Kirk Lewis

The Last Boat to Tarshish

Background Passages: Jonah 1:1-4:11; John 3:16; Matthew 9:36

The stranger boarded the last boat to Tarshish.

Incognito.
Cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders.
Face hooded and hidden.

Mysterious.
With a furtive glance to the east,
he slipped below deck without a word.

Secretive.
“Paid his fare,” the Captain said.
“Don’t ask questions.
Let him be.”

Enigmatic.
Jonah, a man of God,
a fugitive fighting a deep burden of guilt.

How did it come to this?

*****

Israel.
His home. His country.
Ruled by Jeroboam II,
sinful and self-centered like its king,
but regaining military strength.
Misinterpreted God’s leniency
for God’s approval.

Nineveh.
A great city. Powerful and ruthless.
Capital of cruelty.
Wicked and wasteful.
Brutal and bloodthirsty.
Arrogant and aggressive.

Jonah.
Israel personified.
Zealously patriotic.
Lover of his country and its people.
His people.

National pride blinded faith.
Quick to offer God’s grace to the Hebrews.
Slow to offer God’s grace to an ancient enemy.
Provincial.
Predictable.
Prejudiced.

Jonah wrapped his existence in the Hebrew’s
special relationship with God,
the Father.
He lived in a resurgent nation
under imminent threat from the dreaded Assyrians.
That was his world.
Entitled.
Infallible.
In denial.

*****

God said to Jonah,
“Go to Nineveh.
Cry out against it for I have seen their wickedness.”

It sounded simple enough.
Grab your passport,
take a trip.
Admonish their sin.
Call them to turn from evil.
Show God’s mercy.
Encourage them.
Help them survive.

But Jonah heard,
“My blessing is for all people…
even the enemies of the Chosen…
even those who rejected the God of Moses and Abraham…
even those who kill for the sport of killing…
even those you despise with every fiber of your being.
Go!
Let them know I love them.”

Jonah knew the voice of God when he heard it.
He heard,
but refused to listen.

God asked too much!

Assyria.
An historic and mortal enemy.
Nothing good can come from Nineveh.
Forget this!

So, he slipped away in the dead of night,
walked in solitude to Joppa,
boarded the last boat to Tarshish.

Jonah,
the Father’s instrument of salvation to a lost city,
turned his back on his mission.
In response to a call from the Father, Creator,
Jonah opted for a cruise of
disobedience and defiance.

*****

Tarshish.
Not the end of the world,
but you could see it from there.
Jonah paid his fare.
Settled in his cabin for a pleasant cruise across the Great Sea.
To the far corner of the earth.
Far from Nineveh.
As far from God, as a man could go.
A futile attempt to avoid God’s call.

A storm of biblical proportions erupted!
A battered and shattered ship tossed on the waves,
its crew desperately fighting to survive.
While Jonah slept fitfully in the hold,
restless in his dreams,
the gale outside raged as wildly as
the tempest within his heart.

Unanswered prayers to unhearing gods.
Desperate for deliverance,
they cast lots to cast blame.
Jonah drew the short straw.
The weight of the storm
fell squarely on his shoulders.

Tossed overboard in a last ditch effort to placate the vengeful gods,
Jonah embraced Death,
finding it infinitely more desirable
than embracing Nineveh.

Into the waves and into the belly of the monstrous fish.
Three days and three nights Jonah wallowed in his misery,
until he had a change of heart.
Sort of.

“Salvation is from the Lord,”
he half-heartedly prayed.
Yet, Jonah experienced God’s forgiveness,
half dead, washed up on a beach,
bathed in a disgusting pool of fish vomit.

*****

With the reluctant heart,
God’s prophet admitted defeat and
trudged into the city of his enemies.
For three days he mumbled God’s message under his breath,
hoping no one would hear.

“In 40 days, Nineveh will be destroyed.”
No mention of repentance.
No mention of grace.
Simply a much-deserved destruction of the people he despised.

So, after three days, Jonah dusted the dirt from his sandals.
Shortchanged God’s call for repentance.
Nineveh had 37 more days to repent,
37 more days to hear the message,
but as far as Jonah was concerned,
if they didn’t hear the first time,
“Shame on them.”

To the possibilities of forgiveness for the despised Assyrians,
Jonah turned a cold heart.
Clinging to past atrocities of the people of Nineveh,
Jonah climbed to the top of the hill overlooking the great city,
privately praying for fire and brimstone.
Absolute annihilation.

Yet, deep in the marrow of his bones,
he knew God’s grace was sufficient.
“Slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”
This was the God Jonah knew.
If Nineveh heard,
Nineveh would respond.

In sackcloth and ashes,
Nineveh repented.
God relented.
Jonah resented.

Counting God’s grace to Nineveh as evil,
the prophet’s anger burned.
Jonah, the world’s worst missionary,
needed a lesson in priorities.

A fast-growing gourd for shade.
Jonah rejoiced.
A hungry worm and a withered plant.
Jonah raged.

God reminded him.
People are more valuable than gourds.
God, the Almighty,
offers mercy and forgiveness
to all people who repent and turn to Him.
Otherwise is human hubris.

Compassion

The contrast between
Jonah’s all-consuming anger.
God’s all-encompassing love.
The contrast between them
so vividly illustrated in Jonah’s story.
Human Capriciousness
versus
Divine Compassion.

God desires relationship with all people.
Jonah detested the Assyrians.
Prejudice colored his judgment.
God’s call to Nineveh ran counter to
every emotion in his heart.
He could not bring himself to obey.

How like Jonah we are!
God calls us to do something
outside our comfort zone.
We hate the way that feels.
Run in the opposite direction as fast as we can go.

How many storms and raging seas
would we avoid if we just
did what God wanted us to do
the first time He called?
How much heartache do we suffer needlessly
because we defy God’s will for our lives?

To make matters worse,
sin is so incredibly convenient.
If we want to run from God,
we can always find a boat waiting at the dock,
ready to take us wherever we think our Father cannot find us.
We climb aboard a seductive sailing ship to sin,
headed 180 degrees from where the
Father wants us to go.

We go to Tarshish.
Our rebellion.
Our choice.
Our will.

In the midst of our disobedience
and the storms that ensue,
we find God to be a God of second chances.
A God of compassion.

No matter how far we run,
how big a mess we make of our own lives,
God continually calls us back.
Jonah found a spiritual second chance in the form of a big fish
sent by the loving Father to a prodigal son.

We find second chances around every corner.
God never gives up on us.
Not when we’re evil.
Not when we run away.
Not when we shake our fists at him.
Not when we mope on the top of a hill
waiting for God to judge the sinners around us.

Jonah is the anti-hero of his own story.
He is, however, fully human.
He ran.
He argued.
He bargained.
He whined.
He fumed.

He developed a convenient truth…
The men, women and children of Nineveh should die.
They are Assyrians.
No other reason is needed.

Like Jonah,
we quickly condemn the evil in the world.
Rapidly relegate the sinner to the trash heap.
If they don’t look or act like us,
we react even slower to be the personal agent of
God’s forgiveness.
Basking in the glow of the salvation offered to us.
Balking at sharing that same grace to others.

In a perfect example of our humanity,
Jonah causes us to hang our heads.
We are so like him!
In perfect example of His deity,
God causes us to lift our heads.
He gives us chance after chance
to love more as He loves.

So when we hesitate,
He teaches.
Somewhere in our most reluctant hours,
the Creator of the universe quietly plants a gourd,
sharing a lesson in the priority of grace,
desiring that we finally understand
how deep
and broad
and rich
His love can be.

God’s character causes Him to act on behalf of Creation.
Compassion for the Ninevites.
Compassion for you and me.
Compassion that compels us to make known
the deepest desire of God’s heart.

The Old Testament proclaims.
“Salvation is of the Lord.”

The New Testament promises.
“God so loved the world that He gave His only Son
that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish,
but have everlasting life.”–John 3:16

Go.
Tell.
Your Nineveh waits.

