Driving By Grace

Everyday on my way to church, I take the 50 southbound and read the Economist on my ipod. There is something moderately soothing to me about hearing the sounds of people whispering or coughing on the bus, the shuffle of people walking to their seats and the electronic voice of the bus telling me what stop we are at.

"Cullom"

"Irving Park/Lincoln"

"Grace"

I always look up from my editorial when we pass grace. For some reason, a street named like a baby girl, always catches my attention and has me eyeing my surroundings, wondering what happens at Grace Street.

The first few times, it was nothing. Just a scenic appraisal of the world outside me. But over time, passing Grace became more meaningful, more significant, more spiritual.

I think there is something very true to form for me in taking something normal and making it deeply spiritual. I once bought a friend "The Supper of the Lamb," a spiritual cookbook that takes you on a religious experience through 2 hours of cutting an onion, as a Christmas present. (She's never opened it.)

But the idea of driving by grace every day is so true of my Christian experience. I believe in repentance, but I see that as a me thing. I believe in forgiveness, but live in a pseudo-Protestant sort of purgatory in which I carry my shame for my sin. Worse, I hold others under the same yoke. I will forgive you, but I will continue to weigh your mistakes in the balance.

I am a grace-less person.

I went to church on Sunday despite my truthful desire to stay in bed and eat oreos. A visiting missionary preached on Luke 15, talking about the three parables as one (the way the text tells us it is to be read). He looked at the story of the lost sheep -- repentance is being found. He looked at the story of the lost coin -- repentance is being found. He looked at the prodigal son -- repentance is being found. The story doesn't say, "The Son came home and confessed his sin and promised to not screw up again next time." No, it tells of him quoting Pharaoh's less than sincere repentance "I have sinned against heaven and before you" and heads home when he has no other option. The Father rejoices in seeing him and says "Let us eat and celebrate for my son was dead is now alive; was lost and is found."

Repentance is being found.

Grace is repentance; it is being found.

I drive by grace every day when I choose to be the brother out in the field refusing to come celebrate with his father. I choose to be grace-less when I refuse to celebrate being found, for being in the arms of my Father who loves and care for me.

May I always come to the table to worship with my God. May I continually learn that confession is only a small part of repentance — that my God has found me and saved me.

If Kierkegaard were a drunk man at Starbucks...

A warm, late May morning. The sun was glistening off the tops of the glass tables at Starbucks and enriched the soft morning glow as we trekked to church in Boston. 5 of us, only 16 years old, walked down the street amazed at the urban oasis around us, unfamiliar with city life.

Something about these moments are poetic in their very nature. Nothing about that morning — no matter how vile or off-putting — could remove the joy that was slathered across our faces. 

So as we walked by Starbucks and noticed a drunk man sitting on the patio, we were fascinated, not disturbed. He sat near the railing, as far from the Starbucks and as close to the sidewalk as possible while he sipped his black coffee at 8 am. In between sips and sighs of enjoyment, he would belt out lines from Frank Sinatra at the top of lungs and smile. 

Had he been walking next to us, we might have been bothered, but since he seemed to be in a controlled spot on the opposite corner of the intersection from where we were headed, we enjoyed him and whispered about how different life in the city was.

This man merrily singing Frank Sinatra in his drunkenness has been an image that has stayed with me over the years. I always liked him, had some sort of appreciation for him, some sort of moderate pity. With these generally positive feelings toward the Starbucks drunkard, it is almost understandable how I have come to associate Soren Kierkegaard with him.

In his book, Training in Christianity, Kierkegaard berates the Danish church for its hypocrisy and failure to put Christ at the center of their worship. When the church would not change, Kierkegaard boycotted the church and called other true followers to disfellowship. He was consistently vocal about his lack of church attendance during this boycott and would sit in cafes where he would be noticed for not attending church.

If Kierkegaard lived in Boston in the new Millennium, he might just be the drunk man at Starbucks. I see him sitting with a cup of coffee, singing a song while reading the New York Times and offering a knowing smirk to everyone that passed by. I see him nodding at his friends who were headed to service and acknowledging that he was choosing a different path.

To be fair, this was likely not the story of Kierkegaard. It misses the sorrow and the despair he had for the sense of the church. It misses his aggressiveness in seeking out the truth and totally demolishes his fierce desire to suffer for Christ.

But it is a funny image, isn't it?

Right Now

Its October and 75 degree out and sunny. I have the day off. Want to know how I'm spending it?

Eating lemon cake and drinking coffee in my bed researching gyms.

That's right. Eating cake, skipping dance class, not running outside, but researching places to work out.

I'd say, its a pretty awesome day off.