I was reminded of this verse today and want to share it with you: "Therefore, there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus." (Romans 8:1). None. Nothing. NO condemnation. So if your heart and mind seeks to condemn you and keep you enmeshed in guilt and regret, remember that you stand in a place of freedom in Christ and you are not condemned. You are not bound by guilt. You have a clean slate, a robe of righteousness. You don't need to strive and labor anymore to please God or to be right with God, because if you are in Christ, you already please God because you are clothed with the righteousness of Christ and bought with his blood. He has made you worthy, and if God himself doesn't condemn you, it's a pretty fair assumption that no one else can either! No condemnation, because in Christ you are set free. And because of this truth, we are more blessed than we could ever even grasp.
Since I am not condemned, I will not live as if I am. I refuse to live as if my past defines me, as if my mistakes define me, as if guilt and regret can ever have the final say in my life. I refuse to live defeated. Instead I choose to live in this beautiful truth, that I am in Christ, and that Jesus commands my destiny, and that in him alone, I am not condemned now, nor will I ever be.
Showing posts with label devotional. Show all posts
Showing posts with label devotional. Show all posts
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Friday, March 29, 2013
Friday Meditation: Victory in Defeat
My pastor once said, "God is looking for your obedience, not your achievement. After all, to the world, Christ's death wasn't an achievement, but rather a defeat."
And so it seems. I can't imagine a darker day than that Friday many years ago when Jesus finally and once and for all took all our sins upon Himself. The disciples' hopes were shattered. Those who believed the Messiah would come as a conquering King rather than a humble servant had become disillusioned and disgruntled. Jesus himself had been falsely accused, but barely breathed a word in his own defense. And on that day, Christ took the sorrows and the sins of the world upon Himself.
The gospels are largely silent on the death of Christ, sparing us most of the details of Christ's suffering, many perhaps too horrifying to pen. The prophet Isaiah gives us a glimpse into what Christ's sacrifice meant: "There were many who were appalled at him--his appearance was so disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness . . . He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering . . . Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 52&53)
For those standing at Golgotha watching the scene unfold, it could not have seemed like more of a defeat, more of an anticlimactic ending, more of a shattered hope. But yet, subtle signs of the coming victory emerge even before Christ breathed his last. In John, he cried out, "It is finished!" indicating that the work He came to do was done, that the price for sin had been paid. According to Mark's gospel, "With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last." Someone once shared with me that the Greek words used here for Jesus' "loud cry" are identical to the ones used to depict the "loud cries" of evil spirits as they were being driven out of people, which may symbolize that as Jesus breathed his last, his final cry of victory was also the demons' final cry of anguished defeat: as life overcame death, heaven overcame hell, and good overcame evil.
On the cross Christ did what we could not do. He paid a debt that we could never pay. He overcame what we could never overcome. And through Him, and only through Him, we have the sure and steadfast hope of eternal life--the greatest victory out of what seemed to be the greatest defeat.
And so it seems. I can't imagine a darker day than that Friday many years ago when Jesus finally and once and for all took all our sins upon Himself. The disciples' hopes were shattered. Those who believed the Messiah would come as a conquering King rather than a humble servant had become disillusioned and disgruntled. Jesus himself had been falsely accused, but barely breathed a word in his own defense. And on that day, Christ took the sorrows and the sins of the world upon Himself.
The gospels are largely silent on the death of Christ, sparing us most of the details of Christ's suffering, many perhaps too horrifying to pen. The prophet Isaiah gives us a glimpse into what Christ's sacrifice meant: "There were many who were appalled at him--his appearance was so disfigured beyond that of any man and his form marred beyond human likeness . . . He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering . . . Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed." (Isaiah 52&53)
For those standing at Golgotha watching the scene unfold, it could not have seemed like more of a defeat, more of an anticlimactic ending, more of a shattered hope. But yet, subtle signs of the coming victory emerge even before Christ breathed his last. In John, he cried out, "It is finished!" indicating that the work He came to do was done, that the price for sin had been paid. According to Mark's gospel, "With a loud cry, Jesus breathed his last." Someone once shared with me that the Greek words used here for Jesus' "loud cry" are identical to the ones used to depict the "loud cries" of evil spirits as they were being driven out of people, which may symbolize that as Jesus breathed his last, his final cry of victory was also the demons' final cry of anguished defeat: as life overcame death, heaven overcame hell, and good overcame evil.
On the cross Christ did what we could not do. He paid a debt that we could never pay. He overcame what we could never overcome. And through Him, and only through Him, we have the sure and steadfast hope of eternal life--the greatest victory out of what seemed to be the greatest defeat.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
Thursday Meditation: Let Me Be Singing When the Evening Comes
"When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives." (Matthew 26:30)
I've skipped over this verse many times in the past, never paying much attention to it, and in fact, the song is given an almost cursory treatment ("When they had sung a hymn . . . ") But this time, it caught my attention. After eating the Last Supper, after breaking the bread that represented Christ's body and drinking the wine that represented His blood spilled for humanity, Jesus and his disciples chose to sing.
On the darkest night of his life, in fact the last night of his life, hours before he would be arrested, falsely accused, beaten, mocked, tortured, and crucified, Jesus was singing and worshipping with his disciples. That is probably NOT what I'd be doing if I knew that a painful death was near at hand. Even knowing the reality of His circumstances, Jesus chose to sing as the night closed in around him.
The title of this post is taken from a beautiful line in Matt Redman's song 10,000 Reasons. Let me be singing when the evening comes, come what may. No matter what darkness and pain I may encounter, what valleys I may walk through, I hope I can choose as Christ did to still open my mouth in praise and sing despite the darkness.
I've skipped over this verse many times in the past, never paying much attention to it, and in fact, the song is given an almost cursory treatment ("When they had sung a hymn . . . ") But this time, it caught my attention. After eating the Last Supper, after breaking the bread that represented Christ's body and drinking the wine that represented His blood spilled for humanity, Jesus and his disciples chose to sing.
On the darkest night of his life, in fact the last night of his life, hours before he would be arrested, falsely accused, beaten, mocked, tortured, and crucified, Jesus was singing and worshipping with his disciples. That is probably NOT what I'd be doing if I knew that a painful death was near at hand. Even knowing the reality of His circumstances, Jesus chose to sing as the night closed in around him.
The title of this post is taken from a beautiful line in Matt Redman's song 10,000 Reasons. Let me be singing when the evening comes, come what may. No matter what darkness and pain I may encounter, what valleys I may walk through, I hope I can choose as Christ did to still open my mouth in praise and sing despite the darkness.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Wednesday Meditation: Christ's Prayer for You
I am continually humbled and awed by the truth that Christ Himself actually intercedes at the right hand of God on behalf of all believers--that the Son of God actually prays for you and me. We're told this truth in Romans 8, and there are also some instances in the Gospels, most notably in John, when Jesus prays specifically for his disciples and for all future believers.
During the Last Supper, mere hours before his death, Jesus told his disciples of one of his prayers for them--more specifically, for Peter. As we know, Peter would deny Christ three times later that very night, and Jesus had predicted this denial, much to Peter's chagrin. But as the disciples and their Rabbi gathered together for one final meal, many of them uncertain of what was to come, Jesus told Peter (also called Simon) a beautiful thing: "I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail." (Luke 22:32).
I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.
I don't know about you, but that's a prayer that I want Jesus praying on my behalf every single day. I just find it so beautiful that Jesus knew that Peter, one of his closest disciples, would utterly deny Him that night, claiming with bitter oaths that he never even knew the man, and yet He still assured him that He had prayed for the survival of his faith. This passage is just a glimpse into the heart of a God who cares more for each of us than we could ever comprehend. In spite of the failures that He, in His omniscience, already knows we will face, He still prays for us--and they are powerful and effective prayers.
In Peter's case, his faith certainly didn't fail. Although He did deny Jesus that night as predicted, He became the rock on which Christ built the church (Matthew 16:18) and one of the most outspoken leaders of the early church, sharing the Gospel with thousands.
Your faith will one day be proved of greater worth than gold, and Christ is interceding before the throne of God for it.
During the Last Supper, mere hours before his death, Jesus told his disciples of one of his prayers for them--more specifically, for Peter. As we know, Peter would deny Christ three times later that very night, and Jesus had predicted this denial, much to Peter's chagrin. But as the disciples and their Rabbi gathered together for one final meal, many of them uncertain of what was to come, Jesus told Peter (also called Simon) a beautiful thing: "I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail." (Luke 22:32).
I have prayed for you that your faith may not fail.
I don't know about you, but that's a prayer that I want Jesus praying on my behalf every single day. I just find it so beautiful that Jesus knew that Peter, one of his closest disciples, would utterly deny Him that night, claiming with bitter oaths that he never even knew the man, and yet He still assured him that He had prayed for the survival of his faith. This passage is just a glimpse into the heart of a God who cares more for each of us than we could ever comprehend. In spite of the failures that He, in His omniscience, already knows we will face, He still prays for us--and they are powerful and effective prayers.
In Peter's case, his faith certainly didn't fail. Although He did deny Jesus that night as predicted, He became the rock on which Christ built the church (Matthew 16:18) and one of the most outspoken leaders of the early church, sharing the Gospel with thousands.
Your faith will one day be proved of greater worth than gold, and Christ is interceding before the throne of God for it.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Tuesday Meditation: The Anointing at Bethany
During the last week of his life, Jesus was in the town of Bethany when an unnamed woman came to him with an alabaster jar full of a very expensive perfume, worth more than a year's wages. She broke the jar and anointed Jesus, pouring the perfume on his head.
Some of the people who saw what the woman did "rebuked her harshly," criticizing her for wasting the perfume when she could have sold it and given the money to the poor. But Jesus wouldn't hear it and told the woman's critics to leave her alone: "She has done a beautiful thing to me. . . . She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial." (Mark 14:7-8)
What strikes me the most about this passage is Jesus' words quoted above: "She did what she could." And for that, he honors her, and assures her that her deeds will be remembered wherever the gospel is preached in the future (verse 9).
I think that so often, we convince ourselves that we must serve God in grandiose ways, in ways that will get noticed and respected by others, and even sometimes in ways that force us to squeeze ourselves into roles we weren't meant to play, or to take on tasks we haven't been given the skills and abilities for. In an achievement-saturated culture, it's so easy to believe that we must stretch ourselves beyond our own abilities just to accomplish more for the Lord.
If you've fallen into the trap of thinking this way, I encourage you to take some of the same comfort from this passage as I have this week. Just as Jesus said of this woman, who served him in the purest way possible, not looking for the approval or commendation of others, "She did what she could," so may He be saying to you, "You did what you could." And it honors Him.
