Life in the Midst of Conflicting Patterns: the Tension Between the Spiritual and the Worldly

To be a spiritual being living in a physical world is to experience tensions. There are separate, different, and even contradictory principles which structure the spiritual realm and the worldly realm.

Yet to be human is to be simultaneously in both.

In the worldly realm of politics, independence is a high value - perhaps one of the very highest; politically, individuals and societies seek independence and liberty. Yet in the spiritual realm, humans come to recognize that they are dependent; indeed, dependence upon God and interdependence with other humans are spiritual goals, as is the awareness thereof.

Likewise, control is a value in the political world: indeed, it is all too often the goal of the entire political process. It is a natural human desire to be able to be in control of situations, processes, things, and even other people. In a spiritual perspective, however, the goal is giving up the illusion of control: the realization that, in many situations, we have choices, but we don’t have control. When we do have control, we’re often called to surrender that control, or to use it not for our own benefit, but for the benefit of others.

Goal oriented behavior in general is different in the two domains. In worldly thought, one sets one’s goals: they may be selfish or altruistic; and in worldly thought, one then pursues those goals. Success or failure is determined by one’s achievement, or failure to achieve, those goals.

Following Jesus on a spiritual plane, one allows God to set one’s goals: concretely, this can mean deferring to others to set goals or deriving them from Scripture. Success or failure is not based on achieving those goals, but rather on faithfulness in following Jesus.

We are called, then, to live in a political and worldly realm, and operate by the principles of that realm, while simultaneously living in a spiritual realm and operating by a different, and even diametrically opposed, set of axioms.

The economy of the world is based on earnings. One earns not only money, but respect, credentials, affection, fame, and many other things.

The economy of Jesus is based on unearned gifts. We humans are flawed, imperfect, even corrupt. We are sinners and we are sinful. Yet God gives us so much more, and so much better, than we deserve.

This does not minimize real and significant human suffering. But the principle stands: God gives unmerited blessings.

The strength of the tension between the very different principles of worldly thought and spiritual thought is so great that it is one of several reasons that rational reflection is forced to embrace the concept of mystery.

Reading Medearis

The sheer volume alone of books produced by the Christian publishing industry ensures the occasion for controversy as the reading public attempts to digest the continuous deluge of text. The book titled Speaking of Jesus, authored by Carl Medearis, is no exception.

The book has attracted enthusiastic praise and harsh condemnations; this is the case for most such books. But Speaking of Jesus has had more sales, and more attention, than most titles in the spiritual publishing industry.

Medearis himself is a bit of a shadowy figure: the usual biographical information (where he was born, where he studied, etc.) doesn’t easily pop up on an internet search.

One of the main points that he makes in the book is that many Christians aren’t aware that words like ‘Christian’ and ‘church’ have gained toxic connotations among many non-Christians.

For the average Christian, these words evoke peace, charity, friendship, altruism, humane charitable efforts, conflict resolution, tolerance, understanding, and a rich cultural heritage. For many who do not consider themselves Christians, these words can evoke the very opposite.

So when the well-meaning Christian wants to explain the benefits of ‘Christianity’ to his worldly neighbor, the message has been set up for failure, for misunderstanding, from the beginning. The same is true for the word ‘church.’

One can take the tactic of trying to patiently explain that all the negative connotations which have adhered to these words are really misplaced: that atrocities which might have been committed in the name of Christianity were actually the precise type of thing against which true Christianity stands.

But that tactic, while logically and intellectually sound, simply doesn’t get much traction with the ordinary person. Eyes glaze over when someone tries to explain the difference between “real Christians” and “those who simply call themselves Christians but are really doing the exact opposite of what a Christian would do.”

If the words ‘Christian’ and ‘Christianity’ are tough sells, the word ‘church’ is even tougher. Even Christians don’t want to sit through a detailed explanation of how the church is an organization which is supposed to be devoted to the teachings of Jesus, but because it’s made up of ordinary imperfect human beings, it sometimes does the opposite of what Jesus would do.

