God and Sinners Reconciled

            While working the other day to the classic sounds of “jingle all the way,” “thumpety-thump-thump” and such, abruptly I heard, “God and sinners reconciled.” The bustling restaurant kitchen kept on bustling. The guests, dining and conversing, didn’t noticeably notice. The words were lost in the song as it played on, “Joyful, all ye nations rise, join the triumph….”

            But I noticed. The most profound theological reality had been passed by like a blurry tree beside a freeway. To the world, they were just words—like “six geese a-laying”—meaningless but necessary to a traditional Christmas tune.

            I suppose it’s natural for people to hear truth and not hear it.

           

But the natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God, for they are foolishness to him; nor can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned (1 Corinthians 2:14).

                                                                                                                

Of them Jeremiah prophesied:

Hear this now, O foolish people, without understanding, who have eyes and see not, and who have ears and hear not (5:21).

            Yet, by God’s grace, I noticed. “God and sinners reconciled.” Do you realize what this means? It means little unless you know something about God and about sinners.

God is holy, holy, holy. Paul described Him this way:

The King of kings and Lord of lords, who alone has immortality, dwelling in unapproachable light, whom no man has seen or can see (1 Timothy 6:15-16).

            His is altogether unlike us.

But we are all like an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are like filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).

            Yet somehow the mysteriously perfect Mind of God brought the two together through Jesus.

For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him (2 Corinthians 5:21).

When we were enemies we were reconciled to God through the death of His Son (Romans 5:10).

And you, who once were alienated and enemies in your mind by wicked works, yet now He has reconciled (Colossians 1:21).

When I speak of the reconciling of God and sinners, I feel like a small fish explaining the meaning of all the globe’s water. It’s just there. I don’t know why or how.

I just know I’m in it.

            Next time you hear, “God and sinners reconciled," fall on your face. Or at least pause for a second and take it in.

Pride v. Post Office

Post offices and I have a rocky history, but as of Wednesday we're mending.

I'm ashamed of the time I turned on my heels, wordless, walked away from a post office clerk and out the door. I was irritated with that post office in Owensboro. It should have had a copier; I thought all of them did. I didn't have time for this. I needed to make a copy of something and mail it, and I'd already crammed a trip there into my suffocating burden of college work. I was convinced the USPS was against me--there were so few post offices around town, and they kept such restricted hours. The job I worked didn't coincide with them, so I'd neatly packaged a fermenting grudge.

Last Monday, I consulted U of L's website to find the post office here. "Only open during normal business hours," it screamed, mockingly. "Cash only." I set out across campus assured that since it wasn't even 4 p.m., it would be open. Of course when I opened the door, the shut windows along the counter laughed at me. Some mischievious little signs snickered that they were open till 3 p.m.

Tuesday morning, I showed the post office up. I bought $9 worth of stamps and successfully mailed a letter to my grandma. I grabbed my backpack and walked out, triumphant.

That night a sudden recollection--or lack of one--dropped on me like a stack of mail for all Louisville Metro: I had left my stamps on the post office counter!

Internally I murmurred some incoherent gibberish about post offices. At first I thought to go to another post office and buy stamps there, to avoid having to look that one in the eyes again. I could go back and ask if they found my stamps, but what are the chances of that? It would be well beneath my dignity.

Then I remembered Proverbs 29:25: "The fear of man brings a snare." I should humble myself, man up and go back. I determined my script. I would say, "Hello, I was in here yesterday. I did something really dumb. I bought $9 worth of stamps, put one on an envelope I was mailing and then left the rest of them." If the clerk treated me like I was stupid (which I expected), I had my cash ready. I would bite the bullet and buy stamps again. If the clerk thought they might have been returned, he or she would then volunteer to look for them (I was too embarrassed to ask for such a favor.) Or, I clutched a childish hope the clerk would know just where they were.

So on Wednesday I walked up to the post office clerk. "Hello, I was in here yesterday. I did something really dumb. I bought a bunch of stamps..."

He was turning toward the counter behind him.

I smiled.

"Here you go," he said cordially, handing my stamps to me. "Somebody turned 'em in. I said, 'I bet he'll be back for those.'" His voice and smile were genuine.