We don't always have to be on the front lines watching miracles happen, or moving mountains with our faith, or leading other people to a closer walk with Christ. Those dramatic moments will surely happen at the right times, and we must be prepared to serve the Lord in them. But we need also, when the time is right, to forget about the approval of others, to forget trying to achieve more and more for the Lord, to stop pushing ourselves beyond what we can ever reasonably do, and to just pause, take what is already in our hands, and with it simply do what we can. And it will honor Him.
Some of the people who saw what the woman did "rebuked her harshly," criticizing her for wasting the perfume when she could have sold it and given the money to the poor. But Jesus wouldn't hear it and told the woman's critics to leave her alone: "She has done a beautiful thing to me. . . . She did what she could. She poured perfume on my body beforehand to prepare for my burial." (Mark 14:7-8)
What strikes me the most about this passage is Jesus' words quoted above: "She did what she could." And for that, he honors her, and assures her that her deeds will be remembered wherever the gospel is preached in the future (verse 9).
I think that so often, we convince ourselves that we must serve God in grandiose ways, in ways that will get noticed and respected by others, and even sometimes in ways that force us to squeeze ourselves into roles we weren't meant to play, or to take on tasks we haven't been given the skills and abilities for. In an achievement-saturated culture, it's so easy to believe that we must stretch ourselves beyond our own abilities just to accomplish more for the Lord.
If you've fallen into the trap of thinking this way, I encourage you to take some of the same comfort from this passage as I have this week. Just as Jesus said of this woman, who served him in the purest way possible, not looking for the approval or commendation of others, "She did what she could," so may He be saying to you, "You did what you could." And it honors Him.
We don't always have to be on the front lines watching miracles happen, or moving mountains with our faith, or leading other people to a closer walk with Christ. Those dramatic moments will surely happen at the right times, and we must be prepared to serve the Lord in them. But we need also, when the time is right, to forget about the approval of others, to forget trying to achieve more and more for the Lord, to stop pushing ourselves beyond what we can ever reasonably do, and to just pause, take what is already in our hands, and with it simply do what we can. And it will honor Him.
Monday, March 25, 2013
Monday Meditation: Jesus Clears the Temple
The event where Jesus "clears the temple" and drives out the merchants is thought by most people to have occurred during the last week of Jesus' life, although there's evidence that it may have actually happened more than once (for example, John tells of a temple-clearing incident occurring much earlier than the other Gospels indicate--see John 2).
In this familiar scene, Jesus became overcome by righteous indignation because the outer courtyard of the temple, meant to be a place for worship, had become a place for buying and selling, overrun by those seeking to make a profit rather than seeking God. So Jesus entered the temple and drove these people out, claiming, "It is written, 'My house will be called a house of prayer.'"
After dealing with the people who were keeping others from worship, Jesus turned his attention to the blind and the lame, healing them right there at the temple, while little children shouted, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" (Matthew 21:14-15).
When was the last time we were consumed by this sort of passion for what takes place in our churches, the modern-day equivalent of the temple--and, for that matter, in our homes? Are we passionate about making these places houses of prayer, worship, healing, and grace, as Jesus was? Are we willing to make these places ones where people can come with real needs and receive real compassion, as the blind and the lame did in Jesus' day? If not, why not? What's stopping us? Are their miracles that God wants to do through us in our modern-day "temples" that we won't be able to see because we're too focused on money, convenience, our own agendas, and everything else that can keep us from the Lord?
I think there may have been another reason that Jesus specifically chose to clear the temple at this time and to restore an attitude of prayerful worship there: because a miraculous event was soon to take place there. Just days later, at the moment Jesus breathed his last on the cross, the curtain inside the temple, surrounding the Most Holy Place, was torn in two from top to bottom--symbolizing that through Christ, people would have free access to God at any time, without needing a priest or any other mediator to go on their behalf. It seems that Jesus may well have wanted the temple cleared of distraction, of needless noise and commotion and activities that had nothing to do with worship, so that everyone there could bear witness to the ushering in of the new covenant, in which "we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus." (Hebrews 10:19) And this is an ongoing miracle that we can still bear witness to today--through Christ, all the barriers that keep us from a right relationship with God have been shattered, and we can step into the temple, even the Most Holy Place, with boldness.
In this familiar scene, Jesus became overcome by righteous indignation because the outer courtyard of the temple, meant to be a place for worship, had become a place for buying and selling, overrun by those seeking to make a profit rather than seeking God. So Jesus entered the temple and drove these people out, claiming, "It is written, 'My house will be called a house of prayer.'"
After dealing with the people who were keeping others from worship, Jesus turned his attention to the blind and the lame, healing them right there at the temple, while little children shouted, "Hosanna to the Son of David!" (Matthew 21:14-15).
When was the last time we were consumed by this sort of passion for what takes place in our churches, the modern-day equivalent of the temple--and, for that matter, in our homes? Are we passionate about making these places houses of prayer, worship, healing, and grace, as Jesus was? Are we willing to make these places ones where people can come with real needs and receive real compassion, as the blind and the lame did in Jesus' day? If not, why not? What's stopping us? Are their miracles that God wants to do through us in our modern-day "temples" that we won't be able to see because we're too focused on money, convenience, our own agendas, and everything else that can keep us from the Lord?
I think there may have been another reason that Jesus specifically chose to clear the temple at this time and to restore an attitude of prayerful worship there: because a miraculous event was soon to take place there. Just days later, at the moment Jesus breathed his last on the cross, the curtain inside the temple, surrounding the Most Holy Place, was torn in two from top to bottom--symbolizing that through Christ, people would have free access to God at any time, without needing a priest or any other mediator to go on their behalf. It seems that Jesus may well have wanted the temple cleared of distraction, of needless noise and commotion and activities that had nothing to do with worship, so that everyone there could bear witness to the ushering in of the new covenant, in which "we have confidence to enter the Most Holy Place by the blood of Jesus." (Hebrews 10:19) And this is an ongoing miracle that we can still bear witness to today--through Christ, all the barriers that keep us from a right relationship with God have been shattered, and we can step into the temple, even the Most Holy Place, with boldness.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
Holy Week Meditation: The Triumphal Entry
One of my readers asked me if I'd consider writing some Holy Week meditations, as we enter into this last week of Lent before we celebrate Easter Sunday. So I'm going to try to do that, and I hope to post one per day for the week, a different meditation, devotional, or brief thought on some of the most poignant scenes at the end of Jesus' life. Today is Palm Sunday, so I'm going to start off by writing some thoughts about Jesus' triumphal entry, which is what we celebrate today. Many of us are probably familiar with the story . . . The week before his death, Jesus entered Jerusalem, riding on a donkey, and huge crowds of people spread palm branches in the path before him and shouted praises to him.
The gospel of Luke describes the scene: "When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen: "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!" "Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples!" "I tell you," he replied, "if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out." (Luke 19:37-40)
All of the other gospels, except Luke, also report that the crowds shouted, "Hosanna!" which means "Save us!" Only Luke's gospel tells us that the crowds proclaimed, "Glory in the highest!" Interestingly, it is also only in Luke's gospel that this same phrase was proclaimed by angels the night Christ was born . . . "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to men!" (Luke 2:14) In Luke's portrayal, the glory of God framed Jesus' entire life, from the night of his birth all the way until the week of his death. This was Luke's theme, all the way through . . . the glory of God embodied in humanity, humbled, brought to earth to save our fallen race. Humbled so much that even in one of the most triumphant scenes of His life, Jesus chose to ride on a simple donkey, unadorned, unassuming, a King in the very unexpected garb of a commoner.
Luke also reports that the crowd cried out, "Peace in heaven!" during Jesus' triumphal entry (check out verse 38). This seems an unusual contrast to the proclamation of the angels at Christ's birth: "Peace on earth!" I have never noticed this before today and am not quite sure what to make of it. But could it be that at his birth, the angels proclaimed peace on earth because the planet was sin-stricken and grieving, but about to receive its long-awaited King, the one who would tear down the barriers and bring true peace to men? And at Jesus' triumphal entry, just days before he suffered and died, could it be that the crowds who adored him were symbolically, prophetically, claiming peace in heaven because heaven grieved--as a Father grieved over the impending death of His only Son for the world He loved?
We don't know for sure, but we do know that Christ perfectly fulfilled Zechariah's prophecy: "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. I will take away the chariots from Ephraim and the warhorses from Jerusalem, and the battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth." (Zechariah 9:9-10)
And if His people hadn't cried out in praise, the rocks would have broken their silence and burst into song.
So His praise will always be on my lips.
And a song for the occasion: Hosanna
The gospel of Luke describes the scene: "When he came near the place where the road goes down the Mount of Olives, the whole crowd of disciples began joyfully to praise God in loud voices for all the miracles they had seen: "Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!" "Peace in heaven and glory in the highest!" Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to Jesus, "Teacher, rebuke your disciples!" "I tell you," he replied, "if they keep quiet, the stones will cry out." (Luke 19:37-40)
All of the other gospels, except Luke, also report that the crowds shouted, "Hosanna!" which means "Save us!" Only Luke's gospel tells us that the crowds proclaimed, "Glory in the highest!" Interestingly, it is also only in Luke's gospel that this same phrase was proclaimed by angels the night Christ was born . . . "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to men!" (Luke 2:14) In Luke's portrayal, the glory of God framed Jesus' entire life, from the night of his birth all the way until the week of his death. This was Luke's theme, all the way through . . . the glory of God embodied in humanity, humbled, brought to earth to save our fallen race. Humbled so much that even in one of the most triumphant scenes of His life, Jesus chose to ride on a simple donkey, unadorned, unassuming, a King in the very unexpected garb of a commoner.
Luke also reports that the crowd cried out, "Peace in heaven!" during Jesus' triumphal entry (check out verse 38). This seems an unusual contrast to the proclamation of the angels at Christ's birth: "Peace on earth!" I have never noticed this before today and am not quite sure what to make of it. But could it be that at his birth, the angels proclaimed peace on earth because the planet was sin-stricken and grieving, but about to receive its long-awaited King, the one who would tear down the barriers and bring true peace to men? And at Jesus' triumphal entry, just days before he suffered and died, could it be that the crowds who adored him were symbolically, prophetically, claiming peace in heaven because heaven grieved--as a Father grieved over the impending death of His only Son for the world He loved?
We don't know for sure, but we do know that Christ perfectly fulfilled Zechariah's prophecy: "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey. I will take away the chariots from Ephraim and the warhorses from Jerusalem, and the battle bow will be broken. He will proclaim peace to the nations. His rule will extend from sea to sea and from the River to the ends of the earth." (Zechariah 9:9-10)
And if His people hadn't cried out in praise, the rocks would have broken their silence and burst into song.
So His praise will always be on my lips.
