Category: Bible Studies

Help My Unbelief

Matthew 17:14-21; Mark 9:14-29; Romans 8:26-27

Life can change in a heartbeat. One moment we are dancing on the mountaintop. The next moment we are trudging through the muck in the valley. One moment buoyed in faith. The next set upon by a world cloaked in doubt.

Jesus moved so easily between his mountaintop experiences and those moments that surely sucked the breath from his lungs. We find one such episode following the Transfiguration. Jesus found himself wrapped in the arms of his Father God, strengthened by his Father’s presence. Within moments, he was immersed in a pitched battle of wills that stripped away the deep sense of peace he enjoyed at the top of the mountain.

Halfway down the mountainside
Jesus heard
the first echo of angry shouts.
Glanced at his three trusted friends,
heart beating faster.
Quickening their pace,
they scurried down the slope toward
the sound of madness.
In a heartbeat,
Jesus traded the
tranquility of the transfiguration
for the
frenzy of a fight.

Reaching the bottom of the path,
Jesus pushed through a bewildered crowd
to find his disciples squared off against
an equal number of scribes.
Hurling insults at one another.
Jesus stepped to the center of the melee.
The crowd grew quiet.
Silenced by Jesus’ sudden appearance.
The bitter argument of rivals
Ceased when Jesus stepped into the clearing.

His eyes shifted back and forth between
the scribes and
his disciples.
Jesus turned to Simon the Zealot
standing at the front of the disciples
Fists clenched.
Jaw set in anger.

Tilting his head toward the scribes,
Jesus asked in a wary voice,

“What are you arguing with them about?”

The quarrel erupted anew.
Each side shouting.
Pointing fingers.
Jesus cringed at the hostility.

Before Jesus could silence them,
a man grabbed his arm.
Caught his attention.
Something in his eyes convinced Jesus
to walk with him a short distance
from the heated confrontation.

“I brought you my son today…”

And the words flowed unrestrained.
First a halting trickle of detail.
Then a torrent of despair.
Unburdening his heart to a healer
concerning the nature of the severe illness
that plagued his son for years.
Growing worse with each passing day.
Sapping the boy’s strength.
Threatening his life.

“I asked your disciples to heal him
but they could not.”

The scribes who had followed from a distance,
erupted in laughter.
Seized the opportunity to belittle the disciples
and their master.
The failure of the disciples
opened the door for them to
discredit Jesus for their incompetence.

The disciples.
Seeing the pained look in Jesus’ eyes,
studied the ground at their feet.
Defiance before the scribes turned to
embarrassment and shame.

Jesus ran his left hand through his hair,.
Rubbed his eyes.
Smoothed his beard.
Deep in thought.
The shake of his head almost imperceptible.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
The master spoke quietly to his disciples.

“Oh, faithless generation.
How long shall I stay with you?
How long shall I put up with you?”

He turned to the father.
“Bring the boy to me.”

We learn something about Jesus in this passage that instructs us about living in the moment. Jesus just experienced the most moving moment in his earthly life. In the ultimate of mountaintop experiences, Jesus’ work gained affirmation from the father in the presence of Moses and Elijah. For a brief time, Jesus walked in the bright light of God’s presence and praise.

Every one of us can relate for all of us have longed to hear our father’s praise…to hear our father’s words of love. Jesus stood in the middle of a heavenly scene and heard his Father proclaim, “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him.”

Can you imagine the overwhelming joy of that personal and poignant moment? More certain than ever of his role in God’s plan to redeem humanity, Jesus committed himself again to the cross. It was the assurance he needed.

Jesus shared that experience with his three closest friends. In the afterglow of the Transfiguration, I can see them standing in a circle with their arms around each other’s shoulders, foreheads almost touching in that prayerful and mind-boggling moment. Expressions of wonder plastered on amazed faces. “Did we see what we just saw? Did we hear what we just heard?”

What a tremendous moment of absolute joy!

Within the hour, though, Jesus found himself in the valley, facing yet another human crisis. He just reaffirmed his commitment to the cross only to find his closest followers baffled and beaten in the task for which he had called them from their tax tables and fishing nets.

In that moment when the disciples could no longer look him in the eye, Jesus must have felt the weight of the world again upon his shoulders. Gone was the aura of glory. In its place, the painful reality of the work that still needed to be done. To go to the cross would be difficult enough. The change human nature might be the more hopeless task. If he could not capture the trust of those closest to him while he was present among them, how could their faith survive the cross?

How often have our mountaintop experiences been followed by that which seemed hopeless? The joy of the mountain rarely survives the walk in the valley. In that moment of crisis, how do we cling to a shaken faith?

Jesus provided an answer. The savior didn’t let his moments of despair overwhelm him. At a time when he surely wondered if mankind would ever find the faith they needed, he did the one thing he knew he could do. He changed the circumstances of a little boy. He changed what he could.

Living as a Christian in an angry, despairing world challenges our faith. Begs us to make a difference. We wonder how we can impact a world that refuses to listen? What can one person do? We lose heart. Lose faith.

Jesus teaches us in this episode that we draw upon the reserves of faith energized on the mountaintop to enable us to deal with the inevitable valley moment. To not let the faithlessness of the world drain our energy or resolve. Jesus shows us that we fight through the episodes that discourage us, finding that thing we can do and doing it, rather than giving in to our despair.

That, my friends, is a lesson I need to learn in this day as I grow so frustrated with the rancid animosity and argument so prevalent in society. When I wonder what I can do to change the world I need only follow Jesus’ example. His example tells me to change what I can. We were not saved by God to stay on the mountain, but to get down in the valley and change what we can.

This passage teaches another great lesson about coming to terms with our struggling faith. God uses even our shrouded faith to accomplish his will. A little is often enough.

Join me back in the story. Jesus asked the father to bring the boy to him. The father obediently carried his boy to Jesus, standing him in front of the great healer. Immediately, the young boy suffered another seizure…violent and terrifying. As the boy fell to the ground trembling, I can imagine Jesus dropping to his knees, placing his hand on the boy’s chest, trying to quiet the tremors.

With his eyes never leaving the boy, Jesus asked the father, “How long has he been like this?” The question was not a medical inquiry. Rather, hear the heartfelt compassion Jesus felt for the misery suffered by an innocent child. The father shared more of the boy’s story and finally asked the favor he wanted to ask of Jesus when he approached the disciples earlier that day. “If you can do anything, take pity on him and help us.”

Jesus looked up at the father, “If you can?…” Hoping to see a glint of faith reflected in the man’s eyes. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”

With tears in his eyes, the father responded, “I do believe, but help me with my unbelief.”

What a true confession of this father’s heart. What a true confession of my own soul. He came seeking Jesus. When Jesus was absent, he thought he found the next best thing…Jesus’ disciples. Whatever faith he brought to the mountain was thrown to the wind by the disciples’ inability to help. The result left him so discouraged that all he could muster when Jesus asked his question was a whispered plea, “If you can…”

Face to face with Jesus, his fragile faith bubbled to the surface. Oh, how his words echo how I feel at times. “I do believe, Jesus. I believe, but I am so discouraged. Doubt is my constant companion. Please, Lord, take away the uncertainty and replace it with unquestioned belief.”

God moves when imperfect faith cries out to a perfect savior. Belief, though flooded with doubt, calls out to the only one who can fix that which is broken. “If you can….” The Father’s prayer is often my prayer. The father’s doubt is my doubt. The father’s reservation is my reservation. I live all too often in this shallow faith, hoping it is enough.

That’s always what I thought this verse taught as if God were saying “If only your faith were stronger, I could act upon your request.” I suspect there is a measure of truth in that interpretation. However, I look at the verse and wonder if Jesus did not hear the father’s profession of doubt-filled faith as sufficient. Might Jesus be telling him, “Listen, everything is possible for him who believes. Give me whatever faith you have, no matter how limited, because my belief in the father is big enough for both of us.”

Follow me again to the story.

Evening comes.
Jesus and his disciples
lay upon the roof of a house,
staring at the stars glittering the night sky.
Tired after a long day.
But sleep will not come.

In the silence surrounding them,
The disciples think about what happened.
Weeks prior they walked two by two
preaching, teaching and healing
in the power of God.
This morning,
when the father lay is son at their feet…
Dismal failure.
Humiliation.
Embarrassment.
From the mountaintop to the valley.

A raspy voice breaks the silence.
Maybe Simon the Zealot.
Mustering all his nerve,
asks the question all wanted to ask.

“Jesus,
Why could we not heal the boy?”

In this teachable moment, Jesus spoke quietly.
“This kind of thing requires prayer.
This kind of thing requires faith.”
Thinking back on the father with feeble,
but sincere faith,
Jesus added,
“Faith as small as a mustard seed
can move a mountain.”

