Excuse me, but I don’t understand grace.
It’s not an equation, and it’s certainly not fair. It’s not something that you can put in your hand, feel, and then hand back to your teacher. It’s not calculable. It’s not a linear thought.
I can’t explain the gospel. Perhaps this why we are supposed to have so much joy. Every morning we wake up is really illogical…to a linear world. Every second that we are given breath is an immeasurable display of love and mercy.
It should surprise me. When my weary and tired body turn the knob to the bathroom door each morning I should let out a little chuckle. “Oh, Lord, who am I that you are mindful of me.” It should make my heart and mind do a lot of things. But I get stuck trying to pull out my measuring tape, and I’m too busy trying to calculate grace to feel the awe of a perfect man shown prostrate.
This week we continue to celebrate the stone that’s been heaved away. Heaved. It’s been powerfully pushed and moved to not just make room for the body of our perfect Savior but for our resurrected spirits.
What? What. Are you kidding me? I’m sorry to write in such a schizophrenic fashion but…really? This isn’t the story we are told in a culture that screams “Make a man of yourself.”, “Be all that you can be.” “Pull yourself to the top.”, or “Climb that ladder, son, and it will pay off.”
The chief role we play in the glorious and redemptive work of Jesus is simply crying, “Crucify Him, Crucify Him!” It doesn’t add up. In fact it would be completely absurd and ridiculous without love.
Love is the only piece that makes the cross acceptable.
Thankfulness in the only appropriate response to such grace.
Oh, that He may give us the grace to live a life that experiences the shock of the sacrifice daily.