Good Friday to you

22 For Jews demand signs and Greeks seek wisdom, 23 but we preach Christ crucified, a stumbling block to Jews and folly to Gentiles, 24 but to those who are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God and the wisdom of God.
 28 God chose the lowly things of this world and the despised things—and the things that are not—to nullify the things that are, 29 so that no one may boast before him. 30 It is because of him that you are in Christ Jesus, who has become for us wisdom from God—that is, our righteousness, holiness and redemption.     
 1 Corinthians 1: 22-24, 28-30

Each Good Friday I make a point to read the Gospel accounts of the crucifixion. For me, it’s a small way to consecrate the most significant day in the history of the universe. And inevitably, by God’s grace, as I set my mind of the events of 2,000 years ago, something new surfaces to my attention.

The Bible is so rich with life-impacting meaning. There seems no end to the layers of implication imbedded into what can seem mere words and surface-level story—obviously, and especially, with the crucifixion accounts. This morning what stood out was the depiction of the criminals on the cross, on either side of Jesus, particularly as described in the Gospel of Luke:

39 One of the criminals who hung there hurled insults at him: “Aren’t you the Messiah? Save yourself and us!” 

40 But the other criminal rebuked him. “Don’t you fear God,” he said, “since you are under the same sentence? 41 We are punished justly, for we are getting what our deeds deserve. But this man has done nothing wrong.” 

42 Then he said, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.” 

43 Jesus answered him, “Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in paradise.”    Luke 23: 39-43

Immediately upon reading this passage my mind went to Paul’s word to the Church in Corinth (referenced above). Read it again.

There, in the middle of two justly-sentenced felons, hung Jesus, the King of the Jews, the King of the World—in itself a stark picture of the dividing nature of Christ. And there, on Skull Hill, Jesus separated the sheep from the goats, the wheat from the chaff, just as He has necessarily done with every person who’s ever lived from the beginning of time until now. To the one Jewish criminal, Jesus was a stumbling block, mocked in the hopeless demand for a body-rescuing miracle—this, to his certain condemnation—and to the other offender, who, in humility, recognized his desperate need and begged for the salvation of his soul (not body), Jesus was the literal Way, Truth and Life.

Pretty heavy stuff, huh? Luke uses this aspect of the crucifixion account to depict what are the only two actual outcomes of encountering Christ: salvation through acceptance of His call, or condemnation through rejection, or refusal to answer.

But the world purports there’s a third response, one not so dramatic or drastic in its implications. This encounter is religious laissez faire and promotes/produces simple indifference—absolutely not acknowledgment of Jesus as the only Son of the One True God…and Savior, but not stalwart denial of that possibility either. Here, so long as the person is ‘good’ and lives at least a comparatively upright life, no embrace of Christ’s saving grace is required.

The problem is, bluntly, there wasn’t a fourth cross with a third criminal who hung quietly by the wayside. And there are only two sides to a definite middle—exactly where the cross of Christ was driven into the ground.

The questions are therefore begged: Which criminal are you? Which criminal is your friend? Your family member? Before you answer (and though possibly difficult, take stock and do answer), however, think of the boisterous, insult-hurling criminal as unable to open his mouth, hanging on his cross in sheer apathy—his fate would be no different.

Grace to you this Good Friday, to firmly grasp the schismatic effect of Christ’s cross, and to respond with resulting urgency,

Voice of another

Earthly Glaze or Heavenly Gaze?

13 These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. 14 For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. 15 If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. 16 But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for he has prepared for them a city.
—Hebrews 11:13-16



Be honest. When was the last time you spent more than a fleeting few seconds thinking about heaven, much less allowing your heart the time and intemperance to actually desire it? Hopefully not, but perhaps you’re like me and it’s been awhile, a long while, longer than you can even recall. This morning, randomly (miraculously?), I’ve given it some thought. And while I’m by no means a guru on this subject or any, the Spirit has moved me enough to crack my laptop and write.

Another question: are there ever instances in this hectic, harried life when you stop, look around you at everyone and everything else whizzing past you a hundred miles an hour, and realize, in a moment of almost profound clarity, ‘I’m not from here’? I have, and I’ll admit, it’s eerie, even unsettling—so much so that my response is to quickly settle back into the ‘trance of the temporal’ I inhabited before being jarred from it.

Bumper-sticker junkie –noun, 1. One who is overly infatuated with bumper stickers, not so much so that their personal automobile is covered with them, but so much so that upon identifying their outline on another’s bumper they hit the gas as hard as necessary to get a better look. 2. See previous definition.

I am a bumper-sticker junkie. I take notice of any and all of them whenever I’m behind the wheel. Many I see nowadays are the Christian, ‘Not of This World’ logo (note: normally these are NOT adjacent to the classic, ‘Keep Honking…I’m Reloading). Don’t get me wrong—this one has a cool design and is artfully edgy—but it loses some of its punch when you look a little lower and realize its plastered on a Cadillac Escalade.

I’m not being a hater here—I have no right to be. The sticker is a start. It just can’t be the end. In the passage above the writer of Hebrews recaps reality for those highlighted in what’s referred to as the Hall of Faith. He makes a distinction about the life of people like Abraham, Noah, Joseph, even Enoch: their sandals would have aptly displayed, ‘Not of This World.’ They had a heartbeat for heaven. Out of it sprang other-worldly hope. And this hope was the very means by which they overcame the trials they encountered, the things of this world: injustice, ridicule, uncertainty, fear.

