According to dictionary.com (the new Webster?), "reckless" means:
utterly unconcerned about the consequences of some action; without caution; careless
Reckless, is usually considered a bad thing. Think, "You kids are being so reckless! Make better choices! Eat your vegetables! Wear a helmet!"
Why then, use this word to describe God? A creator so precise in his actions that he knew exactly where to place the earth: were it a few million miles closer or further from the sun, the planet could not sustain life. How could that God, ever be described as reckless? Certainly he is not akin to a some careless hooligan.
I think the key portion of the definition is "utterly unconcerned about the consequences." No, God isn't romping about the heavens all willy-nilly. I think, that in this case, reckless love, refers to God knowing the consequences of his actions, and being unconcerned about them. In fact, utterly unconcerned about them.
He does not love cautiously, only to those who will accept it or give it back. He just loves. He loves every human. If you think about it, there's nothing in it for him. He has everything he could ever want. He doesn't need to even give humans a second glance. Yet he still chooses to love us. He pursues us relentlessly. Unconcerned with what the response will be. Unconcerned with the results. Unconcerned that the very people that he pours out his life for, often reject him, condemn him, or ignore him.
Jesus bore the weight of each person's sins, knowing that they would keep right on sinning. He left his heavenly oasis, knowing he'd be rejected on the planet he had a hand in creating. He died a torturous death, just to offer the free gift of salvation, knowing that none deserved it, and many would not receive it. None of this concerned him. Without caution, without care, he just went on giving and loving the very people that would spit on him, and curse him, and rip the flesh from his bones.
I don't know how to love like that. If I'm honest, most of the love I give is very calculated. If I really think about it, many things I do in the name of loving others, serving, or giving are actually about me. I rub my husband's back knowing that he will be happier with me. I initiate time spent with my friends, desperately attempting position myself as a priority in their lives. I give a thoughtful gift hoping that at some point in the future I might get one back. I make investments in others hoping there will be a return.
And if not a return of love personally directed towards me, I at least expect there to be some results. I want to be able to pat myself on the back for accomplishing something good in the world. I want an impressive story to be able to tell. I want something to boost my resume. I want that student to come back and tell me that I've made a difference in their life. I want that look of gratitude that makes me feel like maybe I'm a good person after-all.
In my short life I have seen glimpses of truly selfless love. First, I think of my husband with his students. (Yes, he gets paid to work with them, but he could easily get paid doing something less taxing). Philip works in a self-contained special education room. Most of his students are non-verbal, or almost non-verbal. The chance of him getting a thank-you or a you-changed-my-life speech from one of them are slim to none. Every day he uses his best energies and strategies to teach them things they've often forgotten by the next time he sees them. He gives them skills that might allow them independence, knowing that many of them will never move out of their parents' homes. He builds relationship with each one knowing that it in some cases it will never be reciprocated. That's reckless love.
I think of my dear friend, who reached out to me when I was at my darkest. She had nothing to gain by loving me. She dipped into her precious time and resources. She gave me very one-sided phone calls and text messages. She encouraged me. She was courageously vulnerable with me, so that I would know I was not alone in my grief. She gave me notes and gifts. She prayed for me. She gave to me during a time when I literally had nothing to give back to her. I like to think she was unconcerned about that.
I think of my (now) sister-in-law, who gave everything to care for my brother when he was in the throes of a battle with cancer. They were just dating at the time. It wasn't like she had already made the, "in-sickness-and-in-health," promise. She didn't owe it to him. She had no guarantee that they would even stay together long enough for him to return the favor. In fact, she didn't even know if he would make it through this. Still, she gave up her job. She set her dreams and ambitions aside for awhile. She spent countless, weary hours tending to his every need. I know it wasn't easy. Even if she would have gained nothing from this, I know she still would have done it. That is love without caution.
I think of motherhood. As moms, much of the time you are giving so much to someone who can't, won't, or doesn't give back to you. Not to mention, you never know what the result of your careful parenting will be. Let's be honest; there have to have been serial killers who had great moms. For all I know, Mrs. Hitler was a wonderful woman who loved her kids well (actually, I was fascinated to learn more about her story). There's no guarantee that you are going to raise a loving, life-changing, or even somewhat civilized human. I'm not saying that what we do as mother's makes no difference. I'm not saying we shouldn't do it with intentionality, or that we won't reap a reward for our labor. I'm simply stating the fact that sometimes a mother might do her absolute best and never see her investment come to fruition. You can't control people. You can only love them. And, that, as it turns out is pretty reckless.
I think of countless other small ways of loving without conditions. Giving money anonymously: without thank-yous or accolades. Reaching out to people you feel rejected by. Showing kindness to the naughtiest kid in class, the one that will never give you anything but further grief in return. Having a conversation with that person who will talk your ear off and not so much as ask how you're doing in return. Praying for healing or life change even if it never comes. Sitting with someone in suffering.
Dear Jesus,
The distance between your goodness and my goodness is great. In fact, I'm not sure that I've actually ever done something completely void of selfish intent. Will you take my heart? Will you make it more like yours? May I reap the benefits of your love. May I soak it in. May I look at it in wonder. May it pour out of me. Like water permeating a sponge, flowing from every orifice. Teach me to love the way that you love. Love through me. Help me to be unconcerned about the consequences of my investments of time, energy, and talent. Rather, I want to love unconditionally to the point of recklessness. I want to throw kindness around like it's confetti--even if that means that some of it just winds up lying on the floor. Lord, you are good. More of you, and less of me.
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