Letters to the God of Words - #1 Grace

Dear God of Words,

I'm going to go ahead and assume that you're an old timer. You'd have to be at least as old as my great grandma or a believer in Santa Claus or some sappy romantic to be writing letters, anymore.

No offense, I'm closer to the grave than I am to the cradle, myself.

You'd think by now, I'd have a grip on my Christian glossary but it still confuses me. The word I'm writing to hear your thoughts on this time, is 'Grace'.

A simple Google search of the word turns out a billion hits and I'm willing to wager that at least a few million of those say "unmerited favour". It seems to me (and I'm no genius here) that unmerited favour is what I got when you went and got nailed to a cross, right?

So at the risk of sounding like that confused Nicodemus, I wanted to ask you - You couldn't possibly expect that I go, saw out a cross from that rotting, old oak in my backyard and let people nail me to it, could you?

Yours truly,

Nik(odemus)

Dear Nik(odemus),

You could say I'm an old timer, for sure - way older than great Grandma (an absolute gem of a woman, bless her soul), a huge fan of Santa Claus (as long as he doesn't take my place in the manger) and a certified romantic!

I don't blame you for your confusion about this particular word, Nik. This word 'Grace' has become much like a marker on its 4th day in the hands of a 3 year old - overused and as a result, quite pale.

The truth is that what you often hear as being a 'gracious' way of treating others is only just the 'fair' way to treat them. Take for example the 'gracious' young lady who excuses her friend who had to miss their appointment because the friend was unwell. Or to put it more pointedly, the "gracious" church that provides for the poor boy's education or takes care of the sick widow's medical expenses. In any of these cases, the "favour" was well merited, wouldn't you say?

As you rightly said, Grace is when the favour is undeserved and the receiver, unworthy. It's the additional coat you hand in when someone sues you for your shirt. It's second mile you trudge when they forced you to walk the first one with them. It's the other cheek that you turn when the first one is still stinging from the slap.

You are right again about the cross, Nik. To the giver, Grace feels much like a piercing nail but to the receiver, it is what a cool drink of water is to a parched throat. Sure, it would pierce your flesh, but perhaps, it would pierce his soul. Any man would think his sore, thorn-pricked fingers a small price to pay if what he got in return was the love of the lady he wooed.

The scars in exchange for a bond that would last for eternity? I reckoned it was worth it.

Do you?

Love,

The God of Grace

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