Hyperbole? Maybe. But maybe this story hits upon the central truth of the matter. Jesus doesn’t ask us for perfect faith because we are imperfect. He asks for whatever faith we have to be placed in his hands…If for no other reason that he has enough faith in the grace, goodness and the power of God for all of us as he lifts our needs to the Father in heaven.

Paul shared this with the church in Rome.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. He who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.”

Place at his feet whatever faith we have and he will take it to the throne of God with the perfect faith of the Spirit.

So, I like this story because we can identify at times with Jesus who came off this amazing mountaintop experience only to find disorder and disarray. Next time we come off a spiritual high, we can look amid the inevitable chaos, as Jesus did, for what we can do and we can do it.

Then, if we find our faith blanketed by the mist of doubt, like the father in the story, let’s give Jesus all the faith we hold no matter how small. Declaring before God, “Help us in our unbelief.” And knowing more that his trust in the Father is enough for all of us.

Plant your mustard seed. Move a mountain.

 

In Damascus, There Was A Disciple…

Background Passage: Acts 9:1-25; Acts 22:13-16

The light flashed and the world would never be the same.

In one of the most familiar passages in the New Testament, an ambitious and zealous young Pharisee, emboldened by the stoning of Stephen, begged for a chance to carry the persecution of Christians beyond the walls of Jerusalem. With letters of authorization in his pocket, Saul set out for Damascus breathing the fire of fanaticism, intent upon finding the followers of the crucified Christ and dragging them back to Jerusalem for punishment. A man on a malicious mission.

With the walled city of Damascus on the horizon, a blinding light seared his retinas and knocked him to his knees. He cried out in shock and pain only to be silenced by a voice calling his name.

“Saul, Oh, Saul. Why do you persecute me?”

In the course of a powerful conversation on a dusty road, Saul came face to face with the brutality of his deeds and the reality of the living Lord.

“I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. Go into the city. You will be told what you must do.”

We know this story as the conversion of Saul. The redeemed missionary of God told of his encounter with Christ over and over again. A testimony and tribute to the unmerited grace of God.

The light on the road to Damascus changed the heart of a man who would become the world’s greatest missionary and the agent of redemption to the Gentile world. Saul’s was a life so transformed that he needed a different name. We now know him as Paul. It’s a wonderful story of God’s transforming work in his world.

From that moment on, Paul played a starring role in the spread of the gospel, but his supporting cast contributed to his success. Barnabas. Silas. Timothy. John Mark. We can list name after name of those who traveled with Paul. Assisting in his work. Staying behind in isolated locations to grow the seeds of faith he planted.

One name we tend to overlook took Saul’s hand in his blindness and called him “Brother.” Let me introduce you again to Ananias.

He climbed the narrow stairs
to the roof of his home.

A cool breeze blew in from the sea,
refreshing his body and soul.
From this vantage point,
Ananias could watch the sunrise
cast its reddish glow over the eastern hills,
reflecting onto the wispy clouds streaked across the sky.
On the rooftop.
The perfect way to start each day.

Ananias stretched his arms over his head.
Stood on his tiptoes
to loosen aching muscles,
stiff and sore after a fitful night’s sleep.

Sitting on the parapet of his home,
legs dangling over the side,
Ananias sipped a cup of goat’s milk.
Listened to the familiar sound of his wife
preparing breakfast for the family in the room below.

Despite the peaceful surrounding,
he could not shake the sense of unease
as he thought about last night’s dream.
He could picture it as clearly as if
it actually happened.
Hear the conversation as surely as if
God sat beside him on the wall.
He walked it through again in his mind.

A voice called…

“Ananias.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Go to the home of Judas on Straight Street.
Ask for the man from Tarsus named Saul,
for he is praying.
In a vision he has seen a man named Ananias come
and place his hands on him to
restore his sight.”

Over and over in his mind, he heard,
“…a man from Tarsus named Saul…”
“…a man from Tarsus named Saul…”

…”Go…”
“Go…to Saul…”

Ananias felt his stomach roll again.
“This makes no sense…”

Saul’s reputation preceded him.
So much anger in this Pharisee.
So much harm to the saints in Jerusalem.
Ananias knew the rumors.
Saul was coming to Damascus to spread his terror.
To arrest every follower of Jesus that he could find.

The voice in his dream
urged Ananias to go as instructed.

“He is my chosen instrument…”

God had a plan.
Ananias had a part to play
in that plan.

Shaking himself from his reflection,
Ananias took a deep breath.
Climbed down from the roof.
With a faith deeper than his fear,
he walked through town to Judas’ home.

Ananias stopped short at the sight of the temple guards
gathered around the campfire.
Their presence
triggered his desire to run.

He steeled his resolve.
Stepped forward.
Stared straight ahead.
Walked slowly through the soldiers
as they began to rise.
Hands on the hilt of their swords.

The door to the home opened before he knocked.
They had expected him.
Ananias stepped over the threshold.
Closed the door.
Let his eyes adjust to the dim light.

Saul sat facing the fire.
Blind eyes stared vacantly into the flame.
Lost in private pain.
A face etched with guilt.
The once proud Pharisee rocked
absent-mindedly on the small stool.
Lips moved in silent prayer of
remorse and repentance.

Ananias stood without moving.
Fought the desire to turn and go.
But, when he saw the tears well in Saul’s eyes,
the disciple’s heart broke.
For the first time he saw Saul.
Not his fine robes.
Not his rage.
Not his reputation.

He saw Saul.
He saw the broken heart of a
despondent and despairing soul.

Ananias found himself standing beside Saul
without remembering the steps it took to get there.
He followed Saul’s gaze into the fire,
With tears in his own eyes,
he laid his hand gently on Saul’s shoulder.
After a moment of shared silence,
Ananias spoke in a voice soft and sincere,
“Brother Saul…”

With those words
the scales of physical and spiritual blindness
fell from Saul’s eyes.
New sight.
New insight
Into his purpose in life.

Scripture reveals so much about how God used Saul, or Paul, as he was later known, to take his good news to the Gentile world. This former zealous Pharisee became the world’s most ardent servant of Christ and arguably, next to Jesus, the most important man in the Christian faith.

By contrast, we capture what we know of Ananias only in this story and in one small reference in Acts 22. Here he is called simply “a disciple.” In Chapter 22,  a “devout observer of the law” and a “man highly respected by the Jews” in Damascus.

We don’t know when Ananias became a follower of Christ. Maybe he heard Jesus preach and put his trust in him on a Galilean mountainside. Perhaps, he was a Jew who had traveled from his home in Damascus to Jerusalem for Pentecost and heard Peter proclaim the gospel. Maybe, a friend told him about the resurrected Christ he saw in the upper room. Regardless of how it happened, Ananias was a disciple.

Yet, his actions tell us so much more about this follower of Christ. It’s notable to me that he is called a disciple and not a pastor or evangelist. Not a deacon or an elder. A disciple. A follower. A learner. As a man who professed his faith in Jesus Christ, Ananias spent his time trying to figure out what that meant and how he should live as a result. He was a man much like you or me.

Ananias enjoyed a wonderful reputation as a student of Old Testament scripture and one who lived obediently to its teachings, a likely hold over to his Jewish upbringing. When introduced to Jesus either in person or through the witness of others, the encounter changed his life. He accepted Jesus as the Messiah promised in scripture. The passion he held for his faith as a Jewish man found its fulfillment in Jesus.

Despite his break from the prevailing Jewish doctrine, Luke tells us in his account that his reputation among the Jews in Damascus remained unsullied. They could find no fault in him. As followers of Christ we ought to have that glowing reputation in our own communities. The world should know us as a Christ followers. As learners. As people who take the principles of Christian living so seriously that it directs the way we live. We see in this passage, Ananias’ commitment to Christ.

We also see in the lines of this story, the courage of his conviction. The religious leaders in Jerusalem sent Saul to Damascus to rain down havoc. He had papers to prove it. In all likelihood, Ananias was on Saul’s hit list. Christians in Damascus knew Saul was coming. His reputation for ruthlessness frightened them. He brought with him a promise of prison, punishment and death.

I suspect many of the Christians fled the city in advance of Saul’s arrival…but Ananias stayed. We don’t know why. Maybe he thought, “What good is my conviction if I choose to disown it at a difficult time or run from it in the face of adversity?” When others ran, Ananias stayed.

With the call of the Holy Spirit, Ananias not only stayed, but he made himself available to do the brave and the unthinkable. The Lord called and Ananias answered as Samuel did. “Yes, Lord. I’m here.” He did not know the mission…not yet…but he opened himself to the possibility of being used by God.

Ananias may have shown his inner Samuel, but he also channeled his inner Gideon when God told him what he needed him to do. Jesus planted the seed of salvation in Saul’s heart. The Holy Spirit needed Ananias to close the deal. To lay hands upon this broken man and welcome Saul into the fellowship of believers.

