I already wrote about the ideal of grace orientation [See "Blooming Theology"]; but there's an uncomfortable side to adopting this attitude that I want to touch on.
You see, we can dig the idea of showing grace and loving people even when they're rude or ugly or smelly; but we usually don't want to be loved on those terms. There's a deep humiliation that comes with learning that you are loved and accepted, not because people find you lovely and acceptable, but because they have decided to push through all the unattractive things and love you anyway. Even if we can accept this kind of love from God and bestow this kind of love on others, accepting it from other humans is difficult. I think it an understandable discomfort, too.
When God loves me in spite of me, it's because He's so freaking high above my petty sin and stupid choices that He must either find a way to reconcile the gap (hence Jesus) or do away with me altogether. There's a heavy note of "high-and-mighty" to this kind of love; but I'm okay with God thinking He's bigger and better than me.
When other people love in spite of me, it feels as though they are playing "the bigger man", as if they are forgiving me for the grand evil of being me - and that feels humiliating. For broken people to get on a high horse about my brokenness hits me the wrong way.
It's not really a high horse, though, is it? If I accept that we're all broken, and if I accept that my flaws are unlovely to God and annoying to people and if I remember that I've shown people "unmerited love" as many times as I've gotten over myself for long enough to swing it, then I really have no reason to begrudge people their exercises in grace.
When I act with grace, do I really feel high-and-mighty about it? If not, why should I assume that others do?
What it boils down to is this: Grace is an offense to pride. To accept undeserved kindness is to acknowledge that it's undeserved - that I am NOT worthy, NOT awesome enough to earn it.
...and my ego seethes.
-isaac
24 July 2012
07 July 2012
Sharpshooting
I work for the world's largest retail organisation. I started four years ago, calling myself a "Merchandise Transport Reclamation Specialist". My boss called me a "Courtesy Associate". Really, they were both just fancy ways of saying that I pulled carts. Now, though I quit once and was laid off another time, I am an Overnight Customer Service Manager, which is their fancy way of saying "head cashier".
At my store, I encounter what I consider a "core sample" of Longview's culture. In what other of this town's parking lots will you find a vintage Jag parked next to a beat up 1985 Accord? Where else do you see the most polite children in the world gawking at those poor kids who get stuck with the task of telling their parents what to do? The best and worst of our fair city seem to converge in this one place.
Because I am in the service industry, I spend a lot of time playing a background character in my customers' personal dramas. For some reason, when you put on a name tag and stand behind a counter, you don't exist until the person in front of you finds your existence convenient. Thus I am witness to more arguments than you could imagine. It is incredible, what dirty laundry the average person will hang out in front of a cashier. What I have learned in my years of hearing people fight is that many mistake expression for communication.
This is a pretty common mistake; and it seems to me that most people who've stopped making it don't even realise they've learned anything - as if, for some, the lesson comes naturally.
Expression, for the sake of this post (and a number of real-life applications), is the "letting" of one's thoughts and feelings. When I express myself, I am not so concerned about others knowing what I'm thinking or feeling as getting those thoughts and feelings outside myself.
Conversely, communication is an effort to transfer thoughts and feelings to another person. I do not mean that the other adopts those same thoughts and feelings; rather, a person is made to understand those thoughts and feelings and is able to accurately ponder them.
To put it another way:
Expression is getting what's "in here", "out there".
Communication is getting what"s "in here", "into there".
To express, there's no need for understanding. You needn't even understand yourself, let alone the people around you. Sometimes, when I'm confused by my own feelings, or unable to gather my thoughts, I can play the drums or plink around on a piano for a while and start feeling better. I've expressed myself, though I had no idea what I was expressing.
(I think it's this ambiguity that makes art of any sort so incredible. That we should take a message from the colourful "lettings" of another person's mind and heart is remarkable. What's even more remarkable is that we sometimes find ourselves taking away the very same feelings and thoughts the artist put into it.)
Communication, on the other hand, requires a few different levels of understanding. For starters, you need to identify what it is you're thinking or feeling. Then, you need to think about who you're talking to and develop an idea of how they process information. Then you have the simple task of helping someone else make sense of what's on your mind.
Expressing yourself at someone when you mean to communicate is like sharpshooting with a shotgun. Only a few out of hundreds of your small, round, metal thoughts will ever hit home; and, depending on what you're aiming at and how loudly you're yelling, even these will probably have lost most of their thrust by the time they get there.
