I had to work last Sunday.
Working in retail, I don’t get many weekends off, but I do split the
misery with my senior manager - I work Saturdays and she works Sundays. But the staffing chart is currently threadbare. I knew the college students would be returning
to their distant dormitories and labor laws would limit how much I could use
the high school students when school started.
I did not anticipate the simultaneous purging of underachievers from my
staff. We have been reduced to a skeleton crew, a boney bunch stretched to fill
the necessary shifts.
Lately as I write the schedule, I stare at the computer
screen, puzzling out how to fill in the gaps in my staffing. Last Sunday’s there
was no other option. I would have to
work on my day off. It’s not my
preference, but I’ll do it when I have to.
“Won’t you get in trouble for skipping church?”
I stared back in silent bewilderment. Head cocked and eyes slightly squinted. The thought had never crossed my mind.
My cashier repeated the question with an underlying note of
assertion “Won’t you get in trouble for
skipping church?”
She is not a churchgoer.
But she knows of my faithful attendance.
This was a window into the perspective of an outsider trying to make
sense of why those who attend church faithfully would bother. With a weekend reduced to one day, why would
I waste a chunk of it in church?
Her assumption was that church attendance must be mandatory
for the religious. We go because we
must. It is an obligation, like a
debt. Missing a Sunday is like skipping
a payment. Too lax and the repo man will be pounding on my door. Already, God must be scratching out a first
draft of my eviction even as I post the schedule. Foreclosure is imminent. Won’t I get in
trouble for skipping church?
To her, Christianity is built on obligation. This was so self evident that it didn’t
require any explanation. The only uncertainty was how I found a loophole to
dodge the sure disapproval and the probable retribution from a divine enforcer?
Recently, I have been listening to an audio drama of Les
Miserables by Focus on the Family Radio Theatre.
A free copy was provided for me by the Tyndale Bloggers network. It is the familiar story of Jean Valjean
first told in Victor Hugo’s epic novel, then adapted for Broadway in the Tony
award winning musical. Most recently, the musical made its way from Broadway to
Hollywood, with a critically acclaimed film adaptation starring Hugh Jackman,
Russell Crowe, and Anne Hathaway.
This particular three hour audio production is solid. The scoring is fitting, musical interludes
carrying the action from scene to scene and setting the tone within the scene. Sound
effects add to the drama. The voice
acting is strong with the tone matching the character, from the stone-cold
Javert, to the devious Thenardier, to the tender Marius. The limitations of audio drama are on display, everything
having to be explained verbally causing the dialogue to feel stilted and
unnatural at times. In some cases, too much is explained. But the action
progresses at a steady pace and the drama is delightful to listen to. Most importantly, the story of redemption
shines through as law and grace are set in tension.
Valjean is the model of grace. The embittered ex con, having been turned
away for lodging again and again because his passport identifies him as a
convict, is welcomed by a priest. He
warns the priest that his paperwork identifies him as a dangerous man. The priest replies that we are all dangerous
men. The convict and the priest alike,
in need of grace.
When Valjean is caught stealing the silverware, the priest
covers for him, contending that these were a gift, refusing to press charges,
and insisting that he take the silver candlesticks as well. This undeserved act of kindness is a turning
point for Valjean, a motivation to lead an upright life. Valjean is transformed
into a generous man, risking his life to rescue others, spending his fortune to
help the poor, exposing his identity to spare a falsely accused man, and
charting his life to honor a promise in caring for the daughter of a dying
woman.
Inspector Javert, on the other hand, is rigidly devoted to
the letter of the law. For Javert,
Valjean’s broken parole must be prosecuted, even if this man has become a model
citizen. The law is equivalent to
justice. Repeat offenders, like Valjean,
should be put away for life. He doggedly
pursues Valjean, refusing to believe that a criminal can ever truly change.
Javert is no hypocrite.
When he begins to suspect a wealthy factory owner and town mayor could
be Valjean, he denouncing him without proof.
When he is sure he was mistaken he insists on being fired. He is unworthy of the post and must pay the
price for his own unsavory behavior.
Justice is justice, whether your hand is on the trigger or your frame is
in the scope. When he is captured be the
rebels, he fully expects to be executed, the rightful punishment for a
spy. He is dumbstruck when Valjean, his
executioner, helps him escape.
Which brings me back to the question. Won’t I get in trouble for not going to
church? The question rises out of a view
of Christianity that is Javertian (if I may invent a word). But this is not the
gospel. In the gospel, grace triumphs
over law, salvation is a gift given and not a wage earned. The “ought” of obligation is overtaken by the
“bought” of redemption. This is Valjean,
a man fueled by gratitude, transformed at his core.
In the end Javert commits suicide. The edifice of his worldview cannot bear the
weight of Valjean’s transformation. He
dies a tormented man. Valjean, on the
other hand, dies in peace, declaring God’s goodness and saying that “to die is
nothing, but it is terrible not to live.”
So won’t I get in trouble for skipping church. Of course not. God isn’t busy keeping score, marking
attendance on vast spreadsheets. His
focus is on transformation. He is
molding my character. His goal is not to
make me a church goer. His intent is to
transform me into the image of Christ. “And we all…are being transformed
into his image with ever-increasing glory” (2 Corinthians 3:18, NIV).
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