And a song for the occasion: Hosanna
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Guaranteed
"In Him it has always been “Yes.” For no matter how many promises God has made, they are “Yes” in Christ. And so through Him the “Amen” is spoken by us to the glory of God. Now it is God who makes both us and you stand firm in Christ. He anointed us, set his seal of ownership on us, and put his Spirit in our hearts as a deposit, guaranteeing what is to come." ~2 Corinthians 1:19-22
I have found this passage to be deeply encouraging lately as I sometimes find myself contemplating the fact that there's not a lot of guarantees for our future. No guarantees that we will be healthy. No guarantees that we'll find a job we love and have enough money to live the life we want to live. No guarantees that we won't face heartache in relationships, loss of loved ones, uncertainty, and pain.
But somehow I find that what is guaranteed to us as God's children definitely trumps everything that isn't. We are guaranteed that nothing can ever separate us from God's love, and that with His unfailing love, He continually draws us to Himself. We have a guaranteed hope in Christ. We're guaranteed that nothing can ever pluck us from His hand, and that Jesus commands our destiny. Guaranteed that the Lord will be the sure foundation for our times, and that He will keep us always in perfect peace as we learn to trust in Him ever more deeply. His everlasting arms support us and he will give us strength in proportion to whatever we face. In Christ, God's promises are guaranteed. They always stand firm--and because of that, so can we.
I have found this passage to be deeply encouraging lately as I sometimes find myself contemplating the fact that there's not a lot of guarantees for our future. No guarantees that we will be healthy. No guarantees that we'll find a job we love and have enough money to live the life we want to live. No guarantees that we won't face heartache in relationships, loss of loved ones, uncertainty, and pain.
But somehow I find that what is guaranteed to us as God's children definitely trumps everything that isn't. We are guaranteed that nothing can ever separate us from God's love, and that with His unfailing love, He continually draws us to Himself. We have a guaranteed hope in Christ. We're guaranteed that nothing can ever pluck us from His hand, and that Jesus commands our destiny. Guaranteed that the Lord will be the sure foundation for our times, and that He will keep us always in perfect peace as we learn to trust in Him ever more deeply. His everlasting arms support us and he will give us strength in proportion to whatever we face. In Christ, God's promises are guaranteed. They always stand firm--and because of that, so can we.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Power Made Perfect in Weakness
It has seemed like almost everyone I know has had a bad case of the Monday blues today! It could be because it is absolutely freezing here (much colder than it was in North Carolina this weekend), or that it has rained here almost every single day since I came back from sunny Fort Lauderdale . . . two weeks ago. But weather aside, I think we could all use a little extra encouragement on this chilly Monday!
I was reading these verses today, and they really gave me the boost I needed to tackle this day:
"But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
God's power is made perfect IN our weakness. Not after we overcome our weakness, but in the midst of it, His power is there, proving itself most effective on our behalf. And when we learn to celebrate our weaknesses as an opportunity for God to show His power through us, then His power will rest upon us all the more fully. The Greek word here translated "rest upon" actually means something more like "to pitch a tent over" or "to dwell with," and I love that imagery. Christ's power may pitch a tent over us . . . may dwell with us . . . may rest upon us.
The power of the risen Christ is available to us at all times, and as we learn to embrace the inevitable weakness and difficulty we all face in areas of our lives, it will become ever more real to us, transforming our own weakness into Christ's strength operating through us. This is indeed one of many divine paradoxes . . . when I am weak, then I am strong. Because His grace is always sufficient for us.
I was reading these verses today, and they really gave me the boost I needed to tackle this day:
"But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong." 2 Corinthians 12:9-10
God's power is made perfect IN our weakness. Not after we overcome our weakness, but in the midst of it, His power is there, proving itself most effective on our behalf. And when we learn to celebrate our weaknesses as an opportunity for God to show His power through us, then His power will rest upon us all the more fully. The Greek word here translated "rest upon" actually means something more like "to pitch a tent over" or "to dwell with," and I love that imagery. Christ's power may pitch a tent over us . . . may dwell with us . . . may rest upon us.
The power of the risen Christ is available to us at all times, and as we learn to embrace the inevitable weakness and difficulty we all face in areas of our lives, it will become ever more real to us, transforming our own weakness into Christ's strength operating through us. This is indeed one of many divine paradoxes . . . when I am weak, then I am strong. Because His grace is always sufficient for us.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Unseen Grace
This weekend, my sister came down to visit me for the holiday, and we had a great time. On Sunday, we had the privilege of going to Passion City Church in Atlanta, a first for both of us. It was amazing! Chris Tomlin led worship, and Louie Giglio preached. This congregation is obviously excited about the Lord and what He is doing in people's lives, and it was great to be a part of that.
One of the best parts of the service was that Chris Tomlin had just written (and is in the process of recording) a brand new song for his CD releasing in a few months. He said that it was the first time he had performed the song for an audience. (As Meagan pointed out, we got to attend the world premiere of the song, which was great!) I would post some lyrics but I'm pretty sure that could be copyright infringement, so just go buy his CD when it comes out!
The message of the song was based on a story in 2 Kings 6 that I never even really knew about before. But as a result of the Bible-reading-in-90-days challenge, I had actually just read the story last week and was already thinking about sharing it with my blog readers. After that church service, I definitely feel like I need to share it with you all!
In this passage, the prophet Elisha is advising the king of Israel because Israel was at war with the king of Aram. The Arameans encamped around the city with a great army of horses and chariots. Elisha's servant was terrified when he saw the enemy armies, and he asked Elisha, "What are we going to do?" Elisha said, "Don't be afraid--those who are with us are more than those who are with them." Then Elisha prayed that the Lord would open the eyes of the servant so that he would be able to see. God answered his prayer, and the Lord opened the servant's eyes, and "he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha." God had sent and stationed an unseen army around Elisha to protect his people. Even though at first the servant was too fearful to see them, they were still there to fight on behalf of God's people.
We don't always know how God will choose to protect us, watch over us, and carry us through the battles we face. I believe that God surrounds His people with forms of grace and power that they can't even see. Scripture tells us that God sends angels to encamp around us, and He surrounds us with songs of deliverance. Sometimes He may give us eyes to see the unseen, but even if not, this story reminds us that we have supernatural strength, grace, and power to face whatever we have to face. The power that is with us is greater than any power that can ever be against us!
God is for us and is by our side in ways we can't even fathom, and we will not be afraid.
One of the best parts of the service was that Chris Tomlin had just written (and is in the process of recording) a brand new song for his CD releasing in a few months. He said that it was the first time he had performed the song for an audience. (As Meagan pointed out, we got to attend the world premiere of the song, which was great!) I would post some lyrics but I'm pretty sure that could be copyright infringement, so just go buy his CD when it comes out!
The message of the song was based on a story in 2 Kings 6 that I never even really knew about before. But as a result of the Bible-reading-in-90-days challenge, I had actually just read the story last week and was already thinking about sharing it with my blog readers. After that church service, I definitely feel like I need to share it with you all!
In this passage, the prophet Elisha is advising the king of Israel because Israel was at war with the king of Aram. The Arameans encamped around the city with a great army of horses and chariots. Elisha's servant was terrified when he saw the enemy armies, and he asked Elisha, "What are we going to do?" Elisha said, "Don't be afraid--those who are with us are more than those who are with them." Then Elisha prayed that the Lord would open the eyes of the servant so that he would be able to see. God answered his prayer, and the Lord opened the servant's eyes, and "he looked and saw the hills full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha." God had sent and stationed an unseen army around Elisha to protect his people. Even though at first the servant was too fearful to see them, they were still there to fight on behalf of God's people.
We don't always know how God will choose to protect us, watch over us, and carry us through the battles we face. I believe that God surrounds His people with forms of grace and power that they can't even see. Scripture tells us that God sends angels to encamp around us, and He surrounds us with songs of deliverance. Sometimes He may give us eyes to see the unseen, but even if not, this story reminds us that we have supernatural strength, grace, and power to face whatever we have to face. The power that is with us is greater than any power that can ever be against us!
God is for us and is by our side in ways we can't even fathom, and we will not be afraid.
Tuesday, July 24, 2012
Facing Each Other
For most of the day today I was afflicted with a major case of what I'm starting to think of as the "twenties syndrome," stressing about things like: Will I even have a real, at least semi-long-term job before I turn 30? Will I ever actually get done with school and get to stop switching back and forth between school and summer, school and summer, over and over? When will my life take on any characteristics of stability and permanence? When I will finally know it's ok to settle down and put down roots somewhere? Will I ever live in one place more than a couple years at a time?
I am happy where I am now, but sometimes I feel a deep longing to get everything figured out. And to know what the future holds, and to be in control (this post could totally have the alternate title "Confessions of a Control Freak.") Yes, I am a control freak. I want to know where I am going, and how and when I am going to get there and what it's going to be like when I am there. Sometimes I just want the path to be easy and clear. Sometimes, I just really wish I had my ducks in a row, my errands run, my kitchen clean, my life mapped out. Don't we all?
Then I opened the Bible for a few words of encouragement. I think I'm supposed to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 2 Kings 17 on the Bible reading challenge by now, but I'm a couple days behind and decided to just do some reading in Psalms instead. I was drawn to a passage in Psalm 73, when David confidently declares to the Lord, "Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand." I was reminded when I read this that a number of verses refer to God holding us by the hand. Here is one of my favorite examples from Isaiah 41: "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand . . . For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you: do not fear, I will help you."
For some reason, it really caught my attention that these verses always say that God is holding us by our right hands. All while He upholds us with HIS righteous right hand. I started thinking about what this would actually look like in practical terms. If I am supporting someone with my right hand, and holding them by their right hand, the only way that's really possible is if we're facing each other. (Picture it in your mind and I think you'll see what I mean.) Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it seems as if this beautiful promise assumes that we are facing our Savior, focused on Him, fixing our eyes on Jesus. He holds us by our right hands; He upholds us with His right hand. I want to face Him rather than looking away and being distracted by the cares and stresses of the world around me. I want to gaze upon Him rather than looking on my own inadequacies and failures. When I can look upon the Lord as my redeemer, my guide, and my confidant, knowing that He holds me up and that He will never relax his loving grip on me, I can go into each day with confidence. I can go knowing that He is a God who provides exactly what I need and how much I need, when I need it. I may think I need bread for the month, but He will provide me with enough manna for the day. I may think I need a searchlight to illuminate my path for the next year, but He gives me a lamp for my feet so that I can take the very next step. When I think I need more--more guidance, more control, more knowledge of the future--I must remember to just keep facing the Savior. He has given my my cup, and it isn't only full. It overflows.
I am happy where I am now, but sometimes I feel a deep longing to get everything figured out. And to know what the future holds, and to be in control (this post could totally have the alternate title "Confessions of a Control Freak.") Yes, I am a control freak. I want to know where I am going, and how and when I am going to get there and what it's going to be like when I am there. Sometimes I just want the path to be easy and clear. Sometimes, I just really wish I had my ducks in a row, my errands run, my kitchen clean, my life mapped out. Don't we all?
