Something I would’ve brought up had my ramble on grace been an actual conversation, is that grace doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Much like the DNA and proteins aren’t floating through empty space in a cell (you’re a giant bag of soup!), grace isn’t free of complications when it collides with the harshness and absence of order.

The notion of grace being extended means there  must be an injustice somewhere, and the defining quality of being undeserved begs the question of how much we can milk it out of whoever it is that’s offering grace (as well as how much we are required to give to others when they deserve none).

Now these aren’t real examples that I can draw from the lives of those around me, but I’m certain that all have occurred, and the best working worldview has to be able to address a realistic scenario, or else it runs the risk of being amended or clutched onto despite intellectual dishonesty (though even there I’d interrupt myself and argue against it, but I digress):

A major betrayal among friends occurs. Billy’s reputation is tarnished, despite his attempts to clear his name. Frank slinks his way out and avoids (most) suspicion. The former friends meet up at a large party because they share friends, and Frank extends a superficially warm welcome to Billy, who is still hurting. There’s a large injustice gap, and Frank couldn’t care less about Billy; there will be no apologies nor confessions. How far does Billy go? Miranda finds Joe at her doorstep yet again. Joe can’t stop using, but he won’t stop apologizing either, begging her to forgive him. How many times does she extend grace? When is enough, enough? John passes by a homeless man holding a “will work for food” sign. The man reeks of alcohol, and mumbles about getting his next fix. John has no work to offer, but he does have some money, as well as knowledge about the nearest homeless shelter. What does he do? What ought he do? Give both money and directions? Just one of the two? Give the money without assuming the money will transform into drugs? A man knocks on Jessica’s door and introduces himself as a registered sex offender. The crime was heinous, and the man earnestly repentant. Jessica organizes community gatherings that involve the entire neighborhood. Does she offer an olive branch or smile and triple-bolt the door?

Granted, some of the options are dichotomous, or more extreme, but aren’t extreme cases exactly where grace is found? But how much of it is there? How would one approach the sticky situations, where to give grace is to give away a part of yourself? Can grace be so readily equated with forgiveness, public amicability, or charity towards one who will abuse it? Is the grace of God Himself given as an investment or a case of charity, like Apostle John writes in 1 John 4:8?

I know how I would answer this right now, and remember how I would’ve answered, but I do not know how I should answer, or how I should show grace. Give me more info in these hypothetical cases! The amount of grace is given case by case! There are solid, pragmatic approaches that have been formulated for different fields of interaction; the REACH method of forgiveness by E. Worthington is a pretty cool example. But do we take the bits and pieces that seem most safe to us and the other party, or do we go crazy with grace?

“I forgive/give/extend grace, but will not be a part of any malicious motive/presence/ignorance.”

“I forgive/give/extend grace blindly to all for everything.”

The first seems great in the long run, the second too radical to exist anywhere but in thought. I mean, there’d be serious consequences if we extended trust to all who wronged us as if nothing happened and withheld justice from evildoers. But I think setting limits on grace is a very unchristian thing to do. Limited grace sounds more paradoxical than grace on its own; is it really the only way of existing? If someone insists I must extend them grace (and remain in contact or be amicable despite their malevolence), must I? I probably bit off more than I could chew with this topic...I still think grace permeates every interaction. That when we forgive, give, or extend grace despite thinking we are being destroyed by doing so, we discover there is more to us, more to give. But I’m not a psychologist, sociologist, or theologian with divine understanding of human interactions.

And for a bit of criticism towards everyone (especially myself), I think we are far less grace-giving than we think we are. If grace is unmerited, then giving grace when it’s hard to do so is precisely when it’s grace, and not “just desserts”. The person who hurt you a hundred times and doesn’t look like they’ll slow down soon? Grace. Thinking of leaving behind your colleagues because your enlightened brain has surpassed their babbling? Grace. [I have great respect for those who made some sort of transition and remain as a bridge to better thoughts to their supposed enemies. Some pioneer thinking, some remain as lightposts and helping hands.]