“I’m here, Lord, but did I hear you right?” When presented with God’s plan, Ananias sought clarity and understanding. The whole idea of going to Saul was counter intuitive.

“I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to YOUR saints in Jerusalem. And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.”

Ananias and I share a common trait with Gideon. Our short-sightedness gets in our way. You see, most of the time our vision is unable to see beyond our fear. God’s perspective…his vision…takes in history and future in a moment’s glance. Our failure to act upon his direction cancels the blessings that come from playing the role God needs us to play.

Sometimes our myopic sight needs clarity that only God can give. I think God delights in our desire for understanding if it comes from the heart. When Ananias questioned the sanity of confronting Saul, God answered, not with recrimination, but with a promise. “Go! This man is my chosen instrument to carry my name before the Gentiles and their kings and before the people of Israel.”

Sprinkling the fleece with dew, God told Ananias, “I need you today. I’m counting on you because this man is a game changer, but he needs to see that my people are willing to embrace the change in his heart. You’re step one in this process, Ananias. I need you to do this for me.” With the fleece sufficiently damp, Ananias went where he was told. We must be ready to do the same.

I’m not sure when Ananias’ heart truly turned. I suspect he was talking himself into doing what the Holy Spirit led him to do before he made the turn down Straight Street. I suspect he didn’t know for sure how he would react when he came face to face with Saul. His heart changed, however, when he saw the man, humbled, hurting and blind, sitting before the fire.

Can’t you hear it in his voice, choking back the emotion of the moment as he placed his hand upon his shoulder, “Brother Saul…” In this moment, in those two words, we underscore the compassion of Ananias. His words, his touch, stitched the open wound of Saul’s remorse that had to be closed and healed before he could be used by God for great and mighty things.

“Brother Saul.” The whole gospel story hinged on those two words and the world would never be the same.

I don’t know about you, but I find it pretty easy to be a disciple of Christ in the broad sense of the word. I enjoy learning about Jesus and how my relationship with him needs to be evidenced in my life. It’s much harder to move beyond the learning and into the listening. To the obeying. To playing the role I hear God calling me to play. Drawing upon the courage of my conviction to risk even as much as a mere insult…I find that much harder to do.

Ananias reminds me that God asks me to be available. To set aside fear and uncertainty to follow where he leads, even if that means walking through a platoon of temple guards to stand face to face before my persecutor. He reminds me to see clarity of God’s intentions and to accept that the view from heaven is infinitely broader and wiser than mine.

I learn from Ananias that the smallest act of obedience can have great significance. The simplest act…calling a troubled soul “my brother…” may be all it takes to change the world.

Look For What’s Chasing You

Background Passages: Psalms 23:1-6

It played out almost as a modern day reality television show. God’s prophet traveled into the Judean hills near Bethlehem to find Jesse, a leading member of the community and the father of several sons. Displeased with Saul’s leadership as king, God told Samuel to anoint a new king from among Jesse’s sons.

After a lengthy sacrificial ceremony, Jesse paraded his sons in front of the prophet starting with the eldest, Eliab. One by one they came. One by one Samuel rejected them. Jesse never bothered calling his youngest from the field where he tended the sheep. Who would have considered the least of his children as the heir apparent to the throne of Israel?

Eventually, servants were dispatched to bring David to the house. As soon as he appeared, God made it clear to Samuel that David was his chosen king. Samuel poured oil upon David’s head, anointing him as the future king of his nation.

Can you even imagine that moment in David’s life? He knelt in front of Samuel more than a little bewildered at the ceremony unfolding around him. The look on his father’s face a blend of astonishment and pride. His brothers’ stood still, shocked at the unlikely turn of events. David bowed his head. Felt the warmth of the oil flow through his hair and down his cheeks. His mind racing. The prayers offered by Samuel were little more than a dull droning in David’s ears.

Then, it was over. With little preparation or fanfare, David packed a few things and followed behind God’s prophet as they returned to Samuel’s home. When they reached the crest of the hill, I suspect David looked over his shoulder at a home to which he would never return.

I wonder how long it took after that unlikely moment for David to realize how drastically his life had changed. The moment the oil streamed down his face, David’s life took a different path. His life would never be as simple. Never as sane. Never the same.

His life unfolded rapidly. Living in Saul’s palace. Slaying a giant. Alternately threatened and embraced by a mercurial king. Running for his life. Forging lasting friendships. Fighting battles. Hiding in the desert with a ragtag group of followers. Crowned as king. Ruling wisely. Making mistakes.

David’s long life passed as a mixture of spectacular achievements and dismal failures. Through his fame and his failures, his faith and his faithlessness, David always returned to his God.

I picture a time late in life as David stood on the rampart of his palace, gazing across the valley at the shepherds herding their sheep into the pen for the night. Maybe he envied the life he once had. Maybe he longed for the day when he could sleep soundly with his head on a shepherd’s rock rather than lying anxiously awake with his head on a king’s pillow.

I think it was a night like that when David wrote Psalms 23. Perhaps it was at the end of a chaotic day, that David remembered the Lord’s shepherding faithfulness throughout his life.

“…I shall not want…”
“…green pastures…quiet waters…”
“…a restored soul…”

“…a guided path…”
“…a troubled walk…”

“…no fear…”
“…you are with me…”
“…you comfort me…”

“…a table prepared…”
“…an overflowing cup…”

I read again this beloved Psalm in the middle of a frenetic and frantic week. I look back, as David did, grateful for God’s shepherding companionship. Then, I read the last verse of David’s familiar song with eyes opened to a thought I never considered.

“Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.”

The verse always struck me as a doxology, a closing statement meant simply to tie the psalmist’s thought together. David’s “sincerely yours” to those who might read his poem. Yet, this time I noticed so much more.

Note the confidence in his choice of words. David is convinced of God’s constant care in his life. He begins the passage,

“Surely…”

Take it as an absolute certainty…a no-question-about-it, without-a-doubt, kind of word. The psalmist is convinced of the words he speaks next because his life experiences proved its truth over and over again.

“…goodness and love (mercy)…”

David lives each day confident of God’s goodness and love.

What is God’s goodness? Think of every attribute you ascribe to God. Loving. Patient. Wise. Powerful. Truthful. Faithful. Comforting. The list goes on and on. God’s goodness is defined by his total character. All that he is, all that he will ever be, is good. There are other Psalms that express the sentiment.

“Give thanks to the Lord for he is good.”
Psalm 107:1

How great is your goodness which you have stored up for those who fear you.”
Psalm 31:19

David found God’s goodness in his provision…

“…I shall not want…”
“…a prepared table…”
“…an overflowing cup…”

David found God’s goodness in his peace…

“…green pastures…”
“…still waters…”
“…restores my soul…”

David found God’s goodness in his protection…

“…no fear of evil…”
“…rod and staff comfort me…”

The good news is that we can find what David found. God’s goodness remains the same today as it was before. He offers his children his provision, peace and protection. It is his nature. It is who he was yesterday. Who he is today. Who he will be tomorrow. God’s goodness is eternal.

What is God’s love?

David found God’s love, his mercy, in his unsurpassed gift of grace that extended his forgiveness to cover the ugliness of David’s sin. David found God’s love evidenced in his unwillingness to let David go despite his willful ways. David did some despicable things, yet God never gave up on the one who was “after his own heart.”

God’s love is what compels him to leave the 99 sheep to find the one. To turn his house upside down to find a single lost coin. To hike up his robe and sprint down the path when he sees his prodigal returning home. God’s love is found in his willingness to embrace the agony of a cross to redeem the unworthy…just like you. Just like me.

David’s song connects God’s goodness and love. Makes them inseparable. Not goodness by itself. Not love alone. Joined at the hip. Both. Together. As Max Lucado said, “Goodness to provide. Mercy to pardon.”

The picturesque imagery used by David resonates within us. Our eyes behold it and our minds take us where God wants us to go. But, there is still more. What struck me between the eyes this time was that God’s goodness and mercy, and all that it entails, will follow me.

Now, I see this in two ways. I can follow along with those with whom I agree. We walk side by side through life, content in the common things that bind us together. We follow along in step with one another.

God is chasing me in his goodness and love along the path of righteousness when I am so flush in the gifts of God that I run in exuberant joy, frolic in the refreshing shower of his blessings, and dance to the music of God’s grace. He follows me…running, frolicking and dancing… with me. He follows along…beside me…celebrating in delight that I am living in his will.

That makes me smile.

However, the Hebrew word used for “follow” also means “to pursue, to chase.” It conveys the image of a parent pursuing a runaway child. For my love of that child, I run after him to bring him back home. No matter where he goes. No matter how long it takes.

