Grace
1 Timothy 1:12-17
If you truly want to know what grace is like, ask someone who has not received what they know they deserved.
The greatest experience of grace I ever experienced was in college when it became inescapable that math was not to be part of my higher education. I was in my second semester of calculus and the first semester of math that was not a review of what I had done in high school. The final exam was five equations. We had three hours to complete it. As the bell tolled ending the exam, I was still on problem one. There was nary a scribble on the remaining four. Three hours. One incomplete equation. Doom. Shortly afterward, the professor--a Presbyterian elder, by the way--asked me to explain myself. I had forgotten every single shortcut vital to making calculus manageable, so there was every step spelled out painstakingly, every piece of math for everyone to see, on my solitary equation. "Well," my professor began, "will you ever be taking another math course here?" Nope, not a chance. "Then I am going to give you a 'C,' with the understanding that you will never grace the math department again for the remainder of your collegiate experience." He paused, removing his glasses to clean them. "By the way, your work was correct if long-winded. Good day, Mr. Watkins."
Good day, indeed.
Paul understands the joy I felt that particular day. Lost in the certitude of being a Pharisee, self-appointed defender of the faith, he was a complete heretic, persecuting those who came to Jesus, watching as atrocity unfolded from those who saw in Jesus only a threat to order, status quo, and being right. Yet, Jesus called him. Jesus enabled him to become the chief apostle, the main witness to redeeming grace. Who better to proclaim the good news than one so lost, now found?
I write this meditation on September 11, exactly fifteen years since we watched tragedy unfold before us. Four planes flew to destruction. Twin towers fell. The symbolic seat of our defense burned. In a farm field in Pennsylvania, we saw what happens when a few sacrifice themselves for the many. The skies fell silent and empty.
I remember that morning. I was first to arrive for a staff meeting at church. I sat waiting, wondering where everybody was. Then news began to bubble up from the preschool staff--something terrible has happened. We went to a computer, dialed up the news, and suddenly fell into a stupor that would last the rest of the day. That night we gathered as a community for prayer. What else was there to do?
Wait for grace.
Over the next few days, grace began to rise all around us. First, there were the silent skies. In our part of the world, fall was coming. With no vapor trails, the sky shone bluer than blue, crisp, clear, and cool. It had been a while since the sky seemed so clear. Then, a birthday. My daughter Chelsea turned eight the day after. We celebrated. It was good. It was loud. It was fun. And we prayed some more. At church, we decided to pray each day, gathering in a cluster to hold each other with our murmured words, longings, hopes, fears, and wondering. We were all right.
That helped us help those who weren't.
You see, grace really only fully blooms when it becomes shared--when the grace-touched become gracious.
We noticed our neighbors more than we had before, realizing that in a world such as ours, anything could happen, so best to know folks, meet folks, and try to understand folks. Suburban life is so anonymous, but now we knew it need not be so. We began to see folks on the street who needed real and actual intervention. We realized our overabundance and filled again and again boxes of goods, clothes, and help for those in need. We realized how petty so many of our divisions and distinctions actually were and decided not to use them as we encountered other people.
A nightmare day became something else.
But fifteen years is a long time. Things fade. A generation does not know what Manhattan looked like with twin towers. Bombs, atrocity, and madness skip around the world. We retreat. We withdraw.
We do not know our neighbors.
But grace remains.
Grace waits for us. It waits for us to reawaken. It waits for us with kindness. It waits for us with another chance. It waits for us even if we are far from gracious.
There is another student turning in a failing exam who needs to know the world is not lost. There is another person spewing unthinkables at someone different from them only because they are different from them. There will be another tragedy.
Grace waits for us.
Remember what it felt like.
If you truly want to know what grace is like, ask someone who has not received what they know they deserved.
The greatest experience of grace I ever experienced was in college when it became inescapable that math was not to be part of my higher education. I was in my second semester of calculus and the first semester of math that was not a review of what I had done in high school. The final exam was five equations. We had three hours to complete it. As the bell tolled ending the exam, I was still on problem one. There was nary a scribble on the remaining four. Three hours. One incomplete equation. Doom. Shortly afterward, the professor--a Presbyterian elder, by the way--asked me to explain myself. I had forgotten every single shortcut vital to making calculus manageable, so there was every step spelled out painstakingly, every piece of math for everyone to see, on my solitary equation. "Well," my professor began, "will you ever be taking another math course here?" Nope, not a chance. "Then I am going to give you a 'C,' with the understanding that you will never grace the math department again for the remainder of your collegiate experience." He paused, removing his glasses to clean them. "By the way, your work was correct if long-winded. Good day, Mr. Watkins."
Good day, indeed.
Paul understands the joy I felt that particular day. Lost in the certitude of being a Pharisee, self-appointed defender of the faith, he was a complete heretic, persecuting those who came to Jesus, watching as atrocity unfolded from those who saw in Jesus only a threat to order, status quo, and being right. Yet, Jesus called him. Jesus enabled him to become the chief apostle, the main witness to redeeming grace. Who better to proclaim the good news than one so lost, now found?
I write this meditation on September 11, exactly fifteen years since we watched tragedy unfold before us. Four planes flew to destruction. Twin towers fell. The symbolic seat of our defense burned. In a farm field in Pennsylvania, we saw what happens when a few sacrifice themselves for the many. The skies fell silent and empty.
I remember that morning. I was first to arrive for a staff meeting at church. I sat waiting, wondering where everybody was. Then news began to bubble up from the preschool staff--something terrible has happened. We went to a computer, dialed up the news, and suddenly fell into a stupor that would last the rest of the day. That night we gathered as a community for prayer. What else was there to do?
Wait for grace.
Over the next few days, grace began to rise all around us. First, there were the silent skies. In our part of the world, fall was coming. With no vapor trails, the sky shone bluer than blue, crisp, clear, and cool. It had been a while since the sky seemed so clear. Then, a birthday. My daughter Chelsea turned eight the day after. We celebrated. It was good. It was loud. It was fun. And we prayed some more. At church, we decided to pray each day, gathering in a cluster to hold each other with our murmured words, longings, hopes, fears, and wondering. We were all right.
That helped us help those who weren't.
You see, grace really only fully blooms when it becomes shared--when the grace-touched become gracious.
We noticed our neighbors more than we had before, realizing that in a world such as ours, anything could happen, so best to know folks, meet folks, and try to understand folks. Suburban life is so anonymous, but now we knew it need not be so. We began to see folks on the street who needed real and actual intervention. We realized our overabundance and filled again and again boxes of goods, clothes, and help for those in need. We realized how petty so many of our divisions and distinctions actually were and decided not to use them as we encountered other people.
A nightmare day became something else.
But fifteen years is a long time. Things fade. A generation does not know what Manhattan looked like with twin towers. Bombs, atrocity, and madness skip around the world. We retreat. We withdraw.
We do not know our neighbors.
But grace remains.
Grace waits for us. It waits for us to reawaken. It waits for us with kindness. It waits for us with another chance. It waits for us even if we are far from gracious.
There is another student turning in a failing exam who needs to know the world is not lost. There is another person spewing unthinkables at someone different from them only because they are different from them. There will be another tragedy.
Grace waits for us.
Remember what it felt like.
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