Kirk Lewis

From Mourning to Ministry

Background Passage: Matthew 14:9-23

No physical pain eclipses the pain of losing a close friend or family member. The grief of personal loss hurts. Shatters our sense of normalcy. Threatens our emotional stability. Chokes the very breath from our souls.

Grief might be tempered by the circumstances of our loss. When a loved one has faced months of pain from an insidious disease, for instance, the believer feels a sense of comfort and release knowing that a mother, a sister or friend is no longer suffering. That realization may lessen the gravity weighing on a sad heart, but it does little to fill the emptiness one feels.

Grief is a process as anyone who has lived it knows. Our reactions to it as individual as our own unique personalities.

In their respected book, On Death and Dying, Elizabeth Kubler-Ross and David Kessler plotted five stages of grief that all must travel. People express themselves in various ways, passing through the stages in different ways or times because our relationship to the one who died was unique to us. The authors suggest we must go through each stage if we are to recover from the sorrow that engulfs us with the loss of someone special.

Kubler-Ross and Kessler define the stages of grief: Denial…a time of shock and emotional paralysis where we tend to avoid our new reality; Anger…a time when all the emotions we bottled up for a time get released; Bargaining…when we look for alternatives to fill the void within us; Depression…when reality weighs us down; and acceptance…finding our way forward into a new normal.

I know two families this week going through the death of a family member. Having walked in their shoes in my own family, forever uncertain what to say, I found myself scanning the scripture for words that might grant all of us a foothold of understanding on the slippery slope of sorrow.

Well-meaning folks like me will offer these families platitudes in the coming days based on our personal experiences. The intent will be appreciated. The care and concern evident. But the words will most likely fall on a heart too troubled to hear.

Many passages of scripture tells us about God’s comfort during times of despair. There is beauty and value in those verses. As we seek to live in the image of God and if Jesus represents the image of God on earth, then what did Jesus know of our sorrow?

I suspect there were a thousand of unrecorded occasions when Jesus put his arm around a crying widow, offered a prayer for a brother in mourning, took a meal to a neighbor who lost a sister, prayed for a family whose mother died peacefully in her sleep, or stood quietly beside a parent whose child was ravaged by disease when no word would bring comfort. Scripture also tells us Jesus felt the grief resulting from the death of someone for whom he cared deeply.

His experiences with grief were personal, not second hand, full of the emotional trauma death brings. Late in his earthly ministry, his good friend Lazarus died. Though Jesus knew the outcome of this experience would be new life, scripture tells us he wept. His anguish over the loss of someone he loved so real and heart-wrenching.

Yet, another profound encounter with death touched Jesus at the beginning of his ministry. Not too long after Jesus gathered his disciples together and taught them things they needed to know about the kingdom of God, he sent them out, two-by-two, on a mission trip to preach the good news of God’s coming salvation.

At the same time, Herod, the Judean tetrarch, arrested John the Baptist, Jesus’ cousin and early partner in ministry. The Baptist ran afoul of the regional governor when he challenged Herod’s divorce and marriage to his sister-in-law. While John was in prison, Herod, intrigued by his step-daughter, promised her anything she wished. After talking to her conniving mother, the step-daughter asked for John the Baptist’s head on a platter. Herod did not disappoint and ordered John beheaded.

News of this horrific death reached Jesus just as the disciples were returning from their trip. The news was unsettling. Jesus and John, connected by circumstance of birth and passion of ministry, held deep respect for each other.

Jesus once told the crowds who followed him that “among those born of women there is none greater than John,” revealing his level of affection and respect for the tough-minded preacher. Jesus’ love was returned many times over. John stood waist deep in the Jordan when Jesus presented himself to be baptized at the starting point of his earthly ministry. Knowing who he was and the nature of his work, John hesitated. “I’m not worthy to tie your sandals,” he said.

When Jesus heard the news about his cousin, Matthew 14 tells us , “he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place.” Saddened. Distraught. Struggling with both the loss and the method of his death. Seeing in John’s death, perhaps, a reflection of his own future.

As he so often did when troubled with life, Jesus needed to feel the presence of his heavenly father. In the middle of the excitement of the missionary reports, he moved away from the crowd to find a quiet place to be alone in his thoughts, to deal with his emotions and his grief.

Yet, the crowd would not let him go. Maybe they were unaware of John’s death. Maybe they didn’t understand the connection between the men as cousins. Maybe they were so caught up in their own struggles they couldn’t see into the hurting heart of another person. Whatever possessed them to come, a large crowd circled around the Sea of Galilee to wait as Jesus’ boat came ashore.

Many of us can empathize with Jesus. He needs his time alone…his space to deal with his own breaking heart. Life will not allow it. Jesus had a choice, to look inward or outward. We face the same choice in times like this. We can turn inside ourselves, skirt the crowd and run into the desert alone. Or we can look outside ourselves to the people pressing around us and extend God’s mercy to them.

Matthew tells us Jesus saw the crowd and had “compassion on them.” What an amazing picture this presents! A grieving Christ sees the gathering crowd. When most of us would turned the boat around, Jesus dried his tear-stained cheeks with the sleeve of his cloak, said a new prayer for emotional strength, took in a deep breath and went about his work healing the sick, comforting the sorrowful and feeding the famished.

He spent the rest of the day with them, eventually feeding them with a little bread and fish before sending them on their way. A picture settles in my thoughts. The last family finally turned to leave. Jesus, who set aside his own sorrow for that time, waited until they were out of sight before sagging heavily on a boulder, allowing the emotion pent inside to flow freely.

Scripture says at some point he gathered himself, climbed the wilderness mountain as he had intended to do earlier that day and sought refuge in a father who understood clearly the heaviness of his heart.

So, what does this tell me about grief? My faith pales in comparison to the faith of Jesus. How hard it is to carry on when all we want to be is carried away. This biblical episode in the life of Jesus tells us life never stops for the grieving. Never slows down. Never considers our emotional state. Life goes on.

The daze of days surrounding the loss of a loved one blow by with little regard to what we want or need. In the days that follow death there will be bills to pay. Places to go where no one knows our anguish. Children tugging at our sleeve who need us to be in the moment with them. Co-workers expecting us to be on our game. Work still to be done. Our ability to find the peace we need, the solitude we crave, gets overshadowed by the press of the crowd around us.

We can push the crowd away or do as Jesus did when he pulled the boat to shore…embrace for a moment the opportunity God puts in front of us to serve him. To testify through our last reserve of faith and strength to the power of the father who gives us the ability to put one foot in front of the other and move when all we want to do is turn the boat around.

I don’t want to minimize the difficulty of walking our grief walk. It is healthy to grieve. Healthy to find time alone to consider the meaning of this personal loss. Healthy to weep.

As Jesus sailed the boat across the Sea of Galilee that day, I suspect the horizon lay unseen in the distance obscured by the tears in his eyes. His vision limited to the prow of the boat as he stared blankly into a tomorrow without his dear friend. That’s the way I feel on days like that.

