Out by the barn

Law and grace. I'm not sure how much you have thought about these concepts, but our church has been discussing them intensely in a new sermon series, Jesus Hates Religion. Law says that you have to; grace says that you get to. The tension between these two is high, and I find myself wrestling with them while I listen to pastor. This is one of the core messages of our church; I have explored this topic in my thoughts, my practices, and my writing, and still...sigh.

A friend told me recently that the world can be divided into sinners and Pharisees. In the story of the prodigal son, you see the two: the heathen younger son and the good older boy. A line from a Rich Mullins song (can't remember which one) says, "Ain't nobody so bad that the Lord can't save 'em/Ain't nobody so good that they don't need God's love." Sinner and Pharisee. Wild one and the good boy.

I'm blogging this morning because I don't want to read my Bible. Part of me does...but I can't tell if it is a religious voice in me. If I just did whatever I wanted, I would go play Bejeweled Blitz on Facebook, but part of me knows that there is nothing down that road but emptiness. Hm, I don't want emptiness. I want purpose. The road labeled "Purpose" seems to have the first step of reading the Bible, but I think I'm going off-road. Talk to me, God. I don't want easy answers.

It is as if I am the older brother, and while coming in from the fields, I hear my Father celebrating with that stupid brat who has come home. In the story, the brother gets mad & his Father comes out to sort of chastise him, sort of coax him toward the right path. Since I know the story, I can hear the party, and I know I should go in. Put on a happy face for my younger brother and join in.

But if I go in because of obedience, because I am a slave to the Right Thing, then I am still dead inside. I think I will sit down, over here by the barn, and just think. Daddy will probably come out and ask me what I'm thinking, and I'll tell Him that I want to do what is right. I think He will pat me on the shoulder and let me sit here until I figure this out. You know, He killed a fatted calf for His lost son, but there is still another calf eating good feed in the stall. I can hear it munching. There is still grace for me.

And I don't think I'll read my Bible. I'll just keep sitting here, by the barn. I'm not going to put my tools away; I'm not going to wash up. I bet Dad will send out a plate, and some wine.