My mother loved the 700 Club, but she's always been a hippie at heart.
I suspect that (and geography) partly explains how I was raised within conservative Christianity but escaped its frequently associated legalism. Faith in Christ was never about rules in the communities I grew up in or the ministries we've served in as adults. Christianity was as simple and as difficult as following after Jesus.
It wasn't until I started writing about faith on the internet that I began to realize how rare that experience can be, and I am tremendously grateful to my family and faith communities for modeling something better.
We all know how damaging works-based religion can be. We've seen with our eyes and felt in our bodies the havoc it can wreck. Legalism creates fearful perfectionists. It punishes questioners and specific sinners more than others. It drives some into rebellion, never to return to a faith so small and sharp. Others come back bearing wounds and shame that rules alone can never heal.
Legalism is the antithesis of grace, bearing little resemblance to Jesus' ministry or the path he calls us to follow him down. It is an idol and a chain, and it should be struck dead. Recovering fundamentalists and progressive-leaning folks, for what (little) those labels are worth, have been voices of love and correction to a gospel that is less than Good News.
But I'm noticing something strange from my insider/outsider perspective: the anti-legalism crowd can be just as prone to rigid rules. I'm sure there are more that my own blinders can't yet recognize, but recently, these two have become plain:
1.) Favor unflinching support for the guilty/penitent over healthy community boundaries.
2.) Insist that all criticism is "un-grace" or hate.
Neither of these "rules" makes much sense or looks much like the ministry of Jesus.
Relevant Magazine, a well-read website among Christian twenty-somethings and beyond, recently published an article about gender and sexuality by a man with an admitted history of predatory behavior and violence against women (and a current writing resume that would disgust most Christians). They did this without disclosure or apology. Complaints were raised and a conversation introduced about how to demonstrate grace to abusers without re-victimizing people or silencing dissent.
Christians know that God's grace cannot be earned and is given freely. We should proclaim from the rooftops and by the lives that we lead that all are loved and made in his image, and that all can find forgiveness, freedom, and purpose in Christ. This is the gospel, and it is good news indeed.
But grace does not eliminate consequences for sin--or abuse. Sometimes love looks like accountability, especially for people who hold positions of leadership or authority. Love looks like protecting vulnerable people from harm.
Grace doesn't mean that everyone is entitled to a mic, a platform, or a public ministry. Grace is the opposite of entitlement. It's illogical to use grace to claim privilege or to favor the powerful over the hurting.
A Christian community may offer forgiveness and still withhold positions of authority from certain members. Grace and accountability are not mutually exclusive. The privilege and responsibility of public leadership is not a birthright. Grace is free, but trust is earned.
Criticism can be handled with grace. Some battles are not worth choosing, certainly, but there is space to wrestle through hard things within Christian community. Accountability is necessary and preferable to faux peace or abuse-enabling.
Speaking truth-in-love is a delicate, difficult balance to strike. Favoring one over the other is an easy trap, but Jesus is Truth, God is Love, and there is no other way.
What if peace isn't the absence of conflict? Disagreement, after all, is inevitable.
Can shalom be found in the fight? Reconciliation is hard work, and I suspect that love requires digging in as much as letting go. We must do it with grace, yes. But perhaps our concepts of grace are both too broad and too narrow.
So we look to Jesus. We bind up the brokenhearted and push back the darkness. Together.
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Speaking truth-in-love is a delicate, difficult balance to strike. Favoring one over the other is an easy trap, but Jesus is Truth, God is Love, and there is no other way.
What if peace isn't the absence of conflict? Disagreement, after all, is inevitable.
Can shalom be found in the fight? Reconciliation is hard work, and I suspect that love requires digging in as much as letting go. We must do it with grace, yes. But perhaps our concepts of grace are both too broad and too narrow.
So we look to Jesus. We bind up the brokenhearted and push back the darkness. Together.
shared with the community at imperfect prose. join us?
Tweet
