Preaching the Gospel to Myself

I have to look for cracks and crevices.
Don’t tell me how God’s mercy
Is as wide as the ocean, as deep as the sea.
I already believe it, but that infinite prospect
Gets farther away the more we mouth it.
I thank you for lamenting his absences—
His absence from marriages going mad,
Our sons dying young, from the inescapable
Terrors of history: Treblinka. Vietnam.
September Eleven. His visible absence
Makes it hard for us in our time
To celebrate his invisible Presence.

This must be why mystics and poets record
The slender incursions of splintered light,
Echoes, fragments, odd words and phrases
Like flashes through darkened hallways.
These stabs remind me that the proud
Portly old church is really only
That cut green slip grafted into a tiny nick
That merciful God himself slit into the stem
Of his chosen Judah. The thin and tenuous
Thread we hang by, so astonishing,
Is the metaphor I need at the shoreline
Of all those immeasurable oceans of love.

-Rod Jellema

I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but for some reason didn’t get to post it. This is Part 2 of a series of reflections on things that bother me about my generation (and subsequently, about myself).

Part 1 was about how we tend to be overly obsessive about journeying through life’s stages without being too concerned with our destination. Our fascination with newness is a gut-reaction toward previous generations’ focus on oldness. Whereas previous generations emphasized religious tradition or the deification of reason, our emerging generation asks, “Where did that get us?” resulting in a “we don’t care” mentality. And that sort of mentality leads to our seeking the middle ground in all things.

The middle ground is the new standard. It discourages lengthy debates and strong opinions, unless of course these debates and opinions are held against representations of the previous generation. Our generation is united in our rebellion against the older generation’s issues (i.e.,”Where did that get us?”). So the middle ground is the new moral high ground. But it’s not the high ground–it’s mediocrity.

My generation of Christians also seek the middle ground. We see extremes like conservatism and liberalism and say, “It’s not good to be either, so I’ll just be in-between.” So then you’ve got people who don’t cuss (against liberalism) but then also don’t care about spreading the Gospel (against conservatism), or you’ve got people who don’t engage in premarital sex (against liberalism) but enjoy music with tons of sexual content (against conservatism). The Gospel is not the fine line between conservatism and liberalism — it’s the freedom to do what’s right according to one’s Word-informed conscience with Christ-exalting heart motives.

A growing number of Christians find themselves in the tiresome tension between legalism and liberalism. We know conservatism (of the legalistic variety) is wrong, but don’t know any other way to feel like we’re growing in holiness. So either we return to legalism or we fall into liberalism, saying, “Oh well, if God wants to change me he will do it on his own.” I see most young Christians going in this second direction, while the older generation tends toward legalism.

The other option is not a tension between legalism and licentiousness, but it is still a tension. It’s the tension between radical holiness and radical pardon. It’s about knowing God’s holy standards with regard to sin and righteousness, but also God’s holy provision for sin and righteousness in Christ. Jesus says our righteousness must exceed that of the Pharisees. It has to be more radical than the righteousness born of legalism. It has to be born of the Gospel. It has to come from a heart continually being melted by the grace of God in the Gospel.

Reflect on the words of this hymn “Why Should I Fear?” by William Williams:

Verse 1
My soul, thou art emerged in sin,
So deep that none can trace;
Look to the ransom God decreed
To clear the guilty race.

Chorus
Had I the guilt of all the world,
He’s able to forgive:
Why should I fear? The debt is paid.
If only I believe.

Verse 2
The atonement once made on the tree,
Can balance many more
Than all the sins of Adam’s race,
If numbered over and over.

Verse 3
He paid the mighty sum and died
For sinners yet unborn;
From men, the works of his own hands,
He suffered shame and scorn.