ONTROPHY–PROBABLY derived by the conjunction of conversational dystrophy—is the name given (by me, as a very amateur sociologist) to the tendency of conversations to degenerate in quality and subject matter; sometimes by huge leaps from the sublime to the ridiculous, sometimes by gradual and almost imperceptible steps down from the point of departure.

Now, it is possible that it could be just that I am usually involved in the conversations that I have the greatest opportunity to observe. Certainly we all know people whose introduction to a conversation precipitates a rapid controphic effect, and it may be that I am one of those people unwittingly armed with a barrage of conversation killers. However, when I have had opportunity to discuss this theory with others, the impression seems to be that it is a more widespread conversational phenomenon—but we soon move to talking about something else.

Controphy can be observed in all forms of social interaction. However, nowhere is it more marked than in the discussion of matters of Christianity and religion. The potential difference between the height and breadth of the mind of God and the mundane pettiness of religious trappings provides a vast scope in which the controphy inherent in discussions can run rampant.

The degeneration is exaggerated by the enormity of the starting point. Consider the standard controphic pattern. Occasionally a discussion, whether it be in a Sabbath school lesson or other shared Bible study group or, less formally, in the course of a Sabbath afternoon spent in conversation, can approach subject matter dealing with a portion of the grand enormity of God. Yet within a few minutes the group will be debating—usually with increased vigor—the appropriateness (or otherwise) of swimming on Sabbath afternoon or some similar “standard.” Controphy has done its work. It is a pattern repeated many times over. It almost seems that the degree of controphy is proportional to the magnitude of the subject initially under discussion.

It is hardly surprising, then, that discussion of the grace of God is so prone to this degenerative condition. As the grandest of all themes available for study and discussion, it is worthy of much more careful attention. However, as soon as grace is preached, discussed, or even mentioned, all too often there is someone who wants to point out “the other side of grace,” and the conversation descends into an articulation of appropriate behaviors.

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Yet there is no other side to grace. If you are looking for something from the party to whom the grace has been given, it ceases to be grace, becoming a mere exchange of behavior and reward. In all honesty, when we stand at the cross, what do we have that can be given in any kind of legitimate exchange for the boundless love of the God of the universe? If we do need something to exchange, we are just as hopelessly lost as when we began. As soon as there is any mention of something in addition to the simple but unfathomable grace of God, the discussion has entered into an alarming and dangerous controphy.

It is so much simpler to talk about Christian behavior and standards—or the weather or sports results, for that matter. It is a real temptation. It is probably why Paul opens all his letters with acknowledgment of God’s grace, continually bringing his readers back to that grace, and closes his letters by returning to God’s grace and commending it to the recipients of his letters. It may also be that Paul knew by personal experience the power and overwhelming importance of grace: “By the grace of God I am what I am” (1 Cor. 15:10). It may be that if we could gain a fuller appreciation of God’s grace, our spiritual conversations might not be so controphic.

Controphy can be frustrating, but it can also be a relief from topics of conversation with which we feel uncomfortable. God forbid that His amazing grace should be such a topic! Yet however we do approach it, and in whatever ways our conversations might degenerate, the grace itself remains unchanged. That is the very nature of grace.

The Art of Tipping
It may be that the best way of avoiding controphy in a discussion of grace is by demonstration—after all, that is what God has done. In the course of a part-time job in a busy restaurant over the past year, I have had opportunity to observe and receive an everyday demonstration of grace. Hopefully, it can be described with only limited controphy.

In Australian parlance, tipping usually has more to do with which horse or football team is going to win on the weekend. However, in many cultures of the world and in some areas of employment, tipping is an important feature of social interaction. Tipping—giving a small amount of money above the standard charge in appreciation of a service rendered—is a subtle art, with various shades of generosity of spirit accompanying the gift.

Of course, in Australia the most common tip is the nontip—and, in the culture, there is nothing necessarily wrong with this. The purchaser exchanges the price for the products, and the transaction is concluded satisfactorily. The next most common tip is that of giving change to the nearest dollar, usually leaving between 5 and 15 cents as a small bonus. This is similar to the next form of tip, which is the larger “keep the change” amount. These are ambiguous in nature, and one is left unsure as to whether the tip is the result of laziness, impatience, or generosity.

By far, the nicest tips are those that are obviously intentional. This is indicated by the availability of correct change in the cash delivered, but with an additional amount included. It is a simple act of kindness—an act of grace—that brightens an evening, not to mention helps to pay the bills.

However, the kind of tipping that would truly astound any waiter or other service provider would be that of the completely random and unscheduled tip. It would be someone simply stopping you in the street and tipping you. It would be so unexpected that you might even be offended by it. It just would not make sense.

