Less Is More

The season of Lent starts today, and during the weeks leading to Easter, many Christians focus on Christ’s sacrifice by giving up something considered delightful or enjoyable.  The idea behind the action is that our small sacrifices continually remind us of His big ones.

Jesus gave up heavenly glory to reside on planet Earth.  He gave up the adoration of angels and the perfection of Paradise to face the taunts and jeers of doubters and deniers.  And, in the end, He gave up His body and soul to bring us to Himself.  Such sacrifice is worth way more than forty days of focus, but six weeks is a good start.

Though we should meditate and marvel on this every day, an honest confession most of us could make (me at the top of the list) is that sometimes we take our salvation like we take running water—for granted.  We know it’s a big blessing, but not often enough do we stop at marvel that with the turn of a knob, the very substance essential for physical life comes flowing out—clear, clean, steady, and ready.  Granted, the comparison isn’t close, but not often enough do we stop and marvel that the salvation needed for spiritual life is poured out on us graciously and constantly from the heart of our ever-loving, always faithful God.

Simply put, intentionally giving up something during Lent helps us marvel more.  The daily refrain from an activity we usually engage in or an item we regularly consume prompts us to praise the One who gave up so much good for our good.  The purpose is not to be miserable but for the break in routine to refocus our desires on His delights.

So if you’ve given up a hobby, spend your “freed up” time in God’s Word.  If you’ve given up interaction on social media, increase your connection with God through prayer and reading.  If you’ve given up sugar, find the sweetness of Scripture like you’ve never tasted before.  If you’ve given up carbs, discover anew that the Bible is more sustaining and fulfilling than any bread could ever be. (One of my girls suggested giving up school for Lent, but her mean mother quickly nixed any such idea.)  The point isn’t what we give up, it’s that we give up something as a small but sincere reminder of how much Christ sacrificed for us.

And just perhaps during these days of less, we will find ourselves filled with more—more love, more joy, more hope, more praise, and more awe of the God who loves so much He gave—and gave up.

Grace! I Want Grace!

“From the fullness of his grace we have all received one blessing after another.”  John 1:16

 

Last Saturday my family babysat two little girls.  Our charges--one and a half and two and a half years old, respectively, arrived with diapers, jammies, and a music DVD.  It is no exaggeration to say that from the minute they walked in until thirty seconds before they walked out, the disc played non-stop. The second tune was the praise song, “This Is Amazing Grace,” and the key word in the title became the anthem of the youngest.  

“Grace!  I want grace!” she sweetly, strongly, and excitedly proclaimed.  The moment the last song would end, her mantra would begin.  “Grace!  I want grace!”  Since she’s still learning to talk, the words “I want” often came out garbled, but her demand for “grace” was always clear.  When (the first three times around) I failed to immediately push the repeat button on the DVD remote, she dissolved into tears as she stared at the blank screen sorrowfully proclaiming, “Grace.  I want grace.”  And when the familiar sights and sounds began again, cheers replaced her tears as she joyfully announced, “Grace!! Grace!!”

About the fifth time through, during that two second interlude of silence between songs, I clicked over to check on the USA Figure Skating Championships. I thought that since movement and music would still be showing, we might get away with it, but the child was not fooled.  Immediately she recognized the imposter and began her imploring wail--“Grace!  I want grace!  Grace!  I want grace!”

The skating costumes were flashier than the outfits worn by the kids on the DVD, the motions more graceful, and the music more dramatic, but since the clever toddler knew what authentic “grace” looked and sounded like, no cheap imitation—no matter how extravagant or appealing—would do.  

We can all learn a lesson from the little one.  From the time we were babes in our faith, we’ve been repeatedly saturated in grace.  As the slave-trader turned song-writer John Newton penned, “Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, and grace my fears relieved.  How precious did that grace appear the hour I first believed.” Actually, that amazing grace appeared way before our belief.  It showed up when Christ came down to give His life for ours, and it was working in our hearts even before we were His.  God’s grace not only saves us, but over and over and over, day after day after day, God’s grace sustains us, strengthens us, and straightens us up.  His grace fills us with joy, peace, contentment, and purpose, and His grace binds us to Him now and forever. “Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far, and grace will lead me home.”

Sometimes we fail to recognize the beauty of such blessing.  At other moments the enemy catches us in a lull and diverts our attention to something that appears more flashy and dramatic, but we should not be fooled.  Style is not substance, and our desperate hearts need the real deal—no cheap imitation will do.  May we quickly recognize any imposter and begin the imploring wail of “Grace!  I want grace!”  

There is no stronger or sweeter word for it flows from the holy heart of a perfect Father whose willingness to endure the worst allowed Him to give us His best—His grace.  From now to forever, through the tears, the cheers, the victories, the failures, the marvelous, or the mundane, our mantra should stay the same. “Grace!  I want grace!”

Nothing else will ever do.

Looking For Loopholes

“He wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’” Luke 10:29

When it comes to commitments and contracts, it seems that as soon as we sign, we start looking for loopholes.  Humans have been trying to untangle themselves from obligations since the start (think garden, fruit, snake, etc.), but sometimes the more diligently we try to get out, the deeper we get in.

Such was the story for a lawyer who tested Jesus—and failed.  The man, an expert in Jewish theology, asked Jesus the requirements for eternal life, but instead of answering with a statement, Jesus responded with a question.  “‘What is written in the Law?’ he replied.  ‘How do you read it?’”(Lk 10:26).  With no hesitation, the lawyer rattled off the two greatest commandments:  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength,” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.”  Since doing of all these things all of the time would equal perfection, Jesus replied, “Do this and you will live”(Lk 10:28).

This comeback unsettled the expert because the demand was so broad.  To love God with everything made sense, but an expectation to love all others seemed absurd, so he started looking for a loophole.  “He wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’”(Lk 10:29). 

In answer Jesus told the parable we call “The Good Samaritan”—the tale of a victimized traveler, desperate and dying, who was ignored by a prideful priest and a reluctant rabbi before being finally rescued by a passerby with a soft heart and an open hand. The hero was a man the lawyer loathed—a Samaritan, a part-breed Jew whom proper Israelites despised and disdained, but such was exactly the point.  Mercy and compassion know no boundaries.  Ethnicity, economics, preferences, partialities, or even our own plans and priorities should never keep us from being kind and caring.  Ever. The expectation to love all others is large, but so is our God.

Who is your neighbor?  The one in need.

Love has no loopholes.