In all the instances where God allowed the people of Israel to be exiled from their homeland (there were many), there existed one common thread: ultimately there grew within the hearts of His people a strong desire to return home. At a point, they looked around their Gentile surroundings and fully realized they were strangers in a foreign land, not meant to stay there. They were God’s people, His elect, and He had prepared a place for them.

So it is with us.

C.S. Lewis wrote about hope (having a heart for heaven) as a theological virtue, in his renowned classic, Mere Christianity. I’ll conclude with it. But before I do, let me exhort us to live a life worthy of God’s calling (and worthy of the sticker). May we STOP, long enough to let our minds marinate on heaven…and mostly on Who’s there. Enough of this will incline our hearts toward hope—just the thing we need to run this raucous race in such a way as to get the prize.

Grace to you, to put away the Earthly glaze for a Heavenly gaze,

Voice of another

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Hope is one of the Theological virtues. This means that a continual looking forward to the eternal world is not (as some modern people think) a form of escapism or wishful thinking, but one of the things a Christian is meant to do. It does not mean that we are to leave the present world as it is. If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were just those who thought most of the next. The Apostles themselves, who set on foot the conversion of the Roman Empire, the great men who built up the Middle Ages, the English Evangelicals who abolished the Slave Trade, all left their mark on Earth, precisely because their minds were occupied with Heaven. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at Heaven and you will get earth ‘thrown in’: aim at earth and you will get neither.

-C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity

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'Considering' Faith

11 By faith Sarah herself received power to conceive, even when she was past the age, since she considered him faithful who had promised.     —Hebrews 11:11

We’re back to the subject of faith, no, not because other topics are lacking or lackluster, I just can’t get past this one. Perhaps it’s because I have so little faith and want more. That’s certainly part of it. But aside from that, why it beckons our contemplation, it’s the thing which brings Him pleasure and us eternity. We do incredibly well, then, to meditate on it, in hopes of realizing His glorification and our gain. The book of Hebrews goes to great depths to explain what faith is, how to receive it, and what it tangibly looks like in the world. Considering, reread the verse above.

Though rarely quoted or commented on, Hebrews 11:11 stands out. It lays out a rather basic equation of how faith works, or at least should. Now Sarah gets a bad rap for laughing when Abraham told her God was giving them a child…and she did suggest her husband lie with a slave girl, but let’s not quickly dismiss what she went through here. She had been barren her entire life. No doubt this grieved her greatly. Because of this, it’s possible she felt worthless, rejected, even scorned. For most of her life Sarah might have been thinking, How could God withhold childbearing from me, a woman who wanted nothing more? Based on surface facts it’s easy to put Sarah on the periphery of the great cloud of witnesses, but the truth is, I want to emulate her faith.

Ultimately, Sarah did the one thing which gave her the faith to receive the power to conceive—she considered God. And in considering Him, she knew Him to be faithful, worthy of her trust. So she believed in God’s promise and bore Isaac—the wrinkled, grandma-aged woman whose womb was full of cobwebs, by faith, became the mother, if you will, of all nations.

When it comes down to it, having faith and acting upon it heavily involves ‘considering.’ Maybe you haven’t thought of it that way before. I hadn’t. Often when situations in my life have called for faith I’ve only momentarily or casually considered Him who is able to do more than I could ask or imagine. And I wonder why my faith is feeble? In a bizarre way, exactly when faith is required I have the tendency to first focus on myself instead of on the One who authors and perfects it.

Faith grows (awakens?) when we consider God, not the circumstance, and certainly not ourselves. But what do we think about when we consider Him? We should consider His characteristics and His promises, which are profound as they are many. Sarah considered the faithfulness of God, how He had shown Himself faithful to them in the past. So God’s exemplified love and sovereign plan gave her the faith to believe she would conceive. She wasn’t godly in her initial response (she, like me, probably thought of herself first), but she eventually considered the LORD and, in so doing, made it to the Hall of Faith!

While God’s attributes are many, there is one truth we should immediately and unquestioningly consider: He is the Lord of lords. Without sounding cheesy, He is the Master of the Universe—indeed, He literally holds it together by the power of His word. He is powerful to save our souls—certainly powerful to come through for us in our present need. And He is good. So good. His plan for us is for our gain, our eternal good, even in the face of a world trying to convince us otherwise.

In order to consider Him well, we have to know Him well. Without knowledge of Him, His ways, His purpose, it is difficult to act in faith. Sarah knew Him. She and Abraham talked to Him, communed with Him, and followed in His ways. Today, we have two ways to know Him. First, we have His Word. He has revealed Himself to us through the Bible. Our sole purpose in studying the Bible is to intimately know the Savior of our soul. Through it we become acquainted with the God of old—the One who is the same yesterday, today, forever. Second, we have His Spirit, who helps our once-blind heart see His hand in our life (whether we’ve acknowledged it or not, it’s been there!). By His grace I have seen multiple instances of His divine intervention—evidences of His sovereign (and unique) plan for my life. I harken back to them to consider Him who is faithful, giving me the faith to take heart and press on.

Last point: our faith in Him is for His glory. That’s why faith is so important. Sarah’s pregnancy and motherhood was ordained for the exultation of the Most High God. Just the same, when we have faith in God—in His purpose, His plan, His power and provision—we showcase His majesty to the watching world. That’s the beauty of it all. Circumstances couldn’t be more inconsequential—whether good or bad, happy or sad, we can have faith. When we do, He gets glory. And His purpose (ours too, if we’d only realize it!) is fulfilled.