Isn’t that the way God works through my disobedience and trouble? God pursues me, holding forth his goodness and love, as I walk in the shadowed valley of death. When I take faltering steps in the darkness, feeling fearful and alone. As I struggle with my obedience. When I am mired in the mud and muck of my own creation. God hunts me down in the pits of my hell to wrap me in his goodness and love and draw me back to his side.

That makes me think.

Why would an all-powerful God do this?

God wants to ensure that, as one of his children, I will live in the abundance of his goodness and mercy all the days of my life. Because he wants to give me his manifold blessings, he will follow me through my fame and my failures, through my faith and my faithlessness, just like he pursued David.

If, like me, you find yourself standing on the rampart of your palace, longing for a shepherd’s life, know what David knew. God is a God of provision, peace and protection. He is a God that will follow you all the days of your life, no matter what you’ve done or where you go, to ensure that you will dwell in his house forever.

That, I hope, makes you smile.

Discerning what is Good, Pleasing & Perfect

Background Passages: Romans 12:1-2; I Thessalonians 5:21-22; Romans 7:15-18: Philippians 1:9-10

While eating out after Sunday evening’s service, a friend of mine spilled a little salt on the table. He quickly took a pinch of it and threw it over his left shoulder, while mocking the age-old superstition. I gave that incident no thought until I saw another friend’s Facebook post this week that led with a picture of Di Vinci’s masterpiece The Last Supper.

Leonardo Di Vinci’s The Last Supper is among the most recognized paintings in history. I cannot imagine how many times I’ve viewed that image. Yet, the story posted on Facebook pointed out a small detail in the painting I never noticed. Near Judas’ right elbow on the table is a depiction of a spilled bottle of salt.

The Facebook story reported that spilling salt has been associated with bad luck for centuries, a sign that the person who spilled it was evil or intended evil upon another. Di Vinci took that small stroke of his brush to paint Judas with wicked intent. Now, I don’t know if that was the message Di Vinci intended or if he just wanted to add an element of realism to the scene. It does make an interesting story.

For my purposes, the salt is a sidebar. Here’s where I’m going with this. It amazes me how often we view something without really seeing it. I looked at The Last Supper hundreds of times and never noticed the salt shaker. Not once.

It happens all the time when studying scripture. I can read a passage over and over again and think I understand exactly what it means. I can read it one more time and find new meaning…a fresh gift of insight God prepared just for me. For this time in my life.

I found one of those special gifts this week. I supposed all of us have our “go to” verses. Scripture we return to time and time again to remind us of critical biblical truth we need to hear. I count among my favorite verses Romans 12:2.

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind…”

It reminds me that the world’s ways are not God’s ways. That I am supposed to allow God to transform the way I think and, by extension, the things I do, to separate my thoughts and deeds from those of the world. To live distinctively as a follower of Christ. I’m not always successful at that. I suppose that’s why I have to keep returning to that passage.

When I thumbed across it again this week, my eyes locked on the remainder of the verse that I tend to gloss over. I know I’ve read that part of this verse at points in my life, but it never grabbed me like it did this week.

“…Then you will be able to discern what God’s will is—what is good and pleasing and perfect.”

I get it. Be transformed. Be changed at the deepest level of heart and mind. Allow the spirit of God to help you think differently about the way you see the world and your place in it. It follows on the heels of Paul’s admonition to present ourselves to God as a “living sacrifice.” But, it’s also a verse about using the mind and heart that God has changed to discern what is right for my life…what I can and must do that is good and pleasing and perfect in the sight of God.

The first part is hard enough. Paul acknowledged as much. In explaining our sinful nature, he admitted to the Romans his personal struggle with his choices. “…for what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do…For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out.”

We are bombarded with options and opinions, most of which do not reflect the nature of God. We live our lives pressured by peers to satisfy our own desires. We spend an inordinate amount of effort qualifying our actions as if the end somehow justifies the means. Who can blame us when national leaders declare to us that “truth isn’t truth?”

How do we discover what is good and pleasing and perfect among the flood of opinions and options inundating our lives? How do we keep from pulling scripture out of context and using it to justify our actions? How do we discern God’s truth?

Let’s start by defining spiritual discernment. Spiritual discernment is the ability to distinguish divine truth from error and half-truth. Right from wrong. Real from fake. Good from bad. Best from better. It is our ability to separate the enticing from the edifying.

Sounds simple so far. Famed pastor Charles Spurgeon believed if one examined everything carefully, the right choice would be obvious. “If one should set a joint of meat on his table and it smells rather high, I would cut a slice and if I put one bite into my mouth. If I found it far gone, I should not find it necessary to eat the whole round of beef to test its sweetness.” One bite should be enough.

That may be true with many things. “Thou shalt not kill.” “Thou shalt not steal.” With other things, it is less obvious. We are pretty good about welcoming the fog that obscures the truth behind its mist. And, sin is pretty good about putting a positive spin on its message.

When the choices grow more complicated, Paul offers a suggestion. He called upon the people in Thessalonica to “Test everything. Retain what is good. Refrain from every kind of evil.” He’s not saying we should dip a toe into sin to measure its temperature. To just give sin a try and then we’ll know for sure. He’s saying to carefully examine what is before you before you dive in.

The Greek word translated “test” in this passage is the same word he uses in Romans for “discern.” Let’s explore that for a minute.

It is a word that speaks to ore that is cleansed by fire. The impurities removed so all that remains is pure, refined metal. The grammatical use of the word also speaks to a continuous process, suggesting that we should constantly pass everything we hear and read, every action we think about doing, through the purifying fire of all scripture to determine if those thoughts and deeds are consistent with biblical teaching. We keep examining those things until that which is being tested is proven to be genuine and trustworthy.

Once we know that which is being tested aligns with God’s word, it ought to make that thing a part of the pattern for our lives, tucked away in our hearts and applied constantly in the things we say and do. If it failed to pass the examination, set it aside as unworthy of our energy and effort.

Paul tells us that determining God’s will in life requires us to pre-program our minds with Scripture, to live in step with God’s spirit, to control and guide our steps and our thinking so that every critical decision in the face of temptation or every critical choice between what is good, better or best, proves our commitment to living a Christ-like life.

The inner voice of God’s spirit within helps in discerning all matters that impact our spiritual lives…separating what is from God from that which is not. This puts every a of aspect of life under the scrutiny.

Our choices.

Our conversation.

Our standard of living.

Our business.

Our entertainment.

Our friendships.

That which we do openly and that which we do behind closed doors.

Maybe Paul’s prayer to the Philippian church should be our own petition for clarity of choice and the courage of our convictions.

“And this is my prayer: that your love may abound more and more in knowledge and depth of insight, so that you may be able to discern (test/examine) what is best and may be pure and blameless for the day of Christ.”

We are surrounded by the things of this world. We cannot remove ourselves from it, especially if we are to be God’s light within it.

Let’s open our hearts to his word and make it our prayer that God will grant us the wisdom to discern and discover all that is good and pleasing and perfect in his eyes.

Amen?

Amen!

 

Peace, Love & Joy

Background Passages: John 14:20-27; John 15:9-17

They sit in our utility room unopened. Last Christmas, we were asked to hold onto two gifts for my niece. One is a heart-shaped stool that belonged to her grandmother. The other a present for my niece’s daughter. My niece knows they are here. Life circumstances keep getting in the way. Like most of us, when she thinks about it, the time is not convenient to pick up the gifts. Then, it’s out of sight, out of mind.

So, here we are eight months later, the gifts still sit in our house, unclaimed. Hold that thought for a bit. We’ll pick this up again later.

*****

What a strong sense of melancholy Jesus must have felt as he stood in the corner of the upper room listening to the light-hearted banter, a carry-over from the excitement of his triumphant entry into the city that morning. His disciples, buoyed by the throng that met them outside the gates and the welcoming shouts of praise they heard that morning, gathered for the evening meal, exuberant and enthusiastic.

The savior knew his inevitable fate. Knew the echoes of praise now in their ears would ring hollow in the days to come. Scripture tells us the disciples, caught up in the moment, seemed clueless to the end game soon to play out on a hill outside the city. Jesus stood prayerfully in that upper room. So much to say. Would they hear? Would they understand?

Over the course of the evening, the mood grew progressively more serious. More somber.

Washing of feet.

Pronouncing betrayal.

Breaking of bread.

Sharing of wine.

This do in remembrance of me.

Gone was the fervor of the morning. In its place, confusion and concern. It was an evening filled with questions.

Peter. “Where are you going?”

Peter again. “Lord, why can’t I follow you now?”

Thomas. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

Philip. “Lord, show us the father and that will be enough for us. “

Jesus spent these last moments available to him to teach again the truth of who he was. Offering comfort that only he could give to those who would, in a matter of hours, find their world flipped upside down. These questions are familiar to us…as are Jesus’ answers.

To Peter. “Where I go you cannot follow…”

To Peter again, “…I tell you the truth, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.”

