The God Who Stoops

Lately, I find myself consumed with the “small” actions of God. I roll them over and over in my mind. On the surface, they seem rather menial. The God Who Walks. The God Who Runs. But my meditations are revealing new and beautiful depths of God. The kind of depths that draw praise from my lips and worship from my spirit and body. I am amazed by who He is and what He does and I am honored to share my recent meditation of The God Who Stoops.

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“The Shrine” by John W. Waterhouse

To stoop is to bend the head or body forward and downward. For example, one might stoop to pick something up or smell a rose. One might also stoop out of deference or submission descending from a superior rank, dignity, or status (Merriam-Webster). In modern language, we may be more apt to use ‘stoop’ to refer to lowering oneself morally, as in she stooped to adultery.

Interestingly, in my every day life, “stoop” is not a word I use or even hear. My first inclination when hearing the word was to apply it to the more derogatory definition. Naturally, when I read of God stooping, my curiosity piqued. Why did God stoop? Surely He never lowered Himself morally! He is the standard of morality. So, what does it mean when God stoops? If God stoops, should I stoop?

This meditation begins in the book of John, chapter 8, verses 1-11. I have always heard this passage referenced as the story of the adulterous woman. I’m neither a bible scholar nor a literary scholar, but I suggest this is a misleading title. At first glance, the reader (including me) presumes the following scripture verses are about adultery and the woman is the object or the antagonist of the story. In truth, as I dig into this passage, the woman plays the smallest role. The antagonist is religion. Jesus is the protagonist and grace is the theme. Perhaps this blog is better titled “The Grace of Stooping.”

At this time in history, the disciples are still struggling with Jesus’s identity as Messiah. To the world, Jesus has a reputation as a teacher. Unlike modern, western educators, ancient teachers in the east assumed a sitting posture to teach, though typically from an elevated platform. When I read this passage, I envision Jesus sitting in a slightly raised position in the temple when suddenly, religious leaders bring a woman into the court interrupting His teaching to initiate an execution.

I imagine the woman was terrified and feeling alone and isolated. All eyes focused on her. Perhaps there was pointing and murmuring as she faced her accusers and prepared for the worse. I can relate to feeling accused and isolated as fingers point and hurtful remarks are whispered. As the religious leaders demand this woman’s stoning, Jesus makes an interesting move.

He doesn’t hop on the condemnation bandwagon. Nor does He stand to protect or defend this woman from her accusers. Instead, He stoops. In silence. Jesus moves to a position lower than his students, lower than the religious leaders, and lower than the woman accused of stooping to adultery. I find this movement significant. From His conception — even before — Jesus lowered Himself from Heaven to elevate us into the Kingdom of God.

The first mention of Jesus stooping in this passage captures my attention and momentarily takes my breath away. It is a moment for awe as He physically demonstrates grace. The religious leaders didn’t recognize Jesus as the Son of God, the Christ. The disciples weren’t sure, either. But I know. I know that at this point in the story, the Christ, the Majesty who created the heavens and earth, lowers Himself beneath all others. I do not believe this was an act of submission or deference, but of confidence in grace and truth (and perhaps a bit of shock and awe!). This descent also draws all eyes to Himself, away from the woman, away from the religious leaders. He is now the center of the story.

As the religious leaders look upon Jesus, dissatisfied with his response (or lack of response), they protest and demand a verbal answer. “What say you?”

In response, Jesus straightens. He returns to His original position — His teaching position. Perhaps He even stands and is face to face with the religious leaders. The Greek verb used to describe Jesus’s “straightening” refers to the body as well as the soul. Not only is Jesus’ physical posture raised, but so is His soul. In this posture — a heavenward posture— He challenges their religious motivation: ”He who is without sin among you, let him be the first to throw a stone at her” (John 8:7). In other words, test yourselves against your own religion. Would you survive your own judgment and condemnation? This question has the power to knock me down on my best days. It demands truth and introspection, not condemnation. Jesus never condemns.

Jesus again stoops as the leaders inwardly search themselves. One by one, they walk away until only Jesus and the woman remain. He straightens to His heavenward posture and speaks directly to her for the first time. “Did no one condemn you. . .I do not condemn you either. Go. From now on sin no more” (vv. 10-11). Don’t look back! Focus on Me and walk forward.

