call2disciple

Pants on Fire!

2012-02-07T11:51:00.000-05:00

Reflections on 1 John 1:1-6

“What was from the beginning, what we have heard, what we have seen with our eyes, what we have looked at and touched with our hands, concerning the Word of Life —“

1 John 1:2

If only Jesus Christ hadn’t come…

I get out of bed, look into the mirror and sigh. I look the way I feel. A full day of meetings ahead. No, not meetings. If only they were meetings. Meetings are great. I complain about them all the time but, to be honest, they’re task driven, outcome based, goal filled and satisfying. Meetings actually are perfect.

There’s little time for too much relational stuff.

Today is full of people meetings. Real people, real hurts, real relationships, real exploring of things that really matter.

I want to go back to bed.

This is the entire problem with the gospel. Give me a meeting-driven church that excels in biblical training for the mind; accents living the good old-fashioned moral life; majors in sharing the gospel and serving the poor in the local community and all over the world – and I say PERFECT! Then let gifted pastors do the “pastor” thing while the rest of us do the “doing” thing.

And I find my comfort zone.

The fact that He came – and the way He came -- messes it all up. It’s like He announced to the whole world: RELATIONSHIPS ARE EVERYTHING TO ME! LET ME SHOW YOU! So He does the one thing that would drive us absolutely crazy. He comes fully Him but fully us. Sits down at table, eats, drinks, looks us in the eye, and immediately deals with the forbidden matters of the heart.

I mean crazy! We’re talking God the infinite, God the Creator of solar systems we can still barely see – God the Enormous Unfathomable Huge – sitting down at my table to eat with me? Looking me in the eye and talking real?

And why? Because relationships are EVERYTHING to Him.

I can’t escape it. The Apostle John is thrilled by this. He says: We’ve heard Him! We’ve seen Him! We’ve touched Him! It’s all about being in relationship with the Lord Jesus Christ, with His Father, with each other! Can you imagine the joy!!!

Double ugh.

This is not my comfort zone. If only Jesus Christ hadn’t come, the relationship thing wouldn’t be so front and center. Important, yes. But not EVERYTHING. Then I could go off to a day full of meetings. Really good meetings where we set an agenda, assign tasks, and actually get things done for the Kingdom.

And I can spend today completely bypassing the matters of my heart.

* * *

“If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth…”

1 John 1:6

“The one who says he is in the Light and yet hates his brother is in the darkness until now.”

1 John 2:9

It’s hard to think of myself as a liar, walking in darkness.

My first meeting of the day was with a man I deeply admire and respect. We haven’t spent much time together recently so I was actually looking forward to seeing him. And it all went well until we stumbled into a conversation about a mutual friend of ours. Someone I’d lost touch with a few years ago.

Someone he refused to lose touch with.

My mind flashed back to the last time I’d seen our friend. We had spent years together in church, in ministry, at dinners in our respective homes, in mission trips around the world. No, not years – decades. And, for whatever reason, one of the last times we were together, he snapped at me. Really hard.

More like bit my head off.

I let some time pass. I re-approached to make things right, to see what was wrong, to extend kindness to him. I wanted to know if I’d done anything wrong to hurt him and, if so, to say sorry. I thought I took a very humble approach but with that very me-centered – is your problem all about me? -- kind of humility.

He bit again. And again, every time I approached. I finally went to others who knew him and asked for their counsel but they didn’t have any idea what was wrong with him either. So the next time I tried, and he dissed me again – harder than before -- I got the message loud and clear. I threw my hands up in the air, walked away, and never called again.

I dissed him right back.

As much as it deeply pained me to lose his friendship, I felt I’d exhausted all possibilities to be right with him. In fact, I harbored a little quiet smugness that I’d followed all the biblical “right” things to do to reconcile with him and he’d refused. Plain and simple: This was his problem – not mine.

I think the old expression is, “I washed my hands of him.”

Well, the man I met with today didn’t wash his hands of him. In fact, he made it quite clear to me that he’d gotten bit too. Bad – just as bad. No, worse than me. And even now, he kept saying, “it’s still happening from time to time.”

“He’s not out of the woods yet.”

He told me that, several years ago, our mutual friend had been severely wounded and broken of heart. Betrayed deep in his soul. Though I’d heard rumors of this, I had no idea of the depth of the pain he’d suffered.

“It crushed him. It turned him into the man he now is. It reminds me of our beautiful golden retriever, Lexie, when she got hit by a car. The moment I put my hand out, she bit me. But that didn’t stop me from picking her up, getting her to the vet, making sure she was alright, and loving her back to health.”

Triple ugh.

I hate meetings like this. Why couldn’t he have said something like, “Yeah, bit me too. Tried a bunch of times to circle back but every time I did, he bit again. So I dissed him like you.”

Just like me. Mr. Clean Hands.

* * *

“…God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with Him and yet walk in the darkness, we lie…”

1 John 1:5-6

Liar! Liar! Pants on Fire!

I caught a glimpse of the Lords’ compassion today. I saw no matter how messed up I am, no matter how hurt I become, or how betrayed, or how run over by the car of life and tossed on the side of the road, lost and forgotten I get -- the Lord won’t leave me like I did my friend. He won’t “do the diss.”

So, tell me, why did I?

Bulges

2012-01-31T18:18:00.000-05:00

Reflections on 1 John 1:3

“…and indeed our fellowship is with the Father, and with His Son

Jesus Christ.”

1 John 1:3

Over dinner, in casual conversation with a few good friends, I stepped on a land mine. Even after it went off, stupid me, I didn’t get what happened so I asked about it. Bad decision. Should have kept my mouth shut.

“What you did was really hurtful,” one guy said. A few others nodded their heads. And they told me, frankly, straight to my face, that I’d been part of a making a decision a few years back that caused them real hurt.

“You’re kidding, right?”

They weren’t kidding. They looked at me curiously, wondering if I’d engage the conversation, dig into the story of the past, say what needed to be said then – maybe just maybe – own the wrong I’d done. Make my confession. Clueless me. The best I could offer was, “Gosh, I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

Which didn’t help – at all.

Within seconds, we were back to the casual, friendly banter of friends. I put on the mask, rolled with the evening, and acted like I wasn’t devastated by this news. But I was. In my mind, I tried to race back to what had happened. How had I hurt them? What did I do? They had clearly made the decision to welcome me back into their friendship despite what I’d done. Why? How long had they been talking about this? About me? Did they think I intentionally hurt them?

We parted that night as if the land mine never went off. But it did, and we all knew it. I think everyone also knew I couldn’t handle it.

And they kindly let me sweep it under the bulging rug.

* * *

It’s crazy how all this works.

I immediately called a colleague who was part of making the decision that, now I know, caused so much hurt. It brought great comfort for me to hear that he was as shocked as I was that we – can you imagine? – had done something wrong. We rehearsed all the details of the events leading up to the decision and encouraged each other to press on, trust the Lord, and not look back.

Or look down – at the bulge – which seemed to be getting bigger by the second. There’s nothing better than being surrounded by people who agree with me.

* * *

“…and indeed our fellowship is with the Father, and with His Son

Jesus Christ.”

