Last week, something in the news caught my attention that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. Two kindergarteners were critically injured in a school shooting not far from where I grew up. Since I saw this, my heart has not stopped breaking for these boys and their families. I’ve been moved by the community response. I’ve also spent more time praying for these particular strangers than I usually do. I find myself wondering: What do their families need? And what can I do beyond praying? Can I donate? Fundraise? Send Christmas presents to other family members? I know nothing I do can undo the tremendous wrong that was done, but how do I actively show the love of God?
In other news, a CEO of a large health insurance company was shot and killed. The immediate internet reaction has been vastly different, with many people claiming the man deserved it for medical claims denied, the evils of the health insurance system, or for simply taking home a CEO-level paycheck when so many are struggling. While my initial reaction was sadness, I didn’t have the same intense desire to help as in the other situation. I didn’t check to see if anyone had started a GoFundMe for funeral expenses. I didn’t wonder how the man’s family was doing. Would it make a difference if I had known that he grew up in a small town in Iowa, even smaller than my hometown? Or that he was only 50 years old when he was senselessly murdered? Does it change anything to learn that he was survived by a wife and two sons who loved him and will miss him? Does it matter more when we see him as a human rather than a part of the system? Was he less deserving of life and love than the two kindergarteners simply because of the job he held?
On the second Sunday of Advent, we remember love. In a baby born to be king, we catch a glimpse of God’s love for us. 1 John 4:9 puts it this way: “This is how God showed his love among us: He sent his one and only Son into the world that we might live through him” (NIV). We tell the story to our children who worship in awe when they see our churches’ nativity scenes. It’s easy to glimpse God’s love in the innocent baby. As long as God is unassuming and gentle, we welcome his birth into our world.
It’s a beautiful, moving picture; yet we often forget how scandalous God’s love is. Of course, we also forget how scandalous some of the events would have been at the time: an unmarried woman becomes pregnant; the birth announced first to shepherds—people in a lower tier of society; a visit by foreign astrologers. I suppose we’re used to many of those things. Of course, God is for the poor, the marginalized, and the outsider. But God is for more than just these.
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, we are shown God’s love through the lens of a despised class in their society. Again, I think we’ve lost some of the meaning from that story since it would have been cast differently if Jesus told it today. I don’t know that Jesus would have used religious leaders as the expected heroes of the story since we don’t have the same respect and trust for religious leaders as they did at that time. And if we were to contextualize the Samaritan, he might actually be a rich CEO—someone we’ve written off as only looking out for themselves. God loves and shows his love through people we wouldn’t expect.
But he doesn’t stop there. At the crucifixion, Jesus is hung between two actual criminals. While I don’t think this needs contextualization, I’ll just put it out there that these are probably not the type of people who cheated on their taxes but more like the people who shot a CEO or two kindergarteners. Even today, many people would say they deserved the death penalty. And that is, of course, the contrast: They deserved it—Jesus did not. And yet, “God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom 5:8 NIV). To the criminal—whose death was imminent and deserved—God’s love was great enough to welcome him home.
On my worst days, I’m offended by God’s love for those who don’t deserve it; that he loves people who I’m certain don’t deserve it—people I don’t love, people I don’t want to love. It’s so unfair. Shouldn’t the innocent matter more to him? Aren’t good people more deserving of his love? Shouldn’t he love me more than he loves a murderer?
Then, on my better days, I am fully aware that I am also completely undeserving of God’s love. I don’t understand how he can see the worst things about me and still love me and choose me and call me daughter. But I am so grateful that this scandalous love that refuses to stop loving has been extended to me. This Advent season, may each of us be reminded that God’s love goes far beyond our understanding; and may we be a little more loving as we strive to reflect the one who loved us first and best.
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