Judgment Kills, Love Gives Life - Kate Norris

The final installment in our series of entries from Judgment & Love, here is Kate Norris' chapter. Again, J&L is a collection of 35 true-life stories illustrating the powerful truth that when love is shown in the face of deserved judgment, lives are changed. To order your copy at the reduced price of $10, go here or click on the button at the bottom of the post.

Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls by TLC was still blaring on the stereo as I watched the hydro pole—a cement telephone pole essentially—crack just above the imploded hood of the Ford Explorer and fall. I looked at my friend Amanda in the passenger’s seat next to me. We had both hit our heads on the windshield but weren’t bleeding. She began to swear in a stage whisper. We were in her mother’s truck. Earlier that day, Mrs. Anderson had handed me the keys: “This is my present to you since you’re only here for a few days.” She had gushed her respect and trust of me as if I were a surrogate parent. I was the first one of my friends in Toronto to get a driver’s license; they had to wait until they were eighteen.

Nicole’s head popped into my window, “I think it’s gonna blow!” She was wild-eyed and also screaming in a stage whisper. “I heard hissing—so I tried to fit my body out the window but I couldn’t so I used the door.” She was hysterical and instilled panic in all of us. All nine of us spilled out of the truck, some through windows and others through doors. We sprinted across a park and into the night shadows. At a safe distance from a potential SUV explosion we turned around and watched. The car was deathly still as it emitted its final pops and moans.

When we decided it wouldn’t actually blow up the boys were interested in one thing only: what lie to tell the cops. As we walked back to the sidewalk Amanda began to cry. She mostly made a foghorn noise, but I managed to hear that she was describing over and over how gruesomely her mother would kill her. I was ready for handcuffs.

I walked up to a neighboring house and explained what I had done and that I needed to use their phone. They had already called the police. All the boys had run off. As a united front, my girlfriends were denying they were there. Each of us had whiplash but nothing else major, mercifully. I called Amanda’s mother. “Mrs. Anderson, this is Kate. I am very sorry but we’ve had an accident. We are all okay, but I wrecked your Explorer—I drove into a pole. I am so sorry…No, no, we’re all sober.” Unfortunately.

I was ready to go to jail and I thought I might. When the police came they heard “the story” from my friends. Then the main officer took me and put me in the back of his police car. “You’re going to tell me the truth,” he said over his shoulder. I told him everything. I took full responsibility. I heard about “kids like me” and how much I had hurt and disappointed everyone’s parents, who had now congregated outside. I heard about how I could have killed everyone. And it was true. I was judged and found guilty.

I suppose I sat in the back of the cop car for forty-five minutes or so. Only Jessica’s dad came up to me during that time. I tried to open the window and then the door, but they were locked. I realized that made a lot of sense, to hold criminals. Jessica’s dad asked the policeman to open the door so he could say something to me. I was ready for the speech I deserved. “You know,” he said brightly, “I totaled a Porsche once when I took it for a test drive.” I began to cry.
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Debbie Downer

I’ve been asked why do we, who like the Reformation and support a Law/Gospel paradigm in theology, always focus on ourselves as sinners? Aren’t we like Debbie Downer from Saturday Night Live who litters every fun conversation with sad and depressing news? When people want to talk about living out a life of love for the glory of God, we talk about our weakness, our need, and our inability. What about intimacy, healing, and fruit in a relationship with Jesus? Intimacy is wonderful; healing is great, and fruit is awesome! The question is not “what” is good (that’s God’s holy Law to love him and our neighbor as ourselves); but rather “how” we get there.
 

Furthermore, if we are constantly talking about ourselves as sinners, then aren’t we neglecting our identity as children of God, as saints, as new creations? Isn’t this going to cause our self-esteem to plummet and make us feel worthless as Christians? All excellent questions.