Then I opened the Bible for a few words of encouragement. I think I'm supposed to be somewhere in the neighborhood of 2 Kings 17 on the Bible reading challenge by now, but I'm a couple days behind and decided to just do some reading in Psalms instead. I was drawn to a passage in Psalm 73, when David confidently declares to the Lord, "Yet I am always with you; you hold me by my right hand." I was reminded when I read this that a number of verses refer to God holding us by the hand. Here is one of my favorite examples from Isaiah 41: "So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand . . . For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you: do not fear, I will help you."
For some reason, it really caught my attention that these verses always say that God is holding us by our right hands. All while He upholds us with HIS righteous right hand. I started thinking about what this would actually look like in practical terms. If I am supporting someone with my right hand, and holding them by their right hand, the only way that's really possible is if we're facing each other. (Picture it in your mind and I think you'll see what I mean.) Maybe I'm reading too much into it, but it seems as if this beautiful promise assumes that we are facing our Savior, focused on Him, fixing our eyes on Jesus. He holds us by our right hands; He upholds us with His right hand. I want to face Him rather than looking away and being distracted by the cares and stresses of the world around me. I want to gaze upon Him rather than looking on my own inadequacies and failures. When I can look upon the Lord as my redeemer, my guide, and my confidant, knowing that He holds me up and that He will never relax his loving grip on me, I can go into each day with confidence. I can go knowing that He is a God who provides exactly what I need and how much I need, when I need it. I may think I need bread for the month, but He will provide me with enough manna for the day. I may think I need a searchlight to illuminate my path for the next year, but He gives me a lamp for my feet so that I can take the very next step. When I think I need more--more guidance, more control, more knowledge of the future--I must remember to just keep facing the Savior. He has given my my cup, and it isn't only full. It overflows.
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
The Way That I Take
I always write inspiring quotes, verses, song lyrics, etc., on the inside front covers of my journals, based on the things I find inspirational at the time. While I was cleaning my room tonight, I was flipping through an old journal and found this forgotten gem of a verse that I had copied down inside: "But the Lord knows the way that I take; when He has tested me, I will come forth as gold" (Job 23:10).
The Lord knows the way that I take. He knows the way that I take when I am walking through the deepest and darkest valley. He knows the way that I take when I am shouting his praises from the mountain top. He intimately knows my fears, my sorrow, my heartache, my passion, my joy, my tears, my yearning. As 1 Samuel 2:3 simply reminds us, "The Lord is a God who knows." He knows. He understands. He commiserates. He gets it. There is no path we can travel that our Savior will not know. And not only does He know all of our paths, He experiences all of life with us. He doesn't just know about our pain; He knows our pain as if it were his own. He holds our tears in the palm of His hand. He knows our need, our losses, our triumphs. He is a God who knows. His understanding is unfathomable, matched only by His unrelenting love for us.
Our paths and our ways are not forgotten. They can never be so dark that God doesn't see what we're experiencing. The rain in our lives can never fall so hard that the Lord loses his view of our paths or His grip on our hearts. He walks through all of our paths with us, holding us by the hand, turning the mountains into roads so that we might glorify Him. No matter what you are facing--failure, illness, disability, unbelief, loss, financial setbacks, or even the Georgia bar exam next week--remember that your Savior is a God who knows the way that you take and feels the pain and the joy with you.
The Lord knows the way that I take. He knows the way that I take when I am walking through the deepest and darkest valley. He knows the way that I take when I am shouting his praises from the mountain top. He intimately knows my fears, my sorrow, my heartache, my passion, my joy, my tears, my yearning. As 1 Samuel 2:3 simply reminds us, "The Lord is a God who knows." He knows. He understands. He commiserates. He gets it. There is no path we can travel that our Savior will not know. And not only does He know all of our paths, He experiences all of life with us. He doesn't just know about our pain; He knows our pain as if it were his own. He holds our tears in the palm of His hand. He knows our need, our losses, our triumphs. He is a God who knows. His understanding is unfathomable, matched only by His unrelenting love for us.
Our paths and our ways are not forgotten. They can never be so dark that God doesn't see what we're experiencing. The rain in our lives can never fall so hard that the Lord loses his view of our paths or His grip on our hearts. He walks through all of our paths with us, holding us by the hand, turning the mountains into roads so that we might glorify Him. No matter what you are facing--failure, illness, disability, unbelief, loss, financial setbacks, or even the Georgia bar exam next week--remember that your Savior is a God who knows the way that you take and feels the pain and the joy with you.
Sunday, July 15, 2012
Why Leviticus Is an Inspirational Read
As one of the main aspects of our "90 days to a new you" program, my sister Meagan and I have been following a plan to read through the Bible in 90 days. For the past couple of weeks, we've been getting reacquainted with the familiar, and not-so-familiar, parts of the first few books of the Bible. (And we've been texting back and forth our discoveries and commentary: "Did you know Abraham got remarried after his first wife died?" "Christian pick-up line: I was reading the book of Numbers last night and I realized that I don't have yours." "Why wasn't that part of Exodus in the Prince of Egypt?" "Riddle for you: Who broke all 10 commandments at once? Moses!")
But when I read the Bible, I don't typically jump right to the book of Leviticus. This Old Testament law treatise has a reputation as being one of the most boring, hard-to-understand books in all of Scripture. Its 27 chapters are dedicated to a very detailed description of the laws the Israelite people were to follow: laws about burnt offerings and sin offerings and guilt offerings, laws about what was clean and unclean, laws about how the priests were to go about their duties. You might think I'd like this book because it's a compilation of laws, and I am, after all, a law student. But following that same logic, I'd also enjoy curling up on the couch with a cup of coffee and the Code of Federal Regulations. (Hint: I don't.)
But despite my hesitation, the reading plan put me in Leviticus this past week. So last Sunday afternoon, I dutifully settled down and started to read. And before I knew it, I was transported back into a different culture and time, a time before Christ. A time when God's people had to continually offer all kinds of sacrifices before the Lord to atone for their sins. A time when the blood of lambs and goats perpetually stained the altars and the stench of the offerings hung over the camp day and night, and when people had to make offerings even for unintentional or unknown sins.
What would it be like if we had lived in that day and time? Leviticus gives us a glimpse into just how burdensome, and even fearful and oppressive, the system of sacrifice could be. This is a dark and heavy book, and I think if it's read without a broader understanding of the big picture, it can engender a skewed understanding of the Word.
But I believe that one of the primary reasons that Leviticus was preserved in Scripture for us today was for us to see that the sacrificial system of the Old Testament was intentionally imperfect, and meant primarily to point to what was to come. If it were a perfect system, then there would have been no need for Jesus Christ to come. But the blood of animals could never really cleanse and purify. And it could never truly remove the guilt of the people. It makes us realize that these people needed a real Redeemer and a truly spotless Lamb. Their sin was so great . . . my sin was so great. All the animals in the world couldn't really take it away.
Leviticus shows you the utter magnitude of human guilt, the fear, the true oppression of sin. And the sacrificial system, before Christ, would never be enough. More blood would always have to be shed. Human efforts were always going to be futile. Every evening and every morning, another animal would need to be offered. About halfway through the book, you start feeling the desperation of the people, a sense of futility, and a sense that this system wasn't perfect, and wasn't meant to be. You begin to sense that even though the cost of all of those animal sacrifices would have been very substantial, the true cost of sin was infinitely greater.
Would you have believed at that time that there could ever be a final sacrifice? What if someone told you that one day, the need to sacrifice would be no more? Jesus did what centuries of animal sacrifice couldn't ever do: he saved his people from their sins. It wasn't temporary. It was permanent. Jesus paid it all.
Oh, how I need Jesus. Oh how we all need Jesus so much. I was overwhelmed by my need and by his mercy. And I think that's kind of the point of this book.
Leviticus even includes some rather gruesome imagery of how the sacrificial animals were to be slaughtered, pointing to an ultimate and excruciating brokenness as the real Lamb gave up his life. It made me truly realize the magnitude of what Christ has done for us and how important what He did really was. And even echoes of Exodus and the original Passover celebration come in: "When I see the blood, I will pass over you." God has passed over us in his wrath on sin, because it was poured out on the one perfect Lamb who became the ultimate sacrifice. The one that could really take away guilt, genuinely bring forgiveness, and tear down the walls that separated man from God. Thank you for your mercy. Oh, God, thank you for sending Jesus. And it was finished, and the curtain in the temple was ripped in two. It was FINISHED. Leviticus is worth your time to read because it makes the work of Jesus stand out in bold relief. Even though it's not always explicit, this book points to Jesus almost more than any other Old Testament book. As it does here:
Leviticus 26:12: "I will walk among you and be your God, and you will be my people."
But when I read the Bible, I don't typically jump right to the book of Leviticus. This Old Testament law treatise has a reputation as being one of the most boring, hard-to-understand books in all of Scripture. Its 27 chapters are dedicated to a very detailed description of the laws the Israelite people were to follow: laws about burnt offerings and sin offerings and guilt offerings, laws about what was clean and unclean, laws about how the priests were to go about their duties. You might think I'd like this book because it's a compilation of laws, and I am, after all, a law student. But following that same logic, I'd also enjoy curling up on the couch with a cup of coffee and the Code of Federal Regulations. (Hint: I don't.)
But despite my hesitation, the reading plan put me in Leviticus this past week. So last Sunday afternoon, I dutifully settled down and started to read. And before I knew it, I was transported back into a different culture and time, a time before Christ. A time when God's people had to continually offer all kinds of sacrifices before the Lord to atone for their sins. A time when the blood of lambs and goats perpetually stained the altars and the stench of the offerings hung over the camp day and night, and when people had to make offerings even for unintentional or unknown sins.
What would it be like if we had lived in that day and time? Leviticus gives us a glimpse into just how burdensome, and even fearful and oppressive, the system of sacrifice could be. This is a dark and heavy book, and I think if it's read without a broader understanding of the big picture, it can engender a skewed understanding of the Word.
But I believe that one of the primary reasons that Leviticus was preserved in Scripture for us today was for us to see that the sacrificial system of the Old Testament was intentionally imperfect, and meant primarily to point to what was to come. If it were a perfect system, then there would have been no need for Jesus Christ to come. But the blood of animals could never really cleanse and purify. And it could never truly remove the guilt of the people. It makes us realize that these people needed a real Redeemer and a truly spotless Lamb. Their sin was so great . . . my sin was so great. All the animals in the world couldn't really take it away.
