First Comes Gratitude, Second Comes Discipleship

There is something fundamentally antithetical between a God who loves and accepts us all unconditionally and a church culture that pushes us to belong, behave, conform and suppress ourselves.

"For God so loved the world...."
— John 3:16

Those words from the Gospel of John echo throughout Christian history. They are repeated like a mantra by many. They are some of the most famous words from Scripture.

There is good reason for this: All of life is a gift. All that God has done is a gift. Everything God does has been done out of love. God loved the world into existence and continues to love it through its redemption and sanctification.

Preachers love to preach John 3:16. It would be wonderful if more were preaching this message with—and this is the most important part—no strings attached.  Because—by definition—that's what a gift is.

By definition.

Our proper response to a gift, then, is gratitude.

Gratitude is, perhaps, the only appropriate first response.

We tend to forget that. Let's face it, traditional Christianity (any of the main denominations) does not have a reputation for being accepting of God's gifts at face value. If you mention Christianity to anyone on the street, probably one of the first items to pop into their mind would be the "rules" and the "control."

Just to give an example, I saw a pastor the other day in the grocery story. He's a nice guy and my family has been to his church. But I avoided him when I saw him. Why?  Because I wasn't in the mood for dealing with the "push." You know what I'm talking about:  Little hints and jabs about how he hasn't seen us at his church, the implication that we should be there and other pressures to join his congregation and augment his numbers.

The thoughts that comes to my mind are: "Can't you just accept me as I am right now—without trying to push for a change in my behavior before you even know me? I'm good as I am—get to know me right here, right now, as I am. For God so loves me this way . . . why can't you?"

He's a nice guy, but I recognize the mini-colonizer in his actions. I realize he wants company in his church, and I realize he wants money in his collection plates. But the paradox is he might get more of both if he quit trying so hard. There's nothing wrong with an open invitation . . . if it is truly open. But when I start feeling peddled like a hot piece in a meat market, I instantly recognize the stink and get away. I think:  You don't want me in my full dignity.

What I really hear many preachers saying is:  Be different. Do more of this. Do less of that. Give more. Bend more. Think this way. Act that way. Come to my church. Give to the collection. Be a facsimile of me. Alter your life according to my specifications.

I get it:  There are obligations, responsibilities and commitments as part of Christian discipleship. And it is the duty of a preacher to challenge us. But Christianity has a long track record of frontloading those factors and downplaying something much more foundational: Gratitude. Acceptance. Love. That is, after all, the Good News!

God so loves the world. We are okay. I'm okay. You're okay. Let's start there.

Just as we are.

We can let that just be.

And then perhaps we may be so overcome with joy at this gift that we want to gift it to others—to pay it forward.

That's actually why the collection plate has been traditionally passed on Sunday since the time of the early Church. Sunday is the day of rest and gratitude. Once we have had space to reflect on all that we have been given, it is only natural to want to give to others. My cup runneth over (Psalm 23). 

All Christian charity and all Christian discipleship comes out of that gratitude: Because I have been so loved, therefore I want to love others out of nothing but sheer gratitude. We as church should never attempt to force that—we have to simply trust in that. Trust that loving and accepting others is primarily we need to do and we need not worry on how much of that comes back to us in the collection plate. That's God's business, not ours to try to control.

And then once we get that, once we are more solidly rooted in that gratitude, then and only then does it make sense to talk about obligations and responsibilities. Then, and only then, should we talk about the yoke of discipleship. Otherwise, it's just peddling a kind of works-based righteousness and a denial of the goodness of God's gifts. After all, if we want people to come to our churches, we should first give them a reason for coming before demanding membership dues.

This is why, I believe, Jesus told us the greatest commandment is to love one another—up to and including even our enemies, everyone in our community and everyone in between. Love is the most primary act we should be making and our primary stance in every situation. It is the greatest commandment for a reason. Once we begin there, then and only then can we talk about the messiness of life, the hard decisions and perhaps even some tough love exclusions. But we should only do that if we are loving first and foremost, as Jesus instructed. We are to love first and foremost and then pepper in the rules and obligations as they fit—not the other way around.

We are to love first and foremost. Because, after all, that's what God does.

There are some, of course, who have discovered the love of God the other way: Through the yoke of discipleship they have found the love that was guiding them from behind. I respect that it may work that way for some, but it's a very clumsy method that perhaps alienates many more than it converts. The reason, I believe, is because it's hard to teach love and acceptance through disciplines that fundamentally do not love or respect the natural created dignity of each person. In that scenario, people discover God in spite of religion, not because of it.