Yet God seems to be into this type of tipping. Individually and as a planet, we were wandering along the street of life—going nowhere in particular—only to be interrupted by the most unexpected tip in the universe. We were not delivering anything to God—we had nothing to give. “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Rom. 5:8, NIV).

And to take this irrational tipping a huge step further, consider that the tip might not be just enough to help you pay some bills. Instead, it is enough to set you up   for life; in fact, it means you never have to work again. By this stage you would be calling into question the sanity of this manic tipper.

This is grace: “For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God” (1 Cor. 1:18, NIV). In Christ God gave you the craziest, most extravagant tip in the history of the universe. To further exaggerate the glorious absurdity of this completely one-sided transaction, consider that God was the reason for your ability to wander along the street.

Grace does not make any sense, but we should be overwhelmingly grateful that it does not. If God dealt with us with mere justice, we would find ourselves quickly back on our dead-end street—going nowhere in particular. The non-sense of grace is our only hope. By a strange but truly divine logic the inexplicable grace of God has become the strongest force in the universe—the biggest, craziest tipping ever seen. “For the foolishness of God is wiser than man’s wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than man’s strength” (1 Cor. 1:25).

The Greatest Art: Grace
Dorothy Sayers suggests that we should see God as an artist who “does not see life as a problem to be solved, but as a medium for creation” (as quoted by Philip Yancey in Reaching for the Invisible God).¹ However, unlike an artist who steps back to get a proper look at the work in progress, God stepped into the picture. In Jesus, the Artist became a part of the art so as to be able to complete His work more effectively.

In this way, grace is not just a nice thought or a good idea. It became—and continues to be—a Person and an action. The process whereby He creates is grace. In the great work of art that is life, grace is the tool, the medium, and the completed work of art. Grace is also God’s true art. It is His greatest creation.

Yet it is still a work in progress. Put simply, you are a bad person in a bad place. The more theologically correct statement of your condition would be that you are a sinner in a fallen world. The only way your situation could be worse is if you were a sinner in a fallen world without a Savior. Left to ourselves, we are going to die and our world is going to self-destruct. As C. S. Lewis puts it, “Christ died for man precisely because men are not worth dying for.”²

Thankfully, though, that is not the end of the story. Grace is the glorious and abundant certainty that gives us hope. Grace is not the prodigal son’s father reluctantly forgiving his repentant son when he finally got the sense to come back home and knelt in the dust pleading for forgiveness; rather it is the father’s love and forgiveness reaching out to the son while he was still in the far country, before there was even any thought of a return home (Luke 15). Of course, the son was yet to accept the father’s grace, but this by no means diminished the power of grace.

In describing his own grudging acceptance of the truth of Christianity, C. S. Lewis marvels at the humility found in God’s grace, that He would continue to extend grace to a person so unwilling. “The Prodigal Son at least walked home on his own feet. But who can duly adore that Love which will open the high gates to a prodigal who is brought in kicking, struggling, resentful, and darting his eyes in every direction for a chance of escape?”³ Again, God is seen to work in an unexpected and irrational but altogether glorious and, above all, gracious manner: “The hardness of God is kinder than the softness of men, and His compulsion is our liberation.”⁴

In the context of Paul’s personal experience of God’s grace, he expresses a similar wonder: “To the praise of his glorious grace, which he has freely given us in the One he loves. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us” (Eph. 1:6-8, NIV).

This startling quality of grace renders it most appropriate for its roles in and as a work of art: “Grace finds beauty in everything. . . . Grace makes beauty out of ugly things.”⁵ This is the work of God, the Master Artist: finding and creating beauty in us, as His people and recipients of His grace. “God saved you by his special favor when you believed. And you can’t take credit for this; it is a gift from God. Salvation is not a reward for the good things we have done, so none of us can boast about it. For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so that we can do the good things he planned for us long ago” (Eph. 2:8-10, NLT).

As a carefully crafted artwork of grace, we can be assured that we are of immense personal value to God; and the results of His grace working in us add to His glory—not to ours. In the grand conversation that is God’s communication with humanity, generally and individually, there is no controphy. Instead, there is the unshakable assurance that God’s grace remains and is always available to us. The grace of God is dependent only upon the unfailing goodness of God Himself.

The joyous truth is that no matter who you are, where you are, what your past or what your present circumstances might be, God loves you—unconditionally and unquestionably, infinitely and eternally. This is the simple but transcendent grace: God loves you.

1 Philip Yancey, Reaching for the Invisible God (Grand Rapids: Zondervan Pub. House, 2000), p. 272.
2 C. S. Lewis, The World’s Last Night and Other Essays (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1960), p. 86.
3 C. S. Lewis, Surprised by Joy (London, England: Harper Collins, 1977), p. 183.
4 Ibid.
5 U2, “Grace,” All That You Can’t Leave Behind.

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Nathan Brown is a freelance writer in Townsville, Australia, where he is also working on a Ph.D. in English.