Too often, I watch people express their brains out at another person, without stopping to think about whether what they're saying makes any sense or if it's having the effect they mean it to. The victim of this verbal bludgeoning usually responds in kind. The result is this: Two people walk away from a conversation angry and confused, but otherwise unchanged.
Here's the thing: (And this really is the most important part of everything I'm saying here.) Communication, just like the whole of human interaction, is mean to be formative. Its function is to give us a way of changing each other from the inside out. From even the most simple conversations, something about us shifts - if only in that our mood is slightly different; the power of communication is that we can make the most of these opportunities to help others shift for the better.
People talk about living purposefully. I say, let's start with speaking purposefully and see how quickly the rest of our lives follow suit. Let's try making the most of those daily opportunities that arise over a cup of tea or in-between greetings at church. Jesus wrote nothing that lasted beyond the next harsh breeze; but He communicated with people in a way that bestowed vision and passion and life itself to them. He knew His people and how to talk to them.
In that way, good communication really is like sharpshooting. You listen, observe and take much into account before pulling the trigger. You "know" your "audience", so to speak. How I tell a 13-year-old kid "No" is not how I tell the cashiers I lead "No." How I tell someone a hard truth one day may not be the same way he needs to hear it the next day. How I encourage one person may employ a tone and wording totally different from what I use to encourage another.
It's this "knowing" that I think makes this lesson so tricky. There's only so much you can learn about a stranger in a few minutes; but sometimes, a few minutes is all you have. Other times, people can just be so darn unknowable - secretive, distrusting, dishonest or just awkward - that learning how to talk to them is more a matter of trial and error than anything else.
For example:
I'm a storyteller; and I come from a family of storytellers. (Even worse, we're a family of sarcastic, storytelling Grammar Nazis) So, at work, a lot of my social interaction with co-workers takes the form of short little stories that I tell between rushes or while we clean. Sometimes, it's an amusing anecdote about one of our customers; other times, I'll tell about some of the adventures I've had.
Having moved to overnights recently, I've found that the lady training me has a three-sentence attention span. After my third sentence on any topic not directly pertinent to putting items on shelves, I see her eyes glaze over; her laugh sounds forced and she's gone as soon as she has an acceptable reason to leave. So, in our quiet moments, when I would normally tell stories or discuss a recent movie-watching experience, I have no idea what to do. How do you communicate with someone who won't stay with you long enough to be communicated with?
Fortunately, the other people I'll be working with seem to enjoy a good story.
So, let's be honest: This is a lesson I've not completely mastered. Sometimes, I fail at communicating. I misjudge my "audience" or adopt an ill tone or let my tongue get ahead of my brain. Sometimes, I set out to amuse and end up embarrassing myself. Like most things worth mastering, this one looks a lot like a life-long process. I only hope that God will continue granting me grace to grow in this and that some of what I've learned will be helpful to you.
-isaac
At my store, I encounter what I consider a "core sample" of Longview's culture. In what other of this town's parking lots will you find a vintage Jag parked next to a beat up 1985 Accord? Where else do you see the most polite children in the world gawking at those poor kids who get stuck with the task of telling their parents what to do? The best and worst of our fair city seem to converge in this one place.
This is a pretty common mistake; and it seems to me that most people who've stopped making it don't even realise they've learned anything - as if, for some, the lesson comes naturally.
Expression, for the sake of this post (and a number of real-life applications), is the "letting" of one's thoughts and feelings. When I express myself, I am not so concerned about others knowing what I'm thinking or feeling as getting those thoughts and feelings outside myself.
Conversely, communication is an effort to transfer thoughts and feelings to another person. I do not mean that the other adopts those same thoughts and feelings; rather, a person is made to understand those thoughts and feelings and is able to accurately ponder them.
To put it another way:
Expression is getting what's "in here", "out there".
Communication is getting what"s "in here", "into there".
To express, there's no need for understanding. You needn't even understand yourself, let alone the people around you. Sometimes, when I'm confused by my own feelings, or unable to gather my thoughts, I can play the drums or plink around on a piano for a while and start feeling better. I've expressed myself, though I had no idea what I was expressing.
(I think it's this ambiguity that makes art of any sort so incredible. That we should take a message from the colourful "lettings" of another person's mind and heart is remarkable. What's even more remarkable is that we sometimes find ourselves taking away the very same feelings and thoughts the artist put into it.)
Communication, on the other hand, requires a few different levels of understanding. For starters, you need to identify what it is you're thinking or feeling. Then, you need to think about who you're talking to and develop an idea of how they process information. Then you have the simple task of helping someone else make sense of what's on your mind.