*****

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them,
because they were harassed and helpless,
like sheep without a shepherd. –Matthew 9:36

Author’s Note: “The Last Boat to Tarshish” is just one of nine stories shared in my first book, Put Away Childish Things. The book offers a deeper look at some of your favorite children’s Bible stories. Put Away Childish Things, and my other books–The Chase: Our Passionate Pursuit of Life Worth Living and God’s Mirror Image—are all available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble or any online bookstore. I also have a few copies I can ship to you.

Your Servant is Listening

Background Passages: I Samuel 1:1-21

We live in a time when it seems people have a hard time hearing God speak. The noise of our technology, the rattle of the personal and global sabers and the drone of strident political debate drown out God’s voice.

Some might suggest that the low tide of our spiritual lives is a result of God backing away from us. That he has little to say because we have proven ourselves unworthy. Maybe. But, I don’t think that thought is consistent with the character and nature of God. More than likely, we are at fault. When we no longer hear God speaking it’s more likely because too few of us want to listen.

Life in America today reminds me of a distant time in Israel, when too few of God’s people listened for his call and direction.

“…In those days, the word of the Lord was rare; there were not too many visions.” (I Samuel 3:1)

I first heard the story as a child. The passage was sanitized somewhat to protect me from the more sordid details. It is the opening verse in the story of God’s call to Samuel to serve as his prophet in Israel.

You probably remember the story as I do. Samuel forever portrayed as a young child, sleeps in the temple after being dedicated to God’s service by his grateful mother, long unable to have children. As he serves in the tabernacle, he is one night awakened three times from his slumber. Samuel assumed the voice calling his name was his surrogate father and mentor, Eli, the priest. Two times Eli sent him back to bed telling him he was dreaming.

The third time, Eli realized that the boy was being called by God. He told him simply, “If you hear the voice again, answer, “Speak, Lord, for your servant is listening.” For the fourth time, the voice called to Samuel who responded as he had been instructed. “Your servant is listening.”

That childhood lesson ended there. The teaching clear. God calls. I must listen. This is a lesson I still need to hear, even as a senior adult. However, there is more to this story for those who want to take it to the next level.

First, God’s call is personal. When God speaks it is a personal message just for me. If his call were generic and meant for everyone, it would be far too easy to dismiss it. To lay at the feet of someone else. “That task is not for me. Let the church staff do it. That’s why we pay them.” When God calls, he is calling me. His call is applicable to my life. My call to service and ministry. It is personal.

Secondly, his call is penetrating. God does not need to speak in a voice of thunder that can cut through the noise, rattle and droning that dominate our lives. Don’t get me wrong. I’m living testimony that God will sometimes use a 2” x 4” across the nose to get our attention. His quiet call to salvation and service is capable of cutting through the most hardened heart and the most reluctant soul.

Thirdly, God’s voice is persistent. God’s will is not easily thwarted. He does not give up on us without a fight. So, when we don’t hear him the first time, he will call again…and again…and again. He will call out our name. He will tap us repeatedly on the shoulder. If we still do not respond, he will nudge another to remind us to listen, just as he nudged Eli. I’m grateful that he is persistent in drawing me to him.

While the story teaches much about the work of God in making the call, it also teaches us a lot about the response he desires from us.

First, I must make myself available to him. When Samuel heard the voice, he immediately got up from his slumber and responded to it. True, there first few times he didn’t know who was speaking, but he responded. He opened his heart to the possibilities. When God called Isaiah years later to carry a message of repentance to his people, the prophet responded in much the same way as young Samuel, “Here I am. Send me.” It has been the right response for ages. “Here I am.” I am available.

Secondly, Samuel eagerly responded. Each time his name was called, Samuel ran to Eli. He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t walk. He didn’t wait until morning when it was more convenient. He got up and ran to the one he thought was calling with eagerness and anticipation. “Here I am,” he said. His actions said, “What can I do for you?” Samuel possessed a heart that was ready to be moved. A mind open to the possibilities. A spirit willing to act. It’s not enough to be available. We must be ready to respond immediately to God’s instruction.

Finally, Samuel served obediently. The children’s story ends with Samuel available and eager. The message for the rest of us takes it one step further. It calls for obedience.

If we remember the beginning of the chapter, Samuel lived during a time in which the people of God had a hard time hearing him speak.

“…In those days, the word of the Lord was rare; there were not too many visions.”

Israel’s spiritual leaders lost their focus. Eli, the priest, had grown old and complacent in his faith. His sons, also priests, used their positions of power to satisfy their own personal desires. They desecrated the sacrifices. They extorted payments from those who came to worship. To his credit, Eli confronted them about their sin, but they refused to listen. Eli, ultimately, failed to discipline them for their evil deeds, even after being warned of God’s displeasure.

The failure of the spiritual leaders led to the failure of the people to worship God fully. To allow him to lead and direct their lives.

God eventually told Samuel he was about to do a new thing in Israel that will make the “ears of everyone who hears of it tingle.” When God called Samuel, he placed upon him a heavy burden. Change was coming. God would assert his control over the lives of his people in an effort to draw them back to him, but it would come at a cost to Israel…to Eli and his family…and to Samuel. It would be Samuel’s responsibility to announce God’s judgment to Eli, man who served as father and teacher in his life. It would fall upon Samuel to chastise a king and a nation.

Despite the cost, Samuel did as God required. Because of his faithful obedience, scripture tells us,

“The Lord was with Samuel as he grew up and he let none of his words fall to the ground.” Samuel proved trustworthy in the word of God that he proclaimed. As a result, all of Israel knew him as God’s prophet.

Living as we do in a nation that prides itself as a “nation under God,” it’s sometimes hard to find the evidence of it. It feels as though we have drifted away from God and his purpose for our lives. I wonder what it will take for us to return to a place where our words and our actions reflect the will and purpose of God?

God’s message will always be personal, penetrating and persistent…calling us as individuals to respond to his voice. For when enough individuals respond with availability, eagerness and obedience, our words…which are God’s words… will not fall to the ground unheard and unnoticed.

Maybe all it takes are enough of God’s people saying, “Here I am, Lord. Speak, for your servant is listening.”

Why Do You Call Me ‘Lord?’

Background Passages: Matthew 7:24-29; Luke 6:46-49; and James 1:22-25

I listened to Christian comedian Chondra Pierce on my car radio this week. After a serious moment in her show she began talking how she coped with the storms in her life by reading. She pulled out a book and began to read a profound passage from her favorite novel, The Three Little Pigs.

The dread and consternation she emoted while describing the plight of the porky home builders was quite humorous. She lavished such praise on the little pig who had the foresight to build his home, not of straw or sticks, but fire-hardened brick.

Almost immediately, my mind went straight to one of the earliest Bible stories I remember hearing as a child…the story Jesus shared of the men who built their respective homes on rock and sand. Old fairy tales offered a simple moral. Jesus’ parables offered the ordinary to teach the extraordinary.

That he was a carpenter and a stone mason added gravity to his words. For the better part of his adult life, Jesus lived with deep callouses on his hands layered by day after day of swinging hammers, sawing logs and stacking stones. Learning the trade at the side of his father, Jesus understood that the secret to building a sturdy house rested in the quality of its foundation.

The land surrounding Nazareth in Galilee consisted of rocky hills, deep and fertile valleys, interlaced with brooks, streams and dry gullies susceptible to flash flooding during the rainy season. Such storms threatened the unprepared. At an early age, Jesus learned to find bedrock when clearing land for a new home.

When he taught the multitudes, the master storyteller often drew upon his experiences and the familiar experiences of his audience to drive home a spiritual point.

On one such occasion in the hills of Galilee, a large multitude of people from “all over Judea, from Jerusalem and from as far away as Tyre and Sidon” on the coast of the Great Sea, gathered to hear Jesus teach and to be healed of their diseases. And, he taught them a great many things.

“…Blessed are the poor, for yours is the kingdom of God…”

“…Love your enemies; do good to those who hate you…

“…Do to others as you would have them do to you…”

“…Do not judge…Do not condemn…instead forgive…”

“…No good tree bears bad fruit, nor does a bad tree bear good fruit. The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart…”

Jesus looked into the faces of the men and women surrounding him, a good many who were following him wherever he went. He could see the few who grasped the significance of his words. Far more, it seemed, sat waiting for a miracle, with eyes that failed to see beyond their physical need and hearts closed to the truths so freely offered.

