Resisting Grace
Love Never Dies, prt. 14
Wildwind Community Church
David Flowers
July 11, 2010
The longer I do counseling and the more I come to learn about people, the more I believe that what is most deeply wrong with us as human beings is that we chronically resist grace. We chronically turn away from those who are trying to love us, to be kind to us, to accept us for who we are. We chronically refuse to submit to the overtures of people around us who wish to know us, be close to us, and share life with us. It’s easy to say in church, and we often do say, that people are broken. But what’s broken about people? I think when we talk about human brokenness, we’re talking about the fact that we have this overwhelming and deep need to be loved, and yet at the same time, we struggle to accept love when it is given to us. Now when I say we, I’m not just talking about myself and a couple of other people. I’m talking about nearly all of us in this room today – perhaps every last one of us. I really think this difficulty in accepting grace, in allowing people to simply be gracious to us, kind to us, to love us – is one of the deepest symptoms of human brokenness. I have shared with you before that I like to refer to human relationships with the phrase “noble tragedy.” Human relationships, really, are noble tragedies. They are tragic because of this deep wounding we all have that keeps us from receiving grace – receiving from people what we most need – despite how deeply we need it. Yet relationships are noble because, despite my wounding, and your wounding, and the extremely hard time we have accepting what God and others are trying to freely give us, we keep trying. I mean, most of us do. We keep getting into relationships. We keep giving it a crack! We keep hoping that this next one will work out better. We’re all Energizer Bunnies of love. We’re just like that little guy – banging on our love drum, marching back and forth and up and down, beating that drum day in and day out, LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME. Just like that little bunny, we often don’t even have any specific direction, but rather our whole point is to simply keep on beating that drum and to never, ever stop – to keep going, and going, and going, and going. When one relationship gets strained, we take off and find another one. When that one goes bad, we leave it and start again. Or else we do the opposite thing for reasons that are just as bad – we stay in bad relationships month after month, year after year, keep beating our love drum, and never stop to ask ourselves what is it that’s happening. Whether we keep ditching bad relationships and starting over, or whether we chronically stay in terrible ones is not the point. The point is that we can do either one of those things as a pattern throughout our whole lives and never stop to consider the tragedy – the brokenness that lies underneath – the gaping hole that is in your heart and mine that drives us to desire love that we then cannot accept, that drives us to accept cheap substitutes either by constantly ditching good people who sincerely are trying to love us, or by staying with bad people who are just in it for themselves.
It can be as extreme as the wife who stays in a physically abusive relationship year after year and accepts that terrible substitute for love. Or it can be as subtle as the husband whose wife tries desperately to connect to him day after day, but he just buries himself in his newspaper, in his football game – accepting those terrible substitutes for love -- unable to look at her and connect to her, unable to allow her love to matter enough to reach him. Noble. Tragic. That is the story of human love. It even reaches into our everyday worlds, where a man who really loves his family still finds himself retreating into anger and fear and silence instead of honestly admitting them and facing his darkness with courage. Or where a woman complains constantly about her husband not paying attention to her, but doesn’t see that she busies herself as much with housework as he does with work in the garage, or with the football game. Ships pass in the night right next to one another, and we are content to call it love. Or they collide with wild fury and deeply wound each other, and we are content to call it love. Either way, we miss what is ours. We miss the place of connection, the place of union.
As I said, this is not just about me . This is about all of us. And not just all of us today. It’s a human trait and we see it at times in everyone in every age. We see it in John 13, where Jesus was eating supper with his disciples, his friends.
John 13:3-9 (MSG)
3 Jesus knew that the Father had put him in complete charge of everything, that he came from God and was on his way back to God.
4 So he got up from the supper table, set aside his robe, and put on an apron.
5 Then he poured water into a basin and began to wash the feet of the disciples, drying them with his apron.
6 When he got to Simon Peter, Peter said, "Master, you wash my feet?"
7 Jesus answered, "You don't understand now what I'm doing, but it will be clear enough to you later."
8 Peter persisted, "You're not going to wash my feet—ever!" Jesus said, "If I don't wash you, you can't be part of what I'm doing."
