the Good Question

Okay. For my part, I want you to know in no uncertain terms that I am yours—irreversibly, eternally, unapologetically. I have long since passed the point of no return. I can do nothing but give everything I am to you. I would empty myself out for you. My love for you burns white-hot at the core of my being. I love you! I love you! There are no borders to my heart to keep its contents back; all my passion and being flow out toward you in an endless rush! There is no wall that can hold back the ocean of my love for you. It touches every far horizon and fills every deep gulf. And if there was anything in me that wasn't one with all the rest of who I am, in that surging tide, it would drown and be lost to the sea forever. There is not a part of me that can do or be anything else in relation to you but love—my love consumes every will, every faculty. What is left of me, except my love? I am love, for you. All that I am, all that is in me, my entire person loves you. There is no hope for recovery. There is nothing of my makeup that could be unattached from you without being utterly destroyed—without unbecoming what it is—because every element of me is an element of love. Can I make myself any clearer? :) I love you. I adore you. Nothing is able to change that.

But we both know there is something wrong. I know you're committed to this relationship; you're in it for the long haul. I'm not questioning your fidelity. The problem, as I see it, is that you say you know I love you, but everything else about you betrays a deep-set insecurity about "us." You seem conflicted between two different pictures of our relationship: one in which you are secure, in which there is nothing you can do to make me leave you or love you less; and one in which you walk perpetually on the edge of my tolerance, on pins and needles. You vacillate between two ideas about who I am: one that desires your good and loves you so much he can do nothing but forgive you when you wrong him; and one that withholds himself, walking about with a wounded, begrudging pride when you wrong him.

But, darling, my love is a bottomless cave—it swallows up all evils, but returns refreshing air. Forgiveness is not a question! I offer you unequivocal acceptance! I always act for your good! I cannot abuse you! I cannot withhold myself from you! You don't have to grasp after me like I'm not always there! There is no moment—do you get that?—no moment in which I do not hold you in my heart with the greatest of affection! So how can you always go about trying to get into my good favor like you aren't already there, and pursue me like you've not already won me, and right wrongs that have already been swallowed up in forgiveness? How can you be so uneasy? You don't have to be anxious about winning my attention! How many displays of affection do I have to give you to prove my love? How many flowers have I given you? How many little gifts? How many times of laughter? How many quiet moments of simply being with you? How many soft words have I whispered: some when you knew you needed them, and some when you least expected them? You don't have to try so hard to be loved by me—you don't have to try! You're okay! You've not arrived; I know that. But you're learning; your growing. We're on this journey together. You're with me, so you're okay. We're okay! I love you! Everything will be alright! I promise. Take things one day at a time. Don't rush yourself. Just learn to live in my love in the daily march of life. I'll be there. There won't always be roses, but you have my heart. Just relax, lean into me, and allow yourself to be loved; and you will make me the happiest person in the Universe.

Truly yours—if ever it could be said,
God

Fairness is the line between to opposite horizons: darkness and light. It is the twilight that is itself not yet darkness, but that cannot quite be called very light, except by comparison to heavy darkness. It is the point one foot past which, in one direction, a traveler can be confidently declared to be in the light, and in the other direction, just as equally in the darkness. It is the first point that really seems light to a man who stands deep in the darkness. But many things stand in the darkness, in evil, with toes hung over the line, seeming good to themselves merely by proximity to the line. Indeed, they can make out vague shapes in the darkness, and they are quite proud. But the further you walk away from the line, up the path of love, toward the gilded, broadening light, the dimmer the line appears to you when you turn around to give it a look, the drearier its surrounding environment, and the closer the line looks to the dark horizon on the other side—because the farther you are from a place, the closer it looks to everything else in that direction you are far from until the whole collection of distant things in the same direction becomes a single thing you can point at and call "over there." Fairness is a great distance from the horizon on love's side—like the trickling light of the very early dawn is very far from the white-hot passion of the high noon sun.

Fairness is a good thing to begin upon, if you must, because it is, after all, not itself darkness; it even seems to have been created for this reason: if one cannot love, one can at least be fair. But it is not—oh, do not be tempted to think—even bright enough in that spot to tell where a stone landed if you tossed one casually from you. It isn't that bright. But you will make out your hand, so that you may see what it does. And that is a start.

But how is Good satisfied in that? Fairness demands its own rights; it is not selfless. It allows; it does not give. It begrudges; it does not delight. It is exacting; it is not generous. It is harsh; it is not merciful. It is mechanical; not gracious. It is mathematical; not beautiful. It is just; it is not love. Fairness measures all things in equal proportion; love gives all things without reserve.

Fairness cannot even be a virtue! The thing that calls you to meet the minimum requirements of the law, or of the ethics of personal relationships, is not a virtue. The thing that calls you to exceed the requirements of the law, or the demands of civil relation, is a virtue. The Decalogue, all morality, most personal grievances, and many of the world's commonest pet-peeves call for the fair, the right, the just from people. And that is good. Let it be.

But if all God wanted was for everything to be just just, then biological robots would have been the sure-bet inhabits of this Earth. Something is given, something of exact value is paid back; a deed done for another, and a deed precisely it's twin in return; an action, and a directly proportional reaction—these are the ways of gears and levers and physics, dull grays and metallic clanks, not lovers.

