Unconditional

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, so great is his love for those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, so far has he removed our transgressions from us. Psalm 103:11-12

"Brick..." "Brick..." "Brick..." My shots continued punching the rim. But the orange ring, wearing its white netted garment, was not the only one taking a beating. With every thumping miss, my soul groaned with gutting guilt.

While working at a Michigan-based camp, I had decided to pick up basketball. And with the summer of ministry having reached its conclusion, I had one last day of uninterrupted free time to practice.

Desiring to get good and having the day to spend, I put together a shooting drill. As I began, three things were clear. One, I was not good. Two, I knew I was not good. And three, I was even worse than I thought. My shooting percentage was in the low thirties, and each spot was taking nearly five minutes to complete.

As I mindlessly reached the second half of the drill, each missed basket began to voice itself. "Brick...failure..." "Brick...liar..." "Brick...hypocrite..." Each shot off to the right accused, and to the left condemned.

Three months of non-stop successful ministry, and all I had now was guilt. Every seven days, I was assigned a new age group of boys, anywhere from ten to eighteen years old. Several of those weeks brought out the darkness in kids like spiders out of a burning log pile. By day six, children and young men would come to me in uncontrollable tears, confessing their addiction to lust, masturbation, and pornography.

Because I had been freed from that struggle six months earlier, my response remained the same every time. "Jesus loves you so much more than you can imagine!" "Your sin does not separate you from Him!" "Freedom is attainable!"

But those words, seemingly true, were marred now. The final week at camp, after breaking things off with a girl, I found myself sinking in shame and turned to the sexual sin I had lived with for fifteen years. Months of promising freedom to younger versions of myself, all to slip back into the pit I thought I had climbed.

I was a liar, a hypocrite, and, like the basketball player attempting a drill, a failure. I had preached the gospel to those who had never heard it, proclaiming a life of freedom, and here I was, back in bondage.

Halfway through the second-to-last spot in the drill, my failures overshadowing my successes, I cried out to God. "Father...if you love me...if you have not abandoned me...show me a sign!" My eyes were drawn to the basket, and I thought, "Father...make my last five shots."

As the first went in, judgment whispered, "Luck..." The second breathed, "Chance..." And the third made basket mocked me with criticism. But the fourth and fifth drew tears as I found myself amidst the impossible.

The voice returned, charging this answer to prayer as nothing more than a lucky, desperate, self-attained reach for love. "Do you really believe this was God?" the voice taunted.

I didn't know what I believed. I thought I was free. I thought I understood His love. I thought the gospel had changed me, and yet, the feelings of guilt and condemnation remained.

My eyes raised back to the net. "Father. If you really love me. If you have forgiven me, show me one more sign. Make my next ten shots in a row."

The critical murmur jeering at me polluted the first five made baskets. "Just wait till number nine." But as numbers six, seven, and eight found their way into the net, I began to believe.

The darkness in my mind shifted like angry clouds on a summer day; the lies of shame, guilt, and condemnation wisping into the distance. The ninth sank through the ring, and the snearing comments quieted. My spirit was still. There was calm within.

As my hands released the ball for the tenth time, there was something different. My body didn't clench, nor were my fingers afraid.

I didn't "need" the tenth.

The wall in my mind had already collapsed like a house of cards, revealing my Heavenly Father. I knew my Abba loved me. I believed His forgiveness.

The ball swished through the net, releasing inexplicable joy. It was as if I could feel the Lord's smile and perceive His kind eyes. The God of the universe had stepped onto the court in the middle of nowhere, Michigan, and shot fifteen times because He loved me.

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We must brace ourselves for the reality that our Creator is Holy, Righteous, and Just. We should fear such a truth because it means He will certainly not hide our sin, left alone to rust. It is only then that the gospel becomes a reason to rejoice, a reason to get up and leave the mud. Because when you put your faith in Jesus, your sin, though wide and vastly deep, is surely vanquished by His blood.

His love for you is not based on success or your failure. If it were, salvation would be a rollercoaster, all based on your labor. Instead, His love is unlike anything you could imagine. It changes not like the wind or whimsical compassion.

Many times have I hiked up steps into an airplane to depart from home. Many times have I sped through a boarding tunnel to the machine that will take me places I've known. Many times have I left the ground under a darkened sky, filled with emotion, heartbreak, and pain. But every time the plane pierces the clouds, I'm warmed by the sun that will, regardless, remain. In the same way, God's goodness dares stay; He's not capricious or fickle, He's unchanged.

Sin is still wrong and worthy of regret. But don't let it hold you, don't give up just yet. His love only hides when we cover it with shame. Disbelief in His grace opens the door for blame. So don't believe in the clouds, don't give in to rain. Believe in the Son, whose love will forever reign.

 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. Romans 8:38-39