So often life’s events make it difficult to trust, to fully and firmly believe in Him who is able. But that’s only due to our lack of knowledge and consideration. Of any, we have no reason to doubt, no reason to worry. We are His people, children of the King.

If two sparrows are sold for a penny, how much more valuable to Him are we?

Grace to you, to awaken your faith by considering the King,

Voice of another

A Call from the Desert

pre·serve verb

verb (used with object)

      1.    to keep alive or in existence

      2.    to keep safe from harm or injury; protect or spare

      3.    to keep up; maintain

      4.    to keep possession of; retain

www.dictionary.com

I was listening to a certain Christian radio morning show not long ago and I tuned in just in time to hear one of the co-hosts describing a difficult relationship with a coworker. He went on and on about how unhealthy it was—how even the most routine interactions caused him to respond to this individual with raw contempt. His rambling finally ceased with the conclusion: ‘I prayed about it and had to discontinue the relationship altogether for the sake of self-preservation.’

Self-preservation. The concept lingered. How much of life is characterized by a striving for preservation, by a robust desire to retain and maintain? Think about it. We try to preserve youth, health, wealth, prosperity, comfort, safety, even sanity. In many ways, self-preservation is the overarching credo we ascribe to on a daily basis. We’re more than willing to do the uncomfortable to stay comfortable; we’re willing to sacrifice and save to maintain wealth; we’re even willing to endure pain to retain a prosperous life. And sometimes we do this under the guise of faith, or Christianity.

Notice how all four of the above definitions begin. ‘To keep…’

The nature of keeping—it’s done with motivation and intention. It brings certainty, perhaps security. It promotes stagnation. And it’s something that can be adored, even worshiped.

What does Jesus say about keeping (saving)?

35 For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it. 36 For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul?

—Mark 8:35-36

He doesn’t seem to want us to preserve…or keep…or save this life. In fact, He calls us to do just the opposite.

But most often, when we meet trials of many kinds, as the Apostle James correctly predicted we would, our natural inclination is to ‘fight or flight’—to do anything we can to evade suffering and maintain (preserve) comfort, certainty, security. Why? Because they are most desirable. And we store them up as treasures.

James, however, encourages an entirely alternative approach. Take heed to his exhortation:

2 Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, 3 for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness.

 —James 1:2-3

We fight. Or we take flight when there appears trouble. There’s another option: delight. We can embrace the suffering we’ll inevitably encounter, counting it joy. Not because we’re to be masochists—that would fly in the face of our holy God. No, because we can trust the sovereign purpose of our Father to refine our fledgling faith through it all.

God, who began a good work in each of His children, will carry it on to completion at the day of Jesus Christ. The work (sanctification) is, indeed, good—just far from easy. And this shouldn’t catch us as a surprise. Jesus himself said, ‘If anyone would come after Me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me.’ (Mark 8:34) What about a trip down the Calvary road suggests comfort, safety and security? What here suggests simply preserving what we’ve got?

There’s another word that looks remarkably similar to the word ‘preserve.’

Persevere.

Grace to you, to lose your life, to embrace the refinement of faith through trials…and preserve your salvation.

Voice of another

Verse of the...Word

14 Behold, to the LORD your God belong heaven and the heaven of heavens, the earth with all that is in it. 15 Yet the LORD set his heart in love on your fathers and chose their offspring after them, you above all peoples, as you are this day. 16 Circumcise therefore the foreskin of your heart, and be no longer stubborn. 17 For the LORD your God is God of gods and Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God, who is not partial and takes no bribe. 18 He executes justice for the fatherless and the widow, and loves the sojourner, giving him food and clothing. 19 Love the sojourner, therefore, for you were sojourners in the land of Egypt. 20 You shall fear the LORD your God. You shall serve him and hold fast to him, and by his name you shall swear. 21 He is your praise. He is your God, who has done for you these great and terrifying things that your eyes have seen. 22 Your fathers went down to Egypt seventy persons, and now the LORD your God has made you as numerous as the stars of heaven.

—Deuteronomy 10:14-22


Etymology is defined as the study of words, and while I’m far from an etymologist, I delight in their power and meaning. It’s a wonder, really, that the thoughtful and precise stringing together of words can both cause the most reticent man to break into tears and the most peaceful, passive country to break out in war. Even more significant, however, is their creator: God. He made spoken language—He therefore created words and gave them meaning. And it’s in their meaning, or better, in our understanding of their meaning, that we can process an intended message, be it written or spoken. Proper processing allows us to be appropriately impacted (and this impact necessarily leads to a response or action).

All this to say, words matter. Understanding their intended meaning matters. Especially when they describe, and/or are ascribed to, God. Even small discrepancies in our understanding of words can induce great compromises of truth (Truth).

The verses above contain words rich with meaning. But before I break them down, let me just say the exercise is for the enhancement of my own understanding; far be it from me to suggest you need the same!

Deuteronomy 10 comes on the heels of the Israelites’ construction and worship of the golden calf while Moses was on Mount Sinai receiving the Ten Commandments. If you remember the flannel graph from Sunday school, an angry Moses chucked the original tablets at the idolatrous people, so he ascended the mountain a second time to get another set. Verse 14-22, then, is an excerpt from his message to the Israelites upon his return. He had already delivered the Ten Commandments once—this was an underscoring of them, a pointed reminder of the nature of their Author.