9 "Master!" said Peter. "Not only my feet, then. Wash my hands! Wash my head!"
So there it is. There’s Jesus, wanting to love Peter, wanting to pour out his grace on him, standing there with the basin and the towel, ready to serve – and Peter will not allow it. This passage is powerful, and normally when it’s studied we focus on Christ’s act of service and on our obligation to serve others in humility the way he here serves his disciples. Fantastic lesson. But I want to take the other perspective. I want to look through the eyes of Peter, because what Jesus did for Peter in that moment, he is offering to do for you now . In the same way that Jesus picked up the basin and the towel and knelt down at the feet of Peter to love him and serve him and pour out his grace on him, Jesus waits to do the same for you. And no doubt you will find that Peter’s response to Jesus’ offer is very similar to your own. And when you respond to God the way Peter did, you can expect that God’s response to you will be the same as it was to Peter. “Unless I wash you, you have no part with me.”
I want to start there with that response Jesus gave to Peter’s resistance. Jesus is not talking here simply about the washing away of sin. That’s not what Jesus is going for here. What Jesus tells Peter is that in order for Christ to work in Peter’s life, Peter must allow him to do it. The same is true of you. In order for Christ to work in your life, you must allow him to do it. This is harder than it seems, yet also very simple. Most of us pray and pray and pray that God would work a miracle in our lives. We pray and pray that so and so would be healed, that God would change our circumstances, that this or that would be fixed or different or better. Those are the easiest prayers to pray because God can answer them without us having to humble ourselves. God can cure our disease without us having to change our hearts at all. God can make our boss less of a jerk without us having to reflect on ourselves at all. God can bring us a new job that pays more money and we can thank him for it and remain exactly as we were before – as focused on ourselves as ever. But what if, after praying those prayers year after year, we realize that what God really wants more than anything is to take a basin, and a towel, and kneel down in front of you, and love you? What if what God wants to do in you is show you your value to him? What if what God is asking of you is simply to receive what he is freely giving?
I believe that’s the case, but it’s the hardest thing for any of us to do. See, I could stand up here right now with a basin and towel and I could approach one of you and ask you to take your shoes off, and I could wash your feet. That would be humbling for me. But you know what? It would be even more humbling for you, you know why? Because you’re the one whose shoes come off and now I know and everybody else knows your feet stink. Serving is humbling for the one who serves, but when you serve, you are the one in power – you are the one in control. When someone else serves you, you are powerless. You can do nothing but accept or reject what is given. When someone else serves you, your need is made obvious before the servant, and before all who see what is done.
And so there you are – there is Peter – struggling to accept what is being offered. Peter thinks he understands and he responds in a way that seems informed. “Lord – the Son of God – you are going to serve ME? That’s inappropriate. That doesn’t check out. You are the one who deserves to be served. Here, why don’t you sit down and let me wash your feet instead?” How convenient. Then Peter could be the hero. Peter could move back on top. He could make himself feel good because he put things back in their proper order – with the servant serving and the king being served.
But Jesus’ response shows us something else. See, in God’s economy, things are not in proper order. In God’s economy, the master serves the servants. In God’s economy, we come limping home after weeks away, squandering our father’s money, then nearly starving to death, ready to grovel at the father’s feet and beg him to take us back. But then we are seen by the father as he sits on his porch, and he runs to meet us. He disregards our apology and hugs and kisses us and puts rings on our fingers and a coat around our shoulders, and orders that the fatted calf be killed, and then gives us a place of honor at his table, where he celebrates that we have returned. And there’s nothing we can do but accept it and say thank you, or reject it and walk away. In that moment we realize that what we had so desperately hoped and prayed for is the thing that was ours all along.