1 John 1:3

Of course, I pretend the Lord agrees with me too. By the mercy of God, by grace through faith in my Lord and Savior, I am saved in Christ. I have fellowship “with the Father, and with His Son Jesus Christ.”

That’s all that matters.

Everything else is just stuff. Life is hard. Relationships are hard. We all try and do the best we can. And for me, I cling to this one and only essential truth. I love the Lord. He loves me. This is the only relationship that counts.

I convince myself of that as I continue to think through what I did to hurt my friends in Christ whom I love and trust. I go back over the details of the events one more time. I ask: What led me to take the decision I took? Why did I do it? Did I think through the consequences of the decision on others?

Two themes emerge. First, I work diligently on my defense. I start with the premise that what I did was exactly the right thing to do. Now I need to prove it again, build my case, and justify how I did what I did, why I did it and why I’d do it again if faced with similar circumstances.

It’s a gift. I’m good at being right and proving I’m right.

Second, it’s helpful to think through how my dear, close, good friends are actually to blame for their own hurt. I simply need to lovingly prove -- it’s not my fault, it’s theirs. Shocking to say, but I’m gifted at doing this too.

All the while, as I deal with this most difficult situation, I find comfort in the fellowship I enjoy “with the Father, and with His Son Jesus Christ.” Me and Him. Him and me and the few who agree with me.

* * *

“…what we have seen and heard we proclaim to you also,

so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed

our fellowship is with the Father, and with His Son

Jesus Christ.”

1 John 1:3

Niggle.

No matter how deep, how strong, how convincing I am in my defense, I can’t stop the niggle pricking my conscience.

My friends are hurt.

Niggle two. The Lord doesn’t play my game. He never has though I convince myself every time I come to a moment like this that He does. He takes sides, my side. He helps me build my case. He helps me blame others. And I know that’s not true though I spend most of my days believing it is.

Niggle three. I know too much. I know the Lord makes it impossible for me to claim that my relationship with Him is the only relationship that matters. It’s not true and I know it. Fellowship with Him is indissolubly bound to the fellowship we have together in Jesus Christ.

My friends are hurt.

Niggle four. I have to do something about it. Something far greater than going to them and saying, “I’m sorry for hurting you.” Of course, I like that because it allows me to say “sorry” and still think I’m right. But I know that won’t work for them and it won’t work for the Lord. I have to do what I don’t want to do.

I have to dismantle my defense. I have to deal with the drive inside me both to be right and to blame others. I’ve got to find out my part in this story.

And own it, really own it.

* * *

“…so that you too may have fellowship with us…”

1 John 1:3

Niggle mute.

It suddenly dawns on me, again stupid me, that my friends are still my friends. They’ve obviously dealt with the fact that I hurt them. They’ve accepted me back into their friendship. They told me I hurt them. I said I’m sorry.

So just turn the niggles to mute. Make a concerted effort to be a better friend. Do what I can not to do what I did ever again. Stop working so hard. Stop condemning myself. Don’t make a big deal of this. “Fellowship” in the Kingdom of God isn’t meant to be perfect. I mean, isn’t it true of all of us?

A little bulge here. A little bulge there.

God is Light

2012-01-25T14:08:00.001-05:00

Reflections on 1 John 1:5

“This is the message we have heard from Him and announce to you, that God is Light, and in Him there is no darkness at all.”
1 John 1:5

I live in two very different worlds.

The majority of the time, “normal time”, this great statement, “God is Light,” has little or no impact on my daily life. It’s not that I don’t believe it’s true, I do. But I relegate it completely to my mind. It’s safe there. Safe because I’m able to transform the “Light” into a concept I can think about and not experience.

God forbid the “Light” breaks through. That would completely mess up my life.

Like it or not, I live by a simple rule: Everything has to be safe and protected. That’s why I shield my heart. That’s why my mind is trained to filter the world around me. It has a job to do, a very specific job, to keep everything ordered 24-7-365. No big changes. No rocking the boat. Everything stays the same.

So, for example, every Sunday in Church we begin our Anglican worship from the Book of Common Prayer with these words:

“Almighty God, to you all hearts are open, all desires known, and from you no secrets are hid: Cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of your Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love you, and worthily magnify your holy Name; through Christ our Lord. Amen.”

This prayer is almost identical in thought to the words of Hebrews 4:13:

“And there is no creature hidden from His sight, but all things are open and laid bare to the eyes of Him with whom we have to do.”

Together we say “Amen!” and then march right on with the service. I’m always glad for that. I fear one day these words will actually make sense and we’ll find ourselves faced with the “Light.” Our massive defense systems gone. No big, thick walls between us and God. Us and each other. Us and ourselves – all of it gone, all of it true: Our hearts open, our desires known, our secrets exposed.

Who can handle that?

Very unhelpful and way too emotional. I’d suddenly be forced to see myself for who I am and not who I pretend to be. I’d have to deal with all kinds of things I’ve refused for years to deal with or talk about. I’d be suddenly tossed into the world of “messy” and I don’t like messy. I don’t want messy.

Just say the prayer and press on. Stick with the routine.

Make the decision, simple decision, to stay in control. Nothing impacts my life today. No big changes. No rocking the boat. Do everything to turn the “Light” of God into a theological concept that never finds its way to my heart.

My broken heart.

Everything has to be safe and protected.

* * *

I remember as a little boy I was afraid of the dark. At night, Mom and Dad kept the hall light on and my bedroom door slightly cracked. I had just enough light to feel safe. And just enough dark to sleep.

I like that arrangement.

I want just enough “Light” to feel safe. And just enough dark to live my sleepy little Christian life in peace and quiet.

* * *

“For God, who said, ‘Light shall shine out of darkness,’ is the One who has shone in our hearts to give the Light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Christ.”

2 Corinthians 4:6

Every once and a while I slip into “God-time” and enter the Kingdom world where the “Light” shines bright in my heart.

Sometimes it’s His doing. I’m driving so hard, so fast with my busy life and I suddenly see His police lights in my rear view mirror. I hear the sirens. I get that horrible feeling of guilt in the pit of my stomach and get mad at me that I messed up. That I was caught. That I needed to be caught. ¹

But most times, it’s my doing.

I can’t sustain the image. I do everything I can to manage my world and, most times, it works. But sometimes it doesn’t and I come crashing down. I become instantly aware of the people I’ve hurt, the things I’ve said, the things I’ve done which are colossal failures and I’ve known it – for a long time. I’ve pushed it down and down, refusing to deal with it. Refusing to admit my own rebellion.

And I find myself on my knees. Turning myself in.

Slipping out of “normal time” into “God-time.”

He speaks, and the “Light” shines in my darkness to give the Light of the knowledge of God in the face of Christ.

This is where it all began. Years ago, when I was in my late teens, when I first came to know Jesus Christ as Lord of my life, as “the Light of the world.” ² I knew He knew me. I knew my heart was open, my desires known, my secrets fully exposed – and I loved it. I loved it because the fight to be somebody I’m not was over. The burden of carrying the weight of my sins was off of me.

And I knew what I didn’t know before. The secret of the Kingdom of God is found right here.

“For thus says the high and exalted One

Who lives forever, whose name is Holy,

"I dwell on a high and holy place,

And also with the contrite and lowly of spirit

In order to revive the spirit of the lowly

And to revive the heart of the contrite.”

