For by grace you are saved through faith, and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so that no one can boast. (Ephesians 2:8, 9)
Dani and I rested with other missionaries (my sister and brother-in-law) in endless blue Greece—blue flags, bluer skies, bluer still sea. On the island of Santorini, there are three ways to ascend from the port to the chalk-white cliff dwellings. One can trudge up hundreds of steps, ride on the back of a traditional donkey, or sit in an aerial tram.
In the honeycomb of Fira, the town at the top, we found orthodox chapels so close together you could practically hold your breath for the time it took to run from one to the next. But on Sunday, we couldn’t locate a church open for worship. I wondered at the purpose of so many sanctuaries, which led me to question the way I, and those before me, have approached God.
Many of us try to climb the stairs to God in our own strength. My every step up is motivated by how I can impress the Almighty, and thereby wheedle my way into heaven. The problem with this logic is that it’s impossible for a creature with the least taint of sin to earn access to a fiercely holy God.
Others of us try to ride on the back of tradition. We think that if we pray in the right locations, and use proven liturgy, then God will sweep us into his bosom along with the throngs before us. But Jesus rebuked those with spiritual form and no real substance.
That leaves only one way up. I must entrust myself to the tram of grace. On the strong cable of Jesus’s sacrifice I risk all my weight. I may fill the tram with acts of gratitude, but they don’t lift one ounce from the burden of salvation. I must rest in grace alone, while the vastness of impossible perfection, and the vanity of hollow religion pass below.
Jesus is the only name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved. There’s only one way up.
Prayer: Messiah, you are my only power unto salvation.