In some cultures, and in some parts of the world, if you use the words ‘Christian’ or ‘church,’ you’ve simply lost your listeners from that point forward.

What Medearis suggests, reasonably, is that we stop using those words, at least when we’re talking to those who haven’t publicly declared themselves to be Christians. Hence the book’s title: instead of talking about church and about Christianity, we avoid those loaded words, and talk instead about Jesus.

Both prima facie and after consideration, his suggest has merit. That is, after all, what Jesus and His followers in the New Testament generally did. The word ‘Christian’ is rare in the New Testament, and ‘church’ is used as a term with insiders, but not with the general public.

If this is largely what his book denotes, then why the controversy? He’s simply presented a suggestion about how we talk to nonbelievers, and a reasonable suggestion at that. What’s the problem?

First, it’s worth noting that there’s always someone who’s willing to disagree with a new book. So a few of the detractors are there simply for form’s sake, offering resistance purely on principle.

Beyond that, however, are those who find fault with the book for more substantive reasons. One of those reasons may be that Medearis sometimes uses unfortunate verbal formulations, in part perhaps because he’s trying to writing in an approachable casual style, in part perhaps because he sometimes takes a bit too much pleasure in playing the provocateur.

On the other hand, some of those who evaluate the book may be guilty of sloppy reading. They see things in the book: things which simply aren’t there.

So Medearis may have done some sloppy writing, and his critics may have done some sloppy reading.

Early in the book, Medearis writes that

I’ve never seen a religion save anyone. All religions are great at laying out some basic rules - dos and don’ts - that are good for our lives, but they don’t really provide hope or any kind of eternal security. It seems religions end up causing more trouble than solving anything.

Some pious readers are troubled to see Medearis speaking dismissively of religion. Yet this is a rather traditional and orthodox view within Christianity: religion is a man-made system of ideas and traditions and institutions, and Christians endure religion but hope to get past it. They hope to get to a relationship with the one true real living God. “Relationship, not religion” is even a theological slogan in some circles.

Jesus is the incarnation of this one true real living God; He lived a human life on earth, while being fully divine, preached His good news, was killed, and came back to life again three days later. That’s not religion: that’s an account of events.

Jesus loves people, cares for and about people, and offers His saving grace freely to all people. That’s not religion: that’s how Jesus relates to us.

So, with the understanding outlined above, it’s OK for Medearis to jettison religion. In fact, it places him in the mainstream of Christian thought. The events surrounding the life of Jesus and they way in which He is interacting with people today are more important than cultural traditions and institutions which are the essence of religion.

Medearis also writes:

I’m not sure how the religion I grew up in would or should deal with terrorism. But I do have some thoughts how Jesus might deal with terrorists because He had two with Him in His inner circle of friends. A Zealot and tax collector. A political insurgent and an economic terrorizer of common folk.

Now, naturally, Medearis will be able to claim that he’s factually correct in his description of Simon and Matthew. But he may be a bit too cute. Yes, we can ponder the social impact of Zealots and tax collectors during the first century in the regions surrounding Jerusalem and the Jordan River valley; and, yes, there may be ways in which they are vaguely analogous to modern, twenty-first century terrorists.

But Medearis is failing to respect the task of an author, which is to know his audience and address it effectively. He succeeds simply in repelling many of his readers.

The fix wouldn’t have been difficult. Medearis could have written something like, “As much as we love and revere folks like Simon and Matthew, it’s possible that they seemed much less lovable to their first-century contemporaries; in some ways, they were like outlaws or terrorists … ”

Instead of bluntly and flatly equating Christ’s disciples with terrorists, Medearis could have worked his way up to the simile in a way which would have been less off-putting to his readers.

In a longer passage, Medearis writes:

In my experience, sharing Jesus is not all that difficult, even in a hostile environment. I don’t tell people that they’re sinning and that they’re going to go to hell unless they believe what I believe. I just talk about Jesus. If, on the other hand, we believe that the gospel is a systematic explanation of Christianity, we have to own up to all the faults and failures of Christian history, while convincing people that Christianity really is better than whatever they believe.

