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

A man enters into a wildly unexpected encounter with the true God in a land and time full of pantheons and patron deities. They speak and presently God gives the man a mission to speak to others on His behalf. Bemused by the unusual request and the very odd circumstances he has found himself in, the man musters the courage to ask the Almighty Shaper of Worlds a question! He asks, "But—and don't get me wrong here, I know you are God, God—but... who are you? Uh, if I am to speak on your behalf, Lord, who should I say sent me? Are you Ra? Baal? Are you Dagon, Chemosh, or Anu? Who are you, if you will excuse my asking?" To this, God wisely responds, "I am who I am." "Certainly. ...But who is that, Lord?" the man sheepishly dares. "That is the question of the ages, son. You'll just have to find out. You think you will know who I am if I give you a name? You think your people's many problems will be solved if they simply switch the word-name of deity in their prayers, when their hearts are so far from me? No. A name will not help you. If I give you a name, you will think you know me. And you will not try to know me as a person if you think you already do. What you need is an invitation to know me. So, when your people ask you, 'Who is this god you speak for?', tell them, 'I asked Him the same thing, and He said, "I am who I am."' And when they ask, 'And who is that?', as you have, perhaps they will begin to seek the answer to that question themselves... and come to know me—who cannot be known in a name."

God's "I am who I am" was, above all else, an invitation to get to know him. It may have meant other things when God said it to Moses; the language experts say it may be translated more than one way. Perhaps God also meant for us to understand that He is the self-existing source of all things from "I am that I am," but I strongly suspect that those metaphysical determinations about the nature of God's existence and essence were secondary (though nonetheless present) to the more immediate question, "Who is God?" Much more is involved in that question than the problem of God's makeup as deity. That is better asked by "How is God?". "Who is God?", on the other hand, has more to do with God's identity, which is a question of person, not merely of substance.

What good is a name, if you don't know the person? "I am who I am" is as much an invitation as it is anything else. Who is God? He is who He is. Who is that? I guess, you'll have to find out. And there is no other way to that knowledge than by relationship, through experience, as has been true for every other person you know.

Juliet: Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.
So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
Retain that dear perfection which he owes
Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name;
And for that name, which is no part of thee,
Take all myself.

Romeo: I take thee at thy word.
Call me but love, and I'll be new baptiz'd;
Henceforth I never will be Romeo.
...
By a name
I know not how to tell thee who I am.

(William Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet", Act II, Scene II)

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."

"Some so-called Christians... sneaked in to spy on us and take away the freedom we have in Christ Jesus. They wanted to enslave us and force us to follow their Jewish regulations. But we refused to give in to them for a single moment. We wanted to preserve the truth of the gospel message for you... You and I are Jews by birth, not 'sinners' like the Gentiles. Yet we know that a person is made right with God by faith in Jesus Christ, not by obeying the law.... No one will ever be made right with God by obeying the law.

"But suppose we seek to be made right with God through faith in Christ and then we are found guilty because we have abandoned the law. Would that mean Christ has led us into sin? Absolutely not! Rather, I am a sinner if I rebuild the old system of law I already tore down. For when I tried to keep the law, it condemned me. So I died to the law—I stopped trying to meet all its requirements—so that I might live for God. My old self has been crucified with Christ.... I do not treat the grace of God as meaningless. For if keeping the law could make us right with God, then there was no need for Christ to die....

"Let me ask you this one question: Did you receive the Holy Spirit by obeying the law of Moses? Of course not! You received the Spirit because you believed the message you heard about Christ. How foolish can you be? After starting your Christian lives in the Spirit, why are you now trying to become perfect by your own human effort?... But those who depend on the law to make them right with God are under his curse, for the Scriptures say, 'Cursed is everyone who does not observe and obey all the commands that are written in God's Book of the Law.' So it is clear that no one can be made right with God by trying to keep the law. For the Scriptures say, 'It is through faith that a righteous person has life.' This way of faith is very different from the way of law, which says, 'It is through obeying the law that a person has life.' ...

"Through Christ Jesus, God has blessed the Gentiles with the same blessing he promised to Abraham, so that we who are believers might receive the promised Holy Spirit through faith.

"Dear brothers and sisters, here's an example from everyday life. Just as no one can set aside or amend an irrevocable agreement, so it is in this case. God gave the promises to Abraham and his child. And notice that the Scripture doesn't say 'to his children,' as if it meant many descendants. Rather, it says 'to his child'—and that, of course, means Christ. This is what I am trying to say: The agreement God made with Abraham could not be canceled 430 years later when God gave the law to Moses. God would be breaking his promise. For if the inheritance could be received by keeping the law, then it would not be the result of accepting God's promise. But God graciously gave it to Abraham as a promise.

"Why, then, was the law given? It was given alongside the promise to show people their sins. But the law was designed to last only until the coming of the child who was promised.... Is there a conflict, then, between God's law and God's promises? Absolutely not! If the law could give us new life, we could be made right with God by obeying it. But the Scriptures declare that we are all prisoners of sin, so we receive God's promise of freedom only by believing in Jesus Christ. Before the way of faith in Christ was available to us, we were placed under guard by the law.... And now that the way of faith has come, we no longer need the law as our guardian. For you are all children of God through faith in Christ Jesus....

"Think of it this way. If a father dies and leaves an inheritance for his young children, those children are not much better off than slaves until they grow up, even though they actually own everything their father had. They have to obey their guardians until they reach whatever age their father set.

"And that's the way it was with us before Christ came. We were like children; we were slaves to the basic 'spiritual principles' of this world. But when the right time came, God sent his Son, born of a woman, subject to the law. God sent him to buy freedom for us who were slaves to the law, so that he could adopt us as his very own children. And because we are his children, God has sent the Spirit of his Son into our hearts, prompting us to call out, 'Abba, Father.' Now you are no longer a slave but God's own child. And since you are his child, God has made you his heir....

