built of grace.

The older I get, the more I recognise my flaws. I say recognise because many of them are not new to me, but I've previously failed to see them for what they truly were. The anguish of Romans 7 echoes painfully, ringing mercilessly in my ears. The musings of Ecclesiastes are the melodic arpeggios of the worst of earworms. Psalm 25 is a prayer that these ears and lips are well acquainted with. In short, I am progressively discovering the Word of God to be every bit as true as it actually is. Show me a man who claims unbelief is far from him and I’ll show you a boy who doesn’t meditate on the Scriptures, certainly not for any meaningful amount of time. Man fell, in that Garden of bliss and perfect joy, because man disbelieved. God’s word was snubbed, discredited, trampled. If eggs are infuriatingly expensive today, it is down to that incredulity of man.

Be not quick to blame Adam for the inflation of the 2020s, however. That selfsame incredulity has not left: I still suffer from it, as do many Christians, if they are to be honest. Likely you are no stranger to it. Which brings me to this present Thought: I don’t really look like I’m following Jesus, but I think and say that I’m His follower, His disciple. I mean, I claim to follow Jesus, the Christ. I claim to be a believer, a subject, a rescued soul. I call Jesus Lord and Saviour. If that were true, surely my everyday experience would reflect it, no? I mean, my life should, without a shadow of a doubt, clearly highlight the sheer otherness of being redeemed by God Himself. Right? Right. Yet, that isn’t my experience. Instead, it’s one long sequence of ups and downs, mostly of my own leading. My experience is one of wandering about, where on occasion I find myself looking down at footprints that bear an uncanny resemblance to my own. Then I look around, and realise that it isn’t a deja vu, but an actual “I’ve been here before”: those footprints look like mine because they are mine. Those moments can be crushing. For me, it usually means a few days or weeks of listlessness, as I scramble to “figure things out”. It’s not a very good strategy, evidenced by the fact that these moments inevitably crop up again. Hence the Thought, or, if you may allow me to rephrase it, the Question: who am I, when my life doesn’t reflect what I claim to be?

It really is quite a serious question. I think of them as crossroads, where I’m faced with the reality of my humanity, my limits and my weaknesses. At these crossroads, there is a temptation to sit down and consider what path I ought to take, in search of a satisfactory answer. Many, if not most, give in to this temptation. And thus, there is heard a call of collective consciousness, that tells the weary journeyman that he must needs choose a path. In this human realm, different philosophies and religions advertise varying solutions to the conundrum at hand. Unfortunately, it’s all baloney. It’s all smoke and mirrors, I’m afraid. The Teacher, of Ecclesiastes fame, will say it’s vapor, vanity. The whole situation is gimped from the start: one cannot know which path is the right one unless they go down it. Worse, once you’re sufficiently far along your chosen path to actually assess it, you can’t just jump onto another one. Worse still, what they don’t tell you is that all those paths share the same destination. They are human paths, and so must have human ends. Really, a human end. Corruption begets corruption.

There is, however, good news. Very good news, for that matter. It turns out that I can do away with the crossroads altogether, because the answer I’m looking for has come to me. No need to go down any path at all, to obtain an answer. Blessed am I! This wonderful gift that has been given me is a splendidly solid answer. More than an answer, it is a truth. Nay, it is the Truth. This Truth has been gifted to me by One who loves me (along with the rest of mankind), and so chose to spare me the exhausting and impossible hunt for it. But, see, this Truth is far more than a simple statement. It isn’t a set of thoughtful guidelines, that would address my Question comprehensively. It is no code of Hammurabi. No, no, this Truth is far more than that. As I look closer, peering intently, I realise that it is a Way, it is an entire Life. This Truth doesn’t merely answer my Question; it swallows it whole. Permit me, if you may, to take a closer look at this gift that I’ve been given.

The gift is Jesus. This gift that I’ve been given is Jesus, Himself. He was given to me, for me, by God the Father. Jesus makes a claim about Himself, which is recorded by one of His apostles, John. He says:

Those nine words are enough. This is what addresses my Question: Jesus says that He is the Truth. That means that He is the answer, intrinsically, to this existential crisis of mine. What He says, who He is, what He does; it all soundly defeats my query and pulverises it to nothing. While I sit and ponder on who exactly I am when I can’t live up to the markers of my claim, He comes and sits right next to me and says “I love you”. He tells me of how He nailed to His cross the righteous requirement that once would’ve stared at me in disapproval, unmoving in its austere rigidity. He tells me “I fulfilled it for you”, as He shows me how, by placing my faith in Him, I died when He died, and now live in Him, fully able to fulfill the requirement that once brought me death. He tells me that I am His, redeemed and made a co-heir, no matter how I feel. He tells me of how the Helper, the Holy Spirit that is the Spirit of adoption, continues to work within me that I might wholly resemble the members of this divine Family I’ve been fully adopted into. What's more, Jesus is also the Way, and the Life. He is the only manner I can come to the Father, whom I cannot know (by default, thanks to sin), unless He is revealed to me. He is the very definition of life, wholly and totally, beyond our current comprehension. In Him, I am complete. In Him, I am able to know both the One who formed me (the Father) and the One through and for whom I was formed (the Son).