Here’s a few of the scenarios that “Christianity” brings to mind. The Irish Rebellion. The Protestants versus the Catholics. The religious genocides in Africa and the Balkans. What about the persecution of scientists like Copernicus and Galileo? What about the Inquisition? What about the Holocaust, slavery, and the modern white supremacy movement?

If you want to test this, simply ask natives of any continent what they think of when you say the word Christian. They could say anything. Crusader. Slave master. Warrior. They’ll point to Cortez, de Gama, the armies of Constantine, and many others who came to the native lands, stole, ravaged, killed, and spread disease. All of these “Christians” came to ripe and plentiful lands and yanked the rug out from the indigenous people while forcing the “pagans” to convert, often at the tip of the sword or the muzzle of a musket.

Again, Medearis seems to delight in dumping ice water on pious readers. And again, yes, he’s got some relevant and important facts on his side, although this time, he’s gotten a bit sloppier with history, and few small corrections need to be made.

There are times and places at which it is appropriate to prod readers who may be a bit too comfortable. But some authors are tempted to play the provocateur for the mere sake of shocking or annoying, and Medearis verges on this vice here.

He properly raises of the matter of what “we believe that the gospel is.” So what is the gospel? He answers a few pages later that

The gospel is not a what. It is not a how. The gospel is a Who. The gospel is literally the good news of Jesus. Jesus is the gospel.

While he is correct, Medearis must then be patient with the reader who has not yet internalized that Jesus is not Christianity. Medearis does not help his own cause by presenting his points in reverse order. He could have first informed the reader that Jesus is the gospel, which would then allow the reader to embrace the notion that the gospel is not an “explanation of Christianity.”

Medearis also does not succeed in casting much of this as a global misunderstanding: his prose fails him. Certainly, there are many people for whom ‘Christian’ or ‘Christianity’ does in fact elicit these negative associations; and these people are not unreasonable in making such associations. But they are also not correct.

This is a world-historical tragedy: how something which is unambiguously good came to be associated with so much evil.

On a ‘micro’ level, there are many minutiae, and much needle-threading, to be done with the historical data: there were faithful missionaries in South America and Central America who pled the cause of the natives against the godless and worldly conquistadores. Anyone familiar with the propaganda of the Nazis, familiar the preemptive actions of the Nazis to neutralize the Christians who were the only solid resistance to the Holocaust, and familiar with the networks of Christians who both smuggled Jews out of Germany to safety and who sabotaged Hitler’s systems, can hardly plot a simple connection between ‘Christianity’ and ‘Holocaust.’

Granted such connections exist in the minds of millions. Christians must acknowledge this reality: but it must also be acknowledged as a misunderstanding.

Medearis would have gained more traction with his readers if he had prefaced such paragraphs with “sadly, millions of people have been misled into believing that … ” and “for this reason, we must avoid … when presenting Jesus to them.”

In sum, Medearis should have written a bit more carefully.

He properly exercises some humility, and attempts a clarification, when he writes:

I’m not a brilliant theologian. I could preach endless sermons and write numerous books and never say any of this stuff exactly right. Let’s simplify by making two generalized distinctions. For the duration of this book, I’ll use Christianity as the catchall term for the Western model. Western Christian history, doctrine, theology, Western-style churches, reason, dogma, and denominations are all products and parts of Christianity.

While recognizing the need for elucidation, Medearis is still painting with a brush that is a bit too wide. The baby is still in the bathwater. Is ‘Western-style reason’ something good or something bad? Does it give offense to folks in the Third World, or to Muslims, Hindus, and Buddhists? Is it necessary to encountering Jesus, or can it be safely cast aside? These questions, and more, go unanswered.

Twice, separated by several pages, Medearis speaks, approvingly, of people “trying to follow Jesus.” This phrase, sadly, misplaces the emphasis onto the humans. In the final analysis, what “we” do - we humans - isn’t as interesting or significant as what Jesus is doing. Human effort is the great ‘red herring’ in theology. God’s actions are decisive.

