Writing those words, words that once brought me to my knees in fear and shame… Now they make me want to dance in giggling joy at the silly idea of out-sinning God’s ravenous love—the core of the Good News.



Photo used under CC

grace

10:45:00 PM

We seem to believe that guilt is the ultimate motivation. “If you really loved God, you’d come to church more often… you’d stop smoking… you’d give more.” Guilt is our go-to when we need or want something. No, not just in the church, but certainly there. We Christians know how to use it to our advantage. And that's not a good thing.

THE GUILT LEASH

Guilt is not an emotion that we should want to rid ourselves of. While it's not pleasant, it serves positive social and moral functions. It motivates us to right wrongs and to repent. But guilt is a weird emotion, and so potent that it can become dangerous in the wrong hands.

I love talking to people who have just discovered grace--that God's love is unearned. A lot of silly, superficial "rules" go out the window and the freedom is dizzying. They are like newborn chicks, and I mean that in the best possible way.  They go boldly at times, but at others they are hyper-conscious of their surroundings, nervous that they might be taking grace too far.

Like with most of our learned behavior, a lot of it has become such a part of who we are that we don't see it as negative until someone else points it out. A lot of times, all those curious chicks need is permission to be free. Guilt so warps us that we don't even know what freedom looks like. We're so used to the pull of that guilt leash that we're always waiting for its sudden yank against our necks. With God, there is no leash, only loving arms.

You feel guilty? Go to God. Still feel guilty? That's a lie.

GUILT IS AN ALARM

Guilt serves much the same purpose that pain does in the body. If you've got an awful ache in your gut or your big, Fred Flintstone toe, then that's probably pointing to an issue that needs to be taken care of. Guilt is even a type of pain. And it's presence signifies that there is an issue that needs to be resolved.

Maybe you were rude and you need to apologize. 

Perhaps you took something when someone wasn't looking.

Could be that you gave in to temptation again.

Guilt. It's a sign you should do something about it. But what if you already have and you still feel guilty?

People who have lost limbs often talk about an odd, phantom pain where that appendage once was. Is that pain real? Your brain thinks it is. That's sort of how unhealthy guilt works. You've apologized, you've returned the stolen merchandise and you've asked forgiveness. There may be some actual consequences to your actions that you need to take seriously (jail, for instance), but guilt is over and done.

REGRET, NOT GUILT

Guilt is a proclamation. It is the firm fact that we have committed a wrong. Regret is simply the knowledge that you messed up coupled with a desire to do better next time. It is a permanent mental stop sign against that behavior. It's not the same thing as guilt at all.

But do you see how stinking amazing it is to no longer be found guilty of that which we are clearly guilty? That's God's forgiveness.

It should be the kind of forgiveness we strive toward as well.


People will be quick to remind you of your sins. And you will want to spiral and feel guilty all over again. You can still have regret over your actions, and act accordingly--as is healthy--toward a wronged individual. (For instance, if you stole from someone, you will have to work long and hard to earn back their trust.) But forgiveness crushes that heavy weight of guilt on your shoulders to bits and whisks it away forever.

So, understand, if you still feel guilt, it's just a lie.

Our false guilt is a symptom of other's need to control.

Our false guilt is a symptom of our need to control.
You can't be in control. Life doesn't work like that.

It's okay to be where you are. 

You can't be good enough to gain God's favor. The Creator of the Universe stepped into the Creation, becoming a man, perfect, sinless, to become sin and die in our place. Do you think He would have gone to such lengths if less porn and praying more would have cut it? 

The Good News is that Jesus' death and resurrection made forgiveness possible. Not just a little forgiveness until the next time you botch it up. All the forgiveness. Jesus traded his perfection for our sin because of his great love for us. That means, if you belong to him, you're clean. 

No more useless guilt. 

The only guilt you should allow in your life is that which sends you back to God when you mess up. If you screw up, you're going to feel it, and guilt can make you run from the one against whom you've sinned. But not if you know that He will always be there with open arms. Your forgiveness is a foregone conclusion. Repentance just brings you back to him after you mess it up.

No condemnation. I'll say it one more time: Guilt brings you to God, then it's done it's job. If you're forgiven, and you're still feeling guilty, that's a lie. Don't let someone steal your freedom. Don't let them control you.  