However deeply Jesus mourned John’s death, he didn’t stay in the boat. He turned grief into the fuel that fired his own sense of mercy and ministry. You see, all the hurt and pain we experience at the death of one we love can empower us to love more deeply, embrace more often and to serve more willingly.

These two friends of mine who mourn this week the loss of a brother and sister, respectively, will be in Collique, Peru, next week on a mission trip. They join others in building small homes for families who possess next to nothing. Despite their personal sorrow, they will step out of their boats on the shore of a dusty hill in South America to share the compassion of Christ to strangers unaware of the grief they bear. What a testimony!

In our most desperate times, our dependence on Jesus Christ serves as dynamic evidence of the power of God’s sustaining love to a lost world with little on which to cling in life’s toughest times.

Grieve because you must. Mourn for lost love ones. Cherish the memories of love that runs deeply. But, along the way, may our emotions turn ever outward to spirit-inspired, Gospel-driven, compassion.

A Matter of Choice

Background Passages: Matthew 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13

He stood on the high bank
on the east side of the Jordan River,
looked down at the milling masses,
lining up to be baptized by John.
The butterflies in Jesus’ stomach fluttered,
the stirring of the Holy Spirit within.
For the past 18 years he waited.
Listening for God’s call
to begin the work he was sent to do.

“It’s time, Jesus.”
The voice within urges him on.

Jesus shuffles forward in the meandering line.
Waiting his turn.
Deep in thought.
His sandals sink into the mud,
Toes touch water.
Snapping back to reality,
he looks into the disbelieving eyes of his cousin,
staring back at him.

“Why are you here?”
“I am not worthy…”
“You should baptize me…”

“No, John, you need to do this for me…
I need you to do this for me.”

Rising from the cool waters of the Jordan,
Liquid cascading from his hair and beard,
Jesus wipes the water from his eyes,
Looks up to heaven…
a prayer on his lips.

The clouds break.
A dove descends.
A voice declares his name…

“My Son…”

Value and Validation.

A mountain top experience on the floor of a river valley.
Jesus slogs out of the river, climbs the bank,
Retracing his steps to the crest of the hill.
Jesus looks back at the crowd below
Waiting for their shot of redemption
Unaware that redemption stood beside them.

He turns away from his past.
Takes one step into the jagged edge of the wilderness.
Then another and another.
Into the desert to face the life options open to him.

Every step Jesus took into the barren, desolate and deserted landscape led him to a familiar place. I doubt it was his first time in the solitude of the wilderness. A place to ponder. A place to plan. A place to pray. Led by the Spirit as if the Father called to his son, “Let’s go someplace where we can talk.”

In the weeks after the spiritual high of his baptism, he found himself sitting in the shade of a grotto carved into the desert rock by wind and rain, looking back toward the setting sun over Judea…in the direction of Jerusalem where he knew his path would someday take him to the cross.

We call it the “Temptations of Christ” as if this was the first time Jesus faced his own human desires. We want our savior to be immune to the pressure of living up to God’s expectations. As God’s son, we want Jesus to know from the moment he was born that his role would be and how it would play out. We don’t think of him tempted as a young boy to lash out in selfish anger. Tempted as a teenager to disobey his mother’s command. Tempted as a man to stay with the family business rather than take that journey to Jerusalem.

We want to think that Jesus never faced the choices we face. Never faced the litany of options that pull us from God’s will. We want Jesus to demonstrate his rock-solid faith and obedience to God from the moment of his birth until he rose again into heaven.

To lock Jesus in that box of spiritual piety puts him on a heavenly leash, restrained from the possibility of sin. Negating the free will God gave him. Taking those possibilities from him makes his human birth unnecessary. His walk among us a sham. If the cross was not a choice, his ultimate sacrifice loses its meaning.

When Jesus walked into the wilderness, ready to begin his ministry, he faced a world of choices that would determine if he would follow the will of his Father or chart his own course. It was a time for Jesus to prepare himself mentally, emotionally and spiritually for the life ahead. He had to decide what kind of Messiah he would be. The Messiah God sent him to be or the one for whom the people would later clamor.

After weeks of prayer and preparation in the desert where all these possibilities flashed through his mind, Jesus awakens to his ravishing hunger. A voice begins picking at the heart of Jesus, trying to shake his resolve. The stone looks a lot like a biscuit. The voice says, “You’re hungry. To do this work, you’ve got to take care of yourself. Under the circumstances no one would blame you if you were a little self-absorbed. That rock looks a lot like a biscuit. Just say the word…” Jesus knew the power given to him by the Father. The counter argument of sin pushed him to selfishly abuse the God-given power. To place his own desires first in his life.

Yet, Jesus understood that selfishness served as a stumbling block to service and sacrifice. “Man shall not live by bread alone…” The work of God is not about us. It’s about those who need God’s touch in their lives. Living in the image of God demands that we set aside the selfish desires of our hearts and mirror the heart of God.

The voice in his heart says, “God will protect you in all circumstances. Hurl yourself from the temple roof. When the people see that you land unharmed, you will draw a crowd. Then when you preach, they will have to believe.” Jesus understood that we cannot bend God’s will to ours. We cannot force his hand by insisting our way is better. Jesus knew that calling attention to himself by an ostentatious show of power, might attract a crowd, but the faith it bought could not be sustained. “Do not test the Lord, your God…” His plan for our lives remains the perfect plan. Our errant decisions derail what God intended for us. We must avoid dictating the terms of our obedience to a God who knows us better than we know ourselves.

Jesus hears the voice say, “You’ve been asked to do the impossible. It doesn’t have to be that hard. I can set you up as ruler of the world with a snap of my fingers. Bow down to me. I’ll make it happen. No drama. No trauma. No painful sacrifice. Kneel.” Jesus fought the urge to take the easy road. It may have been a daily struggle throughout his ministry. As he began to grasp the magnitude of the sacrifice God asked of him, at a time when he could only imagine the agony that would come, he resisted sin’s easy path in favor of the road less traveled. He chose to connect with the one who offered real power rather than the one whose power was limited. “Get behind me, Satan. Worship the Lord your God and serve him only…”

To be sure, Jesus faced tough choices in the wilderness. We want the temptations of Christ to end in the wilderness, but they didn’t. Throughout his life on earth, Jesus faced the choice to do things differently…right up until the end. Sitting alone in the darkness of Gethsemane, agonizing over that which he knew lay ahead, Jesus fell to his knees. The depth of anguish in the prayer he pray to his God poured from his heart. “Please, take this cup from me. If there is any other way to do this, let’s find it.” When the voice inside him remained silent, he knew God’s way was the only way to bring salvation to a lost world. “Not my will, but yours be done.” A temptation. A choice. A decision.

