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Why we'll never get to the bottom of God's love. (Part 2)
by Max Lucado
It's Not About Us
God sent His Son to die in our place. Yet, it's not just about us. God's priority is His glory. He occupies centre stage; I carry props. He's the message; I'm but a word. It's not about me; it's about God.
Would we really want the world to revolve around us, anyway? If "it's all about us" then "it's all up to us." The heavenly Father rescues us from such a burden. While we are valuable, we aren't essential. We're important, but not indispensable.
My father, an oil field mechanic, never met a car he couldn't fix. Forget golf clubs or tennis rackets, my dad's toys were sockets and wrenches. He relished a wrecked engine. Once, while he was driving us to visit his sister in New Mexico, the car blew a rod. Most men would have groaned all the way to the mechanic. Not Dad. He called a tow truck and grinned the rest of the way to my aunt's house. To this day I suspect paternal sabotage. A week of family chitchat
repulsed him. But a week under the hood? Forget the coffee and cookies. Hand me the manifold. Dad did with a V-8 engine what Patton did with a platoon--
he made it work.
Oh, that the same could be said for his youngest son. It can't. My problem with mechanics begins with the end of the car. I can't remember which one holds the engine. Anyone who confuses the spare tyre with the fan belt is likely not gifted in car repair.
My ignorance left my dad in a precarious position. What does a skilled mechanic do with a son who is anything but? As you begin formulating an answer, may I ask this question, what does God do with us? Under His care the universe runs like a Rolex. But His children? Most of us have trouble balancing a chequebook. So what does He do?
God loves you too much to say it's all about you.
I know what my dad did. Much to his credit, he let me help him. Holding wrenches, scrubbing spark plugs--he gave me jobs to do. And he knew my limits. Never once did he say, "Max, tear apart that transmission, will you? One of the gears is broken." Never said it. For one thing, he liked his transmission. For another, he loved me. He loved me too much to give me too much.
So does God. He knows your limitations. He's well aware of your weaknesses. You can no more die for your own sins than you can solve world hunger. And, according to him, that's okay. The world doesn't rely on you. God loves you too much to say it's all about you. He keeps the cosmos humming. You and I sprinkle sawdust on oil spots and thank Him for the privilege. We've peeked under the hood. We know what it takes to run the world, and wise are we who leave the work to His hands.
Heaven's Answer
To say, it's not about you is not to say you aren't loved. It's because God loves you that it's not about you.
And, oh, what a love this is. It's "too wonderful to be measured" (Eph. 2:19). But though we cannot measure it, may I urge you to trust it?
Some of you are so hungry for such love. Those who should have loved you didn't. Those who could have loved you wouldn't. You were left at the hospital, left at the altar. Left with an empty bed, left with a broken heart. Left with the question, "Does anybody love me?"
Please listen to heaven's answer. As you ponder Him on the cross, hear God assure, "I do."
Someday someone will likely find the limit of the South Texas aquifer. A robotic
submarine, perhaps even a diver, will descend through the water until it hits solid ground. "We've plumbed the depths," newspapers will announce.
Will someone say the same of God's love? No. When it comes to water, we'll find the limit. But when it comes to His love, we never will.
Used by permission. Excerpted from It's Not About Me: Rescue From the Life We Thought Would Make Us Happy,
which will be released by Integrity Publishers in March 2004.
© 2004 Max Lucado.
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