As the silence grew uncomfortable, Jesus shook his head, the anguish in his heart evident to those who knew him best.

“Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’ and do not do what I say?”

Before him sat a multitude that was really good at hearing the words Jesus preached and very bad about putting those words into practice. With that penetrating question, he shared a story drawn from the pages of their lives.

Jesus told about a man who wished to build a home for his family. He searched his property for the best site upon which to build. He had options. When he found a suitable site, he cleared the land, moved loose rock and soil until he reached the bedrock. Using tools and muscle power, he chipped away at the stone until it was level.

Then, he dug more deeply in the four corners, sinking the foundation firmly upon the rock. Once done, he stacked the stones, building the walls straight and level. After he moved his family into the home he built, a storm came. The winds howled. The streams rose in a torrent and pushed against the house. Because it was so solidly built on its foundation of stone, the house stood through the storm.

Jesus looked again at the crowd around him and made his case. The man who built this house is so much like “the man who comes to me, hears my words and puts them into practice.”

But, there is another man in this story who also wished to build a home for his family. He searched his property for the best site upon which to build. He had options. When he found a suitable site, it looked too much like work so he chose another place where the land was already smooth and level. Raking the loose dirt to prepare it, he stacked the stones, building the walls as straight and level as the soft soil would allow.

After he moved his family into the home he built, the storm came. The wind howled. The stream rose to a torrent and pushed against his house, just as it did the other. This time, though, the water began to wash away the dirt beneath the walls, undercutting their stability. The walls shifted in the wind. The roof fell. The house collapsed with a great crash.

Jesus clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth in sorrow. This man, he said, is like the “one who hears my words and does not put them into practice.”

His unspoken question lingered in the air, clearly to anyone who was really listening. Which man are you going to be?

It’s a fair question. Not just on the mountainside at Jesus’ feet. It’s a fair question to those of us sitting in the pews of our respective churches.

I think it is important to know that Luke identifies the people who sat on the mountainside that day with Jesus as “disciples.” Not just the 12, but disciples nonetheless. These were not the paparazzi or the curious who just wanted to say they once heard the teacher speak. These were people who recognized the power coming from Jesus both in what he said and what he did. They were followers, learners…disciples.

Yet, like so many of us who are followers, learners…disciples, Jesus’ words were simple platitudes and proverbs that read well when embroidered on a pillow. They were not life-changing, foundational principles upon which they built their lives.

There have certainly been times in my life where I was content in the knowledge of Jesus I gained, neither needing, nor wanting, more. Content to sit in my pew, listen to a sermon, acknowledge the goodness of the words and never letting them direct my actions during the week. Pious platitudes planted in the sand.

It is a fair and justified question! What good is it if we call him “Lord, Lord” and don’t do what he says we must do?

We are called to be so much more. To do so much more. We live our lives doing what feels right at the time. Not listening to the warnings. Ignoring God’s wisdom. Building our lives out of straw and stones on sand that shifts with every raging storm and rising stream. Because our faith is not sufficiently grounded in the bedrock of Christ, life collapses around us.

The good news of God’s forgiveness and grace is that we are not stuck living in the sand. Our house can be rebuilt.

“Do not merely listen to the word, and so deceive yourselves. Do what it says. Anyone who listens to the word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. But whoever looks intently into the perfect law that gives freedom and continues in it…not forgetting what they heard, but doing it…they will be blessed in what they do.” James 1:22-25

These words say essentially the same thing as Jesus said that day on the mountainside. Hearing the word is one thing. Doing what the word demands takes it to a deeper level of commitment. Living as Christ lived…in his image…practicing what we preach…is the call of every believer.

But consider James who wrote this passage. Early in his life the half-brother of Christ heard the words Jesus proclaimed and probably liked the sound of them. Yet, he refused to build on that foundation. At various times, he tried to get Jesus to stop his ministry. Called him crazy.

Yet, after the storm of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross and his resurrection brought his life crashing down around him, James cleared away the grass and the dirt until he hit bedrock. He rebuilt his life on the firm foundation of Jesus Christ and all he taught. His testimony changed. No longer ashamed to call him “brother,” James now called Jesus, “Lord,” putting into practice every dot, every tittle, every word.

It’s a parable, not a fairy tale. Building our lives on the firm foundation of Christ requires us to dig deeper into his word. Understand what the Holy Spirit is teaching us today. Open our hearts to new truth. And,put into practice all we hear and learn from him in our lives, extending to the lives we encounter each day.

Until we put God’s word into practice, our lives are just straw and sticks and sand.

So, the story begs the question.

Why do you call him “Lord”?

Drinking from Wells I Did Not Dig

Background Passage: Deuteronomy 6:10-12

I came across rather obscure a passage of scripture this week while looking for the focus of my writing. I read it…and moved on, searching for something different. No matter what I read and studied this week, that passage kept invading my thoughts.

In this passage in Deuteronomy, Moses has just wrapped his arms around the stone tablets upon which were etched God’s commands for his people. The list of “thou shalt” and “thou shalt nots” intended as a framework of righteous relationship with the Father and with his people.

Moses reminded them of the great promise of God to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob to give them a land that would belong to them…a land flowing with milk and honey. Then, he encouraged them to claim that promise as their own. The land God promised, according to Moses, held within it everything they needed in life. God would grant them…

“…cities you did not build, good things you did not provide, wells you did not dig, and vineyards and olive groves you did not plant…”

Every time I tried to move away from the passage, I found myself back in Deuteronomy thinking about how the people of Israel would drink from wells they did not dig. Every time I thought about it, I thought about how often I have quenched my thirst for God from wells I did not dig.

I found my first taste of God’s well water from loving parents and a family who made faith a priority. From that little Baptist church in Ropesville where I grew up and a bevy of Sunday School teachers who shared their hearts and souls. From a Baptist Student Union at Texas Tech that served as a cistern of Christian friends who met my needs for fruitful fellowship. From a time serving as a youth minister in Wolfforth where God taught me more than I taught the young people I served.

I drank again from wells I did not dig from a marriage partner whose life is Jesus personified. From children who have matured in their own faith as an encouragement to mine. To a home church in Pasadena with pastors and friends who invested in my life, shaping my witness and my service. To a profession in public education that opened as a calling to help those in need. To a life in which every moment is a testament of God’s grace, forgiveness and purpose.

In each moment, I drank from wells I did not dig. I am grateful for each time I drew water from those wells.

After reminding his people of God’s unmerited gifts that awaited them in the promised land, Moses added a warning.

“…then, when you drink and are satisfied, be careful that you do not forget the Lord who brought you out of Egypt…”

There it is. The reason this passage kept creeping back into my heart. God placed so many people…so many wonderful opportunities…in my life that allowed me to drink and be satisfied. Too often I forget how hard it must have been for those in my life to dig that well. I forget how God’s hand moved in my life so I found every well when when I needed it most.

The living water God promised through his son, Jesus, flowed through the lives of all these people who offered me encouragement, support, discipline, wisdom, hope and love. The clearest, coolest water I have ever had the privilege to drink…and it was all from wells I did not dig.

I sit here today having lived in cities I did not build, enjoying good things I did not produce, drinking for wells I did not dig and eating from vineyards and groves I did not plant. The promised land God gave me.

To all who offered me a taste of their water, thank you. I offer praise to God who provided your shovel and showed you where to dig.

Waiting for What’s Next

Background Passages: John 21:1-19; Luke 5:1-11

Easter has come and gone. For many of us, the act of remembering Jesus death and the celebration of his resurrection represents the pinnacle of God’s redemptive work. The Bible goes to great lengths in Old Testament prophecy and in New Testament teaching about the miraculous saving work of Jesus Christ. He lived. He died for the sins of the world. He rose again, entering the lives of those who believe as a living Savior. Powerful stuff!

However, it would be a big mistake, I think, for us to live in the resurrection. As necessary as that moment was for our spiritual destiny, God calls us for so much more. Look no farther than one of my favorite episodes in the Bible. It took place just a few weeks after the resurrection on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias.

Peter.
James.
John.
Nathaniel.
Thomas.
Two unnamed disciples.