Leviticus shows you the utter magnitude of human guilt, the fear, the true oppression of sin. And the sacrificial system, before Christ, would never be enough. More blood would always have to be shed. Human efforts were always going to be futile. Every evening and every morning, another animal would need to be offered. About halfway through the book, you start feeling the desperation of the people, a sense of futility, and a sense that this system wasn't perfect, and wasn't meant to be. You begin to sense that even though the cost of all of those animal sacrifices would have been very substantial, the true cost of sin was infinitely greater.
Would you have believed at that time that there could ever be a final sacrifice? What if someone told you that one day, the need to sacrifice would be no more? Jesus did what centuries of animal sacrifice couldn't ever do: he saved his people from their sins. It wasn't temporary. It was permanent. Jesus paid it all.
Oh, how I need Jesus. Oh how we all need Jesus so much. I was overwhelmed by my need and by his mercy. And I think that's kind of the point of this book.
Leviticus even includes some rather gruesome imagery of how the sacrificial animals were to be slaughtered, pointing to an ultimate and excruciating brokenness as the real Lamb gave up his life. It made me truly realize the magnitude of what Christ has done for us and how important what He did really was. And even echoes of Exodus and the original Passover celebration come in: "When I see the blood, I will pass over you." God has passed over us in his wrath on sin, because it was poured out on the one perfect Lamb who became the ultimate sacrifice. The one that could really take away guilt, genuinely bring forgiveness, and tear down the walls that separated man from God. Thank you for your mercy. Oh, God, thank you for sending Jesus. And it was finished, and the curtain in the temple was ripped in two. It was FINISHED. Leviticus is worth your time to read because it makes the work of Jesus stand out in bold relief. Even though it's not always explicit, this book points to Jesus almost more than any other Old Testament book. As it does here:
Leviticus 26:12: "I will walk among you and be your God, and you will be my people."
Monday, June 18, 2012
Just One Touch
When I read passages from the Gospels, I sometimes find myself forgetting
that the people I'm reading about had real lives, real dreams, real joys, and
real heartache. We talk about "Bible stories," and there's nothing
wrong with that, but I think it's easy to to view Biblical characters' lives as
just that: only stories--not realistic, not like us. Sometimes, a person's
entire life is treated in only a verse or two, and much is left to the
imagination. But before you hurry on to the next verse, it helps to remember
this: these people had lives. Probably lives that are a lot like ours,
at least in the ways that really matter: similar joys. Pain. Hope. Ideals.
Take, for example, the woman who came to Jesus in Mark 5 to be healed of her bleeding disorder. I'm not sure whether it was hemorrhages or something else, but this woman had been "subject to bleeding for 12 years." And then her life (before she met Christ) is summed up in one verse: "She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse" (Mark 5:26). Just think about it for a minute. This woman would have been considered the least of the least in a Jewish culture that placed a premium on ritual purity. Because of her illness, she would have been deemed impure. Unclean. Dirty. I'm pretty sure she would have been forced to dwell outside the city gates, ostracized and forgotten. She could very well have had family members that she could hardly ever see, or who had given up on her entirely. She may have had small children to care for. She was an outsider in the truest sense of the word, and had been that way for 12 miserable years. More than likely, no one ever touched this woman. No one wanted to associate with her, because if they did, they would be unclean too.
And that's not all. She had tried her hardest to get better. She probably went to every doctor she could find; she may have been victimized by scams from physicians convincing her that they could heal her, and then taking her money and abandoning her. She was penniless and alone. But, even though her illness had robbed her of her money, her health, and her dignity, she clung to her faith, and that is what mattered.
She heard about where Jesus was, pressed her way through the crowd, and touched the edge of his cloak. This was an act of tremendous boldness on her part--she knew that under Jewish law, she would transmit her "impurity" to anyone that she touched as she forced her way through the crowd. And after a single touch, a single contact with the Lord, she was instantly freed from 12 years of suffering. But Jesus didn't let this woman just walk away, content to touch only the border of his robes. No, He allowed her to fall at His feet, to touch Him personally, to speak to Him. She didn't have to blend into the background anymore. She didn't have to remain an outsider.
I think in some ways, this story foreshadows how Christ himself would eventually, in his suffering and death, become an "outsider" just like this woman. Hebrews tells us that Jesus suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through His blood. He, like this unnamed woman, would become intimately acquainted with rejection, grief, and loneliness. Interestingly, the Gospel writer uses the Greek word for "suffering" to describe the woman's condition; but in every other instance in the book of Mark, that Greek word is used to describe the suffering of Christ in his death. While I don't think the writer intended to equate the suffering of this woman with that of Christ, I think it does suggest that Christ was willing not only to make physical contact with suffering people, but to take their suffering upon Himself when He became an "outsider" at the cross.
And He did it for us. So that we have the privilege of fully approaching Him, without hesitation, falling at His feet, and basking in His mercies.
Take, for example, the woman who came to Jesus in Mark 5 to be healed of her bleeding disorder. I'm not sure whether it was hemorrhages or something else, but this woman had been "subject to bleeding for 12 years." And then her life (before she met Christ) is summed up in one verse: "She had suffered a great deal under the care of many doctors and had spent all she had, yet instead of getting better she grew worse" (Mark 5:26). Just think about it for a minute. This woman would have been considered the least of the least in a Jewish culture that placed a premium on ritual purity. Because of her illness, she would have been deemed impure. Unclean. Dirty. I'm pretty sure she would have been forced to dwell outside the city gates, ostracized and forgotten. She could very well have had family members that she could hardly ever see, or who had given up on her entirely. She may have had small children to care for. She was an outsider in the truest sense of the word, and had been that way for 12 miserable years. More than likely, no one ever touched this woman. No one wanted to associate with her, because if they did, they would be unclean too.
And that's not all. She had tried her hardest to get better. She probably went to every doctor she could find; she may have been victimized by scams from physicians convincing her that they could heal her, and then taking her money and abandoning her. She was penniless and alone. But, even though her illness had robbed her of her money, her health, and her dignity, she clung to her faith, and that is what mattered.
She heard about where Jesus was, pressed her way through the crowd, and touched the edge of his cloak. This was an act of tremendous boldness on her part--she knew that under Jewish law, she would transmit her "impurity" to anyone that she touched as she forced her way through the crowd. And after a single touch, a single contact with the Lord, she was instantly freed from 12 years of suffering. But Jesus didn't let this woman just walk away, content to touch only the border of his robes. No, He allowed her to fall at His feet, to touch Him personally, to speak to Him. She didn't have to blend into the background anymore. She didn't have to remain an outsider.
I think in some ways, this story foreshadows how Christ himself would eventually, in his suffering and death, become an "outsider" just like this woman. Hebrews tells us that Jesus suffered outside the city gate to make the people holy through His blood. He, like this unnamed woman, would become intimately acquainted with rejection, grief, and loneliness. Interestingly, the Gospel writer uses the Greek word for "suffering" to describe the woman's condition; but in every other instance in the book of Mark, that Greek word is used to describe the suffering of Christ in his death. While I don't think the writer intended to equate the suffering of this woman with that of Christ, I think it does suggest that Christ was willing not only to make physical contact with suffering people, but to take their suffering upon Himself when He became an "outsider" at the cross.
And He did it for us. So that we have the privilege of fully approaching Him, without hesitation, falling at His feet, and basking in His mercies.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Finding God in Our Brokenness
Our society is so obsessed with people having it all "together." In fact, we idolize "togetherness" (I realize that's probably not a word, but you know what I mean). Think about it: we say, admiringly, about people: "So-and-so really has it all together." And we say, critically, "So-and-so really needs to get their act together." And I don't think these are just innocuous figures of speech--having it all together, putting on a good face for people, and never displaying any weakness or brokenness are all valued ideals in our culture. And it's incredibly hard to learn how to embrace a reckless vulnerability around people we've spent years trying to convince of our own strength.
But what does that say about brokenness, and the people who experience it? And let's be honest with ourselves--we ALL experience brokenness, tears, weakness, grief, and loss. It is part of the human condition, no matter how hard we may try to suppress it or ignore it. But I believe that when someone is experiencing brokenness, whether it be in body, mind, heart, or spirit, our natural tendency is to try to to help them "get over it" as quickly as possible, and we feel like we need to help them "fix it"--ASAP.
But sometimes, there is that season of deep brokenness, when the quick fixes utterly fail to accomplish their purpose, and when almost no words can help. It's those times when we feel pressured to hide our pain from others, desperate to reconcile our own condition both with our society's demand that we "get it together," and with the common assumption that God, Himself, expects us to have our lives together in order to come to Him. This usually is our condition when we lose things--or people--we thought we could never live without. We don't know how we can come before God in these times because we feel as though we have less than nothing to bring. We try to pray, but we can't even say anything. We can't put words on our experience--our hurting hearts are quiet.
But then the questions bubble up to the surface of our hearts and can't be ignored: Can our own theology coincide with a shattered heart? And, perhaps the simplest question of all: how can we keep our eyes on Jesus when they are full of tears?
And in times like these, we find ourselves asking, “Is Jesus really, truly ENOUGH?” Just Jesus. Jesus and nothing else, nothing that we thought we had to have just to survive. Is Jesus still worthy of all our praise? Is Jesus enough in the desert while we beg for rain? Is He enough when we are brokenhearted? Is Jesus enough in the wilderness, in the darkness, in the valley of the shadow of death? Is His name still worthy to be blessed?
I don't know all the answers, but I do know that Christ steps into the gap and experiences our brokenness with us. John 11 describes Jesus' response when he went to visit Mary and Martha, whose brother Lazarus had just died. Mary ran out to meet him and fell at his feet weeping. John then writes, “When Jesus saw her weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled . . . Jesus wept.” I find it very moving that the only time recorded in Scripture in which Jesus broke down in tears was in response to a woman weeping. When Jesus saw Mary weeping from her loss, devastated and broken, He cried with her.
In Spanish, to say “I’m sorry,” people say, “lo siento,” which literally means, “I feel it.” I feel it. I’m sorry. I’ve always thought this expression was just a bit richer, a bit more genuine, than our quick and often halfhearted “sorry.” I feel it. I feel with you. Perhaps in some way, Christ, crying with this weeping and broken woman, was expressing the original “lo siento.” A divine compassion of unmatched depth. The original, “I feel it.” This means that we never feel anything alone. No matter what we experience, Christ experiences it with us. No matter how dirty, how awful, how excruciating. He feels it. He is sorry in the truest sense of the word. And He cries with us today, no matter what brokenness or what loss has caused us to collapse at his feet in tears. This is true sympathy and true compassion, both of which come from Greek words meaning "to suffer with another." Christ suffers with us. He mourns with us. He weeps with us.
And God still invites us to come to Him--no matter how messed up our lives are and how far we may be from "having it all together." We can glorify him in the desert as well as in the harvest. We are invited to bring our tears and our pain to the altar before him, not just our blessings and our joys. Frankly, God can handle our mess, if anyone can. He invites us to come even when all we have to bring is anger, grief, desperation, and doubt. God doesn’t tell us just to bring him our praises, all the while clutching our pain close to our hearts and keeping it to ourselves. Here’s what I think: coming to God with our pain IS a form of praise. Trusting God with our pain IS worship. Even if that's all we have to bring, God still wants us to come.