Expressing yourself at someone when you mean to communicate is like sharpshooting with a shotgun. Only a few out of hundreds of your small, round, metal thoughts will ever hit home; and, depending on what you're aiming at and how loudly you're yelling, even these will probably have lost most of their thrust by the time they get there.
Too often, I watch people express their brains out at another person, without stopping to think about whether what they're saying makes any sense or if it's having the effect they mean it to. The victim of this verbal bludgeoning usually responds in kind. The result is this: Two people walk away from a conversation angry and confused, but otherwise unchanged.
Here's the thing: (And this really is the most important part of everything I'm saying here.) Communication, just like the whole of human interaction, is mean to be formative. Its function is to give us a way of changing each other from the inside out. From even the most simple conversations, something about us shifts - if only in that our mood is slightly different; the power of communication is that we can make the most of these opportunities to help others shift for the better.
People talk about living purposefully. I say, let's start with speaking purposefully and see how quickly the rest of our lives follow suit. Let's try making the most of those daily opportunities that arise over a cup of tea or in-between greetings at church. Jesus wrote nothing that lasted beyond the next harsh breeze; but He communicated with people in a way that bestowed vision and passion and life itself to them. He knew His people and how to talk to them.
In that way, good communication really is like sharpshooting. You listen, observe and take much into account before pulling the trigger. You "know" your "audience", so to speak. How I tell a 13-year-old kid "No" is not how I tell the cashiers I lead "No." How I tell someone a hard truth one day may not be the same way he needs to hear it the next day. How I encourage one person may employ a tone and wording totally different from what I use to encourage another.
It's this "knowing" that I think makes this lesson so tricky. There's only so much you can learn about a stranger in a few minutes; but sometimes, a few minutes is all you have. Other times, people can just be so darn unknowable - secretive, distrusting, dishonest or just awkward - that learning how to talk to them is more a matter of trial and error than anything else.
For example:
I'm a storyteller; and I come from a family of storytellers. (Even worse, we're a family of sarcastic, storytelling Grammar Nazis) So, at work, a lot of my social interaction with co-workers takes the form of short little stories that I tell between rushes or while we clean. Sometimes, it's an amusing anecdote about one of our customers; other times, I'll tell about some of the adventures I've had.
Having moved to overnights recently, I've found that the lady training me has a three-sentence attention span. After my third sentence on any topic not directly pertinent to putting items on shelves, I see her eyes glaze over; her laugh sounds forced and she's gone as soon as she has an acceptable reason to leave. So, in our quiet moments, when I would normally tell stories or discuss a recent movie-watching experience, I have no idea what to do. How do you communicate with someone who won't stay with you long enough to be communicated with?
Fortunately, the other people I'll be working with seem to enjoy a good story.
So, let's be honest: This is a lesson I've not completely mastered. Sometimes, I fail at communicating. I misjudge my "audience" or adopt an ill tone or let my tongue get ahead of my brain. Sometimes, I set out to amuse and end up embarrassing myself. Like most things worth mastering, this one looks a lot like a life-long process. I only hope that God will continue granting me grace to grow in this and that some of what I've learned will be helpful to you.
-isaac
02 July 2012
Blooming Theology
The best man I know has spent the better part of the last few years delving into the deep, rich corners of the Bible. He takes Greek lessons and spends hours daily listening to podcasts of some of the greatest minds in Christendom as they unpack the mind-bending complexities of our faith. Sometimes, to make things easier, his internet pastors will coin different phrases and use certain words only one certain way. This helps, because, instead of having to re-explain an hour's lesson every time he refers to it, a preacher can just say three words that his congregants will recognise as meaning "That One thing We Already Discussed".
When my friend and I talk about God, I sometimes get annoyed because he'll spout off these words that mean nothing to me or mean something that he's not talking about. It took three weeks of listening to him ramble about "staying positive toward God" to realise he meant "making daily choices that please God" - not "having an optimistic attitude about Him."
A while ago, he taught me this one theological phrase that blew the top off my understanding of Scripture and realigned a lot of my attitudes.
"Grace orientation"
Imagine your thoughts and knowledge about God are like a flower. At the root of it all sit the Word of God, your own philosophy and logic. From these things, you draw the central conclusion that God is Love. Love, the stem of your imaginary flower, culminates in grace. Grace is that part of the flower I can't seem to find the name for. It's where the stem joins the flowering part of the plant - that spot where the awkwardly named reproductive bits begin. Shooting out from grace, like bee-attracting petals, are all your thoughts, ideas and understandings about God. This is the ideal of grace orientation, that every verse you read, every passage you argue about should move out from this central point.