I learned this kind of grace for myself from the letters of Brother Lawrence. He beautifully and aptly models how to forgive oneself, let go, and move forward. Only in this recent meditation have I discovered this was first the message of Jesus. I do not condemn you. Do not condemn yourself. Instead, sin no more and continue the journey with Me.

From the onset, Jesus embraced this woman with grace, while others sought condemnation. Jesus embraces us with the same grace today. It does not condone sin. To the contrary, grace offers life. “All that passing laws against sin did was produce more lawbreakers. But sin didn’t, and doesn’t, have a chance in competition with the aggressive forgiveness we call grace. When it’s sin versus grace, grace wins hands down. All sin can do is threaten us with death, and that’s the end of it. Grace, because God is putting everything together again through the Messiah, invites us into life—a life that goes on and on and on, world without end” (Romans 5:20-21, MSG).

I love that God stoops to lift us up. Surely, in those moments when the woman felt her life was at stake, her sole focus was on Jesus. As He stooped, her eyes lowered to follow the form of His body and as He straightened, her gaze lifted and her soul elevated heavenward. I learned from my husband the importance of looking up. When all else fails, look up. Look at the night sky and see the majesty of God. Then mountains fall into their place and giants fall to the ground.

One question remains in my meditation. If God stoops, should I? If the Creator of all life stoops to elevate the ones He loves, then who am I to take any other action. Jesus does not place me in the seat of judgment. He works with me to love Him with all my heart, soul, strength, and mind and to love my neighbor as myself. So, when I stoop as Jesus stoops, I am at once demonstrating grace to my neighbor and surrendering judgment to Jesus, the King and true Judge. This is the woman I want to be. One who stoops, who loves without conditions, and sees beyond appearance and past actions. I want my life to be a reflection of Christ doing only what I see my Father in heaven doing, no matter how small the action may seem.

The God Who Runs

The expression of a God who runs is what kick-started my meditation on the loving actions of God. In fact, it’s what I meditate on the most. Can you picture a God who runs? The Creator of the Universe running? Upon first inspection, it’s not very regal. To me, it’s a deep expression of love and romance. Little stirs my spirit more swiftly than God running toward me.

This example of the God who runs is beautifully described in the Parable of the Prodigal Son. I wonder if, because of this parable, the word “prodigal” has developed a negative connotation in the common language. After all, the story refers to a son who wastes away his inheritance. However, as I’ve studied and explored this parable over the years, it seems to me a story that is more about a prodigal father than son. The word prodigal implies giving in abundance, lavishly, or in extravagance. This aptly describes the father who lavishly loves his son. The father’s love is so full that he prematurely and freely gives his son an abundant inheritance. After his son wastes it away, the father not only welcomes his son home, but showers him with gifts and honor. What kind of a father is this who seemingly wastes his love on a rebellious, good for nothing son?

Early in my faith journey with Christ, a young man described God as One who lets go. He doesn’t lock people in a cage and demand their love. Instead, He let’s them go and waits for them to return. This is my story and could be why the parable of the prodigal father touches me deeply. It’s a story of a father who lets go and waits. The climax is in the run.

What was this father waiting for? An apology? A refund? No. He waited for the son he loved. Everyday, he waited and looked for his wandering offspring. Why? The father knew the son’s life was at stake. In the Hebrew culture at the time, such rebellious and squandering behavior was not just a crime against the family. It was a crime against the community and punishable by stoning. If the son were to return, he would face the consequence: death. So, the father waited.

One day, he saw the figure of a man in the distance and knew his son was returning home. I can see it now. It was a matter of life and death. So the father ran. He ran to embrace his son. No apologies. No explanations. Then, he clothed his son in the traditional, symbolic garments that identified him as a member of the family: robe, ring, sandals. Celebration ensued.

