Coffee Stained Salvation

by Parke Ladd

From three years of caffeinated mornings spent on the run–chased by time, a lingering boss and bills still unpaid–dark, circular stains from overflowing clay coffee cups placed atop the metal, blue roof of his 4-door sedan, wipe away in the wind as he drives this morning to work.

He cracks his window open to the kind of temperature and olfactory sensations reminiscent of spring break 2005. No booze, bikinis, bonfires or Bible-beating religious folk reminding everyone of their wayward ways, today, however. But still, something about the weather takes him back to a simpler time.

He used to drive forever, just him and his beat-up, blue sedan, into the great unknown with nothing to do but experience something–anything–and nothing at all. How sweet to behold life and breath, hope and joy, struggle and sorrow; to feel beyond the doldrums of this current life, this facade of security lurking behind ritual and tradition. Instead, he follows rules. Rules designed for the suppression of the religious masses that chose to exchange their freedom for dollar bills and their pursuit of love for a cursed, comfortable existence, long ago.

His thick, black coffee tears through the epidermal layers of his hypersensitive pink palate, his right foot presses the accelerator closer to the floor, and he ponders how he traded the tension of faith for a far more streamlined version of salvation. A salvation derived from measurements, comparisons of the so-called good people and their deeds to the so-called bad and theirs; a safer, more personally beneficial, road to follow through the mystery and messiness of life. How pompous he’s become, six years removed from the beaches of spring, now lifting cup to mouth, a fresh, dark circle forming on his center console, fluid staining his white enamel, brown.

Summer, 2008, that was a good drive; no caffeine required to shake his limp nerve endings back to life. That was when he first felt the breath of God upon his weary soul, the breeze of inner transformation rappelling the precipitous, stone faces of Yosemite like a stream of glory coming from heaven to earth to his lungs as he stood in the valley, wading in cold streams of water, round pebbles stuck between his toes, alive and fully awake in the moment he was currently living. This dingy, blue car, parked in the grass as he walked into the wild, mysterious unknown, filled with discovery and a spirit of belief. Breathing deeper than ever before, scared out of his mind yet unable to stand still, he left his earned accolades in the dirt beside the road and began a new path paved with grace, stones and danger.

But now, three years later, after many days of trading rhythm for routine, the dark circles on the roof of his car and the even darker circles embedded in the pale, gray flesh beneath his eyes, serve as stark reminders of a highly caffeinated, individualistic life spent striving and working in vain for redemption and love. He measures justification by the sweat on his brow and the checklist of rules in the back pocket of a fitted, silk suit he calls religion.

It was my joy to present Coffee Stained Salvation this past Sunday, in response to Galatians 3:1-14 as part of Indy Metro Church’s study through the book.

We all live, and we all die; passing quickly from this existence to the next, tomorrow is never guaranteed. Life, but a breath; a faint whisper of a word strumming the vocal cords of eternity; a blink of an eye, look away and it’s gone. Suddenly, life, once fully figured and bloody upon this earth, is now but a shadowy mystery; a fading memory sent away with passing days. Death, the ultimate digression of recollection.

Life and death; death and life. Save your life and lose it; lose your life and find it.

My friend Mary is an artist and a writer, and she says that we go to Mozambique because the situation there is one of life and death. Because we cannot fathom what it must be like to face death every day of our lives due to something as simple as water. Because there are real people–real people, real people, real people–in the world today who are living  without access to the basic necessities that we expect to have with us at our beck and call, without hindrance, without delay. Because for many real people all over this world, death is encountered, faced, and accepted with every sip.

In a good story, death is overcome, the hero prevails, and everyone lives happily ever after. In a great story, death is overcome even though the hero dies. Death gives the protagonist a boundary, a defining line, an enemy to be defeated though it cost him everything. Death gives us a guaranteed end which must and will be encountered. It cuts through the anonymity of infinity and proclaims, “You had better get moving because some day I will come for you, too.” Without death–a boundary, a line to cross–life grows vague. A story with no ending is no story at all.

Maybe Jesus understood life and death better than anyone when he said, “For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will find it.”  It seems as though Jesus is trying to tell us that there is more to life than buying more time, yet we try so many different things in attempt to save ourselves. And all the while there’s Jesus, patiently waiting, arms open wide, asking, “Why are you still trying to do this on your own?” Jesus talked like he had another plan; a different way of living and dying, gaining and losing. “Lose your life for me,” Jesus says, “and you will find it.”

