Category: random thoughts

I think Brian’s question this morning in class struck a slight nerve with me: Do we ever think God is too merciful?

All too often with myself, I think the answer is yes. For some reason, it seems to me like we feel that God should extend his mercy to everyone equally – generally to the same amount he extends us. In other words if I need X amount of mercy, then God should only extend X amount of mercy, or maybe slightly more than X so that I’m not the *worst* person let in, but certainly not 2X or 3X or X^2, for those of you who are math nerds. It’s as though we feel like somehow people who are significantly worse than we are don’t deserve mercy, or at least they don’t deserve more mercy than we received.

And I’m wondering why that is. Are we somehow subconsciously saying that if we’d only known that we could do a little more and “get away with it” that we would have done so? Do we not understand Paul imploring us to not continue in sin that God’s grace would abound, but rather to realize our new identities in Christ?

Somehow I think we feel that if we don’t get the “best deal” on mercy possible, that we’ve somehow been beaten by somebody somewhere, or that nobody deserves to get anything more than we received. After all, that wouldn’t be “fair”.

We must be continually reminded that we all hope to receive far more than we deserve. We must remember that our human scale of economics does not apply in a heavenly kingdom, where reward is never returned in equal portion to merit, and where each of us stands completely due to the merit of another.

Why is it so hard to understand justice?

Certainly we understand eternal justice – the idea everyone will eventually get what they deserve, though we conveniently ignore the fact we hope we *won’t* get what we deserve.

Why is it so hard to believe – or at least act like we believe – that people of every race, color, cocial group, economic status, intelligence, moral disposition, sexual orientation – in short all people – are treated by God with equal esteem, and that we are to love our neighbor as oursevles?

Ultimately our Christianity is not about the lip service we pay to the good things we *should* do, or to the bad things we *don’t* do, but about how we treat those who are in desperate need of heavenly mercy and justice. It is not about how we show justice to those who easily obtain it, but in how we treat the voiceless and oppressed and ignored, those who need justice.

Somewhere our theoretical Christianity must meet our practical Christianity. Somehwere we must go beyond saying we should be open and inviting to reflecting that – in how we dress, in how we talk, in how we give. We cannot be an abstract concept, but a tangible reality, the hands and feet and mouth of God, true justice in an unjust world.

I have a friend who thinks that we humans have some morbid fascination with death.

I tend to agree with her.

We participate in elaborate funerals. We gather our dead in large rolling cemeteries. We construct huge monuments and memorials to commemorate those who have gone before us. Time and time again we return to the memory of the past, dwelling on what was instead of focusing on what is.

How often do we do that with God?

Do we return time and time again to the tomb, remembering Jesus as he was, treating him like he’s still there?

“Why do you look for the living among the dead?

He is not here;

He has risen!”

If you were going to write a song about that, what would it say?

“There is a God. He is alive!”

Maybe someone should do that.

Sadly, I still think my friend is right. We sing songs like “I serve a risen Savior” and “Our God He is Alive!” but seem to act in so many ways like God does not exist at all. Perhaps the most foolish group of people in the world are those who claim to believe God exists, yet act as if he does not. Kreeft has a brilliant comment on the popularity of this position in his ethics class.

My hope is that we will give the death of Christ the proper reverence it deserves, but not too much – that it will become another part of the story of Christ – not the only part.

“He got up, rebuked the wind and said to the waves, ‘Quiet! Be still!’

Then the wind died down

and it was completely calm.”

I wonder what that storm was like. It must have been some sight to see – enough to scare the serious fishermen and make them think they were in danger of death.

These guys had been on that lake their whole lives. They’d grown up there. Their dad’s had taught them how to move the boats and cast their lines there. They had been across that lake hundreds of times. They’d probably seen hundreds of storms. They knew that place like the back of their hands.

They didn’t expect the storm to come – they took Jesus in the boat and headed out across the lake with no question of whether it was safe or not. I can see the clear skies as they set out. Storm? What storm? Not a cloud in the sky!

