Still

Still

So, what do you think? With God on our side like this, how can we lose? If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us? And who would dare tangle with God by messing with one of God’s chosen? Who would dare even to point a finger? The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture: “They kill us in cold blood because they hate you. We’re sitting ducks; they pick us off one by one.” ¶ None of this fazes us because Jesus loves us. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. (Rom. 8:31-39)

Al, aged 9, trudged through the streets of London, his hand squeezing a note and his heart pounding with fear. He hadn’t read the letter – his father forbade him from doing that. So, he didn’t know the contents of the message, but he knew its destination – the police station. Young boys might look forward to a trip to the police station. Not Al. At least not today. Punishment, not pleasure, brought this moment on because Al had missed curfew.

The fun that day had made him forget the time of day, so he came home late and in trouble. His father, a strict disciplinarian, met Al at the front door and, with no greeting whatsoever, gave him the note and the instruction: "Take it to the jailhouse." Al had no idea what to expect, but he feared the worst. And his fears were understandable. The police officer, a friend of his father’s, opened the note, read it and nodded. "Follow me," he said, and led the wide-eyed fourth-grader to a jail cell, opened the door and told him to go in. Then the officer clanged the door shut. "This is what we do to naughty boys," he explained as he walked away.

Al's face paled as he drew the only conclusion that could be reached: he’d crossed the line. He’d exhausted his father’s supply of grace; outspent the cache of his mercy. So, dad had him locked away. Young Al had no reason to think he'd ever see his family again. But he was wrong, because the jail sentence lasted only five minutes. But those five minutes felt like five years, and Al never forgot that day. The sound of the clanging door, he often told people later, stayed with him for the rest of his life.

Can you imagine a more ominous sound? Its echo wordlessly announces, "Your father has rejected you. Search all you want, kid, but he isn't near. Plead all you want, friend, but he won't hear. You’re separated from your father's love." The slamming of the cell door. And many of us fear that we’ve heard that sound, perhaps more than once. Al forgot the curfew, but you forgot your virtue. Little Al came home late; you came home drunk – or didn't come home at all. Al lost track of time. And you? You lost your sense of direction and ended up in the wrong place doing the wrong thing.

And God knows, heaven has no place for the likes of . . . Cheaters. Aborters. Adulterers. Secret sinners. Public scoundrels. Impostors. Church hypocrites. All of them – locked away. Not by an earthly father, but by a heavenly one. Incarcerated, not in a London jail, but in a jail of guilt and shame. No need to request mercy; the account’s empty. Don’t bother appealing for grace; the check will bounce. You've gone too far this time. And the fear of losing a father's love exacts a high toll. Al spent the rest of his life hearing the clanging door. That early taste of terror contributed to his lifelong devotion to doing the same in others. Because little Al, Alfred Hitchcock, made a career out of scaring people.

You may be scaring some folks yourself. Oh, you don't mean to, but you can’t produce what you don’t possess, can you? If you aren't convinced of God's love, how can you love others? Afraid you’ve heard the clanging door? If so, rest assured that you haven’t. Your imagination says you did; logic says you did; some parent or pulpiteer says you did. But according to the Bible, according to Paul, you did not. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing — nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable — absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. (Rom. 8:38-39)

Those words are the "Eureka!" at the end of Paul's love hunt. Beginning in verse 31, Paul initiates his search for God’s love with five life-changing questions. Question one: With God on our side like this, how can we lose? (v. 31) The presence of God tilts the scales of security forever in our direction. Who could hurt us? Question two: If God didn’t hesitate to put everything on the line for us, embracing our condition and exposing himself to the worst by sending his own Son, is there anything else he wouldn’t gladly and freely do for us? (v. 32) Would God save our soul and then leave us to fend for ourselves? Will he address eternal needs and ignore the earthly ones? Of course not. Question three poses: And who would dare tangle with God by messing with one of God’s chosen? (v. 33) Once God accepts you, what other opinion matters? Every voice that accuses you, including your own, sounds wimpy in the tribunal of heaven. God's acceptance trumps earthly rejection. Question four continues: Who would dare even to point a finger? The One who died for us—who was raised to life for us!—is in the presence of God at this very moment sticking up for us. (v. 34) Adjacent to God, within whispering distance of your Maker, sits the One who died for you. He occupies the place of high authority. So let your accusers or your conscience speak against you. Your divine defense attorney mutes their voices. Why? Because he loves you.