The short answer is, well no! Even though Christians are saints, they are still sinners this side of heaven. We prefer to talk about our need versus our victory because it keeps things in their proper place. Like any good recovery group, we go there to admit we are addicts. We talk about our incredible need for intervention from the outside (ever been in an argument where neither person can stop hurting each other?), our failure to choose the good (ever looked back on a decision and suddenly recognized the selfish motivations behind them?), and our weakness in sin (ever talked poorly about anyone?) because all these realities admit our human depravity is depraved! Our belief in human sin directly affects our belief in Jesus’ power to save. If our need is dire then his victory is mighty.

This is shown at the cross. At the cross, Jesus knew me in my secret (and not so secret) selfishness completely. He came specifically to take my place of condemnation and give me a right relationship with God instead. He took away my sin and reckoned to me (imputed) his righteousness. By admitting I’m a sinner, I’m weak, I simply admit the truth shown at the cross – I am weak… but He is strong.

In Who Shall Deliver Us? Paul Zahl writes: “Honesty means facing up to a tragic situation. In the New Testament, honesty is exemplified in Paul’s confession that his righteousness, his claim to moral superiority—let alone integrity—in the face of judgment, is equivalent to garbage (Phil. 3:8). In light of such honesty, God’s imputation to us of Christ’s moral perfection is a precious gift. It conveys authentic worth to personality” (74). I find it so freeing and relieving that Jesus knows me, and loves me, and he has forgiven even that. At the cross, God validated our worth and showed his great love for us. All the glory of being a saint will hit home when we are forgiven as a sinner.

What about the objection to focus on “the good parts” of us now that we are saints? Until Jesus returns I have a double life: I am fully justified and fully a sinner. I still live here on earth. My sin, though conquered, will continue to be condemned by the Law and thrust me on the Gospel until I go to heaven. I would prefer to focus on God’s “good parts” ;) rather than mine. In Luther for Armchair Theologians Steven Paulson describes this as talking about the Law only, not the Gospel: “the simplest form of law alone in theology I suppose is that created nature itself is grace, or God’s favor, and the human problem is that we haven’t recognized it or responded to it (i.e. all Christians need to do is to remember that they are redeemed now and act like it!). If that were the case, then humans would be rid of their problems if they could just convince themselves that they are beautiful, good, and worthy in and of themselves. But as you may have learned, affirming yourself is a lonely and endless enterprise” (Paulson 30). It’s what God thinks of us that counts.

I will close with a word from Rod Rosenbladt at this year’s 2010 Mockingbird Conference: “Complete bondage of the human will in matters heavenly is ultimately good news because a doctor only comes for the sick.” The Apostle Paul boasted in his weakness, claiming to be the chief of sinners because that left him only one option: “so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:9b). In Jesus’ kingdom, only sinners are called saints.

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Ted Kennedy and Living up to Expectations

Ted Kennedy. The “theology of glory” is at work in the pursuit to idealize the Kennedy family, to make them into the beautiful, successful, American dream for which we all are to strive. This is a pressure the late Senator Ted Kennedy publicly contended with everyday. His faults with women and alcohol were persistent; his losses, the assassination of his two brothers to say the least, were public; his failure to win the 1972 Democratic presidential nomination was a disappointment to family and political expectations alike. In the Time article, “More than Myth,” David Von Drehle writes, “While the Senator [Ted] grew fat and seemed to fall apart, his brothers remained ageless and timeless, slim, breeze-kissed. If he was reality, then we wanted no part of it.” Weakness, death, and failure—can anything good come from this? Not according to the theology of glory.

The theology of glory is at work in the Christian life too; it’s the pressure to lead a beautiful, successful, loving, joyful, bright shining Christian life in the darkness of a depraved world. And I want to live up to it all! But the reality is that, like Ted Kennedy, I keep living in reality, growing older with all my insecurities and mistakes even after that eternally wonderful day when Jesus Christ claimed me as his own.

At the same time justified and a sinner. This the Christian life: a life spent receiving grace in our time of need from a Savior who did have victory over our weakness, death, and failure.