Our brokenness is actually, in some strange way, a miracle--because if we weren't broken, we wouldn't need a Savior. Grace is for lives like ours--which can be a mess and are most assuredly not perfect.
I can't claim to know why brokenness happens, but I do know, from my own experience, that Jesus is indeed ENOUGH. Even in doubt. Even in gut-wrenching grief. Even in tears. Even in a very dark and very painful wilderness. He is enough. And that is enough for me.
But sometimes, there is that season of deep brokenness, when the quick fixes utterly fail to accomplish their purpose, and when almost no words can help. It's those times when we feel pressured to hide our pain from others, desperate to reconcile our own condition both with our society's demand that we "get it together," and with the common assumption that God, Himself, expects us to have our lives together in order to come to Him. This usually is our condition when we lose things--or people--we thought we could never live without. We don't know how we can come before God in these times because we feel as though we have less than nothing to bring. We try to pray, but we can't even say anything. We can't put words on our experience--our hurting hearts are quiet.
But then the questions bubble up to the surface of our hearts and can't be ignored: Can our own theology coincide with a shattered heart? And, perhaps the simplest question of all: how can we keep our eyes on Jesus when they are full of tears?
And in times like these, we find ourselves asking, “Is Jesus really, truly ENOUGH?” Just Jesus. Jesus and nothing else, nothing that we thought we had to have just to survive. Is Jesus still worthy of all our praise? Is Jesus enough in the desert while we beg for rain? Is He enough when we are brokenhearted? Is Jesus enough in the wilderness, in the darkness, in the valley of the shadow of death? Is His name still worthy to be blessed?
I don't know all the answers, but I do know that Christ steps into the gap and experiences our brokenness with us. John 11 describes Jesus' response when he went to visit Mary and Martha, whose brother Lazarus had just died. Mary ran out to meet him and fell at his feet weeping. John then writes, “When Jesus saw her weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled . . . Jesus wept.” I find it very moving that the only time recorded in Scripture in which Jesus broke down in tears was in response to a woman weeping. When Jesus saw Mary weeping from her loss, devastated and broken, He cried with her.
In Spanish, to say “I’m sorry,” people say, “lo siento,” which literally means, “I feel it.” I feel it. I’m sorry. I’ve always thought this expression was just a bit richer, a bit more genuine, than our quick and often halfhearted “sorry.” I feel it. I feel with you. Perhaps in some way, Christ, crying with this weeping and broken woman, was expressing the original “lo siento.” A divine compassion of unmatched depth. The original, “I feel it.” This means that we never feel anything alone. No matter what we experience, Christ experiences it with us. No matter how dirty, how awful, how excruciating. He feels it. He is sorry in the truest sense of the word. And He cries with us today, no matter what brokenness or what loss has caused us to collapse at his feet in tears. This is true sympathy and true compassion, both of which come from Greek words meaning "to suffer with another." Christ suffers with us. He mourns with us. He weeps with us.
And God still invites us to come to Him--no matter how messed up our lives are and how far we may be from "having it all together." We can glorify him in the desert as well as in the harvest. We are invited to bring our tears and our pain to the altar before him, not just our blessings and our joys. Frankly, God can handle our mess, if anyone can. He invites us to come even when all we have to bring is anger, grief, desperation, and doubt. God doesn’t tell us just to bring him our praises, all the while clutching our pain close to our hearts and keeping it to ourselves. Here’s what I think: coming to God with our pain IS a form of praise. Trusting God with our pain IS worship. Even if that's all we have to bring, God still wants us to come.
Our brokenness is actually, in some strange way, a miracle--because if we weren't broken, we wouldn't need a Savior. Grace is for lives like ours--which can be a mess and are most assuredly not perfect.
I can't claim to know why brokenness happens, but I do know, from my own experience, that Jesus is indeed ENOUGH. Even in doubt. Even in gut-wrenching grief. Even in tears. Even in a very dark and very painful wilderness. He is enough. And that is enough for me.
Tuesday, May 15, 2012
What Do You Want Me to Do for You?
In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis writes, "It would seem that our Lord finds our desires not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased."
Recently, I've been thinking about this issue, and I've realized that a lot of Christians tend to be afraid of desiring anything too much--unless they are wanting a better relationship with God or something very directly related to the spread of His kingdom. I think there's an idea that deep, strong desires for anything that isn't overtly "spiritual" is suspect, at best, and sinful, at worst. But here's the thing: I think that's a lie.
Shrinking away from powerful desires is a way to shield ourselves from vulnerability and protect ourselves from being hurt. We all learn early in life that it makes your heart ache to want something you just aren't getting. While nothing feels quite like when God finally fulfills a long-held desire of the heart, unfulfilled desire is tantalizing and painful. So as a means of self-protection, we try so hard to suppress and quiet the part of the heart that dreams, yearns, and desires. In reality, we may want children, or health, or healing, so badly that it tugs at our heart strings. We may want to get married, to get a better job, to have our broken relationship with a loved one restored. And we want it badly. But we get skilled, so skilled, at convincing ourselves that these desires aren't as strong as they truly are.
Perhaps we worry that if we express a desire that is not being fulfilled, it will reflect badly on our faith and our relationship with God. We think, "Doesn't the Bible say that if we delight ourselves in the Lord, He will give us the desires of our heart? Am I not delighting in Him? What's wrong with my faith?" And on the flip side, sometimes I even worry about getting something I deeply desire--because what if it's not what I dreamed of, and I'm left disappointed, and wondering if God might just like to say, "I told you so"?
And finally, wanting to suppress desire and act like we don't want is a pride issue. We feel "better" than others if we can act like we don't have strong, heartfelt desires. We assume that those who do are ruled by their desires. Can desire lead to sin? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean that desire itself is bad or sinful.
But over time, by trying to convince ourselves that we don't want the things we want, we dull and desensitize the part of the heart that was made to yearn for the things God wants to give us, the part that was made to crave what He longs to offer us. Why do we think it is wrong to want? The part of the heart that wants is deep, restless, and uniquely human. God put it in us, and He wants us to awaken that part of the heart--not to act like it doesn't exist. Because we are made in the image of God, we have the ability to desire deeply, to dream about new possibilities for our futures and our lives. God is the one who desired first--and His desire was for us. It is okay to want, even to want deeply. God wants us to have desires, dreams, and visions, and to express those desires. We have to have a vision, or, according to Scripture, we perish. God wants us to dream--in fact, a dream is a mark of God's Spirit being poured out (Joel 2:28). When God's Spirit is unleashed, people dream dreams and have visions. I think it's possible that we could even quench the Spirit when we refuse to dream.
Could it be that the question we need to answer is simply this one: What do you want?
In Luke, chapter 18, Jesus encounters a blind beggar by the side of the road. The man cries out to Him, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Son of David, have mercy on me!" But Jesus doesn't just heal the blind man then and there. Instead, he first asks him a question that seems simple, but is also deeply profound: "What do you want me to do for you?" What do you WANT? The beggar says, "Lord, I want to see." Jesus then--and only then--responds, "Receive your sight; your faith has healed you." Could it be that verbalizing our honest, deep desire is not only a precursor to blessing, but also an expression of the kind of faith God rewards?
A similar scenario occurs in John 5. There, Jesus met a man who had been paralyzed for 38 long years. But before He healed him, Jesus asked him, "Do you WANT to get well?" It might seem so obvious--of course, that's what he wanted! But yet, it is so beautiful that the God who hung the stars in the heavens and spoke into the darkness to create light and knows every beat of your heart is looking people in the eyes and asking them what, exactly, they want. Because it matters to Him! He cares about what you want. He wants you to verbalize your desire, even though He already knows what it is! That thing you daydream about, or that keeps you up at night, or that you fill the pages of your journal writing about. The thing that brings tears to your eyes and an ache to your heart. The desire that YOU, like that man, may have had for 38 years, and no one has ever bothered to ask you what it is. But God does. I am overwhelmed to think that the God of the universe would ask people just like you and me what they WANT.
And notice that those desires aren't all overtly spiritual! The blind man didn't say, "Lord, I want you to use my blindness to allow me to minister to others, or to bring others to You." No, he just said, "Lord, I want to see." Lord, I just want to see. Sometimes, we hesitate to express our deepest, most heartfelt desires because we think they are selfish and not sufficiently "spiritual." But sometimes, after suppressing our true wants for too long, the masks and facades are suddenly stripped away, and all that's left is our genuine desire. And that is exactly what the Lord wants us to express! Even if it's not "spiritual." Even if we think it's weak, and painful, and difficult, and better left unsaid. Sometimes, we just want to see--and God will take care of the rest.
And I leave you with this: Could the Lord be asking you, even today: What do YOU want?
Recently, I've been thinking about this issue, and I've realized that a lot of Christians tend to be afraid of desiring anything too much--unless they are wanting a better relationship with God or something very directly related to the spread of His kingdom. I think there's an idea that deep, strong desires for anything that isn't overtly "spiritual" is suspect, at best, and sinful, at worst. But here's the thing: I think that's a lie.
Shrinking away from powerful desires is a way to shield ourselves from vulnerability and protect ourselves from being hurt. We all learn early in life that it makes your heart ache to want something you just aren't getting. While nothing feels quite like when God finally fulfills a long-held desire of the heart, unfulfilled desire is tantalizing and painful. So as a means of self-protection, we try so hard to suppress and quiet the part of the heart that dreams, yearns, and desires. In reality, we may want children, or health, or healing, so badly that it tugs at our heart strings. We may want to get married, to get a better job, to have our broken relationship with a loved one restored. And we want it badly. But we get skilled, so skilled, at convincing ourselves that these desires aren't as strong as they truly are.
Perhaps we worry that if we express a desire that is not being fulfilled, it will reflect badly on our faith and our relationship with God. We think, "Doesn't the Bible say that if we delight ourselves in the Lord, He will give us the desires of our heart? Am I not delighting in Him? What's wrong with my faith?" And on the flip side, sometimes I even worry about getting something I deeply desire--because what if it's not what I dreamed of, and I'm left disappointed, and wondering if God might just like to say, "I told you so"?
And finally, wanting to suppress desire and act like we don't want is a pride issue. We feel "better" than others if we can act like we don't have strong, heartfelt desires. We assume that those who do are ruled by their desires. Can desire lead to sin? Absolutely. But that doesn't mean that desire itself is bad or sinful.
