Sovereign Grace (part one)

This one is short (shocking, I know). It's a continuation of the last one, which was brutally long.

So, grace is terrifying; God's sovereignty is comforting; the Law is beautiful.

Why?

I asked the other day if it was possible to trust God even when he does something you think totally against his nature. Even when it's against your own perception of him.

And if you said no...you're just honest. Someone told me elsewhere he didn't know that you could trust a God that would willingly send someone to hell. Honesty is good.

And the truth is, if we're all honest, the answer to both question is no, for all of us. We don't trust God enough to control our every move, and we don't trust him enough to grant us freedom.

Grace is utterly, amazingly terrifying because it is so absolute. Grace reigns wholly, so that nothing can escape its grasp.

That's it, really.

And, honestly, everyone has to say no. We don't trust him near enough. But...the first step is always recognition of that fact.

Talk can never take us beyond acknowledgment.

But that's the thing, I guess. The question was a pointed one; I'd have been surprised if no one's underbelly got pricked.

At some point, this whole mess: Calvin, Arminius, free will, sovereignty...it all comes down to one blinding question:

Do you trust him?

And it's one we'll always be answering differently. Do you really, really trust that his character, his nature, is always good, always righteous, always compassionate and loving, always just...even when everything appears the exact opposite?

So there you go.

God's good and our good

I found myself in the midst of yet another predestination/free will discussion. It's rather sad when you've done this dance enough times to know how to provoke both sides and present either at will. Usually, my standard answer is:

1. God is completely sovereign.
2. Man is completely responsible for his own actions.
3. God is not a tyrant.
4. Man is not the center of the universe.

For me, this clears up most of the issue. It's simple, and no one can dispute it. But it's my understanding that at some point, in our efforts to become God, we think we can and should completely explain and understand him. And that's insane. To wrap my brain fully around God I'd have to become him.

Now, I had someone fire back with:

1. We are created in God's image.
2. God gave us a logical mind.
3. Logic is seated in truth.
4. God is truth.

To which I can only reply: Who said human logic is as infallible as God's; and "let God be God, and every man a liar."

And that's how I wound up in this little discussion. (I'm changing names.) The rest of it went something like this, with a few edits to disinclude some things that don't have bearing on this post:

Me: I can't help but wonder something. God is completely, totally good, right? Holy, righteous. He is literally incapable of doing evil. He cannot do anything malicious to us. Period.

So, my question is this: Does it really, really matter if God does things for his own glory or for humans? Does it really matter if he makes us automatons or lets us run the show?

Does it really matter, because in the end he is good, righteous, holy, sovereign, loving, just, wise, compassionate, merciful, and gracious?

Does it really matter in the end, or is the truth of the matter that we cannot fathom or comprehend or trust this one who lavishes on us? God is terrifying and awesome, no doubt.

But I can't help but wonder: Is it really us trying to wrap our brains around God, or is it really us refusing to trust him? Is it really that we question his very nature and character, and not that we just "want to understand how all this works"?

Because, in the end, we all agree that we can't fully comprehend God. So, then, is it really that we're refusing to trust him?

God is all-powerful, all sovereign, all knowing, and the ever-there. What he does he does for his glory and his name's sake.

But that includes his vast love for this human race. So, where lies the problem?

John: Is it for our good or for His that He allows things to unfold as they do?

Or is it for other reasons as well?

God, who created everything, wanted me to help everyone understand the mysterious plan that had always been hidden in his mind. Then God would use the church to show the powers and authorities in the spiritual world that he has many different kinds of wisdom. God did this according to his eternal plan. And he was able to do what he had planned because of all that Christ Jesus our Lord had done. Eph 3:9-11 CEV

Me: My question is, would there be a difference. God can do no evil. He cannot selfishly do things at the expense of other people. He himself puts humans "a little lower than angels" (Psalm 8) and says we are more valuable than the rest of creation (Sermon on the Mount).

So. God can do no evil. God is love. Therefore, what if everything he does for his own glory, as a result, is also for ours, and vice versa? What if whatever he does is strictly for good, period? What if there is no difference between what is good for God and what is good for us?

What if God only has one agenda?
This is very well said, but I'm not sure how it answers my question.

John: With God there is always a purpose. Apparently that scripture ascribes to the (or at least one of the) reason(s)He created us.

One thought in all of this is to remember He does not need us. We need Him. He may grieve for us, but He does not do this for anything He is missing. Our loss takes nothing from Him. He grieves because He knows what it is we are missing.

