Big Buts of the Bible

Read Ephesians 2:1–10

There are some songs you don’t realize you’ve stored away in your heart until something brings them back.

Recently, I learned that a beloved professor from my Bible college days, Dr. Richard Seymour, had gone home to be with the Lord. Almost immediately, I heard an old song playing in my mind:

I’m so happy and here’s the reason why,
Jesus took my burden all away…

Dr. Seymour began every class he taught by leading us in that simple little hymn. I can still hear him singing it.

Doc was more than a gifted Bible teacher. He was a caring, nurturing mentor who took both Scripture and his students seriously. Over the years, he and I spent hours tenderly jousting over some subtle theological differences. I teased that I was a five-point Calvinist and he was “one point shy.” Neither of us ever succeeded in converting the other.

But something better happened.

We listened to one another. We learned enough about the other’s position to respect our differences rather than resent them. And somewhere along the way, we agreed that one of us was probably going to be surprised when we got to heaven. We also agreed that neither of us would care very much once we were there. We’d be far too overwhelmed by the wonder of God’s grace and love.

So, in honor of Dr. Seymour—and all my brothers and sisters in Christ, five-pointers, four-pointers, no-pointers, and those who have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about—here’s a little Sunday Wonder wrapped around one of the most wonder-and-awe-inspiring buts in all of Scripture.

Ephesians 2 begins in a dark place. Paul describes the human condition apart from God in terms that don’t leave much room for self-congratulation. We were dead in our transgressions and sins. We followed the ways of this world. We gratified the desires of our fallen nature. We were, Paul says, “by nature deserving of wrath.”

Dead.

That’s an important word. Paul doesn’t say we were spiritually underperforming. He doesn’t say we were basically good people who needed a little religious improvement. He doesn’t even say we were sick and needed some medicine.

He says we were dead.

And then come two of the most beautiful words in the Bible: But God.

“But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ…”

There is the turn. There is the Gospel. There is where broken stories meet God’s grace.

Notice who acts in the passage. God loved. God showed mercy. God made us alive. God raised us up. God seated us with Christ.

Why? Not because we finally got our act together. Not because we accumulated enough good deeds to tip some heavenly scale in our favor. Not because we became religious enough, respectable enough, sober enough, moral enough, knowledgeable enough, or worthy enough.

“But because of his great love for us…”

What a reason.

Sometimes I wonder if familiarity has robbed us of the sheer wonder of those words. We talk about salvation so often that we can begin treating it like another theological concept to understand rather than a miracle to stand before in awe.

We were dead. But God made us alive.

Not improved. Alive. Not rehabilitated. Alive. Not given a spiritual self-help program and told to try harder this time. Made alive with Christ.

Paul won’t allow us to take credit for any of it:

“For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God—not by works, so that no one can boast.”

Grace means we arrive empty-handed. That’s difficult for human beings. We like to contribute something. We want to believe there was something in us that made God say, Now there’s somebody worth saving.

Ephesians 2 won’t give us that. It gives us something infinitely better.

God loved us.

Not because we were lovely.

Because He is love.

God showed mercy because He is “rich in mercy.” God lavished grace upon us because grace flows from His character. Salvation begins not with our worthiness, but with His heart.

And perhaps that’s why that little song came rushing back when I heard about Doc.

Jesus took my burden all away.

Simple words. Enormous theology.

The debt I couldn’t pay. The righteousness I couldn’t produce. The life I couldn’t manufacture. The distance I couldn’t cross.

Jesus paid it all.

Paul even makes sure we understand that good works have a place—but he puts them in their proper order. Check the prepositions: We aren’t saved by good works; we’re saved for them.

“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”

Grace doesn’t leave us where it found us. The God who makes us alive begins making something beautiful of that new life. We become His handiwork. His workmanship. His doing.

And perhaps that’s the greatest wonder of all.

Sometimes theology sends us searching through thick books and wrestling with difficult questions—and I’m grateful for that. Dr. Seymour taught me to love that kind of wrestling.

But sometimes theology should leave us without another question to ask. Sometimes all that’s left is worship.

I imagine Doc knows that better today than he ever taught it in a classroom. And someday, when I join him, perhaps we’ll finally settle those theological disagreements of ours.

Or maybe we won’t bother.

Maybe we’ll simply be standing there together, overwhelmed by grace, discovering that eternity itself isn’t long enough to comprehend the love behind those magnificent words: But God.

And somewhere in that great celebration, if Doc starts singing, I know I’ll remember the words.I’m so happy and here’s the reason why…Jesus took my burden all away