The Tree of Beginning

I recently finished a novel titled ‘The Tree of Beginning’ (Hajimarinoki) by Sosuke Natsukawa. The novel traced the journey of an ethnologist (a person who studies different societies and cultures) and his post-graduate student, as they researched how the past and the future influence Japanese people in the present.

The ethnologist set out the way Japanese people sought to discover God and understand faith: ‘They [the Japanese] saw gods in trees and rocks, in forests and mountains, and these gods were simply there to stand by the people of the land and watch over them.’ He then compared the Japanese gods, which stand by and watch, with the ‘powerful monotheistic God of the continent’. The more I read the more I realised the ethnologist was pleased to discover Japanese gods were not ‘exclusive deities who offer salvation only to those who believe’ or ‘frightening gods who declare human beings to be born sinners’.

As a Japanese Christian, I don’t feel threatened by the ethnologist’s viewpoint. If your god only stands by, then it goes without saying that a God who convicts people of sin will feel cold and harsh. If at the centre of your thinking you believe sin to be trivial, you will instinctively feel more comfortable with a God who watches from a distance. Without knowing your need for rescue, the good news just doesn’t taste good enough.

When talking with Japanese friends about Jesus’ death, I often sense their struggle to comprehend the need for someone to die ‘in their place’ and ‘for their sin.’ Most of them have conditioned themselves to believe they are ‘good’ enough. This is the image they work hard to maintain. Truth be told, this is the image I work hard to maintain!

When my sins are exposed, it is all too easy to jettison Jesus’ atoning sacrifice. I take offence, cover my mess, play things down, point to my good deeds or resort to the fact that “everyone falls short of the glory of God” (as if your sin cancels out my sin). I relegate God to being an observer and set about acquitting myself in an attempt to once again feel good enough. But nothing I do undoes my sin. Even if I could undo my sin, I cannot undo the decision that led to the action, let alone the desire that led to the decision that led to the action. No amount of self-atonement can change what has already been done.

In order to appreciate a ‘powerful monotheistic God,’ I had to accept my own helplessness. I had to turn to a God who became human, as well as divine. I had to trust in the one who became sin, although he knew no sin (2 Corinthians 5:21). In order to face myself, I needed to look upon a different tree. The one where Jesus died in my place (John 3:16).

But this was not the end of my journey. Once I tasted the good news, offered to me through the person and work of Jesus Christ, the conviction of sin became God’s invitation to repent and believe—to flourish and renew (Colossians 1:21-22).

Between the now and not yet, I can sometimes become disorientated. My view of God can become skewed, and what is meant to be beautiful can sometimes feel frightening. There are moments I don’t repent because I am chiefly committed to saving face. Burdened with shame, I fear being exposed.

But this fearful reality only applies when I fail to grasp I am clothed in righteousness, not of my own. In fact, this is the very reason why I can admit my brokenness. Jesus has done everything to save me. I am already forgiven. Therefore, from this position of security, it is completely safe for me to admit my failures. Within the safety of God’s grace, I am free to confess and repent. Confident in His mercy, I am able to taste the good news again and again. The more fully I face myself in light of the cross the more fully I taste God’s grace. The more a fearful god becomes a merciful and loving Father.

“The gospel is this: We are more sinful and flawed in ourselves than we ever dared believe, yet at the very same time we are more loved and accepted in Jesus Christ than we ever dared hope”

— Timothy Keller, ‘The Meaning of Marriage’

Like the ethnologist, a god who stands by and watches from a distance appeals only to those who have yet to see their need for rescue. Yes, He is by us always. Yes, His loving grace invites us to live as sons and daughters (instead of self-sufficient enemies). But our God refuses to leave things there. The One who makes us righteous is equally committed to our ongoing sanctification.