To help the phrase make a bit more sense, all theology should be oriented around grace.
1) Grace Orientation and My Place with God.
Let's start with an ugly truth. If I read my Bible correctly, not one of us dusty creatures deserves Heaven. Quite the opposite, actually. Because we've made such a mess of this world and ourselves, we have all earned a lasting separation from God.
Fortunately, that's not what God has in mind for us.
So, while everything about me points to a ride on the notorious "[Heck]evator", God's gone out of His way to keep me on this side of the flaming gates.
What does this mean for our relationship?
a) Everything above [Heck] is extra.
Let's say I back my car into my sister's car. I do about a thousand bucks of damage. Because she's "just that sort of person", she forgives the debt. In my account of Things-Isaac-Doesn't-Deserve (TIDD), there's an entry of $1000. The next day, having (through some force deeper and stronger than the universe itself) convinced her insurance company to cough up some dollars, my sister treats me to sushi. The TIDD account now reads ($1000+sushi). I run out of gas on the way to work that evening; so I drag my embarrassed butt to my sister's door and beg some gas money from her.
If my sister says, "No.", have I any room to argue, become angry or feel cheated?
Hardly.
If my sister had said, at the start, "I'll forgive this debt; but you need to take driving lessons, so you don't crash any more cars.", can I blame her or call her unreasonable?
Nope - especially not if I've made a habit of crashing into things.
What I deserve is to go gasless and sushiless into a debt hole of a cool grand. Anything above that is "extra" and reason to be grateful.
I deserve Hell. So, when I accepted my invitation to Heaven, I put myself in the red. When I received good friends, an awesome family and experiences other people dream of, I only deepened the shade of red. My good deeds are pennies against billions. So, when I ask for something and God (usually for my own good) declines, I have no room to begrudge Him that prerogative. When He requires of me more than I feel like giving, I am being little more than an ingrate. If He sees fit to let me die a horrid, stinking, violent, painful, slow death that somehow involves months spent eating naught but asparagus-onion-mushroom stew, I will still be in His debt and without room to hold a moment of it against Him. (When I get to Heaven, I doubt I'll be in much of a complaining mood anyway.)
My relationship with God is a bit like my relationship with the best man I know. Since he's always been more dollars-savvy than I, he's treated me to something like forty bajillion movies, beverages, hotel rooms (on various vacations), rides (gas isn't free), meals and who-knows-what-else. When it started, I kept swearing that, one day, I'd pay it all back to him. Eventually, it got to a point where I knew I'd never get there. We'd gone too long and he'd done too much to make repayment an option. Somehow, even these days, I have the gall to sometimes ask him for things. When he can, he acquiesces. When he declines, even I have the presence of both heart and mind to remain grateful toward him.
b) God is good, even when it looks bad.
A lot of people are uncomfortable with the way God handles judgement in the Old Testament and Revelation. The whole "smiting" thing sets them on edge. I mean, if a human kills a a few million people, it's unquestionable that he shouldn't be trusted around other humans and should thus be removed from this world as soon as can be arranged. Yet, when God commands genocide and destroys the planet, He is still Love, Himself?
Two premises helped me with this, though I'll admit it's still fuzzier an explanation than I like.
First, nothing is deserved. Everything is God and His grace. This means that everything above Hell is extra. (So far, we're just reiterating, right?)
A car? Extra.
A house? Extra.
Friends, family and awkward-but-amiable acquaintances? Extra.
Being alive?
Also extra.
Second, humans don't die. Being killed is a short horror that leads to either a wonder that makes the preceding moments a mere trifle of an uncomfortable moment or a deeper horror that makes the preceding pain seem like beds of rose petals by comparison. (Death, as I see it in Scripture, is less like going to sleep forever and more like being pulled off the playing field.)
I do not believe that every single one of the Amalekites Saul was ordered to kill was hell-bound by virtue of being an Amalekite.
Thus, I believe the little ones ("Age of accountability" and all that...) and those among the Amalekites who served God are in Heaven to this day, while those among them who were evil now suffer a fate that I myself deserve.
c) My worthiness no longer matters.
Though I don't deserve heaven or God's love or anything at all, I don't have to squirm around like a pus-filled worm, either. Some people feel the need to behave according to their "worthiness" instead of their position. The thing is, because this whole life's all undeserved, we can freely enjoy it without worrying about whether we've earned it or not.