If our strength to face the temptations we encounter feels weak in comparison to Jesus’ resolve, it is only because our connection to the one who gives that strength is frayed by our own selfish desires. We see it when we try to bend God’s will to serve our purpose. When we choose to follow the path of rebellion…the easy road…rather than rely on the power of God to keep us from stumbling on the rocks along the road he asks us to travel.

Will I live life my way or God’s way? Will I love or reject? Will I serve or demand? Will I help or hurt? Will I give or covet? The decisions we make must reflect his will and not ours. To live in the image of God requires us to make an active decision to do so. Every day. Every minute. With every decision point.

Sin will promise the world. God gives us the freedom to follow or flee. We do or we don’t.

A temptation. A choice. A decision.

Which will it be?

One Day

Background Passage: Luke 24:1-12

Creativity is a gift from God. I read a passage in a book with a well-turned phrase or hear the dynamic lyrics to a song and marvel at the ability of writers to string words together to creates a sound that reverberates in the heart of the reader or listener.

This week, I heard the song, Glorious Day, performed by Casting Crowns. Though the song was not new to me, I enjoyed its message and melody. This time my ears picked up on the familiar lyrics. Lyrics that sat me down among my teenage friends in the second pew from the back on the left side of the church in the First Baptist Church or Ropesville, Texas.

“One day when heaven was filled with his praises,
One day when sin was as black as could be,
Jesus came forth to be born of a virgin,
Dwelt among men my example is he.”

The modern tune had disguised the lyrics of the song from my youth. I’m not sure why my ears heard the words differently today. The overwhelming sense of spiritual nostalgia took me back to the foundation of my faith in that small rural community. If you’re older than 30 you will probably remember the words penned in 1908 by J. Wilbur Chapman as the song, One Day.

According to most stories behind this famous song, Chapman, a Presbyterian pastor and evangelist who preached during the late 19th and early 20th centuries, wrote a poem to go with a sermon he presented as a guest pastor at Stony Brook Bible Conference. He gave the poem to his pianist Charles Marsh who wrote the tune to the old hymn.

The powerful lyrics captured the essence of God’s plan for the world from the beginning of time. The first line confirms the pre-existence in time of Jesus, God’s son. One day dwelling in heaven. Receiving the praises of the angels for his glory and majesty. One day as God’s creation turned on the axis of selfishness, God sent his son to dwell among us as an example for us to follow of obedience and faith.

One day he is nailed to a cross, a grace gift offsetting the sins of any repentant soul. One day buried. One day risen. The eternal message of Easter.

Then, in an incredible fashion, Chapman crafted a succinct refrain that lays out the depth and breadth of God’s redeeming love.

Living he loved me.
Dying he saved me.
Buried the carried my sin far away.
Rising he justified, freely forever.
One day he’s coming
Oh, Glorious Day.

Though I love the tune written by Michael Bleecker, the melody doesn’t change the message. The old standard may well resonate with those of us who have lived long as recipients of his gift through Christ. The new tune may best bridge the gap between God and today’s contemporary seeker.

Whether you sing it in your mind the old way or the new, may its message connect. God sent his son to live unerringly. To love unconditionally. To die sacrificially . To be buried temporarily. To rise triumphantly. To come again eventually.

What a glorious gift of unmerited grace to all who claimed it that one day!

Always Love

Background Passages: Matthew 12:1-14; Mark 2:23-3:6; and Luke 6:1-12

I read another news account this week about the Baptist church in Kansas staging another protest to condemn with unholy words those they deem to be sinners responsible for the ruin of the world. Citing scripture. Calling names. Their views right. All others wrong. Compassion lost to the certainty of their conviction.

I don’t understand it. How can a people claiming to be of God miss so badly the spirit of God? How can they interpret scripture so strictly that they fail to see the hurt they inflict?

Their actions this week reminded me of a story from scripture. Journey with me to Capernaum.

*****

He watched from the shadow of the alley between two homes as Jesus wound his way through the streets of Capernaum, a gathering crowd surrounding the healer and his closest friends. He darted from house to house, staying just ahead of Jesus, always in shadows cast by the rising sun. Unnoticed. That’s the way he liked it. When people noticed, they stared. When people noticed, they judged.

Without warning, someone grabbed his left arm startling the man. Dark brown eyes under bushy eyebrows, stared into his own. The elegant robe told him all he needed to know. A Pharisee. He recognized him as one of the priests from Jerusalem following in the footsteps of the healer for the past three weeks.

“Come with me,” commanded the priest, pulling him down the alley into deeper darkness. When alone, the priest looked at his withered right hand, dangling uselessly at the end of an arm lacking any strength. Nodding at his infirmity, how did that happen?

“I was kicked by a donkey eight years ago. I can no longer use my hand.”

“I have a proposition for you…” started the Pharisee as he explained his plan. Then, with a furtive glance and a smile that lacked sincerity, he slinked away.

Instructed to go to the synagogue where the healer would teach that morning, the man with the shriveled hand stood by the entrance to the white-stoned building near the market, waiting for Jesus. As Jesus approached, the man stepped out to greet him. “Rabbi, I am in need of your healing.” Words the Pharisee told him to speak.

Jesus smiled. Saw his hand. The need obvious, but sensing more to the story. “Why come to me?”

“I’ve seen what you can do,” said the man. Then, with a nervous glance inside at the Pharisees finding a seat in the crowded synagogue, “They told me you could heal me today.”

Jesus looked at the men who questioned his every move for weeks. “Did they now?”

The man, oblivious to the obvious, continued, “I need to provide for my family. I need to work. I want to work. If there is a chance…” His voice trailed off in all too familiar whisper of hopelessness.

Jesus looked into his eyes. Heart full of compassion. He threw his arm around him, glancing once more at the Pharisees. “Come on in. Find a seat. Let’s see what God will do today.”

Jesus walked to the front of the room. Sat down on the stone bench. Surveyed the packed room filled with the contrite, the curious and the condemning. The stage set for another lesson about the priorities of God.

*****

Read the account of the man with the withered hand in three of the four gospels. The confrontation between the religious leaders and Jesus in the Capernaum synagogue started in the fields that morning on the way to worship. In the end, the Savior’s compassion was both rejected and received. It started as an ordinary Sabbath morning.

Jesus and his disciples rose that morning, intent upon going to the synagogue for the Sabbath time of teaching and worship. The local rabbi requested Jesus lead the discussion, a frequent occurrence early in his ministry.

For days, the Pharisees sent from Jerusalem tagged along everywhere Jesus went, hovering always on the edge of the crowd. Dipping in and out of the conversation when it suited them. Questioning his motives. Probing for answers. Checking Jesus’ words against their own rigid interpretation of scripture. Determined to find reasons to discredit his teaching. Hoping to turn the crowds against him.