So what’s to be done? On the one hand, Medearis makes some insightful and valuable suggestions about how “we” Christians should speak to the those “in the world” who are not explicit followers of Jesus. It makes good sense to avoid words like ‘Christian’ and ‘Christianity’ and ‘church’ when talking to those whose experience and belief system have no good connotation for those words.

Medearis suggests that we use phrases like “followers of Jesus” as replacements for “Christians,” and in these contexts, he’s right.

But serious, faithful, and pious readers have walked away from his book, commenting that he “denigrates the church” and “undermines Scripture.” His critics allege that Medearis “under-defines” Jesus: Medearis wants us to talk about Jesus, but what exactly does this Jesus do, about Whom we’re supposed to talk? What is His nature?

Some antagonists see Medearis as involving his own ego: is he the hero of his own story? Others wonder if Medearis is all-too-aware of his own failures in ministry - he recounts such failures himself in the book - and projects them onto the church at large.

Medearis wants us to talk about Jesus. But what are we supposed to say? He alludes to “Jesus the folk hero.” This may be a good starting point, but it’s only that. More is needed. We should talk about Jesus: agreed. But in Carl’s system, is there room for Jesus to do anything? To talk about Jesus is to make Him the grammatical object in the sentence. To talk about Jesus doing something is to make Him the grammatical subject in His own clause. Does Medearis give us enough material to do that?

The only book that’s all true is the Bible. Any other book is a mixture of truth and error. Medearis has much of value to offer the reader. Charity dictates that we sift the wheat from the chaff. We take what is good from Carl’s book - and there is much good - and we quietly discard the bad, thanking Medearis for a challenging read.

Don’t Worry - Psalm 37

Author Jan Karon observed that “the first two words” of Psalm 37 are “an entire sermon.”

Those two word are “fret not.” In other translations, they are rendered as “don’t worry.”

In one brief text, chapter 6 of Matthew’s gospel, Jesus tells us not to worry or to be anxious six times.

Yet we worry.

Despite the clarity of this imperative, we worry. Despite the fact that it’s for our own good not to worry, we worry. Despite the fact that it is possible not to worry, we worry.

The command stands: fret not.

God, true to His nature, is kinder to us than we deserve. Despite our faithlessness, our lack of imagination, our timidity, or our passiveness, He gives us unmerited blessings:

he will do this:
He will make your righteous reward shine like the dawn,
your vindication like the noonday sun.

Note the irony in the Psalmist’s use of the word ‘reward’ - did we not establish our unworthiness? We’ve failed to live with faith and confidence, yet God glues a label on us, a label that says we are righteous.

The text goes on to say that we “will inherit the land.” The action of inheriting is in fact no action at all. The action is on the part of the bequeather.

God sees, knows, and responds to our situations. When we worry because of obstacles and problems,

the Lord laughs at the wicked,
for he sees that his day is coming.

The ‘wicked’ at whom, or at which, God laughs can be a situation, a disease, a memory, or anything which would rob us of our peace.

Those things will have an end; they will not go on forever. But God ensures that we will go on forever: we will be preserved and outlast our pains and sufferings and sadnesses.

The Lord upholds the righteous.
The Lord knows the days of the blameless,
and their heritage will remain forever;
they are not put to shame in evil times;
in the days of famine they have abundance.

We will enter into times of difficulty. But in the midst of our sorrows, God will give us ‘abundance’ - His grace, which sustains us. The Psalmist says, about a person facing suffering, that

though he fall, he shall not be cast headlong,
for the Lord upholds his hand.

Here is a mystery: God, we learn, loves justice. Yet His grace is so great that it seemingly violates justice. We are given something much better than we have earned.

For the Lord loves justice;
he will not forsake his saints.
They are preserved forever,

We are, from time to time, attacked: depression, loneliness, sickness, overwork, and others, are the ‘wicked’ ones who attack us.

