Living from Love
This morning I had the privilege of sharing the pew with Miss E, my oldest little. An hour and a half is a long time to sit for any six year old. Heck, it's a long time to sit for this 34-year old. I had to restrain a small grin and look just the slightest bit stern when she started dancing in her seat to the piano, doing jazz hands in the air and making silly faces.
"I'm doing a puzzle!" she whispered at one point, while she slid my interlocking wedding band and engagement ring back and forth along my finger.
"Where are we?" she asked another time, pointing to the Bible and wondering which verse we were on.
"He's talking about the verses now, hon," I whispered back. "We already read the passage."
"Oh," she sighed and leaned against me.
"Are ya lis-ning?" our pastor intoned with his southern drawl half way through the sermon, a rhetorical tool he uses when he wants us to jolt to attention and catch the deep meaning of what he's about to say. And of course, he meant us--E and I--the pair on the right who couldn't stop whispering and wiggling.
I indulged her in a twenty minute hand massage to keep her still. It worked. But it was Communion Sunday, and twenty minutes is not very long in the long run.
She perked up when it was time to pass the bread and the wine. "I love this part," she leaned in to tell me. "It's my favorite kind of bread!"
Later, in my distraction I accidentally took wine for both of us, instead of reaching for the inner ring of the communion plate to grab a juice for her. "It's OK, Mom," she grinned, "I love wine!"
The practiced silence of Communion found me reflecting on the discipline required of a six-year-old to sit still with her legs on the floor for ninety whole minutes. It reminded me of the hopeless task of always doing the right thing as an adult--of being fair and just, of listening more than we speak, of loving more than we judge, of encouraging instead of gossiping, of taming a selfish nature to serve rather than to want, to give rather than consume. We try really hard. But we always fall short.
I was feeling a bit low about myself before church this morning; I backpedaled through my week while sipping coffee at the kitchen table, trying to remember what I might have done that was making me feel as if I had fallen short. It didn't take long to tally a list of failures. Oh, they weren't much by most standards, amounting to little more than the usual--sticking my foot in my mouth, ingratitude, gossip, thoughtlessness, irritability, and a short temper. But they left me feeling a bit dreary about my ability to walk this life of faith. A bit defeated.
Until the precious act of sharing Communion with my daughter reminded me that it's not goodness that saves, but love. Because I do so love that girl no matter what she does and it would be impossible to ever stop loving her. And isn't that how all parents see their children? With wild love-struck eyes from the moment those babies emerge from the dark to take their first breath. And isn't that how God loves his children? Welcoming us to the party by his grace, not our goodness.
My sister Kait sent me a link to an article this week that reminded me of that same truth but asked the obvious next question of whether or not this kind of love generates apathy. "Doesn't grace undercut ambition?" asks Tullian Tchividjian (grandson of Billy Graham). If we have grace at no cost, then why do anything? No need to take risks. Tchividjian argues that the reason we don't take risks is because we fear what we might lose if we fail. Living under the shelter of grace-wings means we're never in danger of losing anything of true value we haven't already been given. For free. "Gospel-grace actually empowers risk-taking effort and neighbor-embracing love," says Tchividjian. "This is the difference between approaching all of life from salvation and approaching all of life for salvation; it’s the difference between approaching life from our acceptance, and not for our acceptance; from love not for love."
Tallying my failures doesn't accomplish anything other than making me want to stay at home so as not to offend or stir up or fail. And E didn't have to do anything in particular other than be her six-year old self to take Communion with the grown ups today. She is just as welcome at the feast table as the rest of us. We all approach the grace-gift from different places, with different sets of struggles and weaknesses and needs. Once we sit and join hands around the table, though, we are all equal, all welcome. And knowing this, why do I approach with head bowed low, shame in my spirit for all I have not done and all that I have?
There is no need. No need to let weaknesses defeat spirit or limitations defeat will.
"The gospel alone liberates you to live a life of scandalous generosity, unrestrained sacrifice, uncommon valor, and unbounded courage," presses Tchividjian, and to that I would add, "absolute joy."
Because E trusts that she is loved no matter what, she isn't afraid to dance in her seat among Sunday suits and pressed skirts. Because she trusts that she is accepted, she boldly leaves the house in plaid jumper, polka dotted leggings, and white tights. Because she knows she won't fall far, she doesn't worry about how hard the ground will feel when her hand slips from the jungle gym and she can't regain her grip. When she does slip, she just gets up and tries again.
