How Judging is Mourning
"So... where are you right now?"
Valid question. Right now, we are tucked away in the forests, dogsitting in a house hidden by trees and leaves and our introverted selves even skipped church today because, honestly, this golden canopy and crunchy ground feels holier.
But this is our last day, our last few hours with this as our "home" (what a new meaning this word has had for us). Tonight we drive, again, to our actual home, where my coat is hanging and our pictures are framed and that garage sale lamp stands proudly. Cru told us we have earned a week-long "vision trip" (aka pretending we are on staff, doing ministry) on campus, so we pack up again and we drive, again, wondering when life will push us somewhere that isn't a car.
I start this hesitantly, not knowing how it will spill out. But my tendency toward legalism has been driving me to my knees lately as I see what grace is, what it means for me, and how I interact with others. How a grace-immersed heart responds to those. How I see their triumphs, failures, kindness, rudeness.
But most recently, their sins, both blatant and subtle. Pride easily creeps in, thrusting me upon a pedestal of sorts, and I long for His grace to reign, for humble love to always win over legalistic force or condemnation. What is holy judging, if that even exists? What does grief over sin look like, in lieu of the permeating nature of God's grace? How does a healing heart of flesh respond to the sins of my fellow pilgrims, my brothers and sisters?
And, Lord, would you please show me how my wretched heart is just like theirs, and probably worse?
All I have come to thus far is that though sin is, yes, an abomination, a rebellion, spitting in the face of our gentle Lord, it is also a path far from the one of glory, grace, life, and hope He has created for us. And grief over sin, much like grief of a lost loved one, grieves the absence of good, rather than the presence of the bad. When my sister sins, a grace-filled heart moans in sadness that this dear one isn't experiencing the life designed for us by our Creator, she has carved her own path, and her feet are bleeding from each rocky step. A grace-filled heart longs for her to experience life, not the death of addictions, greed, or gluttony. So when it sees addictions, it does not scoff at her weakness, but mourns her lack of freedom. When it sees greed, it is not offended that its sister did not give to it; rather, it sighs in sadness that her sister isn't experiencing the thrill of generosity. And as it witnesses gluttony and self-indulgence, it does not look down upon her childlike decisions, but weeps at her heart that may be full of food or alcohol or shoes, but not the joyous presence of her Savior.
And a grace-filled heart rejoices that though sin is so prevalent, so sly, so disillusioning, that Christ's victory has covered and conquered. We can picture Him bearing that very sin upon Himself, bloodied and broken, and we can watch justice be carried out through His sacrifice and not our own revenge, bitterness, nor judgment. And though appropriate honesty and accountability is often necessary between close-knit hearts, we can leave the trial to the Judge who has already counted our brothers and sisters as righteous, with His Son's scars as our reminder, and His resurrection as our proof.
Valid question. Right now, we are tucked away in the forests, dogsitting in a house hidden by trees and leaves and our introverted selves even skipped church today because, honestly, this golden canopy and crunchy ground feels holier.
But this is our last day, our last few hours with this as our "home" (what a new meaning this word has had for us). Tonight we drive, again, to our actual home, where my coat is hanging and our pictures are framed and that garage sale lamp stands proudly. Cru told us we have earned a week-long "vision trip" (aka pretending we are on staff, doing ministry) on campus, so we pack up again and we drive, again, wondering when life will push us somewhere that isn't a car.
I start this hesitantly, not knowing how it will spill out. But my tendency toward legalism has been driving me to my knees lately as I see what grace is, what it means for me, and how I interact with others. How a grace-immersed heart responds to those. How I see their triumphs, failures, kindness, rudeness.
But most recently, their sins, both blatant and subtle. Pride easily creeps in, thrusting me upon a pedestal of sorts, and I long for His grace to reign, for humble love to always win over legalistic force or condemnation. What is holy judging, if that even exists? What does grief over sin look like, in lieu of the permeating nature of God's grace? How does a healing heart of flesh respond to the sins of my fellow pilgrims, my brothers and sisters?
And, Lord, would you please show me how my wretched heart is just like theirs, and probably worse?
All I have come to thus far is that though sin is, yes, an abomination, a rebellion, spitting in the face of our gentle Lord, it is also a path far from the one of glory, grace, life, and hope He has created for us. And grief over sin, much like grief of a lost loved one, grieves the absence of good, rather than the presence of the bad. When my sister sins, a grace-filled heart moans in sadness that this dear one isn't experiencing the life designed for us by our Creator, she has carved her own path, and her feet are bleeding from each rocky step. A grace-filled heart longs for her to experience life, not the death of addictions, greed, or gluttony. So when it sees addictions, it does not scoff at her weakness, but mourns her lack of freedom. When it sees greed, it is not offended that its sister did not give to it; rather, it sighs in sadness that her sister isn't experiencing the thrill of generosity. And as it witnesses gluttony and self-indulgence, it does not look down upon her childlike decisions, but weeps at her heart that may be full of food or alcohol or shoes, but not the joyous presence of her Savior.
And a grace-filled heart rejoices that though sin is so prevalent, so sly, so disillusioning, that Christ's victory has covered and conquered. We can picture Him bearing that very sin upon Himself, bloodied and broken, and we can watch justice be carried out through His sacrifice and not our own revenge, bitterness, nor judgment. And though appropriate honesty and accountability is often necessary between close-knit hearts, we can leave the trial to the Judge who has already counted our brothers and sisters as righteous, with His Son's scars as our reminder, and His resurrection as our proof.
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