We crouch behind our walls and fences, readying ourselves for what we’ve learned to fear. We lock all doors, secure the bars. We mentally rehearse our steps, our routes.
We twitch at unfamiliar sounds, lie wide awake when branches scrape the roof, and wait for light and morning.
Whoever is not us is “other”—a nameless, faceless “stranger” we assume means only harm. “They” are the people unlike us—of different race, perhaps; or language, habits, customs, faiths. We crave the time machine that takes us back to comfort as we knew it.
But grace is so remarkably persistent that even locks and fears cannot deter how it reshapes our thinking.
When you discover—at long last—that you were “other” to the Lord—that you were threatening to His kingdom, a rebel to His law and rule, and damaging the world with your hostility and hate. And still He loved—still welcomed you into His house, and gave you keys to all the property. He trusted you before you knew you could be trusted; offered you forgiveness—yes—for sins not yet repented of.
We were embraced before we even tried to love. “God proves His love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us” (Rom 5:18).
So grace remakes our way of seeing those we used to fear—takes down our walls brick after brick—until we learn that difference is a source of joy, that “other” can be “brother,” “sister” “neighbor,” “friend.”
The great unlearning has begun. Now stay in grace.
—Bill Knott