This is good news for the mama who feels the press of late winter testing her patience and sprouting restlessness in her heart. It's good news for three littles who have their lives stretched before them and don't ever have to measure up to anyone's yard stick before setting off to live lives of "uncommon valor and unbounded courage and absolute joy." It's good news for all of us, really, even if we don't always know how to live in the warmth of its truth, or in the first place, have a hard time believing that it could possibly be true. No matter where we stand on the issue, our children can teach us a thing or two about living as if it were.
"I'm doing a puzzle!" she whispered at one point, while she slid my interlocking wedding band and engagement ring back and forth along my finger.
"Where are we?" she asked another time, pointing to the Bible and wondering which verse we were on.
"He's talking about the verses now, hon," I whispered back. "We already read the passage."
"Oh," she sighed and leaned against me.
"Are ya lis-ning?" our pastor intoned with his southern drawl half way through the sermon, a rhetorical tool he uses when he wants us to jolt to attention and catch the deep meaning of what he's about to say. And of course, he meant us--E and I--the pair on the right who couldn't stop whispering and wiggling.
I indulged her in a twenty minute hand massage to keep her still. It worked. But it was Communion Sunday, and twenty minutes is not very long in the long run.
She perked up when it was time to pass the bread and the wine. "I love this part," she leaned in to tell me. "It's my favorite kind of bread!"
Later, in my distraction I accidentally took wine for both of us, instead of reaching for the inner ring of the communion plate to grab a juice for her. "It's OK, Mom," she grinned, "I love wine!"
The practiced silence of Communion found me reflecting on the discipline required of a six-year-old to sit still with her legs on the floor for ninety whole minutes. It reminded me of the hopeless task of always doing the right thing as an adult--of being fair and just, of listening more than we speak, of loving more than we judge, of encouraging instead of gossiping, of taming a selfish nature to serve rather than to want, to give rather than consume. We try really hard. But we always fall short.
I was feeling a bit low about myself before church this morning; I backpedaled through my week while sipping coffee at the kitchen table, trying to remember what I might have done that was making me feel as if I had fallen short. It didn't take long to tally a list of failures. Oh, they weren't much by most standards, amounting to little more than the usual--sticking my foot in my mouth, ingratitude, gossip, thoughtlessness, irritability, and a short temper. But they left me feeling a bit dreary about my ability to walk this life of faith. A bit defeated.
Until the precious act of sharing Communion with my daughter reminded me that it's not goodness that saves, but love. Because I do so love that girl no matter what she does and it would be impossible to ever stop loving her. And isn't that how all parents see their children? With wild love-struck eyes from the moment those babies emerge from the dark to take their first breath. And isn't that how God loves his children? Welcoming us to the party by his grace, not our goodness.
My sister Kait sent me a link to an article this week that reminded me of that same truth but asked the obvious next question of whether or not this kind of love generates apathy. "Doesn't grace undercut ambition?" asks Tullian Tchividjian (grandson of Billy Graham). If we have grace at no cost, then why do anything? No need to take risks. Tchividjian argues that the reason we don't take risks is because we fear what we might lose if we fail. Living under the shelter of grace-wings means we're never in danger of losing anything of true value we haven't already been given. For free. "Gospel-grace actually empowers risk-taking effort and neighbor-embracing love," says Tchividjian. "This is the difference between approaching all of life from salvation and approaching all of life for salvation; it’s the difference between approaching life from our acceptance, and not for our acceptance; from love not for love."
Tallying my failures doesn't accomplish anything other than making me want to stay at home so as not to offend or stir up or fail. And E didn't have to do anything in particular other than be her six-year old self to take Communion with the grown ups today. She is just as welcome at the feast table as the rest of us. We all approach the grace-gift from different places, with different sets of struggles and weaknesses and needs. Once we sit and join hands around the table, though, we are all equal, all welcome. And knowing this, why do I approach with head bowed low, shame in my spirit for all I have not done and all that I have?
There is no need. No need to let weaknesses defeat spirit or limitations defeat will.
"The gospel alone liberates you to live a life of scandalous generosity, unrestrained sacrifice, uncommon valor, and unbounded courage," presses Tchividjian, and to that I would add, "absolute joy."