To Thomas. “I am the way, and the truth, and the life…”

To Philip: “Anyone who has seen me has seen the father…I am in the father and the father is in me…”

In response to their growing fears, he promised they would never be alone. That he would send a comforter and counselor. In the middle of that expansive narrative, he offered words we often forget.

“On that day, you will realize that I am in my Father, and you are in me and I am in you.”

Much of my personal Bible study over the past year explored what it means to live in the image of God. How are we to live the Christ-like life we are called to live? Given our sinful nature, it feels almost impossible. Yet, verse after verse of scripture shows us how…revealed in the life of Christ. This verse offers as great a hope that I can live in God’s image as any I’ve discovered. “…I am in my Father, and you are in me and I am in you.”

Living in the image of God is as simple as allowing Jesus, who is in us, to be the boss of our lives. To take control of every aspect of it. Of course, that’s easier said than done. I know. I fail miserably at it each day, it seems. Yet, the greater possibility exists that I can respond to the challenges of this world as God would like for me to respond because his presence in my life is a constant.

Give that some thought. He is in me. He is in you.

As the narrative in John 14 and 15 continued, Jesus touched upon three attributes of his life that he gifts to us when we place our trust in him. These teachings stemmed from yet another question asked by a disciple we don’t hear from often…Judas, not Iscariot, sometimes called Thaddaeus.

“Lord, why do you intend to show yourself to us, but not to the world?”

Thaddaeus missed the point. Jesus tried explaining to him and the other disciples that he reveals himself completely to those who call upon him. Those who place their faith in him. Those who love him. People who live by the world will never understand Jesus until they open their hearts to him.

The teachable moment continued. Jesus gave us more insight into his character, offering that which he possessed to his disciples, and by extension, to us. It comes as a gift, one we will need to accept if we are to live like Christ.

“Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid. “

The world’s idea of peace is the absence of conflict. We know from Jesus’ life that living as he lived will not end struggle, but may in fact, add to it. Jesus said, “My peace I give you.” What is the peace he gives? William Barclay says it conveys the idea that we have all we need for our “highest good.” He wrote, “The peace the world offers is the peace of escape, peace that comes from the avoidance of trouble.” The peace Jesus offers, Barclay says, is the peace which “no experience of life can take from us.” A peace that is not dependent on life’s circumstance.

Jesus lived his whole life under the shelter of this peace, woven into his spiritual DNA. It was an essential part of who he was. Despite all he was sent to do and all he had to endure, Jesus’ spirit was never threatened.

His peace is part and parcel of the gift of salvation. As he lives in us, his peace is gifted to us. Not just any peace, but his peace. The same spirit of peace that carried him through every temptation, every trial, every test exists within us as his gift to those who know him. We just have to claim it and remove it from its box, allowing it to pervade every corner of our being. Living in the image of God, in the image of Christ, means abiding in his peace.

A few verses later in Chapter 15, Jesus continued his teaching to the troubled disciples. He asked them to picture a grapevine, declaring himself the vine and urged them to see themselves as the branches who can and must bear fruit.

Buried in that familiar passage is another verse that speaks to the very nature of Jesus Christ. Jesus personified love. It motivated everything he said and everything he did. He felt the all-encompassing love of his father and passed that love on to those he encountered. Love filled his heart and soul.

“As the father has loved me so I have loved you. Now, remain in my love…love each other as I have loved you.”

He revealed the depth of his love for those who believe in him…“as the father has loved me so I have loved you.” He loved his disciples, he loves us, with all the love the Creator holds for his created. It is not that way in a world without Christ. The world loves until it is disappointed. The world’s love turns quickly to ambivalence or hate, again, based on outside circumstances.

Jesus told his disciples to remain in his love. What is Jesus’ love? He provided the illustration.

“Greater love has no man than this, but to lay down his life for a friend.”

We are called to love one another. That’s not just a call to love other Christians. We are called to extend God’s love to our fellow man. Few of us may be called to mortally sacrifice our lives for another as Jesus did. Each of us, however, is called to personally sacrifice in service to those in need. Such selfless sacrifice provides evidence of our love.

The great news is that because he abides in us, we don’t need to rely on our human capacity to love. We get to draw from the deep well of God’s all-encompassing love within us. What a gift!

We see in the scripture that God has given us his peace and his love. He didn’t stop there. He urged his disciples to remain obedient to all he had taught them; to all God called them to do. Obedience to God’s will opens his gift of joy.

“I have told you this so my joy may be in you and that your joy may be complete.”

Living as the world lives is easy. It requires little stamina. One just floats with the flow regardless of where it leads. Jesus told his disciples that his way was hard. Living in the image of God, standing firm in faith, demands we swim against the prevailing current. Yet, despite the difficulty surrounding the Christian journey, the path we follow ought to be joyous.

There is always joy in doing the right thing. Joy in living a purposeful life. Joy in letting Christ control your day to day living. In knowing you have been true to the commands of Christ.

Jesus lived his life on earth as the personification of peace, love and joy. These fruits of the spirit were embedded within his nature. They are part of the image we hold of him. A part of who he was as a man. Despite the rigors of his mission and ministry, no outward circumstance would ever strip from him that essential part of his spirit and personality.

Peace.

Love.

Joy.

Those life-sustaining characteristics he embraced are now embedded in all who believe in his name. He promised it! “You are in me and I am in you.” He gifted his peace, his love and his joy to each of us.

Here’s the thing. It’s not just that he put the capacity to experience these things into our hearts for us to develop and grow. His peace, love and joy in its fullnes reside within us already fully developed and available through the presence of the Holy Spirit. The indwelling presence of Christ in the form of the Holy Spirit gives us access to the heart of Jesus…to the all-to-often untapped potential and power of Christ in us.

To his peace.

To his love.

To his joy.

These great gifts sit in the utility room of our hearts waiting to be claimed. They will never be enjoyed and experienced until we pick them up. Take them home. Put them to good use. Our unclaimed gifts of the God’s Spirit keep us from living as the image of God.

Jesus said, “My peace, my love and my joy I give to you.”

Maybe, just maybe, it’s time we opened the package.

What Are You Doing Here?

Background Passage: I Kings 18 and I Kings 19: 1-18

Just hours earlier, God’s great prophet called down the fire of God upon the water-soaked altar he built on Mt. Carmel, in defiance of the king who had led Israel down a path of wickedness. Now, Elijah hid in the shadow of the broom bush near Beersheba after a marathon sprint from the place of his greatest victory. Running for his life under the weighty threat of a vengeful queen who shook with anger at the impotence of her gods and impertinence of Israel’s prophet.

What a difference a day makes! One minute he’s basking in the warmth of an all-consuming fire that proved the power of the God who sent him. The next day he’s gasping for breath, unable to face the coming day. Wishing for death to come on his terms, not at the hands of a queen who wants to make him suffer.

Falling into an exhausted slumber, Elijah awoke to God’s messenger offering a meal of hot bread and cool water. After more rest and another meal, the prophet wandered south, away from his fears and toward the same mountain where God once spoke so clearly to Moses.

We find him 40 days later, trembling in the dark recess of a cave halfway up the mountain, knees clutched to his chest, feeding on the fear that gripped his soul. Overwhelmed and feeling alone, Elijah wallowed in self-pity.

Emotionally exhausted.

Spiritually spent.

During the still of the night, the voice of God penetrated the noise of all that troubled his soul, asking one of the most pertinent questions the Creator can ask his created.

“What are you doing here?

On one hand, it sounds like a rebuke. God chastising his prophet for his lack of faith and trust. On the other hand, maybe it’s a gentle nudge. God prodding his prophet to set aside his fear and spend a moment in self-reflection.

Elijah responds, reciting the condition of his soul. “I have been very zealous for the Lord God Almighty. The Israelites have rejected your covenant, torn down your altars, and put your prophets to the death with the sword. I am the only one left, and now, they are trying to kill me, too.”

God, hearing the despair that poured from Elijah’s heart, said simply, “Go. Stand on the mountain for the Lord is about to pass by.”

I can see Elijah as he leaned upon his staff to leverage himself from the ground, the weight of the world upon his back. He limped to the mouth of the cave where he had been hiding and leaned heavily against the rock.

As he stood gripped in his fear, the wind howled, tearing boulders from the cliff. The ground shook with a powerful earthquake. A fire scorched the valley beneath him, searing every tree and bush in sight. Elijah saw evidence of God’s presence, but heard nothing. Then, in the quiet aftermath of an incredible display of power…in a whisper that tickled his ear…God’s quiet voice asked again,

“Elijah, what are you doing here?”

*****

What are you doing here?

What a great question! Elijah witnessed one of the greatest demonstrations of God’s power on Mt. Carmel. He participated in it. Served as the agent through which God accomplished his plan and purpose. For a brief moment in time, Elijah stood on the top of the world certain that everything for which he had worked for the past three years would come to pass. When repentance failed to come and trouble stood on the horizon, Elijah ran away.

