Ed. note: Written by hand January 30, 2008 at the pediatrician’s office and posted later. Liam had pneumonia.
Dean Parento is in the hospital. This morning we prayed for his salvation. My thoughts pursuant to that prayer are wretched; a self-indictment. They wandered along a path peopled by three figures: Dean, John Newton and me. These thoughts are set to a soundtrack: Chris Tomlin’s rendition of Amazing Grace. I know I’ve written unfavorably about this song in the past. Witness me now despising my own hubris.
Tomlin’s version, coincidentally, is also the soundtrack to the recent movie of the same name. The movie portrays John Newton, the author of Amazing Grace, as an old man haunted bu the ghosts of 20,000 slaves who died in his charge while he was captain of a slave-trading ship. The committer of terrible offenses against God and man, he felt the weight of God’s forgiveness palpably. Truly amazing is the grace that would forgive such sins. This forgiveness breathes as if it was the voice of the wind. It tells me of its own miraculousness. And I know that forgiveness is always a miracle, whether applied to Dean, John Newton, or me.
Too often I see myself only in peripheral vision and assume that I’m wearing armor, that I somehow wear a clean character. When I stop and look down, though, that armor turns to filthy rags. I realize again that I’m no more worthy of forgiveness than John Newton. And that gives me tremendous hope for Dean. The fact that I’m not beyond Christ’s grasp means that Dean isn’t, either. When I pray for Dean’s salvation, I know that I’m reaching beyond possibility to the realm of miracles.
But that’s where forgiveness lives, and from thence has Christ rendered my own salvation. “And like a flood, his mercy rains (reigns). Unending love, amazing grace.”
Amazing Grace, indeed.