Grace

"Joe had curly hair. But he didn’t know how much hair he had because he couldn’t count that high. In fact, he couldn’t count at all." [1]

Joe is a fictional character in an imaginative children’s book called Sideways Stories from Wayside School. In the third chapter, we learn that Joe isn’t allowed to go to recess because he can’t count correctly. When his teacher, Mrs. Jewls, asks him to count five pencils, Joe says, "Four, six, one, nine, five. There are five pencils, Mrs. Jewls." Even though his answer is correct, Mrs. Jewls tells Joe that he is wrong: "You got the right answer, but you counted the wrong way."

Joe’s counting problem is an example of why the process in which we do things is important. His teacher understood that his answer was lucky—even a broken clock is right two times a day—so the way he counted had to change. His method wasn’t sufficient or sustainable.

I’m sometimes tempted to believe that arriving at the right answer validates the way that I got there. But when we place too much weight on the "right" thing, we can discount the process which is often as important as the result. When I’m truthful with myself, I discover that some of my honourable deeds are prompted by a heart that is less-than-honourable. An act of generosity is sparked by my hope that I’ll be recognized; a gesture of service is motivated by my desire to please someone; a decision to sacrifice my agenda is fueled by the possibility that I will get my way the next time.

When my noble actions are prompted by selfish motives, I live like a Pharisee. I might arrive at the "right" answer, but I’m counting the wrong way.

Timothy Keller suggests the main barrier between Pharisees and God is not their sins, but their damnable good works [2]. He explains this further by stating:

To truly become Christians we must also repent of the reasons we ever did anything right. Pharisees only repent of their sins, but Christians repent of the very root of their righteousness, too. We must learn how to repent of the sin under all our other sins and under all our righteousness—the sin of seeking to be our own Saviour and Lord.  

The call to repent is at the foundation of what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. When we refuse to acknowledge our wrongdoings—even if they lead to acts of righteousness—we cease to be disciples and start counting like Pharisees. 

Jordy and I were best buds until that fateful day when Mrs. Snodgrass stepped into our grade two class. She was a rather big and imposing substitute teacher. All was going reasonably well until she bent over to help the student sitting in front of me. Jordy, who was sitting behind me, took out his ruler and gave Mrs. Snodgrass a slap on her backside. Now, you need to realize that Jordy was extremely quick and was able to get back into his desk and assume an air of innocence before Mrs. Snodgrass could turn around. For some strange reason, I couldn’t stop laughing. As Mrs. Snodgrass glared at the class, her eyes fell on the one person who thought this was the most hilarious event to ever occur at Caronport Elementary School. In her eyes, I was obviously the guilty party. She accused me, yelled at me and threatened to give me a strap. The only thing that saved me was that she didn’t see the ruler-wielding culprit in action and she couldn’t force a confession out of me (I did manage, between guffaws, to deny all wrongdoing).

As I reflect on this memorable experience, I am mindful that that we are sometimes wrongly accused or people misinterpret our motives. Obviously, there are times when we need to defend our innocence or explain our motives. Yet, I am mindful of the counter-cultural example of Jesus who “did not retaliate when he was insulted, nor threaten revenge when he suffered. He left his case in the hands of God, who always judges fairly” (1 Pet. 2:23 NLT). I would like to have more of Jesus’ grace and humility in my heart as I interact with those who may think that I’m the culprit.