Within hours of his great victory, Elijah lost his nerve. Lost his desire to serve. Lost his will to live. The prophet who boldly challenged the king who had led Israel into depravity found himself huddled in a cave wrapped in a cloak of self-pity and discouragement.

How often do we act like Elijah? Filled with the glow of God’s presence and power after a time of ministry and mission. Basking for one minute in the mountain top experiences God grants to those who faithfully serve him only to lose our nerve when faced with the counter circumstances of life and the world’s challenge to our faith.

We run from the mountain top while the sound of God’s latest victory in our lives still echoes from the cliffs. With all the speed we can muster, we move as far as we can from the source of trouble and the source of our power.

Distressed.

Disturbed.

Despondent.

How quickly we allow the tables to turn! We withdraw, feeling like we’re the only one fighting the battle. Ready to quit. Ready to abandon the God who needs our hands and voice. We run until we find ourselves hiding in a cave where we think our enemies and our God cannot find us.

It takes God’s relentless love to draw us back, not through a powerful demonstration of his might, but through a whispered word of quiet rebuke intended not to reprimand, but to cause us to reflect on the choice we just made.

I don’t know about you, but there are times when I have spent so much time in my cave that I have decorated it and called it “home.” Invariably, God finds a way of getting my attention. Then he asks that simple question.

“What are you doing here, Kirk?”

If this is where you find yourself today I suspect, if you listen, you’ll hear the whispered words of a loving father asking you the same question. “What are you doing here?”

Here’s what I know. God still needed Elijah. Once he got his attention, he told him, “Go back from where you came. There is so much more to do. You are not alone.”

He was not finished with Elijah and he is not finished with me or you. When we find ourselves hiding in our cave of our own choosing, God calls us, like he did Elijah, to change our focus. When we see again the world through his eyes, our perspective changes. We quit staring at our circumstances and look again at the possibilities and opportunities still open to us.

So, I ask you the same question I hear all too often, “What are you doing here?”

A Model of Kindness and Hospitality

Mark 1:29-31; Matthew 8:14-15; Luke 4:38-41

Though early in his ministry, Jesus consistently felt the press of the crowd. The constant demand upon his time and energy. Tossed aside by those in his hometown of Nazareth, Jesus found rest from the rigors of his work in the home of Peter and Andrew, two of his most trusted disciples. We find him on several occasions in Capernaum, staying with the family of these close friends.

Men being men, I doubt that Jesus felt most comfortable in this home because of the two brothers who followed him. I suspect his delight in visiting their home in Capernaum arose from the welcome he received every time from Peter’s mother-in-law. Scripture tells us her name was Mary.

Cast aside the flood of mother-in-law jokes told since the beginning of time. Mary must have been one of the good ones. Maybe you picture her as I do. From the moment of her daughter’s betrothal to Peter, she loved him as a son. From that time on, anyone Peter brought home was also her “son.” She was Mom to all of Peter’s friends.

When Peter returned from fishing or from time away with Jesus, she scurried to embrace Peter and his friends every time as if they had been gone for years. The welcome genuine. The hospitality generous. The love evident. Greeting them with a hug, a smile and a warm plate of bread fresh from the oven.

Jesus knew this family. Loved this family. Within these walls Jesus rested. Relaxed. Laughed. Talked about anything and everything that had nothing to do with his work. It was his sanctuary. God’s son spent days as a guest in this…his home away from home away from home.

On this day, after a morning of teaching and healing, Jesus stooped as he pushed through the low door to the small cottage not far from the synagogue. He expelled a deep breath…the burdens he carried dropped from his shoulders as soon as he stepped over the threshold. Today, two steps in, he knew something was wrong. Rather than the typical shriek of joy at welcomed visitors there was only silence. The normal aroma of food cooking in the hearth replaced by the sweet smell of medical ointment.

Peter called out to his mother-in-law, “Mary, where are you?”

Walking to the back room, the disciple found her in bed in the grip of a major fever, tended to by friends. Recognizing intuitively the seriousness of her illness, Peter called to Jesus.

Jesus walked into the room, immediately assessing the situation. Peter asked his master, “Can you help her?”

Jesus knelt by the bed and took the woman’s hand in one of his own. Laid the palm of his other hand on her feverish forehead. He offered a quick prayer as he slid his hand lovingly to her cheek. Her eyes flickered open.

As Jesus rose he helped Mary from her bed. She stood, looked at Jesus with a sparkle in her eyes, tugging gently on his graying beard. “It’s good to see you again, Jesus.”

Her illness forgotten, she laughed with joy at seeing her son-in-law, his brother and friends. With a look of embarrassment, she realized they would be hungry. She had prepared nothing. With a song in her heart, pulled a meal together and waited on them throughout the day.

*****

It’s an obscure scripture reference rarely read. That the story centers on a mother-in-law is even more obscure. Peter’s mother-in-law, Mary, joins Naomi in the Old Testament as the only two mothers-in-law mentioned in scripture.

Reading between the lines, Peter loved his mother-in-law. His concern during her illness evident in his call to Jesus. I can also imagine that every time Jesus visited Capernaum he enjoyed the fellowship of this godly woman…his second mother in every way that mattered.

I read this scripture this week just days after my own mother-in-law’s funeral. It left me feeling with a degree of certainty that Peter’s mother-in-law was not unlike my own. We tend to assign characteristics of Bible characters to the personalities of people we know. It is the way we relate to them on a more personal level. In many ways, I can assign my mother-in-law’s characteristics to Peter’s mother-in-law.

If I do so, I know Jesus didn’t go to Peter’s house for the food. My mother-in-law, Glenna, could not cook. Raw meat loaf. Greasy baloney and potatoes. Canned vegetables and desserts right out of the box. Imagine a home economics major who could not cook. That was Glenna.

If Peter’s mother-in-law was like Glenna she was infinitely gullible, making her the target of good natured ribbing. Though falling for every exaggerated story, she laughed at herself while basking in the love wrapped in the telling. Just when you think you got the better of her, she’d pull out the world’s kindest insult to rattle your cage.

If Peter’s mother-in-law was like my own, she sent Peter and Andrew to sing in the family choir at the synagogue in matching home-made, lime-green, velour sweatshirts, oblivious to the horror-stricken look on their faces. Ugly as sin, the clothing was made with great affection.

Despite those shortcomings, if Peter’s mother-in-law was like my own, she was loved deeply and completely by all of her sons-in-law. She was a second mother to Peter…and to Jesus…as much as Glenna was to me.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna opened her heart to everyone. If you wish to define the spiritual gift of hospitality, look no further. My mother-in-law welcomed everyone, even the West Texas boy her daughter brought rather unexpectedly that first time to the family reunion. That was the first time I experienced her warmth, but it was not the last time I felt it or saw it enclose others in its embrace. She had a gift for making people feel valued.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna used that gift of hospitality to serve at church, at school and within the community. She was constantly making things for others. Bible bags for children at church. Rag bags for newlyweds. Clothes of extraordinary colors for her grandchildren. She loved to give gifts with a personal touch. If you needed something, she would drop what she was doing to help you. Forever unselfish in her service to others.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna knew Jesus. She shared and demonstrated her faith to hundreds of second grade children who passed through her Sunday School class for more than 50 years. She taught the love of Jesus, making him real and personable to so many children. I cannot begin to fathom the number of children, now adults, who placed their trust in Jesus Christ, in part, because of what they learned from Glenna years ago. The wonderful thing is that her faith never wavered, despite the tragedies that struck her heart throughout her life.

Like Peter’s mother-in-law, Glenna’s kindness extended to everyone she met. I knew her for more than 45 years. If she ever had an unkind thought, she never expressed it aloud. I suspect the thought never crossed her mind. She was absolutely the kindest person I ever knew.

Dementia took its toll in her later years. We have all seen that dreaded disease confuse, confound and change the personality of the sufferer. However, it never changed Glenna. Her sweet demeanor…her joy…her ability to sing praises to God (off key)…never changed. When she could not remember the names of those in her family, she could remember every stanza to What a Friend We Have in Jesus.

I will miss my mother-in-law. I cherish her love for me and my love for her. I am also grateful that I see the best of her every day in the life and love of my wife. They are alike in so many ways.

Thanks to Peter’s mother-in-law for reminding me.

In Vain Do They Worship

Background Passage: Mark 7:7

Drive into any city or town in the United Kingdom and the dominant structure visible from miles away is the cathedral. These amazing structures were built centuries ago with one purpose in mind–to serve as a place of worship and praise to God.

A group of friends from our church spent time over the past 10 days touring, England, Wales, Scotland and Ireland. We’ve walked through many of these towering buildings with artful stained glass, vaulted ceilings and spires stretching to the heavens. Yet, far to many of them now serve as museums and concert halls.

