"Life sucks....and then you die!"

Young people have a habit of saying brutally honest things about life. They may not be so honest about themselves, but what they say about life can tell you a lot about them and what they think.

One of my sons was quite the philosopher in high school. He could frequently be heard repeating the line quoted in the title above. It often came out as a punch line to the events of the day. I assumed then that it was just his way of dealing with teenage angst about life. I think now it reflected the deep discrepancy he sensed between the pat answers served up to him by adults (often, his parents) and his own unfolding reality. Our answers, I’m sure, seemed to him not relevant, likely confirmed that we were idiots; or worse, that we didn’t care enough to help him sort out his honest questions.

I recount this snippet of our life because parenting provides a ready analogy for a lot of human communication problems. When we want to communicate something important, like parents talking with teens about sex, we often feel inadequate and don’t say much, or we pass on easy formulas. Christians are often faulted, with some justification, for nervously presenting a canned, one-size-fits-all gospel. God knows I deserve such criticism. I remember some of these encounters. When finished, I was relieved, glad that I did my duty and gave someone “the gospel.” But did I? Theological correctness is no substitute for communicating care. Did I really care about their sucky life, or them?

If Jesus is the answer, what’s the question?

Jesus didn’t approach people this way. If you met him on the street, you would discover that people were his priority: you really did matter to him. Since that option is not available today, we’re left with reading the gospel accounts of his life. Even there, a cursory read shows that Jesus approached people with both tenderness and strength, sometimes brutally so. He spoke with tenderness to people whose painful awareness of their needs and failures left them with the anguished knowledge that something was wrong in their life. He reserved strong language for the religious, for those who thought themselves better than others, for the leeches of society, especially the religious leaders who were saddling the people with heavy demands to maintain religious “duty.” Jesus spoke to hurting people with respect and tenderness, with reason and relevance to each individual situation. He was real. It was he who said, “Come to me, all you who are weary and carry heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you. Let me teach you, because I am humble and gentle at heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy to bear, and the burden I give you is light” (Matthew 11:28-30, NLT).

All, except those whose glasses have some permanent rose tint, recognize that “life sucks.” There is just too much pain and brutality, too much apathy to deny it. Most would acknowledge that there really is some evil within the human race that we just cannot seem to shake off, no matter our attempts at reform, how many “world peace” organizations we establish, how well refined our psychology may be. Its evidence appears on the front page of our nation every day. Such evil has left people living under a burden. The burden can be imposed from without, but more often from within. Most likely could identify with Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in the movie Blood Diamonds, who, seeing the human fallout of his involvement in illegal African diamond smuggling, cried out: “How can God ever forgive us?” Even when we know our culpability has not been so dramatically obvious, we do know that we have fallen short of any standard of good we seek to live by—whether imposed by ourselves, others, or God. There is no way out. Our performance mentality (our need for acceptance based on how well we do) leads us to try to work off the guilt of our conscience by doing good. But the question remains—even though we may seek to make atonement, just as DiCaprio’s character did. It can’t be done.

The message of forgiveness…and more

Philosophers throughout history have made the case that all people at some level have a deep longing for intimate connection with God, a desire for ultimate meaning in life. Those who sincerely seek often come to realize that nothing on this earth really satisfies that longing. The fact that the human race shares this longing indicates that there must be some other reality, some existence apart from this life that does satisfy. Augustine (354-430 AD) referred to this longing as a “God-shaped void.”

Those who say that nature is all there is must know their world view leads to the conclusion that the only reality is what we see; there is nothing else. If so, then there is no meaning or purpose or hope, no basis for moral standards of any kind. We may as well live the reverse golden rule: “Do unto others before they do unto you.” My son’s plaint would then surely be true: Life does suck, and then you die.

Why does God—if he is out there—seem so elusive, so difficult to understand? Maybe he is just the hopeless figment of our own imagination. Yet the fact that most thoughtful people have concluded that there is a God indicates there is more to the universe than a fear of the unknown: the “dread Presence” is not imaginary. In 1969, I was lying in a hospital bed in Vietnam, realizing that I had nearly died on the battlefield. Did I believe what I’d learned in Sunday School? Was Jesus real or a cosmic Santa? I returned to the States feeling a new invincibility (since I had “survived” Vietnam). But the questions kept knocking on my brain. The patient God began leading me on a long journey to satisfy the longing.