"So now that you know God (or should I say, now that God knows you), why do you want to go back again and become slaves once more to the weak and useless spiritual principles of this world? You are trying to earn favor with God by observing certain days or months or seasons or years.... I plead with you to live as I do in freedom from these things, for I have become like you Gentiles—free from those laws....

"Tell me, you who want to live under the law, do you know what the law actually says? The Scriptures say that Abraham had two sons, one from his slave wife and one from his freeborn wife. The son of the slave wife was born in a human attempt to bring about the fulfillment of God's promise. But the son of the freeborn wife was born as God's own fulfillment of his promise. These two women serve as an illustration of God's two covenants.... And you, dear brothers and sisters, are children of the promise, just like Isaac. But you are now being persecuted by those who want you to keep the law, just as Ishmael, the child born by human effort, persecuted Isaac, the child born by the power of the Spirit.

"So Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, and don't get tied up again in slavery to the law.

"Listen! I, Paul, tell you this: If you are counting on circumcision to make you right with God, then Christ will be of no benefit to you. I'll say it again. If you are trying to find favor with God by being circumcised, you must obey every regulation in the whole law of Moses.

"But we who live by the Spirit eagerly wait to receive by faith the righteousness God has promised to us. For when we place our faith in Christ Jesus, there is no benefit in being circumcised or being uncircumcised. What is important is faith expressing itself in love.

"You were running the race so well. Who has held you back from following the truth? It certainly isn't God, for he is the one who called you to freedom. This false teaching is like a little yeast that spreads through the whole batch of dough!...

"For you have been called to live in freedom, my brothers and sisters. But don't use your freedom to satisfy your sinful nature. Instead, use your freedom to serve one another in love. For the whole law can be summed up in this one command: 'Love your neighbor as yourself.' ...

"So I say, let the Holy Spirit guide your lives. Then you won't be doing what your sinful nature craves.... When you are directed by the Spirit, you are not under obligation to the law of Moses.... The Holy Spirit produces... love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. There is no law against these things!

"Those who belong to Christ Jesus have nailed the passions and desires of their sinful nature to his cross and crucified them there. Since we are living by the Spirit, let us follow the Spirit's leading in every part of our lives....

"Those who are trying to force you to be circumcised want to look good to others. They don't want to be persecuted for teaching that the cross of Christ alone can save. And even those who advocate circumcision don't keep the whole law themselves. They only want you to be circumcised so they can boast about it and claim you as their disciples.

"As for me... my interest in this world has been crucified, and the world's interest in me has also died. It doesn't matter whether we have been circumcised or not. What counts is whether we have been transformed into a new creation. May God's peace and mercy be upon all who live by this principle; they are the new people of God."

If you like, read the next post, consisting of my comments on Paul's discussion here.

So, for every practical purpose, God doesn't love you for a reason. He loves you. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

He loves you, and not for any action or ability or quality that you can manipulate, formulate, postulate, propagate, or create. If there is indeed a reason we can know, it has more to do with your origin and the core makeup of your soul than anything you can quantify. And in that reason, even if it be solely a reflection of God's character and nature and nothing else, He loves you uniquely, but still not more or less than any other person—just as a father would love his children, and just as the God-figure in The Shack said "I'm especially fond of that one" and then said it of every one.

Your Father—the Source of your life—adores you and He'd have you crawl onto His lap and tug at His beard, if only you knew Him like that. A tragedy! To be loved so richly and think yourself a pauper! And then to deny His displays of affection, His attempts toward your good—to deny that you own whole galaxies worth of tenderhearted love in your Father's eyes and go on eating meat from dumpsters and cursing life! Ah, good thing it is He doesn't love for a reason!

Oh, but don't be condemned! There is no fear in love! Love doesn't carry forward last month's negative balance! If you remain dispirited because He loves you richly and you love Him poorly, you forget He doesn't love you for a reason! His love is completely without respect to your merit. Love, of this kind, is also called "grace" and forgiveness is a grace. And if it is a grace, then it cannot be earned; it is given. It doesn't need to be asked for—only, we usually need to ask for it before we will trust that we have it. God doesn't need reconciled to us. We need reconciled to Him.

Trust from the place you are. You cannot manufacture trust. God will win you to it. You will trust Him more when you know more how He loves you, and that comes when you know Him more, the way He really is. Your trust is exactly proportional to how convinced you are of His love, which itself is exactly proportional to how well you know Him. Be patient (but be passionate); He is patient. And He will win you to it.

Seek Him. Look everywhere for Him. —Except, that makes it sound like He is hiding. But He isn't. He is at times subtle, but usually it only seems that way because our senses are dulled to the ways He speaks to us and reveals Himself to us. One day He may woo you to Him by a pinecone or the reflection of light on a door handle just as He might on another day by a sermon or a book or a prayer. He speaks to us in people's scars and the stories they tell over dinners and late-night games of cards. He reveals Himself in epiphanies and gradual increments so intangible that months or years may pass before you even realize a significant change has occurred.

But know child: He is your Father—yes, your Papa and Daddy, more loving, affectionate, wise, and strong than any mud-and-clay parent could be. You are His darling. Hop into His lap. Cry, laugh, or complain, and nuzzle close, curl up into His arms and rest. He'll hold you, wipe your brow, and whisper you songs.

You may be an adult in relation to people of Earth. But in the same way you cannot be more than a small child to Him. So while it may seem very childish to talk like this about your relationship with "Papa," that is precisely why it is true. You are a child. So, you must in a sense be childish. After all, He is your Father and what else is there left for you to be?

He demonstrates a fascinating flair for helping us balance our understanding of Him and our glorious inadequacy to do so.

I say it is glorious because it is this very inadequacy (and His depth by contrast) that creates the opportunity for discovery. My finiteness and His infiniteness create the potential for adventure in our relationship with each other. If He were finite, then the ocean could be mapped. I could find an end and the story would conclude, or continue in purposeless boredom.

