A love that lets us leave
God gave them up to their passions. Delivered them over to their cravings. A God who says, “My people have forsaken me,” loves with a Love that lets us leave. No forcing, no coercing, just freedom. Because without freedom there is no love. But freedom in love is precisely the risk. These texts from Romans and Jeremiah invite us to imagine a Creator who, for the sake of love, allows freedom, allows their creatures to break their own heart. The God from these readings isn’t One who is just as well off without a relationship with humanity. This is a God who is Love, and who chooses to endure the pain that love and freedom inevitably bring. This is a God who is relationship—who is about relationship. With us.
God’s love story with us is one of sacrifice—culminating with the cross, but God’s sacrificial relationship is repeated over and over, all the way through the Bible. Think of the pain of allowing someone you care about to make their own mistakes, to learn their own lessons, to reap the harvest of what they’ve sown. God offers us the way of Love, of being perfectly loved, and then allows us to choose whatever path we want—even if it means choosing our own destruction. Even if it means God watches as we struggle and wrestle our way through the lies and distractions of this world, instead of crying out to our Source for help.
This is the agony of freedom in relationship. Agony for the one who allows the mistakes, and agony for the one who reaps what he sows. But freedom is necessary for love.
These readings from Jeremiah and Romans show God’s emotion as the Beloved people of God turn away, over and over again. But perhaps this is the truest depth of Love: this Love that allows itself to be abandoned. This Love who sighs as he watches his beloved bring destruction into her own life. This Love who grants freedom to the ones she loves, trusting that as they choose the lies and stories around them over the truth, they’ll eventually see the emptiness and pain of the death they’ve bought into. Love empties itself for us to have the choice. Love offers us the choice. God offers us the choice. It is our choice whether we love God in return. And when we look to Jesus, we see the image of a God who loves us regardless of our choice—who does enter into our brokenness, our mistakes, and our weaknesses with tenderness and compassion. Jesus enters in—with Love, where we have abandoned it—and heals us.
So whether in a season of Lent, or a season of pandemic and isolation, or any a time of self-examination—it’s an opportunity to notice the spaces we’ve wandered, and the parts of us we bring to God for healing. May we have courage to see the ways we’ve turned from Love—from God’s Love. May the bitterness of our refusal be enough to remember the pure sweetness and goodness of being Loved by our Creator. And may we have the humility to turn back to Love’s open arms, who has promised to never leave us or forsake us.