Surprised by Grace

That first century Jewish culture understood truth far better than grace. Grace comes first in John 1:14 because it was more surprising.

When Jesus stepped onto the world's stage, people could not only hear the demands of truth but see Truth Himself. No longer fleeting glimmers of grace, but Grace Himself. "Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world" (John 1:29).

When God passed in front of Moses, He identified Himself as "abounding in love and faithfulness" (Exodus 34:6). The words translated "love" and "faithfulness" are the Hebrew equivalents of grace and truth.

Grace is a delightful, fragrant word.

It intrigues.

Attracts.

Compels.

Dazzles.

It also confounds. It's as though God said, "You know about truth. It's taught in synagogues every Sabbath. But let Me tell you about grace…."

The Old Testament teaches the fear of God, spelling out the horrendous consequences of disregarding truth. It presents truth relentlessly. Uzzah was struck down just for steadying the ark with his hand.

There's certainly grace in the Old Testament—lots of it—but it was overshadowed by truth. The Pharisees, God's self-appointed gatekeepers, never emphasized grace. Christ's hearers had seen truth in the law of Moses, but it was He who gave them their first clear view of grace. The law could only reveal sin. Jesus could remove it.

Some churches today embrace truth, but need a heavy dose of grace.

Other churches talk about grace, but cry out for a heavy dose of truth.

I invited a lesbian activist to lunch. For the first hour, she hammered me, telling of all the Christians who'd mistreated her. She seemed hard as nails. I listened, trying to show her God's grace, praying she'd see the Jesus she desperately needed. She raised her voice and cursed freely. People stared. But that was OK. Jesus went to the cross for her—the least I could do was listen.

Suddenly she was crying, sobbing, broken. I reached across the table and took her hand. For the next two hours I heard her story, her heartsickness, her doubts about the causes she championed. I told her about Christ's grace.

After four hours we walked out of that restaurant, side by side. We hugged.

In our conversation, truth wasn't shared at the expense of grace, or grace at the expense of truth.

Birds need two wings to fly. With only one wing, they're grounded. The gospel flies with the wings of grace and truth. Not one, but both.

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