The wicked watches for the righteous
and seeks to put him to death.
the Lord will not abandon him to his power
or let him be condemned when he is brought to trial.

The Psalmist tells us that the Lord will ‘exalt’ us. We will be elevated above our circumstances.

The salvation of the righteous is from the Lord;
he is their stronghold in the time of trouble.
the Lord helps them and delivers them;
he delivers them from the wicked and saves them.

God is constantly at work to save us and to bless us. To our minds, this is not at all obvious. Sometimes, we can see only misery and hardship. There is a deeper and more profound reality: Jesus is the friend who is “closer than a brother” (Proverbs 18:24). Even as we suffer, He is preparing something much better for us.

The Hebrew Bible - But in Which Order?

The Hebrew canon, known often as either the Tanakh or as the Old Testament, is a collection of thirty-nine books. The number is somewhat arbitrary, because some books, like I Samuel and II Samuel, were divided into two merely because of the typical length of a scroll.

These books are further grouped into three sets. The first set is called the Torah, or the five books of Moses. Properly speaking, therefore, the Torah is not the same as the Old Testament. The Torah is merely one part of the Old Testament.

The word ‘Torah’ is often (mis)translated into English as ‘law,’ but ‘instructions’ or ‘directions’ might be more accurate. These five books are also called the ‘Pentateuch.’

The second segment of the Tanakh is called the ‘prophets’ or Nevi’m (also transliterated as Nebiim). This group is subdivided into the ‘earlier prophets’ (Joshua, Judges, Samuel, and Kings), and the ‘later prophets’ (Isaiah, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, and the twelve ‘minor’ prophets).

The third segment is the Ketubim (also Ketuvim) or ‘writings.’ This group includes Psalms, Proverbs, Job, Ruth, Esther, Song of Solomon, Lamentations, Ecclesiastes, Daniel, Ezra, and Chronicles.

The order of the books in the Hebrew Bible varies: in the Tanakh the books are presented in the three groups described above. Most English translations of the Old Testament follow a different order, a pattern first found in the Septuagint, a translation of the Hebrew Bible into Greek, made by the Jewish communities in Egypt sometime between 300 BC and 100 BC.

Franz Delitzsch and Johann Friedrich Karl Keil coauthored an exhaustive analysis of the Tanakh. They write:

The prophetic histories are followed in the Old Testament canon by the prophetic books of prediction. The two together form the middle portion of the threefold canon.

Delitzsch and Keil note that definition of the words ‘prophet’ and ‘prophecy’ need to be examined. The middle third of the Tanakh is called the ‘prophets,’ but isn’t Moses a prophet, too? Yet he and his words are recorded in the first third. Arguably, some texts in the final third are also prophetic.

The Torah is indeed also a prophetic work, since Moses, the mediator through whom the law was revealed, was for that very reason a prophet without an equal (Deu. 34:10); and even the final codification of the great historical law-book possessed a prophetic character (Ezr. 9:11). But it would not have been right to include the Torah (Pentateuch) in that portion of the canon which is designated as “the prophets” (Nebiim), inasmuch as, although similar in character, it is not similar in rank to the other prophetic books. It stands by itself as perfectly unique — the original record which regulated on all sides the being and life of Israel as the chosen nation, and to which all other prophecy in Israel stood in a derivative relation. And this applies not to prophecy alone, but to all the later writings. The Torah was not only the type of the prophetic histories, but of the non-prophetic, the priestly, political, and popular histories also. The former followed the Jehovistic or Deuteronomic type, and the latter the Elohistic. The Torah unites the prophetic and (so to speak) hagiographical styles of historical composition in a manner which is peculiar to itself.

Comparing the groupings and orderings found in the Hebrew Tankah with those found in the English Old Testament is a worthwhile and thought-provoking task.

Finding the Eternal

As followers of Jesus organize those aspects of their life which are corporate, they ask, “how should we live?” (Luke 3:10, II Peter 3:11).

