Under the Fir Tree

There’s a particular cruelty in being reduced to the worst thing you’ve done. Most of us know the feeling, even when the offense is small. You lose your temper. Betray a confidence. Fail someone who trusted you. Return to the habit you swore you were finished with. Say something you can’t retrieve. For a while, perhaps, you can still see yourself whole. Then the mistake begins to spread. What you did becomes what you are. I failed becomes I’m a failure. I lied becomes I’m a liar. I sinned becomes this is simply who I am. Christianity makes a distinction the human heart has trouble keeping straight: a person can be guilty without being reducible to his guilt. God takes sin far more seriously than we usually do. He has no need to soften it, rename it, blame our childhood, our stress, our temperament, the people who provoked us. He knows every circumstance. He also knows the inexcusable part. Nothing is hidden. And still, he calls us by name. That may be one of the strangest things about ...

How the Gospel Heals Our Instinct to Hide A Reflection on:  You know you don't get the Gospel, when... There is no gospel of fear. Fear bends the soul away from God. Love bends it home. Many seem to have met God first as the frown in the sky — the cosmic dad in the corner, arms crossed, eyes dim with disappointment. Sin felt like a bruise to be hidden. You flinch, you shrink, you cover. “Don’t tell Dad.” That instinct runs deep. It started in Eden: fig leaves, footfalls, panic in the garden. But grace unlearns that reflex. In Christ, we see the Father’s arms not crossed, but open. Sin no longer sends us running from Him — it drives us to Him. Not, “I’ve blown it; He’ll kill me.” But: “I’ve blown it; I need Dad.” That is the reflex of the redeemed. That is how grace heals what shame broke. The cross makes it possible. Christ stands between wrath and ruin. He is our mediator — the one God sees first. And what does the Father see? Not your failure. His faithfulness. Not your guilt. H...