Me: You really aren't hearing me. Not one of my posts even hints that God has no purpose in his dealings. In fact, I've viciously said quite the opposite.

My question was: If God's purpose was designed for his own good or for man's would there be a difference? My theory is no, there would be no different, because God in all his agenda and purpose can still do no evil.

Now, my question to you is thi: Suppose God decided to throw his plan out the window. Do you still trust him enough to make that decision? Can you trust him even if he has no purpose, trust him that his hidden agenda is always for good, whether it be planned or not, whether it be for his own glory or for man's?

Joe: So you're saying there is no separation between His good and our good? Holy crap. That's incredible.

Me: Yes.

John: I hear you, I'm just not making myself understood. My bad. Let me try again.

Since God is complete, there is nothing to add or subtract from Him. Therefore I can't see how we could be made for His good. It is hard for me to visualize a conclusion when I can't agree on the premise.

For your other question, I suppose it would depend on what you mean by His scrapping His plan. If He had to do it by breaking any promises or His word, I would have to believe that impossible of Him and would doubt it came from Him. Assuming it was possible. Then yes. I would trust Him. To trust Him not knowing how things are going to turn out in any given situation is something I already have to do.

If we do something good even though our intentions were less than honorable, does God still count it for us as good?

Joe: We can be made for His pleasure, which is, for Him, good.

Me: No, you don't hear me. I haven't disagreed with anything you've said. In fact, I jumped in here with the sole purpose of picking on the "free will people."

You keep saying very good, intriguing things, John. But you keep trying to refute a point I haven't made. I asked "What if." I didn't say "It is." Does art fill any incompleteness in the painter? Does a novel of itself add or subtract to the reader? Does Joe's laying tile complete him?

No. I gain nothing from writing a book. But when I write, it is good. When Joe lays tile, or Sara dances, or Mike composes music...

They are good. They are for good. Stop thinking goodness has to have some kind of pragmatic value. Goodness is goodness, whether practical or not.

God cannot do evil. This scenario is impossible. Changing plans does not mean the plan becomes evil.

I'm talking about God, not man. God cannot do evil. But you can't deny that he's allowed evil a leash, however short.

John: That makes it sound like we were made to entertain Him, Joe. In that sense I suppose one could call pleasure good. It certainly is a humbling thought.

Kaci, I was responding to your response of this [about God's good and our good being the same]. Was I wrong?

Joe: Yes! Entertain. Praise. Accompany. All of these. Unlike pet owners, however, God never lets us sit in the corner waiting for Him to turn His eye to us. He wears us out with his attentions and affections.

John: What then do you do with these verses Jeremiah?

God, who created everything, wanted me to help everyone understand the mysterious plan that had always been hidden in his mind. Then God would use the church to show the powers and authorities in the spiritual world that he has many different kinds of wisdom. God did this according to his eternal plan. And he was able to do what he had planned because of all that Christ Jesus our Lord had done. Eph 3:9-11 CEV


Joe: I accept them, but I sense you're looking for a different answer. Were they supposed to contradict what I said?


Now, in all of this, many good things were said. But my initial questions stand:

1. Do you trust God enough to give him total control?
2. Do you trust God enough to trust him even if he had no plan?
3. Is our constant, inherent "need" to wrap our brains around God truly innocent curiosity, or is it really our pride rearing up as we try to become gods?

Soliciting affections (part two of "kingsnakes")

The lists of hindrances and helps are really endless, if you think about it. And not all things that rob you of your affections are necessarily sin. For example, too much online time, too much TV, and too little time at the gym does things to me. They all rob me: of my ability to think, of my ability to function normally. I skip the gym for more than a few days and become depressed. Very, very depressed.

On the other hand...Tell me a story. A really, really good story that knocks me to the floor. Or let me see an eight year old boy helping his little sister when he doesn't have to.

Or leave me alone in the woods for a day. Or alone anywhere.

Silence and darkness are friends, in some ways. In the dark, only my Teacher can see me. And some of our most intimate times are when we don't say a word. When we just sit. When we enjoy each other's company.

I saw God while playing with a snake. I heard him this morning, listening to the wind and feeling the cool morning air, there in the shadow of my own house. And at night, in the dark, his arms surround me.

And sometimes we just sit there, he and I, quiet. You know, my dad and I do that. I crawl up beside him, into his lap, head against his chest...and we don't say anything.

There's nothing more to say. I feel God's arms when my dad holds me like that. I know his strength.

