Chapter Four
“Sir, the Marine respectfully requests permission to speak once more.”
The Keeper of Judgment regarded me with the same unwavering expression.
“Speak, Marine.”
“Sir, the Marine requests one additional privilege. It may prove difficult at times to continually address you as Keeper of Judgment. The Marine respectfully requests permission to simply address you as Sir.”
He studied me for a moment before answering.
“Your respect is admirable, Marine. Permission granted.”
A quiet sense of relief came over me.
“Thank you, Sir.”
His gaze remained steady.
“Now answer the question.”
“What is grace?”
I took a slow breath.
“Sir, the Marine believes he understands grace because he has experienced it at different times and in different ways throughout his life. Yet the Marine also believes many people misunderstand it. Some treat grace as though it were a get-out-of-jail-free card. They believe they may live however they choose, say whatever they desire, pursue whatever satisfies them, and then, when the consequences of their choices arrive, simply ask for mercy and expect everything to be as though it never happened.
“The Marine once thought he understood grace.
“I did not.
“The greatest lesson the Marine ever learned about grace began when he was seventeen years old.
“It began on the yellow footprints… at Marine Corps boot camp.”
The Keeper of Judgment neither nodded nor interrupted. He simply waited. He understood that some lessons are too important to rush.
Sir, the greatest grace the Marine ever saw or received is as follows.
Shortly after boot camp began, the Marine was selected to be Guide for the platoon. I was very proud of that. I also understood the responsibility that came with it. The Guide was expected to keep the platoon functioning properly and to set the standard. I worked diligently to keep that position and make sure the platoon stayed squared away.
One of the worst things that could happen in boot camp was when someone left their rifle unlocked. You would enter the squad bay and go to retrieve your rifle from the rack. If you reached for it and it wasn’t there, your heart would sink immediately. That meant the drill instructor had your rifle, which meant a trip to MOTO.
MOTO was short for Motivation Platoon. As we marched around the depot, we would sometimes see MOTO taking place. Usually it was in a sand lot with trenches. The recruits were not wearing utilities. They were in sweatpants and sweatshirts. Five-gallon buckets of sand were everywhere. The drill instructors constantly screamed in their faces, sprayed them with hoses, and drove them beyond exhaustion. Their job all day long was to endure verbal and physical punishment. They lifted buckets of sand, ran in place, wallowed in wet sand, and finished the day with raw skin, soaked clothing, and aching bodies. As we marched by, we were never allowed to look directly at them, yet our peripheral vision told us everything we needed to know. I thanked God I had never gone there.
Then one day, about six weeks into training, I ran to the rifle rack.
My rifle was gone.
My heart sank.
About that time I heard the command.
“Guide! Get your sorry ass in here!”
Inside the duty hut, the drill instructor held up my rifle.
“Is this your rifle?”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“Then why do I have your rifle in my hand, you scummy piece of shit?”
“Sir, the Guide obviously made a mistake. He knows he locked the rifle, but apparently he failed to spin the lock completely.”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Well, you have a choice, maggot. You can either go to MOTO tomorrow… or you can punish yourself. Which do you prefer?”
“Sir, the Guide requests permission to punish himself, sir.”
“Get out of my face.”
I snapped to an about-face, ran outside, dropped to the deck, and began doing every calisthenic I could think of. For the next three and a half hours I punished myself without stopping. A puddle of sweat formed beneath me while the rest of the platoon went to drill. I remained there alone until the drill instructor finally stepped outside.
“Do you feel you were significantly punished?”
“Sir, the Guide does feel so, sir.”
“You cannot afford mistakes in the Marine Corps. Mistakes cost lives. You can never take anything for granted.”
That lesson stayed with me forever.
But the greater lesson was not about rifles.
It was about grace.
I could have been sent to MOTO. My Guide armband could have been ripped off my sleeve. Instead, they saw effort. They saw someone trying.
That effort received grace.
There are always consequences for mistakes, but by God’s grace, He chooses the outcome.
Grace is not a get-out-of-jail-free card.
Grace is when the Lord sees the condition of your heart. He knows when you have failed, but He also knows whether you are repentant. Never treat grace as permission to continue in sin or as something to rely upon to escape consequences. Grace is when you find favor in the Lord’s eyes. When you receive it, you honor it, you respect it, you never forget it, and you learn how to administer it.
Instantly, something that had not been there before appeared behind the Keeper of Judgment. It was a chair of such stature and authority that I hesitate to call it a throne, yet it possessed a majesty unlike anything I had ever seen. He sat down with quiet purpose, the great scales still held firmly in one hand.
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Marine… do you think I should place that story upon the scales?”
A chill swept through me.
“Sir, the Marine is fearful of any outcome. But he knows with all of his heart that he understands grace.”
The Keeper of Judgment paused for a long moment before speaking.
“Marine… you understand grace better than most people do. That is exactly what grace is for. It is not given to eliminate accountability, nor is it a license to continue in wrongdoing. It is certainly not a get-out-of-jail-free card.
“You are also correct about something else.
“The Father sees the condition of your heart.
“Grace is the mercy that spares a soul from the full measure of the trauma it truly deserves. It is not earned by perfection. It is received by those whose hearts are repentant and who sincerely desire to walk with Him.
“The greatest act of grace was not performed on a parade ground or a battlefield. It was performed upon a cross.
“When Jesus willingly shed His blood, He covered the sins of all who would receive Him. Accountability still exists. Justice has not been removed. But grace has been extended to every soul that humbly desires to accept Him as Savior.”
He rested one hand gently upon the great scales.
“Never confuse grace with permission.”
“Grace is one of the greatest expressions of the Father’s love.”