But then it came. Unexpected. Unplanned. Out in the middle of the lake, far from land, there was nothing that they could do but continue on. The winds and waves buffeted the ship. They broke over the boat, and these guys who hadn’t worried about the storm suddenly began to worry a lot about the storm.

And then there’s Jesus. Their teacher. Laying in the hold of the boat, sleeping. Doesn’t he get sea-sick? After all – he’s a carpenter! He builds these boats, he doesn’t sail on them.

“Teacher! Don’t you care if we drown?”

“Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

And Jesus arises.
And Jesus speaks.
And the world is calm.
And the world is silent.

And I look at the storms in my life. They’re quite a sight to see – let me assure you. Problems that have even a veteran like me worried.

I’ve grown up dealing with problems. I’ve grown up dealing with chaos in my life. After all, that’s what they teach you. “The American Way.” Deal with your problems yourself. We’re no stranger to difficulty and struggle. It’s what makes us the people who we are.

I don’t usually expect the storm. It isn’t like I really want it, after all. While problems and storms are a part of life, they’re never a pleasant one, and I’d just as soon avoid them if possible. I can imagine myself, standing on the shore as I get ready to set out on my newest adventures. Storm? What storm? Not a cloud in the sky!

But then it comes. Unexpected. Unplanned. Out in the middle of the lake, far from land, far from help, there is nothing that I can do but continue on. The winds and waves buffet my life. They break over me, and suddenly I begin to worry a lot about the storm.

And then there’s Jesus. My teacher. And where do I find him, but calmly sleeping over in the corner!

“Teacher! Don’t you care if I drown?”

“Why are you afraid? Do you still have no faith?”

And Jesus rises.
And Jesus speaks
And the world is calm.
And the world is silent.

“Who is this? Even the wind and the waves obey him!”

I often forget the power of Christ. Too often it’s an abstract or distant thing, something that is impossible to comprehend or something that only existed long ago – but nothing that is immediate, present, and real.

When I see the power of God displayed, it almost always confuses me – how did that happen? Where did it come from? Can it really be?

When I read these words again, I am reminded of the lyrics of an old song:

Jesus Savior pilot me
over life’s tempestuous seas.
Unknown waves before me roll
hiding rock and treacherous shoal.
Chart and compass come from thee,
Jesus Savior Pilot me.
Chart and compass come from thee,
Jesus Savior Pilot me.

As a mother stills her child
you have calmed the oceans wild.
Boisterous waves obey thy will
when you say to them, “Be still!”
Wonderous Sovereign of the sea,
Jesus Savior pilot me.
Wonderous Sovereign of the sea,
Jesus Savior pilot me.

What was it that made Jesus different?

What set him apart from every other person in the crowd?

Was it his teaching ability – his deep and profound lessons that made everyone marvel at his wisdom?

Was it his charisma – his ability to bring hundreds and hundreds of people to himself and speak to them about things that many of them didn’t want to hear?

Was it his political agenda – the hope that surrounded him that this might finally be the one who would redeem Israel?

Maybe.

But as I watch the life of Jesus, I see one thing that sets him apart from all others I have ever seen. There have been other great teachers, and people with amazing charisma, and other political giants, but there has never been anyone, to my knowledge, who has been able to love like Jesus.

He loved people.

Any time, any place.

It didn’t matter what it cost or what it meant to his schedule. It didn’t matter what it looked like to others, or how wretched their life was. He constantly – time after time – stopped everything that he was doing,
no matter how “important” it was,
so that he could love people.

“Go and do likewise.”

when i read about the life of Jesus, what i’m struck with time and time again is how he treated people – and so often how we fall short of treating them in the same way. Jesus made people feel special. he made them feel wanted. he made them feel important. he didn’t talk down to them or talk at them, but rather he talked with them. many times our interactions with people – people in general – aren’t guided by the spirit of Christ. they’re just the people who bring us a drink at sonic, or who check us out at the store, or take our money at the toll booth. i think what sets Jesus apart from us is that he made each and every person the most important person in the world when they were around him.

may we each look at the people around us in a different way – through the eyes of Christ.