But over time, by trying to convince ourselves that we don't want the things we want, we dull and desensitize the part of the heart that was made to yearn for the things God wants to give us, the part that was made to crave what He longs to offer us. Why do we think it is wrong to want? The part of the heart that wants is deep, restless, and uniquely human. God put it in us, and He wants us to awaken that part of the heart--not to act like it doesn't exist. Because we are made in the image of God, we have the ability to desire deeply, to dream about new possibilities for our futures and our lives. God is the one who desired first--and His desire was for us. It is okay to want, even to want deeply. God wants us to have desires, dreams, and visions, and to express those desires. We have to have a vision, or, according to Scripture, we perish. God wants us to dream--in fact, a dream is a mark of God's Spirit being poured out (Joel 2:28). When God's Spirit is unleashed, people dream dreams and have visions. I think it's possible that we could even quench the Spirit when we refuse to dream.
Could it be that the question we need to answer is simply this one: What do you want?
In Luke, chapter 18, Jesus encounters a blind beggar by the side of the road. The man cries out to Him, "Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me! Son of David, have mercy on me!" But Jesus doesn't just heal the blind man then and there. Instead, he first asks him a question that seems simple, but is also deeply profound: "What do you want me to do for you?" What do you WANT? The beggar says, "Lord, I want to see." Jesus then--and only then--responds, "Receive your sight; your faith has healed you." Could it be that verbalizing our honest, deep desire is not only a precursor to blessing, but also an expression of the kind of faith God rewards?
A similar scenario occurs in John 5. There, Jesus met a man who had been paralyzed for 38 long years. But before He healed him, Jesus asked him, "Do you WANT to get well?" It might seem so obvious--of course, that's what he wanted! But yet, it is so beautiful that the God who hung the stars in the heavens and spoke into the darkness to create light and knows every beat of your heart is looking people in the eyes and asking them what, exactly, they want. Because it matters to Him! He cares about what you want. He wants you to verbalize your desire, even though He already knows what it is! That thing you daydream about, or that keeps you up at night, or that you fill the pages of your journal writing about. The thing that brings tears to your eyes and an ache to your heart. The desire that YOU, like that man, may have had for 38 years, and no one has ever bothered to ask you what it is. But God does. I am overwhelmed to think that the God of the universe would ask people just like you and me what they WANT.
And notice that those desires aren't all overtly spiritual! The blind man didn't say, "Lord, I want you to use my blindness to allow me to minister to others, or to bring others to You." No, he just said, "Lord, I want to see." Lord, I just want to see. Sometimes, we hesitate to express our deepest, most heartfelt desires because we think they are selfish and not sufficiently "spiritual." But sometimes, after suppressing our true wants for too long, the masks and facades are suddenly stripped away, and all that's left is our genuine desire. And that is exactly what the Lord wants us to express! Even if it's not "spiritual." Even if we think it's weak, and painful, and difficult, and better left unsaid. Sometimes, we just want to see--and God will take care of the rest.
And I leave you with this: Could the Lord be asking you, even today: What do YOU want?
Saturday, May 5, 2012
The Extravagant Exchange
Isaiah 61:1-3 says, "The Spirit of the Sovereign Lord is on me, because the Lord has anointed me to preach good news to the poor. He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners, to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, and provide for those who grieve in Zion--to bestow on them a crown of beauty instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair. They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor."
I don't think it's a coincidence at all that Jesus began his ministry by teaching from this very passage. Luke 4 tells us that this is the Scripture Jesus read from the first time he taught in the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth. This passage was foreshadowing Jesus himself, and exactly what He does in our lives when we place our faith and trust in Him. He exchanges. Jesus Christ constantly exchanges our sin, our mess, our brokenness, and our failures for His beauty, righteousness, and grace. He can take anything we have to offer and give us of Himself instead! In fact, a number of Scriptures follow this same theme, in which God says to his people, "Instead of ____, I will give you _____." And what He gives is always better--He doesn't just exchange, He exchanges extravagantly!
My ashes for his crown of beauty. My sin for his robe of righteousness. My anxiety for His peace. My despair and grief for his gladness and praise. He doesn't simply fill our cups--our cups overflow. He didn't simply save us from our sin, He gave us eternal life as well, a life which freely begins in the here and now as we come to know Christ and the power of His resurrection in our lives. He rises to show us compassion because He longs to be gracious to us.
2 Corinthians 8:9 sums up what I think of as the "extravagant exchange": "For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich." I really can't add anything to that, and I certainly couldn't say it better than that. This is what Jesus came to do. And it is good news indeed.
I don't think it's a coincidence at all that Jesus began his ministry by teaching from this very passage. Luke 4 tells us that this is the Scripture Jesus read from the first time he taught in the synagogue in his hometown of Nazareth. This passage was foreshadowing Jesus himself, and exactly what He does in our lives when we place our faith and trust in Him. He exchanges. Jesus Christ constantly exchanges our sin, our mess, our brokenness, and our failures for His beauty, righteousness, and grace. He can take anything we have to offer and give us of Himself instead! In fact, a number of Scriptures follow this same theme, in which God says to his people, "Instead of ____, I will give you _____." And what He gives is always better--He doesn't just exchange, He exchanges extravagantly!
My ashes for his crown of beauty. My sin for his robe of righteousness. My anxiety for His peace. My despair and grief for his gladness and praise. He doesn't simply fill our cups--our cups overflow. He didn't simply save us from our sin, He gave us eternal life as well, a life which freely begins in the here and now as we come to know Christ and the power of His resurrection in our lives. He rises to show us compassion because He longs to be gracious to us.
2 Corinthians 8:9 sums up what I think of as the "extravagant exchange": "For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich." I really can't add anything to that, and I certainly couldn't say it better than that. This is what Jesus came to do. And it is good news indeed.
Friday, April 20, 2012
Refreshment
Isaiah 58:11-12: "The Lord will guide you always; He will satisfy your needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen your frame. You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail. . . . you will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings."
I stumbled across this passage this week and I thought I would share it. It promises that God will give us guidance, provision for our needs, strength, and refreshment--so that we can begin to refresh, repair, and restore other people. The phrase in a "sun-scorched land" evokes in my mind images of the dry, desperate places we sometimes find ourselves in. Times and situations in our lives when it seems as if all our passion, enthusiasm, and joy has dried up, leaving us desperately in need of refreshment, whether it be in a physical, emotional, or spiritual sense. I think this image can also apply to times in our lives when we become so overwhelmed with the day-to-day business of life that we become drained, burned out, weak, and fatigued, much the way we would become after trying to make our way through a literal "sun-scorched land."
This passage promises strength for these times and even IN these times. God will satisfy our needs IN a sun-scorched land. Even the desert times of our lives can be a place for God to be actively at work within us. He will satisfy us IN those places and times, not only when He brings us out of them to a place of deeper renewal.
"You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." I find this imagery striking after the idea of being in the desert place, in the sun-scorched land. This is an image of continual, ongoing, always accessible refreshment. If we are compared to a spring whose waters never fail, we are reminded that we carry with us the capacity for continual renewal even when we find ourselves in the desert. In fact, this verse makes me think of Jesus' words in John 7: "Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him." We have the Holy Spirit within us so that living water is accessible to refresh and restore us--not only for us, but also so that we can in turn refresh others.
As the Isaiah passage phrases it: "You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings." Because of the grace, refreshment, and restoration which we continually receive in Christ, we have the power, through the Holy Spirit, to minister to others so that they, too, can be repaired and restored. These are roles that we can embrace in our day-to-day lives. The "waters which never fail" are not only for us and our benefit, but for others as well whose lives come in contact with ours...others who may see the peace we possess even in the desert place, the joy and spiritual abundance our lives speak of even in times of scarcity, thirst, and even desperation. We have been given refreshment and satisfaction in Christ so that we can begin to refresh and restore others, to be an unfailing spring of water even to other weary travelers in the desert. We should not fear the inevitable desert times in our life journeys, because if we as Christians, who have streams of living water within us, never walk through the desert, we have no way of helping others in this place of need. And if we abide in Christ, we will find streams in the desert.
If we make it our practice to extend the grace we have received to others through ministry, we can attract others to Christ, the only one who can truly and completely restore broken, shattered lives. He is the one redeemer who can renew our lives completely. So let us seek Him, so that we can share in his work of restoration in the world.
I stumbled across this passage this week and I thought I would share it. It promises that God will give us guidance, provision for our needs, strength, and refreshment--so that we can begin to refresh, repair, and restore other people. The phrase in a "sun-scorched land" evokes in my mind images of the dry, desperate places we sometimes find ourselves in. Times and situations in our lives when it seems as if all our passion, enthusiasm, and joy has dried up, leaving us desperately in need of refreshment, whether it be in a physical, emotional, or spiritual sense. I think this image can also apply to times in our lives when we become so overwhelmed with the day-to-day business of life that we become drained, burned out, weak, and fatigued, much the way we would become after trying to make our way through a literal "sun-scorched land."
This passage promises strength for these times and even IN these times. God will satisfy our needs IN a sun-scorched land. Even the desert times of our lives can be a place for God to be actively at work within us. He will satisfy us IN those places and times, not only when He brings us out of them to a place of deeper renewal.
"You will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail." I find this imagery striking after the idea of being in the desert place, in the sun-scorched land. This is an image of continual, ongoing, always accessible refreshment. If we are compared to a spring whose waters never fail, we are reminded that we carry with us the capacity for continual renewal even when we find ourselves in the desert. In fact, this verse makes me think of Jesus' words in John 7: "Whoever believes in me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him." We have the Holy Spirit within us so that living water is accessible to refresh and restore us--not only for us, but also so that we can in turn refresh others.
As the Isaiah passage phrases it: "You will be called Repairer of Broken Walls, Restorer of Streets with Dwellings." Because of the grace, refreshment, and restoration which we continually receive in Christ, we have the power, through the Holy Spirit, to minister to others so that they, too, can be repaired and restored. These are roles that we can embrace in our day-to-day lives. The "waters which never fail" are not only for us and our benefit, but for others as well whose lives come in contact with ours...others who may see the peace we possess even in the desert place, the joy and spiritual abundance our lives speak of even in times of scarcity, thirst, and even desperation. We have been given refreshment and satisfaction in Christ so that we can begin to refresh and restore others, to be an unfailing spring of water even to other weary travelers in the desert. We should not fear the inevitable desert times in our life journeys, because if we as Christians, who have streams of living water within us, never walk through the desert, we have no way of helping others in this place of need. And if we abide in Christ, we will find streams in the desert.