This is the choice Jesus makes clear to Peter. Jesus offers to love him, to pour out grace on him in the form of water, and Peter – like you and like me – is not prepared to receive. He believes humility is found in serving and that it is fitting and proper for him to be the servant. But Jesus asks of Peter even greater humility – Peter, you must allow me to serve you. You must relinquish your control. Unless I wash you, you can have no part of me. In other words, what matters most between us and God is not what we are prepared to do for God, but whether we are prepared to accept what God constantly wants to do for us. What changes you is not all that you might do for God, but learning to rest in what God has already done, and continues to do, for you.
Here is Peter, resisting grace, thinking he has good reasons. And in a way, he does. I mean, in a way it DOES make sense that Peter would wash the feet of Jesus instead of Jesus washing Peter’s feet. Here’s David, resisting grace, thinking I have good reasons. And in a way, I do. I mean, I know God is found – life is found – not in frenetic activity and chaotic busyness, but in quiet, in stillness, in rest, but I’ve had so much to do! Of course this whole thing isn’t about my need to do one more thing, but my even deeper need to stop doing. I mean, it’s my choice to turn this God business into one more thing I have to do, but God just says, “Cut it out.” Sit down and let me serve you. Be quiet . Be still. I’m peace, but you don’t know it. I’m quiet, but you don’t know it. I’m rest, but you don’t know it. I’m not failure and I’m not success. I’m the end of your relentless need to succeed, and I’m the end of your anguish over failure. I’m not wealth and I’m not poverty. I’m the end of your ceaseless striving for money, and I’m the end of your fear of not having enough. I’m not high self-esteem and I’m not self-deprecation. I’m the end of your desperate clamoring for attention and approval, and I’m the end of your relentless criticism of yourself. That’s where God is. We want to pull the strings. We want to be in control and “get something” out of our religion, but like Peter – with Jesus already kneeling at his feet – we already have what we need. We just aren’t ready to take it, because Jesus offers us not this or that that we want, but he offers to put an end to the stuff we already think is so important.
John 10:10 (NIV)
10 …I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.
We hear this and think, “Sweet, more cool stuff in my life.” Then as we allow life to start flowing into us from Christ we realize that the beginning of the Christ-life is the end of life as we know it, and that’s scary, but as we keep going we realize that life as we know it is over-rated and what Christ offers us is a kind of life we never imagined – life that is truly life.
1 Timothy 6:19 (NIV)
19 …they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life.
So there is a life that is truly life, and a life that only looks like life but really isn’t. The one that isn’t is the life most of us are living now – our default way of living! Jesus said that the way to receive this new life is through “repentance,” – a complete change of direction – getting a new mind, in fact. Out with the old, and in with the new. We can make a “decision” to repent at a particular moment, but getting a new mind is usually a process that unfolds over a long time. When we first “repent,” we decide that we want a new mind, and then we begin to learn how to receive from God the mind that we need, the life that is truly life.
And our inability to receive God’s grace directly shows up in our inability to receive love and grace from our fellow human beings. There are people who want to love us, but – much like us – they love imperfectly and make mistakes. When someone who loves you makes a mistake – says or does something that hurts or offends you – how do you react? Do you say, “Well, I thought you cared about me but obviously I was wrong,” or do you think to yourself, “Look at you, trying so hard to love me that you’re willing to screw up sometimes. Look at you go!” The first response is characteristic of those who cannot receive grace, and thus they cannot show it to anyone else. The second is characteristic of people who are learning to receive – and thus to grant – grace. How you respond to people around you who care about you but let you down says a lot about the extent to which you have or have not learned to accept grace – to be that person with their shoes and socks off, getting their feet washed – that person who has given up control, who is not seeking to be the giver but is prepared to be the receiver, who has let go of their need to be on top and is prepared to let go and learn to relax at the bottom. Unless I wash you, you have no part with me. Unless we let God do for us, we cannot know God. Unless we let others do for us, we cannot be in close relationship with them. To refuse to let someone do for us may seem like caring courtesy, but actually holds them at arm’s length. It keeps us from being vulnerable to them.