Because people have been following Jesus for around 2,000 years, there’s a wealth of patterns and examples to study. How do we make the best use of a previous generation’s experience?

In this context, the question of tradition is hotly debated. Those who find worthy examples in the past are accused of being woodenly and slavishly bound to tradition. Those who depart from patterns of the past are accused of blindly rejecting experience’s wisdom.

With a couple of millennia behind them, the followers of Jesus have experimented with, rejected, and accepted a diverse assortment of models. What might be called traditional in a North American Pentecostal church would be seen as a break with tradition in the Armenian Orthodox church, and vice-versa.

But God asks each generation of Jesus followers to reexamine these matters and sort them out again. Why? Perhaps He wants them understand, and engage with, whichever order they inhabit. He doesn’t want them to merely go through the motions of some organization.

How do we distinguish, in tradition, between what is valuable and what should be cast aside? How do we determine which innovations are salutary and which are wasteful? Noted scholar Jaroslav Pelikan writes:

Tradition is the living faith of the dead, traditionalism is the dead faith of the living. And, I suppose I should add, it is traditionalism that gives tradition such a bad name. The reformers of every age, whether political or religious or literary, have protested against the tyranny of the dead, and in doing so have called for innovation and insight.

In making a distinction between ‘tradition’ and ‘traditionalism,’ Pelikan is giving us a bit of advice. A truly beneficial tradition is part of a living faith: it engages with the lives of the believers, and with the lives of the rest of the world; it brings the eternal into the present. Mere formulaic activity is not a living faith. Merely replicating a pattern, with little thought to its meaning or purpose or its points of contact with current life, is not a meaningful tradition, but rather a dead traditionalism.

Bound, as humans are, by living inside time, humans tend to make a great distinction between the past, the present, and the future. This difference may not be so great for God, because He lives outside time.

In 1979, when the Episcopalian church in the United States experienced animated debate about the adoption of a revised prayer book, a comment was made to the effect that God is neither old nor new, but eternal. (The reader is advised to search the periodicals of that time for an exact quote.)

The danger in a discussion about tradition is that one can be easily sidetracked into a consideration of concrete external symbols, which are not as important as the eternal meanings which such symbols are supposed to carry into contemporary daily life.

Phrasings, wordings, types of music, architectural and garment are, of themselves, of little value. They are the “jars of clay” (II Corinthians 4:7) which carry the wisdom of God into our hearts, minds, and hands. Richard Rohr writes:

Many religious people seem to think that God, for some utterly unexplainable reason, loves the human past (usually their own group’s recent past) instead of the present or the future of this creation.

Whether one maintains tradition or departs from it, in either case this choice should be a means to an end, not an end in itself. The goal is neither to preserve tradition nor to violate it. But such preservation or violation can be a step toward a goal. Rohr continues:

We can do much better than substituting mere traditionalism for actual God experience.

Obviously, the locus classicus for this theme is Mark 7:8, as Jesus says, “You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.”

Another relevant text is found in John’s Revelation (3:2): “Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your works complete in the sight of my God.”

If the goal is to “strengthen,” then we choose to follow, or depart from, tradition as that goal dictates. Richard Lenski explains that this passage

means to take strong, immediate, effective measures. “To make decisively firm” all that is ready to die completely conveys the idea of establishing it with new life and vitality so that it may be able to shake off this creeping death and to stand solidly against its inroads.

The stakes here become apparent: if we become sidetracked, then spiritual death will ensue.

Inevitably, we will become sidetracked. We will embrace tradition when we should depart from it, and we will violate tradition when we should preserve it. We are sinners and we are sinful.

Jesus reaches into our blind and confused fumbling, and He directs us. Despite our best efforts, not because of them, He will lead us according to His will.

He will forgive us for our bad corporate choices as well as for our bad individual choices. His Holy Spirit, not our squabbling among ourselves, will call, gather, enlighten, and sanctify the followers of Jesus on earth.

James Writes about Grace

In James’s letter to the early followers of Jesus, written around 50 AD, he writes that God “gives generously to all without reproach.” James is using the concept called ‘grace’ - the concept of unearned, unmerited, freely-given gifts.