(unaltered) Photo credit: drp used under CC License

forgiveness grace Guilt guilt-trip Jesus love

10:45:00 PM

I wonder what would have happened if, as a pastor, I had stood up in front of the church one Sunday and said, “I don’t want to be here. I’m tired of playing games. Pretending I’m all happy and that I’ve got Jesus in my back pocket. I don’t care about a single person here this morning. Not today. Not most days. I’d rather be in bed because I’m tired, my mind is completely drained of any helpful thoughts, and most of this sermon is cobbled together from five other crappy sermons I was too ashamed to preach in the past. Not today. …How about you?”

What if we could openly tell people our marriages are falling apart and that we’re selfish and hate admitting we’re wrong, and not worry about how they’d react? 

What would it be like if we could, without a second thought, slump down into the back pew and start weeping into our hands knowing we’d only attract fellow weepers comforting us? If we humbly laughed at our nice Sunday clothes because they were so far removed from how we really felt inside? Would the whole place erupt in a chain reaction of laughter and tears as we realized how superficial and silly we are being?

Would we finally get honest?

I want to go to a church where a doctor and a prostitute can bump into each other at the entrance like a bad dirty joke, and walk in holding hands, laughing, and nobody thinks a thing. Because they both know they're sinners. And they both know they're loved. You may believe that’s nuts. You may shake your head and remember all the Pharisees you know, and the shame in your own heart, and know it will never happen.

But it could.

It really could.

It starts with you. It starts with me. Just believing the Gospel.

We have to focus our stare on the Good News and not look away for judgmental stares or arrogant whispers or talk of our hanging out with the wrong crowd.

It’s not going to be easy. Count the costs.

             Then laugh at the costs.

A big,

breathless

belly laugh.

               Because… well, Jesus.

I struggle almost every day. Sometimes, nonstop. I doubt, I’m angry and bitter and arrogant and I struggle with my self-worth. I don’t like people very much, I lust, I have poor social skills and I’m a crappy friend sometimes.

That’s really difficult to say.

In fact, I’m just pretending, at this point, that I’m not actually going to publish this. But I’d rather chance that you see that Jesus is for the screwed up than think church is some kind of elite club for the arrogant few. And because I’m a liar to say anything different. I’m dishonest to cherry pick. I misrepresent the God of my faith to say anything less.

And, even though I don’t like people…

because of Jesus, I love you.

(Jesus is always messing up my self-righteousness)

This isn’t therapy, it’s truth. It’s professing our need for Jesus. It’s comfort for a fellow Christian and our witness to the non-Christian. “Christ died for sinners, of whom I am the worst!” I promise you, there’s someone you know, someone in your church, that’s struggling so hard right now and they think they’re alone.

And because we think it’s about us and our goodness, they’ll continue to suffer alone.

I’m not trying to make you feel guilty. Guilt doesn’t work. I’m saying, the gospel is that we aren’t alone. The gospel is that we are loved. The gospel is that our deep, abiding existential angst can be brought to the table too, because it’s not so big that God can’t handle it. It’s not too much that the blood of God’s own Son doesn’t cover it.

My point is: if there are people that are suffering alone—and there are gobs—we haven’t been honest about the Gospel. We haven’t said it right. Or maybe we’ve been saying it in a way that they haven’t understood. (Or maybe we haven’t understood.)

The thing is, we are frightened of the Good News because it frees us and—as good as that sounds—we don’t want to be completely free. We want people to tell us what to do sometimes.

We take comfort in the idea that it’s about how we look and act. Because then we can pretend to be better than we are. We don’t have to talk about our doubts. We don’t have to talk about our deep hurts. Sunday morning we can get our ego stroked. The rest of the time, we can just sit back and be moral examples to the world. But that’s just a game. That’s not real. People see right through our act, and those that don’t just walk away because they think they’re not enough. When that’s the whole point!

None of us are enough! But we’re all loved.

Photo by Kelly used under CC

church grace

11:37:00 PM

We hear about sinners sinning and we shake our heads and cluck our tongues. The fires await them, we think. Then we bury our heads in our bibles and smile at how very holy we are. We attack homosexuals and democrats as if they had erupted from a crack traveling up from hell itself. And we feel satisfied with ourselves, and sing our songs and thank our God we’re not like them.

At times, God will show me something that I’m wrong about. I find myself humbled and thankful that he would be so kind to love me amidst such ignorance. Then, I encounter someone who is still wrong about that thing, and I immediately judge them for not being as spiritual as me. There’s something about us that habitually turns the best of gifts from undeserved grace into deserved veneration in our minds. So we start to believe that God’s love is something which began as grace, but soon enough began to sprout from God’s admiration of our goodness.