Seven men
sat around a campfire
smoldering on the shore of the
Sea of Tiberias.
“Go to Galilee and wait for me,”
Jesus told them after his resurrection.
So they sat.
They waited.
Waited some more.

The longer they waited,
the less they talked to one another.
The longer they waited,
the more anxious they became.
Fidgeting.
Uncomfortable.
Mindlessly skipping stones
across the placid water.

Unable to contain himself,
Peter stood.
Balled his fists into the stiff muscles of his lower back.
Looked blankly into the distance.
“I’m going fishing,”
He muttered.

Without another word he walked to his boat,
pebbles crunching under his feet.
Six men with nothing else to do
looked at one another…
“Wait up!
We’ll go with you.”

Even Nathaniel and Thomas,
the only non-fishermen in the group,
raced after him,
eager to do anything but sit.
Anything to break up the endless hours of waiting.

As the sun set,
they set out in their boat,
doing what most of them had done
for years before they met Jesus.

All night they toiled.
Cast and pull.
Cast and pull.

Like fisherman who knew their water,
They moved from one favored spot to another
looking for the schools of fish where they always were.
Yet, they caught nothing.

All night they toiled.
Cast and pull.
Cast and pull.

As the sun broke over the mountains
And the morning haze began to lift,
Peter spread the empty net one last time across boat.
Cupped the solitary, squiggling minnow in his hand.
The first “fish” they caught all night.
He tossed the minnow back into the water
with a sigh deeper than the sea itself.
“Let’s go in.”

As they worked to fold the net and stash their gear,
a voice called to them from the beach.
A man stood ankle deep in the water,
waving at them.
“Friends, have you had any luck?”
He asked.
“Did you catch any fish?”

Their reply simple and terse.
“No.”
Without another word,
they returned to the job at hand.

“Throw your net on the right side of the boat
and you’ll find some,”
the voice on shore suggested.

John’s face flushed with weary anger.
His brother James rolled his eyes.
They knew these waters.
They fished all night.
Sometimes, the fish just weren’t there.

“To the right,”
the voice said again.

Peter, John and James
stopped what they were doing.
Something oddly familiar in the challenge.
A look passed between them.
A memory.

A similar night three years earlier.
A fishing outing.
No fish in the nets.
A voice telling them to cast the nets…
one more time.
A haul so large it threatened to
burst their nets.

A smile passed between the three men
as they remembered the day
Jesus called them to be his disciples.
The day he said,
“Follow me.
I will make you fishers of men.”

Without another thought,
they picked up the folded net.
Tossed it again into the sea…
This time on the right side as instructed.

Together they watched the net sink into the dark water.
Waited a moment.
Pulled the net,
Expecting nothing.

“Must have snagged a rock,”
Peter suggested.
Pulled again with all their strength.
With some effort,
the net reached the surface.
Astounded looks.
Excited shouts.

Peter looked at the teeming net.
Looked to the shore.
The man stood laughing,
clapping his hands in delight.

Peter looked back at the fish
thrashing in the net.
Caught the bewildered eyes of James and John.
Looked back again at the laughing man on the beach.
“It’s Jesus,”
He whispered.

“It’s Jesus,”
He shouted!

Peter turned to Thomas,
giving him his corner of the net.
“Here.
Take this.”

Thomas grabbed the net,
nearly pulled overboard
by the unexpected weight of the catch.

Peter pulled on his tunic.
Dove into the water,
swimming to meet Jesus.
His friends rowed the boat toward shore,
dragging a full net behind them.

By the time they arrived,
Jesus had rekindled the fire.
A couple of fish on the grill.
A loaf of bread baking on the heated stone.
The aroma heavenly.

“Bring some of the fish you just caught,”
Jesus called, ready to prepare a feast for his friends.
With a smile warmer than the sun,
he welcomed them.
Boisterous words.
Bear hugs.
“Come and have some breakfast.”

Such a heartwarming story of friendship and belonging. Jesus’ love for his disciples so evident in the tenor of this scene. Their love for him, equally touching. The man for whom they had waited for these difficult days, sat among them, gutted a few fish, tossed them onto the fire, and prepared a meal for them. He offered a prayer of gratitude for God’s provision. They reconnected in the joy of familiar fellowship.

It’s a wonderful story, but…it doesn’t end there. John tells us they finished eating and strolled down the beach together. Their festive breakfast reunion yielding to a quiet conversation of critical importance.

Jesus kicked over a smooth stone with the toe of his sandal.
Bent over.
Picked it up.
Tossed it absently into the water.
Watched the ripples spread from its splash.
A private metaphor for the broadening reach
of his good news.

“Peter,”
he said quietly,
drawing the disciple closer.
“Do you love me more than these?”

Without hesitation.
“Yes, Lord,”
he answered,
“You know that I love you.”

“Feed my lambs.”

Peter shook his head in wonder.
His forehead wrinkled in thought.
“What brought that on?”

A minute later.
“Peter,”
Jesus said again.
The strength of his voice
drew the attention of the other
disciples walking nearby.
“Do you love me?”

Peter stood his ground.
Confused, but determined.
“Yes, Lord!
You know that I love you!”

Jesus’ eyes bore into his soul.
“Take care of my sheep.”

Moments passed.
Everyone lost in thought.
Jesus stopped walking.
The disciples in a semi-circle around him.
He looked at all of them.
Then, looked Peter in the eye.

“Peter,
do you love me?”

Tears filled the disciple’s eyes.
His heart hurt.
Thoughts swirled in his head.
“Does he not believe me?”
“Why does he keep asking?”
“Surely he knows what I feel.”

Peter could not hold the intensity of Jesus’ gaze.
He turned. Stared at a distant fishing boat.
Thinking of the life he once loved.
His mind racing through the last three years.
A montage of images.

He took a deep breath.
Turned back to stare into the
eyes of his Christ.
Emphatic.
“Lord, you know all things.
You know that I love you.”

Two men.
Eyes locked on one another.
Jesus stepped forward.
Draped his arms across Peter’s broad shoulders.
Touched forehead to forehead.
“Feed my sheep.”

Then,
Jesus held Peter at arm’s length.
Flashed a trademark smile
at Peter and the men surrounding them.
He turned Peter around.
Draped his arm around his shoulder.
Grabbed John and did the same.
Walking between them,
He echoed the exact words
he used three years earlier.
To these same men.
On this same beach.

“Follow me.”

Inevitably, we study these two stories—the casting of the net…Jesus’ poignant questioning of Peter…as separate events. Separate truths. Reading through these verses again this week, I view them as one story. As a significant and necessary reminder that we have been called, not just to believe, but to serve.

It is hard to wait on God. It’s hard to wait on Jesus. It’s hard to wait on the Spirit. Think of the time in your life where you wondered, “God, I’m at a crossroad. What comes next?” What do we do when we’re unsure of what to do next?

The disciples were at a crossroad of eternal importance. Their world had been turned upside down. The horror of the cross. Feeling lost and alone. The euphoria of the resurrection. The ground beneath them must have felt like quicksand.

In the days immediately after his resurrection, Jesus sent his disciples to Galilee, promising that he would meet them there. They filtered out of Jerusalem. Headed north. They waited. Days passed and Jesus had not shown up. They had to be wondering, “What’s next for us?”

The disciples went to Galilee facing an uncertain future. Christian writer Elizabeth Elliot suggested in one of her books, “When you don’t know what to do next, do the next thing.” In this moment of waiting, the disciples didn’t know what to do next, so they did what they knew. They climbed into a boat, pushed out to sea and went fishing. Cast and pull. Cast and pull.

Here’s the beauty of how God works in our lives. He uses the familiar to remind us of our connection to him. Every one of us who has committed our lives to Christ can remember that moment with clarity. It is a precious memory. Like us, I imagine each of the disciples could recall the exact moment when Jesus extended his call to them. What they were doing. What he said. How they felt. For most of the disciples on the boat on this particular day, the teeming net served as the trigger that reminded them of Jesus’ call. Reminded them of what they were called to do.

In the middle of their “What’s next?” moment, Jesus used the teeming net to repaint a picture of God’s call to service that had been so vividly etched into their hearts. In doing so, he reminded them of their purpose in life…a purpose muddled by the events in Jerusalem. “I will make you fishers of men.”