Isaiah 57:15

In humility. In confession. In repentance.

This is where He dwells with us. This is where He has ordained the stuff of relationships to begin and to be lived out day by day, year by year, in this age and in the age to come. This is the place, the only place, He is in fellowship with us. We with Him and we with each other.

And I lived here -- for a while. I went back over all the relationships I’d messed up over the years and I went to them. Or called them. Or wrote to them. Just to say “sorry” and to own my part in what went wrong. I was learning not to just to be in the “Light” but to walk in the “Light” and not just with my past.

But in the present. Doing right now relationships with an open heart. Desires known. Secrets exposed. In humility. In confession. In repentance.

Where nothing is safe and protected.

* * *

Until I got hurt. Once, twice. And then watched others get hurt. Not by people of the world but by the people of the “Light.” I didn’t understand it. I didn’t know what to do. So I did what I’ve always done. I ran back to my other world.

And quietly slipped into “normal time.”

¹ This is the work of the Holy Spirit who convicts us of our sin (John 16:8). It is also called “the discipline of the Lord” who “disciplines us for our good, so that we may share His holiness.” See Hebrews 12:5-11.

² John 8:12; 9:5

Brokering

2012-01-17T10:37:00.000-05:00

Reflections on Matthew 5:20-24

"Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your offering there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your offering.”
Matthew 5:23-24

Leave. Go. Be reconciled. Come and present – got it.

I knew this as a young child.

My mother would see me push someone smaller than me and make them cry. She marches over, swats my rear, and says, Now go over there and say you’re sorry. And mean it! Of course, I don’t want to. I stomp my foot, shake my head and say, no. She tells me, Fine, if you don’t, you’re in bed by 7:30 for a week. And that, in front of my older brother and sister, would be humiliating.

I don’t have a choice. I’m not doing the 7:30 thing.

So I go over to the sniffling little brat I hurt and grunt, “sorry” in that “I don’t really mean it” kind of way and then walk off. Mom sees and hollers, You know that’s not what I meant, now go back there and do it right.

I think to myself, Ok, so you want me to do it right? I can do it right. I can put on the actor’s face, play pretend, and tell this little runt, “How it pains me that I wrongfully pushed and hurt you.” Then, with a bow, exit stage right.

Big smile on my face for mom.

Note to self: look around before messing around. Goal: don’t get caught. Also, play acting really works.

* * *

"For I say to you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Matthew 5:20

Adult relationships are far more complicated but the simple unhelpful rules learned as a child still apply.

Most of us know we’re not supposed to hurt each other. We know, if we do, we need to go, take the initiative, and say sorry. A real sorry, from the heart. We also know, if we’re honest, that it has a lot more to do with us than with them. Not because Mom’s watching but because God is.

And He’s harder to fool. He tends to see and hear EVERYTHING and play acting only works if, get this, we fall for our own act.

Which I’m actually good at.

I remember picking up the phone a few years ago surprised to hear the voice of an old friend. He and his wife had moved to another state and we’d lost touch. Intentionally. We didn’t end on good terms. I’d faced him with some issues and he countered back, hard. Neither of us budged. We cordially, in a good Christian manner (play acting), parted ways.

“Thad!”

He called to say sorry. He’d gone through the Ash Wednesday service and began the Season of Lent fully convicted by the Lord that he had to get right with me. And here he was, on the phone, extending kindness.

A real sorry, from the heart.

All these years have passed and I still love telling the story of that phone call. We did everything we were supposed to do. Each of us confessed we were wrong. We asked each other for forgiveness. We prayed for each other on the phone and, after a long talk of catching up, we ended the call fully at peace with each other. In the Lord. All things put right. Everything perfect.

It all felt so good. Like I could feel the Lord smiling down on me.

Until a few years ago. I told the story one too many times. A person finally asked the question, “So how’s your relationship now? Is it still going well?”

Hmmm. Not really. We haven’t talked since.

Note to self: Stop telling the story.

* * *

“For I say to you that unless your righteousness surpasses…”

Matthew 5:20

For I say to you…

He demands more. Relationships are everything in the Kingdom of heaven. Not just because God said so but because it’s who God is. And we get the tiniest glimpse of this as we come to know the love and fellowship of the Father for His Son, the Son for His Father, with the Holy Spirit, one God, forever and ever.

Relationships are everything in the Kingdom of heaven.

It’s why the Father sent His Son to us. It’s why our Lord suffered on the Cross. This, in God’s eternal wisdom, was the only way to reconcile what was broken. Us with Him. Him with us. Us with each other. At the highest cost possible.

And He will not allow relationships to be treated lightly. Superficially. At no personal cost to our hearts.

I know this. But I don’t want this.

I want the Law. I want rules. I want the quick-fix, five steps to unbreaking what’s broken. Give me 1- initiate; 2- confess; 3- say sorry; 4- ask forgiveness in Jesus’ name; 5- extend the Lord’s peace and I’m happy. I can do that. I want to do that. It keeps everything superficial and it doesn’t mess with my heart.

It doesn’t make me face me. The real, broken me.

And better yet, it can all be done on Facebook and Twitter. High fives on the internet! Getting right with others gets me right with God and gives me a righteousness that makes me all warm and goose-bumpy inside.

Big smile on my face for God.

* * *

“…you will not enter the kingdom of heaven.”

Matthew 5:20

The fact is, I don’t want to do the hard work of Kingdom relationships. I want to be in the Kingdom. I just don’t want to do the Kingdom stuff.

My heart’s been hurt enough. I’ve already got too many scars layered with too many big fat callouses. Good callouses – since I don’t hurt as much when people stomp on me, or leave me, or call me things I never dreamed they’d call me. Bad callouses – because it makes me so uncaring, so insensitive, so cold of heart and blind to the people I love so much and hurt so easily.

Just let me keep everything light. Simple. Easy. Superficial.

And if something happens, if I get hurt or if I hurt somebody, then I promise I will say sorry, a real sorry, from the heart. I’ll do what I do best.

I’ll broker what’s broken so I don’t break in the process.

Let's Talk Relationships

2012-01-10T13:16:00.000-05:00

Reflections Matthew 5:21-23

"Search me, O God, and know my heart;

Try me and know my anxious thoughts;

And see if there be any hurtful way in me,

And lead me in the everlasting way."

Psalm 139:23-24

Great prayer but no thanks.

Self-analysis generally works better. If I actually take time to reflect on my life (which is on my “to-do” list) I tend to do pretty well overall. Same is true when I ask others to help me. They’re my friends and they tend to sympathize.

But asking the Lord to “Search me…And see if there be any hurtful way in me” isn’t something I’d rush to sign up for. I’d rather be like Adam and Eve in Eden and hide out, stashed behind a tree.

It’s safer there.

The fact is, I don’t need anything more in my life that’s unmanageable. Finding balance today, every day, is the goal. Not just for survival but for general well-being and happiness. There’s nothing worse than waiting for a medical test to come back. How much more if the Lord does the testing? If He starts searching my heart, my “anxious thoughts”, I think I might unravel completely.

I need comfortable religion. I need God to be ok with me. No big changes. No deep work in my heart. I’ve got too much on my plate already.

