GRACE IS PROBABLY the biggest surprise and the most precious gift anyone could ever receive. It comes to us straight from God.

The word grace has strong roots in Biblical tradition. Looking first at the Greek of the New Testament, we find the word charis. Its basic meanings are: favor; attractiveness; goodwill. People have charis, favor, in the eyes of a parent of superior authority. They express charis to others when they do them a favor of some kind. And most important, they find charis in the eyes of God when He accepts them as members of His own family.

While the Old Testament has no direct linguistic equivalent, it does have a conceptual one: chesed. In the King James Version, this word is often translated "mercy" or "lovingkindness," but its implications are far deeper than any one English word can contain. Chesed means steadfast love—love that exists within the context of a covenant, or lasting relationship, between individuals; love that hangs in when the going gets tough.

Note that both these ancient words embrace a sense of goodness that flows freely as an expression of generosity, rather than being called forth by some quality or act of merit. That's the essence of grace. It isn't earned, but is simply given out of love. And that's how the love of God works: It comes to us just because we are His children. We cannot do anything to lose it. We don't have to work to earn it. We simply have to claim it as our own—and let it transform our lives.

Now, that fact is in itself somewhat surprising, because it works so differently from what the world thinks of as customary. From the time we are little children, we learn we have to strive. We have to achieve. We have to deserve privileges. And if by any chance we fail to achieve or deserve, we come to expect disapproval at the least, and quite possibly some sort of punishment or penalty. "People get what they deserve." "What goes around comes around." "You reap what you sow." Who hasn't heard similar statements of a life philosophy based on merit and hard work!

But it's interesting. That isn't how God works at all. He doesn't wait to see whether we are worthy before embracing us in His care. One reason is that He already knows who and what we are, because He made us in His own image and likeness (see Gen. 1:26-28). So we really don't have to prove anything to Him. It's our own sense of ourselves that may need some convincing.

There is perhaps no better Biblical example of this than Christ Jesus' famous parable of the prodigal son (see Luke 15: 11-32). It's a family story, and families are always full of surprises. There are some stock characters in the story: the responsible son, and the other son—the one who is always messing up. One is good and the other is bad, right? Actually, no; as the story unfolds, we see that the situation is not as simple as that. Let's approach the story as if it were happening today.

The younger son of a prosperous businessman cashes in his trust fund, goes off to the city seeking adventure, falls in with a crowd that loves to party, and very soon finds himself broke, sick, and alone. Meanwhile, the elder son is at home working away in the family business. His motto in life is simple: Work, work, work.

After a long night of partying, the younger son gradually faces reality. He has hit rock bottom. He is penniless, and needs a job just to keep himself alive. The only job open is disgusting, but he takes it because he is that desperate. He has become a kid on the street, just a statistic—invisible even to himself. The Biblical account adds a jab of pathos: "No man gave unto him." Well, why should they? He got what he deserved, didn't he? Why should anyone have sympathy for a person who had it all, lost it, and brought disaster upon himself?

The surprising answer is in the rest of the story. In this plight, the boy remembers who he is. He remembers his father, and significantly, he remembers the way to get home. He decides to throw himself on his father's mercy (chesed). He figures: "No way am I going to be taken back as a son. But maybe Dad will hire me to work for him. I'll put aside my pride, admit I made a mess of things, and ask him."

What does the father do when the boy arrives? Scold him? Ground him? Nothing even remotely like that happens. This is a tale of grace, of love just pouring forth. The father has been watching and waiting for him; the porch light has been on every night for months. Even as he turns the corner on his street, heading for home, his father sees him and runs outside to give him a hug and welcome him.

The boy cleans up his act in more ways than one. The poor choices he made were punishment enough to convince him to try a different approach to living. The father phones all the neighbors, the boy's old friends from school, and everybody in the family. He tells them his son is home again, so it's time to celebrate. He throws a huge dinner for everyone. It's a surprise party—there's surprise and joy at the son's safe return, and there's also an element of surprise in the fact that there is celebration, not punishment, going on.

OK, the prodigal son returns to the fold, right? Well, that's not the end of the story. And this son may not be the one who's prodigal! The elder brother is furious. After all, he did everything right, played everything by the book, while his brother was out partying. He figures: "I'm the one who deserves the party, I earned it, and it should be mine." He won't even go into the house; instead, he sulks on the front porch. He's just as alone there as his kid brother was in the big city.

The father misses his elder son and goes outside to check on him. The elder son meets him with a blast of righteous indignation—really just a disguise for jealousy and selfishness. The father reassures him; he tells him there's plenty of love and "family" to go around, and so he always has everything he could ever want or need. He offers to walk him inside the house—just a couple of steps—even as he walked his brother home all the way down the street. But as the story ends, the elder son is still outside the house. So near, and yet so far, from his father's love. Could it be that this son is really the prodigal?

Note the surprise of grace in the story: The son who messed up gets a blessing anyway. Why? Because it was offered and he accepted it. The son who followed all the rules in his head, but not in his heart, was also offered a blessing, but he refused it. The story teaches an important lesson about how God's love works as a constant in our lives, no matter how many mistakes we make. It's a porch light in our hearts that will always lead us and those we love home to God. There is always a place for us in His family, and it is a place of honor, as we learn to honor ourselves as His image and likeness.

Exploring and explaining this story, Mary Baker Eddy wrote: "The present self-inflicted sufferings of mortals from sin, disease, and death should suffice so to awaken the sufferer from the mortal sense of sin and mind in matter as to cause him to return to the Father's house penitent and saved; yea, quickly to return to divine Love, the author and finisher of our faith, who so loves even the repentant prodigal—departed from his better self and struggling to return—as to meet the sad sinner on his way and to welcome him home" (Message to The Mother Church for 1901, p. 17).

Grace. A big surprise to human sense, but an essential characteristic of the divine nature—of the Love that God gives to all His creation. It confers honor. It is filled with joy. It's the only thing that brings true happiness and satisfaction. It's ours today. We can all accept the gift of God's grace and enjoy it. |CSS