Jesus was freely given to mankind. I’m old enough to know that “free” always comes with an asterisk. Put another way, I’ve been successfully led to believe that “free” is an illusion. You’ve got to make sure you read the fine print. I live in a world where nothing is ever truly free, nor is ever as advertised. As such, it is suspicious that there would be this so-called “Truth” that would just come to me, and that it would somehow address such a critical Question. Nothing in life ever works out like that. Right? Wrong. There is a reality that beautifully explains this situation that the fleshly, unregenerate mind finds suspicious: grace. The grace of God, to be exact. Not only is it free, but the only way to actually engage with Jesus requires being continuously supplied with this free resource. In other words, human ego and self-sufficiency are wholly unwelcome here. Allow me to briefly touch on grace, via what I call the origin of grace, and the substance of grace.

By origin of grace, I mean the disposition of God that makes room for grace to exist. The word grace in Greek is “charis”, and in Hebrew is “hen”/”chen”. These words are also sometimes translated to favour, in English. Throughout the Scriptures, grace refers to the favour, the goodly disposition of God towards mankind. Sometimes grace is directed to an individual, sometimes to a collective. At times it is extravagant, other times it is quiet. So on and so forth. Think of it as God leaning towards man, extending Himself to man, for his good. It is God reaching out to me, even though I wholly dismissed Him in the Garden. Jonny Ardavanis defines grace as receiving the very opposite of that which I deserve. So, where mercy may be merely not receiving punishment, grace is the extra step of receiving goodwill. The ultimate embodiment of grace is in the Gospel: God comes to rebels, a people wholly separated from God, to offer up His life for the forgiveness of their sin, that they may live. Grace proceeds naturally from the love of God, from His heart; it is not a begrudging attitude, or one that is insincere.

What of the substance of grace? For many, this may be more relatable. If grace is God extending Himself to us, doling out His divine goodwill, then I use the term “substance” to refer to what forms it may take. Here, the Greek word “charisma” is helpful. It can be thought of as a grace-gift, an endowment of God’s grace. With respect to the Church, the Greek “charisma” is often used to describe spiritual gifts, which are given to the Body of Christ for its edification (cf. Romans 12, 1 Corinthians 12 & 14, Ephesians 4). Aside spiritual gifts, there are other experiential expressions of God’s grace. Think of people that you’ve met in the most random ways, who wound up being tremendous blessings to you. Think of words of encouragement you may have heard on the radio. Think of a small act of kindness that you benefited from, even though it perhaps wasn’t initially meant for you. Peer into your past, and you are bound to pick out several instances of God’s grace. At least, instances of inexplicable blessing. Whether you follow Jesus or not, you will find them.

Grace is really a matter of God expressing Himself, revealing His true intentions towards man, whether the latter rises in arrogant rebellion or takes up the ashes and sackcloth of deep repentance. In substance, grace comes in the form of strength, when I am weak. It comes in the form of mysterious transformation, as I behold the Son. It comes as a way of escape, when tempted on all sides. It comes in the form of godly community, when isolation threatens to end me. It comes as ability, to do what I cannot do in my own power. By His grace, God sanctifies and edifies me, such that I progressively become that which I claim to be. Wonderfully, as I become, He also works in me both to will and to do for His good pleasure. Grace doesn't produce an exploitative, complacent attitude, but rather one that is grateful, trusting and surrendered. Whilst on the road, as I’m still in the in-between, I can firmly hold fast to my confession of faith, for I no longer stand condemned, and I know in whom I have believed. Jesus is faithful, and strong to save to the uttermost.

God’s heart is revealed in the Scriptures. This revelation is sure and true. The Bible is made up of two Testaments, or, testimonies. They are testimonies, of God, that put forth His will for mankind under the old covenants (all of them) and the new covenant (in Jesus). As such, failing to believe God is to call Him a liar. Why? Well, because that is akin to disbelieving a witness’s testimony. The only reason anyone would disbelieve a witness would be if their testimony were suspected to be a lie. In like manner, failing to believe that God actually offered His Son, Jesus, for free, is a grave insult to the Creator. Failing to believe that Jesus is enough, that trusting in Him is wholly sufficient for all my needs is like scowling at someone for giving me a cold drink on a hot day, instead of letting me cool off in their air-conditioned car. It would be implying that God shortchanged me and gave me a subpar gift, that wouldn’t really achieve that which He claimed it would. Such disbelief is really me calling God a scammer, a con man. Be such a thought far from me! God gave Jesus because though the Son is of greater worth than all of Creation put together, and is loved so very dearly of the Father, nothing else would do, if I (or you) were indeed to be saved and brought home.

When my Lord is presented like this, my insecurities and shortcomings suddenly appear very small, foolish and irrelevant. Indeed, they are. The sole legitimate perspective in this universe, through which the true appearance of things is made clear, is the perspective of the Gospel. If, upon examining something in the light of the Gospel, you find it to be vain and ugly, then that’s exactly what it is. In this manner, when I recognise the tempest of feeling and worry within myself, I know to repeat the commanded word of my Lord. And now, as the foes of unbelief and self-sufficiency seek to assault my mind, I stand ready. I hold my weapon, that great sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, a little differently. I hold it with more confidence, knowing that I’ll be able to cut down those Thoughts and Questions whose cold, dead hands seek to clutch and suffocate. I’ll do so with a knowing grin, my heart assured that I am a living stone, an edifice built of grace, wrought by the very Spirit of God.