Lesson one. When you don’t know what to do next, go back to your beginning with Christ. Remember the joy of your salvation and the purpose to which God called you. Put yourself in the right position…the right attitude…to be receptive to a gentle reminder from God. When that disembodied voice from your past tells you cast your net on the other side, it’s okay to roll your eyes if it makes no sense under the circumstance. But, cast it anyway. You never know what you will catch.

Lesson two. If the disciples didn’t fully grasp the metaphor, Jesus took the opportunity to explain it in words. In John’s follow up to this heartwarming moment in the lives of Jesus and his disciples, we see the men walking along the shore after a hearty breakfast and wonderful fellowship. Jesus posed a question to Peter. “Do you love me?” Three times asked. Three times answered. “You know I love you.”

Now, the questions probably served as an act of redemption for Peter who had denied Christ three times. I can accept that as an ancillary motive for the questioning, but I don’t think it was Jesus’ main purpose.

Casting the net and pulling in that amazing catch allowed the disciples to bask in the warmth of their relationship with a resurrected Christ, but that’s not why they were called. They were called to minister. To serve. To do the work of God. As they walked the shoreline, Jesus refocused them…pointed them outward.

“Feed my lambs.”

“Take care of my sheep.”

“Feed my sheep.”

You see, it’s not enough to live in the glow of the resurrection morning. It’s not enough to celebrate Easter.

After reminding Peter and the other disciples to “feed my sheep,” Jesus said simply. “Follow me.” It’s not enough to love God. If our love doesn’t change the way we live every day…if it doesn’t compel us to serve…if it doesn’t encourage us to live each day as Jesus lived…we’re just going fishing

…and catching nothing.

So, let’s cast our nets. Let’s remember a Christ who died and rose again. Then, let’s find a few sheep to feed.

His Mercy is More

Background Passages: I Corinthians 15:17; Romans 6:4

The scene painted a great portrait of God’s Kingdom.

There we sat…A tired collection of English-speaking Americans from Baptist churches scattered over several states, sitting in the pews of a Peruvian Lutheran church, listening to songs sung and a sermon delivered by a Scottish-born pastor speaking, at times, in both English and Spanish. Our time of fellowship and worship transcended the diversity of its context.

Sunday worship kicked off an eight-day mission effort offering Vacation Bible School, medical care, work training and home construction for families in Collique, a proud, but high-poverty community north of Lima. Our efforts were directed by Operation San Andreas, a missionary effort organized by retired Houston cardiologist, Dr. Luis Campos.

I returned this week, exhausted from the work and the travel, only to find loved ones in the hospital for treatment and surgery. On the heels of medical issues, I found myself out of town on family business that needed my assistance. All of those issues turned out fine, but did little to remove the fatigue from my body and soul. This was my frame of mind entering Easter weekend. Not exactly ideal.

With hours on the road to return home, I reflected on my time in Collique and all that happened in the last week. Easter was made for this.

As a time to remember Christ’s death on the cross and a time to celebrate his resurrection, Easter offers hope in its fullest form. It is on this week of Jesus’ life upon which my faith rests. The faith that sustains me through difficult circumstances finds its expression in a resurrected Jesus. Paul said as much when he told the Corinthian church…

“If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile, and you are still in your sins.” (I Cor. 15:17)

While worshiping at The Union Church of Lima, the Rev. Angus Lamont led us in a song I had never heard. Each verse of His Mercy is More resonated with truth I needed to hear. The final verse, though, reached inside my heart and reminded me of God’s great give of love through his son, Jesus Christ.

“What riches of kindness He lavished on us,
His blood was the payment His life was the cost.
We stood ‘neath a debt we could never afford.
Our sins they are many,
His mercy is more.”

And, thus is the definition of God’s grace. While I have done nothing to merit God’s love, he loved just the same. When I look in the mirror, I see too often a reflection of my failure rather than the image of Christ who is in me.

Yet, God does not require my perfection, just my persistence. My daily desire to live as he leads. The song’s chorus speaks as strongly as the verses.

“Praise the Lord.
His mercy is more.
Stronger than darkness
New every morn.
Our sins they are many,
His mercy is more.”

As that song echoed in my ears, I found my body still weary, but my soul no longer worn. Easter is resurrection. Easter is restoration. Easter is revival.

Easter is my reminder that faith is not futile. I find in Easter my hope of salvation. I find in Easter my hope of eternal life. Like the Apostle Paul, I find in Easter my hope for life abundant in the now.

“We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” (Rom. 6:4)

Driving down the road toward home, I found in Easter my joy.

It is my prayer Easter speaks to you in the same way it speaks to me.

*****

Enjoy His Mercy is More offered beautifully by Matt Boswell and the Boyce College Choir.

God’s Perfect Roadmap

Author’s Note: This week finds me in Peru beginning a mission trip with my church in one of the most impoverished area near Lima. The following devotional thought is an excerpt from my third book, God’s Mirror Image: 15 Ways You Can Live A Christ-Like Life.”

Background Passages: Genesis 1:27; John 14:9; Matthew 5:1-12

I pored through a number of old 35mm slides, pictures taken by my parents when my siblings and I were small. I enjoyed sharing those captured memories with my children and grandchildren. Fascination grew as we recognized family resemblances across generations…the power of genetics, I suppose. If I heard it once, I heard it several times, “I see your Dad in his eyes.” “You look so much like your uncle at that age.” “She is the spitting image of your mother.”

There is some measure of joy in knowing that we physically resemble those most dear to us. Then, I wonder, when others look at us, do they see how closely we resemble Christ in spirit and deed? Can the world see Jesus…see God…in us?

“So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.”

On the surface, being created in the image of God seems such a complex theological concept requiring a deeper understanding of the nature and spirit of the Creator himself. But, it’s really not that hard. Jesus told his disciples, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” In other words, we find in the character of Jesus Christ, the very nature and spirit of God. The image of God reflected in the life of Christ. To be the image of God in our world, as we were created to be, simply requires us to be like Jesus.

So, how are we to know what that looks like?

Every gospel story reveals the character of Christ. We can identify in Jesus God’s compassion, love, faith, humility and honesty. We find in his teachings keys to living as the image of God.

People flocked to Jesus early in his ministry in Galilee, drawn by the candor and consistency of his teaching and the power of his healing. As he left Capernaum one day, the crowd pressed around him to hear his words and feel his touch. Eventually, somewhere on the northeastern shore of the Sea of Galilee, he sat himself down on a rocky hillside and began to teach. Matthew records this event as the Sermon on the Mount.

Rather than being a single event, the Sermon on the Mount may be a collection of ideas that Jesus taught over and over again throughout his ministry captured by Matthew as a summary of his teaching themes. William Barclay, in his commentaries, suggests as much.

One of the most beloved segments of this passage is known as The Beatitudes, a passage that unveils the character demanded of those who desire to be a part of the kingdom of God. When you look at the passage and look at the life of Christ, you’ll find that Jesus modeled each characteristic in his daily walk.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus teaches about kingdom living. Think of them as proverbs or declarations. Assuring us that we will feel blessed as a result of our actions or attitudes that align with the expectations of the Father. That demonstrating these character traits leads to promised rewards.

Consider the word “blessed.” Some translations substitute the word “happy” rather than “blessed.” But, “happy” feels too frivolous. Too superficial. Think, rather, in terms of the contentment, joy and peace that comes from being in right relationship with God. It cannot be dampened by external circumstances.

Happiness may be a part of the equation, but take it deeper into the heart of our relationship with the Father. One commentary called being blessed “a pledge of divine reward for the inner spiritual character of the righteous.” I like that. Jesus promises that if we live in such a way as to reflect the character of Christ, we will be filled with inner peace and joy.

Focus on the specific character demanded of those who would be a part of the kingdom of God and the promise that follows. Blessed are…

…the poor in spirit.
To be poor in a financial sense is to be destitute. To be poor in a physical sense is to be oppressed. To be poor in the spirit is to be humbled, to live without arrogance or self-sufficiency. It speaks to the person who recognizes his or her sinful nature; who comes to God each day with a contrite heart; knowing that God’s grace is an unmerited gift that promises a life within the kingdom of God.