But instead I delight in exploring His inexhaustible reaches, and He delights in giving me my delight. He shares Himself with me, and I share myself with Him—the difference being that His gift to me continually comes, and mine is but a drop. But this does not mean that the relationship is one-sided! No.

Because He is infinite, our relationship together is infinite. It is an interminable and inexhaustible, intimate connection, because relationship is about responding to each other, and when one gives without end the other receives without end. And, as anyone who has loved the purest kind of love can attest, giving is a kind of receiving. Together we share an infinite source of joy, which is our relationship with each other—I in Him, and He in me in Him, unending.

First, He says, "You can know me." Then, He says, "But I am more than you can fully know. There will always be more." And I say, "So exciting!"

And so, it is in our relationship with Him that we find both our fulfillment and thirst!

In the very nature of being—that is, God—it must be hard (and divine history shows how hard) to create that which shall be not himself, yet like himself. The problem is to separate from himself that which must yet be ever and always and utterly dependent on him, and to separate it sufficiently that it shall have the existence of a free individual. Only so shall it be able to turn and regard him—choose him, and say, "I will arise and go to my Father." Only so shall it develop in itself the highest divine of which it is capable—the will able to side with the good against the evil, the will to be one with the life whence it has come and in which it still is....

Hence the final end of the separation is not individuality. That is but a means to it. The final end is oneness—an impossibility without the prior separation. For there can be no unity, no delight of love, no harmony, no good in being, where there is but one. Two at least are needed for oneness. And the greater the number of individuals, the greater, the lovelier, the richer, the diviner is the possible unity. [George MacDonald, in his essay "Life" from "Unspoken Sermons, Second Series" as edited in "Your Life in Christ" by George MacDonald, ed. Michael Phillips]

When we come to the Cross, we shouldn't carry away from it the weight it was designed to relieve, the shame it was determined to destroy. We, as children of the King, shouldn't be consumed with thoughts of judgment and our unrighteousness, because the Cross settles these things. We should carry away from the Cross the absolute rest of knowing we are forgiven. The comforting freedom of knowing we are loved. The stubborn confidence of knowing that God accepts us as righteous. That what God believes of us is true of us in actuality—not just in theory.

We should not carry away from the Cross what we brought with us to the Cross.

My concept of the Cross was sick for a very long time. I felt as if it were a wound in my memory I was trying very hard to imagine was not a wound.

Let it be a jewel and not a wound.

And if it isn't for you, then change whatever you have to about what you believe to see that it is. Because whatever the Cross is or isn't, it must be your liberty from the old human and filth. It should be above all things the inauguration of your rest. It is a symbol of your freedom. Not a symbol of your failure. It should stand for God's love. Not for your inadequacy. It should remind you of your new humanity. Not of your "old man."

But this means that you must never, never conceive of the Cross apart from the Resurrection. They are not separate elements of your redemption.

The Cross is the dying of the twisted child squashing spiders in his self-made cell.* The Resurrection is the creation of a new kind of humanity—a child rejoicing in life and dancing in the light.

We are not just wiped-clean or cured versions of our old selves. We are brand new beings never dirtied or twisted. We are reborn. We are new creations. And, in the final resurrection, the remnants of our old selves, these bodies and minds, will slough off and be replaced with new ones, as the birthing that has begun will be completed.

Think about it.

*   See "A Letter to American Boys", a short story by George MacDonald. Read it online. Listen to the free audiobook. Review it.

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)

James follows with an example of favoritism, and then a brief explanation—for the sake of this particular example—of why it makes no sense to honor the rich above the poor:

For example, suppose someone comes into your meeting dressed in fancy clothes and expensive jewelry, and another comes in who is poor and dressed in dirty clothes. If you give special attention and a good seat to the rich person, but you say to the poor one, "You can stand over there, or else sit on the floor"—well, doesn’t this discrimination show that your judgments are guided by evil motives?

Listen to me, dear brothers and sisters. Hasn’t God chosen the poor in this world to be rich in faith? Aren’t they the ones who will inherit the Kingdom he promised to those who love him? But you dishonor the poor! Isn’t it the rich who oppress you and drag you into court? Aren’t they the ones who slander Jesus Christ, whose noble name you bear? (2:2-7 NLT)

He explains how favoritism and prejudice break the Old Covenant Law. He reminds us that God despises any form of partiality. It's not just a trifle. He continues:

If you really carry out the royal law prescribed in Scripture, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself," you are doing well. But if you show favoritism, you commit sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors.

For whoever keeps the entire law, yet fails in one point, is guilty of breaking it all. For He who said, "Do not commit adultery," also said, "Do not murder." So if you do not commit adultery, but you do murder, you are a lawbreaker. (2:8-11 CSB)

But then, he returns to his original point to resolve the issue he left us with in verse 1: How is it that partiality and faith in Christ are mutually exclusive of each other? It's interesting to see the direction James takes with his reasoning. He lifts the weight of his argument off of the Old Covenant Law onto the New Covenant "law":

Speak and act as those who will be judged by the law of freedom. For judgment is without mercy to the one who hasn't shown mercy. Mercy triumphs over judgment. (2:12-13 CSB)

So, James compares the Torah Law with this "law of freedom." James has already mentioned a "law of freedom" in his epistle—at James 1:25, where he exhorts us to always keep at the forefront of our minds our identity—the reality of the freedom we have in Christ—and to live according to that reality of freedom and grace. But what is this talk of a New Covenant "law"?