God runs. He also instructs us to run and to run with endurance the race that is set before us (Hebrews 12:1). Endurance in running comes from practice, as any runner will share. When I run, I set incremental goals for myself. My internal thought process is something like, “If I can just make it to the next light post. OK, made it. Now, if I can just make it to that big tree.” And so on. We have a promise in scripture that endurance for the spiritual race comes as we continually fix our eyes on Jesus (Hebrews 12:2). Imagine my endurance to run when I see Jesus who “never lost sight of where he was headed—that exhilarating finish in and with God. . .“ (Hebrews 12:1-3, MSG).

God runs to us. He also runs with us. In 1992, Dereck Redmond, the Olympian, experienced this first-hand. Maybe you know the story. Dereck was favored to win the 400-meter race. Half-way through, he fell to the ground in agonizing pain with a torn hamstring. But he didn’t give up. His eye was fixed on the prize. He was going to finish. His loving father ran to his side and carried him to the finish line. This image of love — a father running to his son — is seared in the depths of my spirit. It embodies who Father God is to me.

Click below to watch a father’s love in action.

 

When I picture Father God, I picture the God who runs. He ran to save my life. He asked nothing in return except to lavishly bestow me with the gifts that name me daughter. His daughter. He runs with me today. He helps me keep sight of where I’m going — that exhilarating finish in and with Him.

The God Who Walks

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The Soul of the Rose, John Waterhouse

Over the last few months, I’ve been meditating on the actions of God, specifically as they relate to His love. Sometimes, I’m so focussed on the BIG actions or the fulfillment of BIG promises that I overlook the small and the simple acts of my Father God. This focus overflows into my physical relationships, as well. Time often reveals that the simple, small, and consistent acts are the most comforting, the most missed, and the greatest demonstrations of love.

For example, my loving husband makes me breakfast every morning. It is his pleasure to do this for me. If left unchecked, I could contort this daily practice into an expectation as opposed to an act of love. If I were to expect breakfast every morning, I would miss my husband’s heart. My focus would turn inward to myself and to my own satisfaction. God forbid! My hope and desire is to convey my love for my husband and express my thanks and joy in all that he does for me, no matter how small or how often.

I have the same hope and desire in my relationship with God. Yet, I take Him for granted. Let’s take walking, for example. It’s a simple enough act that I often overlook. The God who walks. So what? In the beginning, God walked in the garden. It was His delight — I daresay His pleasure — to walk amidst and with His Creation and His beloved, Adam and Eve. We all know the story. After the devastation of disobedience by His beloved, Adam and Eve hid from their Father. So focused on themselves, they were unable to share in God’s Presence (Genesis 3:8).

Whether it be fear or shame, I’m asking myself how often I follow in the shadow of Adam and Eve and hide from God’s invitation to walk with Him.

Enoch walked with God. This is all we really know of him. He walked in God’s pleasure until he was no more (Genesis 5:24). What a legacy! What an epithet! Noah also walked with God and through his obedience saved humankind (Genesis 5:9-22). Then, at some point in the Hebrew tradition, walking with God shifted to walking before God or walking in the ways of God. Until Jesus came. He brought restoration.

With the arrival of Jesus, we see the fulfillment of God’s promise to walk among us and be our God (i.e. Leviticus 26:12). Our God is a God who walks. I believe the invitation to walk with Him is perpetually extended, but the choice — the daily choice — is ours. Mine. Jesus invites everyone to come with Him. “Walk with me and work with me. . .,” He says (Matthew 11: 28-30, MSG, emphasis mine). “Watch how I do it.” This is an intimate call to His Presence. Watch how I walk. How I speak. How I love.

I am moved by God’s call to intimacy with Him. Who am I to walk with the King? I have no gift to offer. Even now I see the warmth of his invitation. “Come. Take a stroll with me. Let us talk of the things on your heart. Allow Me to impart My love, My wisdom, My grace.

And look! The King, the God of all, He matches my pace so that we walk side-by-side, stride-by-stride. Though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear nothing; for He is with me (Psalm 23:4). In fact, He will never leave. He will always walk with me. And when I pause or stray and become distracted with myself, He waits and whispers my name until my focus is once again completely on Him. Seek me first and all you need will be provided (Matthew 6:33).

Today, I rejoice in the God who walks. . .with me.