Grace and Truth

Last week I talked about the difficulty of living out both truth AND grace. Either one taken to its furthest point becomes a parody, grace defined as “whatever you want is good for you” and truth as “conform to how we think, or else.”

John began his eyewitness account of following Jesus by pointing to him as one who both symbolized and lived out the perfect blending of grace and truth.

“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth….For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” (John 1:14, 17)

Later, John recounts an incident that embodies both grace and truth. When I read this story, I also see it in my mind….and this is how it looks.

I was awakened by the sounds of many footsteps, and I sat up and covered myself with a blanket that had been tossed the floor. “I hear something,” I whispered as I shook the man lying next to me. Quickly, he got up and pulled his tunic over his head. “They can’t find us together,” he whispered as he ran out the door, before I could even respond. Just seconds after his departure, a group of men burst through the door. I screamed, grabbing the bed clothes to cover me, as they grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet. “You’re coming with us,” one bellowed, as I felt his foot in my back, “you filthy tramp.” They dragged me through narrow passageways and dark alleys until, with one last shove I found myself in the temple courts.

There was a man sitting on the low wall surrounding the court and all around him were people listening. The men walked right through the crowd, pushing the listeners aside, and pushed me right in front of the man.

“Teacher,” they said, “this woman was caught in adultery. The law says we should stone her. So, what do you say?”

“Are they really going to kill me?” I thought. I tried to cover myself, my body shaking with fear. I kept my eyes down, afraid to look up.

Everything turned strangely quiet and I looked up and saw the teacher bend down. He quietly started to write on the sandy floor of the courtyard with his finger. Minutes went by without a response and now the men’s sneering comments were directed, not at me, but at the teacher. Everyone was watching him, trying to make sense of his lack of response. Then, he stood up and brushed off his hands. He glanced at me for the briefest moment and I held my breath as he turned toward the men. “Let him who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her,” he said and then stooped down and continued his writing. It was so quiet I could hear my own heart pounding, and I clutched my chest afraid that everyone else could hear it too. “Which man will step forward first?” I thought, braced for the pain that would certainly begin any second.

For a moment the men just stood there, some looking defiantly at the teacher, others looking down. And then, one by one, the men turned and left, without so much as a parting comment. It was almost like, in full view of the crowd, they tried to sneak away, first the older men, and then the younger ones, until it was only the teacher and me standing there.

I have to tell you that I knew from the beginning that what I did was wrong. I just didn’t care. I just didn’t think that really, I’d be killed for it. But when the man I was with ran, leaving me to face the mob, I knew for sure that there was not real love there. As each man turned and left, I began to think about my own life. And trust me, I didn’t think, “well, I’m home free,” as each one walked away. It was more like, “Stupid! You knew better than that. What were you thinking?”

When the last man was gone, the teacher turned to me. “Where are they?” he asked. Who has condemned you?”

I felt both relief and confusion. What has just happened? I could not understand. “No one,” I answered as I tried to find the courage to look at him. He looked right into my eyes – in a way that made it impossible for me to look away.

“Neither do I,” he said and still holding my graze, he turned his head every so slightly. “You can go. Don’t do that again.”

I think I nodded. What I really heard in his words was, “you don’t have to live like this anymore. Your life can be different now.”

My father used to say these words when he prayed, “You are merciful and gentle, Lord, slow in getting angry, full of constant loving-kindness and of truth.” I never knew what that meant. But today, rather than condemn or shame me, Jesus graciously saved my life. He also, with one sentence, showed me the truth about myself, not by preaching at me, but by simply offering me a different way to view my life. “From now on,” he said, “don’t sin anymore.”

There are many things in life that look good, until you’re caught or until you realize that you are not free after all, but enslaved in some way. The good news of the gospel is not so complicated. God sent Jesus to do these two things; to give us a living, breathing example of what He, Himself is like – patient, gracious and kind except with those who would attempt to speak for God while clinging to their own corrupt agenda. And to give us a different way to live.

To Matthew, the hated tax collector, he said, “Come follow me.”

To another corrupt pawn of the state, Zaccheus, he said, “Let’s go eat supper at your house.”

To each person he encounters, to each one he graciously heals, he also announces, “your sins are forgiven.” Then, they turn, change direction and follow Him because when grace and truth show up together, everything changes.