Paul uses similar terminology in his open letter to the Christians at Rome. We pick up his argument in Romans at 3:1-30:

Then what advantage has the Jew [over the Gentile]? Or what is the value of circumcision?... Are we Jews any better off? No, not at all. For we have already charged that all, both Jews and Greeks, are under sin.... Then what becomes of our boasting? It is excluded. By what kind of law? By a law of works? No, but by the law of faith. For we hold that one is justified by faith apart from works of the law. Or is God the God of Jews only? Is he not the God of Gentiles also? Yes, of Gentiles also, since God is one—who will justify the circumcised by faith and the uncircumcised through faith. (ESV)

Well, what is a law? It's as the NIV has it here, a "principle"... a principle that is followed, a rule of action. So, when Paul says that there is no room for the Jews to boast in their nationality as though it made them any closer to God than other nations, he explains that this is because there is a principle of faith that needs to be considered. That principle of faith is "that a man is justified [made right with God] by faith apart from observing the law [of works]" (NIV). The "law of faith" is the principle of relationship that allows people like you and me to be reconciled with our Father, God. It is, in other terminology, "the Gospel." It is "Grace."

So, when James says, "favoritism is not consistent with faith in our Lord Jesus Christ" and "speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom" (TNIV) what does he mean? What's the connection?

He means that "the law of freedom" motivates us to love, greatly and equally, all people. Why? Because "the law of freedom" is the truth of freedom from condemnation. How do we know this? Because Paul said,

No condemnation now exists for those in Christ Jesus, because the Spirit's law of life in Christ Jesus has set you free from the law of sin and of death. (Romans 8:1-2 CSB)

By faith in Christ, by having confidence in the power of God and His love for us, we are set free from the chains of sin and death, because there is no longer any condemnation over us. A condemnation is "a sentence of judgment which condemns some one to do, to give or to pay something." We are no longer criminals being judged. We are no longer condemned to attempt to pay the penalty from crimes too numerous to count. We are free. Rather than condemned, we have been forgiven.

A condemnation is also "an expression of strong disapproval," which is also something that does not exist for us in Christ. We are—you are—totally approved of God. He accepts you. He loves you. He validates you. He considers you valuable to Him. And there is absolutely nothing you can do to change that.

But how then can we, who have been forgiven of our incalculable debts, go on with unforgiveness in our hearts? How then can we, who have been accepted despite ourselves, go on rejecting others based upon our formulated criteria? How then can we, who are loved unconditionally, go on distributing love to others according to how they meet our standards?

Do you favor one person above another, because the one is "cool" and the other is decidedly "not"? Do you love and approve of one friend who is mature, thoughtful, and loving, but look down upon another in condescension who is immature, whiny, and selfish? Do you hang out only with people you find pleasant and avoid people who are annoying, are irritable, or have poor personal hygiene? Do you find yourself surrounded with people who hide well their sins on the inside, but wouldn't dream of befriending people who wear their sins on the outside? Do you stick close to your comfort zone when your comfort zone tells you to socialize only with people of your own ethnicity? Do you give the best seats to the rich?

It is with all this in mind that James continues his thought with, "What good is it, dear brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but don't show it by your actions?" (James 2:14 NLT)

Jesus taught the same thing:

Then Peter came to him and asked, "Lord, how often should I forgive someone who sins against me? Seven times?"

"No, not seven times," Jesus replied, "but seventy times seven!

"Therefore, the Kingdom of Heaven can be compared to a king who decided to bring his accounts up to date with servants who had borrowed money from him. In the process, one of his debtors was brought in who owed him millions of dollars. He couldn't pay, so his master ordered that he be sold—along with his wife, his children, and everything he owned—to pay the debt.

"But the man fell down before his master and begged him, 'Please, be patient with me, and I will pay it all.' Then his master was filled with pity for him, and he released him and forgave his debt.

"But when the man left the king, he went to a fellow servant who owed him a few thousand dollars. He grabbed him by the throat and demanded instant payment.

"His fellow servant fell down before him and begged for a little more time. 'Be patient with me, and I will pay it,' he pleaded. But his creditor wouldn't wait. He had the man arrested and put in prison until the debt could be paid in full.

"When some of the other servants saw this, they were very upset. They went to the king and told him everything that had happened. Then the king called in the man he had forgiven and said, 'You evil servant! I forgave you that tremendous debt because you pleaded with me. Shouldn’t you have mercy on your fellow servant, just as I had mercy on you?' Then the angry king sent the man to prison to be tortured until he had paid his entire debt.

"That's what my heavenly Father will do to you if you refuse to forgive your brothers and sisters from your heart." (Matthew 18:21-35 NLT)

Do you see then why "favoritism is not consistent with faith in our Lord Jesus Christ"?

But...

If someone merely listens to the message and does not live it out, he is like someone who gazes at his own face in a mirror. For he gazes at himself and then goes out and immediately forgets what sort of person he was.

Ah! "But," he says!

But the one who peers into the perfect law of liberty and fixes his attention there, and does not become a forgetful listener but one who lives it out—he will be blessed in what he does. (James 1:23-25 NET)

I'd like you to read that again, in the Contemporary English Version, to make sure you get the point:

But you must never stop looking at the perfect law that sets you free. God will bless you in everything you do, if you listen and obey, and don't just hear and forget. (1:25)

You are free. You are forgiven. You are accepted. And you must hold onto that truth with a deathgrip. There is no room for shame or guilt or any other form of self-condemnation. Because "there is no condemnation to those who are in Christ Jesus." There is only love. There is only grace. And when you fix your eyes on that—that is faith. It is confidence in God's love and promise: stubborn faith in stubborn promises.

Grace is God's acceptance of us. Faith is our acceptance of God's acceptance of us. (Adrian Rogers)

This freedom will change the way you look at others. It will change the way you act. Eugene Peterson sums it up pretty well with his paraphrase of James 2:14-17:

Dear friends, do you think you'll get anywhere in this if you learn all the right words but never do anything? Does merely talking about faith indicate that a person really has it? For instance, you come upon an old friend dressed in rags and half-starved and say, "Good morning, friend! Be clothed in Christ! Be filled with the Holy Spirit!" and walk off without providing so much as a coat or a cup of soup—where does that get you? Isn't it obvious that God-talk without God-acts is outrageous nonsense?