Above all things, be a lover. Give freely. Be unscrupulously merciful. Allow the beauty of people loving each other without claiming rights, without holding expectations, without demands, agendas, and manipulations—loving and moving and giving and deferring—remind you of dance. Let it remind you of art and other things robots cannot do. Let it remind you that there are greater things than to be merely lawful, to have merely your rights, to pursue merely wages.

If you see even the Bible tell you "Do what is right," remember that it goes on to say, "Above all, love." John said, "This is how we know who the children of God are and who the children of the devil are: Those who do not do what is right are not God’s children; nor are those who do not love their brothers and sisters." Yes, do what is right, but do not stop there. God's children are found doing right, certainly. But they are found doing much more than that! Love always does what is better than merely right. It is at least right. If love is "not against the Law," and it "fulfills the Law," and it is "the greatest," then there can never be a time in which it is a wrong decision to do what is loving and gracious over what is fair and just.

But remember, when you are trying to love, to expect to find yourself attempting to make an alloy of love and fairness. It's easy to reason yourself into loving only those who love you in return. But that's a tepid, weak love, not in the pattern of God's unconditional love, which is a wild, fiery, potent thing. So Jesus said, "If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you? Even sinners love those who love them."

But then, there are also times so momentous that to choose to do what is fair, rather than to do what is love, is to keep your friend, or enemy, or husband, or daughter, back on the line in the twilight beside yourself—a critical opportunity missed to pierce through the haze with the light and step forward with them into a new day. You think your nagging someone to do what is right—to do what is their just portion—or your demands for fair treatment and equal work will accomplish your goals? You are sadly mistaken. Fairness may be moral, but it doesn't inspire anyone to do anything. Oh, maybe on this occasion or that, something may get done out of resentment, guilt, or shame...

But is that what you want? Just what is fair and no more? Love fulfills the Law. The Law can't even do that. When voices shouting for fairness, justice, and rights only get enough to fill shallow pockets, love produces what is better than fair, better than just, and better than right! Tell me which is the "more excellent way"!

In order to fulfill the commonest law... we must rise into a loftier region altogether, a region that is above law, because it is spirit and life and makes the law.... The law comes to make us long for the needful grace—that is, for the divine condition, in which love is all, for God is Love.

(George MacDonald)

There is no fair in love.

"Love is a better 'standard of conduct,' because it is more comprehensive than the Law. Love will tell you what shouldn't be done, but even more so, it will tell you what should. It analyzes your motives and requires actual transformation, and it reflects the character and nature of God. It is at once both simple and deep: being one thing easily identifiable once you know it, and the one answer universally applicable to every question of action. There is nothing that is more practical, yet it is at the same time inexhaustibly rich, abstract, and profound. Every theologian, poet, and philosopher to ever live could waste themselves on fishing out its truths without successfully plumbing its depths, and every pragmatic man of simple action could find in it his final, universal principle of living and the ultimate how-to to every human interaction and question of morality.

"All the Law is summed up in this one thing: Love. Now that you are free from the Law and have the Spirit of God in you, it isn't important to spend your time analyzing your conduct for its compliance with a list of rules. It's not all about that. What is important is accepting the full weight of truth of God's love and letting it overflow out of yourself in every way that you relate to God, Humanity, and Creation."

At length I came in sight of the keeper's farm; and just at that moment the moon peeped from behind a hill, throwing as long shadows as the setting sun, but in the other direction. The shadows were very different too. Somehow they were liker to the light that made them than the sun-shadows are to the sunlight. Both the light and the shadows of the moon were strange and fearful to me. The sunlight and its shadows are all so strong and so real and so friendly, you seem to know all about them; they belong to your house, and they sweep all fear and dismay out of honest people's hearts. But with the moon and its shadows it is very different indeed. The fact is, the moon is trying to do what she cannot do. She is trying to dispel a great sun-shadow—for the night is just the gathering into one mass of all the shadows of the sun. She is not able for this, for her light is not her own; it is second-hand from the sun himself; and her shadows therefore also are second-hand shadows, pieces cut out of the great sun-shadow, and coloured a little with the moon's yellowness. If I were writing for grown people I should tell them that those who understand things because they think about them, and ask God to teach them, walk in the sunlight; and others, who take things because other people tell them so, are always walking in the strange moonlight, and are subject to no end of stumbles and terrors, for they hardly know light from darkness.
[from Chapter 24 of "Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood" by George MacDonald]

"This then is the message," he says, "which we have heard of him, and declare unto you, that God is light, and in him is no darkness at all." [1 John 1:5]... Whatever seems to me darkness, that I will not believe of my God. If I should mistake, and call that darkness which is light, will he not reveal the matter to me, setting it in the light that lighteth every man, showing me that I saw but the husk of the thing, not the kernel? Will he not break open the shell for me, and let the truth of it, his thought, stream out upon me? He will not let it hurt me to mistake the light for darkness, while I take not the darkness for light. The one comes from blindness of the intellect, the other from blindness of heart and will. I love the light, and will not believe at the word of any man, or upon the conviction of any man, that that which seems to me darkness is in God....