Read it again, but zero in on Verse 17. ‘For the Lord your God is God of gods, the Lord of lords, the great, the mighty, and the awesome God.’ In this context it’s not unclear what Moses means by great and awesome. However, there are plenty of instances where we hear or read about God’s greatness and are inclined to derive an altogether different, and incorrect, understanding. Imagine yourself in church, or even in Chapel, singing:

How great is our God, sing with me

How great is our God, and all will see

How great, how great is our God


It’s a great song, right? But are we really getting what Chris Tomlin is putting down? Chris means something very specific when He describes God as ‘great’. He doesn’t mean God is not just good, but great, in the sense that the new guy dating your little sister is a great guy, or the pizza joint down the street serves a great pie. I suppose God is great that way too. But the actual message here is that God is great—boundless, enormous, illustrious, remarkable, elevated, magnificent, extreme, momentous, powerful and prodigious. His greatness is in reference to His holiness, which itself is oft-misunderstood. God is set apart. His character, His qualities are transcendently different, above, and better than anyone or anything else. He is literally matchless—in every single way.

I don’t know what, if anything, this is conjuring in you, but even as I write I am in awe. Pondering Him in this way urges me to get off Starbucks’ comfortable leather chair and down on my knees on the hard tile.

Words. Matter.

I challenge you, then, as I do myself, to slow down and take them in, to not gloss over the carefully selected words authored by God Himself, or songwriters, or preachers of the Good News. You may come away knocked down, laid bare—surely God will come away praised.

Verse 21 begins with a profound sentence: ‘He is your praise.’

Let those words sink in for a bit.

He is our praise.

This great God is.



Grace to you, to understand, for the sake of your heart and His praise,

Voice of another

Significantly Insignificant

“All flesh is like grass,
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers,
and the flower falls, but the word of the Lord remains forever.”           

—1 Peter 1:24-25

One thing I love about Scripture is its explicitness. It doesn’t mince words. Instead, it emphatically puts forth truth, unabashedly, in a manner in which we cannot deny its meaning or intent.

And we need that. Straight, to-the-point, undeniable truth—the kind that penetrates the hardest of hearts. Don’t we? Without it, we too easily rationalize it away, side-stepping anything that hints at personal accountability, anything that demands an answer for our wayward actions and attitudes.

All this to say that, without fail, the word of the Lord remains forever. Forever. I don’t know what thoughts this weighty statement impresses upon you, but to me it conveys the limitless power of our God. More than the Lamb of God, it portrays the Lion of Judah—whose sovereign plan comes to pass with full certainty and matchless authority. The world, which is perishable, will soon fade. The Word—never.

Let that sink in. We go about our days anxious of outcomes, worrying whether this or that will come to pass. No doubt that’s a derivative of our inherent fallibility. But God wills His perfect plan and it happens—there is nothing left to happenstance.

I’ll get to my point. Though this world and the life we live within it would never admit it, we are significantly insignificant. Just endeavor to wrap your mind around the size of our galaxy, let alone the vastness of the universe it inhabits. We are small. Tiny, actually. Pay close heed to how the late astronomer and religious skeptic, Carl Sagan, described us, and our planet—he was spot-on:

“Look again at that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there—on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam.”

Insignificant—you. And I.

And yet, God, whose word—in all its glory, it all its power—stands forever, cares. He cares for you. He cares for me. He concerns Himself with you, with your problems, with your shortfalls, with your worries and your doubts. And He does the same with me. It’s astounding, if we’d only stop to ponder it.

One would need to look no further than the nighttime sky to grasp how wide and deep and long is the love of the God of the universe—that He would willingly and purposefully sacrifice His own Son for our eternal salvation.

It seems rather silly, then, doesn’t it, to allow our hearts to be filled with distrust? In light of His mighty, enduring word, to let our minds be consumed with disbelief?

Thankfully the God whose word reigns in unending triumph is the same God who readily offers unrelenting grace. To you, and me—significantly insignificant inhabitants on a mote of dust suspended on a sunbeam.

Grace to you, to fathom simultaneously the infinite God and His intimate care,

Voice of another

'Psalms for the poor?'

‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’
—Matthew 5:3


 I believe this particular statement Jesus made as much as any. Poor in spirit? Spiritually impoverished. Spiritually flat broke. Bankrupt.

When Jesus saw the crowds and sat down to teach them, He saw me. And He saw you.

Crazy, isn’t it, how He saw us, from almost 2,000 years ago, from halfway around the world? I have no doubt His sermon on the mount was directed right there. At us. Apparently, His vision knew no limits. He was able to perceive, with amazing clarity, the spiritual ineptitude each of us knows so well. And perhaps crazier, in the face of such a sight He unhesitatingly offered that promise: that ours would be the kingdom of heaven.

Truly, it’s the most poignant picture of grace: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us, forever securing our place in the kingdom of heaven.

Grace. It’s a word tossed around in church, amongst those who affiliate with a ‘religious’ circle. No doubt one need not stray far from a Sunday pulpit to hear of it, but even then, taking it in, on a personal level, is as simple as getting real with God. It’s me, and you, being honest about the wrath we know we deserve, and yet, without fail, escape entirely by the blood of the Lamb. We can be, and stay, caught in its unrelenting grip, so long as we bank on it wholly, by His gift of faith.

Like broken beggars, sitting roadside in our tattered rags, we are, time and again, afforded the opportunity to effectually plead with our King, as did David before us: ‘Psalms for the poor, good Lord, Psalms for the poor?’


Psalm 51

Have mercy on me, O God,

according to your steadfast love;

according to your abundant mercy

blot out my transgressions.

Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,

and cleanse me from my sin!

