Grace:  Unmerited favor of God.

Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms.

1 Peter 4:10

I used to think that grace was this mysterious, abstract, supernatural principle that meant “we don’t get the punishment we deserve.”  But lately, I’ve really started to understand that grace is made present in our lives as it is embodied in the lives of those around us.  Not only can people give grace to others, but the presence of people themselves can be a gift of grace from God.

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My dad died when I was 16 years old.  It was sudden and without any warning.  Dad died in his sleep at the age of 44 in apparent good health. When the initial shock of his death turned into an emotional numbness, my sister and I found ourselves strangely able to speak openly about it with each other.  And with hesitation, we navigated through the surreal conversations upon which we both landed on a strange conclusion: It felt like my dad knew this was coming. 

I’m not saying that my dad did actually know that a heart attack would cut short his life, but it certainly felt like he was preparing us for it.  Playing back conversations that we both had with my dad, we could point to various discussions that, in the moments after my dad’s death, felt like he was using to prepare for life without him.

Of course, this conclusion didn’t make the pain of the moment any more bearable, but it certainly reminded us that we weren’t alone and that we would be able to continue to have a life after this. 

It is ironic when I think about it, but my dad, who seemed to be the guy that everyone trusted and could depend upon, spent much of his parental energy focused on teaching us to live without him. He taught me to think for myself when the world around me pushed me to simply “go with the flow.”  He taught me how to use my head and think calmly when those around me let panic or fear or other emotions take control.  He taught me to acknowledge my emotions and understand that they indicated important things were happening;  the heart could understand things that the head could not.

And as a 16-year-old who lost his dad during that awkward transition from childhood into adulthood, I found that my dad had given me the tools to grieve, survive, and grow through this life-altering season of loss.

And so in the hardest moments of my life, I experienced grace.  It wasn’t grace in the sense that I was protected from experiencing pain because I certainly experienced a tremendous amount of that. But grace in the sense that through the involvement of someone else in my life, my experience was not as devastating as it should have been. The way my dad lived and taught me to live was a gift to me.  I certainly was not the most skilled in utilizing the tools that my dad has given me, but even a clumsy application of his instruction resulted in a blessing that I could see then just as well as I can see it now.

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I’ve been thinking a great deal lately about the connection between grace and community.  I realized that this isn’t a connection that is often made.  Grace seems to be talked about mostly as an individual experience (God did this for me) or a universal truth (God’s grace is for everyone).  But I cannot escape thinking about this relationship between grace and community that seems to be shaping so many of my conversations and even the sermons I preach.

Because I know that the gifts and the grace that I received from my dad didn’t originate in him.  He didn’t invent his way of life himself. He was sharing what he has learned from his own experiences.  My grandfather Griffin was killed in a car crash when hit by a drunk driver in 1957.  My dad was six years old.  He had two sisters, one older, and one younger.  And my Grandmother suddenly found herself a widow and a single mother of three young children during an era where independent, working mothers were not common reality.

I grew up hearing this story told many times with lessons that I took to heart.  I grew up from a young age believing that “driving drunk is not only personally irresponsible but one of the most selfish things someone can do.”  The stories of struggles and pain and the lingering consequences were shared because one man didn’t think of others as he made his choices.  The scars of that decision run very deep in my family.  Over the years I saw the ripples of this play out in numerous ways, and even now, this incident is probably the defining moment in my one Aunt’s life (the one who was three years old when the crash occurred.)

And these lessons were deeply reinforced when, just three months shy of my 21st birthday, I was was hit head-on by a drunk driver myself.  Thankfully, forty-some years of car safety advancement meant that I walked away with only a bloody nose and a sprained thumb, both due to the airbag.

Not only did the stories of my grandfather’s death teach me lessons about the impact that the choices we make have on other people, but that sin is not just a private experience. There are ripples of negative influence on people’s lives that can last generations.

But I also learned amazing lessons about grace and community.

For every conversation my dad had with me about the pain of losing his dad at a young age, he probably shared ten stories about the men in his church community taking responsibility for raising this young boy into a Christian man as if he was their own. 

When my dad and I would work on a car or a mower, he would tell me about the men who taught him how to do this type of work. 

When he taught me to ride a dirt bike, he shared with me the stories of the crazy things he and his friends would do, and his friend’s dad who would teach them how to enjoy life, and to be responsible while doing it.

The lessons I was learning from my dad were the same lessons he had learned from these men in his church.

So thinking about the grace that I received to support me through the loss of my dad, I realized that he was able to share these things with me because he was given a gift of grace following the death of his father. 

An entire community of men worked together to teach, train, and disciple my dad.   

The grace that I received in my most difficult moments was actually my experiencing the gifts of grace that had been given to my dad years prior.  Statistically speaking, experiencing trauma, then growing up without a father in the 1950s and 1960s should have set my dad down a path that leads to brokenness and self-destructive behaviors.  Yet, 60 years after the death of my grandfather, I’m teaching my sons and daughter lessons that were taught to my dad as a child, by caring men of faith.

I sit here humbled and grateful knowing that someday my children will face difficult and painful times, yet they won’t face them alone.   Its humbling to realize the gifts that I try to give my children to endure challenges, these tools, and lessons that will show up as blessings and grace in hard times, are the direct result of a community of faithful men who shared grace, who accepted extra responsibility, and who cared for my dad as if he was their own son.

And as I think through all this, I realize that being part of a community of faith means gathering together and sharing with one another the grace that we’ve received.  Being part of a community that gives grace means that we are always surrounded by people who influence the outcomes of the situations in our lives.  There are natural consequences and outcomes for the events in our lives, and yet, those around us can choose to intervene and change the course of things.  Grace is not just a miraculous intervention by the divine hand of God (although it certainly can be, as I attribute my relative safety in my car crash to the grace of God), but grace can certainly be the loving care of a community that alters the lives of the members of that community.

As I think about the church members I’ve pastored, I remember single moms working hard to make life happen. When I recall their kids, I’m reminded of my dad’s story and his words about the men who refused to let him grow up without a Christian man’s influence because his father wasn’t there. At our best, I see the church engaged, involved, and sharing grace with these kids.

These moms and their kids remind me of the challenges my grandmother faced. And then I see the church gathering around these moms in prayer, encouragement, and various means of support.  And I know that these are families whose lives are changed because the people of God act in Godly ways, and in turn, the grace of God is made present.  It doesn’t fix everything, but it certainly makes a difference.

The thing that gives me hope in this world filled with reasons to despair is that this is only my story and my perspective. There are many others.  I have conversations with adult children of divorce that notice the families in the church who have shared that experience.  We have people who have wrestled with addictions or depression or severe health challenges and the people of the church gather together and become not only a community of faith but a community of grace.  The church not only receives grace but becomes grace.  Lives are changed because a group of people who share a faith in Jesus chooses to love others in tangible ways.

Life can be painfully difficult, stressful, and confusing. But a community of faith that chooses to become a community of grace as well can be a life-altering presence in the neighborhoods and communities in which it resides.

May we all learn to see the gifts of grace we’ve been given, be thankful, and in turn share these gifts of grace with our neighbors.

How have you seen grace present in your life or in your community?  I’d love to hear your story!

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