Raising the Bar

When I had children, I realized the progression of truth. Well, that’s not really true. It wasn’t until long after they grew up and left home did I realize this.

Initially, I required obedience. They didn’t have to understand. I just required that they follow my specific instructions, follow the rules. As they grew up, rules became guidelines. And later still, rules faded away, replaced by a unique friendship flavored by a father-son dynamic.

Truth came to my children in steps, in small disclosures, in layers. Each new layer superseded the previous layer, not as if to nullify it, but as if to raise the bar. Here is a simple example of a Father’s layered truth to his children.

Obey your mother. Do exactly as she says.

Honor your mother. Follow the spirit of her instructions, if not the letter.

Love your mother. Do more than she asks of you, before she asks, even if she doesn’t ask.

The child’s relational connection to their mother begins with rules, but ends with love. We accept this easily, but are unwilling to believe this is how our relational connection should be with God. “It’s different,” we say. “God is always the parent and we are always the child.”

But such thinking sounds more like a child’s way of avoiding a higher bar. The child wants to simply obey the rules. It’s easier that way. Just review the checklist and you know what to do and where you stand. Don’t sin. Check. Read the bible, pray, go to church. Check, check, check. There’s more to the checklist to be sure— items added by me or put upon me by others. 

But to replace the checklist with love? Well, that just complicates everything. Love is messy. It takes more time. It demands more involvement. It requires that I focus upon another rather than myself, considering them as more important. There’s no checklist to follow, no list of things to know what to do or evaluate where you stand. Love is fluid, attentive to the moment. In a word, it’s relational.

The scriptures reveal this progression of truth. In the Old Testament God laid out the rules. He required obedience. In the New Testament God invites us to into a relational union. In the Old Testament it was keep my commandments and you will live. In the New Testament it’s love me and you’ll keep my commandments. The old way was to keep the checklist. The new way is to love him. The bar is now higher. Way higher. God isn’t looking at a checklist. He’s looking at my face and asking that I return his gaze. When I encounter him, I am changed. Love doesn’t review the checklist. Love doesn’t keep a checklist.

Checklists are useful, to be sure. They’re good for self-discipline, for getting tasks done, for remembering things. They’re not good for relationships. If I evaluate my relationship to another by a checklist then I’ve missed the point. My eyes are on the checklist, not the other. I’ve traded love for a to-do list. 

There was a situation once where someone I worked closely with at a church offended me. I was blindsided and became angry. Unforgiveness is a cancer and I wanted to purge it from my soul. So I created a list of things that upset me and reviewed it carefully to make sure I had forgiven him for each item on the list. As a further check, I asked the Holy Spirit to compare our lists—my list to his list. I wanted to make sure I had covered all the bases. And that’s when I saw a picture. I held up my list of 6 or 7 things on it, and Holy spirit held up his. I looked at his list and the page was blank. Completely blank. And he said, “love keeps no record of wrongs.” I got it. I tore up my list.

And here’s the hardest part of all this. God doesn’t evaluate me by a checklist. He loves me. I sometimes evaluate myself by a checklist and think my checklist is the same as his. But he doesn’t have one. Comprehending that kind of love is hard. Engaging him in such a relational love-bond—harder still.

Can I throw out the checklist I use to evaluate myself? It’s the one that makes me feel good about myself—or bad, depending on what boxes are checked. If I throw out that checklist, what will I look at? He wants me to look at his face, but can I endure that? That kind of intimacy is intense. Yes, the bar is much higher now.