A Love Story

There once was a little girl.

She was good and mostly happy, she played and had fun, but as she grew up she always felt a little empty inside. She wasn’t quite certain of her parents’ love for her, and often tried hard to earn or win their attention or affection. She worked hard in school, earned good grades, and went to college. But a haunting, increasing sense of her own inadequacy always crept into her mind. She didn’t feel cherished. She didn’t really feel loved. She felt afraid that she didn’t quite measure up. She knew she wasn’t that pretty, wasn’t that smart, wasn’t that clever or special or unique. And this continual feeling of emptiness never really went away.

It didn’t take long out in the real world to figure out what it would take to be happy.  A man, to start. Handsome, with a good job. Plenty of money. Some kids—cute ones. A big house—the bigger the better. New, nice clothes. A new car. Plenty of jewelry and the latest home decor. A job, too. Yes, she would have it all. She worked and worked and worked to construct this life to fill her heart. It looked great from the outside—the Facebook version. Plenty of professional photos were taken, staging what looked like whimsical, carefree family moments, that didn’t capture the stress and irritation and touchiness and moodiness of trying of make everyone look just so. More and more she felt angry at her family, angry about the demands and work of keeping up his dream life. Her husband was at a loss—he’d given her everything she wanted, why wasn’t she happy?

So they went to church. Certainly God could give them the peace they needed, the icing on the cake of this perfect life. They found a big, beautiful church with lush decor and an extravagant water feature out front. There were lots of nice cars in the parking lot. Everyone there looked beautiful, and inside she felt a little insecure being there, but being part of such a beautiful, happy, charismatic group of people made her feel so good. They were smart, beautiful, witty, wealthy, and had wholesome families and well-behaved kids. The messages were awesome—how to have a great marriage, how to raise confident kids, how to balance the busy demands of life. Often, the pastor would talk about the gospel—that Jesus died to take away our sin and give us an awesome abundant life of joy and peace. Yes! Even more than they had before! They both jumped in—this was the final piece they’d been looking for. The icing on the cake of the perfect life. They joined a community group, and quickly discovered other people just like them! It was so encouraging to know that everyone faced these same demands—juggling 60-hour workweeks and huge mortgage payments, that everyone had frequent marital spats and yelled at their kids sometimes. They enjoyed plenty of wine together and were so grateful for the Christian fellowship.

But in her heart of hearts, she still felt empty. And those outside her little world could see it. It became harder and harder to keep up the smile. The kids were exhausting, the gnawing hunger for more stuff drove her on. Years and years went by, their life consisting of more and more stuff, better vacations, more carefully staged photos, more and more and more and more … Where exactly was that joy and peace?

There’s a little bit of this story in me, maybe in you, and certainly in many American Christians. This gospel isn’t effective because it’s incomplete. It’s like someone going in for a heart transplant, and the surgeon giving the patient the anesthetic, putting him to sleep, then waking him up and telling the patient he’s healed. They haven’t really been given a new heart, they’ve just gone through the motions. Without cutting, blood, pain, without a true transplant nothing will be really changed at all.

The heart of the gospel is an appalling, audacious, ridiculous LOVE that slays us with its power and changes everything. And this love is what the world needs now. A love that bids me come and die, and find that I may truly live. The world doesn’t need another addition to its life, it needs new life.

• A new identity, knowing Who loves us, knowing we are not slaves or orphans but children.
• Freedom from idolatry, changing what we love, cutting free from the crippling shackles of false gods.
• And a life-calling of intercession, loving our neighbors as ourselves by becoming branches, conduits of this ridiculous love and grace.*

I pray this Christmas that the true gospel, with its ridiculous love and shocking implications, becomes more real and transformative than ever before. As we look at Jesus may the love of the Father lure you closer and closer into His heart. Thanks for reading.

*Originally published Dec. 2, 2013