Question five poses the question of life: Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? (v. 35) Can God love me still? Yes. Still. Paul’s question crests the top step of a great staircase. And as we stand with Paul at the top, he encourages us to look around for anything that can separate us from God's love. Can you name one element of life that signals the end of God's devotion? Or, as the apostle rhetorically answers, There’s no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture…. (v. 35) Assembling adversaries like a jailhouse lineup, Paul waves them off one by one: "not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing, not even the worst sins listed in Scripture." Id. No one can drive a wedge between you and God's love. "No, despite all these things, overwhelming victory is ours through Christ, who loved us" (v. 37)

Earthly affliction does not equate to heavenly rejection – Paul’s convinced of that. I’m absolutely convinced that nothing … can get between us and God’s love….” (v. 38) He uses the perfect tense, implying, "I have become, and I remain convinced." This is not just some passing idea to Paul; it’s his deeply rooted conviction. Paul’s absolutely convinced. So, what do you suppose convinced him?

Maybe the disciples did. Paul doesn’t give us a clue, so we can only speculate. But maybe he asked the followers of Jesus to describe the length of God's love. In quick response they talked of the Passover party. It promised to be a great night. Good food. Good friends. Uninterrupted time with Christ. But in the middle of the meal, Jesus had dropped a bombshell: "Tonight all of you will desert me." (Matt. 26:31) The disciples scoffed at the idea. "Peter declared, 'Even if everyone else deserts you, I never will.' . . . And all the other disciples vowed the same." (vv. 33, 35) "Abandon Jesus? Impossible. He's the flypaper; we're the flies." "In his corner, in his pocket. You can count on us, right?" Wrong. Before the dark became dawn "all his disciples deserted him and ran away." (Mark 14:50) John. Andrew. They ran. Bartholomew. James. Thaddaeus. They scrammed. When the Romans appeared, the followers disappeared in a blur of knees and elbows. Those mighty men who are today stained-glassed in a thousand cathedrals spent the night crawling beneath donkeys and hiding in haystacks. They abandoned Jesus and ran away. When the kitchen got hot, they got out. Amazing.

But even more amazing is this. When Christ rose from the dead, he never brought it up. Never. Not even one, "I told you so." Entering the Upper Room of vow violators, he could have quoted to them their own words, reminded them of their betrayal. "Boy, Andrew, some friend you are. And, John? To think I was going to let you write one of the Gospels." He could’ve left them hearing the sound of a closing door. But he didn't. "That evening, on the first day of the week, the disciples were meeting behind locked doors because they were afraid of the Jewish leaders. Suddenly, Jesus was standing there among them! 'Peace be with you,' he said." (John 20:19) They outran the guards, but they couldn't outrun the love of Christ. Did Paul hear this story? If so, it could have been enough to convince him. Desert Jesus, and he'll still love you.

But Peter might have strengthened the verb. He might have upgraded “desert” to “deny.” Deny Jesus, and he'll still love you. Because while Christ faced a trial, Peter faced his own. As he warmed near a fire, "a servant girl came over and said to him, 'You were one of those with Jesus the Galilean.' But Peter denied it in front of everyone. 'I don't know what you are talking about,' he said." (Matt. 26:69-70) Peter – the bouncing ball of faith. It soared so high, Christ nicknamed him the Rock (Matt. 16:16-19); it plummeted so low, Jesus called him Satan. (Matt. 16:21-23) Who promised loyalty more insistently? Who fell more inexcusably? Others we might understand, but this is Peter denying Jesus. His feet walked on water. His hands distributed the miracle food to the five thousand. His eyes saw Moses and Elijah standing next to Jesus on Transfiguration Hill. His lips swore allegiance. Remember what Jesus told him? "'Before the rooster crows, you will deny me three times.' 'No!' Peter insisted. 'Not even if I have to die with you! I will never deny you!'" (Matt. 26:34-35) But he did. Three times. Salting the air with vulgarity, Peter cursed the name of his dearest friend. Then the rooster crowed. Don't you know that the crowing of the bird had the effect of a cell-door clanging? "At that moment the Lord turned and looked at Peter. Then Peter remembered that the Lord had said, 'Before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny me three times.' And Peter left the courtyard, crying bitterly." (Luke 22:61-62)

