The loved love
The thesis of my Sunday sermon this week was “conscious contemplation of God’s love leads to conscious participation in God’s life.”
Many people make the mistake (often because they were mistaught, just like the Colossian Christians) of thinking that the spiritual journey is primarily about demonstrating their devotion to God. They have to prove their faithfulness to God with what Paul calls “pious looking self-denial” and “harsh bodily discipline.”
In short, the Christian life is primarily a life of conformity.
The point I was trying to make this Sunday is that acts of conformity are actually secondary. They are more the effect than the cause.
Our devotion to God is the effect. God’s devotion to us is the cause.
When we make the conscious contemplation of God’s love for us our primary “work,” acts of conformity to the life of Christ—our devotion to God—become easier because they become our genuine desire.
We love because God first loved us. And nowhere is this more important than when we are responding to the sin of other people.
I don’t know that I would call myself a good pastor. But to the degree that members of our congregation would say that I am, I wonder what qualities they would cite as evidence. What in their minds makes me a good pastor?
In my opinion, if I am a good pastor, it is for one reason and one reason only: I have sinned greatly and I have been loved deeply.
When you have sinned greatly you can understand the sin of others. You can empathize. You may not have done precisely what they’ve done but you can appreciate how they got there. Because you’ve found yourself in places that might seem similarly incomprehensible to others.
But you also know what it’s like to be loved in those places, for God to meet you there, to offer you mercy and a new start. And because of that, you can do the same for them. What Jesus said about the adulteress woman really is true: those who have been loved much, love much.
That does not mean I would suggest people go out and sin greatly just so they can experience the mercy of God. But of all the talents, skills, and education I’ve accrued over the years that I try to bring to bear on my role as a pastor, my single greatest asset in this work is the fact that I was once lost and God found me. That I have been loved deeply in my great sin is what informs everything about my role as a pastor, from how I offer counsel to how I disciple and plan sermons.
What applies to my work as a pastor applies equally to your role as a spouse, parent, friend, colleague, student, or community leader. In all of these roles we are constantly asked to respond to the mistakes of others. Sometimes those mistakes seem like genuine mistakes; the person didn’t mean to do what they did. But other times mistakes feel willful, intentional, even devious.
In these moments accountability is important. The point of mercy is not so people can avoid taking responsibility for their actions. Mercy is what is supposed to make it possible FOR people to take responsibility for their actions. But if you yourself have sinned greatly, including willful acts of wrongdoing that might seem incomprehensible to others, and you have been loved deeply, you can administer that accountability with compassion and understanding.
When you have been loved deeply, you can (and more likely will) love deeply in return.
It’s understandable to have the kneejerk response of incredulity, disgust, offense, or judgment in light of the behavior of others you simply can’t understand. But given time I would hope that incredulity or disgust turns to authentic concern. There are things you have done that other people would not understand because they would never do those things. But you have been loved in those things. So, when other people do things you don’t understand because you would never do those things, the hope is that you would be able to meet them with the same kind of compassionate accountability Jesus met people with. The same kind of compassionate accountability he met you with.
Again, that does not mean giving people a “pass.” But it does working to understand them, to let them know you know what it feels like to be where they are, and to often them the same hope offered to you.
Jesus calls us to be people of love. Nowhere is that more difficult or more important than when responding to other people’s sin. Consequently, nowhere is it more important to consciously contemplate the love of God in your own life.
Many people make the mistake (often because they were mistaught, just like the Colossian Christians) of thinking that the spiritual journey is primarily about demonstrating their devotion to God. They have to prove their faithfulness to God with what Paul calls “pious looking self-denial” and “harsh bodily discipline.”
In short, the Christian life is primarily a life of conformity.
The point I was trying to make this Sunday is that acts of conformity are actually secondary. They are more the effect than the cause.
Our devotion to God is the effect. God’s devotion to us is the cause.
When we make the conscious contemplation of God’s love for us our primary “work,” acts of conformity to the life of Christ—our devotion to God—become easier because they become our genuine desire.
We love because God first loved us. And nowhere is this more important than when we are responding to the sin of other people.
I don’t know that I would call myself a good pastor. But to the degree that members of our congregation would say that I am, I wonder what qualities they would cite as evidence. What in their minds makes me a good pastor?
In my opinion, if I am a good pastor, it is for one reason and one reason only: I have sinned greatly and I have been loved deeply.
When you have sinned greatly you can understand the sin of others. You can empathize. You may not have done precisely what they’ve done but you can appreciate how they got there. Because you’ve found yourself in places that might seem similarly incomprehensible to others.
But you also know what it’s like to be loved in those places, for God to meet you there, to offer you mercy and a new start. And because of that, you can do the same for them. What Jesus said about the adulteress woman really is true: those who have been loved much, love much.
That does not mean I would suggest people go out and sin greatly just so they can experience the mercy of God. But of all the talents, skills, and education I’ve accrued over the years that I try to bring to bear on my role as a pastor, my single greatest asset in this work is the fact that I was once lost and God found me. That I have been loved deeply in my great sin is what informs everything about my role as a pastor, from how I offer counsel to how I disciple and plan sermons.
What applies to my work as a pastor applies equally to your role as a spouse, parent, friend, colleague, student, or community leader. In all of these roles we are constantly asked to respond to the mistakes of others. Sometimes those mistakes seem like genuine mistakes; the person didn’t mean to do what they did. But other times mistakes feel willful, intentional, even devious.
In these moments accountability is important. The point of mercy is not so people can avoid taking responsibility for their actions. Mercy is what is supposed to make it possible FOR people to take responsibility for their actions. But if you yourself have sinned greatly, including willful acts of wrongdoing that might seem incomprehensible to others, and you have been loved deeply, you can administer that accountability with compassion and understanding.
When you have been loved deeply, you can (and more likely will) love deeply in return.
It’s understandable to have the kneejerk response of incredulity, disgust, offense, or judgment in light of the behavior of others you simply can’t understand. But given time I would hope that incredulity or disgust turns to authentic concern. There are things you have done that other people would not understand because they would never do those things. But you have been loved in those things. So, when other people do things you don’t understand because you would never do those things, the hope is that you would be able to meet them with the same kind of compassionate accountability Jesus met people with. The same kind of compassionate accountability he met you with.
Again, that does not mean giving people a “pass.” But it does working to understand them, to let them know you know what it feels like to be where they are, and to often them the same hope offered to you.
Jesus calls us to be people of love. Nowhere is that more difficult or more important than when responding to other people’s sin. Consequently, nowhere is it more important to consciously contemplate the love of God in your own life.
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