Facebook and Grace

“I like walking in the rain because no one knows I’m crying;” “The doughnut I got in my mailbox this morning made me happy;” “Fernando Rodney got lucky.” What do all of these phrases have in common? These are all statuses that I read yesterday from my friends on “facebook.” I love reading them and trying to figure out the meaning, or what’s going on in the lives of my computer buddies. There was one status however, that really caught my attention—“your grace is enough, your grace is enough, your grace is enough for me.” Even though I know this song, the repetition is what drew me; does saying it three times brings good luck? Does saying it three times make it more personally convicting? I think I know why my friend was saying this—why she needed to say it. Things happen sometime that either shake us up, or at best make us stop and think.

I believe that every now and then we need to remind ourselves about the bottom line—grace. It’s pretty elusive sometimes for something so simple. I was talking to someone who isn’t a believer and I threw out the word “grace” and she stopped me, not understanding what it really meant. I was surprised because she is a person who demonstrates grace every day to her family and friends, yet it is a foreign concept to her. I thought everyone understood that grace was favor that was totally undeserved.

Is grace enough? I had a conversation one day with someone who was working hard on forgiveness. She was trying with every ounce of her being to forgive someone who had committed a heinous act against her family. Her motive for forgiveness?—she believed she would never make it to heaven if she couldn’t forgive this person. It broke my heart to watch her struggle. Does grace cover those situations where it is nearly impossible to forgive someone?

Is grace enough? I had one of those great hot-tub conversations a few days ago. We were discussing the battles we all have going on inside of us with particular sins. Sometimes we lose the battle and give in—more often than we care to admit. During those times when we’ve given in, is grace still enough?

Or how about that Sunday school teacher that told my son that if you die with even just one un-confessed sin, you could be lost forever? Is grace enough to cover that un-confessed sin? I remember that the Israelites even had special sacrifices to cover those sins that they were clueless about. How about those? Does grace cover them?

I believe that grace does cover those things and John Donne covers it beautifully in his poem “Hymn to God the Father.” Whenever I take off in an airplane, I lean back in my seat and recite this in my head and heart—just in case . . .

Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun
Which was my sin though it were done before?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin through which I run
And do run still, though still I do deplore?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

Wilt Thou forgive that sin by which I won
Others to sin, and made my sin their door?
Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score?
When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done,
For I have more.

I have a sin of fear that when I have spun
My last thread, I shall perish on that shore.
But, swear by Thyself that at my death Thy Son
Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore.
And having done that, Thou hast done,
I fear no more.

Cutting Loose

My friend Pat became a widow a few weeks ago. From the time her husband was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer to the time of his passing, it was less than a week. The first day that he was in the hospital, I received an email from her--the diagnosis was bad, but she had hope. Throughout the next few days, as she watched her husband's health deteriorate, her faith never wavered. I watched Pat remain calm and strong throughout the funeral in spite of her deep sadness. She's one of my new heroes--not because of her calm demeanor or the gracious way she greeted all of the guests, but because she actually believed the things she had said throughout the week; "God is the great physician," "God will bring us through this," "we serve an awesome God and He will carry us through this," "sadness on our part, but joy for Jim as he has gone to be with his Lord and Savior." None of these phrases were new to me, in fact I've used them many times myself, but honestly, they have often been cliches.



Watching a close friend go through an unexpected crisis, gave me reason to examine my own "trust level " with God. Do I really believe all of those things I say to others in crisis? I had a challenge going on in my own life that was minor compared to what Pat was going through and I was doing everything but trust. I was denying, worrying and trying to talk God into handling my life the way I believed He should handle it. My own reactions forced me to regroup and re-examine my own beliefs. I had to peel back all of the labels and get down to the core of my faith.



Holy Week couldn't have come at a better time. God always shows up in big ways during that time. I woke up early Easter morning with excitement flowing through me. "Christ has died and Christ has risen;" "He's not here, He arose just like He said. He's not here, you won't find Him among the dead . . . " "I will rise when He calls my name, no more sorrow, no more pain,"
"Savior, He can move the mountains, my God is mighty to save . . . " The music for the Easter service was flashing through my mind from all directions and I couldn't wait for the service to begin.



Death to life--that's what Easter is about: the story of Joseph being miraculously found in Kenya and brought to the orphanage; the cardboard testimonies of individual lives being changed; Pastor Chip's story about little John saying, "I want Jesus." That's what Easter does for me. I'm starting to understand the message again; the same message Pat was trying to tell me. This life, with all of my attachment to it, is not the whole story. If I want to stay on that road that leads from death to life, I have to start cutting myself loose. Don't get me wrong, life is good and it's fun and there's lots to do, but it can be interrupted at any time and that has to be okay.


That was what I learned at Easter this year. Chances are I've learned it before and I'll learn it again because it takes a lot of practice to get it right. And so . . . if I had been up there on Easter Sunday during the time of cardboard testimonies, the first side of my cardboard would say, "Way too attached to this life," and, on the other side, "Cutting loose."