…those who mourn.
Everyone in this life will experience sadness and grief. Such mourning is a natural part of the ebb and flow of life. Here, Jesus speaks of those who mourn for a lost world; for the sinfulness that serves as a barrier separating us from God…from the relationship he desired with us when he created us. If we don’t grieve for the lost we will never feel compelled to share the love of Christ with a ruined world. God will provide comfort for those whose hearts break when confronted by sin and disbelief. Comfort which allows us to continue the hard work of reconciling a lost world to the one who loves them so much.

…the meek.
Think of meekness not as passivity or weakness. That is the world’s definition. Its first century meaning carries an idea of self-control…gentleness…kindness…all fruits of the spirit identified by Paul. The meek control their instincts and impulses, harnessing the passion and power within them to build and edify, to lift up rather than tear down. They see all things through the eyes of empathy, hearts free of evil intent and purpose. These are people who treat everyone with respect and dignity regardless of their station in life.

…those who hunger and thirst after righteousness.
Hunger and thirst represent our most primal needs. When truly hungry and thirsty, a body will do almost anything to secure food or drink. Little else seems to matter. To hunger and thirst for righteousness is to demonstrate that strongest spiritual desire to understand and act upon the will of God. Our passion to live for him takes precedence over anything else. Therein lies the promise. The one who seeks after God will have those needs satisfied. His or her life filled with the joy of knowing who walks beside you.

…the merciful.
Mercy is an act of grace. Despite our sinful ways, God offers his forgiveness, requiring only a contrite heart. It is pure, unmerited grace. Mercy is not a quality limited to God alone. As believers in Christ discover his forgiveness, mercy toward others ought to be a natural outgrowth of our hearts. People hurt us. Ignore us. Sin against us. Hate us. Persecute us. We face a choice: retaliate or redeem. Mercy finds expression in the kindness and compassion we extend even to those who hurt us. It is a quality borne out of the mercy God extended toward us even when we hurt him. As we forgive, so are we forgiven. That is the promise of God.

…the pure in heart.
When the Bible speaks of the heart, it speaks to the center of will, the choices we make. Pure in heart means the decisions we make, the desires we hold, the intent of our thoughts and deeds must be unblemished with sin, wholly pleasing to God. The purity of our hearts lies at the center of every characteristic proclaimed in the beatitudes…our mercy, our quest for righteousness, our meekness and humility. Jesus told Nicodemus, “You must be born again” to suggest a spiritual change in his heart. To take that which was unclean and purify it from all self-interests and desires.

Jesus promises those who would listen that the pure in heart would see God. There is certainly within this statement a promise of our life eternal in the presence of the father. It might also suggest that the pure in heart have within them the capacity to see God in every circumstance…seeing his presence in life’s heartbreaks and horrors as well as its blessings and bounty.

…the peacemakers.
The kingdom of God is a kingdom of peace and yet we are too often at war with one another. The broken relationships, the societal divisions, the political acrimony, the racial bigotry drive a wedge between God’s people. Joy comes to those who find ways of bringing people together in the love of Christ, reconciling others to God and to one another. This statement promises the peacemakers will be called “Sons of God.” The Old Testament called angels the Sons of God. Angel may be an apt description of those who act as God’s peacemakers.

…the persecuted.
Living a lifestyle exemplified by the characteristics listed in the beatitudes puts one in a precarious place. The life God demands of his children is a life the world opposes and rejects. All who identify with Christ face a hostile world that tolerates in the best of times and terrorizes in its worst. God offers a promise to those who face such opposition. Hold on. Run the race. Keep the faith. God’s kingdom is yours forever.

I go back to the beginning. We are to live as the image of God. That’s how he created us. We discover how to do that by looking at the life of Christ and paying attention to his teachings. Throughout his ministry Jesus taught us how to live and modeled those choices every day of his life. He lived and breathed every action and attitude he taught in the beatitudes. If we are to live like him, as the image of God, we ought to do the same.

The promise of the beatitudes is not a pie-in-the-sky, wait for it, kind of promise. Barclay writes, “…the beatitudes are not pious hopes of what shall be; they are not glowing but nebulous prophecies of some future bliss; they are congratulations on what is…It is a blessedness (a joy and peace) which exists here and now.”

Live it and claim the promise.

*****

Author’s Note: You can pick up a copy of God’s Mirror Image at the Barnes and Noble Bookstore in Pasadena, Texas, or you can order it online from Amazon.com or any online bookstore. My other books are Put Away Childish Things and The Chase. All are available from Amazon.com or any online bookstore. If none of those options work for you, contact me at kirkallanlewis@yahoo.com. Thanks to all who take the time to read my books and my blog. It’s my prayer that God speaks through each word to each of you.

Return the Copper Nails

Background Passage: Psalm 51

A Christian man worked for a shipbuilder. The owner of the company considered himself an atheist. With disdain, he constantly mocking his employee for the futility of his faith, treating him with disrespect and contempt.

The Christian man was building a boat for his family in his backyard for his family. Because he could not afford them, he began stealing copper nails from the shipyard to use on his personal project. At first, just a handful. Then, he stole them whenever he needed more.

Perhaps it was the bosses attitude that convinced him that taking the copper nails was justified. Perhaps he felt he was owed more than he was paid. In every other way, the man’s life was exemplary. Yet, when it came to copper nails, he chose to ignore the voice of God within his heart.

*****

He was God’s chosen king. A faithful servant. Courageous warrior. Slayer of giants. Skilled musician. Leader of men.

David, a shepherd boy from Bethlehem, found himself called by God and anointed by Samuel as King of Israel. Such was the depth of his character that God called him, “A man after my own heart.” David earned that distinction. His reputation for humility, reverence, devotion and faithfulness created an aura about him, recognized by all he encountered.

Yet David, this man of God, experienced moment of abject failures. At times, human weakness consumed him. Consider his actions on a cool and sleepless night.

David walked onto the balcony of his palace overlooking the city below. In the moonlight, he watched as a beautiful woman bathed in the moonlight. Struck by her beauty and consumed with lust, he sent his servants to bring Bathsheba to him. What began as a night of illicit passion ended in pregnancy.

His folly did not end there. In a series of Machiavellian maneuvers, David compounded his sin. He was not swept away by circumstance …simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nor did he act on impulse. David’s sin was meticulously planned.

To protect his position, David devised a plan to bring Bathsheba’s husband, Uriah, home from battle to be with his wife. When Uriah refused to indulged in his own desire because his men were still at war, David schemed again. He sent the commander on a suicide mission. When Uriah was killed, David took Bathsheba as his wife, somehow rationalizing his actions as acceptable.

Like David, we face our own crisis of character. Sometimes we find the strength to walk through the danger to the other side. Sometimes we fail to be who we desire to be. Who God intends us to be. We engage in the sin that eats away our moral fiber. Rather than correct our path, we swallow our guilt. Push it deeper into the darkest recesses of our souls.

Such efforts seldom work. There comes a day when we must face the sin. Face the consequences of our choice. Do I keep living this way? Separate from the will of God? Do I repent and find a new way to live?

Sin we bury always rises to the surface when we least expect it. On a beautiful spring day when the prophet Nathan stood before the king, he brought words that would dredge up the long-buried sin David tried to hide from himself and from God.

Nathan spoke of a rich man who hosted an important visitor for an important dinner. As host, the rich man prepared a huge banquet in the honor of his guest. However, rather than slaying one of his own sheep for the table, he ordered his servants to take and butcher the prized lamb of the poor farmer next door. It was this lamb he served to his important guest.

David interrupted before Nathan could finish the story. Incensed. Furious.

“As surely as the Lord lives,
the man who did this deserves to die!
He should pay for the lamb four times over
because he did such a thing and
had no pity.”

The king’s anger echoed in the chamber, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Then, quietly and with no joy, Nathan said,

“You are the man.”

In that instant, the sin David buried in his soul, flashed before his eyes, a painful reminder of his spiritual failure. The burden of guilt welled in his eyes as he struggled with the weight of his mistakes. Hear the agony of his voice.

“Have mercy on me, O God,
According to your unfailing love;
According to your great compassion blot out my transgressions.
Wash away my iniquity and
Cleanse me from my sin.