The God-shaped void is evidence that people want a relationship with God, not constrained by condemnation but by genuine love and “grace.” Grace is simply the attitude of God’s heart, from which he gratuitously enables us to have an intimate relationship with him. This is a relationship in which God delights to accept me—not on the basis of how well I can jump through his hoops and perform “good” works, but in spite of all that I have done. It is based upon the performance of another.

For years I struggled with this idea of grace. I struggled with the consciousness of my continual failure to do the things I knew God expected of me. How could he accept me? I knew the Bible speaks of God’s “love,” but I could not get away from a sense that God was really just waiting for me to fail. If you ever had a grampa (or parents) who let you get by with anything you wanted, you eventually knew that that was not real love. Love is not measured by what it lets you get away with, rather by the extent of the sacrifice it makes to give you the best.

I eventually realized that I could not know how much God truly loved me unless I knew the extent to which he suffered to make me his child. I knew “Jesus died on the cross for my sins.” But, historian that I am, I had a vivid understanding of what it meant that Jesus was crucified, and it was more brutal than even Mel Gibson could portray. The measure of God’s love for me could not be just the death. Others had died more horrible deaths.

At one point I knew that Jesus the Son suffered my ultimate punishment—separation from God. He suffered God’s wrath. My sin was counted against Jesus, and he was forsaken by his Father. When Jesus called out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” he was not just quoting Scripture (Psalm 22). He was calling out in anguish at being separated from the one with whom he had shared eternal oneness, beyond mortal comprehension. A transaction took place on the old rugged cross, and its end result was that God counted my sin against Jesus, and transferred his perfection and life to me.

On the cross, God was not elusive. He took my place. Why would he do such a thing?

What God wants

I don’t pretend to know all that God wants. I do know that Christianity is not about sitting in a pew, (playing church). It is not about trying to live up to an impossible standard.

Christianity is about having a personal, intimate relationship with the Creator of the universe who truly loved so much that he gave…. It is about God taking my place. That is the nature of grace, and it is the nature of God’s heart. That Jesus died on the cross to restore and reconcile people to God not only reveals his love, but also that God is indeed just, that he does not simply overlook or wink at evil. When Paul was writing to the church in Rome, he pointed out that the cross took place, not simply because of love, but to show the justice and justness of God.

"But now apart from the law the righteousness of God (which is attested by the law and the prophets)  has been disclosed – namely, the righteousness of God through the faithfulness of Jesus Christ for all who believe. For there is no distinction, for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God. But they are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. God publicly displayed him at his death as the mercy seat accessible through faith.  This was to demonstrate his righteousness, because God in his forbearance had passed over the sins previously committed. This was also to demonstrate his righteousness in the present time, so that he would be just and the justifier of the one who lives because of Jesus’ faithfulness." (Paul, in Romans 3:21-26, NET Bible)

Because he is just, God must pour out his wrath on sin. But today, the “gospel” (which means “good news”) is that God the Father has already poured it out on the Son and has been satisfied by it. Because he did that, God is now free to forgive you completely.

Christianity is also about having a relationship with God as our Father. All human beings can rightfully call God “Father” in the sense that he gave us life. Only the Christian has the right to call him “Father” in the sense that the believer is now his child. Most people’s idea of a father has been distorted by the reality of imperfect, even abusive, relationships with parents and authority figures. God is not like that. God is like the father in Jesus’ story of the “prodigal son.” Though grievously sinned against, he waited anxiously with loving arms, ready to welcome the son and restore him to his original relationship. Because of Jesus alone, we are now forgiven from the penalty and released from the power of sin, and we now have an open, honest relationship with God which entitles us to free access and he treats us as sons and daughters with the full rights and privileges of being in his family (as adopted children). It is a relationship described in the Bible as characterized by love, grace, and peace. Jesus bought us peace with God, (Romans 5:8). “Peace” translates the Hebrew word “shalom,” which means much more than the absence of conflict: it includes health, wholeness, goodness, blessing.

Why would God do all this? It’s his nature to love. Jesus’ life and death show that people do matter to him and what he was willing to do in order to have that relationship. If you don’t believe it, you will not receive it. If you want nothing to do with God, he will give you what you want for eternity. But I learned that I didn’t need to be stuck with, “Life sucks and then—you die!” Jesus said: “I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty.” (John 6:35).