* * *

"You have heard that the ancients were told,

'YOU SHALL NOT COMMIT MURDER'

and 'Whoever commits murder shall be liable to the court.'

Matthew 5:21

Perfect example.

This isn’t about me. Here’s a command of God that I’ve kept. I’m not under the scrutiny of the Almighty on this one and I’m grateful. There’s nothing better than going to church, reading the Bible, and finding the message is for others.

Like the rich young ruler, I can say with a smug but humble heart, “All these things I have kept; what am I still lacking?” (Matthew19:20) Of course, I might not have added, “what am I still lacking?” It leaves room for an answer.

But that’s just it. I actually do want the Lord working in my life. I just need to be in control of it, that’s all. It needs to be slow and manageable. I don’t want to become undone. Anything close and I can feel resistance build inside me.

Is it resistance or rebellion?

It doesn’t matter. I can check the box today. I haven’t murdered anyone and I’m massively off the hook.

* * *

"But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother shall

be guilty before the court; and whoever says to his brother, 'You

good-for-nothing,' shall be guilty before the supreme court; and

whoever says, 'You fool,' shall be guilty enough to go into the fiery hell.”

Matthew 5:22

So I’m not off the hook.

The Lord Jesus takes the sixth commandment, You shall not commit murder, and directly relates it to the relationships in my life. Are there people I’m angry with? Do I have broken relationships – people I’m not talking to? People I avoid? Am I filled with hurt and bitterness for things done? things said?

Yes.

Of course, the moment I say yes, the case files open in my heart. There are reasons -- good, justifiable reasons -- why these relationships have broken. Amazingly, and quite coincidently, I am not the problem in each case.

I’m right. They’re wrong, and to be honest, I’d rather not talk about it.

That’s why I secretly love the scribes and Pharisees. They are passionate for the Lord; highly motivated in their obedience to God’s word; faithful in their disciplines and daily worship; and models of godliness to the wider world.

And the best thing is that everything has a bow on it. Perfectly wrapped. They’ve got religion down to a meticulous science. God is absolutely and wonderfully boxed and everything’s ordered and manageable.

No surprises. No digging in the heart. Just obey what He said, check it off the list, and press on.

But this isn’t what He wants from me and I know that.

Are there broken relationships? Yes. Are there people I disagree with, point my finger at, and tell them to their face they’re “stupid” (“Raca” in the Greek)? Yes. Do I write them off as a “fool” and so judge their heart, their motivations, their soul? Something only God as Judge has the right to do.

Yes.

And I close the case files. This isn’t about anybody else. It’s about me. It’s about the sin, and the depth of that sin, that has hurt people in my life.

I can feel the resistance. I don’t want to talk about this. I want to argue there’s no way I’ve broken the sixth commandment – murder? really? -- or that I’m 100% to blame or that I somehow deserve to be thrown “into the fiery hell.”

I want to hide behind the Eden tree, plug my ears with I-tunes, turn it up so loud I can’t hear Him, and then go full speed into a busy life.

* * *

"Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and

there remember that your brother has something against you…”

Matthew 5:23

Of course, I need in Him in my life. Mostly for selfish reasons. I need my family to be safe through the day. I need help on a thousand and one decisions. I need blessing. I need provision. I need protection…

So I do everything right. Go to church – check. Read my daily devotion – check. Pray – check. Give generous, be generous (a personal motto) – check.

All’s well. Nothing’s going hugely wrong so I must be doing everything right.

And here’s the best part. When I go to worship, when I receive communion, I don’t remember that my brother has something against me. Ever. It’s so much about me -- me being right with Him – that I never think about anyone else.

Until now.

Now that I’m totally aware that there are broken relationships in my life. And that the problem isn’t first about them. Or the circumstances that broke us. It’s frighteningly about me and the stark realization that my being right with Him has everything to do with me being right with them.

This is what I know He wants from me.

And all I can say is – ugh.

To hear Thad's sermon on this CLICK HERE

Make Me Real, Lord

2012-01-04T15:46:00.002-05:00

I lead a Bible study at the local Rescue Mission with fifteen guys who’ve come off the streets. Every week they show me what it means to choose Jesus Christ every day. They say it a thousand times, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” ¹ And they believe it. They won’t do life without Him.

We open with prayer. We turn to the Bible and I feel the challenge. They don’t want just an academic study. They want bridges. Bridges that connect the mind to the heart. The truth of God’s word to my life and theirs. They need the gospel to be what the gospel really is, “the power of God for salvation.” ²

They need more than true. They need practical. They need real.

A staff member comes in. He asks if anyone has seen Joe. They say he’d been at breakfast an hour ago but no one has seen him since. They’re concerned for him. He’d been at the Mission a few months and he’d made great strides. The men pray for Joe. They ask the Lord to help him. “If he’s back on the streets, Lord” one of them prays, “help him make right decisions and keep him safe.”

They finish their prayers, open their Bibles, and look at me like they don’t want me to mess up. They need the truth of God’s word today. Truth they can understand. Truth that’s real manna feeding their soul. Truth that comes in the strength and power of the Holy Spirit to live life today.

I’ve got to make bridges. I’ve got to be real so they can live real.

We start at the beginning. Back to Genesis. Back to when God created the heavens and earth in perfection. Back to when we were made in His image and created, not for corruption and evil, but for God and His glory. We deal with the entrance of sin. Evil and corruption. The reign of the devil and death.

“If we’re going to know Him, if we’re going to serve Him,” I tell the men, “we have to hear the whole story. He made us for good and He wants good for us. We’re the ones who sinned. We did that. Not Him. And in His kindness, He did something about it. It’s why He sent His Son. He wants good for us.”

Good is hard to hear when you’ve been lost in a world of bad.

They push me. They want to know how I know. They want stories, real stories, from when I first crossed the bridge from my bad, my sin, my real sin, to when His good first touched my heart and soul. Not just my mind. Me.

And they push.

I resist. I always resist because I hate exposing me. I’d rather keep things in the realm of concept. Thought. Principles. So I can protect my heart.

But they push because their life isn’t lived there. They need His good. They need it to grab their mind, heart and soul and give them the power they need to choose good today in Jesus’ name. Real good. Real power. Filling their soul.

Especially today. Though no one knows where Joe is, they all know where Joe is. And they don’t want that. Not for him. Not for them. Not today. The streets cannot have them today. They choose to stay together. They choose Jesus.

And so do I.

Sitting in that room, in a big circle, we are brothers in Christ. They suffer from years of drug addiction. I don’t. But I suffer, like them, from my addiction to sin and the power of that sin trying to control my life.

I choose Jesus today. Like them. I need Jesus today. Like them. I need to hear the word of the Lord to my soul. And I need it to be “the power of God for salvation” that saved me once, that saves me now.

So we build bridges together. Starting in Genesis. Moving to Exodus. Pointing to the day when Jesus Christ comes and makes all things real. He’s the One who deals with our sin, addictions, pride and rebellion by what He did on the cross. He’s the One who makes it possible to live today.

We build bridges together. A thousand bridges, captured in the book you now hold. Inviting you to go, inviting you to pray with us, Lord…

Take me to where Bible & life meet.

