​God and Grandpa

My Grandpa Tharpe was not what you would call a large man. As a matter of fact he and I were exactly the same size; the same height and weight, the same slight stoop; the same big ears; and while I am not overly ashamed of my physique, large is not how I would categorize either myself or my grandpa. With that being said, in many ways the comparison stops there.
You see, unlike me, in all of my dealings with Grandpa, I cannot remember a time when he raised his voice in anger. I cannot remember a time when I heard a harsh word leave his mouth. I cannot remember a time when he spoke ill of anyone. Now I know that as a rule, memories come with their own filters, but I have carefully looked back over the archives of my mind and will stand by those statements nonetheless.

I do remember a certain titanium edge that would come into his voice every now and again. An edge that was apparently keen enough to stop Granny in her tracks, and that was a heroic feat to my way of thinking. That bit of titanium was the only indication that Grandpa was anything other than the quiet, gentle man he appeared to be.

Well, there was one other thing.

As a teenager I happened to be passing by Grandpa’s bedroom one evening as he was in the process of changing his shirt from his Borden uniform to something more comfortable; and I was surprised to see a six to eight inch scar, running across the ribs of his right side. It was a wide, angry scar from a wound that had been deep and cruel.

Later that evening, being the curious sort, I asked Grandpa about the scar. He offered no explanation other than to say “You should’ve seen the other guy.” After that, no amount of prodding could make him explain further. He simply said that was in the past, and the past was best forgotten.

 Not being one to let things go that easily, the next morning I asked Granny about it. In response she said:

“Oh that, well your Grandpa has not always been the man you see today, and let me give you a little advice. I wouldn’t ask him about it again. There is a side of your grandpa that you don’t want to meet.”  

Well, for once I took her advice and didn’t pursue the matter any further because I sensed that Granny was right. There was a part of my Grandpa I did not want to disturb. 

Now up to that point in my life, I had my grandpa all figured out. He was a quiet fella with a laidback personality who did his best to get along with folks. He tried to help folks whenever possible, and basically he lived his life at peace with the world around him. From my understanding of Grandpa, he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Now I don’t know who the other fella was, or even if he survived the encounter, but somehow I figure his mental picture of my gentle grandpa did not have him quite so laid back and harmless. No, if he got worse than that nasty scar that grandpa sported, then he went away from their encounter scared to death and thanking his lucky stars that he was still breathing, if he was. I never got a satisfactory answer on that one.

I got to pondering about this dual aspect of my grandpa the other day when I was going over some of the modern day theological thinking, in one of the modern day theological journals. For the record it wasn’t what I would call a satisfying intellectual meal. It was more like a bowl full of theological popcorn. The bowl was full, but it was pretty lite when it came to substance. No calories to speak of you know.  

            As I sat there thinking about what passes for theological thought in some circles today, I realized that a great deal of the thinking, is for lack of a better term, wishful thinking. Today many have a concept of what they consider the perfect God, and they have written a recipe that when followed carefully produces the God they would like to meet. 

            Now this recipe is of their own making and it bares a striking resemblance to my view of grandpa as a child. I loved grandpa with all of my heart, and because of that love, my young psyche simply could not fathom anything other than my loving, gentle grandpa.    
 
            To my way of thinking, some of my fellow children of God have a similar view of their Creator. They love Him, and because of that they cannot picture Christ as anything other than the loving and caring God of the New Testament. Because of this they tend to shy away from the God of wrath often seen in the Old Testament. The result is a skewed recipe and a ruined meal.

            I wrote this a few days prior to the beginning of Holy Week and as I considered Holy Week and all that my Lord went through, something occurred to me. The God of the Old Testament and the God of the New Testament were both present during that joyous and horrendous week.

Our rebellion, and the sin produced by that rebellion, demanded a response from our Creator. A sacrifice, a payment as it were, was required to set things right, to balance the books. By all rights, that payment was our responsibility. Each and every one of us should have died on that Cross. All of us should have been tormented, and beaten and nailed to that tree. The wrath of God is what we deserve for the pain and disappointment we have foisted upon Him; and yet when that payment came due, Christ, the God of the Universe and the Creator of all of us, stood between all of us and the wrath to come.

You see in an unfathomable act of love, God Almighty vented His anger upon Himself so that we could be saved. The whip intended for our backs was laid across the naked and bleeding back of our Lord. The humiliation and shame we should feel was felt and despised by our Savior. The agonizing death that was our sentence was experience by Christ in our stead. Because of His amazing love for all of us, God Almighty vented His great anger upon Himself so that we could be eternally free.

What an amazing Savior is He; and on Easter morning, His wrath exhausted and His love reborn, God stepped out into the morning air with a grin, feeling the satisfaction of a job well done. Salvation had been won. Hallelujah!
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Love,
Pastor Tony