It’s strange how events in life with little or no spiritual significance in and of themselves can serve as the best “teachable moments” and provide openings for the Holy Spirit to inject the mundane portions of life with reminders of the sacrifice which enables us to live with freedom and with hope.
This past week, as I drove through the Columbia River Gorge to my parents’ home for Christmas, I was merrily speeding along, hoping to make good time and shorten the hours of solitary driving. I came around a bend and saw a police car sitting in wait by the side of the road. I hit the brakes, but alas, too late. I saw him pull into traffic, and then that unwelcome site of flashing lights was in my rear view mirror.
A number of thoughts flashed through my mind as my stomach lurched and then dropped. I pulled over and waited for my doom to be pronounced. A very nice (and handsome, if I may digress) trooper approached my car and introduced himself. He had clocked me twice, at 78 and 77 in a 65mph zone. With trembling hands, I gave him my license and proof of insurance. He examined the proffered documents and noted that my insurance card was outdated. Dang it! I felt sick and slightly panicky. How did I not think to swap the stupid card out?! I explained that I had been with my insurance company for the better part of ten years, that the policy renewed automatically, and that my monthly premiums are automatically deducted from my bank account, blah, blah, blah. He suggested that I try to find a current insurance card while he went and checked out my information.
Although I searched the glove box hoping for a minor miracle, I was sure that the last couple of policy renewals were tucked away in my filing cabinet, about an hour and a half away. He reappeared at my window, and I had to admit that I did not have a card with me for my most recent policy period. I feebly suggested that I could call the company and verify my coverage. Although he agreed that yes, either he or I could call to verify coverage, he explained that the law doesn’t just require having valid insurance, but having proof of said insurance. Incidentally, the fine for not having said proof is $240. Double dang. I was having visions of my premiums rising, and having to dip into my emergency fund to pay my potential fine, which seemed to be increasing at an alarming rate.
He asked the usual questions about why I was speeding, to which I could only lamely reply that I had been going with the flow of traffic and didn’t realize exactly how fast I was going. I listened attentively as he lectured me (albeit kindly) about how keeping up with the flow of traffic is not always safe, and how sometimes, especially when the pavement is wet, it’s better to drop back and let others go around. I expect that the look on my face as he described the potential fine must have resembled a puppy cowering while his master approaches with a rolled-up newspaper.
And then he did something unexpected. He said, “This could be an almost $500 day, but I expect that you have better things to do with your money, especially right before Christmas.” He wished me a safe trip, handed me a pamphlet with emergency contact numbers in case I were to break down or spot a drunk driver, etc., and admonished me once more to slow down. Then he turned and walked away before I could even finish the words, “Thank you, Officer Hol--”
As I drove away, shaking my head in disbelief at this unexpected turn of events, and mumbling repeated and sincere thanks to the Lord, it hit me. This was a powerful demonstration of grace; free and unmerited favour. This state trooper, at that moment in time, was the embodiment of mercy.
The Oxford English Dictionary defines mercy as “Clemency and compassion shown to a person who is in a position of powerlessness or subjection, or to a person with no right or claim to receive kindness; kind and compassionate treatment in a case where severity is merited or expected, esp. in giving legal judgment or passing sentence.”
There’s no question that I deserved a ticket. I broke the law. I don’t know what convinced the trooper to let me go with a warning instead of writing a big fat ticket, but it’s only a small thing compared to the measure of clemency that our Lord and Savior applies to me every day that I draw breath.
I have sinned. I continue to sin. I deserve the full punishment for those sins. I’ve turned from the God I love, and yet he continues to say, “Your debt has been paid,” and then separates those dark blotches on my soul as far from me as the east is from the west. He looks on me, not through a filter of my past sins, but as clean and purified.
There is a line from “Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban” that always moves me deeply when I read it, and it came to mind again that day. Professor Lupin, after unexpectedly snatching a rule-breaking Harry away from swift and sure punishment by Professor Snape, gently but sternly rebukes him. “Your parents gave their lives to keep you alive, Harry. A poor way to repay them -- gambling their sacrifice for a bag of magic tricks.” Ouch. How often is my life a poor repayment of Christ’s sacrifice? How often do I let circumstance and emotion dictate my behavior, even consciously knowing that I am sinning?
That’s where the next biggest measure of grace following the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus Christ comes into play. The deed is done, and there’s nothing else that I can do to secure my salvation beyond accepting that which is freely given. If the deal was that Jesus had to die to cover all my sins but that I would reap the undeserved benefits if and only if I measured up to His life, then I’d be sunk. We’d all be sunk.
Grace versus works is a struggle that has defeated many a person and left them crushed and disappointed in themselves, and in God for making them so weak. It’s so easy to bandy about words like “grace” and “mercy” and speak the appropriate “Christian-ese” language to present ourselves as righteous and “mature” believers, all the while ranking and rating ourselves against our brethren. I attend regularly, I volunteer with the kids’ program, and I minister with the worship team… surely this must all look good on my “permanent record.” What a poor repayment indeed, to feel that I deserve grace more than any other person. In the end, I pray that my life will amount to more than using grace as a “get out of jail free” card, but rather to be deeply and unequivocally changed by it.