Neither let thy cowardly conscience receive any word as light because another calls it light, while it looks to thee dark. Say either the thing is not what it seems, or God never said or did it. But, of all evils, to misinterpret what God does, and then say the thing as interpreted must be right because God does it, is of the devil. Do not try to believe anything that affects thee as darkness. Even if thou mistake and refuse something true thereby, thou wilt do less wrong to Christ by such a refusal than thou wouldst by accepting as his what thou canst see only as darkness. It is impossible thou art seeing a true, a real thing—seeing it as it is, I mean—if it looks to thee darkness. But let thy words be few, lest thou say with thy tongue what thou wilt afterward repent with thy heart. Above all things believe in the light, that it is what thou callest light, though the darkness in thee may give thee cause at a time to doubt whether thou art verily seeing the light.
[from "Light" in "Unspoken Sermons, Third Series" by George MacDonald]

¹  Technically, I was listening to an audiobook version from Librivox.org. To see how I am progressing in "Ranald Bannerman's Boyhood" and, when I'm finished, my review of the book, please click here.

It's a pattern that is apparent in every human being. You need to feel loved and you need to feel secure, so you manipulate the people and the circumstances in your life, even in subconscious action, to attempt to convince yourself that these things are true. But the moment you bring control into a relationship, you rob your friend of the joy of giving what he could have given in love, and you rob yourself of the joy of receiving what he could have given in love. You cheat yourself of real opportunities for love and security. You cheapen so many friends by making them your pawns. And you reflect your own qualities upon God, expecting Him to act the same way toward you that you do toward the people in your life. But this is not unconditional love.

On a good day, coercion produces hypocrisy; on a bad day, rivers of blood. (Roger Williams, paraphrased)

You will accomplish more in the next two months developing a sincere interest in two people than you will ever accomplish in the next two years trying to get two people interested in you. (Tim Sanders)

I'm a Visionary-Advocate personality type (MBTI), and true to form, I have these dreams that I want to pursue ("visionary"), and I badly wish to help other people catch those dreams ("advocate"). But there's the rub. It is such a struggle for me to not draw my identity and sense of worth from my dreams... but rather draw my identity from who God has proclaimed me to be in His love, and to allow the motivation for whatever serving I do for Him to come out of the overflow of my heart, not out of my seeking for self-validation through any personal standard of "success."

My identity has issued from my dreams and my power (or lack thereof) to "micromanage" the Kingdom to conform to the idea I have in my mind of the way it ought to be. And if things are going poorly by my estimation, then I get depressed because my security rests in my ability to meet some performance-based criteria. If things are going well by my estimation, then I feel temporarily fulfilled. But the satisfaction is empty, like trying to pull water out of a dry well.

It's the same misstep as the one God spoke of by Jeremiah. Jeremiah recorded these words:

For my people have done two evil things:
They have abandoned me—

the fountain of living water.

And they have dug for themselves cracked cisterns

that can hold no water at all! (Jeremiah 2:13 NLT)

Father said something similar in Isaiah's prophecy:

Come, all of you who are thirsty.

Come and drink the water I offer to you.

You who do not have any money, come.

Buy and eat the grain I give you.

Come and buy wine and milk.

You will not have to pay anything for it.

Why spend money on what is not food?

Why work for what does not satisfy you?

Listen carefully to me.

Then you will eat what is good.

You will enjoy the richest food there is. (Isaiah 55:1-2 NIrV)

I'm talking about a shifting of my heart's pursuit. From pursuing validation (and security, identity, satisfaction...) through a realized dream, to pursuing a persistent nearness to the God who doesn't care whether I accomplish my dreams if I never learn to live in the overwhelming acceptance I have in His grace. After all, "Grace is God's acceptance of us. Faith is our acceptance of God's acceptance of us" (Adrian Rogers, from Freedom from the Performance Trap).

One of the most freeing things someone ever told me was something I heard in one of The God Journey podcasts with Wayne Jacobsen and Brad Cummings. Wayne said, if I may recite it from my poor memory, "I don't care if you don't do anything for a year, if you learn to walk in Father's affection."

When I heard that, it really sank deep in my soul: God isn't looking for me to produce for Him; He is looking for me to rest in Him.

Now, let me tell you: that's hard to swallow for someone who has done almost everything for twenty-five years with performance-based, works-righteous motives! That's difficult to step out of. That's a deep mire of ingrained religious caca. And I'm sick of it. I've felt like an employee in God's production plant for all my life. And all I want is a real-life relationship!

But now—wouldn't you know—I'm finding that I'm relationally-challenged, having worked with machines for so long. But thank you, Papa! You are showing me the ropes of this relationship with You!

And my reader friend, whoever you are, I want you to know that there is rest in our Father. There is complete rest. He is our eternal Sabbath (Hebrews 4). He is our permanent Vacation. And when you are all caught up in the DOs, know that as far as He is concerned, there is only DONE. "You are trying to earn points with someone who is no longer keeping score" (Wayne Jacobsen).

It is finished. (John 19:30)

What the law could not do... God did. (Romans 8:3 CSB)