His wife had died while he was still an apprentice, leaving behind her a little boy of three. This was their only child, indeed, for the two elder ones had died previously. At first Martin thought of placing the little fellow with a sister of his in the country, but changed his mind, thinking: "My Kapitoshka would not like to grow up in a strange family, so I will keep him by me." Then Avdeitch finished his apprenticeship, and went to live in lodgings with his little boy. But God had not seen fit to give Avdeitch happiness in his children. The little boy was just growing up and beginning to help his father and to be a pleasure to him, when he fell ill, was put to bed, and died after a week's fever.

Martin buried the little fellow and was inconsolable. Indeed, he was so inconsolable that he began to murmur against God. His life seemed so empty that more than once he prayed for death and reproached the Almighty for taking away his only beloved son instead of himself, the old man. At last he ceased altogether to go to church.

Then one day there came to see him an ancient peasant-pilgrim—one who was now in the eighth year of his pilgrimage. To him Avdeitch talked, and then went on to complain of his great sorrow.

"I no longer wish to be a God-fearing man," he said. "I only wish to die. That is all I ask of God. I am a lonely, hopeless man."

"You should not speak like that, Martin," replied the old pilgrim. "It is not for us to judge the acts of God. We must rely, not upon our own understanding, but upon the Divine wisdom. God saw fit that your son should die and that you should live. Therefore it must be better so. If you despair, it is because you have wished to live too much for your own pleasure."

"For what, then, should I live?" asked Martin.

"For God alone," replied the old man. "It is He who gave you life, and therefore it is He for whom you should live. When you come to live for Him you will cease to grieve, and your trials will become easy to bear."

Martin was silent. Then he spoke again.

"But how am I to live for God?" he asked.

"Christ has shown us the way," answered the old man. "Can you read? If so, buy a Testament and study it. You will learn there how to live for God. Yes, it is all shown you there."

These words sank into Avdeitch's soul. He went out the same day, bought a large-print copy of the New Testament, and set himself to read it.

At the beginning Avdeitch had meant only to read on festival days, but when he once began his reading he found it so comforting to the soul that he came never to let a day pass without doing so. On the second occasion he became so engrossed that all the kerosene was burnt away in the lamp before he could tear himself away from the book.

Thus he came to read it every evening, and, the more he read, the more clearly did he understand what God required of him, and in what way he could live for God; so that his heart grew ever lighter and lighter. Once upon a time, whenever he had lain down to sleep, he had been used to moan and sigh as he thought of his little Kapitoshka; but now he only said—"Glory to Thee, O Lord! Glory to Thee! Thy will be done!"

From that time onwards Avdeitch's life became completely changed. Once he had been used to go out on festival days and drink tea in a tavern, and had not denied himself even an occasional glass of vodka. This he had done in the company of a boon companion, and, although no drunkard, would frequently leave the tavern in an excited state and talk much nonsense as he shouted and disputed with this friend of his. But now he had turned his back on all this, and his life had become quiet and joyous. Early in the morning he would sit down to his work, and labor through his appointed hours. Then he would take the lamp down from a shelf, light it, and sit down to read. And the more he read, the more he understood, and the clearer and happier he grew at heart.

It happened once that Martin had been reading late. He had been reading those verses in the sixth chapter of the Gospel of St. Luke which run:

And unto him that smiteth thee on the one cheek offer also the other; and him that taketh away thy cloke forbid not to take thy coat also. Give to every man that asketh of thee; and of him that taketh away thy goods ask them not again. And as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.

Then, further on, he had read those verses where the Lord says:

And why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say? Whosoever cometh to Me and heareth my sayings, and doeth them, I will show you to whom he is like: He is like a man which built an house, and digged deep, and laid the foundation on a rock: and when the flood arose, the storm beat vehemently upon that house, and could not shake it: for it was founded upon a rock. But he that heareth and doeth not, is like a man that without a foundation built an house upon the earth; against which the stream did beat vehemently, and immediately it fell; and the ruin of that house was great.

Avdeitch read these words, and felt greatly cheered in soul. He took off his spectacles, laid them on the book, leaned his elbows upon the table, and gave himself up to meditation. He set himself to measure his own life by those words, and thought to himself:

"Is my house founded upon a rock or upon sand? It is well if it be upon a rock. Yet it seems so easy to me as I sit here alone. I may so easily come to think that I have done all that the Lord has commanded me, and grow careless and—sin again. Yet I will keep on striving, for it is goodly so to do. Help Thou me, O Lord."

Thus he kept on meditating, though conscious that it was time for bed; yet he was loathe to tear himself away from the book. He began to read the seventh chapter of St. Luke, and read on about the centurion, the widow's son, and the answer given to John's disciples; until in time he came to the passage where the rich Pharisee invited Jesus to his house, and the woman washed the Lord's feet with her tears and He justified her. So he came to the forty-fourth verse and read:

And He turned to the woman, and said unto Simon, Seest thou this woman 1 I entered into thine house, and thou gavest Me no water for My feet: but she hath washed My feet with tears, and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Thou gavest Me no kiss: but this woman since the time I came in hath not ceased to kiss My feet. My head with oil thou didst not anoint: but this woman hath anointed My feet with ointment.

He read these verses and thought: "'Thou gavest Me no water for My feet'... 'Thou gavest Me no kiss'... 'My head with oil thou didst not anoint'..."—and once again he took off his spectacles, laid them on the book, and became lost in meditation.

"I am even as that Pharisee," he thought to himself. "I drink tea and think only of my own needs. Yes, I think only of having plenty to eat and drink, of being warm and clean—but never of entertaining a guest. And Simon too was mindful only of himself, although the guest who had come to visit him was—who? Why, even the Lord Himself! If, then, He should come to visit me, should I receive Him any better?"—and, leaning forward upon his elbows, he was asleep almost before he was aware of it.

