Obedience is something that comes naturally to me.
There are very few rules, or even suggestions, that I disobey with impunity. I could probably name all of them, but here's a sampling: I rarely keep off the grass if it's just a mowed lawn - that's just a tidy version of nature's sidewalk and it feels better to my feet.
Actually, I just sat here for two minutes trying to think of another one and I couldn't.
Oh yeah! I drive across the middle of parking lots. Don't tell me what to do, white paint. Yellow and red paint are the only bosses of me.
But I'm definitely not touching the things with the 'no touching' signs. I'm not going into 'employee only' areas. I'm staying in the bounds, no matter how puny the bounds are.
I think a lot about the story of the Prodigal Son. For most of my life, I saw it as a lovely tale of repentance and redemption, about those 'other people' who don't obey and twist off and need to come to their senses in a pile of manure. About the times when I maybe DID cross a line and got caught and shamed and ran back crying and humiliated. About the people who betrayed me, who I needed to run to with open arms and retrieve them and reassure them and teach them how to do it 'the right way' again. There's an unflatteringly self-oriented thread running through those, so I'm just letting you know I'm aware of it.
But, as often happens with those TARDIS-like parables (they're bigger on the inside, and I'm a nerd), I have discovered and drawn close to a new character. Perhaps (no, certainly), uncomfortably close.
Now his elder son was in the field: and as he came and drew nigh to the house, he heard musick and dancing. And he called one of the servants, and asked what these things meant. And he said unto him, Thy brother is come; and thy father hath killed the fatted calf, because he hath received him safe and sound. And he was angry, and would not go in: therefore came his father out, and entreated him. And he answering said to his father, Lo, these many years do I serve thee, neither transgressed I at any time thy commandment: and yet thou never gavest me a kid, that I might make merry with my friends: But as soon as this thy son was come, which hath devoured thy living with harlots, thou hast killed for him the fatted calf. And he said unto him, Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine. (KJV Luke 15: 25-31)
Here's one of the downsides of innate obedience - the rules become more important than the real. Pain and relief have both come from mourning all the moments and relationships and eras of my life when I was focused so much more on watching and maintaining the fences than I was with turning around and exploring the garden I'd been given. Anxiously coloring inside the lines but never changing crayons from a dull, drab brown.
As religious and/or thoughtful people we often focus on righting wrongs and healing from harm. We challenge ourselves to grow in goodness, in patience, in love. Obedience to moral and religious codes can free us to make bigger, better choices. I've heard these boundaries described as guardrails on a bridge - without boundaries we are slower, more cautious, more unsure as we cross the bridge, and with them we can more quickly and confidently move forward.
But it's a scenic bridge! We didn't come here just to move along - we came to look and linger and enjoy and smell and embrace. And too often I found myself clinging to the guardrails and warning others of the potential for doom, rather than looking up and down and around at all the joy that's there to be received.
We don't have to wait for some benevolent pat on the back and a goody bag. We can have songs and dancing and roasted goat on a spit whenever we desire. Everything He has is ours - we don't only received it when we make desperate missteps. It's the inheritance we live and breathe.
(Three Wise Men I'm learning from: Rob Bell, Timothy Keller, and Adam Miller who is actually a real person I know. I assume the other two are real but I've never eaten taquitos at their houses.)
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