*
Perhaps there are people in life with whom we are just
meant to interact. (It's an idea I've been wondering since last week.) There's that inexplicable draw - an attraction of curiosity - an innate *knowledge* that
this person is someone with whom I need to talk, or work, or play, or...whatever. I discovered that for some people, talking with them releases me of my desire to interact with them again - not to say, "Oh wow, that went badly. I hope I never speak with again because he or she is such a bore/terrible person/etc." It's more like, "Okay, we talked. They seem nice. We didn't connect...and that's okay." But until that interaction happens, just the sight of them makes one's pulse quicken. It's the "I
need to talk with them. I
need to approach them. We
need to interact. Now, how do I make that happen without being awkward/overeager?" Delightfully, so many of these interactions (at least for me) reveal some sort of kindred spirit in one way or another.
* * *
On Sunday I met a man and ended up talking with him for four hours. I came away with the conclusion that he understands grace better than I do. For some reason, I find that borderline frightening - this lack of definition that "this" is how we "should" all look and behave. And yet, I feel a slight rush at the thought of that much freedom.
I intellectually understand the deep-seeded truth that Christianity is not about being moral. And yet, I need examples that I can touch and interact with in order to fully
know that. (I guess it's like the difference between knowing that honey is sweet, and actually tasting it.*)
*out of context shout-out to Jonathan EdwardsFrom our conversation, the words of Martin Luther still bounce around in my head:
If you are a preacher of mercy, do not preach an imaginary but the true mercy. If the mercy is true, you must therefore bear the true, not an imaginary sin. God does not save those who are only imaginary sinners. Be a sinner, and let your sins be strong*, but let your trust in Christ be stronger, and rejoice in Christ who is the victor over sin, death, and the world. We will commit sins while we are here, for this life is not a place where justice resides. We, however, says Peter (2. Peter 3:13) are looking forward to a new heaven and a new earth where justice will reign. It suffices that through God's glory we have recognized the Lamb who takes away the sin of the world. No sin can separate us from Him, even if we were to kill or commit adultery thousands of times each day. Do you think such an exalted Lamb paid merely a small price with a meager sacrifice for our sins? Pray hard for you are quite a sinner.
* Other translations offer, "Sin boldly." (You can read the whole letter here.)It's funny: in reflecting on this, my knee-jerk reaction when I first heard it was, "Oh no! But then we will have chaos!" (I think that "chaos" is putting it lightly.) However, the reassurance that washed over me (almost just as quickly as my alarm) was the thought that a trust in Christ that is stronger than the weightiness of our sins will act to organically "control" our behavior. It's the old question of, "Are we to continue in sin that grace may abound?"
I ran across a very loose, wonderful paraphrase of
Romans 6 in a
blog that provided the answer as, "You love Jesus now, and hate your sins." I don't think it's check list - as if to say, "Do *this*, and do *this.*" I think it's more like the one (our love for Christ) will cause the other (the hatred of our sins). And, yet, in sinning "boldly" or "with strength" (whichever translation you like best) we remove our masks of *righteousness* and in humility admit our fallenness. I think that's what Luther's letter and Romans 6 all very much revolve around: transparency, humility, love, and grace. There's a fragment idea floating around in my head as I read this that keeps resounding, "A surrender to the power of God's love, maybe?" My thoughts then answer, "I don't know."
...but I like the way it sounds.
* * *
I turn 26 on Sunday.
* * *
I wonder when one actually
feels like a grown-up. I feel like I'm playing a game of pretend - waiting to be caught and told that I have to go home because it's time for dinner. I asked about that, wondering if I'm the only one who feels like they're pretending to be an adult. I was told, "I think we all feel that way." And...who knows? Maybe that's good, too. In the tension of "figuring it out," I am kept (to some degree) in a state of humility. Because I know I don't have it all together. It keeps me from getting cocky or judgmental...right?
Ah, me! I am such a recipient of grace!
*