"Martin!" someone seemed to breathe in his ear.

He started from his sleep.

"Who is there?" he said. He turned and looked towards the door, but could see no one. Again he bent forward over the table. Then suddenly he heard the words:

"Martin, Martin! Look thou into the street tomorrow, for I am coming to visit thee."

Martin roused himself, got up from the chair, and rubbed his eyes. He did not know whether it was dreaming or awake that he had heard these words, but he turned out the lamp and went to bed.

The next morning Avdeitch rose before daylight and said his prayers. Then he made up the stove, got ready some cabbage soup and porridge, lighted the samovar, slung his leather apron about him, and sat down to his work in the window. He sat and worked hard, yet all the time his thoughts were centred upon last night. He was in two ideas about the vision. At one moment he would think that it must have been his fancy, while the next moment he would find himself convinced that he had really heard the voice. "Yes, it must have been so," he concluded.

As Martin sat thus by the window he kept looking out of it as much as working. Whenever a pair of boots passed with which he was acquainted he would bend down to glance upwards through the window and see their owner's face as well. The doorkeeper passed in new felt boots, and then a water-carrier. Next, an old soldier, a veteran of Nicholas' army, in old, patched boots, and carrying a shovel in his hands, halted close by the window. Avdeitch knew him by his boots. His name was Stepanitch, and he was kept by a neighboring tradesman out of charity, his duties being to help the doorkeeper. He began to clear away the snow from in front of Avdeitch's window, while the shoemaker looked at him and then resumed his work.

"I think I must be getting into my dotage," thought Avdeitch with a smile. "Just because Stepanitch begins clearing away the snow I at once jump to the conclusion that Christ is about to visit me. Yes, I am growing foolish now, old greybeard that I am."

Yet he had hardly made a dozen stitches before he was craning his neck again to look out of the window. He could see that Stepanitch had placed his shovel against the wall, and was resting and trying to warm himself a little.

"He is evidently an old man now and broken," thought Avdeitch to himself. "He is not strong enough to clear away snow. Would he like some tea, I wonder? That reminds me that the samovar must be ready now."

He made fast his awl in his work and got up. Placing the samovar on the table, he brewed the tea, and then tapped with his finger on the window-pane. Stepanitch turned round and approached. Avdeitch beckoned to him, and then went to open the door.

"Come in and warm yourself," he said. "You must be frozen."

"Christ requite you!" answered Stepanitch. "Yes, my bones are almost cracking."

He came in, shook the snow off himself, and, though tottering on his feet, took pains to wipe them carefully, that he might not dirty the floor.

"Nay, do not trouble about that," said Avdeitch. "I will wipe your boots myself. It is part of my business in this trade. Come you here and sit down, and we will empty this tea-pot together."

He poured out two tumblerfuls, and offered one to his guest; after which he emptied his own into the saucer, and blew upon it to cool it. Stepanitch drank his tumblerful, turned the glass upside down, placed his crust upon it, and thanked his host kindly. But it was plain that he wanted another one.

"You must drink some more," said Avdeitch, and refilled his guest's tumbler and his own. Yet, in spite of himself, he had no sooner drunk his tea than he found himself looking out into the street again.

"Are you expecting anyone?" asked his guest.

"Am—am I expecting anyone? Well, to tell the truth, yes. That is to say, I am, and I am not. The fact is that some words have got fixed in my memory. Whether it was a vision or not I cannot tell, but at all events, my old friend, I was reading in the Gospels last night about Our Little Father Christ, and how He walked this earth and suffered. You have heard of Him, have you not ?"

"Yes, yes, I have heard of Him," answered Stepanitch; "but we are ignorant folk and do not know our letters."

"Well, I was reading of how He walked this earth, and how He went to visit a Pharisee, and yet received no welcome from him at the door. All this I read last night, my friend, and then fell to thinking about it—to thinking how some day I too might fail to pay Our Little Father Christ due honor. 'Suppose,' I thought to myself, 'He came to me or to anyone like me? Should we, like the great lord Simon, not know how to receive Him and not go out to meet Him?' Thus I thought, and fell asleep where I sat. Then as I sat sleeping there I heard someone call my name; and as I raised myself the voice went on (as though it were the voice of someone whispering in my ear): 'Watch thou for me tomorrow, for I am coming to visit thee.' It said that twice. And so those words have got into my head, and, foolish though I know it to be, I keep expecting Him—the Little Father—every moment."

Stepanitch nodded and said nothing, but emptied his glass and laid it aside. Nevertheless Avdeitch took and refilled it.

"Drink it up; it will do you good," he said. "Do you know," he went on, "I often call to mind how when Our Little Father walked this earth, there was never a man, however humble, whom He despised, and how it was chiefly among the common people that He dwelt. It was always with them that He walked; it was from among them—from among such men as you and I—from among sinners and working folk—that He chose His disciples. 'Whosoever,' He said, 'shall exalt himself, the same shall be abased; and whosoever shall abase himself, the same shall be exalted.' 'You,' He said again, 'call me Lord; yet will I wash your feet.' 'Whosoever,' He said, 'would be chief among you, let him be the servant of all. Because,' He said, 'blessed are the lowly, the peacemakers, the merciful, and the charitable.'"

Stepanitch had forgotten all about his tea. He was an old man, and his tears came easily. He sat and listened, with the tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Oh, but you must drink your tea," said Avdeitch; yet Stepanitch only crossed himself and said the thanksgiving, after which he pushed his glass away and rose.

"I thank you, Martin Avdeitch," he said. "You have taken me in, and fed both soul and body."

"Nay, but I beg of you to come again," replied Avdeitch. "I am only too glad of a guest."

