Living in Denial?

The parking ticket flapped against the windscreen. Didn’t notice it at first, but there it was, plain as day. I was not happy. I had filled the meter twice, and it still had time on it. Apparently this doesn’t wash in Melbourne CBD: you can fill the meter all day if you want, but if you don’t move your car before the meter first expires, it counts for nothing. Zip. Nada. But, hey, thanks for the money!

Nothing alerts you to this. No signs. No information on the meters. Maybe, as someone from out of town, you have to sniff those facts in the air. Perhaps that’s how you know. But I read nothing and sniffed nothing about it. And that slip of paper on the windscreen was still flapping around to prove the point.

I was pretty indignant. See: I thought I was in the clear. I know: ignorance of the law is no excuse. But I still wanted to deny my personal responsibility. We all do this. We blame what others have said and done. We blame circumstance. We blame the flippin’ dog. We will do anything to avoid acknowledging our own sin. Because once we yield, even a millimeter, we must also acknowledge that we have sinned against another. And then guilt moves in.

Let’s be adult about it: we wrong people all the time. We wrong ourselves – we don’t even have the ability to keep our own promises perfectly. We wrong our environment. We wrong God. This is all about our actions, thoughts and decisions. And beyond all of that, the Bible talks about sin in our nature: reminding us that sin goes right to the core of our personality. We’re born with this brokenness already in play: explaining why no toddler ever needs to be taught to be naughty. This deep human brokenness is the reason we can never leave sin behind.

Sin is that pervasive. Every person. Every action. Every aspect of life. Every corner of creation. It began as our first rebellion in the Garden turned the universe against God.

We can only wonder, then, that while God hates sin and rebellion so vehemently, he still wants to shower us with grace, forgiveness and a new beginning.  We know this through Jesus: the One through whom all things were created became the One who paid the rebellion’s penalty on the Cross. He is also the One through whom all things will be recreated. And the proof is the Cross, the Resurrection, his Rule, and his eventual Return.

That’s the thing about minimising your responsibility in sin: you also end up minimising why Jesus came, and how he died to bear the cost of your rebellion and bring you back to God. You end up shortchanging the wonder of the life he pours into you.

God, help me to be honest about the wrong in my life and my heart. I don’t want this denial to constrict my life; much less my joy. So let me leave these things behind, as much as I can, and help me instead to embrace a life of love, grace, humility and seeking the right. Let your good life overflow in me, let wash away all my denial, and let Jesus’ life be seen in all its joyful wonder.

 

Law and Freedom

Why would anyone say God’s law brings freedom? Isn’t true that most of us see laws as restrictive and burdensome?

Yesterday, my reading took me to the Ten Commandments in Exodus 20: the primary call to obedience for all humanity, but especially those who know and love God. Perhaps the most striking aspect of the Commands is the prologue:

And God spoke all these words: “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.” (Exodus 20:1–2, NIV)

Before God breathes a single word of law, he wants us to know who he really is and what he really wants for us. “I am a rescuing God. I love you. I want you to thrive in freedom that honours me … and this is how you can do that.”

This is the frame God gives us for understanding his law. Perhaps even any law. God wants life to thrive in every context, for every person, no exceptions. Even foreigners, who may not know God, or care about him. Even itinerant, nomads, refugees, people who are different to “me” and “us” – God still wants them to rest and to thrive and to find fullness of life in him. Read through the commands, especially those about Sabbath, and you see that God even wants animals (and so, creation itself) to thrive and to rest.

The best life is found where people follow these commands, right? When there’s no murder, no deception in marriage, no thieving or corruption, no abuse of children, or women, or men. Who doesn’t want that?

God gave these laws to his people, sure, so that by living them they would find freedom. But also, so the nations around them would look at his people, and see how life might abound should they live his way. Even an imperfect, but largely compliant communal or national response to these commands would be evidence aplenty that God is loving, keen to rescue and save, one who brings redemption – even to us.

Step into Lent and work toward Slavery’s End

Why would anyone knowingly commit to a lengthy period of abstinence? Well, in a culture that hardly wants for anything, purposefully engaging in self-denial can be sobering. We only have to have the wifi drop out for 30 minutes and it’s like the end of the world. Our affluent existence has fast food, express lanes, rapid transit, priority post, and apps to jump the coffee queue. Not waiting has become such a phenomenon in our connected age that Michael Harris has written The End of Absence, exploring the social impact of never having to wait for anything.

Generations past observed Lent as guided preparation for the celebration of the astounding redemptive victory of Jesus Christ. The 40 days of Lent drove people to hunger for the relief Jesus had brought in his death and resurrection. Their waiting was a living prayer that they were longing for a better world: the new heavens and the new earth.

And us? Maybe we can use the season of Lent to remind us – who have just about everything – that “a person’s life does not consist in the abundance of their possessions” (Luke 12:15). In our age, that alone would be a lesson worth learning.

But we can go a step further. We can use a time of “self-denial” to prompt our prayers for the people who go without just about everything, every day. We can pray for those who have no freedom, whose lives are bound by violence, whose daily existence is blood, sweat and tears. Who cry out to God for justice, and who long for relief.

I have a friend who has decided to cut out food between their morning and evening meals for Lent. From Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday they will skip midday food and snacks. Sure, they’ll get hungry, and when they do, they’ll be prompted to pray for the millions trapped in modern day slavery, who are hungering and thirsting for righteousness. My friend’s tummy rumbles will be a gut-level reminder that their world is not right – that our world is not right. That a large percentage of the world “goes without” every single day.

And you might be amazed how self-denial lets you step into solidarity with those in slavery

Why not join my friend? You could fast from food, from social media, from coffee, from alcohol – lots of things, really. And you might be amazed how this intentional, focused self-denial allows you step into solidarity with those trapped in the violence of slavery and forced labour.

You could use the physical reminders to

petition God, that he might bring freedom to those who are trapped in slavery
pray for the protection and provision of IJM workers in the field, that they might continue to bring freedom to the captives
ask God to open your heart to how you can support IJM’s work, and so share the burdens of the world’s most vulnerable people

All the while, you can also take comfort in the fact that the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus is God’s ultimate statement that he will end all slavery. Until he does, the Victory won by Jesus is his guarantee that he will continue to do his work through us.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.” (Micah 6:8, NIV)

(This post was originally published at www.ijm.org.au )