Friday, December 05, 2008

The Most Difficult Doctrine

The hardest concept in the Bible for me to grasp is shockingly fundamental; in fact, without it, Christianity crumbles to nothing. Out of all the difficult truths in that Book, it’s the most popular one by far—chiefly because few find it difficult at all. It may be the most incredible—and, unsurprisingly, it may be the most grossly misshapen and carelessly handled.

I’m not talking about the existence of hell, God’s justice, and the plight of unreached people groups. Those are hard subjects, but I can begin to wrap my mind around them. I’m talking about His love.

It’s really ironic, though. Just ask an unsaved friend-- he probably won’t have any trouble telling you that God loves him. In fact, whenever I talk with unbelievers, God’s “love” is usually the point they insist on most adamantly. Is it hard? A question like that might even elicit a few laughs.

So here’s what makes the acceptance of God’s love for you, as a Christian, just about as easy as downing a handful of good-sized rocks with a swig of milk. One Puritan poet put it this way:


“I am full of infirmities, wants, sin; Thou art full of grace. All my powers of body and soul are defiled: a fountain of pollution is deep within my nature. I am utterly ashamed that I am what I am in myself; I have no green shoot in me nor fruit, but thorns and thistles.”


Amen. And that’s the whole problem.

Think about it this way. Let’s say that a certain man (a man you admire very much), raps on your door one day. When you open it, he takes your hand in his. Smiling, he begins to tell you—gazing earnestly into your widening eyes—that he loves you passionately, and will never cease to. You think you’re going to faint, but you somehow manage to keep standing upright, mute with joy. Then he goes on.

“There is nothing beautiful about you. You have offended me continually, and you deserve only my anger. Nevertheless, I love you far more than any other man ever could.”

You’d recoil instinctively in shock, confusion, and pain, wouldn’t you? Maybe you’d even give him a good slap across the cheek. (And it'd serve him right!)

The example’s absurd, of course. But that’s my point—in our natural minds, it’s nearly impossible to understand unconditional love for an unlovable object. The latter part of our figment suitor’s speech translates into hate in our minds. His completely contradictory opening statement, on the other hand-- if properly followed up by romantic Shakespearean sonnets, flowers, and compliments galore about your loveliness and worthiness-- now, that would align with love as we know it.

At this point, things get a little awkward. The Bible doesn't really paint a very flattering, lovable portrait of you and me... to say the least. See my quandary now? That very same Book also urges me to explore the heights, depths, and breadth of God’s love for me in Christ Jesus.

Your Two Miserable Options

There are only two ways we can tidily side-step this paradox.

One: we can interpret God's love as an exciting, easy, appealing, Divine solution for improving self-image.

This feat is accomplished expediently by refusing to think about sin—perhaps now and then in passing, or perhaps never at all. I’ve seen and heard the gospel mutilated this way so far beyond recognition that it made me weep. It simply coddles our natural, insatiable thirst for ourselves-- and the heresy somehow passes muster under the guise of Christianity.

Even if we don’t charge to that extreme, downplaying our sin only helps to suffocate our understanding of God’s love. After all, which of us wouldn’t rather hear flattering words over hard ones? The pull is fierce for us to re-build the Cross into a sign of our own worth, instead of a display of God’s glory.

But the second way to mishandle this vital truth is just as deadly as the first, and I believe it’s all the more enticing for its subtlety.

It is possible to become so concerned about perverting God’s love by making it you-centered that you fearfully avoid dwelling on His love at all. I would know, because I’ve done it.

I have eagerly, fervently diminished God’s glory in the Gospel, all under the mistaken assumption that I was exalting it. It wasn’t always conscious, but that's exactly what I did.

To avoid twisting God into my personal ego-bloater, I ran full-force the other way—and smack into the very thing I’d been so desperate to avoid. I shied whenever His love was applied to me in a non-general way. It sounded so… dangerous. What if I should become more self-absorbed, and subvert God's glory? My solution: Just don’t think about it, and you’ll be safe.

(I wonder if there’s a better recipe for spiritual coldness and lovelessness than neglecting to think about God’s personal love for you on a day-in, day-out basis? If there is, let me know, but I’m pretty sure I found a winner.)

Both these extremes are insidious distortions, because they focus on only one aspect of an two-sided truth. Minimize your sin, and you obscure God’s holiness. Minimize His intense, abiding love for you as an individually redeemed daughter, and you miss the whole point.

A Love Greater Than Our Sin

A few weeks ago, Mom wrote Jude's doxology out on a slip of paper, to keep with her for review throughout the day. In the evening, she passed the paper to me. I read it slowly, first-- then over and over. As my mind reeled and the words penetrated my soul, I was filled with a great, sweet gladness.

This is what Jude 1:20-21, 24-25 says:

But you, beloved… keep yourselves in the love of God, looking for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ unto eternal life.

Now to Him who is able to keep you from stumbling,
And to present you faultless
Before the presence of His glory with exceeding joy,
To God our Savior,
Who alone is wise,
Be glory and majesty,
Dominion and power,
Both now and forever.
Amen.

“With exceeding joy." Oh! I love those words, don’t you? When I read them, I try to picture the look on Christ's face when He'll welcome me into His presence-- when He says, "Well done, good and faithful servant" at last. Can you imagine His glow of satisfaction and delight, as He gazes at His finished handiwork-- the work He spilled His very blood for? When I attempt to think of it, I'm staggered with incomprehensible joy.


The gospel is not about me; it's about God’s glory displayed in Jesus Christ. It is not a sign of my worth; it is, as Paul Washer put it, "a sign of how depraved we really are." And at the exact same time, God has made much of me. He has given me great worth. Adopted me. Cleansed me. He's imputed His perfect righteousness to my account-- my sins are no longer counted against me. He's made me joint heirs with Christ. He “rejoices over” his Bride with singing– and that applies to me too, in the New Covenant. In short, to pack everything down into a single, incalculably rich theological sentence:

He loves me.