Ecstatic Gratitude
As I mentioned in a previous post I grew up in church, and I was a “good” church girl—fantastic at keeping the list of “things good Christian girls don’t do.” You know that list: don’t party, don’t cuss, don’t wear two-piece swimsuits, don’t listen to “secular” music etc. And I never really knew that I was missing anything—that there was more to following Jesus than adhering to an unwritten set of rules dictating what not to do! I followed Jesus, not out of gratitude for all of the things he’d done for me and rescued me from, but because it was a routine.
It was the way I was raised, it was what we did—we went to church. I didn’t feel too passionately about it one way or another. I mean, I kept that not-to-do list so I was really pretty amazing (please sense my sarcasm, I’m always terrified to use sarcasm because I’m afraid someone will take me literally!). Jesus really didn’t have to do too much for me. I was a great person! Not that I would have ever said that out loud. But that’s what I thought: I’m pretty awesome. Jesus is lucky to have me as one of his followers, and so on and so on. Bleh!
Well, God definitely has a sense of humor and I think it leaks out in the form of extravagant mercy when we’re really dumb! Because in his extravagant mercy he saw fit to send my self-righteous behind to India. And that’s where things got interesting.
In the pressure cooker of third world living it’s hard to hide from who you really are—it kind of just boils right out of you. Here’s how it all shook down; how I finally came face to face with the person who desperately needed a Savior to rescue her from herself:
I’m pretty sure it was 1,000 degrees (I’m remembering this whole situation with absolute clarity and accuracy) that day in Delhi. I was sitting in our car waiting for a parking spot—the story of everyone’s life who lives in a large city—when someone whipped into the spot I’d been waiting for. A pox upon you, dreadful speck of a human being! And in that moment I was ready to MURDER him! Yes, you read that right. MURDER him. I wish I could tell you that I’m joking! I am not. If I’d had the means, I sincerely had the will. Granted, there was a lot going on in my life at the time and this man just happened to be the unlucky (and rude) recipient of all my pent-up rage, but I legitimately wanted to kill him for stealing my parking spot.
WHAAATT??
But I’m such a good person. Hold on though, good people don’t want to murder someone for taking a parking spot do they?
Why am I telling you this story? I’m beginning to wonder that myself. It clearly does not make me look good, more like a sociopath actually (I bet you’re honestly wondering why you listen to me right about now). But that was the moment I realized I was NOT a good person! It was like a mirror had been set in front of my innermost thoughts and feelings and what it revealed was crazy ugly (emphasis on the crazy). Far uglier than I ever dreamed possible.
At that moment I fell on my face in gratitude that God could love me when I’m so awful. That 5 second encounter in the parking lot revealed the true condition of my heart--and it wasn't pretty, folks. I finally recognized that I was not amazing; I was a sinner in desperate need of grace! While this should not have been breaking news--it was.
That day changed everything for me.
It’s as if my life was split down the middle: everything that happened before that day and everything that’s happened since. My entire perspective on what it means to be a Jesus-follower and the reason why I serve him was flipped upside down. And it all boils down to two words: ecstatic gratitude.
When I came across this story in Luke 7 a few months ago, of the “town harlot” who crashed a party at a Pharisee’s (a religious leader of the day) house in order to pour expensive oil on Jesus’ feet and wash them with her hair, I finally got it. I’d always rather piously associated myself with the woman in the story that Jesus ultimately commends for her act of extravagant love (at this point I’m sure you’re not surprised that I would do that). But really, I’d been more like Simon, whom Jesus teaches with a story in verses 41-42.
“'Two men were in debt to a banker. One owed five hundred silver pieces, the other fifty. Neither of them could pay up, and so the banker cancelled both debts. Which of the two would be more grateful?' Jesus asked."
Simon replied in verse 43, “I suppose the one who was forgiven the most.”
Jesus went on to spell it out to Simon (kind of like he had to do with me—me and Simon, we’re a little dense) when he said, “She [the harlot] was forgiven many, many sins, so she is very, very grateful. If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal.” (v. 47–all scriptures from The Message, emphasis added)
That was my life summed up in one tiny sentence straight from the mouth of Jesus: “If the forgiveness is minimal, the gratitude is minimal.” I genuinely thought he didn’t have much to forgive me for because I was such a great person, and my gratitude was indeed very minuscule. Well, my dear parking lot buddy fixed that for me once and for all. I’m now well aware of the terrifying reality of who I’d be without Jesus, and ecstatic gratitude for the amazing gifts of grace, forgiveness, and mercy overwhelm me and compel me to serve him out of completely different motivation. It's no longer a routine, it's my honor and joy!
~Gut-Check and Action Steps~
How about you? Can you relate?
If we’re honest with ourselves, we’re probably not as good as we think we are. Are you ever tempted to feel self-righteous and think you’ve somehow earned God’s favor by being a good person?
Be honest, do you ever find yourself following and serving God out of something other than ecstatic gratitude?