“Jesus will never look at me again,” Peter must have thought. He was wrong. Days after the resurrection Peter and some other disciples decided to go back to Galilee and fish. Why? Why would a witness of the resurrection go fishing? Maybe he was hungry. Or, maybe he was unconvinced. Christ can defeat death, but can he love a two-timer? Maybe Peter had his doubts. If so, the doubts began to fade when he heard the voice. Jesus called to his friends, urging them to cast their net on the right side of the boat. The fact that they didn't recognize Jesus didn't keep them from trying. After they pulled in a large haul of fish, John recognized the Master. "It is the Lord!" (John 21:7) Peter barely got his britches on before he bailed out of the boat and swam toward Christ. And, before long, the two were standing, of all places, next to a fire. Peter had denied Christ at the first fire, but he couldn't deny the love of Christ at the second.

Maybe Peter told this story to Paul. Maybe by the time he finished, Paul was brushing away a tear and saying, "I'm convinced. Nothing can separate us from God's love." "Deny Jesus," Peter testified, "and he'll still love you." “Doubt Jesus," Thomas could add, "and the same is true." Because Thomas had had his doubts. Didn't matter to him that ten sets of eyes had seen the resurrected Jesus. Or that the women who’d watched him being placed in the tomb watched him walk into the room. Let them shout and clap; Thomas was going to sit and wait because he wasn't in the room when Jesus came in. Maybe he was out for bagels, or maybe he took the death of Jesus harder than the others. In one of the four times he is quoted in Scripture, Thomas pledges, "Let's go, too – and die with Jesus." (John 11:16) Thomas would die for Christ. Surely he'd die for the chance to see the risen Christ. But he wasn't about to be fooled. He'd buried his hopes once, thank you very much. He’s not about to bury them again. No matter what the others said, he needed to see for himself.

So, for seven days he sat. Others rejoiced; he resisted. They celebrated; he was silent. Thomas needed firsthand evidence. So Jesus gave it to him. First one hand, then the other, then the pierced side. "Put your finger here and see my hands. Put your hand into the wound in my side. Don't be faithless any longer. Believe!" (John 20:27) And Thomas did. "My Lord and my God!" (v. 28) Only God could come back from the dead. And only a God of love would come back for a doubter.

Desert God – he’ll still love you. Deny God – he’ll still love you. Doubt God – he’ll still love you. Paul was convinced. So, how about you? Are you convinced that you have never lived a loveless day? You haven’t. Not one. Never unloved. Those times you deserted Christ? He loved you. You hid from him; he came looking for you. And those occasions you denied Christ? Though you belonged to him, you hung with them, and when his name surfaced, you cursed like a drunken sailor. God let you hear the crowing of conscience and feel the heat of tears, but he never let you go. Your denials can’t diminish his love. Nor can your doubts. You've had them. You may have them even now. While there’s much we cannot know, may never know, can't we be sure of this? Doubts don't separate doubters from God's love.

You see, the jail door has never closed. God's love supply is never empty. "For his unfailing love toward those who fear him is as great as the height of the heavens above the earth." (Ps. 103:11) The big news of the Bible is not that you love God, but that God loves you; not that you can know God but that God already knows you. He tattooed your name on the palm of his hand. His thoughts of you outnumber the sands on the shore. You never leave his mind, escape his sight or flee his thoughts.

He sees the worst of you and loves you still. Your sins of tomorrow and failings of the future will not surprise him; he sees them now. Every day and deed of your life has passed before his eyes and been calculated in his decision. He knows you better than you know you and he’s reached his verdict: he loves you still. No discovery will disillusion him; no rebellion will dissuade him. He loves you with an everlasting love. The greatest discovery in the universe is the greatest love in the universe – God’s love. "Nothing can ever separate us from his love." (Rom. 8:38)

Think what those words mean. You may be separated from your spouse, your folks, your kids, or even your hair, but you are not separated from the love of God. And you never will be. Ever. And once filled up by his love, you'll never be the same. Peter wasn't. He traded his boat for a pulpit and never looked back. The disciples weren't. The same men who fled the garden in fear traveled the world in faith. Thomas was never the same. If the legends are true, he carried the story of God's love for doubters and deserters all the way to India, where he, like his friends and Savior, died because of love.

The fear of love lost haunted young Alfred Hitchcock. But the joy of a love found changed the disciples. May you be changed, too. The next time you fear you hear a clanging door, remember, "Nothing can ever separate us from his love." (Rom. 8:38)

Nothing.

Grace,

Randy