I read this week that some of the most prominent churches in England now have less than 50 members to support a cathedral that would seat more than 2,000. I’m not sure I could explain well the secularization of Europe, but I wonder if the United States is not far behind.

Jesus shared with his disciples in Mark, “In vain to they worship me, teaching as doctrine the commandments of men.”

Maybe, it’s that simple. We quit listening to God and started doing what men wanted us to do. We abandoned worship because faith demands too much energy and effort.

We walked today through the beautiful cathedral in Belfast. Because membership is so low, most of these old cathedrals must charge an entry fee for tourists to continue to keep the doors of the church open. A news article just this week in London said that most people in Great Britain would call themselves Christian, yet fewer than 10 percent of them attend church at all.

I thought about that article today as I stood in the back of the Belfast Cathedral. I could only imagine  what it would sound like to hear Amazing Grace sung by a congregation filling that old building.

So as I prepare for sleep tonight, I will share this thought as sung by the Irish Tenors. Thank God for his amazing grace!

 

 

Rest for the Weary

Background Passages: Mark 11:27-33: Mark 12:28-34; Matthew 11: 28-30

I wonder if Jesus ever walked into the temple in Jerusalem desiring only to offer his own prayers to the Father in the privacy of his heart. Did he ever just get to sit in the shade of the portico and listen to the well-versed teaching of the rabbi? If it happened, it did not happen often. His presence seemed always to elicit a response either from the people, begging for his words of truth, or from his persecutors, probing for a weakness in his teaching.

Hours before his arrest, Jesus might have entered the temple just to pray…to clear his mind for what was to come. Instead, he found himself surrounded by hate in a rustle of flowing and elegant robes. No pleasantries exchanged. No effort to pull him from the crowd that gathered that morning for a private talk. Jesus turned full circle studying the 15 or so men who hemmed him in…the chief priests, the most learned scholars of scripture and the temple leadership…each shouting an indignant challenge to the Galilean teacher they viewed as a substantial threat to their way of life.

“By what authority are you doing these things?” they asked. “And who gave you authority to do this?”

Those entering the temple turned on their heels not wishing to be dragged into the confrontation. Others trapped inside retreated to the walls or peaked from behind the broad columns lining the courtyard.

Jesus pursed his lips. Took a deep breath. Looked down at his sandaled feet, sensing the anger in their murmuring. He raised his head, stared intently into the face of the first one to utter the challenge. In a voice as soft as a sprinkle that threatened a downpour, Jesus said, “Let me ask you one question…” When he finished probing for a response, they huddled in confusion, knowing they had stepped into a trap of their own making.

After a minute of deliberation, the best response they came up with was, “We don’t know.”

Jesus turned again full circle with eyes that burned into their souls to see if any of the others could offer a better answer. When no one spoke, Jesus took a step forward, turned sideways and squeezed past the first row of robes as the others parted to give him room, and whispered to no one in particular, “Neither will I tell you by what authority I am doing these things.”

Delightfully cloaked in a religion of rule and regulation, the religious leaders of the day could not fathom the wonder of his miracles or the simplicity of Jesus’ teaching. It ran counter to all in which they believe. Counter to that which elevated them above the ordinary man struggling to comply with the multitude of laws the priests and teachers found so comforting.

These same men, or men just like them, constantly hovered on the fringe of the crowd as Jesus taught. One parable–about a vineyard and the workers who killed the master’s son when he came to collect what was owed–caught their attention. They gnashed their teeth when it became clear to them that Jesus viewed them as the unfaithful tenants.

As their anger grew they threw rapid fire questions at Jesus. “Should we pay taxes to Caesar?” “Will there be marriage after the resurrection?” Jesus answered and avoided their traps with a voice as strong as his accusers.

At one drawn out pause in the cancerous debate, a Pharisee stepped forward, arms stretched in front of him, palms up… a plea, a peace offering. The man looked back at the huddled Sadducees and smiled as if to say, “That was fun to watch.”

Jesus looked at him, puffed out his cheeks and exhaled audibly in relief, willing his heart to slow its beat. “Please. Sit.”

After a brief introduction, the Pharisee spoke with Jesus, intent upon understanding. “Of all the commandments in all the law, which is the most important?”

Jesus, who had spent the last three years trying to break down the wall the law had erected between God and his creation, smiled for the first time all day. Tears welled up in his eyes. At last, here was a question that merited his attention…an arrow that pierced the heart of the matter.

“The most important one,” answered Jesus, “is this: ‘Hear, O Israel, The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these. All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

This conversation continued as Jesus and his new friend exchanged similar thoughts and ideas. It ended with a warm embrace and a word of encouragement. Jesus held the Pharisee at arms’ length and said, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.”

Life for the Sadducees and the Pharisees consisted of a set of rigorous rules and regulations no man could reasonably follow. Because their obsessive compulsive minds did it better than most, they held the ordinary man in contempt. Over time, arrogance led them to establish a hierarchy of goodness that carefully and permanently cemented them at the top of the pious pyramid, looking down upon and taking advantage of those failing to meet the stringent requirements the religious leaders imposed.

By the time Jesus arrived on earth, God’s original law and covenant lie buried under hundreds of rules of behavior almost impossible for anyone to obey. The burden of obedience drove people away from God rather than drawing them in. Jesus challenged this distortion of the law.

Noted psychologist Abraham Maslow explained the natural human tendency to be overly dependent on a narrow set of skills and resources when resolving issues in life. Maslow is generally quoted as saying, “I suppose it is tempting, if the only tool you have is a hammer, to treat everything as if it were a nail.”

Rule, ritual and regulation became religion’s hammer in an attempt to beat God’s people into submission. It was all they understood. Jesus addressed the issue as he met constant rejection from the religious leaders and people of Galilee throughout his ministry.

In a similar episode early in Jesus’ ministry, he mourned for the cities of Chorazin, Bethsaida and Capernaum saying that their absolute dependence on rule and ritual blinded them to the new truth of the good news he offered. Trying to help the people get past the legal barrier, Jesus said,

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

As I read through the scripture I can see the thoughts as they developed in Jesus’ heart and mind. Trying to find a way to make his point, Jesus focused his eyes on a farmer in the distance, walking behind an ox pulling a plow through the rocky hillside. He heard the farmer shout and the animal bellow as they labored to cut through the sunbaked earth.

Jesus thought back to that carpentry shop in Nazareth. Remembered the farmer who came to him in need of a new yoke for his ox. A perfectionist in his craft, Jesus followed the farmer to his field where he sized up the animal, visualizing how he wanted this new yoke to fit upon those muscled shoulders.

He went back to his shop. Jesus took his plane from a shelf and began to shape a piece of oak to match the vision in his head. He sanded it smooth and attached the harness points in perfect balance to keep the reins from pulling the yoke to one side or the other.

I can see him as he hefted the yoke on his shoulder and took it to the farmer, carefully fitting it upon the ox, adjusting it to his shape. He gave the reins to the farmer and watched for a minute as the ox pulled the plow through the field. The yoke made the burden less onerous for both man and beast.

That memory spurred the words. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened…For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Jesus spoke every day to people whose shoulders sagged under the remorseless pressure of compliance to a bulky set of rules. The Pharisees lived in a world of “do this…don’t do that,” of “yes to this…and no to that.” The people lived in a world, condemned by arbitrary rule, and ridiculed by the religious leaders for their personal failings.

Religion…faith…became a burden.

He faced the rebuke of the Pharisees when his disciples picked a little grain on the Sabbath to satisfy their hunger. He faced the challenge of religious leaders who chastised him for healing a man with a crippled hand on the Sabbath. Ultimately, in those last days, he battled with an entrenched enemy whose questions never addressed the heart of the matter.

Jesus tried time and time again to tell them. “It doesn’t have to be this hard. Love your God with your whole being. Love those around you as you love yourself.”

I read again this week of a man who said that being a Christian was just a bunch of rules designed to “suck the fun right out of life.” That statement always troubles me. Do we as Christians act like the religious leaders of the day forcing compliance to a set of “laws” we created to separate ourselves from others?

The joy of life is not conditioned by rules and regulations that tell you what you can or cannot do. Joy comes through relationships…first and foremost with God and then with others. If those two things fall into place, that which “sucks the joy out of life” disappears.

Walking with God need not be complicated. It need not be burdensome. When the master carpenter carves out your yoke and places it upon your shoulders, it fits like a glove, the burdens so much lighter.

Jesus countered the prevailing burden with a simple invitation to accept the salvation he offered…the life he offered. “Come to me…” It’s that simple. “…all who are wearied and burdened…” It’s that inclusive. “…I will give you rest…” It’s that rewarding.

