Lately, I've been
thinking a lot about grace. Serving on
committees that interview candidates for ordained ministry, I try to pay close attention to candidates' understanding of grace and why
it's central to who we are as United Methodists. In the ordination papers that
they submit, many candidates tell some very moving stories about their
ministries and the theological lessons they are learning in the trenches. I've shared similar stories, both in my ordination papers and in plenty of sermons. So I'm not judging anybody nor am I saying that I won't continue to tell stories that have nice and neat conclusions.
These stories, while
moving and good, many times appear much neater on the page than they likely
were when they were happening. Life is
usually more open-ended than the stories we tell. So it is with grace. This is a lesson that I'm slowly learning in
my life as I realize that so much of what I do or work on or plan does not come
to a point of neat closure. Tidy
narratives are the stuff of good books and movies, not necessarily our lives. As I was thinking about this, I remembered one of those messy and unfinished stories from my past.
I met George early
on in my ministry. He was an older man
who was loosely associated with the church where I served. George had once studied religion in
college for the purpose of going into the ministry and it was quickly clear that he loved to talk about the Bible. However, as a young man, he also developed a powerful
addiction to alcohol that he couldn't conquer no matter how hard he tried. He would visit the church where I served for
a few weeks and then disappear for 5-6 months or more. When he came back, the church would always warmly embrace him
and show him so much love and grace. I remember thinking (a little naively) that
maybe this would be enough to turn things around for George, to get him involved. That we could love him and hug him and
worship with him enough that he would seek to get healthy - body, mind, and
spirit. In my time at the church, it
wasn't to be.
I would stop by
George's house from time to time (typically after he had disappeared for a
couple of months) and we'd sit and talk for a while. During one of those visits, we talked about
his college experience and his eventual turning away from faith and towards
drinking. He just couldn't see his way
past the bottle, and he took to heart a phrase from I Corinthians 6:10 which
says: "thieves, the greedy, drunkards, revilers, robbers—none of these
will inherit the kingdom of God." I
tried as hard as I could to convince George that God was waiting to forgive, to
embrace, to redeem - even from a darkness he couldn't see his way out
of. To no avail - George told me,
"there's no hope for me, preacher. I
don't want to stop drinking and God don't want no drunkards. So you see, we're stuck, me and
God." I left that church no closer
to a resolution than I was when I first met George.
We like to tell
stories that resolve, stories that offer redemption, completion, and come to
nice, tidy conclusions. We tell stories
like that because so often, our lives are not like that.
Life's a lot messier and open-ended and unfinished, and so we long for that day when God will bring all of our stories to a remarkable, magnificent, redemptive close. And, who knows, perhaps I planted a seed or two in George's heart
that the Holy Spirit will one day bring to fruition.
My fervent hope is that God's grace is big enough for George and for all
of us broken people who, on any given day, want our crutches more than we want to be healed. I'm trying to trust God
more as I see and experience more of these open-ended stories, to remember that I may not be there to witness that grace grow and flourish in
someone's life. Perhaps my part is to
put seeds in the dirt, as so many have done with me...
