Big Ticket Item
It was 4:30 in the morning. I was driving down Cave Creek Road. Half asleep, I balanced a hot cup of coffee in one hand and the steering wheel in the other.
I was traveling 62 miles per hour. I know, because that’s what the officer told me. He also mentioned that I had neglected to signal when changing from the left to the right lane. He gave me a little piece of paper to remind me never to do it again.
As you might expect, I wasn’t too pleased. Are we ever?
I suppose it’s therapeutic, but I’ve been musing (and commiserating) about this experience for a few weeks now.
Why do we need speed limits? Why do we blatantly violate them? And why are we so offended when we get caught? What does it say about human nature?
I can name that tune in one word: Depravity. Or two: Original Sin.
I know these are not very popular ideas today. We prefer to think that humans are inherently good. We like to believe that self-centeredness is the result of poor upbringing, or poor education, or poverty, or survival instincts, or even bad religion. We like to think that evil is a problem “out there.”
But it isn’t. It’s right here, deep inside our own hearts. We are selfish people. Selfish people do selfish things. Selfish people resent being told what to do. Nor do they like to get caught breaking rules. Especially at 4:30 in the morning.
“The total depravity of man,” G.K. Chesterton wrote a hundred years ago, “is the one doctrine empirically validated by 4,000 years of human history.”
It's why we put locks on our doors. It's why we pass laws forcing society, big business – and us – to do the right thing. It's why we are not surprised when some of the first words our children say are, “Mine!”
It’s also why any philosophy of life must take into account the propensity we humans have to make destructive decisions.
We want to be masters of our own universe. When we drive fast, people should get out of our way. When we drive slow, people should leave us alone. When we change lanes without signaling at 4:30 in the morning, people should let it slide.
That’s what I plan to tell the Judge when I go to court. I’ll tell him that the laws don’t apply to me. I’ll tell him that he should let me go without any consequences. I’m sure he’s a nice guy. He’ll let me off, don’t you think?
As ludicrous as it sounds, this is precisely the attitude we naturally have toward God. We don’t deny that we are guilty, but we think our guilt should have no consequences.
The beauty of Christian spirituality is this: it is honest about our condition, realistic about its consequences, and hopeful about its solution. For from a Christian point of view, Jesus’ death paid our ticket. In this way, justice is satisfied and guilty people are forgiven.
There’s an old song which reminds me of this truth in a beautiful way. Remembering Jesus’ crucifixion it says, “Heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world in love.”
So I guess I’ll pay my ticket and be grateful that it’s only a few hundred dollars. I don't like it, but I'll get over it.
Later this week, when I receive Holy Communion, I’ll be grateful that Someone paid a lot bigger ticket than that on my behalf.
I was traveling 62 miles per hour. I know, because that’s what the officer told me. He also mentioned that I had neglected to signal when changing from the left to the right lane. He gave me a little piece of paper to remind me never to do it again.
As you might expect, I wasn’t too pleased. Are we ever?
I suppose it’s therapeutic, but I’ve been musing (and commiserating) about this experience for a few weeks now.
Why do we need speed limits? Why do we blatantly violate them? And why are we so offended when we get caught? What does it say about human nature?
I can name that tune in one word: Depravity. Or two: Original Sin.
I know these are not very popular ideas today. We prefer to think that humans are inherently good. We like to believe that self-centeredness is the result of poor upbringing, or poor education, or poverty, or survival instincts, or even bad religion. We like to think that evil is a problem “out there.”
But it isn’t. It’s right here, deep inside our own hearts. We are selfish people. Selfish people do selfish things. Selfish people resent being told what to do. Nor do they like to get caught breaking rules. Especially at 4:30 in the morning.
“The total depravity of man,” G.K. Chesterton wrote a hundred years ago, “is the one doctrine empirically validated by 4,000 years of human history.”
It's why we put locks on our doors. It's why we pass laws forcing society, big business – and us – to do the right thing. It's why we are not surprised when some of the first words our children say are, “Mine!”
It’s also why any philosophy of life must take into account the propensity we humans have to make destructive decisions.
We want to be masters of our own universe. When we drive fast, people should get out of our way. When we drive slow, people should leave us alone. When we change lanes without signaling at 4:30 in the morning, people should let it slide.
That’s what I plan to tell the Judge when I go to court. I’ll tell him that the laws don’t apply to me. I’ll tell him that he should let me go without any consequences. I’m sure he’s a nice guy. He’ll let me off, don’t you think?
As ludicrous as it sounds, this is precisely the attitude we naturally have toward God. We don’t deny that we are guilty, but we think our guilt should have no consequences.
The beauty of Christian spirituality is this: it is honest about our condition, realistic about its consequences, and hopeful about its solution. For from a Christian point of view, Jesus’ death paid our ticket. In this way, justice is satisfied and guilty people are forgiven.
There’s an old song which reminds me of this truth in a beautiful way. Remembering Jesus’ crucifixion it says, “Heaven’s peace and perfect justice kissed a guilty world in love.”
So I guess I’ll pay my ticket and be grateful that it’s only a few hundred dollars. I don't like it, but I'll get over it.
Later this week, when I receive Holy Communion, I’ll be grateful that Someone paid a lot bigger ticket than that on my behalf.