UNTIL HE BRINGS ME HOME

You guide me with your counsel, and afterward you will receive me to glory. Whom have I in heaven but you? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever. Psalm 73:24-26

the mammoth nature of grace

A story.

For the past few years, right after the close of Fall Quarter finals, a group of people from AACF@UCLA have headed up to Mammoth for a week of awesome snowboarding (for some, like myself, “snowboarding”) and fellowship. I went last year and met, was encouraged by, and grew closer to a number of fantastic people. So it was with much anticipation that I planned on going again this year. I also planned on purchasing snow pants this time around, so as to avoid repeating last year’s mistake and leaving blue streaks from the seat of my jeans all over the mountain (yet again).

But. This past quarter, as some of you know, has been one of great conviction for me. I have been learning more of the nature of biblical holiness and the call to make the most of every moment of my life—not because salvation is attained via my works, but because Christ is my king. He has purchased me with his blood, redeemed me from my enslavement to sin, and reconciled me to himself. He has made, and now despite my fallen nature fully allows through his Spirit, me to glorify him with the works of my life. I can love him, and that entails obedience. He is worthy.

But what I do with the 24 hours I receive every day falls so, so, so short of that standard. Though I read that he is sovereign, that even the works I will do have been predestined, I sometimes cannot help but feel that sanctification is too slow a process. My unbelief is great. And the weight of my sins can bear heavily, even as I fight to surrender and desperately depend.

These oft misplaced feelings built up this past week into a mountain of guilt. My sensitivity to my depravity became an obsession. And in a moment of utter weakness, I—failing to look to Christ and stay grounded in him—decided that I ought not go to Mammoth this year (“ought,” as in morally). I did not deserve it. It would make me feel like all the procrastination and laziness of this past quarter was okay. I ought not go.

My motivation was not to be self-disciplining (which is necessary). It was simply to reaffirm my guilt. Of course, there were other factors. Money issues and scheduling conflicts presented significant concerns, and these I shared with those who asked why I might not attend. But I must admit: I was, deep down, glad for these obstacles. I felt vindicated in my self-punishment. Neglecting biblical direction, I based my decision on my feelings (which as we know is incorrect thinking—but how often do we ignore what we know to be true?). 

But thanks to God, through prayer, counsel, and biblical understanding, I began to realize:

I will fail. I have, and always will. The standard is perfection, and I fall short. By the power and grace of God, it will be less as time goes on, but—in the area of stewardship, particularly—I am weak. And the motivation for the Christian’s surrender is that God provides much grace.

Of course I don’t deserve to go to Mammoth. I don’t deserve fellowship. I don’t deserve life. My sins need to be punished. At the cross, Christ bore the wrath due unto me for my transgressions. The whole point of justification is that I need to be justified, for his glory.

So the answer is not to punish ourselves blindly. We are desperate, yes. But we are desperate for more Christ, more grace. The strength to follow his commands is his power working in us. Read the bible and pursue discipline, good stewardship, and a greater knowledge of who God is—but as a response to the initiative of the gospel, not as the basis. It is freely given. There is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ.

I am, in the words of Hillsong, caught in an avalanche of his love. I am washed, white as snow.

So I’ll see you on the mountain, and at every moment of the trip—at every moment of our lives—would we never forget the joy of his salvation.

Puns intended.

  1. changwinston posted this