Pastoralia

Michael Spencer over at iMonk wrote a very nice - and very transparent - little piece yesterday on forgiving oneself. I thought it was insightful and probably rather helpful for folks who struggle with forgiveness. 

However, I have a confession to make: I’ve never really had a problem with forgiveness. I forgive others pretty easily, and I forgive myself very easily. I know I’m a louse, and everyone else is too (yes, that includes you). Honestly, that makes it pretty easy to forgive.

Consequently, I don’t really have a problem with guilt. I do bad things. So what? Everyone does. Some more than others, sure. But most people are surprisingly decent folk. My biggest problem with this was that my essentially fundamentalist upbringing had virtually nothing to offer a sociopath like me by way of the gospel. Jesus forgives me? Great. The blood covers all my sins? Thanks. I don’t feel particularly guilty, but I’ll take it.

Now what?

Here’s the rub: It’s not that hard to hide from a gospel of forgiveness. All you need is to be either monumentally arrogant or tremendously humble, and the world is full of these people. 

Consequently, the gospel of forgiveness only appeals to some. Not everyone struggles with guilt for what they’ve done, or anger for what others have done to them. Some people are genuinely afflicted in life, and not by their consciences (being afflicted by your conscience is a wealthy luxury). Some people live hopeless, pointless lives and it has nothing to do with a lack of piety. These folks have much more urgent needs than forgiveness. 

I guess what I’m saying is, the gospel is bigger than the cross. 

The gospel encompasses more than the atonement. “The word became flesh and dwelt among us,” is, in itself, a brilliant facet of the gospel. Among other things it means God became a man and sprained his ankles and got splinters in his fingers. It means he enjoyed a bit of wine and the buzz it brought along. It means he suffered and loved and did so with such art and grace that we can now hope to fill our own days with big bright meaning. Yes, that’s part of the gospel. Living well is good news. If not, then even Christianity becomes just another miserable existentialist lament, in which case Sartre was right: suicide is the only reasonable option. 

(Of course, in the end not even Sartre believed that).

And the gospel must include the super-incarnation as well. As big and bright as was his life, and as radical and pivotal as was his death, it’s really Jesus’ smack-down of death by resurrection that is the epitome of human hope. Therein we find leverage for present freedom and hope for a holistic future. Therein we find healing, and gifting, and power for perseverance. Therein we find our true selves - or as Bono put it, “The face I had before the world was made.” - already waiting for us, Spirit-filled, a foretaste of the coming Kingdom.  

This massive gospel finds everyone, accuses everyone, forgives everyone, wounds everyone, heals everyone, liberates everyone, fulfills everyone, and feeds everyone. It would be easier to escape the reach of the sun than to hide from this gospel. 

While the cross may be the locus of the gospel, it is not the definition of our good news as Christians. That distinction belongs to Jesus. Only he, in all his pre-incarnational, incarnational, and super-incarnational glory can fill those impressive shoes. Only he is the “King of Kings,” the proclamation of which we call preaching whenever we say to one another, “Jesus is King” or as I prefer, “There’s a new sheriff in town.” That’s good news and it’s bigger than the atonement.  

The gospel is bigger than the cross because Jesus is bigger than the cross.