Tag Archives: Christian

It’s Not Fair

Not Fair

“Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life. It is costly because it condemns sin, and grace because it justifies the sinner. Above all, it is costly because it cost God the life of his Son: “ye were bought at a price,” and what has cost God much cannot be cheap for us. Above all, it is grace because God did not reckon his Son too dear a price to pay for our life, but delivered him up for us. Costly grace is the Incarnation of God.”  Dietrich Bonhoeffer

I don’t think it’s possible for any kid to make it through childhood and adolescence without voicing, at least once, the infamous assessment of life: “It’s not fair”. These three little words sum up so much. Saying this seems to be a rite of passage or developmental milestone that proves an accurate awareness has taken place of what the world is like, what we are like. This declaration of injustice seems to be further articulated by asking questions that begin with “Why?” For the average youngster, it may be as benign as asking “Why is his piece of cake bigger than mine,” or “Why can’t I stay up later?” And at some point for the conscious child, pouty faces and stomping feet accompany the experience of realizing how life is filled with disappointments and disenfranchised existence. As we grow up, we focus our attention on more intense areas of suffering and inequalities. Our outbursts of emotion can also become more intense. We wage wars to fight what’s not fair and to right the wrongs that we observe have occurred for ourselves and/or others. Is that the best way to respond?

Since I can remember, my dad has always offered the same response to my whiny utterances of what felt unfair. He’d say something like, “Not fair? Jesus died for our sins. That’s not fair”. Huh? As a kid, I would wonder what Jesus’ death had to do with me not getting more cake or not getting to stay up later. Yet, the profound simplicity of the statement “Jesus died for our sins” had its intended impact and instilled in me as a wee lass that my life is abundantly blessed because of the mere fact that Jesus died for our sins. Who cares that I didn’t get extra cake or an extended bedtime – I didn’t get death for not following all the rules all the time! The rules (or boundaries) God put in place for life were for our benefit to protect us from what is really not fair. The worst kind of injustice was resolved on the cross; and Christ’s resurrection empowers us to help others who are overwhelmed by the injustice that sin has wrought in the world.  God’s victorious gift of grace has often quieted my restless spirit and enabled me to willingly share my blessings with others, not just materially but also mindfully. Sure, in my early years, there were plenty rolled eyes at my dad, slammed doors and huff and puff mumblings about how mean my parents were. Though, as I’ve grown up, I’ve come to an increasingly deeper appreciation of this redemptive reality – Jesus died for my sins.

The implications of this kind of redemption, knowing that Jesus died for our sins, mean all of us possess an equal existence of needing grace. When Jesus preached about the golden rule while he walked this earth, he spoke to the core of his own mission – love others the way you would want to be loved, the way you have been loved, despite whatever you’ve done or have not done to deserve it. Can I love someone even if it is unfair? More specifically, can I love life even when I don’t get what I want? It is fair to say that there is much injustice in the world, in each other’s lives, that requires us to at some point let go of what is comfortable or coveted so that the discomfort and debt of others can be relieved – to more accurately reflect the shared value we all have. This is what it means to love as Christ loved us. Easier said than done though. But, the more I can comprehend the grace God has given to me, the more I am capable to extend it to others. I wonder what the world would be like if we all lived this way – what kinds of suffering would be eradicated; what hunger would be satisfied; what wars would cease? Alas, life is filled with injustice everywhere I look – this merely means there are always opportunities for me to love. I have no excuse – I only have grace to rely on to work in me and through me to prove how we are equally and eternally loved by God.

References:

  1. It’s not fair; pen and ink drawing by Jamie Wasson 1990
  2. The Cost of Discipleship; Dietrich Bonhoeffer
  3. The Jesus I Never Knew; Phillip Yancey

Sand Angels

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“It has always been a happy thought to me that the creek runs on all night, new every minute, whether I wish it or know it or care, as a closed book on a shelf continues to whisper to itself its own inexhaustible tale. So many things have been shown so to me on these banks, so much light has illumined me by reflection here where the water comes down, that I can hardly believe that this grace never flags, that the pouring from ever-renewable sources is endless, impartial, and free.”  Annie Dillard

Years ago, along the northern coast of California, I laid on the sand in my sweatshirt and jeans. I stared at the sky. I then closed my eyes and inhaled the salt air and listened to the ocean’s roar. It was bliss. Anyone who has been to the west coast knows the majesty of my meaning. I laid quietly for a while, absorbing the moment in all its glory; then shouted to my friend standing nearby.

“Meredith, look at me!” I started dragging my arms and legs back and forth in the sand. “Sand angels!”, I voiced. I slowly got up to examine my imprint, trying not to disturb its form. Little did I know, this self-impression would come to exemplify how I understand myself. I am equal parts dirt and divine. We all are. Being human is nothing less/nothing more than living in the strange superimposed reality of these two distinctive identities co-existing, not as a duo but as a union. We spotlight our focus on one part more than the other at times; but such tunnel vision dismisses the value of how these two unified forces work together to make us truly human.