God is in the habit of giving people something better than what they deserve. George Stulac writes:

By instructing his readers to ask for wisdom, James is pointed them to God’s grace. This is one example of what underlies the whole epistle - James’s confidence in the grace of God and his intense desire for his readers to place their own reliance there.

To be human means to be flawed and imperfect. It means even to be sinful and corrupt. Human beings are born into a bad situation, a situation out of which they cannot get themselves.

The abstract concept of grace take a specific and concrete form in the person of Jesus. The core of His message is to tell people that they can’t earn their way into heaven, and should stop trying to do so.

Jesus presents Himself as offering, freely and equally to all, admission into heaven. That which we can’t earn for ourselves, He gives as a gift. George Stulac continues:

James then leads his readers into God’s grace by calling attention to four facets. As they come in the Greek word order, first God is the one who “is giving.” The word is didontos, a present active participle; it is God’s constant nature to be gracious and giving. Second, God gives to all (pasin). The call to live by faith is extended to everyone, and no one is left without an invitation to trust in God. Third, God gives generously (haplos), emphasizing that God gives freely and without reserve. Fourth, God gives without finding fault, or without reproaching.

The ability to display grace - to be gracious - is not only ethically good, but is also a display of power. Only a powerful being can give gifts which are so good and so many.

Thus we see that Jesus is not only generous, but is in control. The title ‘Lord’ indicates that Jesus is powerful as well as graceful. Ed Potoczak writes:

Our Lord’s nature is entirely about forgiveness. He loved us and forgave us before we even knew him. He even died for us before we were born. We can be brave and strong, but we are also called as knights of the King’s court to forgive those we live with, work with, and meet on a daily basis. By relying on Jesus and his strength and peace we can work out our differences and if the other party will not reconcile with us, we can forgive him or her as a follower of Christ and move on. The God of mercy expects his knights to be sincerely merciful.

Grace, then, is not a product of weakness, but rather flows from strength. God’s omnipotence is the source of His grace.

The ability to give many and great gifts belongs only to a most powerful Being. The vassal can be gracious, but the king much more so, and the vassal's graciousness is empower by the king’s.

James Describes God's Character

The letter written by James to early followers of Jesus, around 50 AD, contains, among other things, a sketch of God’s character. Who is God? What does He do all day long? What is His personality like?

Early in the text, James tells the reader that God “gives generously to all without reproach.”

Parsing this phrase, we note that God “gives,” i.e., He does not ‘pay,’ and it is not a quid pro quo, but rather an unearned, unmerited, freely-given gift or present. This is the meaning of the word grace.

God gives “generously,” giving more than is necessary or usual or expected. This is kindness. If God gave us merely our physical bodies and enough sustenance to keep us alive, that would already be a gift. But He gives more than that.

He gives “to all,” emphasizing that God cares for each person. Every human being is the object of God’s affection. George Stulac writes that, as James formulated his letter, one

fact of God’s character was his grace. He gives good gifts. We imitate God in this trait by graciously giving good gifts to others - even to those who are causing the trials in our lives, for we will give “generously to all without finding fault” (1:5). When we are treated unjustly and hurtfully, we will take our stand here: to rely on God to provide good gifts for us while we persevere in loving our enemies, doing good to those who hate us, blessing those who curse us and praying for those who mistreat us (Lk 6:27-28).

James continues by saying that “every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights.” Not only is a God a generous giver, but everything which is given or received finds its original and ultimate source in Him.

Not only does grace characterize God, but He is the unique initiator of grace in the universe. God is gracious, but He is also merciful. Ed Potoczak offers a familiar formula for defining ‘mercy’:

Justice is when someone receives what he or she deserves. Mercy is when they do not get what they deserve, but instead, they receive forgiveness.

Because all humans are imperfect, we all need forgiveness; God shows mercy to all. One aspect of God’s character, as described by James, is that He is a wellspring of both grace and mercy.