Nothing
Who dares accuse us whom God has chosen for
his own? No one — for God himself has given us right standing with himself. Who then will condemn us?
No one — for Christ Jesus died for us and was raised to life for us, and he is
sitting in the place of honor at God’s right hand, pleading for us. Can
anything ever separate us from Christ’s love? Does it mean he no longer loves
us if we have trouble or calamity, or are persecuted, or hungry, or destitute,
or in danger, or threatened with death?
I am convinced that nothing can ever
separate us from God’s love. Neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,
neither our fears for today nor our worries about tomorrow — not even the
powers of hell can separate us from God’s love. No power in the sky above or in the earth below — indeed,
nothing in all creation will ever be able to separate us from the love of God
that is revealed in Christ Jesus our Lord. (Romans
8:33-35; 38-39)
One summer,
eight year old Tommy was visiting his grandparents’ home in the country where
he loved to roam the woods with his trusty slingshot in hand. He’d aim at trees
and bottles and cans, but he didn’t hit much because he was still working on
his accuracy. One day, as he was returning from the woods, he heard grandma
ringing the dinner bell. As Tommy was walking toward the house, he spotted
grandma’s pet duck waddling by the pond. Now, he never dreamed in a million
years that he could hit the duck, but just for fun he pulled the slingshot back
and let it fly. Of course, as luck have it, the rock hit the duck square
in the head. The duck dropped dead without even one last “Quack.” Tommy was
shocked; he’d never hit anything he aimed at before, and now he felt terrible.
In a panic, he
ran toward the dead duck, picked it up and carried it behind the barn where he
buried it in the woodpile. As Tommy was headed toward the house, feeling
horribly about what had just happened, he spotted his 13 year old sister,
Cindy, and realized to his horror that she’d seen the whole, sordid affair.
Later on that
night, after dinner, grandma said, “Cindy, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to
stay and help me do the dishes.” “I’d love to, Grandma,” she replied, “but
Tommy said he wants to do the dishes tonight.” And as she walked out of the
kitchen past Tommy, she whispered in his ear, “Remember the duck.” Trapped,
Tommy went over and did the dishes. The next morning, grandpa invited Tommy and
Cindy to go fishing with him. But grandma had other plans. “Grandpa, I really
need Cindy to stay here and help me with some chores,” grandma said. Cindy
replied, “Tommy said he’d like to stay with you and help you out today, Grandma.”
Once again, Tommy’s sister walked by and muttered, “Remember the duck.” So,
Tommy did the chores and Cindy went fishing.
After a couple days
of hard labor doing both Cindy’s chores and his own, Tommy had had enough. So he
fessed up. “Grandma, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, but I killed your duck.”
His kindly grandmother gave him a big hug and said, “Thomas, I know what
happened; I was standing at the window watching the whole thing take place. I
saw how shocked you were, and I’ve already forgiven you. I’ve just been waiting
to see how long you’d let Cindy make a slave out of you.”
Tommy had been
pardoned, but thought he was guilty. Why? Because he’d listened to the words of
his accuser. You’ve been there, too. You’ve been accused of dishonesty, immorality,
greed, anger and arrogance, just to name a few. In fact, every moment of your
life, your accuser is filing charges against you. He’s noticed every mistake and
denoted each mess-up. Neglect your priorities, and he’ll jot it down. Abandon
your promises, and he’ll make a note. Try to forget your past; he'll remind
you. Try to undo your mistakes; he’ll thwart you. This expert witness has one goal:
indict you, get a conviction and put another notch in his belt. Even his name, Diabolos, means "slanderer."
He is "the accuser of our brothers and sisters, who accuses them day and
night before our God." (Rev. 12:10)
Can't you see
him? Pacing back and forth before God's bench. Can't you hear him? Calling your
name, listing your faults. He sneers, "This one you call your child, God,
but he’s not worthy. He’s greedy. And when he talks, he’s really thinking about
himself. He'll go days without an honest prayer. Even this morning he chose to
sleep in rather than spend time with you. I accuse him of laziness, egotism,
worry and distrust . . . ." And as he speaks, you hang your head. You have
no defense. His indictment is true.
"Guilty,
your honor," you mumble. "And the sentence?" Satan sinisterly asks.