As the disciples moved along the country path into the village, they walked along the edge of a wheat field. Through stalks of grain ripe for harvest. In the cool of the morning, they absentmindedly plucked heads of grain from the stalks. Rubbed their hands together to remove the husk from the kernels. Blew into their palms to separate the wheat from the chaff. Popped the morsels into their mouths. Hungry men on the way to church.

On any other day the action of the disciples would raise no eyebrow. Eating another man’s grain along the path was a standard of care for the hungry and weary traveler. But, today was the Sabbath. The Pharisees almost giggled in delight. They caught Jesus’ followers violating the strict rules of the Sabbath regarding work…harvesting, winnowing and preparing food.

They practically ran over the disciples in their haste to confront Jesus for this egregious violation. This blatant disregard for Sabbath law.

Jesus took the opportunity to teach, hoping his words would resonate. “Have you not read…” reminding them that David entered the Temple while under duress and took the consecrated bread in order to feed himself and his hungry men.

He quoted Hosea, “If you had known what these words mean, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the innocent.”

As the debate ensued, Jesus silenced them. They stood with their mouths opening and closing like a fish out of water. No rebuttal. “The Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath. For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.”

The day cannot take precedent over human need. The law cannot substitute for mercy. This whole episode troubled Jesus. The conversation lingered in the Savior’s heart as he began to teach the lesson that day. A lesson about the priorities of God.

The same Pharisees who hassled Jesus during their walk into town laid their trap for him, taking advantage of a man’s disability for personal gain. Dangling him in front of Jesus. A worm on a hook. Begging Jesus to bite. To heal the man so they could challenge Jesus in a public setting about his contempt for the Sabbath.

Can’t you see the Pharisees fidgeting in their seats, waiting for Jesus to take their bait? When he didn’t immediately do so, one of them could no longer contain himself. Interrupting Jesus as he taught, he reminded Jesus of the episode in the grain field. He demanded to know. If, as you say, it’s permissible to harvest on the Sabbath… “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?”

From the moment he met the man with the withered hand outside the synagogue and heard his story, Jesus expected the question. “If any of you has a sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will you not take hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a person than a sheep!” The implication clear. “It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.”

Jesus waited for their response. Jesus expected the question. They didn’t expect that answer. So they sat, tight-lipped and tense.

It’s hard for 100 people to fall silent, but if a pin dropped in the sanctuary at that moment, everyone would hear it. All sat perfectly still. Only their eyes darted back and forth between Jesus and the Pharisees, waiting for the next sandal to fall.

Jesus rose to his feet. Walked to the middle of the room. He looked for the man he met earlier by the door. He found him, sitting in the corner. Hiding behind the town’s burly blacksmith. The savior caught his eye. Motioned for him to come forward. A smile, warm with compassion. An invitation. Jesus stood behind him. Rested his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Stand here with me in front of everyone.” In front of these self-righteous men.

With fire in his eyes stoked by their hard hearts, Jesus bore into the soul of the Pharisees. Hear a heavy sigh in Jesus’ voice as he posed one last question, hoping to elicit a glimmer of understanding from their closed and locked hearts.

“Let me ask you, which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save a life or destroy it?” To do the good I intend to do or the evil you’re now doing?

Every eye in the room drawn to the obvious. The misshapen and shriveled hand, hung uselessly at the man’s side.

In the silence of the Pharisees, more contempt. More condemnation.

Jesus looked toward heaven. Eyes closed. Let out a slow breath to purge his gut of the bile of disgust rising in his throat. When he spoke softly to the man, little more than a whisper in his ear. “Stretch out your hand.”

In the instant the man followed Jesus’ command, the muscle and tendons regained their strength. The gnarled, misshapen fingers relaxed. As he raised his hand in front of his face, his hand was completely restored. Strong and sound like the other. Healthy again. Productive again. The synagogue erupted in shouts of joy from the people gathered to worship.

In a huff unable to celebrate for a life made whole, the Pharisees stormed out to conspire with bitter enemies to plot the death of Jesus.

*****

When you read these stories, we tend to look at them only as episodes chronicling the growing confrontation between Jesus and the religious leaders. If that were all it was, I’m not sure all three gospels would have carried an account of the story. There is a deeper, richer lesson waiting to be learned and it starts with the verse quoted by Jesus from Hosea, “I desire mercy not sacrifice.”

Jesus told the Pharisees, “If you understood what these words mean…” Well, what do they mean? Mercy trumps sacrifice. Compassion trumps dogma. The Pharisees clung so tightly to their “truth” they failed to recognize the need in front of them. Their strict adherence to law served as blinders to the suffering of those around them. We cannot and must not hold our “truth” so tightly that we dismiss how valuable another human being is to God.

Through these two vignettes Jesus suggests that we cannot place every jot and tittle of scripture over our call to serve, care for and forgive. Feed the hungry. Tend to the infirmed.

Think about it. Jesus didn’t dishonor the Sabbath. He was there every Sunday. (If you don’t see the irony of that statement, maybe that’s the problem.) Jesus sat aside the Sabbath as a day of worship to God the Father. As natural to him as breathing, but not if it meant ignoring a need.

We tend to cherry pick our Sabbaths. Taking things out of context without applying the whole of Jesus’ teachings. We cannot condone sin, but, by nature of our own sin, we are also disqualified to judge it in others.

Jesus met the woman caught in the act of adultery by another group of Pharisees. Jesus asked them to reflect upon their own sin. When her accusers faded away in the reality of Jesus’ question, he told her. “Neither do I condemn you…go and sin no more.” Rather than exclude, Jesus chose to love and teach.

Is it possible the social issues of our day have become our Sabbath law? The eating of the grain. The man with the shriveled hand. Depending on your personal beliefs, consider them the ancient equivalent of our attitudes toward whomever we deem undesirable. The Liberal. The Conservative. The Gay. The Transgender. The Straight. The Black. The White. The Brown. The Rich. The Poor. The Gun Owner. The Unarmed. Consider them anyone on whom we pass judgment. Anyone we point to in disdain while channeling our inner Pharisee.

Those in whom we easily see the sawdust in their eye while disregarding the 2 x 4 jutting from our own. Judgment is the easy way. Loving is the hard way. I’m too often guilty of taking the easy way.

If we are to live as the image of God, if we are to be like Christ, we cannot declare our “truth” or value “being right” more than we value lifting our hands to help the broken, the hurting or the drifting. As soon as we do so we lose the heart and spirit of Jesus. For him, it was always truth and right grounded in love. But always love.

In the story, the Pharisees never see themselves as a soiled robe in need of a good scrub. They see themselves as a garment already cleansed by their strict obedience to the law…in need of nothing else…now or ever.

Here’s the really sad thing about these stories. The Pharisees never doubted that Jesus could heal the man. They begged him to do it. Knew he would. They recognized in him God’s sufficient and amazing power and gift of healing. They never questioned his ability to heal, only his timing that broke a rule they created to set them apart from others. Staring them in the face was the chance to join with the Son of God and they could not comprehend it.

