Grace and Brokenness

“The heart is a bloom, shoots up through the stony ground.”
– U2, “Beautiful Day”

“But a certain sign of grace is this: From the broken earth flowers come up, pushing through the dirt.”
– David Crowder Band, “Wholly Yours”

“But we have this treasure in clay jars, so that it may be made clear that this extraordinary power belongs to God and does not come from us.”
– Paul the Apostle, 2 Corinthians 4:7

None of us likes to be vulnerable, to display weakness. Oddly, and paradoxically perhaps, this also true of people in churches. You would think that if there were a place where we could be more honest about our fallibility and frailties, it would be among God’s gathered people, people who gather under the sign of the cross and the promise of the resurrection. Instead, we hide behind masks of feigned happiness; or at least sometimes we do.

Our lives are a combination of stony ground and broken earth where only God is able to make anything bloom or any flowers push through—indeed, we are, as Paul writes, earthen vessels, each of us an example not only of grace but of our perpetual need for it. Why we have an instinctual propensity to conceal this truth behind a veneer of strength, I don’t know for sure.

This isn’t to say that we should all put our particular weaknesses on view for all to see—discernment and wisdom is needed when making ourselves vulnerable. But I do think that some basic acknowledgement that we are all broken, all in various states of disrepair, is an important for what it means to be church. More than that, only when we can be free to express honestly our all too human shortcomings will we also open ourselves to the possibility of grace.

Weakness—indeed, vulnerability—lies at the very heart of the gospel, if not at its end. We worship a God who, mystery of mysteries, willingly subjected himself not only to the limitations of human flesh but also of human suffering—an excruciating form of martyrdom that, in human terms, was a sign not of glory and strength, but of humiliation and shame. Only because Jesus is our God and Lord, the same Jesus who made the journey to Golgotha, can we also admit to our weakness and even in our weakness discover God’s power.

In this way, admitting to our brokenness is not a source of shame for us, a cause for embarrassment, but rather the only route available to receive the grace of God. We do this personally when we confess our need for Christ and bring our sins to him so that we might receive forgiveness; but we also should do this communally. Recognizing together our need for divine provision and strength becomes a vehicle for God’s grace to become operative in our lives.

I have heard people say that they do not attend church or try it out because they don’t feel good enough to sit amongst all those good Christians. Such logic reveals two things: first, a tacit recognition of their own human imperfection and sin and, second, a misunderstanding of what being in church actually entails. Or what being in church should entail; sometimes we believers can feed the very misunderstanding that keeps others from exploring a life of faith in our communities. That we do so is to our shame because it keeps people who need grace from understanding the gospel.

In my experience, sometimes unbelievers are more prepared to be vulnerable and honest than believers about their sin and failures. Maybe those of us who gather from week to week in sanctuaries can learn something from this example, especially since the only thing that separates us from those who’ve yet to come to faith is the very grace all of us stand in such desperate need of receiving: we actively recognize our need for grace while there are many, even knowing of their brokenness, do not. The only difference between those who are Christians and those who are not is Jesus and his grace, his inexhaustible willingness and endless capacity for causing flowers to bloom even in broken earth and stony ground.

Receiving (and sometimes missing) grace

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about my own relationship with God and about how hard it is sometimes to give it a lot of thought or consideration because God is what I do for a living. I don’t intend for that last sentence to sound irreverent, but being a pastor sometimes makes it hard to spend time focusing on your own faith, on your own walk with Christ. And even saying my God is what I do for a living misconstrues the truth and misleads. It’s a weird vocation in that who you are is all mixed up and can get all confused with what you do. If I weren’t a pastor, I’d still read my Bible, but I wouldn’t see sermon outlines in every passage I read (not that I do this all the time but it does happen). If I weren’t a pastor, I’d still pray, but I wouldn’t be leading a whole congregation in prayer each week. Being a pastor means blurring indistinguishably the line between the personal and professional or vocational.

Ironically, sometimes all that goes along with being a pastor can have the effect of crowding out consistent prayer time and Bible study. The very thing I want to teach others to do, I struggle to get done myself. Again, the language of “do” intrudes. The word “be” is much better. But I can’t teach others to be something I myself am not. I can’t pass on habits, spiritual or otherwise, that I don’t myself practice. I worry about this – I worry about how my own failures and weaknesses affect my congregation and how perfect I need to be to be the pastor they need me to be.

Underlying this sometimes, and in some ways, is a failure to grasp grace. Core to the good news is that God comes to us—forgives, redeems, reveals, makes new, and heals—without any effort on our part. We don’t deserve this. He doesn’t have to extend this grace, but grace—and love—are his character (as are holiness, mercy, goodness, justice and many other attributes). He passes on salvation not as a prize for good behaviour but out of an overflowing of good will toward his creatures.

I admit I don’t get grace well enough—that is, while I understand it theologically and biblically and intellectually, many of my attitudes, reactions, moods, and ways of thinking have not yet been sufficiently transformed (converted!) by the reality of this grace, by the reality of who God is. And who he is for us.

I hope admitting such a thing isn’t too startling in coming from a pastor. All I know is that when I look at myself, I see so much need for spiritual transformation. I can discern endless cracks in the walls, leaks in the plumbing, and drafts coming in from the outside.

One of the things I don’t like about being a pastor is that I spend a lot of time not being transparent. That is, most of the time around folks in my congregation it isn’t appropriate to admit to my own struggles and weaknesses and flaws. This is true even if one of my struggles is particularly dogging me at the moment. Finding a place where one can be spiritually open with all the messiness found in even a pastor’s heart is not easy. Companions are not easy to locate. Or maybe I’m not very good at recognizing them when they’re standing right in front of me. Maybe part of me feels I have to be closed off even to people outside the church who could be potential spiritual companions.

