You can’t possibly have grace on them and me at the same time, I told the Lord. Either you give me grace, or you give them grace.
Sarah, he said, that’s not how grace works.
To explain what He meant, I need to invite you into my (somewhat twisted) mind. Deep breath, everyone. Ready?
Okay. Here we go.
I’d been taught growing up that God’s grace applies to everyone equally. But I was also raised to consider the deeper pain behind people’s actions. At my core I believe people have good intentions. The problem, of course, is that good intentions don’t preclude good actions. Wounds, hurts, and old pain have shaped us, and more often than not, people act out of learned patterns rather than goodness.
This perspective has served me well in my teaching career. Instead of taking a student’s or parent’s reaction personally, I seek to understand the deeper issue, which often isn’t what they’re presenting on the surface. In my experience, deeper issues are like a kill switch—find one, and the shrieking, raging person in front of you will suddenly go calm.
Sounds great, right? Except there is such a thing as taking it too far—namely, when you’re using people’s pasts as an excuse for their current actions. Well, her mom was abusive, so she’s just extra sensitive, I would think. Or, he only tries to control others because he felt so out of control as a child. People in my life would often say things that added to my inner monologue. They’re much better than they used to be, was a common one. Or the person themselves would say it: I extend grace to you all the time, you just don’t know it because you don’t know what I’ve had to go through.
Okay, so what about the people who clearly act out of sin? Well, I’m still called to love them, and I’m not supposed to judge. Extending grace to them is what I’m supposed to do. If I don’t, I’m not acting like Jesus.
The implication? I don’t have a right to feel upset. I need to roll over and forgive like a good little Christian. Can’t I see how they’re working to be better? Can’t I just have grace for them?
I also consistently jumped to understanding the other person’s perspective before I had time to process my own feelings, or even become fully aware of them. Jesus calls us to love others in spite of how we’re feeling, right? But I missed an important caveat—if you’re going to love in spite of your feelings, you first have to know what those feelings are.
This Stinkin’ Thinkin’ (as my pastor used to say) created in me was a two-fold problem:
First, I believed that a person’s wounds could somehow justify their behavior. And if I couldn’t acknowledge their behavior as wrong, then I didn’t have a right to feel upset about it.
Second, I started to believe that God didn’t care about my emotions or how I’d been hurt. While understanding and catering-to the depth of other’s emotions, I was called to sacrifice my own. After all, I can handle a little disappointment, and if they feel God’s love as a result, then it’s worth it, right?
Hopefully you can now see the reasoning behind my heart cry above: Either you give me grace (validate my emotions & grieve for my pain, correcting them where they are going wrong), or you give them grace (ask me to sacrifice my emotions because it’s the “good Christian” thing to do).
I’d stopped believing that God was a Comforter or Defender. This is why I think God responded the way he did.
That’s not how grace works, Sarah.
Okay, so how does it work?
The truth is, just because someone has good intentions doesn’t mean their actions are good. Maybe they have been working on that issue and giving me extensive (in their minds) grace, but that doesn’t justify sinful behavior.
God is both Comforter and Defender, while also being Merciful and Just. He sees my pain and sympathizes with me. He is the perfect father, so he is heart broken and deeply offended when someone hurts one of his kids—especially when that hurt comes at the hand of one of his other kids. Because He is perfectly Holy, he cannot condone that kind of behavior. Under the Law, they should be punished for the harm they caused me.
The thing is, this also works the other way around. When I hurt other people, God is heart-broken and deeply offended. Because He is perfectly Holy, He cannot condone my behavior. Under the Law, I should be punished for the harm I caused them.
This is exactly why I’m so glad he sent Jesus. And why he also calls us to forgive as we’ve been forgiven. If I want to be able to accept the cross as a covering for my sin, then everyone has to be able to accept the cross—even those who hurt me.
During the process of forgiveness, God might ask me to release my offender without any perceivable consequences. But giving up my right to enact justice does not mean what they did was justified. It simply means I am turning them over to God’s judgement instead of my own.
God extends grace to each person who asks for it. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about the pain we experience as the consequence of sinful actions. In a way, he actually feels it more strongly than we ever could.
In the movie The Shack, there’s a moment when the main character, Mack, accuses God of abandoning Jesus. God (in the form of a motherly black woman) shows Mack scars on her wrists, identical to those of Jesus. “I hung on that cross, too,” she says.
Because of our sin, God himself had to die. He is intimately acquainted with the consequences and pain of sin, but still chose grace. He felt every moment on that cross, yet still forgave.
That’s what grace really is: acknowledging that what happened was wrong and feeling the pain of it, yet choosing to forgive, leaving justice for the cross and all that it entails.
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