¹ Philippians 4:13

² Romans 1:16

Night Travelers

2011-12-27T13:48:00.000-05:00

Reflections on Matthew 2:1-12

I sat at the far end of the first row for the annual Christmas play. The children were adorable in their costumes, most a little shy to be on stage especially with their parents constantly waving and filming their every move.

I had no idea this little play was about to have a profound impact on my life.

* * *

A young reporter was interviewing the magi shortly after they’d seen the Child. He wanted to know why they were so troubled.

“We saw His star,” one said, “and we were filled with joy. We knew this was a sign from God above. A diviner like us, a magi from of old, spoke by the Spirit of God. He told the world that this star would appear in Israel announcing the birth of a great King. And now that day has come!”

“We went back and read,” another said, “and re-read, the ancient records of the Jews. It’s all there. The coming of their Messiah, the son of David, whom the prophets of old said was more than a great King. They said He was Emmanuel, both the King who is God and the God who is to be born.”

“When we saw His star, we knew we had to go see Him.”

“But would they let us? We didn’t know. We told our families. We told our government officials. We brought the finest, most expensive gifts possible. We could only hope the Jewish leaders would allow us audience with the King.”

“So we too might see Him and worship Him.”

The reporter kept watching as the three men talked to him. He tried to catch what they were saying but it left him puzzled and strangely speechless.

“We imagined all Israel would be in Jerusalem like they do at their feasts. Everyone celebrating with song and dance, food and drink, cheering at the sight of the Royal Child and rejoicing with the greatest joy that His reign and His kingdom were here --- finally here!”

“Then we realized we were thinking too small.”

“Maybe the whole world saw the star like we did and were doing just what we were doing. We actually believed that Jerusalem, no, all of Israel, wouldn’t be able to contain the amount of people coming to worship the Child.”

And with that, disappointment fell on their faces. The reporter picked up on it and asked why.

“Because that’s not the story.”

“We got to Jerusalem and it was no different than any other day. We went up to the religious officials and asked, ‘Where is He who has been born King of the Jews?’ In no time, we were summoned to see King Herod. We told him about the star and that we’d come to worship the newborn King.”

“And we could see that deeply troubled him.”

“It was like he never heard it before. He knew about the star. He knew about the coming of Messiah. He knew the prophecies of old. But no one had made the connection. Not him. Not the Jewish leaders. Suddenly all of Jerusalem knew that we’d come – and why we’d come – and were as troubled as Herod.”

“But still, even then, they didn’t get it. They didn’t understand.”

“King Herod sent us secretly to Bethlehem where the prophets said Messiah, son of David, the great Emmanuel King was to be born.”

“We thought for sure all of Jerusalem would make the trek with us from Jerusalem to Bethlehem, following the star, in hope to see their Messiah.”

“But it’s not true. No one came with us. So we thought, surely the people of Bethlehem had seen the star and knew about the birth of the Child. Surely this great town would be filled to the brim with people and joyous celebration.”

“But it wasn’t. We couldn’t believe it. This is the city of David. This is where the prophets said He’d be born. We asked people in town but no one seemed to know anything about why the star had appeared or that the promised Son of David had just been born to them. They didn’t know or even seem to care.”

“So we kept on following the star until it led us to the house of the Royal family. We knocked and someone greeted us. The moment the door opened, we saw the Child and instantly fell to the ground and worshipped Him.”

“The Lord had prospered our way.”

“He gave us audience into His royal presence.”

“But it was just us and no one else. We were told about the shepherds on the night of His birth and what the angels had said. We were told stories of how the angel Gabriel had visited His mother Mary and how God visited King Joseph in a dream. We knew all the Scriptures God had spoken were true.”

“But it was just us and no one else.”

“The people – they all saw the star. They all knew the Scriptures. But no one could put the two together. They went on with their busy lives not knowing that the greatest moment of all time had come upon them as foretold in God’s holy word and announced by the sending of the King’s star. And even when we told them, they didn’t seem to understand or care.”

“They weren’t ready. No one was.”

“There were no crowds around the Child. No songs or cheers or dances. No streets filled with food and drink, entertainment and joy. No central platforms built so that all the people could see Him, honor Him, and worship Him.”

“We thought the whole world was going to be here with us. We never dreamed that we’d be one of the only ones who’d get audience with the great King.”

“Why weren’t they ready? Why was there no one here to welcome Him?”

* * *

And with that, the children bowed.

My little busy world suddenly stood still. I knew then that times had not changed. That I was no different than the people of that day.

The Scriptures in one hand. Life in the other. And the two rarely meeting. And I wondered what I’m missing today. Missing because I’m too busy. Too busy to follow the night travelers on their quest…

To find Jesus. To worship Jesus. And to follow Him with all my heart, soul, mind and strength.

Undistracted Eyes

2011-12-21T10:26:00.001-05:00

Reflections on Luke 2:25-38

For thirty years, we’ve had male Old English Sheepdogs. These dogs were born to herd. Give them sheep – or really, anything that breathes – and they’ll circle, gather and lead with one eye on the sheep.

One eye on the Shepherd.

Through the years I’ve trained our “boys” to go off leash. So when it’s just the two of us out for a walk, they’ll go off to smell the land, chase a stray squirrel, or take off on a run. And every once in a while, I’ll find that split second they’re not looking.

And dart behind a tree.

I remember “Barnabas” most of all. He as our last “boy.” Within seconds, he’d see I was gone. I’d watch his body freeze as I peeked out from behind the tree. He was waiting for movement. Sound. Smell. Nothing. And he’d realize…

I was gone.

He’d bolt to the last place he saw me. Not far from the tree. Again, he’d freeze. His body rigid, his motions jerky, his head to the right, then the left, with just enough hair in his eyes not to see me.

Then he’d take off – fast -- to where I could have gone, should have gone. And again he’d freeze. But this time I think I’d see panic in him – or is it in me? – that maybe, just maybe, he’d really lost me. Lost me for good. A squirrel moves on the grass thirty yards away. A car passes on the street. Barnabas sees none of it. Finding me, that’s all that matters to him now.

I can’t play this game long. I don’t know why I play it at all. It somehow brings back nightmares from my childhood. Nightmares when suddenly Mom and Dad were gone – I mean, really gone. I’d run everywhere to find them but I couldn’t and I’d start screaming. Screaming loud enough to wake me up.

I know that panic.

And I’d sit up in my bed, my eyes fixed on the door, waiting, hoping that soon they’d come for me. Soon it would be all over and I’d find them.

They’d find me.

And I can’t stand it any longer. It makes me come out from behind the tree.

* * *

When I think of the Old Testament saints who died waiting for all that God promised them, I think of Simeon and Anna. They knew it. They got it.

They understood by revelation of the Holy Spirit that all the promises of God found their fulfillment in the coming of “the Lord’s Christ.” The world spun around them in chaos and confusion, but none of that mattered.

One thing mattered.

They were “looking for” Him. Looking for their Comforter ¹, their Savior ², a Light to the Gentiles, the glory of Israel ³, the Redeemer of their people ⁴. For this reason, Simeon stayed near the temple. Anna never left the temple.