Never doubt for a moment that God loves the Liberal and Conservative. The Gay. The Transgender. The Straight. The Black. The White. The Brown. The Rich. The Poor. The Gun Owner. The Unarmed. Let us escape the confinement of our entrenched Pharisaical truths.

Jesus calls us to love. Jesus calls us to serve. This week let’s reach out to the hungry heart and the shriveled soul. It is always lawful to do good.

God Is At Work

Habakkuk 1:1-5; 2:4, 14, 20; 3:17-18; and Romans 8:28

Lately, we watch the news with a sense of morbid dread, waiting for another work of wickedness to destroy our comfortable complacency and erode the innate innocence of our children and grandchildren. I must admit God and I had a “come to Jesus” meeting over the past few days.

I shook my fist a little. Lashed out a bit. Questioned how he could sit by and watch events in Florida unfold without intervening. I finished my little fit and waited. Getting no immediate response, I huffed a bit more and went back to my worry and work.

It felt like an Old Testament week as I prepared for this devotional. I was in “an eye for an eye” mood. I scanned pages of scripture and read about Jeremiah complaining bitterly to God about the unfairness in the world around him. How evil men grow powerful and prosper. How righteous suffer. Jeremiah shook his fist at God.

Elijah hid in a cave. The prophet who had just won a major test of faith now cowered in a cave after being threatened by an angry and vengeful Jezebel. He complained balefully that he was the last godly man standing. That God had stepped aside, allowing him to be hounded and chased. Elijah shook his fist at God and wanted to die.

I read again about Job, God’s long-suffering servant. Plagued by calamities not of his making. Criticized by his friends. Struggling with the loss of those he held dear. Job lashed out critically to the Creator. “What does it profit us if we pray to him?” Job shook his fist at God.

I get it Jeremiah. I know where you’re coming from Elijah. I understand Job. That’s exactly how I feel.

Then, my eyes settled on Habakkuk. I didn’t intend to stop here. No one does a devotional on Habakkuk, right? But, this prophet joined me in shaking his fist at God so I kept reading.

In three short chapters, I discovered a God big enough to take my frustration and teach me about his presence and his purpose even in the middle of a perverse week.

Habakkuk spoke at a time when evil men ruled the day, punishing the righteous, inflicting violence upon them. “Why do you make me look at injustice?” lamented the prophet. “Why do you tolerate wrong? How long must I cry for help?”

My heart aches as Habakkuk’s aches. I see innocent children slaughtered again in a world run amuk. “Why, God, do we keep seeing this? Why do you put up with it? How long must we cry out for help?”

God’s answer to Habakkuk started a transformation in his outlook on life…an answer that lifted my own sagging spirit.

“Look at the nations and watch–and be utterly amazed. For I am going to do something in your days that you would not believe, even if you were told.” (Hab. 1:5)

All that questioning I did…this was the start of God’s rebuttal. “Look, Kirk. I didn’t cause the wickedness in the world. Human choice creates catastrophe and chaos. Your choice. Their choice. My job is to work through tragedy using people of faith to restore the broken. Redeem the lost. Rescue the troubled. I know you don’t understand. I could explain it to you, let you in on the secret, but you wouldn’t believe it.

“Know this. You are not alone. Those who are hurting most are not alone. I can carry you, carry them, through this. I will never abandon you. Despite your sorrow and struggles, I will never give up on my children. I am at work even if you can’t see it.”

Every one of us who love and trust God can look back through our lives and see the hand of God at work through the best and worst times of our lives. In those times, when we seemed to be abandoned and alone, we can now see the winding path he guided us down to emerge from the haze into a clearer understanding of his presence in our lives. I think about those times in my life and…God’s right. Had he told me how he planned to bring me through the struggle, I would not have believed it possible.

I kept reading through the book and found these declarations of eternal truth God spoke to the prophet.

“…the righteous will live by his faith…” (Hab. 2:4)

Habakkuk was blind to the work of God as he stood there and complained. God said to him, “Trust me. Have faith in my work even when you see no evidence of it.” Like an arrow, the words pierced the anxiety in my heart.

Living by faith is a hard pill to swallow when we’re sick to our stomachs over what we see happening around us. It sounds so cliché. Yet, faith is often the only answer we have…at least in the beginning. God would eventually use Habakkuk’s voice to bring about his intentional plan for redemption. When I have no answers, faith is enough. Perhaps my faith in him…my trust, my belief…can touch those troubled by tragedy.

Two other verses offered a message of hope and promise to the prophet. The strife caused by evil evaporates in the face of God’s presence. Though the bad seems to reign, its power will fade.

“For the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea…The Lord is in his holy temple; let all the earth be silent before him.” (Hab. 2:14,20)

Our pain in the middle of tragedy cannot be denied. I cannot imagine the grief of parents and family in the aftermath of such insanity. While we seldom claim the promise of God’s eternal victory in the middle of tragedy, grief-inspired blindness doesn’t make it any less true. God will conquer. I take heart in understanding in my core the simple truth that pain and suffering around me is temporary and transient…especially when considered on an eternal scale.

God sits on his throne. Like any good ruler he knows his kingdom and his people. His anguish over our suffering is real. When we seek an audience with him to complain bitterly of that which hurts us, he listens. He is big enough to handle our confusion, our anger, our frustration, our disbelief. When our emotion is spent he reminds us that he walks among us through life’s mud and muck.

That’s why the hue and cry to put God back into our schools sits so uneasily in my bones. God never left our schools. There are people of faith teaching and serving in every public school in America. There are prayers lifted up daily on behalf of children and families. There are children and young people who lift up prayers every day in the halls and classrooms across America. Heartfelt prayers far more meaningful than a rote or recited prayer over the intercom.

Still his presence was not enough to prevent another senseless act. Why? Not because we “took God out of our schools.” Evil gets its way because we forced God out of our lives, not out of our schools. Stop making God political. Make him personal. Then, and only then, can he make an impact in and through us.

Here’s the truth I know. God is on his throne. God is present in the lives of all who believe…in school and out. Always has been. Always will be.

Without question, the senseless school shooting in Florida tested my faith this week. I struggle for words in the moment for those most touched by such devastating loss. I struggle for answers on how we might prevent such madness from ever happening again. Right now, I have no words. No answers. While I will keep searching, I have only my faith that “in all things God works for the good of those who love him who have been called according to his purpose.” (Rom. 8:28)

Make no mistake. God is at work today. I may not see it. I may not understand it, but he is at work.

The book of Habakkuk ends with the prophet’s faith renewed and restored. Despite not knowing the end game, Habakkuk rested in the strength of his faith. He accepted as I do that despite every intrusion of wickedness that creeps into our lives, whether by our own design or the horrific act of another, God will create the best plan and path through it.

“Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior.” (Hab. 3:17-18)

Amen.

