How many of the garden variety
gods that you could pick up at your neighborhood establishments would tolerate
our most horrendous moments? The
god of “keeping up with the Jones’s” always asks that we step it up a notch,
look good, buy more in-style products, and wear them or drive them well. The
gods of perfectionism certainly don’t put up with nonsense. It’s not their way. They are harsh ones who tend to carry
whips and try to get them into our hands for self-flagellation. We can’t handle their verdicts or
the knowledge of our own guilt, so the gods of “comfortableness” usually win and
we trot off to ease our guilt with one of a plethora of self-satisfying potions
or people.
But really, we know when we are
crossing lines. We feel the
bristles of our own actions, or at least we used to if we haven’t practiced
denial for too long. It is so easy
to brush aside that nudge of conviction and begin to insulate and defend
ourselves.
The thing is that there is a moral code.
For all we’ve tried to embrace as another norm for life, the cry for
justice is only one tiny situation away if someone wrongs us. (And
that’s enough to prove the point.) We know when wrong has been done—if it’s the
other guy who has done it and we don’t have any difficulty shifting to
defending ourselves, our rights, our feelings. The list is long and we’ve been trained well to get to the
courtroom asap.
If we have done the deed however, we often can only see
through the lens of mercy, tolerance, and pressing the point that the other guy
give us a break. “My intentions
were good, for heaven’s sake!” We hide our guilt behind so many layers. “I’m only human,” we say, and expect
forgiveness we’ve not sought, before repentance we’ve not walked out, or the
efforts of repair we’ve not worked at.
So how surprised should we be
that a God who has always kept His word, not only allows us into His company,
not only invites us to run into His arms, the mess that we are, who not only is
more than willing to wipe our bloody hands and wrap us in His own fine garb,
would go far beyond anyone’s
expectations, and
COME TO FIX OUR MOST INTERNAL DAMAGE HIMSELF?
He did all the blood and sweat
and tears that would have rightly been our responsibility to do. It was a scandalous, a very UN-godlike
thing to do.
I look at what this precious
Messiah has done on our behalf. I
envision the Father who gave His best to allow it. It is unconceivable that He would send His own Son to do our
dirty work, when we so comfortably spit in His face. I am appalled at how easy it is for me to brush Him off and
do what I prefer. Perhaps that is
why it would take an immaculate conception to convince us
It is more than clear that I would
not conceive of such a plan, but He could. And did. He not
only saw it in theory but actually lived out the idea to its violent and
effective end. It was such an ungodly thing to do that I am persuaded that it could
of only been thought up by a God who loves. It’s pretty unbelievable otherwise, which is apparently why
so many see it as such. But
it convinces me that He is the real deal.
The God of whom prophecy after prophecy was written and spoken. The God who would be so far from the
shape of our expectations that He is easy to miss, and harder to follow. The God who modeled such a lifestyle
that it takes all our yielding to get in the streams of water that give life
because our own pride is so damned thick, and we don’t want to admit that we
needed such extreme measures of help.
It took the life of GOD to save me? Really? I am
tempted to run back behind the fig leaves instead of acknowledging that much
nakedness.
But here we are, invited to step
ankle deep first, then to feel the consuming waters of our baptism, and dive in
and begin to swim. And all He asks of us is to receive the help He’s offering
and swim. It’s mind-blowing. We should give it a try.
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