It has occurred to me that, since my middle name is Grace, the title of this blog could appear to be thinly-veiled narcissism. While there may be something to that, I feel I should explain what was at least the conscious reason for defining my theology this way. So, here you have it—the argument my closest friends are absolutely exhausted of hearing—the case for grace theology.
Above all else, I believe in a God of love, who, by extension, is also a God of grace. A God who works on a plane with which we are unfamiliar, who is judge, jury, bailiff, and bail. The justice of this God is unjust in earthly eyes. We are freely given what we do not deserve.
This is not to say that anything goes or that there are no rules. It is to say that the rules themselves are not God. God transcends the type of rule that our world is prone to understand and cling to. Surely, being a spiritual person involves abiding by spiritual laws. There is immense value in such discipline. However, it’s not that simple. Not that easy. We are called to do more, yet, in an often-frustrating twist, loved even when we do less. We are called to heal on the Sabbath, yet paid a full day’s wage when we work only half a day. We are called to detach ourselves from the need for earthly possessions, yet told that, in God, a camel can pass through a needle’s eye. Christ intercedes on our behalf even as we nail him to the cross. We can make no sense of this. It is ridiculous. It is grace.
This system works by neither carrot nor stick, and is therefore difficult to live by in a world which seeks binary order. It is much less challenging to attend church faithfully than it is to rejoice in knowing that the stranger sitting in your usual spot on Christmas is just as beloved of God as you are. This is where bounty, the daughter of grace, comes into play. We live as though love is a scarce resource, no matter how often God shows the infinity of love. Like Moses looking at the multitudinous stars, we are unable to comprehend the volume of the blessings laid before us, unhesitatingly. We begrudge love to others and even ourselves so insistently that we might as well carry an umbrella when it rains down upon us. In ironic imitation of the brother of the Prodigal Son, we are so hung up on what we do or don’t deserve that we eschew the feast which God pleads with us to attend. A life in Christ involves accepting that invitation. To me, this is the challenge of faith: to take up a cross the world sees as foolishness—the cross of grace. Amen.
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