Wherever He Leads

Background Passages: Mark 8:27-36; Luke 9:18-25

Jesus slipped to the grass from the flat rock upon which he sat as he spent the last hour in prayer. The canopy of trees under which he now reclined with his back against the rock sheltered him from the late afternoon sun. Jesus glanced at his disciples gathered in a loose cluster about 40 feet further down the hill. As they finished their prayers one by one, they talked quietly among themselves, breaking out a small loaf of bread and passing it around, satisfying their hunger.

Jesus looked from his disciples down into the town of Caesarea Philippi, a bustling city 30 miles north of the region of Galilee. He watched the frenetic pace of the people as they finished the work of the day and headed home. He lifted his eyes toward the sheer cliff on the north side of the city. It rose 150 feet above the lush, green valley below. He knew the streamlet gushing from the massive grotto on the western edge of the cliff were the headwaters of the Jordan River as it flowed south to the Sea of Galilee.

The cavern was said to be the birthplace of Pan, the Greek god of nature. Worshippers still brought their offerings of fruit and grain, laying them at the altar.

His vision shifted to the gleaming temple of white marble which Philip, the region’s ruler, dedicated to Caesar Augustus, the Roman emperor whom the people considered a god. Before these temples and altars were built, Jesus knew his history well enough to know the whole area stood as a center dedicated to the worship of Baal, the ancient Canaanite god.

It was a deeply reflective moment. Jesus contemplated the scene spread across the valley below. Considered all he had done during his ministry. Felt his gut tighten when he thought about the cross to come. Had anything he said and done made a difference? Before he began his final journey to the cross Jesus needed to know. Did anyone really know who he was?

He turned to his disciples quietly talking and laughing in the ease of friendships forged by common experiences. His words cut through the comfortable conversation. “Who do the crowds say I am?”

They turned toward Jesus in a rustle of robes and shuffling feet. They were used to his probing. Knew an answer was required. “John the Baptist,” one blurted. “One of the old prophets brought back to life,” announced another. “Elijah,” another proclaimed.

Jesus glanced again at the city below, lost in thought for a moment. Then, he turned back to his disciples. “But what about you? Who do you say I am?”

Jesus held his breath, looking into the eyes of each of his closest friends. Their answers would make all the difference. Would he see blank stares of incomprehension? Would he catch so much as a spark of understanding that meant he had at least lit a torch in their hearts. He waited. Felt his heart thump anxiously in his chest.

How his soul must have soared when Peter stood among them, looked at his friends, then to Jesus, knowing that he answered for all of them. “You are the Messiah. The Anointed One of God.”

That moment sealed the deal for Jesus. He then taught them intently about the events to come. Suffering. Rejection. Death. Resurrection. Prophecies that left them frightened and confused. Then, he challenged them with words that echo still in the ears of every believer today.

“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and yet lose or forfeit his very soul?”

The call of Christ demands that we deny self. It’s not a matter of dismissing our lives as unworthy or inconsequential in the grand scheme of God’s plan. Denying ourselves means to set aside our egos. Deliberately subordinating our will to the will of God. Opening our lives to the possibility that his plan for us is greater and more meaningful than the one we planned for ourselves. It means turning from where we wish to go to follow the path he lays before us.

The call of Christ demands that we take up his cross. Not just any cross…his cross. Jesus knew the horror of what lay before him. When Jesus was a boy, a Jewish rebellion in Sepphoris, just four miles from Nazareth, ended badly for those who fought against the Roman empire. Historians tell us more than 2,000 rebels were crucified, set in lines along the roadside as a frightful reminder of the power of Rome.

To face the cross was a vicious reality burned into the back of his mind. He, as well as anyone, knew what it meant to take up the cross. It stood as the inevitable certainty he faced by declaring a kingdom of God that rocked the boats of the pious and the political.

Today, taking up the cross of Christ means to live our life with the same focused commitment to God’s purpose that Jesus did. It means preparing for rejection in a world that does not understand. Letting nothing… no thought of ridicule, persecution, or embarrassment…prevent us from doing that which we know God desires us to do. It means looking at a world that dismisses Jesus as irrelevant and proclaiming in word and deed, “I belong to Christ!”

Denying ourselves. Taking up his cross. These are steps in the right direction. If we stop there, however, we miss that which matters most. The call of Christ demands we follow. It means spending our lives, not hoarding it. It means giving of ourselves, not taking from others. It means not playing it safe, but doing the right thing at all times and in all situations. It means not getting by with as little as we can for the cause of Christ, but investing ourselves completely in his ministry.

The way of the world always seeks to gain advantage over another. The goal of the world is to amass more wealth, power and glory than the guy next door. Jesus would answer that unbridled ambition with this question. Where is the eternal profit in that way of life? Jesus said one saves his life when he loses it in service to others.

As believers in Christ we have been called to follow the lead of Christ, not always knowing where it will take us. Doors open and doors close. Following his lead is not always easy, but it is always best.

I’m reminded of the old invitational hymn, Wherever He Leads, I’ll Go, written in 1936 by Baylus Benjamin McKinney. He penned the words to his poem after meeting with the Rev. R.S. Jones, a South American missionary who had been pulled from service. Because of a serious illness, he would not be allowed to return.

“What will you do?” McKinney asked his friend.

“I don’t know, but wherever he leads, I’ll go.”

From a simple conversation between two old friends poured the words that challenge us…challenge me…today.

“Take up thy cross and follow me,”
I heard my master say;
“I gave my life to ransom thee,
Surrender your all today.”

He drew me closer to his side,
I sought his will to know,
And in that will I now abide,
Wherever he leads I’ll go.

It may be through shadows dim,
Or o’er the stormy sea,
I take my cross and follow him
Wherever he leadeth me.

My heart, my life, my all I bring,
To Christ who loves me so;
He is my master, Lord and king.
Wherever he leads I’ll go.

The chorus of the song declares, “I’ll follow my Christ who loves me so.”

Wherever he leads, let’s go.

Living as the Image of God

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.

Let’s discuss the specific character demanded of those who would be a part of the kingdom of God and the promise that follows. Blessed are…

…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.

…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.”

Blessed are those who live as the image of God. Live it and claim the promise.

God is Faithful

Background Passages: Lamentations 3:22-23; Hebrews 10:23

I recently connected on Facebook with Jesse Owens, a friend of ours from college. We’ve had no contact really since those days long ago. Our lives have gone separate ways. Still, the one good thing about the social platform comes when we find opportunities to connect and reconnect with family and friends.

Jesse and I attended different churches while in school. He went to the Student Ministry program at First Baptist Church, Lubbock, and I served as youth minister at First Baptist Church, Wolfforth. We first met through the Baptist Student Union at Texas Tech. The man’s voice was one to be envied and he was not afraid to use it. If you ever heard him sing, “My Tribute,” backed up by the Student Ministry choir at First Baptist Church, you surely found yourself kneeling before God’s throne.

