My Constant Argument With Grace

Over the course of this year, I’ve really tried to take a deeper look at the character and nature of God. Not just what He’s done, but who He actually is.

Earlier this year, I read a book called The Lord of Psalm 23 by David Gibson. It walks through that famous chapter verse by verse and paints such a rich picture of Jesus. Not just as a shepherd who leads us, but as a companion and host who delights in us. It gave me a completely new appreciation for His heart.

So when I stumbled across another book a few weeks ago that seemed to be in the same spirit, it felt kind of divine.

My wife and I were wandering around Barnes & Noble on a Saturday, not really looking for anything in particular, when a simple cover caught my eye. The title read Gentle and Lowly. I picked it up, flipped through a few pages, and something about it immediately hit me.

I’m still working my way through it, but it’s already one of those books that makes you stop and think. If you haven’t read it, you can find it here. I highly recommend it.

One morning last week, while I was working through a chapter, I hit a section that just leveled me. Dane Ortlund imagines a conversation between us and Jesus where we come to Him with all the reasons His love couldn’t possibly apply to us, and He answers every one of them with this quiet, steady grace:

“No, wait—you don’t understand. I’ve really messed up.”

“I know.”

“It’s not just my past. It’s my present.”

“I understand.”

“The burden’s too heavy.”

“Then let me carry it.”

“The more ugliness you see, the sooner you’ll get fed up with me.”

“Whoever comes to me, I will never cast out.”

By the time I got to that last line, I had tears in my eyes. Because that’s the one I’ve never really believed.

I know the verse, John 6:37, could probably quote it in my sleep. But it’s one thing to know something in your head and another to believe it’s true for you. That whoever comes to Him—the tired, the ashamed, the ones who keep promising to do better and don’t—He will never cast out.

Somewhere along the way, I think a lot of us learned that Jesus loves us but doesn’t necessarily like us. Like He forgave us, but now He’s just patiently waiting for us to clean up.

But that’s not what Scripture shows us.

In Matthew 11:29, Jesus says, “I am gentle and lowly in heart.” That’s the only time in the entire Bible where He tells us what His heart is like. Not what He does or commands, but who He is. And what He reveals is surprising. Not distant. Not demanding. Gentle. Humble. Approachable.

Then in Hebrews 4:15–16, it says, “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace.”

That word “sympathize” literally means “to suffer with.” His heart doesn’t stand off at a distance from our mess. It moves toward it.

If I’m honest, I’ve spent most of my life trying to convince Jesus to keep loving me. To prove I’m still worth His time. I don’t think I’m alone in that. We keep arguing with grace, giving Him all the reasons it can’t possibly apply to us.

Maybe that’s why that passage hit me so hard. It reminded me that Jesus isn’t surprised by my failures. He isn’t tired of my shortcomings. The parts of me I’m most afraid to show Him are the very parts He’s already moved toward.

That’s the thing about His heart. It isn’t repelled by weakness. It’s drawn to it.

I think we’ve missed that in modern Christianity. We talk about what Jesus did—the cross, the resurrection, forgiveness—but not enough about who He is.

We treat grace like a transaction. Jesus treats it like a relationship.

These days, I’m trying to let that truth actually settle in. To believe He isn’t waiting for a better version of me to show up. That His gentleness doesn’t run out. That His patience isn’t on a timer.

When I sit with my girls and see the way they reach for me even after they’ve done something wrong, I think maybe that’s what He’s been showing us all along. Real love doesn’t pull away when it’s hurt. It leans in closer.

So maybe the invitation isn’t to try harder to deserve it, but to stop arguing with it.

To stop trying to convince Him to walk away and start believing that He won’t.

Because at the end of the day, I get the strong sense that grace doesn’t negotiate.