If we make it our practice to extend the grace we have received to others through ministry, we can attract others to Christ, the only one who can truly and completely restore broken, shattered lives. He is the one redeemer who can renew our lives completely. So let us seek Him, so that we can share in his work of restoration in the world.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Breaking Up Your Unplowed Ground
So here's the verse that has really been on my mind and heart lately:
"Sow for yourselves righteousness, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your unplowed ground; for IT IS TIME TO SEEK THE LORD, until he comes and showers righteousness on you." (Hosea 10:12)
First of all, I'm not totally sure what the phrase "break up your unplowed ground" means, but I have some ideas based on the context of the passage, which is talking about sowing and reaping righteousness or evil. I think the unplowed ground represents those areas of our lives that we have not surrendered to God. The soil of our hearts that could be bringing forth a harvest of righteousness--but we have let it lie fallow time and time again.
We are not doing the tough work to break up the soil of our hearts. According to statistics, the average American Christian prays for a grand total of only three minutes a day! That number says to me that we have some untapped resources in prayer and in the power of God that we need to be seeking out! It is TIME to seek the Lord. It is time. To pursue God with a fresh tenacity. To get our hands dirty breaking up the unplowed ground in our own hearts--getting it ready to sow seeds which will reap a harvest of righteousness. That means getting into areas of our hearts and lives we might prefer to leave untouched! We might prefer not to "plow" ground in areas of our lives where we don't even WANT righteousness to grow. We often tend to want to keep "sections" of our lives for ourselves, while still working tirelessly to convince ourselves that God is in control of our lives. Yet in a very real way, partial surrender is not surrender at all.
It's very easy to want to sow seeds of righteousness in SOME areas of our lives while ignoring others. But we need to be getting passionate about ALL of it. God wants all of it! The Lord asks a question of us in Jeremiah 30:21. A question which echoes in my mind every time I read it with the raw, barely veiled desire in the words. A desire for passionate relationship with us. He asks, "Who is he who will DEVOTE himself to BE CLOSE TO ME?"
We live immersed in a world of passion and discovery. Of creativity, tenacity, new things happening all the time. We live in a world where people are DEVOTED to a lot of stuff, but where not enough people are devoted to being close to the Lord. The Lord is looking for anyone who will devote him or herself to be CLOSE to him. It is time to seek the Lord. It is time to break up the unplowed ground. If and as we do, the Lord will shower his righteousness on us.
Being devoted to being close to the Lord is characterized by an investment of more than three minutes a day--if you know what I'm saying. To me, expecting to be close to the Lord in just 3 minutes a day is like expecting to be BFFs with someone because you spend 3 minutes a day Facebook stalking them! I spend more time than that every day:
And as Hosea urges us, reap the fruit of unfailing love. Just as a side note: the only things in the Bible which are described as "unfailing" are God's kindness and His love. Nothing else. Only His love never fails.
I want to know the Lord and His amazing, unfailing love. That pursuit is worth more than three minutes of my day.
"Let us press on to know the Lord...He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of DAWN or the coming of rains in early spring." Hosea 6:3
"Sow for yourselves righteousness, reap the fruit of unfailing love, and break up your unplowed ground; for IT IS TIME TO SEEK THE LORD, until he comes and showers righteousness on you." (Hosea 10:12)
First of all, I'm not totally sure what the phrase "break up your unplowed ground" means, but I have some ideas based on the context of the passage, which is talking about sowing and reaping righteousness or evil. I think the unplowed ground represents those areas of our lives that we have not surrendered to God. The soil of our hearts that could be bringing forth a harvest of righteousness--but we have let it lie fallow time and time again.
We are not doing the tough work to break up the soil of our hearts. According to statistics, the average American Christian prays for a grand total of only three minutes a day! That number says to me that we have some untapped resources in prayer and in the power of God that we need to be seeking out! It is TIME to seek the Lord. It is time. To pursue God with a fresh tenacity. To get our hands dirty breaking up the unplowed ground in our own hearts--getting it ready to sow seeds which will reap a harvest of righteousness. That means getting into areas of our hearts and lives we might prefer to leave untouched! We might prefer not to "plow" ground in areas of our lives where we don't even WANT righteousness to grow. We often tend to want to keep "sections" of our lives for ourselves, while still working tirelessly to convince ourselves that God is in control of our lives. Yet in a very real way, partial surrender is not surrender at all.
It's very easy to want to sow seeds of righteousness in SOME areas of our lives while ignoring others. But we need to be getting passionate about ALL of it. God wants all of it! The Lord asks a question of us in Jeremiah 30:21. A question which echoes in my mind every time I read it with the raw, barely veiled desire in the words. A desire for passionate relationship with us. He asks, "Who is he who will DEVOTE himself to BE CLOSE TO ME?"
We live immersed in a world of passion and discovery. Of creativity, tenacity, new things happening all the time. We live in a world where people are DEVOTED to a lot of stuff, but where not enough people are devoted to being close to the Lord. The Lord is looking for anyone who will devote him or herself to be CLOSE to him. It is time to seek the Lord. It is time to break up the unplowed ground. If and as we do, the Lord will shower his righteousness on us.
Being devoted to being close to the Lord is characterized by an investment of more than three minutes a day--if you know what I'm saying. To me, expecting to be close to the Lord in just 3 minutes a day is like expecting to be BFFs with someone because you spend 3 minutes a day Facebook stalking them! I spend more time than that every day:
- brushing my teeth
- getting dressed
- checking email
- reading magazines
- listening to music
- etc.
And as Hosea urges us, reap the fruit of unfailing love. Just as a side note: the only things in the Bible which are described as "unfailing" are God's kindness and His love. Nothing else. Only His love never fails.
I want to know the Lord and His amazing, unfailing love. That pursuit is worth more than three minutes of my day.
"Let us press on to know the Lord...He will respond to us as surely as the arrival of DAWN or the coming of rains in early spring." Hosea 6:3
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
A Freeing Imprisonment
In Zechariah 9:12, the Lord says to His people, "Return to your fortress, O prisoners of hope; even now I announce that I will restore twice as much to you." When I first read this some time ago, I became completely intrigued because this is one of the only times I'm aware of in Scripture when God's people are called prisoners and are instructed to remain that way. Prisoners of hope, no less.In today's world, I regularly interact with people who feel imprisoned, captured, and trapped by anything but hope. People who are imprisoned by worry. Anger. Despair. Bitterness. Regret. Meaninglessness. Unforgiveness. Even by a negative, complaining spirit that prompts them to always expect the worst. More than that, we live in a culture and a time that offers people a lot of excuses for staying in this type of bondage. Anyone can see that times are difficult and for many people, hope has become all but a distant memory. They are, it seems, willing to remain in their bondage. Too drained and, in fact, hopeless, to keep fighting for a way out of it.
The imagery in Zechariah is so striking because it is imagery of bondage and imprisonment. But to HOPE, not despair! It is an image which speaks of a hope so strong, so personal, so intense, that we are captured by it, imprisoned by it, and cannot get away from it. Drowning in it. But yet if Jesus is our true hope, is this not in fact the way things are? We should be unable to escape our hope because we cannot get away from Christ! He is our only sure and reliable hope.
I find this passage so encouraging because it speaks of this different kind of imprisonment, one which frees, and because it also promises restoration--something many people are desperately in need of today. "Even now I announce that I will restore twice as much to you." For all that we have lost. For all our brokenness. For all our heartbreak. We will be restored to a place that is better than what we had before. Given twice as much for our losses. Even now. The restoration can begin now, if we allow it to. Are we open to restoration?
Are we willing to let Jesus Christ--our Hope--break the chains which strip us of our freedom, and instead allow us to be captured and imprisoned only by hope? That's a bondage we can live with. And live in. Abundantly, even now. And then our true, much-needed restoration of our hearts and our lives can begin.
I might add that I make every effort not to write with cliches. I can't even try to act as if some of the very real sorrows, heartbreak, and bondage of the world can be solved if we simply open ourselves up to "hope." I do not endorse the "prosperity gospel" at all and don't want to give people the impression that believing in Christ will just make all their problems go away. I find the words of Scripture deeply encouraging, but I recognize that they can't just be given to people as a "spiritual Band-Aid" to be placed on the broken, hurting, damaged parts of their lives. That is not enough. No, it's definitely not enough.
But I DO write with confidence as someone who has encountered Jesus Christ in a personal way many times, and who now finds my strength and hope by living in a daily relationship with Him. I have seen Him slowly but surely restore me from many instances of bondage, grief, and brokenness, and I strongly believe that He has the power to do the same for anyone who is reading this. He has brought me through very dark places in my life and brought me to the realization that trusting Him gives me the grace I need to make it through each day, although my problems don't just disappear, and yours may not either. We still live in a hurting, damaged world. But we have access to hope. We have promises that restoration is available to us, although we may not always know what it's going to look like. I'm willing to believe that the restoration that comes through Christ is worth waiting for, and that the hope He offers is worth being captured by. Because He IS enough.
The imagery in Zechariah is so striking because it is imagery of bondage and imprisonment. But to HOPE, not despair! It is an image which speaks of a hope so strong, so personal, so intense, that we are captured by it, imprisoned by it, and cannot get away from it. Drowning in it. But yet if Jesus is our true hope, is this not in fact the way things are? We should be unable to escape our hope because we cannot get away from Christ! He is our only sure and reliable hope.
I find this passage so encouraging because it speaks of this different kind of imprisonment, one which frees, and because it also promises restoration--something many people are desperately in need of today. "Even now I announce that I will restore twice as much to you." For all that we have lost. For all our brokenness. For all our heartbreak. We will be restored to a place that is better than what we had before. Given twice as much for our losses. Even now. The restoration can begin now, if we allow it to. Are we open to restoration?
Are we willing to let Jesus Christ--our Hope--break the chains which strip us of our freedom, and instead allow us to be captured and imprisoned only by hope? That's a bondage we can live with. And live in. Abundantly, even now. And then our true, much-needed restoration of our hearts and our lives can begin.
I might add that I make every effort not to write with cliches. I can't even try to act as if some of the very real sorrows, heartbreak, and bondage of the world can be solved if we simply open ourselves up to "hope." I do not endorse the "prosperity gospel" at all and don't want to give people the impression that believing in Christ will just make all their problems go away. I find the words of Scripture deeply encouraging, but I recognize that they can't just be given to people as a "spiritual Band-Aid" to be placed on the broken, hurting, damaged parts of their lives. That is not enough. No, it's definitely not enough.
But I DO write with confidence as someone who has encountered Jesus Christ in a personal way many times, and who now finds my strength and hope by living in a daily relationship with Him. I have seen Him slowly but surely restore me from many instances of bondage, grief, and brokenness, and I strongly believe that He has the power to do the same for anyone who is reading this. He has brought me through very dark places in my life and brought me to the realization that trusting Him gives me the grace I need to make it through each day, although my problems don't just disappear, and yours may not either. We still live in a hurting, damaged world. But we have access to hope. We have promises that restoration is available to us, although we may not always know what it's going to look like. I'm willing to believe that the restoration that comes through Christ is worth waiting for, and that the hope He offers is worth being captured by. Because He IS enough.
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