I guess all of us use the New Year as a way of refocusing our lives. We naturally gravitate toward personal and spiritual reflection. During these first few weeks of the year, I found myself…unsettled. The world seems in chaos with turmoil boiling around us. I keep finding myself trying to see into the future and what the world holds for my four grandchildren. To be honest, I’ve been worried…until this week.

Worrying about tomorrow is not biblical. Losing faith in God’s goodness damages the spirit. Drives me away from doing the things I can do in my part of a troubled world to make it less troubled. Trusting in God, even in an uncertain world, brings peace in the midst of chaos. I was reminded of this truth by a song Jesse posted on Facebook this week. It hit the nail on the head and slammed the 2 x 4 across the bridge of my nose.

“He’s Been Faithful,” sung by the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir, resounds as a wonderful wake of call to walk daily in faith. Reading the lyrics without the melody speaks loudly to God constant faithfulness.

In my moments of fear,
Through every pain, every tear,
There’s a God who’s been faithful to me.
When my strength was all gone,
When my heart had no song.
Still, in love, he’s proved faithful to me.

Every word he has promised is true.
What I thought was impossible,
I’ve seen my God do.

He’s been faithful, faithful to me.
Looking back, his love and mercy I see.
Though in my heart, I have questioned,
Even failed to believe,
He’s been faithful, faithful to me.

We hear our pastors encourage us to “Have faith in God.” And, we should. God remains in control of a chaotic world around us. Though our sinfulness rests at the heart of the world’s ills, God provides a path through the darkness, enabling us to find ways of turning the bad to good…time and time again.

He does this not because we are faithful, but because he is faithful. The writer of Lamentations described it this way: “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.” (Lamentations. 3:22-23)

The writer of Hebrews echoed that sentiment when he said, “Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for he who promised is faithful.” (Hebrews. 10:23)

I watched our grandchildren play in our house this week. Followed them. Chased them. Hugged them. Let their laughter warm my soul. Celebrated the uniqueness in each of them in ways I seldom had time to do with my own kids. Being a retired grandparent has its advantages.

Most importantly, this week, I prayed for them. I prayed that on the day they accept Christ as their savior that they grasp, at least in part, the unfailing faithfulness of God. For, if they hold even a smidgen of understanding, it doesn’t matter what’s happening in the world. They will have the only resource that matters as they find their way through life.

So, thanks, Jesse, for the reminder.

You read the lyrics without the melody. Now, listen to the two together. May it speak to you today as clearly as it did for me this week.

Whose Neighbor Can I Be

Background Passages: Luke 10:25-37; Mark 12:28-34; Matthew 7:12

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

The question, shouted by an expert in the law, quieted the intimate conversation Jesus was having with the small crowd that gathered around the Galilean teacher. Heads turned toward the booming voice coming from the edge of the crowd. The man hiked up his flowing robe, pushed himself away from the large rock he leaned against, moving forward until he towered over Jesus who was sitting on a cedar log.

Jesus had noticed him skirting the periphery of the crowd for the past three days. Listening without hearing. Rolling his eyes. Biting his tongue. Biding his time. He was among a small group of Pharisees tracking Jesus from Jericho on his way to Jerusalem. They weren’t there to understand Jesus and his teaching. They were there to find fault in his words in an effort to discredit him in the eyes of the people.

Though the scribe asked a good question, it lacked in sincerity. Uttered by one who loved to hear his own voice. Seeking a specific answer. Hoping for something heretical. Jesus looked at the man for a moment and smiled. “What does the law say? How do you read it?” giving the man his moment in the spotlight.

The scribe turned to the crowd and confidently proclaimed, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’” With a self-satisfied grin, he turned back to face Jesus, challenging him to disagree.

“You’re absolutely right,” Jesus answered. “Do this and you will have eternal life.” Jesus sat silently, his eyes never wavering from the eyes of the Pharisee. As the silence deepened, the scribe shuffled his feet. He did not get the answer he was expecting from the teacher. His eyes flashed as he fell back on his legal training, focusing his attack from a different angle. “Ahh, and just who is my neighbor?”

Jesus’ lips tightened and he let out a slow breath through his nostrils. For all he understood of God’s greatest commandments to his people, the lawyer limited its universal truth by qualify its spirit.

What Jesus speaks next is perhaps one of the most well-known parables he ever shared. The parable of the Good Samaritan transcends religious conversation, working its way into a secular context. Good Samaritan laws protect those who lend assistance in life-threatening situations. Those who go out of their way to help another are called good Samaritans.”

Here’s the gist of the story Jesus told.

A man traveling alone from Jerusalem to Jericho was attacked by robbers who beat him senseless and took his clothes and his money. They threw him in the ditch next to the road, bleeding , broken and near death. At separate times, a Jewish priest and a temple administrator happened upon the scene of the crime. They pretended not to see the man lying in the ditch. They averted their eyes, shuffled to the other side of the road and quickened their pace, ignoring the man in distress. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Later, a Samaritan on his way to Jericho came across the bleeding man. Compassion ruled the moment and the Samaritan jumped into the ditch to render aid. He cleaned the man’s cuts and bruises with his oil and wine and tore the hem of his garment to bandage the man’s wounds. He lifted the injured man onto his own donkey and walked him miles into the city. He took the man to an inn, nursing his needs throughout the night. The next morning, the Samaritan paid the innkeeper to watch over the man, promising to cover any additional costs the innkeeper incurred when the Samaritan returned.

Jesus told the story to the crowd gathered around him. He looked into the faces of every person around him. Finally, his eyes bore into the eyes of the scribe still standing in the middle. Jesus’ eyes narrowed and his voice lowered an octave. His next question landed like a heavy weight upon the man’s chest, crushing the breath from his lungs. “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell in to the hands of the robbers?”

I picture the man opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, fully aware that he had been outfoxed by the master teacher. His brain flashed in overdrive as he tried to think of a snappy comeback. Unable to give credit to a hated Samaritan, he answered in little more than a grudging whisper. “The one who showed mercy on him.”

The lengthy conversation between Jesus and the scribe must have inspired those who sat around and watched it unfold. The parable shared by Jesus subtly suggesting that faith is best demonstrated, not by grand theological arguments, but by the things we do for others. And, it is a message that echoes loudly today. A lesson I still need to learn at times.

Here’s the thing. The scribe asked a great question in the beginning. It is the fundamental question all of us who long for meaning in life should ask. “How do I find eternal life?” Ironically, he gave the same answer that Jesus gave to another group of Pharisees who questioned him about God’s greatest commandments (Mark 12:28-34). Had the man stopped to consider the meaning and spirit of the words he spoke, the whole conversation might have taken a different and better turn.

His second question, however, reveals an exclusionary faith. “Who is my neighbor?” is a question that seeks to limit our compassion…creating boundaries that give us an out. “Who is my neighbor?” suggests that some groups or some individuals are unworthy of my time and effort.