"The wages of sin is death," explains the judge, "but in this
case the death has already occurred. For this one died with Christ." Satan
is suddenly silent. And you are suddenly jubilant. You realize that Satan
cannot accuse you. No one can accuse you. Fingers may point and voices may
demand, but the charges glance off of you like bb's off a rhinoceros. No more
dirty dishwater. No more penance. No more nagging sisters. You have stood
before the judge and heard him declare, "Not guilty." The prophet
Isaiah says the same when he writes, "The Lord God helps me, so I will not
be ashamed. I will be determined, and I know I will not be disgraced. He shows
that I am innocent, and he is close to me. So who can accuse me? If there is
someone, let us go to court together." (Isa. 50:7-8). Once the judge has
released you, you need not fear the court. But will it last? The apostle Paul pondered
that very question when he wrote, "Can anything separate us from the love
Christ has for us?" (Rom. 8:35) And there it is.
That’s the
question, isn’t it? That’s what we want to know, don’t we? We want to know how
long God's love will last. Does God really love us forever? Not just on Easter Sunday’s when our shoes are shined, and
our hair is coiffed. We want to know, deep down inside, how does God really feel about me when I'm a jerk?
Not when I'm peppy and positive and ready to take on world hunger. Not then. I
know how he feels about me then. Even I like me then. I want to know how he
feels about me when I snap at anything that moves, when my thoughts are
gutter-level, or when my tongue is sharp enough to slice a diamond. How does he
feel about me then? That's the question. And that's our concern.
Oh, we don't say
it; we may not even know it. But we can see it on each other’s face. We can
hear it in our words. Did I cross the line this week? Last Tuesday when I drank
Jack Daniels until I couldn't walk .
. . last Thursday when my business took me where I had no business being . . .
last summer when I cursed the God who made me as I stood near the grave of the
child he gave me? Did I drift too far? Wait too long? Slip too much? That's
what we want to know. Can anything separate us from the love Christ has for us?
Fortunately, God answered our question even before we asked it. And so that we'd
see his answer, he lit the sky with a star. So we'd hear it, he filled the
night with a choir; and so we'd believe it, he did what no man had ever dreamed
– He became flesh and dwelt among us.
He placed his
hand on the shoulder of humanity and said, "You're special."
Untethered by time, he sees us all. From the backwoods of Virginia, to the marbled
halls of Wall Street; from the Vikings to the astronauts, from the
cave-dwellers to the kings. Vagabonds and ragamuffins all, he saw us before we
were born. And he loves what he sees. Flooded by emotion. Overcome by pride,
the Star-maker turns to us, one by one, and says, "You are my child. I
love you dearly. I'm aware that someday you'll turn from me and walk away. But
I want you to know, I've already provided you a way back." And to prove
it, he did something extraordinary. Stepping from the throne, he removed his
robe of light and wrapped himself in skin: pigmented, human skin.
The light of the
universe entered a dark, wet womb. He who angels worship nestled himself in the
placenta of a peasant, was birthed into the cold night, and then slept on a
bunch of straw. Mary didn't know whether to give him milk or give him praise,
but she gave him both since he was, as near as she could figure, both hungry
and holy. Joseph didn't know whether to call him Junior or Father. But in the
end he called him Jesus, since that's what the angel said, and since he didn't
have the faintest idea what to name a God he could cradle in his arms.
"Can
anything make me stop loving you?" God asks. "Watch me speak your
language, sleep on your earth, and feel your hurts. Behold the maker of sight
and sound as he sneezes, coughs, and blows his nose. You wonder if I understand
how you feel? Look into the dancing eyes of the kid in Nazareth; that's God
walking to school. Ponder the toddler at Mary's table; that's God spilling his
milk.”
"You wonder
how long my love will last?” God asks. “Find your answer on a splintered cross,
on a craggy hill. That's me you see up there, your maker, your God, hanging by
nails and bleeding. Covered in spit and soaked in sin. That's your sin I'm carrying.
That's your death I'm dying. That's your resurrection I'm living. That's how
much I love you."
"Can
anything come between you and me?" asks the firstborn Son. Hear the answer
and stake your future on the triumphant words of Paul: "I am sure that
neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor ruling spirits, nothing now, nothing
in the future, no powers, nothing above us, nothing below us, nor anything else
in the whole world will ever be able to separate us from the love of God that
is in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Rom. 8:38-39)
Nothing.
Grace,
Randy
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