For I know my transgressions,

and my sin is ever before me.

Against you, you only, have I sinned

and done what is evil in your sight,

so that you may be justified in your words

and blameless in your judgment.

Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,

and in sin did my mother conceive me.

Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,

and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.

Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;

wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.

Let me hear joy and gladness;

let the bones that you have broken rejoice.

Hide your face from my sins,

and blot out all my iniquities.

Create in me a clean heart, O God,

and renew a right spirit within me.

Cast me not away from your presence,

and take not your Holy Spirit from me.

Restore to me the joy of your salvation,

and uphold me with a willing spirit.


To the world, poverty is the surest sign of weakness—the epitome of helpless dependence, that which is to be pitied above all. But to Jesus, it couldn’t be more different. To Him, it’s the foolproof recipe for redemption.

Read the Psalm again. It says according to His great mercy, well-deserved wrath is lifted. According to His longsuffering love, all sin is wiped away, transforming our tattered rags into majestic robes.

I bank on this Psalm, I do, even as I write. And in so doing I get real with God about my destitution, to realize my blood-bought restitution.

Would you too?

Let go of the façade of self-sufficiency and fully embrace His matchless grace—both for the sake of your salvation and His glorification.

And then, and really only then, respond with David, in-kind:



Lord,

Then I will teach transgressors your ways,

and sinners will return to you.

Deliver me from bloodguiltiness, O God,

O God of my salvation,

and my tongue will sing aloud of your righteousness.

O Lord, open my lips,

and my mouth will declare your praise.



Father in heaven, I have sinned against You, and You alone. I lay prostrate before You—guilty, broken, and utterly poor. LORD, according to the riches of Your mercy, forgive me, forgive my striving, my futile attempts to earn righteousness, and grant me the humility to fall hopelessly into the arms of Your saving grace. I pray this, Father, in Your Name, and for the sake of Your Renown, Amen.


Grace to you, to plead, with me, 'Psalms for the poor?'

Voice of another

Verse of the Week

For me, writing has always been responsive, more contemplative reflection than mindless ritual. That’s how I’ve always preferred it anyway. If too habitual, goes the thought, authenticity could suffer, rendering the writing more a pursuit of vanity than an honest attempt at influencing eyes to see. As such, it’s been such a drought of late the cobwebs had to be cleared from my keyboard. And honestly, even as I type I’m not certain my blog still holds a place in cyberspace.

What brings me back? Nothing less than God’s grace. He has again poured living water into the broken cistern that is my heart, turning parched, dusty ground into a refreshed pool, shallow as it may be. As the water collects, so too do my thoughts, and for the first time in almost a year, there’s enough volume to have something to say. You be the judge of how profound or influential—I’m just glad the rainy season appears to have returned.

Without further adieu, let me expound on faith—something close to the heart of Jesus, as reiterated again and again in Scripture; an object often far from reach for sinners like you and me, as evidenced again and again in our wayward lives. Now there are many facets to faith, so the following exposition shouldn’t be taken as comprehensive, not even close—simply, it endeavors to dig into just a sliver of a most abundant and delectable pie.



19 For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. 20 I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. 21 I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.

—Galatians 2:19-21



These particular verses in Paul’s letter to the Galatians set the table quite nicely for the point I wish to make about faith. Focus on the latter half of Verse 20, where the Apostle purports that his faith in the sacrificial love of his Savior is the driver behind the life he ‘now lives in the flesh.’ I take it as incredibly significant that he didn’t limit his statement to, ‘…the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God.’ Apparently Paul felt that would’ve been incomplete, so he tags on the phrase, ‘who loved me and gave himself for me.’ That matters. That matters a great deal. Here, Paul’s added quill strokes glorify the object of his faith--Jesus--by ascribing to Him a quality of love unrealized in this life, even by the closest of friends, and a sacrifice compelled by and attached to that transcendent love, one which is literally the epitome of true love (‘Greater love has no man than this…’). And not only does it glorify the Son, it characterizes Paul’s faith in the Son. Mine too.

Disclaimer: what I’m about to say may sound exceptionally pompous, but I honestly believe it to be true.

Not unlike David, I am a man after God’s own heart. I believe God made me that way (as He has undoubtedly made others), with a heart after His own. That is to say, our relationship is based upon, through good and through bad and through, at times, awful, the connection between our hearts, not upon religious ritual or simple subscription to a commonly held creed. I have heartfelt faith in Him, though it waxes and wanes seemingly as often as the monthly cycle of the moon. But the point is, when it’s there, it’s really there—faith in His faithfulness despite the lack of my own. And when it’s not, it’s really not—so no need to feign it.

Before declaring me blasphemous, consider David. He was genuine with God, at times exuberant in joy, at others inconsolable in his disappointment and frustration. His life was far from perfect (like mine!), but his relationship with God was real, raw, unencumbered by pious façade—the only way He wants it anyway.

Back to faith. My faith. I’ve always had this sense that the heart of the matter of faith is that it’s the heart that matters most. And that’s why love is the foundation upon which genuine faith stands. God wants our heart. Nothing less. For better, for worse. And our faith in Him, as imperfect and frail and feeble as it can be, must be rooted there, if it’s authentic…and ultimately productive. James said faith without fruit is counterfeit (paraphrasing here), but faith can only yield fruit out of a fertile heart (think about the direct correlation between obedience and love).

The heart is wild—at one moment in passionate pursuit of its Maker, at another (the next?) swooned by the harlotry of the world. But it is true; the heart does not lie—which is why frank faith originates only from there. And, why our faith in Him matters to Him, above all else.