I’m sure Ted Kennedy would have liked to serve out of his victory (as President) rather than his failure (as Senator) and out of his strengths (as lawmaker) than out of his weaknesses (as a human Kennedy). I know I would. Yet it was his service in light of weaknesses that he inspired so many. I see a parallel with the Christian life. I pray he knew the acceptance and freedom St. Paul did: “I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me” (2 Corinthians 12:10).

I see the press recognizing this upside-down work of grace in the interviews and eulogies about the late Senator. I leave with this quote from Richard Lacayo’s, “Ted” in Time: “On the weekend of his Inauguration in 1961, Jack Kennedy gave Ted, the last born of the Kennedy siblings, an engraved cigarette box. It read, ‘And the last shall be first.’ That was almost 50 years ago. Neither of them knew then in just what ways that prophecy might turn out to be true. We do.”

But he [the Lord] said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12: 9).

From an addict's perspective

On this blog, I have read many helpful discussions about the effect of God’s two words, the Law (in short, his holy standard of living from perfect love for him and our neighbor), and the Gospel (our forgiveness and complete cleansing of guilt by Jesus’ death and resurrection on our behalf) upon the human heart. Recently there has been a buzz about the potential “third use of the Law” which, some argue, propels the Christian in her maturity through its instruction, and helps her choose the good work God desires of her.

Now, I agree that God’s Law is holy, righteous, and good. It would bring happiness and freedom were I able to do it. The issue isn’t about the “what” is to be done but rather the “how”. I find it helpful to read the Bible through the eyes of an addict.

As one in recovery, it’s where I always need to begin because I remember how my sinful nature sneaks into everything I do, even when I am desperately trying to do the good. The entire discussion of whether or not the Law can instruct Christians to do the right needs to be seen, I think, through our anthropology, our sinful nature, which still lives in the Christian yet, thankfully, no longer has the final say.

As an example, I am going to freely draw from Peter C. Moore’s entry in the Two Words: Teaser Edition. (And yes, this is a shameless plug to buy it here!) In it, he uses a definition of addiction (which I think is one of the most relevant contemporary illustrations of what Christians mean when we say our human wills are bound up in sinful nature):

“Addiction, says Gerald May in Addiction and Grace, is anything to which we are drawn that keeps us from loving God with all our hearts, minds, souls and strength, and our neighbors as ourselves.”

That’s a pretty inclusive definition. I don’t think anyone, Christian or not, would be unable to relate to that reality. Moore summarizes, “These habits, attitudes, activities can be relatively innocent to an outside observer; but they have a grip on us and ineluctably pull us downwards and away from our true home” (italics mine).

In light of that, Peter quotes a poem appropriated from the beloved Psalm 23:

“Written by a recovering drug addict who fell back into the habit once again:

“Heroin is my shepherd

I shall always want.

It maketh me to lie down in gutters

It leadeth me beside still madness

It destroyeth my soul.

It leadeth me in the paths of hell for its’ name sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil,

For heroin art with me.

My syringe and spike shall comfort me.

Thou puttest me to shame in the presence of my enemies.

Thou anointest my head with madness.

My cup runneth over with sorrow.

Surely hate and evil shall follow me all the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the house of misery and disgrace forever.”

If heroin is not our drug of choice, it might be gossip, pornography, food, comparison, or career, but our re-writes of Psalm 23 would sound eerily similar. The Law shines a mirror on us, revealing how far away we are from love. The Holy Spirit convicts us, often by describing our situation, such as the heroin addict above. It’s not that I don’t want God’s peace, it’s that I need it and don’t have it on my own. When I read what I ought to do, I can never seem to say, “Yeah that’s right, I do that!” Thus I rely on the Gospel message that Jesus came not for the righteous but for sinners such as me. The Holy Spirit is in charge of producing the good fruit in us spontaneously, freely, and to tell the truth, all the needy recipient of grace cares about is being forgiven and loved. So the discussion of whether or not we need the Law to teach Christians how to behave disintegrates when we begin with our honest starting place.

