Grace has a way of moving us beyond our inconveniences. I say inconveniences because grace’s primary intent is not to move us beyond our immorality. Yes, a follower of Jesus should be moving away from any and all kinds of immorality. This, however, is the kindergarten of faith—tell the truth, share your toys, don’t hit your friends, forgive when someone hurts your feelings. Truth telling, generosity, radical forgiveness. Yes, grace moves us to embrace a morality of heaven. However, killing immorality was not the killing Jesus.

So if morality isn’t the goal, what is? Maybe it’s maturity. Growing up, doing hard things, thinking like a spiritual adult. Certainly 1 Corinthians 14:20 is true. “My brothers, don’t be children in your thinking. Be infants in evil, but be mature in your thinking.” Nothing wrong with building our spiritual muscles, taking on some responsibilities, and leading in places of lack. But still, that’s not the point of grace. Maturity is necessary in the Christian life and it is empowered by grace, but not really the point of it.

Then what is the point of grace? It moves us beyond our inconveniences.

Last Saturday I was leaving the church building after a short prayer meeting. Truth be told, I was checking a spiritual box that day. Prayer meeting . . . check! My heart wasn’t really in it and I was eager to get home to do what I wanted to do—relax, watch a little tv, maybe put on my running shoes, eat some junk food. Basically, I was eager to clock out until Sunday morning when I could step neatly into my very convenient and ordered Christian box. As I was exiting our building that morning, I saw Beatrice. She was standing 10 feet from my car. I know Beatrice. Truth be told, she’s a train wreck. I saw her before she saw me. For that instant I did the math and wondered if I should just abandon my car and walk home. Too late . . . she saw me. We locked eyes.  

Drugs and family drama have left her homeless again. She isn’t giving me a glossed over story this time. She’s just perpetually sad and hungry and hopeless. A nice prayer and even a hot meal isn’t solving this problem. She knows this. I know this too, and that’s one reason I’m so mad. I can’t do anything about it. I was mad that God brought her to the front steps of our little church. I was mad that I was being forced to look into the eyes of someone who was at the very ragged edge of life. Mostly, I was angry because I was being inconvenienced. I’m ashamed of this. But it’s true.

I helped Beatrice that day. I even smiled, hugged her, bought her a meal, and prayed the most appropriate pastoral prayer that would pass the muster of any seminarian. But I was still mad that my day didn’t go the way I had hoped. I drove home mad. In fact, I stayed mad most of the day. Then came Sunday morning. 

I pulled into the parking lot at 6:15 a.m. preparing for our staff to gather and pray before anyone else stepped on the property. “Lord, come. Meet with us today.” Getting out of my car I noticed that on the front stoop of our building, two of our homeless friends were uncomfortably asleep. By 7:30 a.m.the building was humming with volunteers. The band was rehearsing, doors were being unlocked, and the neat and convenient gathering of the saints was in full preparation. I was reminded by a volunteer that “they” were still out front. 

I was in work mode, so I kindly but curtly told the two men it was time to move on. I closed the door, turned around, and was walking towards my next task. It wasn’t three seconds until God stopped me.

WHEN GOD BULLIES

I don’t like being bullied by God. But sometimes, rightfully so, he pulls off the gloves and pushes us around like the little brats we’re being.  Sometimes, God pulls back the curtain of heaven and reminds us who is the boss. Go read Job 38 and you’ll see what I mean. I got a little taste of that myself. It sounded something like . . .

Who do you think you are, Jon? What do you think this grace that you’re talking about today is about? You think it’s to empower your leisure activities and weekend walks? You think you’re more important than Beatrice or these two guys seeking refuge in the shelter of this church building—that, by the way, I GAVE YOU . . . FOR FREE. Jon, these people, all these people, matter to me! Do better.

Mind you, this all happened in a moment. No one else could see that “the Lord was thundering his voice” (Job 37:5) at me. I turned around, a little more broken than before, and engaged our homeless friends and invited them in. The neat and tidy quickly turned into something sacred. Messy, but sacred.

I’m realizing the little prayer we pray for God’s presence is usually revealed not in our well-ordered and packaged sermons, but in the muddled, inconvenient moments of grace. If you’re wondering where God lives, it’s there. In the mess and broken places. And this is where he does his best work.