The theory of Grace

Ihave a few theories. I didn’t know that I was forming these theories until I’d gone through some personal trials and was on the other side, recovering from them.

First theory. We tend to judge the characteristics of others the most harshly when we see those same characteristics in ourselves. Think about it for a second. What is your biggest annoyance with others? It usually isn’t just a pet peeve, like chewing gum. It is an actual trait. Like laziness. Or rudeness. Or lack of communication. Any chance you are judging someone else harshly because you do not like that same trait in yourself?

Second theory. We see the world in black and white until we go through an experience that proves otherwise. When a situation becomes personal, you start to see that it is no longer black and white.

I’m going to use the example of getting a bad injury. Before I broke my ankle to the point of needing surgery, I didn’t give recovery to something like that a second thought. You deal with it and move on. You suck it up and do the work, and get better.

But that isn’t what happened in my case. I got extremely depressed by the incident. I gained a hefty fear of having a lifetime debilitating physical ailment, and I couldn’t bring myself to get up off the floor even to eat.

Now think of someone who had a heart attack. You would think they would have a newfound motivation to get healthy. But did you consider how many mental stops they could experience in that endeavour? We cannot just assume someone feels a certain way and is motivated the way we should think they should be.

Black and white assumptions leave no room for grace. Ultimately, pride causes us to think we’re better than someone else, causing us to judge them. Fourth theory. Grace is the ultimate judgment buster.

Until we gain more understanding of grace, we cannot have that grace for someone else. But how do we do that? We need to see ourselves through God’s eyes. We need to go through our hard times and learn from them. We need to love others as we love ourselves.

God sees you each as equal to everyone else on earth. He loves you as much as He loves the person that wronged you. What reason did they have to do what they did to you? Maybe they had a terrible week at work and their filter was at zero when those hurtful words came out. Maybe your boss is exerting their power poorly because they have no power in their personal lives.

You know how I deal with those people? I pray for them. Not that judgment would come on them, but that they would see God and understand how much He loves them.

Grace diffuses judgment. The true test of our understanding of grace is how quickly it influences our responses to the people in our lives.

God loves you as much as He loves the person Who wronged you.

We’ve come to a time in history where everyone must think, believe, and act a certain way. If someone diverges, they are considered the enemy. If you don’t believe me, just look at any controversial video on YouTube and read the comments section. (Don’t get involved in the anonymous debate chat!)

It seems dialogue, discussion, and debate have died a tragic death in much of the mainstream media. I remember observing debates between Christians and atheists over whether or not the Christian God created the world. I was always left with a bitter taste because I felt neither one of the debaters addressed the relevant questions the other posed. They exchange loaded responses back and forth. Instead of cleaning out the mucky water, the conversations appeared to show two entrenched people becoming more entrenched in their views.

On the contrary, it can be refreshing when I speak personally with someone who has an opinion that differs from mine. This presents me with a chance to obtain greater understanding. To be clear, I haven’t always held this positive approach to opposing views, and I am still working on it.

I’ve observed Christian leaders who use loaded responses in their discussions— giving answers without actually listening to the other’s words. I’d like to remind us to read Proverbs 8:12: “Fools find no pleasure in understanding but delight in airing their own opinions.” Now, I have a friend who doesn’t think the way I do. He believes all religions are the same and all pointing in the same direction. The old me would have argued and argued and argued right from the jump that this is not true. All faiths are not the same. Yet I have learned in our discussions that the more I listen (instead of responding without listening), the deeper the conversation goes and the more I see things that I never saw before. This opened me up to question things that I haven’t thought about hard enough yet. One time, my friend asked me, “How much money do preachers need?” He was referencing televangelists. I knew the answer wasn’t in the tens of millions, but I didn’t know how much was “enough.” I tried to work it out with him but I stumbled my way through and ended up asking more questions. Eventually, I told him it was a good question and that I would reflect on it and get back to him.

For a lot of us, that can be scary. But the beauty of questions is that when we pursue them, we find answers. Questions can firm up our faith.

I have come to appreciate that there are other perspectives on the same problem and that sometimes there can be different solutions for the same issue. Imagine if we had this respect between fellow believers in stirring each other onto good works!

This reminds me of the tensions between two biblical leaders, Paul and Barnabas. Their disagreement arose regarding their differing opinions on the trustworthiness of another man, John who was called Mark (Acts 15:36-41). Barnabas thought Mark was credible, Paul did not. They disagreed to such an extent, they both stormed off in different directions.

I have seen people have similar discussions, where opinions are so staunch that no resolution is possible— there is only separation. During tensions, it is best to sit back and take some time before reacting. Consider if there is any way for the situation to end in a righteous resolution.

Time is the great test. Time will test your opinions, character, and convictions. Paul’s opinion of Mark wasn’t changed overnight. But clearly, Paul had a shift in opinion, since he later requested that Mark come to him “because he is helpful to me in my ministry” (2 Timothy 4:11). As for my friend and me, time will prove whether or not what I believe lines up with how I act, and I hope this will ultimately challenge him on his views that all faiths are essentially the same. But I’ve also learned other things because I’m willing to listen. As you lead, you will go further depending on your ability to listen.

Listening allows you to sit back in the driver’s seat and anticipate when is best to press on the gas pedal. If we want to impact those around us and our communities, we must genuinely pursue understanding the perspective of others so we can discover their actual hang-ups. Then God can use these hang-ups as launching points!

The deeper the conversation goes the more I see things that I never saw before.

