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.