The scribe practiced a ritualized religion based on man-made rules that identified peoples that the law considered unclean and unworthy of God’s love. The Pharisees and scribes knew Jesus frequently associated with tax collectors, Samaritans, Gentiles, lepers, outcasts and outlaws. When the scribe asked his question, I suspect he hoped Jesus might identify as a neighbor one among this group of the unclean which Jewish law excluded from fellowship.

We often fall into the same trap as the scribe. Surely my “neighbor” only includes those people with whom I have a relationship…those who look like me…those who live in my social circle…my own racial subset, those for whom I can give money, but not get my hands dirty…those whose needs do not inconvenience me.

Jesus rejects that view. In Jesus’ parable, the Samaritan showed compassion and mercy to the injured man even though society considered the Samaritan an outcast and unworthy of God’s love. So, from Jesus’ standpoint, the question is not “Who is my neighbor,” but rather, “Whose neighbor can I be?”

It’s not a matter of identifying the person I wish to help. It’s a matter of looking for the unfolding opportunities God places before me where I can serve my God and my fellow man. Determining whose neighbor I can be demands that I step outside my comfort zone…insists that I engage with those whose backgrounds and cultures differ significantly from mine…mandates that I move past the safety of simple charitable giving to immerse myself in the gritty world of need in which others live.

Jesus defined our “neighbor” when he addressed the Pharisees in Mark. “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Find the definition also encompassed in the Golden Rule. “Do unto others (your neighbor) as you would have others do unto you.” Both verses suggest an empathy that allows us to see ourselves in the circumstances experienced by someone else. Except for the grace of God we could find ourselves in similar circumstances. That realization should compel us to provide the help and assistance to another in need that we desire in our most desperate times.

In essence Jesus asked the scribe to abandon the smooth road ritualized religion and live in the dirty ditch of practical and powerful faith. Forget about qualifying those we choose to help. Look instead for the chance to change the course of another’s life.

It’s a good question.

Whose neighbor can you be?

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Favor With God

Background Passages: Luke 1:26-38; James 4:6; John 3:16

The young woman bent low in the knees and ducked through the doorway of her father’s home a tall jar of water upon her shoulder. As she turned to place the vessel on the table she stared in fear at the angel standing near the fireplace.

“Greetings, you who are highly favored. The Lord is with you.”

As the jar of water crashed to the floor, Mary back away toward the door in fear and confusion. Quickly, the angel spoke, his voice comforting and concerned, “Do not be afraid. Mary, you have found favor with God.”

As the angel laid out God’s plan for Mary’s life, I cannot fathom the whirlwind of emotions she experienced. Her world turned upside down.

Through God’s great gift of Christmas, the final piece of creation’s puzzle fell in place, planned before time…perfected through the life, death and resurrection to come. Mary heard the words of the angel and struggled to understand the heady revelation that she, an ordinary young woman from an inconsequential village in Galilee, would be the vessel through whom God chose to present himself to the world.

As profound as those words might have been, had I been Mary, I might have wrestled as much with the beginning of the angel’s message…

“You have found favor with God.”

In the world’s language, to show favoritism is to show exceptional kindness to someone, especially in comparison to the treatment of others. Preferential treatment. In the first century, people believed that wealth, health and blessing were signs of God’s favor upon you. That you had done something to earn his favor.

Consider Mary’s life following the angel’s announcement. It hardly speaks to preferential treatment. Her life spun out of control almost immediately.

Joseph had every right to disown her and discredit her publicly. Though he embraced a similar angelic message, others would be less understanding. A few months later, she faced an arduous and uncomfortable journey to Bethlehem in her last trimester. Upon their arrival, the only place available to them was an unholy stable among the animals. She gave birth far from family and friends who might celebrate with her.

A short time later, she fled to a foreign land ahead of a king’s murderous soldiers who were intent upon killing her son. She later watched in dread as her son’s message of God’s forgiveness was met with scorn and hatred by the religious leaders of the day. She heard a bloodthirsty crowd call for his crucifixion. She watched from a distance and felt the echo of each hammer driving nails through the hands and feet of her beloved son. She wept at his feet as blood and life drained from his body.

If she thought at all of the angel’s announcement as she stood near the cross, I doubt she felt favored. This was hardly a life of preferential treatment. What, then, did it mean for Mary to find favor with God?

Nothing in scripture indicates that God’s favor falls upon people simply for their own enjoyment. We find those on whom God’s favor rests given great responsibility so the lives of others may be changed. So God might be glorified. Moses. Abraham. Job. These were men who found God’s favor. Nothing about their lives was easy. All carried the burden of life heavily on their shoulders.

You see, I often thought God chose Mary because of something uniquely righteous within her. That her faith was deeper and her life purer than any other…by extension, deeper and purer than my own life. Seeing Mary in those terms diminishes God’s work of grace. In many ways it cheapens the miracle of Christmas.

Bible scholars tell us that the word in Luke 1:30 which most Bible’s translate as “favor” is the same Greek word from which we get our word for “grace.”

“Mary, you have found God’s grace.”

Mary wasn’t chosen to be the mother of Jesus because her goodness outshone any other. Rather, God extended an offer of grace to Mary to be used by God for something which carried enormous responsibility. The angel’s declaration came, not because she deserved it. It came as a gift. Undeserved. Unmerited.

Mary could have rejected God’s offer. She could have said, “Not me. Find someone else.” Yet, she considered all the angel said and declared, “I am the Lord’s servant. May your word to me be fulfilled.”

With those words, Mary, as a young teenage girl, accepted God’s grace gift and all that it would entail without fully understanding the implications for her own life.

James 4:6 proclaims that “God opposes the proud, but shows favor (grace) to the humble.” It is this thought I had not considered in the Christmas story. That Mary found favor with God had little to do with her goodness and everything to do with her humble spirit. Her desire to be open to the possibilities God presented to her. That idea has implications for my life I had not considered.

I stand today a recipient of God’s favor, his unmerited grace. The offer to accept Jesus Christ as savior came through the conviction of the Holy Spirit, not because I deserved it, but as a gift undeserved. It came as an offer I could have refused. Yet, I considered all the spirit said to me and said in essence, “I am your servant.” With those words, as a nine-year-old boy, I accepted God’s grace gift and all it would entail without fully understanding the implications for my own life.

For any of us to embrace God’s gift of his son, there comes a point when we must humble ourselves before him, recognizing that it is not our goodness that merits his favor. It is through his unfailing love for us that his grace flows.

For those of us who have placed our faith and trust in Jesus, Christmas is a joyous reminder that God so loved the world that he sent his only son to be to be his grace gift to the world.

Mary humbly embraced the role God asked her to play and bore the burden of responsibility it carried with it. Like Mary, in response to God’s grace, may we, in all humility, be open to the possibilities God presents to us.