We pus-filled worm-people are, according to Scripture, God's children, friends and crowned priests. We are these things not because we're cool enough, but because God's love for us is big enough. Our position with God far exceeds our worthiness. So, though I am a colossal charity case, I made it into the yearbook. Even though I'm adopted, I am in the King's will. I hold the position of one that the God of All Things felt the need to sacrifice Himself for.
2) Grace Orientation and the People Around Me.
I've mentioned in previous posts that I sometimes have a hard time with other Christians. Making what progress I have has been little more than an long-term exercise in getting over myself. One of the steps on that journey has involved learning that, because we are all equally undeserving, we are also equally unfit to complain about the company God keeps.
So, while I have a responsibility to Scriptural accountability, I have a greater responsibility show folks the kind of love and grace I've been shown.
Beyond that, if my worthiness is moot, there is not a person, a task or a thing in this world I am too cool for. If I'm not cool enough for Heaven; why would I be too cool to hang out with this or that uncool guy? Why would I be too cool to do this or that task? Why would I be too cool to talk about this or that flaw I have? (This lesson brought me to a place of candidness I couldn't enjoy before.) Why would I be too cool to help someone in this or that way?
If no one is worthy, no one is "better". (Me least of all!) No one is closer to the infinite love and goodness we'd have to possess to BE worthy. This truth leaves me no place for getting a big head nor any room to shun anyone God wants to show His love to.
I put it this way some time ago on Facebook:
"Grace is the messy thing that puts murderers on equal footing with priests - sex offenders with humanitarians. With grace, all things are found not in our merit, but God's. It's messy because our ideas on who 'deserves' forgiveness are suddenly false."
There's more to this - a lot more. If you want to see what I mean, study some of the Bible and spend the whole time remembering that it's all grace.
When my friend and I talk about God, I sometimes get annoyed because he'll spout off these words that mean nothing to me or mean something that he's not talking about. It took three weeks of listening to him ramble about "staying positive toward God" to realise he meant "making daily choices that please God" - not "having an optimistic attitude about Him."
A while ago, he taught me this one theological phrase that blew the top off my understanding of Scripture and realigned a lot of my attitudes.
"Grace orientation"
Imagine your thoughts and knowledge about God are like a flower. At the root of it all sit the Word of God, your own philosophy and logic. From these things, you draw the central conclusion that God is Love. Love, the stem of your imaginary flower, culminates in grace. Grace is that part of the flower I can't seem to find the name for. It's where the stem joins the flowering part of the plant - that spot where the awkwardly named reproductive bits begin. Shooting out from grace, like bee-attracting petals, are all your thoughts, ideas and understandings about God. This is the ideal of grace orientation, that every verse you read, every passage you argue about should move out from this central point.
To help the phrase make a bit more sense, all theology should be oriented around grace.
Let's start with an ugly truth. If I read my Bible correctly, not one of us dusty creatures deserves Heaven. Quite the opposite, actually. Because we've made such a mess of this world and ourselves, we have all earned a lasting separation from God.
Fortunately, that's not what God has in mind for us.
So, while everything about me points to a ride on the notorious "[Heck]evator", God's gone out of His way to keep me on this side of the flaming gates.
What does this mean for our relationship?
a) Everything above [Heck] is extra.
Let's say I back my car into my sister's car. I do about a thousand bucks of damage. Because she's "just that sort of person", she forgives the debt. In my account of Things-Isaac-Doesn't-Deserve (TIDD), there's an entry of $1000. The next day, having (through some force deeper and stronger than the universe itself) convinced her insurance company to cough up some dollars, my sister treats me to sushi. The TIDD account now reads ($1000+sushi). I run out of gas on the way to work that evening; so I drag my embarrassed butt to my sister's door and beg some gas money from her.
If my sister says, "No.", have I any room to argue, become angry or feel cheated?
Hardly.
If my sister had said, at the start, "I'll forgive this debt; but you need to take driving lessons, so you don't crash any more cars.", can I blame her or call her unreasonable?
Nope - especially not if I've made a habit of crashing into things.
What I deserve is to go gasless and sushiless into a debt hole of a cool grand. Anything above that is "extra" and reason to be grateful.