Jesus extends a personal invitation to the lost who have not found him and to the found who have lost their way. Come to him. Erase the weariness from your heart. Then, love your God with all your being. Love your neighbor with the love God extends to you. Once done, life becomes joy.

Come Sit at the Big Table

Background Passages: Luke 2:41-52; Philippians 2:6-7; I Corinthians 3:1-3

I don’t know if your family gatherings were like mine growing up. Typically, everyone brought a pot luck casserole or vegetable while someone provided the ham. Everyone would meet at Grandma’s house after church on Sunday.

The cousins would play…loudly…while the food was placed on the dining room table, extended to its full length. Card tables sat in the “formal” living room, surrounded by those folding chairs that pinched more than one finger at some point during the day. After a prayer, the adults sat around the dining room table, banishing the kids with their paper plates to the card tables in the next room.

I remember listening from the other to the conversation around the big table. Sometimes it was filled with love and laughter. Sometimes it was serious and somber.

For each of the cousins, we longed for the day when Grandma would point you to a chair at the big table. What a glorious rite of passage! No longer a child. Now, an adult.

I wonder if Jesus felt that way when he entered the temple in Jerusalem when he was 12-years-old. Picture it.

*

Every year of his memory, the boy traveled with his family from Galilee to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. His father, devote and upright, would walk with his son into the temple, his hand resting lightly on his son’s shoulder. Each year, the father let his son experience the awe and majesty of the towering white-washed temple stone, glistening in the morning sun.

Then, he would drop to a knee, take the young boy by the shoulders and remind him of his place. Standing with the other children against the wall—to look, listen and learn. Being seen, but never heard. With a smile and a gentle push, Joseph sent Jesus to join the other boys, all who longed for the day when they would be invited among the men to learn at the feet of Jerusalem’s most noted rabbis.

What a difference this year made! Jesus, on the verge of Jewish adulthood, entered his final year of study prior to becoming a “son of the covenant.” This would be his first year to sit among the men in the temple in Jerusalem, a moment about which Jesus dreamed for years.

On this special day, Jesus stood a little straighter beside his father just inside the gates of the inner courtyard. Joseph marveled at the lad who stood nearly as tall as he, the young man’s eyes fixed straight ahead, the slight smile on his face filled with anticipation and yearning. Jesus watched with fond recollection as his father again took a knee, hands resting on the shoulders of his younger brothers…a quiet word and gentle push sending them to stand with the other boys.

As Joseph watched them walk away he brushed the dust from his robe. When all was in order, the father gazed down at his oldest son and grinned. He knew the importance of the day for Jesus. It was all he spoke about for the last six months. With a nod of his head the two walked into the gathering crowd of men. No longer a child. Now, an adult.

The day ended. The thrill of the conversation not lost on Jesus. Throughout the teaching and questioning of the rabbi, Jesus listen. Never uttered a word. Never asked a question. Respectful of the moment. Taking it all in. That night he visited with family, excited by the day, full of questions left unasked at the temple.

The group of family and friends rose bright and early the next morning setting out on a long journey home…all except Jesus. He had every intention of returning home, but in the hustle of the morning, the burning questions in his heart consumed him. Almost without thinking he found himself again inside the temple, sitting on the steps among the men, listening with rapt attention to the words of the rabbi.

No longer overwhelmed by the moment, Jesus could no longer contain himself. He listened. He commented. He sought clarification. He probed with questions of his own that startled the rabbi. When the rabbi turned the tables and asked questions in return, Jesus did not shy away. He thought. He recited passages of scripture to support his thoughts. The dialogue intrigued the rabbis, drawing a larger crowd to hear the dynamic exchange of ideas.

Night fell and Jesus remained again in Jerusalem, finding a family to let him sleep by their fire. The next morning he went again to the temple, finding his place among the rabbi’s disciples. The dialogue deep, rich and instructive.

You know the rest of the story. The next day Jesus sat in the temple astounding everyone with his understanding and his insight. Amazing the learned ones with his questions. Drawing them deeper and deeper into the scripture they often took for granted. Making them think with him. Learning more with each passing hour.

At some point, Jesus felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. Looking behind him he saw the face of his father, a look of relieved anger etched in his eyes. Joseph said nothing. He just crooked his finger, beckoning Jesus to follow. Follow he did. They left the inner courtyard and came face to face with Mary, his mother.

The swirl of robes engulfed him with a mother’s relief of a lost child found. Then, she pushed him away and the anger flashed. Jesus didn’t often see his mother in such a state, but he was smart enough to know to let her speak first.

“Son, why have you treated us so? Your father and I have been looking for you anxiously.”

I suspect there was more to the conversation than Luke records in his gospel. Suffice it to say, Jesus got an earful.

I also suspect there was a more sympathetic and apologetic response from Jesus than scripture records. “I am sorry. I should have asked to stay. I have never felt anything like this. I should have asked to stay. Please don’t be mad. Don’t you know? I must be about my Father’s business.”

In the hugs that followed and the sincere sorrow at the distress he caused, Mary and Joseph both recalled all those things they treasured in their hearts since the angel first visited. With a heavy sigh of forgiveness, Mary embraced her son again, “Please, next time, just let us know what you’re doing.” I can see Jesus reaching out, touching his hand to her check, a gesture of love and affection, “I’m so sorry, Mother. I promise.”

As they began again their journey home, Jesus filled each moment with excited conversation about all he had learned about God’s love, God’s will and God’s purpose.

*

I think we live with the assumption that Jesus was born with the full knowledge of his God-ness. I’m not sure that’s true. The day may come when I understand the duality of Jesus Christ as he lived among us as God and man. That day is not today by any means. I reason it out as best I can, trying to rationalize the omniscient and omnipotent Father encased in human form.

We tend to see Jesus as a four-year-old boy, capable of miracles, knowing completely his purpose and role as God’s Messiah. Yet, scripture tells us Jesus grew in wisdom and stature in the eyes of men and God. Growing in stature comes easily enough. The child became a man. Growing in wisdom complicates things. If he were God in all complete power and knowledge from the moment of birth, how could he grow in wisdom?

I believe Jesus understood to whom he belong. He knew who is Father was. His response to Mary and Joseph was honest. “I must be about my Father’s business.” I just don’t think he had full knowledge of what that meant for him and how it would play out in his life…at least not when he was twelve.
Scholars far more learned than I speak to God imposing personal limits to his own power and knowledge when he took human form so he could be “like us.” Paul said as much in Philippians:

“Though he was in the form of God, he did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but he emptied himself, taking the form of a servant.”

Perhaps Jesus emptied himself of the omniscience of the Father. There were some things he did not know. He admitted that some things were hidden from him when he told the disciples in Matthew that he did not know the day of his return:

“Of that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only. “

If we can buy that idea, we see Jesus’ time in the temple in a new light. Not as God speaking from the mouth of a 12-year-old, enlightening the blindness of the rabbis. Rather, we see the inquisitive nature of a student of God. One who desires to know all there is to know about the nature and work of God. One craving righteousness.

That’s the point of the narrative in my eyes. Jesus preached to the multitude on the mountainside and tells them, “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness…” He understood that nature of that blessing because he experienced it himself as an eager boy in the temple. He recalled that longing to know God that compelled him with passion to seek answers to questions to which he had no ready answers. The quest for righteousness drove him to study…to grow in spiritual wisdom…in preparation for the moment when God would release him for ministry.

If we are to live in the image of God we must also hunger and thirst for righteousness as if our lives depended upon its sustenance.

What does that mean for us?

Too many Christians are not eager to understand more about God than they already know. We grow complacent and comfortable in our knowledge. As Paul said, to the Corinthians, “I gave you milk not solid food for you were not ready for it. Indeed, you are still not ready for you are worldly.”

It is a message echoed by the writer of Hebrews. “Although by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you the elementary truths of God’s word all over again…Everyone who lives on milk is still an infant, inexperienced in the message of righteousness.”

When we ought to be hungering for righteousness, we often grow too comfortable sitting at the kid’s table, afraid of the conversations that take place in the other room. Hoping we will never be asked to sit at the big table.

Yet, Jesus, as a boy, understood that obedience to God required him to open God’s word. To probe and dig more deeply into its treasure. To be responsive to God’s call today requires us to sink our teeth into God’s scripture. Asking questions. Looking for answers. Reading scripture each day as if it were new. Praying that the Spirit might breathe new truth into an open heart and mind.

I am grateful for the pastors and mentors in my life. I’m grateful for parents and Sunday School teachers who challenged my thinking. Friends who encouraged me to ask questions and to keep asking until the pieces of life’s puzzle began to fit together. I’m grateful to God who shows me sometimes that the puzzle pieces can fit together in a new way, taking me more deeply down the path he needs me to travel.

I am grateful that God invites us daily to sit with him at the big table.

Pull up a chair.