Isat at my desk, staring forward at the brick wall of my office. The ministry questions spinning in my mind were the same ones I’ve had for the past days, weeks, and months. What will our congregation look like moving forward? Who will come back? Who won’t? What will next year’s budget look like? What would Jesus’ ministry look like if he were here today?

To my surprise, the sound of the church door opening interrupted this morning ritual. Normally, the door latched shut, locking itself so that any guest had to knock and wait while someone ensured they had a mask on. I looked up and was reassured to hear a muffled hello from behind a mask. Joe walked comfortably into my office, making himself at home on a sanitized chair exactly seven feet away from where I sat. Joe was upset and asked if I had a few minutes to talk.

He asked if I knew how many people without homes were living in our city. The question was rhetorical, but he still waited graciously for my response. I answered uncertainly, figuring, knowing there must be many.

I had hardly finished my last word when Joseph emphatically burst, “Hundreds! William, there are hundreds!” Joe looked down at the floor. I don’t know if I looked startled, or guilty, or perhaps a stunned combination of the two. He continued more calmly, like a preacher who reveals passion on a crucial point but quickly dials back before evoking the congregation’s fight or flight response.

Joe had been getting on his scooter every morning for several months to drive to Memorial Park in downtown Oshawa. There he would pass out NutriGrain bars and juice boxes to the local residents who had made the park their home. Joe began to know their names, and they quickly got to know his. Joe drove up to anyone and offered them this humble meal. If he found someone sleeping he left the food beside them. Joe recounted meeting one lady who was swaying back and forth, shouting frantically in some form of trance. Upon asking her cautiously if she wanted a juice box, she sat up, calm and poised, and responded, “Yes, please! Thank you.” The spark in Joe’s eye as he told this story indicated he had not only developed a passion or a ministry—he had developed relationships built from love.

Tears rolled down Joe’s face as he told me his story. He tried to continue talking, but at some point he stopped, weeping in a way family members might at a funeral. Joe always gives each word a heartbeat when he tells a story. But what made this particular story stand out was that it was his own. Joe recalled a time in his own life when he called the city streets his home. “I don’t understand,” Joe repeated. “People walk by as if these people do not exist. I just don’t understand.”

Unknown to anyone, Joe had been funding his ministry with his COVID-19 one-time benefit from the Canadian government. While Joe himself lives on a limited and fixed income, he felt strongly that there were others who needed it more than him. While many would see the government benefit as a small token, Joe saw it as an abundance to be shared.

He had continued his ministry for months on his own, but even granola bars and juice boxes—purchased on sale at No Frills—add up after a while. In the very room where minutes ago I’d been questioning what the church would look like in this new season, Joe was also asking crucial questions about his ministry’s future. We both sat in silence for what felt like a solid minute before Joe struck me with the most challenging comment. This time he continued more cautiously, almost as if he was hesitating to ruin this sacred moment. His eyes communicated urgency. “William, I know this church hands out food

While many would see the government benefit as a small token, Joe saw it as an abundance to beshared.

at your food bank. That’s important. But these people are downtown. I don’t expect you to go there with me, but I need help.”

I felt guilty at first. Here I was sitting in my office questioning what ministry should look like in this brave new world, and there was Joe carrying out a ministry to those in the centre of the city but on the fringes of society. Joe’s ministry was quite refreshing in this season where most ministry questions seem to revolve around online presence, how we can keep people interested and engaged, if now is the time to re-open Sunday gatherings, and if so, what needs to be put in place. After asking the haunting question of who would return if we opened, and worse off, how many people were really engaged before we closed back in March, a question like Joe’s gave my mind a breath of hope. Perspective never comes when I’m expecting it. It doesn’t knock on the door or wait on hold until I pick up the phone. Perspective subtly enters my reality, often in such a way that it causes me to wonder if it was always right in front of me. Perhaps this is how perspective is most gracious. It doesn’t flail its arms or shout at the top of its lungs. Instead, it patiently waits for ignorance to take a breath, pause from its tireless striving, and have a conversation.

Joe’s perspective felt new at the moment, yet it should have felt oddly familiar.

Perhaps this was the irony of it all. Here was

Joe—giving food to the hungry, juice to the thirsty, and hospitality to the lonely—coming to church to ask if we could join him in his ministry. Much to his unawares, his invitation was a gentle confrontation with Jesus’ way of ministry.

In asking this simple question, he not only answered the cyclone of questions I’d been caught in for the past several months, but he also helped me realize that the questions I was asking of the church were questions I needed to be asking of myself.

Joe was not caught up in the concern of adapting his ministry to remain relevant or engaging or struggling with how to do that. He was not trying to maintain or recover a sense of personal comfort or security. He wasn’t weighing the pros or cons and wasn’t questioning what the personal sacrifice of Jesus’ way would cost him.

No. Joe’s gaze was fixed on Jesus, and that gaze directed him to the overlooked and forgotten people in our city. As Joe spoke, looking past me as if to some distant land, his eyes were filled with tears as if remembering the warm smile of gratitude, the ecstatic joy of receiving, the uplifted posture of dignity restored. This was the look of a man who experienced a glimpse of a new creation, heaven on earth.

Joe wasn’t asking what Jesus’ ministry would look like if Christ were here today because he already knew. And perhaps this was the most confronting truth: we all know, too.

William Jones is the worship and ministry coordinator at Zion Church in Oshawa, Ont. He is also currently taking his Master of Divinity studies through Fuller Theological Seminary. Do you have a comment on church ministry in this season? Send William a note at coordinator@zioncrc.ca. He’d love to hear from you!

Perspective subtly enters my reality, often in such a way that it causes me to wonder if it was always right in front of me.