He was manifested in the flesh, vindicated by the Spirit, seen by angels, proclaimed among the nations, believed on in the world, taken up in glory.

It strikes me that salvation in legalism is a product of perfect adherence to the law subsequent to a perfect understanding of truth. “I understand perfectly, and I respond perfectly,” the legalist thinks. A legalist is comfortable in knowing he/she perfectly understands, but he is tortured by the knowledge that he does nothing else perfectly, leading him to constantly fear being wrong. As a result, he reluctantly engages truth wrestlers who reduce his confidence in his perfect knowledge.

Salvation by grace is a gift awarded to those who pursue perfect adherence to the law subsequent to a pursuit of a perfect understanding of truth. A grace-receiver is satisfied with his/her imperfect pursuit of perfect understanding and perfect execution. As a result, he isn’t threatened by truth wrestlers because he sees grace as a gift to those who wrestle, even if they wrestle poorly.

“Let us not forget that hatred envy, and pride defile our lives…We must not be afraid of goodness or even tenderness!”¹ Pope Francis

Watching old movies or reading old books, one might get the idea that there’s something unexplainable about religion. Take, for example, the priests in horror movies. Part of the priestly caricature is his dealings in the unexplained and mysterious spiritual realms. He consults his good spirits in defeating the nearly undefeatable evil forces, often culminating in a blurry battle of sights and sound.

My experience has been that little is mysterious about religion. God can be explained, the scriptures are rationally written and interpreted, and Christians are, if nothing else, logical people rationally following God. Even unexplainable concepts like omniscience and eternity are rationally explained with a simple statement like “That is beyond human conception”, which leaves me with little desire to imagine or to wander outside rational thought. Plus, most of that wonder and mystery I see in the movies is missing and frequently dismissed as mere fantasy. Sure, there’s the whole resurrection thing and the miracles that Jesus and his early followers performed, but that was a long time ago.¹

But is that how it should be? Shouldn’t there be some wonder that follows our religion? Shouldn’t we be awestruck by God and Jesus and scripture? More than that, is it that bad or wrong to expect Christians to be a superhuman in some way? Maybe we won’t be defanging Dracula anytime soon, but can’t we at least comfort a new widow in a way that cigarettes can’t? I think so. I find myself frequently returning what Jesus says about people born of Spirit (John 3:8, ESV):

The wind blows where it wishes, and you hear its sound, but you do not know where it comes from or where it goes. So it is with everyone who is born of the Spirit.

By comparing the believer (someone “born of the Spirit”) with the wind, he’s saying there’s something unexplainable about a believer. You can see the effects of the believer, you can feel when he/she is there, and you can feel when he is no longer there, but you can’t really see explain how he does what he does. Believers are mysterious, working and effecting change in ways that are hard, almost impossible, to explain.

Recently while discussing the popularity of coffee on NPR, Jerry Seinfeld discussed our desire to feel like things are okay:

…we all need a little help, and the coffee’s a little help with everything — social, energy, don’t know what to do next, don’t know how to start my day, don’t know how to get through this afternoon, don’t know how to stay alert. We want to do a lot of stuff; we’re not in great shape. We didn’t get a good night’s sleep. We’re a little depressed. Coffee solves all these problems in one delightful little cup.¹

I’m right there with you, Jerry. That warm cup is available and welcome in my hands in nearly any circumstance. It is just as good on a relaxing Friday night at home as it is on a Monday morning at work or a stressful Thursday afternoon at the emergency room. It soothes nerves, increases resolve, and tastes good. Beyond that, it gives a little reassurance that everything is okay or will be okay.

“But,” you may be thinking, “isn’t that going a little far? You’ve made coffee your idol.” I admit that I probably occasionally do. It’s just a dumb drink, and here I am saying it gives me comfort on a lonely morning. But I think there’s more to it than that. To a believer, coffee, like so many of the small things in our lives, is a gift from God that reminds us that everything is okay. We may not be chatting with burning bushes or dining with angels anytime soon, but we can see God in the things he’s created: warm heirloom quilts, fragrant blooming roses, silly laughing children, and hot cups of coffee…they all remind us that God is there, that he’s taking care of us, and that things are okay.

“Missing church is a sin.” “You have the wrong priorities if you miss church.” “Except when they’re sick, faithful Christians are there when the doors are open.” Under these arguments is a belief that the quality of one’s heart can be measured by one’s attendance. Can it really?

Consider this: A person never misses church for years. Outside the church walls, he’s a heathen (and he knows this), but when the doors are open to the church building, he’s there. He’s a “faithful Christian”. He then makes a change and chooses to no longer be a heathen outside the church building. He realizes and does his best to be a “living sacrifice” every day, not just Sunday. Then, one Sunday night he is completely out of the worship mood; he’s not leaving God, but a period of worship is the last thing on his mind. He decides to stay at home. This happens occasionally, but he’s mostly at church when the doors are open. Regardless, he’s not a heathen on Monday morning.

So, is he better off in his perfect attendance or his imperfect attendance? Surely we can agree the good heart behind his imperfect attendance—unbecoming of a “faithful Christian”, as it may be—is preferable to the bad heart behind his perfect attendance.

Discussions of who needs our benevolence frequently contrast the honorably poor (poor because of injustice, misfortune, disability, etc.) with the dishonorably poor (poor because of laziness, lack of discipline, foolishness, etc.).

Most people prefer to help those who are honorably poor, and I count myself as one of those people. Who doesn’t want to help the family man who just lost his job? Who really wants to help the thief who’s never worked hard in his life?

The question, though, is “Who is really poor?” The upstanding guy down on his luck, or the lazy drunk? Isn’t it the lazy drunk whose laziness and drunkenness is hardly more than self-perpetuating evidence of his spiritual poverty? When we consider his spiritual poverty, isn’t he poorer than the guy down on his luck who, although he may not have God, has a sense of shame and decorum and morality that could become Godliness?