So Stepanitch departed, while Martin poured out the last of the tea and drank it. Then he cleaned the crockery, and sat down again to his work by the window—to the stitching of a back-piece. He stitched away, yet kept on looking through the window—looking for Christ, as it were—and ever thinking of Christ and His works. Indeed, Christ's many sayings were never absent from Avdeitch's mind.

Two soldiers passed the window, the one in military boots, and the other in civilian. Next, there came a neighboring householder, in polished goloshes; then a baker with a basket. All of them passed on. Presently a woman in woollen stockings and rough country shoes approached the window, and halted near the buttress outside it. Avdeitch peered up at her from under the lintel of his window, and could see that she was a plain-looking, poorly-dressed woman and had a child in her arms. It was in order to muffle the child up more closely—little though she had to do it with!—that she had stopped near the buttress and was now standing there with her back to the wind. Her clothing was ragged and fit only for summer, and even from behind his window-panes Avdeitch could hear the child crying miserably and its mother vainly trying to soothe it. Avdeitch rose, went to the door, climbed the steps, and cried out: "My good woman, my good woman!"

She heard him and turned round.

"Why need you stand there in the cold with your baby?" he went on. "Come into my room, where it is warm, and where you will be able to wrap the baby up more comfortably than you can do here. Yes, come in with you."

The woman was surprised to see an old man in a leather apron and with spectacles upon his nose calling out to her, yet she followed him down the steps, and they entered his room. The old man led her to the bedstead.

"Sit you down here, my good woman," he said. "You will be near the stove, and can warm yourself and feed your baby."

"Ah," she replied. "I have had nothing to eat this morning." Nevertheless she put the child to suck.

Avdeitch nodded his head approvingly, went to the table for some bread and a basin, and opened the stove door. From the stove he took and poured some soup into the basin, and drew out also a bowl of porridge. The latter, however, was not yet boiling, so he set out only the soup, after first laying the table with a cloth.

"Sit down and eat, my good woman," he said, "while I hold your baby. I have had little ones of my own, and know how to nurse them."

The woman crossed herself and sat down, while Avdeitch seated himself upon the bedstead with the baby. He smacked his lips at it once or twice, but made a poor show of it, for he had no teeth left. Consequently the baby went on crying. Then he bethought him of his finger, which he wriggled to and fro towards the baby's mouth and back again—without, however, actually touching the little one's lips, since the finger was blackened with work and sticky with shoemaker's wax. The baby contemplated the finger and grew quiet—then actually smiled. Avdeitch was delighted. Meanwhile the woman had been eating her meal, and now she told him, unasked, who she was and whither she was going.

"I am a soldier's wife," she said, "but my husband was sent to a distant station eight months ago, and I have heard nothing of him since. At first I got a place as cook, but when the baby came they said they could not do with it and dismissed me. That was three months ago, and I have got nothing since, and have spent all my savings. I tried to get taken as a nurse, but no one would have me, for they said I was too thin. I have just been to see a tradesman's wife where our grandmother is in service. She had promised to take me on, and I quite thought that she would, but when I arrived today she told me to come again next week. She lives a long way from here, and I am quite worn out and have tired my baby for nothing. Thank Heaven, however, my landlady is good to me, and gives me shelter for Christ's sake. Otherwise I should not have known how to bear it all."

Avdeitch sighed and said: "But have you nothing warm to wear?"

"Ah, sir," replied the woman, "although it is the time for warm clothes I had to pawn my last shawl yesterday for two grivenki."

Then the woman returned to the bedstead to take her baby, while Avdeitch rose and went to a cupboard. There he rummaged about, and presently returned with an old jacket.

"Here," he said. "It is a poor old thing, but it will serve to cover you."

The woman looked at the jacket, and then at the old man. Then she took the jacket and burst into tears. Avdeitch turned away, and went creeping under the bedstead, whence he extracted a box and pretended to rummage about in it for a few moments; after which he sat down again before the woman.

Then the woman said to him: "I thank you in Christ's name, good grandfather. Surely it was He Himself who sent me to your window. Otherwise I should have seen my baby perish with the cold. When I first came out the day was warm, but now it has begun to freeze. But He, Our Little Father, had placed you in your window, that you might see me in my bitter plight and have compassion upon me."

Avdeitch smiled and said: "He did indeed place me there: yet, my poor woman, it was for a special purpose that I was looking out."

Then he told his guest, the soldier's wife, of his vision, and how he had heard a voice foretelling that today the Lord Himself would come to visit him.

"That may very well be," said the woman as she rose, took the jacket, and wrapped her baby in it. Then she saluted him once more and thanked him.

"Also, take this in Christ's name," said Avdeitch, and gave her a two-grivenka piece with which to buy herself a shawl. The woman crossed herself, and he likewise. Then he led her to the door and dismissed her.

When she had gone Avdeitch ate a little soup, washed up the crockery again, and resumed his work. All the time, though, he kept his eye upon the window, and as soon as ever a shadow fell across it he would look up to see who was passing. Acquaintances of his came past, and people whom he did not know, yet never anyone very particular.

Then suddenly he saw something. Opposite his window there had stopped an old pedlar-woman, with a basket of apples. Only a few of the apples, however, remained, so that it was clear that she was almost sold out. Over her shoulder was slung a sack of shavings, which she must have gathered near some new building as she was going home. Apparently, her shoulder had begun to ache under their weight, and she therefore wished to shift them to the other one. To do this, she balanced her basket of apples on the top of a post, lowered the sack to the pavement, and began shaking up its contents. As she was doing this, a boy in a ragged cap appeared from somewhere, seized an apple from the basket, and tried to make off. But the old woman, who had been on her guard, managed to turn and seize the boy by the sleeve, and although he struggled and tried to break away, she clung to him with both hands, snatched his cap off, and finally grasped him by the hair. Thereupon the youngster began to shout and abuse his captor. Avdeitch did not stop to make fast his awl, but threw his work down upon the floor, ran to the door, and went stumbling up the steps—losing his spectacles as he did so. Out into the street he ran, where the old woman was still clutching the boy by the hair and threatening to take him to the police, while the boy, for his part, was struggling in the endeavor to free himself.