One more quick point. If faith flows out of the heart, put stock in a desire for God, as slight as it may begin. Another reason for my hiatus: I was waiting on the more significant details of a reinvigorated faith. Results, actually. And it’s not that those aren’t important—they should be the end of such authentic belief. But there’s something captivating, even enchanting, about the moment unadulterated desire for the God of the Universe is sparked. Savor that. Value it the same as your Maker does.



Grace to you, to find satisfaction in the heartfelt desire of faith, even before the details are figured,

Voice of another

Verse of the...Truth

13 "Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. 14For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.

15 "Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. 16 You will recognize them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? 17 So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. 18 A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. 19 Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 20Thus you will recognize them by their fruits.

21 "Not everyone who says to me, 'Lord, Lord,' will enter the kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of my Father who is in heaven. 22 On that day many will say to me, 'Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in your name, and cast out demons in your name, and do many mighty works in your name?' 23 And then will I declare to them, 'I never knew you; depart from me, you workers of lawlessness.'

--Matthew 7: 13-23


Have you ever thought of the most compelling evidence of your fallibility? Perhaps not an everyday pursuit, but it’s an interesting journey, to say the least—one characterized by the all-too-ordinary landmarks of selfishness, pride, judgment, slander, covetousness, idolatry, even fornication. If not your personal area(s) of struggle, no doubt some are caught in their snare on a regular basis. There are countless others too, but no need to list them. The point is there’s an underlying issue, a root cause, if you will. While the journey may be marked with these and other specific evidences of evil, the road itself, the ground upon which the travel takes place, is the fundamental problem. The road is, you guessed it, the broad, wide, easy way referenced above. And no matter the exact manner in which it’s described, it’s intrinsically DECEITFUL.


Let me explain.


Jesus was concluding the well-known Sermon on the Mount when he spoke the words in chapter 7. If you have time, read the whole thing, beginning in chapter 5. At first glance it appears Jesus was merely stringing together independent nuggets of wisdom, unconnected in any meaningful way. But upon further review, a cohesiveness surfaces, albeit from a greater depth. Jesus, using the easy recognized, tangible talking points of the day, underscores the theme of the Bible, of humanity and its fall, of reality itself: the battle of good versus evil. Better yet, the confrontation of Truth versus Lie (any other synonym will do: falsehood, deceit, fabrication, dishonesty, untruth, etc.).


What began in the Garden has continued to rage throughout all time, characterizing every flaw, every foible, every individual evidence of the Fall (and there are so many, right?!). The father of lies deceived, perfection on Earth was no more, and untruth tainted all that was good. But then Jesus came. Light came to darkness. Truth came to that which was untrue. And all was exposed, so that those who loved the Light ran to Him, while those whose heart was evil scurried away to the fringes to find cover.


This is the reality in which we live. Now. Right now. Here. Today. Every day we choose—by our attitudes, our actions, our words, our thoughts, our emotions, our affections—to freely embrace the Truth…or to run for darkness’ cover. It’s no different than the reality faced by Jesus’ immediate listeners on that Judean hillside, two thousand years ago. This being so, it’s no wonder the Sermon’s theme. It’s no wonder there’s a narrow way to life, gain in a lost one, a discovery of treasure in the relinquishing of the material. Just as truth is absolutely counter to falsehood, so is the Christian life counter to the world and its ways, loosely governed by its ruler.


So what?


As Truth itself (Himself), Jesus cares (really cares!) that we conduct life truthfully. Pay close attention—the recipients of some of His harshest words are ‘hypocrites,’ those whose motives are messed up, whose work is depicted by lawlessness (verse 23). They are false, their fruit is rotten, their ultimate lot is destruction.


The problem is, this is me. I exchange the truth of God, of reality, for lies. So in many ways I live deceitfully. I choose sin instead of righteousness, often to receive the praise of people, instead of the approval of my Maker. I have disproportionate affections for that which cannot save, that which was created by the hands of men (idolatry is just as prevalent today, in America, as it ever has been anywhere else!!!). And perhaps worst of all, I seek to be my own god, controlling everything I possibly can, providing for my own needs, placing my hope for fulfillment and contentment and meaning in myself. I am given to glory (verb) in myself and, in doing so, I rob Him of His (noun).


As you can see, the mounting evidences of my fallibility can get overwhelming.


But.


Despite these, I am a child of the King. I am a son of Truth. And the Spirit within me eventually exposes deceitfulness for what it is. It (the Spirit) convicts me. Checks me. Get this: Lets my feet feel the wrongness of the wide road I’m prone to travel.


The true mark of the Christian, then, is the hatred of the hypocritical, the disdain for the duplicitous. Why? Because that is the very character of His Spirit, the Spirit within. First, feel the wrongness of truth’s antithesis. Then, as the Spirit stirs, grow in your abhorrence of it…that you may do the will of your Father—which is the [narrow] road that leads to His kingdom.



Grace to you, that Light would shine in your darkness, for the sake of Truth,


Voice of another

Verse of the...now

28And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

I was at a chapel service a few weeks ago and later at a Sunday service where they played the song, ‘Your Love Never Fails.’ It’s a good song. The chorus, or bridge (can’t remember which), repeatedly says, ‘You make all things work together for my good,’ immediately conjuring the above verse from Paul’s epistle to the church in Rome. You’ve probably heard/read it before—it’s a Christian classic.