“He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake”

(Psalm 23: 3)

A Few Quotes from The Big Book by Alcoholics Anonymous

Taken from the handout that John Zahl and Kate Norris distributed during their unbelievably powerful "Grace In Addiction" session at the Conference. If you have ever wondered about the intersection of AA and Christianity, or more importantly, how the Gospel relates to the issue of addiction, listen to it now! JAZ addresses the all-t00-common Christian criticisms of AA as well as what the church can/should learn from AA. You can download the 7-page handout by clicking here or visiting the Mockingbird website:

...If a mere code of morals or a better philosophy of life were sufficient to overcome alcoholism, many of us would have recovered long ago. But we found that such codes and philosophies did not save us, no matter how much we tried. We could wish to be moral, we could wish to be philosophically comforted, in fact, we could will these things with all our might, but the needed power wasn't there. Our human resources, as marshalled by the will, were not sufficient; they failed utterly.

Lack of power, that was our dilemma. We had to find a power by which we could live, and it had to be a Power greater than ourselves. Obviously.

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So our troubles, we think, are basically of our own making. They arise out of ourselves, and the alcoholic is an extreme example of self-will run riot, though he usually doesn't think so. Above everything, we alcoholics must be rid of this selfishness. We must, or it kills us! God makes that possible. And there often seems no way of entirely getting rid of self without His aid. Many of us had moral and philosophical convictions galore, but we could not live up to them even though we would have liked to. Neither could we reduce our self-centeredness much by wishing or trying on our own power. We had to have God´s help.

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The great fact is just this, and nothing less: That we have had deep and effective spiritual experiences which have revolutionized our whole attitude toward life, toward our fellows and toward God´s universe. The central fact of our lives today is the absolute certainty that our Creator has entered into our hearts and lives in a way which is indeed miraculous. He has commenced to accomplish those things for us which we could never do by ourselves.

If you are as seriously alcoholic as we were, we believe there is no middle-of-the-road solution. We were in a position where life was becoming impossible, and if we had passed into the region from which there is no return through human aid, we had but two alternatives: One was to go on to the bitter end, blotting out the consciousness of our intolerable situation as best we could; and the other, to accept spiritual help.

What The Church Has To Learn From Alcoholics Anonymous

From a pamphlet of the same name written by The Rev. Sam Shoemaker, one-time rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in NYC and significant contributor to the founding of AA:

"The first thing I think the Church needs to learn from AA is that nobody gets anywhere til he recognizes a clearly-defined need. These people do not come to AA to get made a little better. They do not come because the best people are doing it. They come because they are desperate. They are not ladies and gentlemen looking for a religion, they are utterly desperate men and women in search of redemption. Without what AA gives, death stares them in the face. With what AA gives them, there is life and hope. There are not a dozen ways, there are not two ways, there is one way; and they find it, or perish.

Is there anything as definite for you or me, who may happen not to be alcoholics? If there is, I am sure that it lies in the realm of our conscious withholding of the truth about ourselves from God and from one another, by pretending that we are already good Christians. let me here quote a member of AA who has written a most amazing book: his name is Jerome Ellison and the book is Report To The Creator. In this (p.210) he says,

'The relief of being accepted can never be known by one who never thought himself unaccepted. I hear of 'good Christian men and women' belonging to 'fine old church families.' There were no good Christians in the first church, only sinners. Peter never let himself or his hearers forget his betrayal in the hour the cock crew. James, stung by the memory of his years of stubborn resistance, wanted the church members: 'Confess your faults to one another.' That was before there were fine old church families. Today, the last place where one can be candid about one's faults is in church. In a bar, yes, in a church, no. I know; I've tried both places.'

Let that sting you and me just as it should, and make us miserable with our church Pharisaism till we see it as just as definite and just as hideous as anybody's drunkenness can ever be, and a great deal more really dangerous."

To listen to Kate Norris and John Zahl's talk from our 2009 conference, entitled "Grace In Addiction" - which expands greatly on this topic - click here.