“For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is always before me.
Against you have I sinned and done
what is evil in your sight.”

David’s story could parallel the hubris and folly in my life and yours a hundred times over. Time and time again we fail to live up to the standards of God. We fail to live up to the image of Christ. Then, in some way the Holy Spirit calls us to drop the pretense and take a good hard look at the face in the mirror.

When the eyes staring back at us break our hearts, maybe it’s time to throw ourselves at the mercy of a Father who loves us deeply. David came down from his throne and knelt before the throne of God with a changed heart, acknowledging his sin. Taking that first step toward reconciliation.

Once he confessed his failure, David knew that God only could take his sin away. Pleading for God to erase the sin from his heart. Seeking forgiveness and restoration.

“Cleanse me with hyssop and I will be clean;
Wash me, and I will be whiter than snow.”

For all his failure, David knew what God required of him. He knew God wanted more from David than someone simply going through the motions. God desired a changed heart.

“You do not delight in sacrifice or
I would bring it.
You do not take pleasure in burnt offerings.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
A broken and contrite heart.”

It is one thing to acknowledge my sin. I can know that what I’m doing is against God’s will and still do it. Simply going through the motions will not suffice. My life will not change until my stubbornness is crushed. Until God pries opens my heart and breaks down my resistance. I change my life only when my spirit is broken and my heart sincerely open to God’s direction.

A contrite heart doesn’t make excuses or attempt to justify one’s sin. God is not interested in empty apologies or halfhearted resolutions. A contrite heart expresses with real and deep sorrow our personal rebellion against God. A contrite heart desires to live differently. A contrite heart also knows that change is not possible without God’s forgiveness.

David knew the power of forgiveness to renew his life. Consumed by guilt, he asked simply for God to allow him to hear again “joy and gladness;” to allow his “bones to rejoice.” Then in some of the most beautiful verses in all scripture, David expressed his desire to experience a new life in the presence of God.

“Create in me a pure heart, O God,
And renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Restore the joy of your salvation and
grant me a willing spirit to sustain me.”

A pure heart is intent upon living within God’s purpose and plan for its life. Focused on doing right. One where every thought and action reflects the teachings of Christ. It is only then that the joy we experienced when we first allowed Jesus into our lives is restored in perfect purity. It is only then that we find ourselves again content in our own skin. It is only then we can look into the reflection in the mirror and smile.

*****

For weeks the Christian man happily hammered the copper nails into his sailboat. Then, one Sunday, the pastor spoke about the two thieves surrounding Jesus on the cross. From that day forward, every stroke of the hammer pounded his sin more deeply into his heart.

After days of guilt, he laid his sin before God in repentance. He went to his pastor and confessed what he had done. He also knew he should also confess to his boss, but also knew it would give justification for the man’s arguments against his belief in God. He felt he could not confess his sin because it would reinforce the man’s disdain for God.

For weeks he struggled until he finally told his boss everything and paid him back for the copper nails he had taken. The man expected to lose his job. To his surprise his boss accepted his payment and said, “Any God that would cause a man to admit his failure might be a God worth knowing.”

All I know is that in my own life I’ve nailed a few stolen copper nails into my own boat. And, from time to time, I still do. Yet, it is not the way I want to live. When I am right with God and with those around me, I know true joy.

It is good to know that we serve a God who forgives a repentant heart. It’s good to know that our mistakes do not have to define us. God’s forgiveness frees us to serve again.

So God waits patiently for the contrite and broken heart to call out to him…

“Create in me a pure heart;
renew a steadfast spirit within me.
Restore the joy of my salvation.”

It’s time to return the copper nails so we may be useful again. That’s my prayer for all of us.

Strain the Camel

Background Passages: Matthew 23:23-24; 2 Timothy 1:7

I don’t much like weeding the garden. Well, that’s not exactly true. I hate weeding the garden.

Recognizing it needs to be done from time to time, I started in one small corner and began pulling up the blanket of milkweed that covered the topsoil. Painstaking and boring. I finished a 10-foot section of ground and looked back on what I had accomplished. All the milkweed was gone. Yet, there in the middle of the flowerbed I just cleared stood a very proud, 18-inch dandelion with a bright, yellow flower on top. So focused on the little weeds, I missed the big, ugly one right in front of me.

I wonder if that was what it was like for the Pharisees as they settled into their comfortable lives. So focused were they on complete obedience to the letter of law that they missed its intent. So comfortable in the routine of religion, they ignored the needs of a lost world, never practicing what they preached.

In other words, they laboriously pulled the milkweed, but ignored the dandelion. Jesus’ call to righteous living put a spotlight on the dandelion.

In the last days of Jesus’ ministry prior to his journey to the cross, we find him spending more and more time grounding his disciples in the deepest fundamentals of faith. The more he talked about the kingdom of God, the more his opponents protested, pressured and plotted to eliminate him.

Instead of a concentrated effort to discern the truth the Pharisees made a concerted effort to discredit every word he spoke. They picked at the minuscule and ignored the material. A master of hyperbole, Jesus challenged their hypocrisy. The religious leaders of the day took great care to cross every “t” and dot every “i” in their quest for religious piety. So focused were they on the legalities of religion, they missed the point of faith.

Jesus acknowledged that they regularly gave their tithes of mint, dill and cumin, but he chided them for failing to practice the important matters of the very law they claimed to obey. Where is justice? Mercy? Faithfulness? “You should have practiced the latter without neglecting the former.”

Jesus took them to task for their improper perspective. “You blind guides! You strain out a gnat, but swallow a camel.”

Had I been standing next to Peter and John that day, I’m pretty sure the snicker I failed to choke back would have drawn an ugly glare from the closest Pharisee and a pained glance from Jesus that said, “Really? That’s your contribution to this debate?”

What a powerful commentary Jesus made with a tongue-in-cheek comment. It is a brilliant analysis of the problems preventing the Pharisees from accepting the new truth Jesus brought to the world. They were so driven by the principle of not eating what they deemed unclean that they would use a cloth to strain their drink to make sure they would not accidentally consume the tiny, filthy insect. Yet, they never seemed to see the camel they swallowed whole.

Had I been walking next to Jesus later that afternoon, I suspect I might have apologized and rationalized my inappropriate behavior. “I’m sorry, Jesus, but that was a good line. Pretty funny. Did you see their faces?”

I think Jesus would have put his arm around me and said with a rueful smile, “It might have been funnier if it weren’t also true in your life, too, my friend.” As my mind reeled, I’d hear something about ignoring the 4” x 4” beam in my own eye.

I am, at times, guilty of the same Pharisaical behavior. The Pharisees practiced their faith. They made dedicated effort to comply with the ritual and rules, focusing in extreme measure on the “thou shalts” and the “thou shalt nots,” while spending precious little time on the “love thy neighbor.” Being right was a higher calling than doing right. I may not always be that different.

You and I live in a time when it’s fashionable to be hypercritical. To declare ourselves politically and socially holier than thou. You and I live in a time when pronouncing our truth rides roughshod over proclaiming his truth. When we love the sound of our own voice rather than seeking to sound the voice of love. Such arrogance drives people away from the very one to whom our deeds and our words should point and proclaim.

It’s easy to play the Christian card in a world struggling to do what’s right. Attend church every week. Sing a few songs. Sit through the sermon. Study his word in Sunday School. Gather up a few old clothes to give to the poor every now and again. Now, somehow, I’m better that that other poor soul. It’s not that these things are wrong. Like Jesus reminded the Pharisees, these are things that should not be neglected.

However, when we focus on the “things” of our religion to the exclusion of the crucial matters of our faith…justice, forgiveness, love, compassion, truth…

…we become critical rather than encouraging…

…we divide rather than bring together…

…we falsely elevate our standing in the eyes of God, and…

…we fail in the deeper call of Christ.

We wonder all the time how the Pharisees could be so obtuse, time and time again failing to recognize the truth of Jesus’s words because they threatened to push them out of their comfort zone. The truth is they lived in fear of the kingdom of God that Jesus personified. It upset their apple carts and threatened to pull down their carefully constructed walls that isolated them from a world in need.