Because E trusts that she is loved no matter what, she isn't afraid to dance in her seat among Sunday suits and pressed skirts. Because she trusts that she is accepted, she boldly leaves the house in plaid jumper, polka dotted leggings, and white tights. Because she knows she won't fall far, she doesn't worry about how hard the ground will feel when her hand slips from the jungle gym and she can't regain her grip. When she does slip, she just gets up and tries again.
This is good news for the mama who feels the press of late winter testing her patience and sprouting restlessness in her heart. It's good news for three littles who have their lives stretched before them and don't ever have to measure up to anyone's yard stick before setting off to live lives of "uncommon valor and unbounded courage and absolute joy." It's good news for all of us, really, even if we don't always know how to live in the warmth of its truth, or in the first place, have a hard time believing that it could possibly be true. No matter where we stand on the issue, our children can teach us a thing or two about living as if it were.
Because
Jesus came to secure for us what we could never secure for ourselves,
life doesn’t have to be a tireless effort to establish ourselves,
justify ourselves, validate ourselves.
He came to rescue us from the slavish need to be right, rewarded, regarded, and respected. He came to relieve us of the burden we inherently feel “to get it done.”
The gospel announces that it’s not on me to ensure that the ultimate verdict on my life is pass and not fail.
- See more at: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tullian/#sthash.R1CKRcga.dpuf
He came to rescue us from the slavish need to be right, rewarded, regarded, and respected. He came to relieve us of the burden we inherently feel “to get it done.”
The gospel announces that it’s not on me to ensure that the ultimate verdict on my life is pass and not fail.
- See more at: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tullian/#sthash.R1CKRcga.dpuf
The
gospel doxologically declares that because of Christ’s finished work for
you, you already have all of the justification, approval, security,
love, worth, meaning, and rescue you long for and look for in a thousand
different people and places smaller than Jesus.
The gospel announces that God doesn’t relate to us based on our feats for Jesus but Jesus’ feats for us.
Because Jesus came to secure for us what we could never secure for ourselves, life doesn’t have to be a tireless effort to establish ourselves, justify ourselves, validate ourselves.
He came to rescue us from the slavish need to be right, rewarded, regarded, and respected. He came to relieve us of the burden we inherently feel “to get it done.”
The gospel announces that it’s not on me to ensure that the ultimate verdict on my life is pass and not fail.
- See more at: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tullian/#sthash.R1CKRcga.dpuf
The gospel announces that God doesn’t relate to us based on our feats for Jesus but Jesus’ feats for us.
Because Jesus came to secure for us what we could never secure for ourselves, life doesn’t have to be a tireless effort to establish ourselves, justify ourselves, validate ourselves.
He came to rescue us from the slavish need to be right, rewarded, regarded, and respected. He came to relieve us of the burden we inherently feel “to get it done.”
The gospel announces that it’s not on me to ensure that the ultimate verdict on my life is pass and not fail.
- See more at: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tullian/#sthash.R1CKRcga.dpuf
The
gospel doxologically declares that because of Christ’s finished work for
you, you already have all of the justification, approval, security,
love, worth, meaning, and rescue you long for and look for in a thousand
different people and places smaller than Jesus.
The gospel announces that God doesn’t relate to us based on our feats for Jesus but Jesus’ feats for us.
Because Jesus came to secure for us what we could never secure for ourselves, life doesn’t have to be a tireless effort to establish ourselves, justify ourselves, validate ourselves.
He came to rescue us from the slavish need to be right, rewarded, regarded, and respected. He came to relieve us of the burden we inherently feel “to get it done.”
The gospel announces that it’s not on me to ensure that the ultimate verdict on my life is pass and not fail.
- See more at: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tullian/#sthash.R1CKRcga.dpuf
The gospel announces that God doesn’t relate to us based on our feats for Jesus but Jesus’ feats for us.
Because Jesus came to secure for us what we could never secure for ourselves, life doesn’t have to be a tireless effort to establish ourselves, justify ourselves, validate ourselves.
He came to rescue us from the slavish need to be right, rewarded, regarded, and respected. He came to relieve us of the burden we inherently feel “to get it done.”
The gospel announces that it’s not on me to ensure that the ultimate verdict on my life is pass and not fail.
- See more at: http://thegospelcoalition.org/blogs/tullian/#sthash.R1CKRcga.dpuf