"I never took it," he was saying. "What are you beating me for? Let me go."

Avdeitch tried to part them as he took the boy by the hand and said:

"Let him go, my good woman. Pardon him for Christ's sake."

"Yes, I will pardon him," she retorted, "but not until he has tasted a new birch-rod. I mean to take the young rascal to the police."

But Avdeitch still interceded for him.

"Let him go, my good woman," he said. "He will never do it again. Let him go for Christ's sake."

The old woman released the boy, who was for making off at once had not Avdeitch stopped him.

"You must beg the old woman's pardon," he said, "and never do such a thing again. I saw you take the apple."

The boy burst out crying, and begged the old woman's pardon as Avdeitch commanded.

"There, there," said Avdeitch. "Now I will give you one. Here you are,"—and he took an apple from the basket and handed it to the boy. "I will pay you for it, my good woman," he added.

"Yes, but you spoil the young rascal by doing that," she objected. "He ought to have received a reward that would have made him glad to stand for a week."

"Ah, my good dame, my good dame," exclaimed Avdeitch. "That may be our way of rewarding, but it is not God's. If this boy ought to have been whipped for taking the apple, ought not we also to receive something for our sins?"

The old woman was silent. Then Avdeitch related to her the parable of the master who absolved his servant from the great debt which he owed him, whereupon the servant departed and took his own debtor by the throat. The old woman listened, and also the boy."

God has commanded us to pardon one another," went on Avdeitch, "or He will not pardon us. We ought to pardon all men, and especially the thoughtless."

The old woman shook her head and sighed.

"Yes, that may be so," she said, "but these young rascals are so spoilt already!"

"Then it is for us, their elders, to teach them better," he replied.

"That is what I say myself at times," rejoined the old woman. "I had seven of them once at home, but have only one daughter now." And she went on to tell Avdeitch where she and her daughter lived, and how they lived, and how many grandchildren she had.

"I have only such strength as you see," she said, "yet I work hard, for my heart goes out to my grandchildren—the bonny little things that they are! No children could run to meet me as they do. Aksintka, for instance, will go to no one else. 'Grandmother,' she cries, 'dear grandmother, you are tired'"—and the old woman became thoroughly softened. "Everyone knows what boys are," she added presently, referring to the culprit. "May God go with him!"

She was raising the sack to her shoulders again when the boy darted forward and said:

"Nay, let me carry it, grandmother. It will be all on my way home."

The old woman nodded assent, gave up the sack to the boy, and went away with him down the street. She had quite forgotten to ask Avdeitch for the money for the apple. He stood looking after them, and observing how they were talking together as they went.

Having seen them go, he returned to his room, finding his spectacles—unbroken—on the steps as he descended them. Once more he took up his awl and fell to work, but had done little before he found it difficult to distinguish the stitches, and the lamplighter had passed on his rounds. "I too must light up," he thought to himself. So he trimmed the lamp, hung it up, and resumed his work. He finished one boot completely, and then turned it over to look at it. It was all good work. Then he laid aside his tools, swept up the cuttings, rounded off the stitches and loose ends, and cleaned his awl. Next he lifted the lamp down, placed it on the table, and took his Testament from the shelf. He had intended opening the book at the place which he had marked last night with a strip of leather, but it opened itself at another instead. The instant it did so, his vision of last night came back to his memory, and, as instantly, he thought he heard a movement behind him as of someone moving towards him. He looked round and saw in the shadow of a dark corner what appeared to be figures—figures of persons standing there, yet could not distinguish them clearly. Then the voice whispered in his ear:

"Martin, Martin, dost thou not know me?"

"Who art Thou?" said Avdeitch.

"Even I!" whispered the voice again. "Lo, it is I!"— and there stepped from the dark corner Stepanitch. He smiled, and then, like the fading of a little cloud, was gone.

"It is I!" whispered the voice again—and there stepped from the same corner the woman with her baby. She smiled, and the baby smiled, and they were gone.

"And it is I!" whispered the voice again—and there stepped forth the old woman and the boy with the apple. They smiled, and were gone.

Joy filled the soul of Martin Avdeitch as he crossed himself, put on his spectacles, and set himself to read the Testament at the place where it had opened. At the top of the page he read:

"For I was an hungred, and ye gave Me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave Me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took Me in."

And further down the page he read: "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren ye have done it unto Me."

Then Avdeitch understood that the vision had come true, and that his Saviour had in very truth visited him that day, and that he had received Him.

Example Two: "1 Corinthians 13" provides a beautiful description of true love right from God's dictionary. Sure, it is a beneficial discussion in itself, but why did God inspire Paul to write this literary and spiritual treasure exactly where it is in the Bible? Do you just think of it as "The Love Chapter," or do you think of it as a convincing argument that love is the most desirable of all God's wonderful gifts—to be sought before all talents and virtues and means?

I say to you, we frequently have a tendency to see a passage in the context of the whole Bible and how it relates with ideas over in some other book or how it harmonizes with the overall Biblical narrative before we see a passage in the context most immediate to it.

A parable: A certain man began reading Tolkien's "The Lord of the Rings" series of books. Each time he sat to read, he would choose a random page and read a selection. Sometimes he would read a sentence, sometimes a paragraph, and sometimes a whole chapter. However, after a time, the man found that no matter how frequently he read like this, he could scarcely find any enjoyment in the reading, and no matter how hard he tried to understand the story, he found that the process was so slow and confusing as to be an almost prohibitively monumental task.

The only sensible way to seek to understand the whole Volume of God's Word is to seek to understand the individual books that make it up. But how often we look over the grains of sand, expecting to see a beach! And that just makes no sense at all.