I see him at weddings. At funerals. Among the graves. Against the starry sky.

I see him on mountain peaks...I saw him at Everest Park and Yellowstone. I saw him while watching a mother bear with her cubs.

I saw him while holding a baby crocodile so strong it took my breath away.

And I saw him when I took my sister soup yesterday. I saw him while my friend and I patrolled the Square, browsing through antiques and consuming ice cream.

I saw him in a little girl who gave strangers a jar of peanut butter. I saw him while trying to carry on a conversation with my bad Spanish and a homeless man's bad English. I saw him while trying to talk to a Kazakh through a Russian interpreter.

I saw him while watching a man with a Bible pray in the church courtyard. I saw him when my sister was born. I've seen him every time he's sent me a Godsend.

But I don't see him in mindless killing, in the sheer mockery of others, or in the endless chatter of bickering men. I don't find him there. I don't find him when I'm surrounded by so much wickedness that it threatens to choke me. I can't see for all the vines, and I can't breathe for all the weeds strangling me.

There he is: my redeemer, my conquering warrior-king, my great and glorious high priest.

Oh. That's another post...

Kingsnakes, crocodiles, pythons, and other things that might kill you

I held a baby kingsnake tonight. It was black and yellow and not yet a foot long. Probably as thick as my little finger.

After church my friend wanted to go to Petco. She has a new cat and wanted to buy toys for it. So while she traipsed down the toys I went to check out the reptiles. Yes. I like lizards and snakes. Turtles are a bit boring.

I watched in utter fascination as this rather striking creature twisted its body around a plastic plant and banged its head trying to escape the cage. Forked tongue flickering fast as he sensed his way to freedom.

To no avail. I actually thought he'd hurt himself at one point. And he was determined.

I went to my friend and told her to come watch. Snakes are fascinating. Seriously. They're long ropes of solid muscle, sleek and soft to the touch. Fascinating.

My friend wanted to see me hold a snake. No big deal to me; I've draped a full-grown python across my shoulders and neck before and held a baby crocodile that was fiercely strong -- took both hands.

So I asked one of the employees if I could hold the kingsnake. I think he was surprised a girl was asking to hold a snake. He was excited to show off the serpents, at any rate. They had a California kingsnake (the one I'd been watching), a lavender kingsnake, a baby boa, and a baby python.

He withdrew the California kingsnake and we coaxed it across my palm, up my wrist, and up my forearm. I gave him free reign of my hands and arms, and he slithered from palm to palm. My friend would touch, but she was nervous about holding him. I told her since she touched it I wouldn't tease her.

The employee showed off all the snakes. Evidently the boa is mean, the python was about to shed, and the lavender kingsnake is a devil. He pulled out the cage, but didn't try to pick up the lavender kingsnake. I took my cue from him. We watched as the employee flicked his fingers and nearly got himself bitten.

It was simply fascinating.

Now, why am I going on about snakes?

Well, because I've been trying to understand this thing called Christianity for awhile now. For the last year I've been trying to learn the meaning of being Jesus' student, the meaning of the law of grace, and prayer itself.

And in my studies, I've been asked two questions:

1. What stirs your affections for Christ?
2. What robs your affections for Christ?

These things are somewhat subjective, but I'm telling you, I like the Discovery channel and the History channel for the same reason: I can't look at the strength of a lion or the intricate design of a hawk's feathers, or the power of a crocodile, the beauty of a leopard, the skill of an octopus, without my affections being stirred.

The kingsnake was amazing. Truly amazing. This small creature who relies mostly on its flickering tongue, this long rope of smooth, powerful muscle and banded with vibrant yellow and bottomless black, stirs my affections for Christ.

"Okay, Kaci, you're off the deep end now."

Maybe. Maybe. But it's more than just the snake. It's more than the design of its body or the brutal determination to escape its cage, or its contentment to slide over my arms and be held...

It's the one who made the snake. You see? This snake was made. This writhing, slithering creature in my hands, winding its body around my fingers and wrists, is no accident. Its designed marvelously: scales to protect its long body, tongue to act as a sensor for prey and danger, markings to make others think its it's poisonous cousin for protection, a smooth body that can wind around, under, and through just about anything...

And playing with this little snake makes me giggle like a child, because I happen to know the guy who made the snake. And the more I watch this snake, the more I'm blown away by God's brilliance.

Maybe I'm silly. It's just a snake. But it wasn't really about the snake, was it?