Ever since I was a little girl, I have loved being by and in water. My name, Jamie Lynn, is actually Gaelic for “laying by a pond/lake”. I guess I’ve lived up to my name. Creeks, rivers and lakes (and, yes, even chlorine pools) are cherished places to me, but the ocean holds the deepest part of my heart. I have often considered how I relate to God the same way I relate to the ocean. For starters, I respect the ocean with great reverence. I’m a pretty good swimmer, but rarely will I go deeper than my waist or shoulders when swimming amid the surf. I am keenly aware that I am not the dominant species in such domain – maybe I’ve seen Jaws one too many times. I have, however, been caught in a rip tide and it was a frightening experience. The ocean has powers that require respect. The bravest and best of sailors will admit that. The beauty and scandal the ocean possesses compels us to contend with how its waters have empowered us to travel the world around and, yet, surrenders us to the fact that we are not in charge of it. This is so humbling to me. Fortunately, the ocean is as predictable as it is unpredictable. The tides ebb and flow like clockwork. I find solace in this consistency. It is also comforting to me to consider how, despite my inland existence, the tides tick tock do not depend on me to be there to perpetuate their rhythm.

I live by the Atlantic Ocean and have spent countless hours there, but while I lay by the edge of the Pacific, I found myself extra-overwhelmed by its grandeur. After all, the deepest part of the world’s waters is found within the Pacific’s perimeters. Have they ever located the bottom of the Marina Trench? If they have, we are still not capable of personally going there yet. How do I fathom that kind of depth? I become equally overwhelmed with considering God’s omniscience and eternal existence. Sometimes it all feels too far-fetched. My puny brain can’t comprehend it in a way that feels palpable or even personal. Though as I lay in the sand that day in California listening to the waves crash, I heard another sound like gentle rippling water. I later realized the sound was coming from an area along the edge of the tide that hugged an alcove of the beach. I walked over to the shallow water and noticed how the sea softly lapped along the shore. The loud surf resounded only a few yards away from this serene space. It was all the same sea. The ocean has depths I will never fully comprehend but it is accessible just the same – inviting me to enter as I am able. I stepped into the cold Pacific surf and smiled. “God is here”, I thought. He created the grand seascape that humbles me as well as the gentle spirited shore that beckons me to participate in its reality.

I don’t want to solely perceive God as a fierce force, but to also celebrate how He speaks in whispers – beseeching me to lean in close to hear Him. Whether along the Atlantic or the Pacific coast, I love witnessing the splendor of being by the sea and observing how the horizon signifies a vastness all its own; and yet, within my affection of this, I cower at feeling any shared worth. I can easily feel like an insignificant spec of dirt on this big ball of dirt we call Earth. But that’s just it – I’m made of earth as well as ethereal elements. Humanity is a unique blend of both the land we stand on and the God who put us here. When God formed humanity out of soil, He also “breathed” His own essence into such earthen vessel (Genesis 2:7). I am capable of grasping aspects of the Deep because I possess God’s capacity. This synthesis is more than how bio-psychologists define our relationship with the world around us/within us or how Buddhists conceptualize our shared identity with all things; it is a holistic and personal identity. I may be limited by time and space (and even disability) but I am able to respond to/relate to the everlasting and ubiquitous God of the universe. He formed an intertwined connection with me because He fashioned me to reflect His likeness. How He is strong, I can be strong; how He loves, I can love; how He cares, I can care. I can pray “Your will be done on earth as it is in heaven” (Matthew 6:10) and know He will answer this prayer because He has put heaven inside of me here on earth. He wants me to willingly participate in this reality, in the relationship He has revealed, not just when I’m at the ocean – but anywhere I am.

A few weeks after returning from that California trip, I sat at an outdoor café in the city. Somehow being surrounded by the concrete jungle and not the seascape, God felt less present. Everything I saw was manmade – buildings that stretched skyward, cars and bikes speeding by, the sound of horns and engines, the smells of, well, manmade stuff. I watched people bustle by me, talking on their manmade cell phones. I thought, “God, where are you? How can I hear You here?” I missed the ocean. I found myself staring at an ornamental facade on a building across the street – made from formed concrete. Then I smiled the same way I had at the ocean. Concrete is made from sand. This manmade creation was simply a reflection of God’s capacity to create. I looked at the people around me and realized their sandy angelic existence proves that God was there and still being heard. Anywhere there is a person empowered, God is providing strength; anywhere there is a person loved, God is loving them; and anywhere there is a person taking the time to care, God is caring through them.

References:

  1. Jamie examines the sand and sea, Montara Beach CA; photo by Meredith McGlinchey-Gordon 2007
  2. Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard
  3. About Bio-psychology
  4. If You Meet the Buddha On the Road, Kill Him!: The Pilgrimage of Psychotherapy Patients by Sheldon Kopp
  5. The Weight of Glory; by C.S. Lewis
  6. Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Avila