She prayed, she fasted. She served the Lord night and day as a young widow. As a middle aged woman. Right up to the age of eighty-four. Never slowing, never stopping the search. And I picture her with that same intensity, same zeal, same panic deep inside her as I remember in the eyes of Barnabas.

As I remember as a child.

She’s looking for Him. She’d waiting, hoping, longing with expectation, as if at any moment she’s going to see Him. He’s going to come. She’s going to find Him and she’s going to be found by Him. And the miracle of Anna’s story is that she’s not like all the Old Testament saints who went before her. All of them died in faith, holding in their hearts the hope of Him who was to come. ⁵

She’s different. Different because she lived to hear the unimaginable.

The sound of a baby’s cry. And not just any baby.

The Bible lets us see her standing next to Simeon as he holds the Child, saying what every saint in every generation before them wanted to say, “For my eyes have seen Your salvation.” ⁶

Then we get to see Anna – the last time we see her – speaking of Jesus “to all those who were looking for” Him. And I want what she has.

But I realize I’ve been like my boy Barnabas. Time and time again I’ve been distracted by the world around me and I’ve taken my eyes off the Shepherd.

But today I want that passion of Simeon and Anna – that hope, that panic back deep in my soul – to long for the Day of His coming.

That Day when we see Him face to face. ⁷

And be found.

* * *

There was nothing like the joy I saw in Barnabas’ face as I came out from behind the tree and called his name. He’d come running at me so excited and at full blast. I mean, scary full blast because this hairy Old English Sheepdog wouldn’t slow down as he got near. And then, boom! he’d knock me to the ground, wagging his butt and kissing me silly.

And I get it. I really get it. Because I knew what it was like when I’d wake up in that bed at night so scared and then to hear the sound of my mom or dad coming down the hall, flicking on the lights, and taking me into their arms.

That feeling of being safe again.

I miss Barnabas. After thirty years of male Old English Sheepdogs, we now have our first little “girl.” Her name is “L’Oreal”, named after a woman’s cosmetic company whose by-line is Because I’m worth it! And she is, she knows it, and she plays her “supermodel” role to the hilt!

Every once in a while on our walks together, I’ll get that itch and sneak behind a tree when she’s not looking. Then I’ll peek around to watch her and, to my surprise, my little Old English diva girl doesn’t even notice I’m gone.

Because she, like me, is too caught up in her own little world.

¹ Luke 2:25

² Luke 2:30

³ Luke 2:32

⁴ Luke 2:38

⁵ Hebrews 11:13, 39-40

⁶ Luke 2:30

⁷ 1 John 3:2; Revelation 22:4

If We Could Change the Past

2011-12-13T14:10:00.000-05:00

Reflections on Luke 24:25-27

We sat on the stairs going down to the beach. It was a late afternoon in mid-October and except for a few stray walkers, the beach was empty.

“I wish I could take it all back,” he lamented.

“You surprise me,” I said, half in jest. “You’re the talk of the town!” And he was. In church a few Sundays back he shared his dramatic story.

* * *

“I’ve got to tell you,” he testified that day, “I was scared. As I lay on that gurney, waiting for emergency heart surgery, having felt the weight of a New York Giants’ linebacker sitting on my chest, I couldn’t help overhearing two doctors saying they weren’t sure whether I’d make it or not.”

“If that doesn’t make you pray to God, I don’t know what will!” he bantered with the congregation. “I was begging Him for my life. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want to leave my family. I wasn’t ready and I needed His help.”

“A few minutes later, just before they put me under anesthesia, I heard that ‘still small voice’ in my head saying, Why don’t you believe in Me?”

“At first, I didn’t understand. ‘No!’ I said quickly, ‘I do believe in You, Lord. You know I believe in You.’ In my head I began to mount my defense. I’ve been a member of this church for fifteen years. I’m an elder. I’ve spoken at dozens of church conferences. ‘Lord,’ I prayed again, ‘don’t You know…’”

“Then a second time, Why do you refuse to repent of your sin?”

“As I heard these words, my brilliant defense turned to ash. It was as if the Chief Surgeon had cut opened my chest and exposed my heart to me. My real heart. I saw it, and when I saw it, I knew what I’ve known all along.”

“I am two people. I am a corporate businessman. It’s been my life for thirty years. I put on that suit, I head to the train, and I become a man governed by the principles that govern the kingdom of this world. And I do it well.”

“But when I get home and take that suit off, I change into being a husband, a dad, a Christian man, an elder of this church. I’m the guy people turn to when wise counsel is needed in business. I’m the guy some men look up to because I’m successful, I’m rich, and I confess Christ for my life.”

“Two people, that’s what I am. Two very different people. Just as I put on the image of the corporate businessman during the week, so I put on the image of being a Christian here at church. And worse, I’ve known it all along.”

“But laying on a gurney changed all that. I wasn’t either man. I was me.”

Why don’t you believe in Me?

“A memory came back. When I first came to this church, the Lord was working on my heart. Nearly every service I was confronted with the sins of my past, with me, the real me, as a sinner in His sight. I knew I needed to get on my knees, humble myself before the Lord, and repent of my sin.”

“And I did just that. But it’s not what you think. An awful, evil thought came to my mind. I was suddenly aware if I did get on my knees, people would see. I’d gain respect in the church. I’d be a legitimate follower of Christ. In time, I could be a leader in this church and make a name for myself here.”

“That was fifteen years ago. All this time, I’ve been able to fool you. Fool my family. Even fool myself. But laying on that gurney, literally scared to death, scared of death, I knew I hadn’t fooled God.”

Why do you refuse to repent of your sin?

“There was only one heart surgery that really mattered that day. I needed to get right with the Lord. I needed to come face to face with my arrogance, pride and rebellion. I needed to confess the gods of success, power and fame I’ve served in the corporate world and here in the church.”

“So right there on the gurney I repented of my sin to the Lord. I asked Him to forgive me in Jesus’ name. I told Him I was sorry and I thanked Him and thanked Him again that He loved me enough to give me another chance.”

“And this morning, I am here to ask for your forgiveness.”

“If you’re willing, rejoice with me. The Lord Jesus Christ got me through heart surgery. Real heart surgery! He was my Doctor. He was my Chief Surgeon. And He’s done the miraculous. He’s given me a new heart.”

* * *

“What do you mean you wish you could take it all back?” I asked as we sat there, overlooking the ocean.

“I’ve wasted so many years. If I’d given my life to Christ fifteen years ago, I mean, really surrendered my life and lived it for Him and not for me, I’d be a different man today. I’d have made wildly different decisions. My wife and I could have been used in the Lord’s service building His Kingdom, not mine.”

“But no,” he said sharply, looking straight at me, “I’m the guy Jesus talks to when He says, ‘O foolish men and slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have spoken!’ ¹ He’s talking about me! I’ve read the prophets. I’ve read the gospels. I know my Bible. But I didn’t know Him.”

”And I didn’t live for Him,” he said, putting his hands over his face.

We sat there for a while in silence listening to the waves crash on shore.

I wondered then what it would be like to grant his wish. To turn back time and live the years again knowing what we know now. To do it all over again but this time believing. This time expecting the Lord to be at the center of our lives, guiding how we parent our kids, directing how we live our lives.

