Faith Meets World

Reflections on faith in a messed-up but beautiful world

Category: Grace (Page 1 of 4)

Broken apart, together

Rail flowerLately I’ve been thinking and writing quite a bit about brokenness. While this is a subject that will always be relevant this side of eternity, there are particular reasons why I’ve been focusing on it recently. But I’ll come to that.

As I wrote in one recent post, it seems to be the case that we often need to be brought to a place of brokenness before we are ready to begin to receive the healing light of God’s loving grace. However, as I wrote in another post, we often carry a deep sense of shame that acts as a powerful pull away from the light: because we are broken, we feel shameful and unworthy, and the last thing we want is anyone else seeing what we’re really like.

So we find ourselves caught in a deadly trap: in desperate need of healing, but kept away from the healing light we so need by shame and the fear of exposure. And this often happens at a level that is below our conscious awareness. We do not know why we are hiding, or even that we are hiding; all we know is that we feel trapped, lonely and desperately unhappy.

It seems clear to me that our fear of exposure is largely driven by the deep-seated belief that our brokenness is a source of difference, and therefore something to be ashamed of. If you know about the particular ways in which I am broken, you will see that I am different from you, and you will judge me and find me wanting. And, given that our brokenness is often bound up with a deep need for approval and acceptance (and a corresponding dread of rejection), the idea of being judged less than enough is simply too devastating a risk for many of us to willingly take.

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On the necessity of being broken

broken-arm-1221297_1920A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about living in hiding. In that post, I talked about how a great many of us become expert at deploying a variety of strategies to keep our authentic, unvarnished selves safely concealed from the world. The problem is that, in keeping ourselves a safe distance from others, we end up being isolated and separated from ourselves.

I concluded in that post that we are not made to live in the shadows: there is a greater freedom that awaits us if we dare to lay down our armour and shed our various masks. The sixty-four thousand dollar question, of course, is how to find the freedom of living in the world as our true selves after a life spent in hiding. Many of us have been playing a largely fictional part in the play of our lives for so long that we don’t know how to stop playing to the audience, take off our costumes and just be ourselves.

Some will glibly say that, if you want to be set free from the endless cycle of performance and stage management, you just need to have a personal encounter with God’s unconditional love. While I appreciate the sentiment, such advice on its own, abstract as it is, is not always much help. Yes, we need to encounter God’s love in a personal way; but such an encounter is not something we can in any way engineer. The best we can do is try not to run away when it comes to us – which is also much easier said than done: when push comes to shove, our desire for self-preservation often keeps us firmly and squarely in the very place that’s killing us.

How, then, does a freeing, transformative encounter with God’s love and grace come to us? It seems to me that it very often comes in the form of an experience of brokenness.

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Full and free

FreedomWhen I was a young Christian, I often used to have a nagging sense that when bad things happened to me, it was because I deserved them. If my car broke down, or some other unforeseen crisis occurred, somewhere in the almost-unconscious regions of my heart, I would wonder which of my particular catalogue of sins had brought this calamity upon me. As a result, I lived under a constant burden of feeling that I needed to up my game and be a better person if I wanted to avoid disaster.

The flip side of this was that when things were going well or when I experienced what is often called “good fortune”, such as a financial windfall or a promotion at work, I would be plagued by a barely perceptible but nevertheless very real sense that I didn’t deserve it. In fact, the more good things came my way, the less I felt I deserved them – and the more I felt I was somehow living on borrowed time. Sooner or later, fate would catch up with me, my luck would run out and I’d get what I deserved.

Living with these kinds of feelings, and the resulting constant sense of unworthiness and foreboding they engendered, did not make me an especially happy bunny.

A few days ago, as I was reflecting on some recent events in my life, I had a startling realisation: after thirty plus years as a Christian, and having come to what I thought was a much broader and deeper understanding of God’s love and grace, I am still carrying around some of this baggage even now. Those destructive feelings may not be as strong as they once were; they may be lying low much of the time; but they are still there at some level and able to exert a surprisingly powerful influence as soon as something happens to stir them into life.

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A thousand chances

3156541867_8f0e7f3fae_bIt’s New Year’s Eve. As we stand here on the threshold of another revolution around the sun, allow me to share a brief thought.

As I’ve written before, I’m not generally a huge fan of New Year’s resolutions; it seems to me they are often little more than a recipe for deferred disappointment. However, I do think New Year is a good opportunity to take stock of where we are and where we’re heading.

Of course, where we are and where we’re heading will differ for each of us, but it seems to me there’s one thing we all need in life, whatever our age or social and geographical location: more chances. We need the chance to learn from our mistakes; the chance to show grace where we have previously withheld it; the chance to say sorry where we have previously dug ourselves into a deep rut of pride; the chance to open our arms in welcoming embrace where we have previously folded them and turned our backs.

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Absolute grace

Thunderously, inarguably, the Sermon on the Mount proves that before God we all stand on level ground: murderers and temper-throwers, adulterers and lusters, thieves and coveters. We are all desperate, and that is in fact the only state appropriate to a human being who wants to know God. Having fallen from the absolute Ideal, we have nowhere to land but in the safety net of absolute grace.

— Philip Yancey, The Jesus I Never Knew

Only one catch

The grace of God means something like: Here is your life. You might never have been, but you are because the party wouldn’t have been complete without you. Here is the world. Beautiful and terrible things will happen. Don’t be afraid. I am with you. Nothing can ever separate us. It’s for you I created the universe. I love you. There’s only one catch. Like any other gift, the gift of grace can be yours only if you’ll reach out and take it. Maybe being able to reach out and take it is a gift too.

— Frederick Buechner, Beyond Words: Daily Readings in the ABCs of Faith

If this is not good news…

Because salvation is by grace through faith, I believe that among the countless number of people standing in front of the throne and in front of the Lamb, dressed in white robes and holding palms in their hands (see Revelation 7:9), I shall see the prostitute from the Kit-Kat Ranch in Carson City, Nevada, who tearfully told me that she could find no other employment to support her two-year-old son. I shall see the woman who had an abortion and is haunted by guilt and remorse but did the best she could faced with grueling alternatives; the businessman besieged with debt who sold his integrity in a series of desperate transactions; the insecure clergyman addicted to being liked, who never challenged his people from the pulpit and longed for unconditional love; the sexually abused teen molested by his father and now selling his body on the street, who, as he falls asleep each night after his last ‘trick’, whispers the name of the unknown God he learned about in Sunday school.

‘But how?’ we ask.

Then the voice says, ‘They have washed their robes and have made them white in the blood of the Lamb.’

There they are. There we are – the multitude who so wanted to be faithful, who at times got defeated, soiled by life, and bested by trials, wearing the bloodied garments of life’s tribulations, but through it all clung to faith. 

My friends, if this is not good news to you, you have never understood the gospel of grace.

— Brennan Manning, The Ragamuffin Gospel: Good News for the Bedraggled, Beat-Up and Burnt Out

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