God’s Love Has No Final Straw

Can I tell you why Restore almost didn't happen? Forgiveness always requires vulnerability, and if we are going to explore forgiveness together as a church please allow me to take the first step towards vulnerability. I have an overbearing fear that I will bring shame to God's name. The fear is an offshoot of my Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD) which has made my life insufferable at times. While I have often been open about my life with OCD, I have typically refrained from providing details on the particulars because if they are taken out of context they could be damaging to reputation (something God has recently begun freeing me, through His unconditional love, to be far less concerned about anyway). You see my OCD manifests itself in a particularly humiliating and isolating way for me, I have intrusive thoughts that I might harm or hurt someone - my spouse, my children, someone I love. As it turns out, this is common for someone suffering from OCD, and you can read more about this from the International OCD Foundation if you are curious. 

I share these details with you now simply because every time I do, there is almost always someone living in shame-induced isolation who begins to consider getting help. I share so that, as best as I know how, I can demonstrate the power of grace and hopefully encourage anyone in despairing or humiliating isolation to seek help. I want to say to those who still feel like they must hide, "You are not alone, others of us have made the journey from where you are, and there is hope that you might not see right now." If there is one thing the Parable of the Compassionate Father (Luke 15:11-32) tells us it's that, regardless of whether we trust His love in the beginning or not, every journey home leads to embrace because of His unwavering compassion for us.

So when I tell you Restore almost didn't happen, it was because of this. I love the church, and I never want to do anything to shame her or embarrass God. And in a world where the church is constantly embroiled in scandal after scandal, the thought of failure, of being the source of one of those scandals, was crippling to me. That is until I understood the nature of the grace of the Compassionate Father. I learned something powerful that is illustrated in this parable that I hope we can all grasp this week - God's embrace of us reflects His character, and is never dependent on what we have done or are afraid we might do. God's character is love, and when we learn that God is not preoccupied with us in the ways that we are preoccupied with ourselves, we can begin to let go of so many things. 

God's character is love, and when we learn that God is not preoccupied with us in the ways that we are preoccupied with ourselves, we can begin to let go of so many things. 

In the Parable of the Compassionate Father (the name I will more appropriately give the Parable of the Prodigal Son), both of his children publicly shame him threefold. The younger son demands his inheritance early, sells it, and then leaves the family - three things you never did in the cultural context of our story. He was essentially saying, "You would be more useful to me if you died, but since you aren't dead yet, I want to live my life as if you are by taking my inheritance now. And then once you've given me what has been in our family for generations as my inheritance, I'm going to sell it to an outsider and leave this family forever." This would have brought public shame to the Father. But the younger son isn't the only one who reflects poorly on the Father, the older son does too. He refuses to go to the party His father has generously hosted and argues with him in front of his father's guests, he refuses to address his father as "father" and refers to himself not as a son but as his father's "slave." Imagine giving your child your very best their whole life only to have them say that your generosity means little more than slavery to them in the end. This insinuation is hurtful enough, but to make it in front of everyone at his father's own banquet is an egregious public display. 

In the end, both children struggle to understand that they themselves cannot sway their Father's goodwill towards them, either by being exceptional or a failure. When the younger rebellious son "comes to his senses" he thinks he will, at best, be marginally accepted by his father. He's hopeful he will at least be tolerated by his father enough to work for him, never again to freely live off of his father's generosity. But if you read the story closely, the son is embraced without a word from his father about the shame he brought upon the family. And when the younger child tries to bring up what he's done, the father will hardly allow him to finish before he interrupts him with his plans to celebrate his return. Once more, as the older child shames the father in front of everyone the father could have rightfully accused the older child, "Don't you know how much shame this family has been through already, and now you are going to stand here and say this to me! Everyone is in there asking me why you're not coming in!" Rather than defend himself by incriminating his older child, he simply invites his son to come and enjoy his abundant generosity as he has always done. 

Part of learning to trust the character of our Forgiving Father is accepting that God is not preoccupied with our shortcomings. This isn't just sentiment on His part, it is part of His very character. As David Benner writes in Surrender to Love:

"God doesn't turn away from sinners in disgust but moves toward us, bringing us his redemptive presence. Perhaps not surprisingly, Christians who assume that God is preoccupied with sin tend themselves to adopt the same focus. In fact, they often seem to think that they honor God by taking sin as seriously as they do. Often they become uncomfortable with an emphasis on divine love; they feel an urgent need to balance this by highlighting God's hatred of sin. Unfortunately, while they may give intellectual assent to God's love, they often experience very little of it." 

Part of why my OCD was so excruciating for me was that once I had the thought that I might harm or hurt someone, I was unable to dismiss it as the harmless, random intrusive thought that it was. I became obsessed with it, trying to figure out if that's who I truly was as a person or not. My heart wrongly assumed that if God was intent on emphasizing my depravity, then I ought to be as well. If you assume that God's primary reaction to you is embarrassment, disappointment, shame, or anger then you will become hypervigilant, self-condemned, or obsessed with the parts of yourself that you think will elicit such a reaction from Him. 

And to be clear, OCD, intrusive thoughts, and mental illness are not sins, but as David Benner aptly points out - if we think God is primarily preoccupied with our sin then we will adopt the "same focus". Often that misguided focus will have two damaging implications for us. One, we will see sin where there isn't any. We'll see the innocent fragility and weakness embedded within our humanness as sinful. Or two, when we do sin, we will grossly overestimate its implications on our sense of self or God's love for us. Mistakes we make become, "I am a terrible person." Imperfections in our parenting become, "I am a terrible parent." Stumbles become the "final straw" that God has now given up on us over. And on and on it goes. 

If we think God is primarily preoccupied with our sin then we will adopt the "same focus". Often that misguided focus will have two damaging implications for us. One, we will see sin where there isn't any. We'll see the innocent fragility and weakness embedded within our humanness as sinful. Or two, when we do sin, we will grossly overestimate its implications on our sense of self or God's love for us.

I became obsessed with anything (including my intrusive thoughts) in my life that might reflect poorly on God because I assumed God's primary concern with me was having a child that would never reflect poorly on Himself, especially one that had a public platform. It wasn't until my heart could relearn how God actually embraces His children that I was able to let it go. Even still, I sometimes lead from fear, timidity, or insecurity because I am afraid I'll bring public shame to his name as a pastor. I sometimes hesitate to lead well or to say what I really believe is right because I'm afraid I could be wrong and publicly embarrass God. As I explored the embrace the Compassionate Father offers to both of His children this week, my heart found freedom knowing the father absorbs the shame of both of his children without so much as a single recriminalizing accusation. I had always feared that if I publicly embarrassed my Father it would be the final straw. But the Compassionate Father has no final straw. You can shame Him three times over, and still, all He truly longs for is your embrace.

My heart found freedom knowing the father absorbs the shame of both of his children without so much as a single recriminalizing accusation. I had always feared that if I publicly embarrassed my Father it would be the final straw. But the Compassionate Father has no final straw. You can shame Him three times over, and still, all He truly longs for is your embrace.

So I leave you this week with this question as you picture the embrace that your Compassionate Father has of you: what are you holding on to that He is not? Are you preoccupied with something that God isn't? Maybe it's time to let it go and accept your embrace.