I deserve Hell. So, when I accepted my invitation to Heaven, I put myself in the red. When I received good friends, an awesome family and experiences other people dream of, I only deepened the shade of red. My good deeds are pennies against billions. So, when I ask for something and God (usually for my own good) declines, I have no room to begrudge Him that prerogative. When He requires of me more than I feel like giving, I am being little more than an ingrate. If He sees fit to let me die a horrid, stinking, violent, painful, slow death that somehow involves months spent eating naught but asparagus-onion-mushroom stew, I will still be in His debt and without room to hold a moment of it against Him. (When I get to Heaven, I doubt I'll be in much of a complaining mood anyway.)
My relationship with God is a bit like my relationship with the best man I know. Since he's always been more dollars-savvy than I, he's treated me to something like forty bajillion movies, beverages, hotel rooms (on various vacations), rides (gas isn't free), meals and who-knows-what-else. When it started, I kept swearing that, one day, I'd pay it all back to him. Eventually, it got to a point where I knew I'd never get there. We'd gone too long and he'd done too much to make repayment an option. Somehow, even these days, I have the gall to sometimes ask him for things. When he can, he acquiesces. When he declines, even I have the presence of both heart and mind to remain grateful toward him.
b) God is good, even when it looks bad.
A lot of people are uncomfortable with the way God handles judgement in the Old Testament and Revelation. The whole "smiting" thing sets them on edge. I mean, if a human kills a a few million people, it's unquestionable that he shouldn't be trusted around other humans and should thus be removed from this world as soon as can be arranged. Yet, when God commands genocide and destroys the planet, He is still Love, Himself?
Two premises helped me with this, though I'll admit it's still fuzzier an explanation than I like.
First, nothing is deserved. Everything is God and His grace. This means that everything above Hell is extra. (So far, we're just reiterating, right?)
A car? Extra.
A house? Extra.
Friends, family and awkward-but-amiable acquaintances? Extra.
Being alive?
Also extra.
Second, humans don't die. Being killed is a short horror that leads to either a wonder that makes the preceding moments a mere trifle of an uncomfortable moment or a deeper horror that makes the preceding pain seem like beds of rose petals by comparison. (Death, as I see it in Scripture, is less like going to sleep forever and more like being pulled off the playing field.)
I do not believe that every single one of the Amalekites Saul was ordered to kill was hell-bound by virtue of being an Amalekite.
Thus, I believe the little ones ("Age of accountability" and all that...) and those among the Amalekites who served God are in Heaven to this day, while those among them who were evil now suffer a fate that I myself deserve.
c) My worthiness no longer matters.
Though I don't deserve heaven or God's love or anything at all, I don't have to squirm around like a pus-filled worm, either. Some people feel the need to behave according to their "worthiness" instead of their position. The thing is, because this whole life's all undeserved, we can freely enjoy it without worrying about whether we've earned it or not.
We pus-filled worm-people are, according to Scripture, God's children, friends and crowned priests. We are these things not because we're cool enough, but because God's love for us is big enough. Our position with God far exceeds our worthiness. So, though I am a colossal charity case, I made it into the yearbook. Even though I'm adopted, I am in the King's will. I hold the position of one that the God of All Things felt the need to sacrifice Himself for.
2) Grace Orientation and the People Around Me.
I've mentioned in previous posts that I sometimes have a hard time with other Christians. Making what progress I have has been little more than an long-term exercise in getting over myself. One of the steps on that journey has involved learning that, because we are all equally undeserving, we are also equally unfit to complain about the company God keeps.
So, while I have a responsibility to Scriptural accountability, I have a greater responsibility show folks the kind of love and grace I've been shown.
Beyond that, if my worthiness is moot, there is not a person, a task or a thing in this world I am too cool for. If I'm not cool enough for Heaven; why would I be too cool to hang out with this or that uncool guy? Why would I be too cool to do this or that task? Why would I be too cool to talk about this or that flaw I have? (This lesson brought me to a place of candidness I couldn't enjoy before.) Why would I be too cool to help someone in this or that way?
If no one is worthy, no one is "better". (Me least of all!) No one is closer to the infinite love and goodness we'd have to possess to BE worthy. This truth leaves me no place for getting a big head nor any room to shun anyone God wants to show His love to.
I put it this way some time ago on Facebook:
"Grace is the messy thing that puts murderers on equal footing with priests - sex offenders with humanitarians. With grace, all things are found not in our merit, but God's. It's messy because our ideas on who 'deserves' forgiveness are suddenly false."
There's more to this - a lot more. If you want to see what I mean, study some of the Bible and spend the whole time remembering that it's all grace.
-isaac
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