I was on my way to Charleston and taking the route through Greeleyville. There was construction on the Interstate, and this seemed like the fastest way. For those of you unfamiliar with South Carolina towns, Greeley is a small town of about 500 people. It has a bank, a school, a couple of churches and a nice furniture store. It also has a cop named “Yolanda.” 

I have a heavy foot. It’s genetic. My Uncle J.N. had a service station back in the day. Older ladies would bring their cars into the station and say, “It’s not running right.”  My Aunt Iris would take those cars out late at night and blow out the carburetor (you don’t need to do this anymore). I have it on good authority that Aunt Iris would run the cars about ninety to Avon Park and back. The ladies would pick up their cars and praise Uncle J.N. for his mechanical ability. 

I was merely fulfilling my family legacy and did not notice the thirty-five-mile-an-hour zone as I entered Greeleyville.  Yolanda, however, noticed me. She pulled out, lights flashing, siren blaring, and in the words of Sheriff Buford T. Justice, she was in “hot pursuit.”   

By this time in life, I learned to pull over, get my license and registration, and say, “Yes sir” or “No ma’am.”  Yolanda wrote me a ticket for doing fifty-five in a thirty-five zone. It was a four-point violation. She was kind enough to tell me if I appeared in person, I might get the fine and number of points reduced. 

I appeared on the appointed day. The small waiting room had about fifteen chairs; two members of our church were there as well. We commiserated until I was called back to see the magistrate. 

She sat behind a desk in a black robe. Yolanda stood beside the desk. The hammer of justice was coming. The magistrate asked Yolanda for the charge, and Yolanda responded: “Subject was clocked by radar doing fifty-five in a thirty-five zone.”  The magistrate looked at me and asked, “How do you plead.” 

At this moment, I knew better than to lie. The magistrate had heard it all before. I was guilty, and everyone in the room knew it. However, I did not want to pay the fine nor have the points added to my license. So, I replied, “You honor, I plead grace.” 

The magistrate looked up from her pile of papers and said, “What?”  I said, “You honor, I plead grace.”  She smiled and said, “Are you a preacher?”  I looked sheepish and said, “Yes, I am your honor.”  I was looking for any angle possible. 

The magistrate said, “Well, how about a reduction of fine to fifty dollars and two points?”  I replied, “How about no dollars and no points?”  The magistrate looked up again, this time without a smile, and replied, “Sir, in Greeleyville, grace is fifty dollars and two points.” 

I decided not to push my luck, thanked the magistrate and Yolanda, and hustled out of the office. At least now I knew the price of grace in Greeleyville.   

Jesus followers talk about grace but rarely define it. But what I know is grace, the real grace of God, is not God saying, “I will pay most of your fine, but you pay the rest.”  Grace is God paying all we owe. 

Earlier in my life, I was driving my family to Christmas in Gaffney, SC.  I was pulled over for speeding – forty-five in a thirty zone. At the time, my mother-in-law worked at the County Clerk’s office. When she found out about my ticket, she called the trooper involved, and they arranged for me to appear before the magistrate in Cherokee County. Right before my court date, the trooper pulled me aside and said, “Don’t say anything.”  I nodded. He went into the magistrate’s office and told the magistrate he had made a mistake and must have clocked someone else. I think the magistrate knew this was a lie, but he let it pass, and my ticket was torn up. I walked out, not having to pay a fine and not having any points on my license. My mother-in-law arranged for me to have grace – no fine and no points. 

Jesus does not lie on our behalf. He knows everything I have done (and everything you have done). He chooses to pay the fine himself. He arranges for there to be grace so our broken relationship with God can be restored. Thanks be to God. Grace with Jesus is better than grace in Greeleyville.