There are two reasons we do not allow people to love us. Pride and fear. When someone truly loves us, when someone truly shows us grace, it’s always undeserved, something we have not earned and in fact cannot earn. That violates our sense of decorum. That’s the reason why we have to have that stupid conversation at the dinner table when the check comes: “I got it.” “Are you sure?” “Yeah, no problem.” “Okay, well, I’ll get the tip.” “No, it’s cool, I’ve got it.” “Are you sure?” “Yes, it’s fine, happy to do it.” “Alright, but next time, I GOT IT.” Next time I get to be the sugar daddy. Next time, I get to be on top. Next time, you have to be the underdog who has somebody do for you.” That’s really what we’re arguing about – who has to feel like the loser who can’t provide for himself, and who gets to feel like royalty who can cover both people. We love being the one who pays and, even when we appreciate NOT having to pay, we nearly always still deal with the awkwardness. “I’d better make sure I say thank you. What if I forget? I’ll say it now and then again before I get out of the car. If I don’t get to pay the restaurant in cash, I’ll at least pay my partner in gratitude.”
Second, we struggle to accept grace because of fear. Let’s say you have a man whose self-image is based on his ability to provide for his family. One day he gets word that he has lost his job. Day by day he grows more distant from his wife and children. He is losing his sense of himself, and he is terrified not only by this feeling but by the vulnerability that is required in admitting it to his wife. Instead of saying, “Honey, you know how much my work means to me and I just feel lost. I think I’m losing myself, but I don’t want to lose you or the kids – can you be patient with me? Do you think you can still respect me?” This is what he’s afraid of – that he’s going to lose her respect, but it’s such a fearful idea that he can’t even speak it out loud. So he hurts in silence, cuts himself off from those who love him, and grows increasingly irritated with them. Because he bases his own sense of self-respect on his job, he simply assumes no one else can respect him either, so he begins to fear and resent his family for looking down on him. Do you see what I’m saying? It’s all in his head, but he creates that reality and then lives with its consequences. Simply facing his fear and asking, “Can you still respect me” would allow his wife to love him, to connect with him, to give him the assurance that he deeply needs. But he doesn’t face it. He runs from it. He tries to “be a man.” But in trying to be a man, he allows himself to be swallowed up by fear, then acts out in angry ways toward those who love him, and he is now cut off from the very people who could love and support him through this difficulty. But he’s locked into fear. And note this – he’s locked into fear by his pride – by his need to have them think well of him. The guy at the dinner table is locked into pride by his fear – fear that he won’t be considered powerful or able to provide for himself. Fear and pride. Fear and pride.
Receiving grace, receiving love, receiving anything at all worthwhile from anyone, requires vulnerability. When we are receivers, we are vulnerable. Vulnerability is inherently very scary. To receive from God, we must be vulnerable to him. We must bring ourselves to stop ordering God around for a while (be with and do this and make this and that happen) and just allow him to kneel at our feet and pour out his grace on us. That’s the God that is modeled for us in Christ, particularly in this passage.
I would say that’s really a good way of understanding prayer. Prayer is coming into the presence of God and allowing God to pour himself out to us, and simply being willing to receive whatever comes.
John 13:8-9 (NIV)
8 "No," said Peter, "you shall never wash my feet." Jesus answered, "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."
9 "Then, Lord," Simon Peter replied, "not just my feet but my hands and my head as well!"
That’s prayer. Lord, I want to know you and be part of you. My hands, my feet, my head – they’re yours, God – I lay down my pride, my need to be in control and on top, my need to get this or that out of you – and I will just learn to sit still in the silence while your pour out your mercy and grace. Let us pray together…
God, we fall at your feet and as we do, we thank you that you have already fallen at ours. Thank you for grace we could never deserve, for showing us how blessed it is to receive. May we grow increasingly humble hearts that can receive from you and from each other and right here in our little community, may we learn not only to give but to humbly receive from one another. Amen.