I wondered how everything would’ve been different if we could change the past, re-write the story, and live it all again. But this time, believing what the prophets said. This time, waiting with longing for Jesus Christ to come.

We would have been ready. Ready for His birth. Ready to welcome Him. We’d have invited everyone to come -- the moment the star appeared – to celebrate the birth of Emmanuel. There would have been song! There would have been dancing! All the world would have bowed their knee that night in Bethlehem!

If we had just believed.

¹ Luke 24:25

Hope Has A Name

2011-11-29T14:47:00.007-05:00

Reflections on Job 19:23-29

I’ve often wished I was a different kind of preacher. I admire those who have the gift of teaching, expositing the Scriptures in a clear, controlled manner.

Even when I try, I find myself miserably failing. I always seem to get caught at the crossroads where the great truths of the Bible intersect with me, our times, our struggles, hardships and pains.

The crossroads where Bible and life meet.

And so it was last week as I preached on Ruth 1:16-17 where this noble woman of God, Ruth the Moabitess, binds herself in a legal vow of undying faithfulness and loyalty to her mother-in-law Naomi. Here is a picture in the Bible of the same bond of covenant the Lord has made between us and Him.

Between us and each other in Christ. Bonds we keep breaking and breaking.

That morning just before I preached, the senior pastor announced that two of their leaders were in a broken, unreconciled relationship. He called everyone to urgent prayer for them and to beg His mercy for their situation. The grief that fell on the congregation was palpable.

And there I stood, in the pulpit, at the crossroads.

One moment with Ruth, the foreigner, who portrayed the kind of stubborn, unrelenting steadfast love that only comes from God -- love that doesn’t break. Love that sticks and sticks and refuses to break no matter what. The next moment I was there with the people who were reeling in shock, hurt, and confusion for the break between two of their beloved leaders.

I couldn’t help it. I hate that it happened. But I found, as I pleaded for the duty and responsibility of all Christians to stubbornly fight, and fight again, for the relationships given us in Christ, and by Christ, my voice cracked. Tears came.

And I felt the tiniest glimpse of God’s heart breaking as the bonds between us for whom He died keep breaking. And breaking. And breaking.

And then I saw him come.

Straight down the aisle. A young man with Down’s Syndrome, his face as bright as an angel, walking toward me with tissues in his hands.

“Why are you sad?” he asked me in a whisper. And then he reached out his arms, put them around my waist and hugged me. Hugged me and hugged me.

Refusing to let go.

* * *

He made what we make so complicated so simple.

* * *

In my prayers, I’ve replayed that scene over and over. At first, I didn’t know why this young man was coming down the aisle. Was he going to his seat or did he have something else in mind? Was he going to disrupt the meeting? But the closer he got, the more I saw. The more I realize he was coming for me. I saw the gentleness, the concern in his face. The tissues in his hand.

And I find myself wanting him to keep coming.

It made me think of Job. This man saw the same thing. In the midst of his greatest suffering, as he struggled to figure out why the Lord allows us to go through such terrors in life, he suddenly felt hope. Hope in the promises of God. Hope in what He will do in days yet to come. But more. Much more.

He knew that hope is a person. Hope has a name.

It’s as if he lifted up his eyes and saw Him coming straight down the corridor of time with gentleness and concern in His face.

Straight down the aisle with tissues in His hand.

"As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives,

And at the last He will take His stand on the earth.

Even after my skin is destroyed, Yet from my flesh I shall see God;

Whom I myself shall behold, And whom my eyes will see and not another.

My heart faints within me!”

Job 19:25-27

And I find myself wanting Him to keep coming.

* * *

“Let me tell you about that young man!” a dear friend said to me after the service. “He’s such a God-send.”

“One Sunday morning, the younger children put on a play for the church. It was a modern version of the parable of the Good Samaritan. A child was riding her bike and had a nasty fall. Another child came walking by, saw the young girl hurt by the fall, and passed right on by without helping.”

“I bet you can guess what happened next!” she went on, smiling.

“Well, when that young man saw her fall, he got up from his seat, came running down the aisle, got on stage, and helped her back on the bike!”

“Of course, the children were upset because he ruined their play! So they started it all over again. And when that little girl fell a second time, the same thing happened. That precious young man came running down the aisle and helped her back on the bike. But this time, as soon as he saw she was okay, he said in a rather loud but kind voice, “You’ve got to stop falling now!’”

“It was just so beautiful and everybody loved it. Well, except the kids!”

As she told the story, I felt his hug again. A hug that refused to let go.

A hug that stubbornly fights with undying faithfulness for the well-being of others. A race down the aisle that does everything to make sure that those who have fallen are picked up, dusted off, and made well. A hand full of tissues that demands the breaking of our relationships cease in Jesus’ name.

Making what we make so complicated so simple.

And in that hug, the promise of hope. For one day, it will be Him.

Hope that has a name.

Straight to the Heart

2011-11-23T09:35:00.018-05:00

Reflections on Psalm 34:1-8

"Erilynne,” her sister said, her voice subdued and anxious, “I’m in the emergency room.”

“Kitten? What happened? Are you ok?” I could hear panic in Erilynne’s voice. She covered the phone and whispered to me, “She hates doctors. I can’t imagine her in a hospital. She must be so scared.”

“Erilynne, I fell. I didn’t mean to. It’s my fault.”

“Do you hurt anywhere?”

“My stomach hurts.”

Elizabeth was twelve years younger. She’d married in her forties, moved to the west coast, found a church and went into ministry with her husband. Although she suffered with mental challenge, Elizabeth was one determined lady.

Elizabeth, or “Kitten” as Erilynne affectionately called her, was admitted to the hospital. On the third day, after test results came back, her voice was scared, “Erilynne, I don’t want to go into surgery. They’re telling me I have to.”

“Kitten, let me talk to your nurse. Can you get your nurse on the phone?”

A few minutes later we learned Elizabeth had fallen because she was anemic. Test results showed a large mass in her abdomen and the doctors had determined the best course of action was to operate immediately.

I listened as Erilynne talked and prayed with her sister. Over and over she reminded Elizabeth of how faithful the Lord had been to them down through the years. “Do you remember when…?” she’d say, telling story after story.

“Yeah, I know,” she said back quietly, scared.

“So listen to me, Elizabeth,” Erilynne said with the tone of an older sister, “He’s going to be faithful now. I promise you that.”

“Yeah, I know,” she said again.

* * *

It’s impossible to be far away. Two sisters, one on the east coast and one on the west. It’s equally impossible to run to the Scriptures, grab the promises, speak them, pray them, believe them but feel they, too, are far away.

I sought the Lord… Psalm 34:4

It matters that He has spoken in His word. But at times like these, we crave something deeper. We long to hear the Lord speak these same promises directly to our hearts. Saying our name. Knowing our pain, our fear, our cry. Assuring us that He hears us. And more than hears, He answers us.

I sought the Lord, and He answered me,

And delivered me from all my fears.

Psalm 34:4

This is how we prayed for Elizabeth. That she’d know He was there, really there, speaking to her heart, calming her fear, and filling her with His hope.

This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him

And saved him out of all his troubles.

The angel of the Lord encamps around those who fear Him,

And rescues them.