Even when posting on this blog, I’ve been quite cautious about the degree of my openness and how personal and direct I allow myself to be—it’s not an anonymous blog and people I know, including some from my church, read it (once in awhile anyway!). Exercising discretion in disclosing personal matters is something every pastor learns quickly.

Part of me wonders (and is still very much figuring out) how a pastor is supposed to relate to his congregation—what he should be and what they would like him to be and what he ought to be could very well be three different things! Though doubtless there is at least some overlap.

Whatever the relationship, certainly grace plays a central role. For even if the pastor does disclose a personal struggle (though not one damaging to his authority or credibility or the well-being of the church; that is, not serious moral failure) that startles some or is simply unexpected in its honesty, hopefully people will still see the pastor as pastor even if the cracks and flaws are more clearly seen. Certainly that is how I hope my people see me—and it’s how I hope they see one another: though broken, God-made; though flawed, redeemed; and though struggling with sin, rescued from its slavery. Seeing one another through the eyes of grace means seeing one another as God does—means relating to one another how God does. We don’t (hopefully!) expect moral perfection of ourselves; and neither should we expect it of those around us.

My prayer for the coming year—though not a steadfast New Year’s Resolution—is that I can learn to rest more comfortably in God’s grace and that I will be, in my attitudes and actions, more transformed by this same grace. I wonder how much our church lives—our journeys of faith and relationships with God—would change if only we had a deeper grasp of not only grace but of the God who in mercy continually extends it in our direction.

Confessions . . .

Jesus once told his followers, and in having told them also tells us, "Be perfect, as your Father in heaven is perfect." That's a high standard, one that taken literally is too high for most of us to meet. It helps, therefore, to know that the word translated "perfect" doesn't so much refer to moral perfection as it does "wholeness." That said, we're still obligated to live up to a high standard. Those of us who follow Jesus are probably quite aware that "all have sinned and fallen short of God's glory," and, in fact, that a life of holiness is one of gradual, incremental progress. We make our way along the path of discipleship in fits and starts; and this we do only by the power of God working in and through us. All this to say that as Christians we are still called to a life of repentance, contrition, and confession. Perhaps perfection lies partly in our willingness to be repentant, express contrition, and make confession.

Acknowledging our sins and failures, in many cases, can only happen in the closet of the individual believer or within the confines of a close-knit community or small-group. Confession even to another believer, a fellow brother or sister in Christ, needs to be done with discretion; not everyone can be trusted with the secrets of our hearts. That said, public confession, even if of a more general kind, should be a regular part of our worship. Failing to do so means both disregarding our proclivity for wrongdoing and our desperate need for grace.

Even I need to make confession. Pastors are hardly exempt from the need for a repentant life. Though Scripture does have a high standard for Christian leaders, this doesn't mean that we do not struggle with sin, temptation, and therefore need to avail ourselves often of God's mercy and willingness to heal and forgive, love and restore. Each day is a journey of faith, one fraught with potential downfalls and possible victories; and only with God's Spirit can we hope to have more of the latter than the former. This is as true of me as it is of any other person who confesses Christ as Lord.

I find that there are moments and occasions when I am very much aware of my own sinfulness and of all the ways that I fall short of God's glory. And I'm not speaking of moral failure necessarily, but mostly of all the ways that I experience brokenness through my relationships and in how I treat and live with those around me.

And so . . .

I confess that I fall short when it comes to my relationship with Christ. This happens when I fail to give sufficient time and energy to prayer. Instead, I opt to do other things. I will avoid reading Scripture on occasion and, worse, will avoid obeying Scripture. There are times when I only relectantly trust in Christ. Basically, I know that I am still very much in the process of being made whole in Christ, and that I am the one who inhibits this growth.

I confess that I fall short in my relationship with my wife. Even my best moments are still tainted by selfishness and pride. I sometimes want my wife to conform to my unrealistic expectations. I wrongly judge her by these expectations. Sometimes I fail to see her for who she is and love her for that.

I confess that I fall short in my relationship with my daughter. At times I can be impatient with her childishness, with behaviour on her part that is natural to her age, but is sometimes irritating to me. I forget sometimes, too, that the reason I am irritated is not because of her but because I am overtired or in a bad mood. But I still take it out on her by being short with her.

I confess that I fall short in my relationship with people in my church. As a pastor, I will disappoint and perhaps even fail people in my church. It's harder to pinpoint my failures here, but I think that sometimes I look at my church as a homogenous whole rather than a collection of unique individuals. I also know that I don't always manage to get around and connect with people consistently enough.

Truthfully, none of what I've said comes close to portraying my propensity for putting myself ahead of others. That's partly so because some of my sin I will only confess to God and those closest to me. But it's also so because my words will always be insufficient to describe my own sin and its effects on those around me. But I say all of this anyway, because I too am in need of forgiveness. I too need Christ to make me new. I too need the power of the Spirit because I cannot live by my own strength.

Wholeness in Christ only happens over time and, this side of glory, will always be incomplete. And so in the meantime, we confess. We confess our lack of holiness, our tendency to sin, how we are, head to foot, selfish creatures too thinly veiled with cultural goodness. But, of course, thankfully we can do so expectantly, hopefully, prayerfully, knowing full-well that our God is gracious and quick to forgive us when come to him with hearts of contrition. It is this -- God's immeasurable goodness and infinite power to provide healing and reconciliation -- that propels us to confess, both to him and to one another.