students of jesus

Power: we want it. 

Everyone from Tony Stark to Francis Underwood wants it. They want it bad. Doc Brown’s 1.21 Gigawatts aren’t enough—somewhere in eternity Captain Kirk is still barking, “More power, Scotty.” From the power to persuade, to the power to entice, to the power of the people: we think power will save the world.

The only problem with power is we always seem to need just a little bit more. God has power. Maybe we can get it from him. Power to know the future, power to heal, wonder-working power that will prove us right and the world wrong—so much power we begin to use it to win the lottery or be the coolest guy at the party. If there’s an omnipotent god, then all the better—I want his power. But there’s always a catch. Just ask Bruce Almighty: it turns out the only container fit for the unlimited power of God is a vessel beset with weakness.

Why didn’t I see this sooner? The Apostle prayed that the dear people of Colossae would have power, but it was power to endure, the power to be patient, the power to joyfully give thanks. In other words: a power that changes nothing but ourselves.

Centuries before, the Proverbs revealed God’s priorities by suggesting true power is found in a man who rules his spirit, instead of one who conquers a city. Nor is this high-minded preacher-talk. Ask the man who is powerless against alcohol or rage. Ask the woman who is powerless against her fear or her thirst for love. Ask the politician powerless against his sexual appetites. Oh, for the power to contain our passions. In the final act, Richard the Third is willing to trade all his power for a getaway car.

The greatest power in the universe—from beyond the universe, really—came to town and submitted to the puny power of men who traded in swords and gold and crowns and titles. The powerful creator God absorbed the spear thrust into his side. The power of God overcame 30 pieces of silver meant to betray the Kingdom. God’s power wore a crown of thorns and ruled the world from an empty tomb. The seat of his power is beyond the reach of this world, and as close as the hearts of humble men and women. Who could have ever imagined a power perfected in weakness?

The only power we really need is power to grasp the love of Christ: its width, length, height, and depth. The kind of power to love until it kills you, and then love beyond that, until it raises you from the dead.

Christmas has come and gone. I am in debt so deeply I have no hope of paying back what I owe, but this debt brings me hope and joy. I am in debt to God’s great Incarnational act of love.

Hidden in the North American holiday habit of excess and over-spending is a parable. The bank of Heaven extended me a line of credit so vast it cannot be calculated, and I drew on every bit of the amount. Our great debt to God is love. And like all great debt, the only way to pay it back is a little at a time, each payment a reminder of the grand total.

To stretch this simple metaphor to its ultimate degree, the Bank of Heaven has many locations, currently approaching seven billion on the planet: since all humanity is made in his image, everyone becomes a location where I can present an installment on so happy a debt.

If you have been taught that the only meaning of grace is free-forgiveness you will certainly take issue with this line of thinking. “That’s what grace is all about,” you protest, “we cannot pay the debt of sin, nor should we imagine we could ever earn our way to heaven.” In our day this particular truth is too true, yet I am not talking about sin. I am talking about something as different from sin as water is from sand. I am talking about the Father’s love. If Christmas were only about divine rescue from sin, then the sin-debt—paid in full—would be the end of the issue. When we understand that Christmas is not about our sin but rather God’s great love, we will see what we received at Christmas was an advance upon the love of God.

The economics of the Incarnation turn every business model on its head: “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.” The prudent Apostle Paul warned against the worldly debt but encouraged the debt of love: “Owe no one anything, except to love each other.” The love of God is the currency of Heaven, the coin of our payment to one another.

His genius is not compounding interest, but compounding equity. We repay the love debt with the very substance of the original act of God’s great love. All across the world, the love of God is repaid in acts of kindness done in his name. The effect is ever-increasing love, the source—and the payment—of our joyous debt.