The love of God should leave us breathless. Hit us square in the gut, silencing our doubts and fears of never being fully accepted. It should be the water which nourishes our faith. But the awe has worn off and we’ve patted God on the shoulder, telling him that we’ll take it from here. And, now, it is pride which feeds us, fertilizing our hate. The one so deep in debt no amount of work could pay it back, freshly forgiven, is running the streets, pointing fingers at all the other debtors.

We were all born ugly and we’ve found our beauty. Should we then use it to shame others? Because God’s goodness has been superimposed over our evil, is our evil now acceptable?

Because we can’t be the things God desires of us, we don’t then humble ourselves before God as logic dictates, we raise up superficial works that can be easily accomplished as that which God desires. We baptize our opinions as law and wedge them into legitimate Scripture. These clownish replacements for God’s righteous demands make us feel superior, and so we stand judge over anyone who dares oppose us. But, until the church rejoices with the weak, shouting, “You too?” instead of scowling behind pious masks, we say Jesus’ death was a band-aid.

If it were ever about us, and our goodness, God would have sent a holy scoreboard for each believer. Instead, it is about what Jesus did. Because we’ve accepted his love, we’re not then better than others. We are humble receivers of a great gift.

We are the hungry, and having found food, we arrogantly judge other beggars for still being so hungry.

What could be more beautiful than the undeservedly loved shouting, singing and whispering that the loveless are loved too? Instead of berating them for their lack, we should nourish them with the happy news. But first we have to remember who we are and who God is. We are Sinful. And our sin runs deeper than too much drinking or marital unfaithfulness. Those are just symptoms of who we are. Our entire nature is evil. That’s what we’ve been saved from—ourselves. So, there is no room for pride.

“For by grace you have been saved through faith; and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God; not as a result of works, so that no one may boast.” (Ephesians 2:8-9)

God forgave us so that our sin is no longer the issue. We no longer have the demand of impossible rules to earn the favor of God, it was given to us freely by Christ. So what makes us so prideful? Is it because we can’t accept that it’s all free? Is it because we feel better thinking we’ve contributed? Believing spirituality is as easy as wearing nice things to a church service?

But spirituality isn’t wearing a tie to church, that’s a cop-out for the real deal of loving so much it may break you in two, knowing that only God can put you back together. Our well-manicured Sunday go-to-meeting clothes are ridiculous replacements for a clean heart that only the death of God can provide. We bite our tongues to keep from saying four-letter words when our tongues are swelled with evil expressions for those not like us. But all any of us has is grace.

All you have is grace.

You are naked and think you’ve succeeded in covering yourself with the abundance of air around you. All you have is grace. We smell of death and the bones inside rattle when we angrily shake our bible at others, but we think the whitewash is good enough. We need a resurrection, not a paint job. We need to lose ourselves in the truth that we are loved not because of what we do, but wholly in spite of it. All we have is grace.

We are thieves and vandals, adopted by a good man who cancelled our debt and announced to the entire kingdom to put anything more to come on his account. Murderers and whores for whom God danced so violently when we came home that we couldn’t help but laugh and dance along.

We are not fit to jab our fingers at anyone else's failings.

That finger-pointing is sometimes why they giggle at us and shake their heads. And we fret over us losing our moral authority. Please God, let us. Let us have nothing but our sin at so arrogantly slapping the hands of others when our own are still so freshly bruised. Then remind us that sin is all we’ve ever had. It’s all we ever brought to the table. Even the table was yours, God.

Then, maybe we’ll laugh and remember how to dance again.

Maybe then, we won’t care about being the moral authority. We’ll become the house of joy! A parade of rowdy misfits. And we’ll all become more like you, but we’ll barely notice because we’ll be so fixated on giving your love away.

Then they’ll look at each other, these children yet to come home. I know some will still scowl and roll their eyes. But others will chuckle and slap their hands across their mouths, unsure where it came from—not knowing the Happy Spirit. But soon they’ll let it come freely—straight from their bellies, and shortly they’ll be dancing too.

The dance of the free.

The dance of the filthy, rotten sinners.

The dance of the forgiven.

Photo by Hortlander used with permission under CC

grace

12:21:00 AM