What makes it so? Well, it’s a likeable verse. It involves God’s orchestration of our lives, it references ‘good,’ which is nice, and it appears to give us hope that God will ensure even the harshest of life’s perils somehow become the source of its greatest bliss. What’s not to like? Our good in this life is appealing. Perhaps in part that’s why voices get louder at this juncture of the song—it’s hard not to get excited about the prospects of our prosperity.

But there’s a slight problem here, one that could diminish our unabashed appreciation of the song, and the verse for that matter. It lies in Paul’s definition of ‘good.’ The best way to put it is to put it bluntly: Paul is not referring to our good in the way we would naturally think of it. We read about our ‘good’ and immediately picture getting a raise at work, birthing a healthy child, being applauded for our contribution, finding out the tumor is benign, or maybe just catching a lucky break amidst otherwise dire circumstances. By default we think safety, health, happiness, comfort. We think of the tangible, the material, the temporary. Paul, however, had his mind more appropriately aligned. He was thinking of weightier things. For him, eternity was in full view. If we read verse 28 in the broader context of chapter 8, this is plain. Check out verse 18 and 35—sobering bookends to the oft-quoted and misinterpreted ‘classic.’


18For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.

35Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or danger, or sword? 36As it is written,

"For your sake we are being killed all the day long;
we are regarded as sheep to be slaughtered."



Suffering? Distress? Danger? Sheep to the slaughter? Hardly what we’d define as acceptable, let alone good. One may argue neither would Paul. But are we sure about that? The Apostle, remember, lived a very different life than most. In some ways, like Jesus, he was well acquainted with grief. And for him, the grander purpose of faith refinement through life’s harshest blows easily trumped their momentary pain. Again, what we generally see as undesirable, to be avoided at all costs, Paul embraced as opportunity. The shipwrecks and scourgings, then, were 'good'—even calls for praise that he was considered worthy of suffering for the gospel.

Was Paul crazy? Or are we? (Let that one marinate!)

There’s no doubt in my mind God makes all things work together for our good. None whatsoever. But ‘good’ just means something a little (a lot?!) different. God is intent on working out our spiritual kinks. As its Author, He desires to perfect our faith, to prepare us for eternal glory and to perfectly place even the pointiest thorns in our side for His. Make no mistake, He uses life on this side of heaven, with all its evils and discomforts and despairs to bolster our belief while glorifying His Name.

My point in touching on this is not to say, ‘Suck it up—the pain you feel shouldn’t hurt.’ Not at all. Life on the anvil does hurt. Sometimes a great deal. No, my point is to call us to a Pauline perspective, where suffering is seen in the context in which God Himself sees it…where He is working all things together for our truest good.

It can be difficult to grasp: Perceive pain and peril as a means to a greater and worthier end, even to the point of questioning the true goodness of what we immediately deem as ‘good.’ But God loves us more deeply than we can comprehend, necessarily in ways we can’t (and won’t) fully understand.

And that, my friends, is a truly good thing. Even great.



Grace to you, to embrace the good of the working together of all things, painful as it can be,

Voice of another

Verse of the...whatever :)

‘Know that the LORD is God…’ —Psalm 100:3a

Not long ago my thinking went something like this: to know God is to love Him; and partly why our love for Him lacks fervor is because our knowledge of Him lacks depth. The Church, then, ought to teach as much as it preaches, and Christians ought to give themselves to the study of God. Knowledge would grow and, correspondingly, love would intensify. Simple enough, right? Conceptually, this isn’t entirely flawed, just not as precise as it could be.

Knowing God does not necessitate loving Him. The head does not necessarily oblige the heart. Exhibit A? Satan and his demons. Note their response to the Son of God’s teaching in a Capernaum synagogue:

‘What do you want with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are—the Holy One of God!’ —Mark 1:24 (italics mine)

They knew Him well, in some ways better than we do. Yet they loved Him not. There is more to the equation. Knowledge of, does not, on its own, equal love of. The head cannot, no matter its expertise, compel action. Something else must be engaged.

A quick example: I know in my head that doing right and living righteously brings life and spiritual health and wholeness, and lasting satisfaction. I know this. But I do not often do this. I do, however, often exchange the truth for a lie, even though I know the truth. So what’s missing?

Here’s the more complete equation:

Knowledge of God + Belief (faith) in Him = Love of God

Belief is the key. It is the ingredient that brings it all together. And that’s why Jesus was so adamant to emphasize it, again and again.

‘Daughter, your faith has made you well…’

“Jesus answered them, ‘Have faith in God…’”

“He said to them, ‘Where is your faith?’”

‘Recover your sight; your faith has made you well.’

‘Why are you afraid, O you of little faith?’

“When He saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Take heart, my son; your sins are forgiven.’”

Simply, Spirit-led belief in God, in His goodness, His provision, His providence, His plan—this is what begets love, what swells the affections of the heart. And it’s what distinguishes us from demons.

Don’t get me wrong, knowledge is good; it points to the Truth. But it’s exactly at that point that the head becomes futile if not for the heart. It is the heart that acts next, to either engage in the Love Affair of all love affairs, changing it for the better for ever, or to turn away from that alone which can save.

Knowledge of God is the road. Belief (faith) in Him is the rubber. And where the two meet with great friction and fury—this is action spurred by incomparable love.

May our knowledge of Him strengthen our faith in Him, that our love for Him would well up in true, spirit-filled worship.



