Not What My Hands Have Done

On our last night at this past weekend's Army event, I sent a text to my soldier who has lost a lot of loved ones in the past couple of years. I let him know that I was around if he wanted to talk. A part of me figured that he was probably out at a bar, so it seemed a safe (and selfish) offer to make.

It turns out that he was at a nearby building, drinking with several other soldiers. He invited me over. A part of me didn't want to go--I was enjoying time with my wife and was already dressed down for bed. I also knew that it wouldn't be quality time with that soldier, due to the presence of other, similarly rowdy friends. But in God's providence, I felt the impulse to suck it up, and went.

As expected, it wasn't particularly quality time with that soldier. But for most of the night, I could appreciate the vulnerable ruminations of a room full of slightly inebriated soldiers. They each told me why they knew I cared about them, and why that made me their favorite chaplain. If it was all generalities, I would've just take it all as flattery.

One soldier told me that when I went from soldier to soldier at Ft. Hood and asked a long list of "get to know you" questions, which included religious preference, he knew I cared when he told me "Atheist" and I simply kept working my way through the list. He knew then that my desire to know him wasn't conditional on his faith, but was unconditional.

After this soldier told me this, I reminded him and the others that I do believe what the Bible teaches and that Christ is our only hope for salvation. But I told them that in order to show them how much I care about the cross, I needed them to know how much I cared about them. For example, I cared that this soldier was an atheist, and that he met his wife at Wendy's. I cared that another of these soldiers wanted to be a youth pastor and now disavows anything having to do with the faith. I cared that another one of these guys had hemorrhoids (I was being humorous while showing them that I have listened to them over the past year).

But that general discussion was not the most important of the night. One soldier had mentioned to e that he really needed to talk to me, and he was with us that night. Before I knew it, I was back in deployment-mode, having a heart-to-heart with a broken soldier.

He is tormented by guilt. Ever since he got divorced years ago, he has had his share of girlfriends, often at the same time. I remember telling him a couple of years ago that he was trying to heal his heart through shallow relationships and physical pleasures that would only continue to rot the wound. He needed to get past his Roman Catholic cliches about belief, and truly embrace Jesus Christ as his Lord and Savior.

This time he came to me twice the wreck as ever. His best friend over the years (and occasional girlfriend) just died. She had fought off cancer a number of times, but it was something asthma-related that finally took her life. The worst part was how this soldier feel he betrayed this woman. She was constantly supporting him while he was deployed and telling him that she loved him. He reciprocated these words while deployed, but when he returned, knowing he had a regular girlfriend, he broke off contact. This woman continually sent him kind notes, but he brushed them all off. Then she died.

The soldier had barely started telling me these things when tears started flowing. The guilt of his treachery was boring away at his heart. He missed this woman desperately, and also felt incredible guilt for betraying her love in her final months. He kept asking me to tell him what to do. "Please, father. I have to do something for penance. Make me say the "Hail Mary!" I refused.

I told him that there was nothing that he could do that was sufficient to atone for his guilt. That is not to say that I didn't try to offer him a sense of superficial comfort. There was just no act he could do that would atone him in his own eyes or before God. After years of thinking he was only "imperfect," he was coming to the realization that with rest of the broken mass of humanity, he was a traitor against love.

And the religion of his childhood only left him with a God of wrath he couldn't appease. Due to his sin-do penance-absolve guilt method of handling his depravity growing up, he had no room in his heart or mind for grace.

I pressed him over and over to embrace Jesus Christ, who bore the guilt of and penalty due to sinners through the working of the eternal love of God. This man could do nothing. Christ had to do everything. And He did.

He did it for those exposed as traitors against love--who shouted "Crucify Him!" when He had healed many of them of their infirmities. My friends, this is what a works-based theology does--It offers people false comfort that will one day dissipate and leave no hope whatsoever in its wake.

A rich man once came to Jesus and asked Him what He needed to do to have eternal life. He could confidently assert to Jesus that he had fully kept the law (at least externally). But Jesus exposed the idol in his heart: "Give away all you have." The man left downcast.

This soldier kept wanting to know what He could do. You may want to know the same, wherever you are in life. The answer for the rich man, the soldier and for you, is "Nothing." Until you can confess that fact that you can offer nothing and that Christ had to offer everything, you will inevitably leave the discussion downcast. Friends, embrace Christ. What a tremendous thought to know that as we cry out under the weight of our sin, we can hear the words "It is finished" reverberated over and over again, by the hero of heroes, Jesus Christ.

Not what my hands have done
Can save my guilty soul;
Not what my toiling flesh has borne
Can make my spirit whole.
Not what I feel or do
Can give me peace with God;
Not all my prayers and sighs and tears
Can bear my awful load.

Thy work alone, O Christ,
Can ease this weight of sin;
Thy blood alone, O Lamb of God,
Can give me peace within.
Thy love to me, O God,
Not mine, O Lord to thee,
Can rid me of this dark unrest
And set my spirit free.

Thy grace alone, O God,
To me can pardon speak;
Thy pow'r alone, O Son of God,
Can this sore bondage break.
No other work, save thine,
No other blood will do;
No strength, save that which is divine,
Can bear me safely through.

I bless the Christ of God;
I rest on love divine;
And with unfalt'ring lip and heart
I call this Saviour mine.
This cross dispels each doubt;
I bury in his tomb
Each thought of unbelief and fear,
Each ling'ring shade of gloom.

I praise the God of grace;
I trust his truth and might;
He calls me his, I call him mine,
My God, my joy, my light.
'Tis he who saveth me,
And freely pardon gives;
I love because he loveth me,
I live because he lives.