‘Unforced Rhythms of Grace’
Much of my early life was formed by fear. I was fearful of so many things — storms, wildlife, unrequited friendships, death. As I grew older and my basic grasp of Christianity slightly deepened, fear of storms was overcome by fear of hell.
It’s interesting the things we retain as children — not necessarily taught, but absorbed into our still-developing brains. My childish theology simplified everything: Heaven was for the good people, Hell was for the bad. But … was I good enough? Sure, I knew the trope: salvation by faith alone. But was my faith enough? It didn’t feel like it.
Internal questions were compounded by the church’s emphasis on specific sins and actions. My understanding of Christianity seemed to have more to do with “the gospel of sin management” (as Dallas Willard calls it) than love of God and neighbor.
I was terrified of getting it wrong, going to Hell.
Willard writes: “History has brought us to the point where the Christian message is thought to be essentially concerned only with how to deal with sin: with wrongdoing or wrong-being and its effects. Life, our actual existence, is not included in what is now presented as the heart of the Christian message, or it is included only marginally.”
I know it’s well-intentioned. Christians should look different. And yet … sin management is exactly what so many Christians are distracted by. But do we know Jesus? Or love him? Do we love our neighbors? I don’t think I did. I was too busy kissing dating goodbye …
Through the years I’ve come to realize the telling of “personal testimonies” often treats faith like an arrival (“I was blind BUT NOW I see”). I was heading for Hell, but now I’m heading for Heaven. But what if blindness takes time to heal? What if transformation takes years, a lifetime? What if we struggle cyclically with the same sins, the same uncertainties? What if we too, like Peter, deny? What if we, like Thomas, doubt? What if we, like the disciples, judge? What if we, like the religious leaders, condemn?
Actions reveal what resides deep within. But even Jesus understood the wayward bent of the human heart. That growth takes time, fruit trees don’t bear good fruit overnight.
Looking to Jesus changed my views and understanding of the ancient faith. Not because he was absent in my youth, but because I confused the point of it: am I a Christian to manage behavior and thus avoid Hell? Or am I a Christian because Jesus is everything? Because, like C.S. Lewis said, “if true is of infinite importance,” “a risk worth being wrong about” (Rachel Held Evans).
There’s a scene in Sue Monk Kidd’s novel “The Book of Longings,” where the character Yaltha is reconnected with her long-lost daughter. She asks her daughter to come live with her in a holy settlement. “I don’t worship your god,” says the daughter. Yaltha replies: “We will teach you about our God and you will teach us about yours, and together we'll find the God that exists behind them.”
I wonder if this is what Hagar encountered in the wilderness, a rejected foreigner with her own god(s), her own culture. God meets her there, disrupts her universe with Truth that permeates the world. The act of living out a faith means continuously wrestling with it, finding The God who exists behind our ignorance and fledgling faith.
I’ve always loved the Matthew 11 verse where Jesus says, “come to me, ALL who are weary … and I will give you rest.” But The Message translation is even more poignant, stunningly beautiful in it’s hopeful message: “Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me —watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.”
We are weary, battered, doubting, hurting. Some have been deeply wounded by the very folk who call themselves Christians, feeling neglected and forgotten like Hagar. Many are burnt out, tired of the religious rigamarole, of sin management. We are weary souls in desperate need of calmer seas, “unforced rhythms of grace.”
Jesus offers an invitation to keep company with us. With us! Not in the next life, but in the here-and-now.
He doesn’t say: “Come to me and learn how to better manage your sin.”
He says, “Come and be free.”