Grace to you, to know Him, yes, but to believe in Him, and then love Him,

Voice of another

Verse of the...Month

'These things I have spoken to you, so that in Me you may have peace. In the world you have tribulation, but take courage; I have overcome the world.' —John 16:33

Great song, huh? I thought it was strikingly honest, sadly dissimilar to what’s commonly confessed within church building walls.

Sometimes every one of us feels like we’ll never be healed


Sometimes every one of us aches like we’ll never be saved


Sometimes

It almost feels dirty to admit, but it’s true: there are times when the teeth of despair sink in to a depth where we wonder, where victory or healing or even salvation comes into question. Why? Because we too often look at life through a tainted lens. And because the world holds that much sway over our hearts.

But Jesus overcame the world, right? That’s what the verse says. Read it again. Slowly. We can have peace in Jesus, though the world puts us through the ringer.

Two thoughts surface. One, Jesus is clear: ‘In the world you have tribulation.’ Not that we may encounter it. Not even that there’s a strong chance we’ll meet it some night in a dark alley. We WILL have tribulation. No doubt about it. And in case there’s any ambiguity, note the synonyms: misfortune, trials, suffering, pain, ordeals, distress, difficulty, trouble, problems, hardship, even misery. Yuck. Ouch. But this is one of our many flaws—we approach life thinking we could elude it; we may outmaneuver it. Instead, we should expect it, we should wait for it, brace for it, know it’s just around the corner. And we should ready our response. We should ready a God-exalting response.

Jesus thinks that means ‘taking heart,’ or ‘taking courage.’ Basically, He exhorts us to put our trust in Him, in the face of all else. And this is the second thought. Jesus has overcome the world. He has defeated death, and if He’s done that, mere tribulation loses its ferocity, does it not? Peace, then, and rest for weary souls beaten down by worldly blows, is found in Christ alone. But here’s the key to the whole ‘taking heart (courage)’ endeavor: Jesus. If we’re not taking heart in HIM, we’ll find no courage. Our prayer, then, morphs from:

‘Jesus, take this or that away from me; help me escape these trials, please make them go away.’

To:

‘Jesus, be near to me. Draw me near to You. Be with me through this storm. As the wind picks up and the rain beats down, cover me, my Refuge, my Strength, my Deliverer.’

There’s a difference. With the first there’s a good chance the hardship will remain and peace (and proper, God-honoring perspective) will be far off. With the second, there’s a good chance the hardship will remain and Peace we will know, and know intimately.

The David Crowder song refers to the love of God as a sea without a shore. It’s that vast. That deep. Check out the bridge:

And risk the ocean, there’s only grace


Let’s risk the ocean, there’s only grace


Let’s risk the ocean, there’s only grace


Let’s risk the ocean, there’s only grace

Take courage when life deals you injustice, hardship, pain. Take to the ocean. And find the One who overcame every last thing the world could throw your way.


Grace to you, to both expect and endure calamity, by anchoring your soul in Him alone,

Voice of another

Verse of the...Year?

12 For the word of God is alive and active. Sharper than any double-edged sword, it penetrates even to dividing soul and spirit, joints and marrow; it judges the thoughts and attitudes of the heart. 13 Nothing in all creation is hidden from God’s sight. Everything is uncovered and laid bare before the eyes of him to whom we must give account.
--Hebrews 4:12-13



The Truth of God is both dagger and scalpel—it penetrates to our core, judging our thoughts and the attitudes of our heart, but also, by God’s grace, it slices away with surgical precision the calluses so prone to grow within.

I was driving home from work the other day and saw on someone’s bumper a sticker that said ‘Coexist.’ It wasn’t the first time that particular bumper sticker stuck out to me. Nor was it the first time it sparked a string of thoughts in my head—namely, What does that really mean? What’s the message it’s sending? I believe it’s saying we ought to accept the views of every religion, that we should embrace their differences, stark as they may be. It’s the theme of our day, right? You believe what you will, and base your attitudes and behaviors on whatever standard you see fit; and I’ll do the same. And we’ll all be brothers and sisters in one great big family of relativism. The problem is, that flies in the face of the nature of truth (Truth). If A equals B, and B does not equal C, then A cannot equal C, no matter how badly we want it to. God is Truth, and as such, He’s perfectly non-contradictory. He created the universe in an orderly fashion, with cohesive governing laws. And He paved the road to salvation with a ‘One Way’ sign --> Jesus.

The Gospel of John declares that God sent Jesus into the world not to condemn it, but to save it through Him. Then, just 6 chapters later, Jesus says, in apparent incongruity, ‘For judgment I have come into this world, so that the blind will see and those who ‘see’ will become blind.’ (John 9:39). Which is it? Did He come to save the world or judge it? The answer is both. And make no mistake, there is absolutely no contradiction.

The divisive nature of truth, of the person of Jesus, is becoming more and more recognizable as I read Scripture. Jesus came to save, but in doing so the necessary judgment of truth came with Him. His message was clear: Follow His way, the way that leads to life, and turn away from God-defaming, self-destructing sin. Wherever He went, whatever He said caused people to love Him or want to kill Him; there were few, in any, He left indifferent.

Pray that God gives you sight to see this beautiful reality. The world was a ball of confusion prior to the entrance of Light. But the Light broke into darkness, exposing the true motives of men’s hearts. Jesus came to save those who would accept His gift of faith in His blood, but in doing so He indirectly judged those who replied, ‘No thanks.’

So, back to the bumper. ‘Coexist’? No way. The embracing of truth (Truth) doesn’t allow it. Loving my unbelieving neighbor as myself? Now I can get on board with that.

Grace to you, to see and savor Truth,

Voice of another