I have this insane notion running along the lumps and bumps of my cerebral hemispheres, screaming, “Your life is yours! Live it for yourself. Find what makes you happy and chase after it!”

And I wonder where that chase would lead me.

My life is but a breath, and if my time here on earth is about saving my life for my own self than death will be my ultimate failure. For death is the boundary that defines us all and within it there is no self-procuring sacrifice. But if life is about losing myself for the hope and love of another, than death is not my overcomer, not my master, nor my final ultimatum. No, death is but a mere passing of time, an end of one period and beginning of another, a motivation to guide me through and beyond the memories and recollections of a life spent trying to lose. And so O death where is your sting; in this life we have such victory.

“Lord, give me firmness without hardness, steadfastness without dogmatism, love without weakness.”

–Jim Elliot, Shadow of the Almighty

You are inexpressible. My attempts at labeling your presence are futilely distressing; my bid to title, intensely exhausting. Though a myriad of paths spread wide before me, vast and intertwined, my heart is captivated by your love alone. A course set straight towards discovery, a revelation of worship, I run, unashamed, to behold the mystery of your mercy. Breathe on me. Envelope me in the breadth of your light. Pull new life from this wandering vagabond. Plant my story firmly in the soil of your tender care.

A most outstanding shortcoming, these letters of injustice flowing from my dry lips, a brush of the tongue, unable, unworthy still to sing of your beauty. Melodies too extraordinary for my voice, too precious to say aloud, too devastating but to whisper. Beauty, such a transient word to articulate your majesty. And majesty, so simple a word to express your omnipotence. Let not my selfish pride attempt concealment of your inexplicable glory. My presence, a hindrance as I fade into reverence, gasping for new breathe, seeking my death, prostrate before you in yearning desperation.

The aroma of your grace I cannot articulate. My expressions are but vague offerings of corrupt harmonies trying inadequately to describe the depth of your perfection and the dream of your eternity. The life you offer, the love you so freely give away, blatantly indiscriminate and bewilderingly peaceful. Approved, I am in need no longer; desperate only for a gentle breeze beneath the tree as you whisper softly in my ear.

Tame love, willingly set upon common demonstrations, comfortably arranged within the structural confines of similarly positioned friends and followers, is paving an apathy infused path toward limited compassion and self-righteous indignation. Our love, distracted by self-doubt, greed and personal rejection, has become a front for creating associations instead of disciples, acquaintances instead of brothers, mergers instead of marriages, and networks instead of genuine fellowships. Our love is paralyzed from the heart down. Unable to move, we lie dormant, hibernating through the cold, waiting for death to remove us from our indifference, from taking love to those whom we fear.

Real love is a most dangerous endeavor.

Jesus found the religious striving of his day despicable–an eye for an eye; a tooth for a tooth; a life for a life. Unshackling the dying–breaking the chains of customs and traditions–Jesus freed the hopeless to go and love the broken. Negating those who force fed rules and regulations down the bleeding, swollen necks of a hungry nation, Jesus imparted hope and delivered seeking taskmasters who were willing to turn from rule fueled lives of baseless repetition and ignorant discrimination. He led a graceful revolt against those resistant to loving anyone unlike themselves.

Love is dangerous because of those whom we are called to give it to.

You have heard it said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you: Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.  –Jesus, Matthew 5:43-44

True lovers know their enemies by name and together dine at the same table. The way of love is defined by sacrifice and leads right into danger, straight toward discomfort, directly away from identities once held as our own. True love, defined by grace, stimulated by humility, mercifully partakes in the lives of those whom we once, in our defiance, looked down upon and despised.

Let’s face it, there are people in our lives whom we consider to be our friends, and then there are people we don’t care about. We maintain and regulate our few, coagulated homies like Mr. Rogers used to maintain his golden, button-up sweater and blue suede shoes–daily and exclusively–the same, basic outfit every single show.