Jesus tells them, “You put on a good front. Make a good show of things. But, your heart cannot see what I see. Until it does, you will continue to go through the motions, critical of those less “pious,” feeling safe and comfortable within the walls you built around you.

“Until you see the world through my eyes and move past the ritual and routine, you’ll keep straining that gnat and eating that camel.”

Jesus calls me to keep doing those things I ought to be doing, but to focus on what matters most. I must set aside the fear that keeps me from embracing in love a world that knows no better way. I need to step outside my comfort zone. To challenge what I believe and dig deeper until God teaches me the next thing I need to know to become more like him. Fear stared the Pharisees in the face and gripped their hearts. It does the same to me at times.

When he needed to encourage Timothy, the young pastor of Ephesus, Paul reminded him,

“God did not give us a spirit of timidity and fear, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.”

I also find that encouraging. My ability to move past the trappings of religion and into a full expression of faith rests not in my own ability, but in the power of God through his spirit within me. My desire to love others will not come from the goodness of my own heart but from a realization of sacrificial love and mercy God extends to me every day. My desire to see the needs of those around me and to, therefore, act, comes from the discipline to be more like Christ every day in every way.

I don’t know if you feel the same way at times, but, if we assume we’re doing pretty well at filtering out our gnats, maybe it’s time we both strain the camel.

Here’s Mud In Your Eye

Background Passage: John 9:1-41

God created us with intelligence and natural curiosity. He created us to reason and think. To learn something new every day we live. That’s why I love being around children. In a quest of new discovery, they are willing to ask a thousand questions just to understand one thing more. Learning is a God-given gift.

That’s why I love to study scripture. There is so much of God’s plan and purpose I do not understand, I always feel like a child on the verge of discovery. Seeking new insight. Tossing away old paradigms. I believe there is always something new God can teach me about his nature…about the life he has given me.

That’s probably why I struggle with those who live in such certainty that their faith gets set in concrete leaving them unable and unwilling to test what they know. Dogma is the death of discovery. When it comes to my faith, my certainty rests in my personal experiences, everything else is discovery. Maybe that’s why the blind man in John 9 is one of my favorite Bible characters.

Deep blue skies.
No cloud in sight.
By daily measure…ordinary.
To those walking the streets of Jerusalem…unnoticed.
To the man born blind…remarkable.

He sat on the stone-lined edge of the Pool of Siloam.
Feet dangling into the water.
Cool.
Clear.
Staring in wonder at his reflection
Framed by the blue heavens above.
His first time to see his own image.
His first time to see anything.
His trembling fingers traced the hollow of his eyes.
Touched the rise of his cheeks
The contour of his nose.
Brushed through his coarse beard.
Ran his fingertips along his sun-baked lips.

Heart racing.
Breath,
a series of ragged gasps.
He lifted his eyes to the world around him
and immediately raised his hands.
Shielded his eyes from the harsh glare
of the mid-morning sun.
He blinked.
Tears running down a face
he had never known.

A world of touch and texture,
brought to life in a
confusion of form and color,
now coalesced around him.

For the first time he saw…
the ripple of wind on water.
The elegance of the portico-covered pool.
The dance of sunlight and shadow.
The beauty of the surrounding hills.
The people…oh, the people.

Slowly, his mind adjusted to this new reality.
Standing awkwardly like a new colt,
steadied by the joyful friend who guided him here from the temple,
the man gradually found his balance…
not an easy task for one blind since birth.

In time,
they danced.
Sang.
Laughed.
Cried.
On his way home…
throughout the streets of Jerusalem…
he shouted to anyone and everyone,
“I can see!
I was blind, but now I see!”

John tells this poignant story in a series of scenes set between two major confrontations between Jesus and the Pharisees. We find Jesus and his disciples leaving their time of worship through the south gate of the Temple. As they walked down the steps, his disciples posed a question steeped in Jewish tradition. Pointing to a man begging on the bottom of the Temple steps, they asked,

“Jesus, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?”

According to the prevailing belief of the day sin was responsible for all illness and disability. A child sick or disabled since birth either sinned somehow in the womb or the parents’ disobedience caused this infirmity. Jesus often fought this kind of misguided thinking. Seizing this teachable moment, Jesus explained to his disciples.

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned. This happened so the work of God might be displayed in his life…While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

Neither God nor man caused this unfortunate circumstance, but God would use this man’s condition as a living metaphor of his ability to turn darkness and despair into light and life.

With that declaration, Jesus approached the man. Sat next to him on the steps. Engaged him in quiet conversation. Sensing the man’s open heart, Jesus spat on the ground and worked his saliva and the light gray limestone soil into a muddy paste that he spread across the man’s eyes. Taking his hands in his own, Jesus stood, lifting the man to his feet.

“Now, go,” he said, “wash in the Pool of Siloam.”

With the help of a friend, the man made his way down the slope of the Temple Mount, about a quarter of a mile southward toward the large, terraced pool, fed by the Gihon Spring. The man must have received odd looks as he made his way through the crowd with mud covering his eyes.

He sat on the edge of the water and did has he was instructed. Splashing the cool water on his face, the man wiped the mud from his eyes. I can see him taking a deep breath as he wipe away the water and grim with the sleeve of his robe. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a brand new world.

Over the next few hours and days, the man faced disbelief and disparagement. Some friends thought him an impostor. The Pharisees called him before the council, not to celebrate his healing, but badger him in hopes of accusing Jesus of violating the Sabbath. They sapped the joy of his healing.

Fearing for their own reputation, his own parents refused to stand by him. Ultimately, the Pharisees condemned him as a sinner, eventually excommunicating the man from the synagogue because he refused to deny that Jesus was the one who restored his sight.

In the end, John tells us that Jesus sought out the man whom he healed after learning about the Pharisees’ actions. Face to face with Jesus, the man made a heart-felt confession of faith. At the Pool of Siloam, in the blink of an eye, his physical blindness became 20/20 vision. Over the course of the next 48 hours, he went from being entombed in spiritual darkness to being embraced by the Light of the world.

The power of Jesus echoes throughout this amazing story. But, I also marvel at the authoritative testimony of the man born blind. Standing before a hostile panel of powerful religious leaders who called him a fraud, grilled him mercilessly, challenged his every word, the man never faltered. Never failed to speak the truth.

The Pharisees clamored for him to deny Jesus’ power. Pushed him to denounce his healer. “We know this man is a sinner!” they shouted, challenging him to confirm their accusation. With uncommon strength of character, the man, so unlearned in theology, said simply,

“Whether he is a sinner or not, I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.”

What an extraordinary confession of faith!

Imagine the man’s first few moments at the pool. Sights never seen began to fall into context in new ways. Not only were his eyes changed, but God transformed his mind to allow him to interpret and make a sense of what he was seeing for the first time. The miracle changed his heart. A life of resigned despair became a life of renewed hope and endless possibilities.

So what is the take away from this man’s experiences?

There is so much about God’s creation I do not understand. So much about his plan and purpose I cannot comprehend. So much about his nature which remains unknown to me. So much he still must teach me. I don’t know about you, but like the Pharisees, I tend to build a false world around me filled with my plans, my truth and my finite understanding of God and his world based on what I think I know. What I’ve discovered in my life is that that viewpoint is almost always limited. To an extent, that’s okay.

Look at this man’s example. He could not explain what happened. How his eyes were opened remained a mystery to him. He didn’t claim to understand. Nor did he back down in the face of mounting pressure. He merely spoke out with a growing faith borne of powerful, personal experience.

“This one thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.”

What an extraordinary confession of faith! This man born blind from birth would find ahead of him a life of discovery, not just in the physical world he could now see, but in his budding faith. Knowing what he did not know, he started his new life on what he had experienced with Jesus. That’s a fine place to start.

When I don’t have answers to every question that comes my way, this one thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.

So, my prayer today is simple. “God, cover my eyes in mud. Let me wash in the Pool of Siloam. Let me understand more clearly, God, who you are and what you need from me. Let me see the world from your perspective. Open my heart and my mind to the discovery of this life you’ve given me. At the end of the day, when the world challenges that which I do not fully know, let me share my personal experiences with you.”

Maybe that’s a prayer that works for you as well.

Here’s mud in your eye.