Walking into a church for the first time on a Sunday morning can be a terrifyingly strange experience. Taking the big leap of faith into the trying-a-new-church-for-the-first-time-since-your-mom-made-you-wear-a-sailors-suit-and-bow-tie-to-church-on-Easter-Sunday can quickly present itself as a situational discomfort unlike any typically sought after weekend activity. In order for most “churched” people to really start befriending you, Newcomer, you’ve got to attend regularly and somehow push into at least one of the more predominant, preformed, circles of friends.

How do most churches get around this “welcoming challenge”? With a committee strategy, of course. We send enthusiastic people highly trained in the ways of smiling and hand shaking around the room to intercept any newcomer-esque attendees. Church leadership usually determines which people will go, and those selected will work the room, cautiously introducing themselves to you–The Newcomer–welcoming you into the wonderful world of the church. (Take note of how people have to be assigned to do this task.) If the welcoming committee people seem a little distracted, don’t hold it against them. Remember, their real friends are still out in the foyer drinking coffee and eating tasty fruit tarts.

The welcoming committee, or your new “fake-friends” as I like to call them, do their part to make most guests feel as comfortable as possible, like you’re now a part of something truly cool and culturally relevant. But the real situation, and this is why you the Newcomer can’t quite seem to connect, is that most of the friendly church people are busy being friendly with the friends they already have. And how do we convince our churches friendliest members to go and be friendly to those outside of their well groomed, established groups? We don’t. We usually just send the committee because it’s the committees job, and jobs are easier to establish and enforce.

If you’re new to the church, and you’re experiencing this weird activity, please take my advice: Don’t worry; it’s not you. Well, it is you, but it’s not really you. What I’m trying to say is that it’s not your fault. You don’t smell too badly, and your clothes are actually spot on. Your hair is fine, and as far as we can tell, you’re probably educated and employed. So everything is in line for you to eventually become a friend of the church and maybe even an active, sought-after member! But for now, don’t worry, it’s not your fault. It’s ours. We’re a little insecure when it comes to what we believe, and we don’t want to be too joyful or too loving toward anyone we don’t already know and care about. And, apparently, the fruit tarts are really good.

Our love either is or is not enough depending on who our love points to and guides others toward.

There are a few options

1. Our love can point those receiving it back toward their own selves.
2. Our love can point those receiving it toward us.
3. Our love can point those receiving it toward Love.

In regards to the first two options, our love is not enough. Options 1 & 2 will always, eventually fail. Guiding people back to themselves with our love only provides them with a false relief composed of temporary facades of undulating self-esteem. Likewise, pointing others to ourselves with our love eventually fails. Let’s be honest, we can provide only so deep a love. Our manufactured depths of care are limited to certain levels and degrees. Pointing others to our own selves with our fabricated love is a selfish act filled with underlying greed and egotistical longings for self-relevancy.

The third option is where our love truly is enough. I John 4:7-8 says, “Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love.”

Christ followers, if our love points other people–friends, family, co-workers, enemies–toward anyone or anything other than Christ, then we are failing them in our love. We show true love by showing Christ to others, pointing and directing them to him and him alone. If your love–no matter how great, magnificent, worthy, or action packed–does not point others to Christ, than it is a failing love, and it is not enough.

Another follower of Jesus said it this way:

Does being loved mean being made much of? For many people, this is not obviously an act of love. They do not feel loved when they are told that God created them for his glory. They feel used. This is understandable given the way love has been almost completely distorted in our world. For most people, to be loved is to be made much of. Almost everything in our Western culture serves this distortion of love. We are taught in a thousand ways that love means increasing someone’s self-esteem. Love is helping someone feel good about themselves. Love is giving someone a mirror and helping him like whet he sees.

This is not what the Bible means by the love of God. Love is doing what is best for someone. But making self the object of our highest affections is not best for us. It is, in fact, a lethal distraction. We were made to see and savor God–and savoring him, to be supremely satisfied, and thus spread in all the world the worth of his presence. Not to show people the all-satisfying God is not to love them. To make them feel good about themselves when they were made to feel good about seeing God is like taking someone to the Alps and locking them in a room full of mirrors.

Quote from Don’t Waste Your Life by John Piper, page 33, paragraphs 2 & 3. Copyright 2003 by Desiring God Foundation, Published by Crossway books, Wheaton Illinois

I John 4:7-8 as taken from New International Version. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica. As found on Bible Gateway.