Psalm 34:6-7

Real hope, straight to the heart.

* * *

The operation was postponed a day. Elizabeth wanted to go home. She was worried about the people she and her husband minister to each day.

“I can’t stay here. The women need me,” she told her sister frankly.

Every morning, she and her husband would go to the streets looking for the homeless and hungry. Elizabeth, in particular, was burdened for homeless women. She served them, loved them and did everything she could to provide for them. This, she knew, was the Lord’s call on her life.

“Not yet, Kitten,” Erilynne urged. “But soon. You’ll get to go home soon.”

* * *

Her husband got to the hospital at noon that Wednesday. Elizabeth was unresponsive the day after surgery.

“Did she tell you her dream?” the woman in the next bed asked.

“No,” he said back, staring with sadness at the change in Elizabeth.

“Before she went into surgery, she told me she had the most beautiful dream. She said she was standing by a river. She said she heard a voice speaking to her. The Father said to her, ‘Elizabeth’, calling her by name. ‘Elizabeth, on Thursday at 5:00 I’m coming to take you home.’”

“5:00 Thursday?” he asked, looking now at Elizabeth’s roommate.

“That’s what she said.”

He nodded his head and knew exactly what that meant. That night, he went home and got everything ready. He called his pastor and church friends and told them Elizabeth was being released from the hospital the next day. He wanted to make sure everything was just right when she got home.

A few minutes before 5:00 the next day, Thursday, he walked into Elizabeth’s hospital room surprised to see her still in bed. Still unresponsive. He grabbed her hand, looked into her eyes, and told her everything was ready at home. He told he loved her, everybody was asking for her and couldn’t wait to see her.

He looked again and watched, to his surprise, as Elizabeth took her last breath.

And found herself standing by “a river of the water of life, clear as crystal, coming from the throne of God and of the Lamb.” ¹Elizabeth, her name known by her Father. His promise, spoken in a dream, given straight to her heart.

Our dear Kitten, home safe in the arms of Jesus.

¹ Revelation 22:1

Scarlet in the Window

2011-11-14T17:05:00.001-05:00

Reflections on Joshua 2:8-21

I wasn’t allowed to go see him. And rightly so.

We didn’t know each other that well but I considered him a friend. Every time we met it was like, if things we different, we’d be best of friends. But as it was, we were only acquaintances. Colleagues in ministry.

Seeing each other once or twice a year.

That summer, as he lay dying in the hospital, a picture came to my mind in my prayers. It was like I was standing outside the hospital looking up to the seventh floor, fourth window over on the right, and I could see his face.

Looking out. Waiting. Hoping.

A year and a half earlier he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The news was impossible to hear. He was only forty-five years old. Six beautiful children ranging from teens to elementary school. He pastored one of the largest churches in our county.

Not him. Of all people, not him.

We heard reports that the doctors caught it early. He responded well to treatment and, once over, there were about four to five months where we thought he was cancer free.

But the week after Easter it came back with vengeance and knocked him down. Another friend sent me his sermon tapes from that Palm Sunday and Easter. I still have them. None of us imagined they’d be his last sermons.

Few outside his family saw him after that. He was in and out of the hospital. The doctors didn’t think he’d make it through June. But he did.

And July. And August.

Looking out the window. Waiting.

* * *

She did too. Sitting on the ledge of an open window on the wall of Jericho. Her hands playing with the scarlet cord which hung over the side. Her eyes on the horizon. Waiting. Wondering.

Her life was a mess. Her body wasn’t full of cancer but her soul was. She’d given herself to a life of prostitution. She lived in an immoral, corrupt city where the only way to feed her family was to do the unthinkable.

Day after day. Tossed on the street. Year after year. Run over, trampled down, without hope. Without God.

Save me.

She’d hid the two Israelite spies. She’d lied to the king to protect them. She knew their God was the One who parted the Red Sea. He was the One who fought Israel’s wars. It was Him, “the Lord, your God, He is God in heaven above and on earth beneath.” ¹

And soon He’d come for Jericho, she knew that, because Jericho was a wicked city full of harlotry. Full of her harlotry. The terror of you has fallen on us. ² Fallen on me. Save me. Save my family.

The spies said they would if, and only if, she kept their mission a secret; if she gathered all her family inside the house; if she put the scarlet cord in the window. Then, and only then, would her prayers be answered.

And they’d be true to their promise.

By now she was clutching the scarlet cord. This was it. The visible sign to the Israelites that promises were made. Vows were spoken. Though the Lord will rain down judgment on Jericho. Though the city will burn in flames. Not her. Not everyone packed into her little house on the city wall.

Because the scarlet cord in the window had a voice, a loud voice, crying out, “Though judgment falls all around me, it does not fall here. For here, mercy reigns! Mercy to those inside my walls! Mercy to those who trust the Lord!”

Mercy. And hope. ³

For the first time, as far back as she could remember, she was filled with hope. Hope that she’d never return to the streets. Hope that no one would ever hurt her again. Hope that someone would keep their promise and rescue her.

Rescue her now. As she held that hope clutched tight in her hands.

Looking out the window. Waiting.

* * *

My friend died that September. And every once and a while I go to my basement, search through old boxes, and grab his last two sermons. Every time I do, I picture myself standing outside the hospital, looking up to the seventh floor and seeing him there. Looking out. Waiting. Hoping.

A scarlet cord hung over the side.

His Palm Sunday and Easter sermons were different in sound, in tone. He was a great preacher. In fact, he taught preachers how to preach. But he was a calm, methodical, organized man.

Not these sermons. They were impassioned, filled with urgency for us to see Jesus as Lord and Savior; to hear what He has done for us in His death, His resurrection, His promise of new life to all who believe Him. Receive Him.

It was as if my friend leapt out of the pulpit and gave everyone in his hearing a scarlet cord. He desperately wanted us to feel it in our hands – hope! Feel it! All the promises of God every spoken – in our hands! Grab it! Know it! Jesus Christ is soon to return for you – look out the window!

“Though judgment falls all around me, it does not fall here. For here, mercy reigns! Mercy to those inside my walls! Mercy to those who trust the Lord!”

And that was my friend. Telling me, telling us all, to go to the ends of the earth and give everyone who’ll listen the scarlet cord. And then tell them…

Just put it in the window. Clutch it tight in your hands.

Waiting. Watching. For soon our salvation comes!

¹ Joshua 2:11

² Joshua 2:9

³ There is a beauty in this story that should not be missed. There is a very clear parallel between the scarlet outside Rahab’s window and the blood of the lamb on the doors of the Israelites on the first Passover night (Exodus 12:13). In both cases, the color scarlet was the sign for judgment to “pass over” these houses. And so it is today, for those protected by “the blood of the lamb.” (Revelation 7:14, 12:11)

The Promises of God

2011-11-10T11:44:00.001-05:00

Reflections on Psalm 103

We sat in the old priest’s office. I’d called him up and told him the honest truth. I had a pastoral crisis on my hands far bigger than I could handle.

I hadn’t been in ministry long when a man came to my office to see me. He was depressed and deeply troubled in spirit.

He told me that he and his wife had been serving abroad as missionaries for four years and had come back to the States within the last six months.

“I’ve been to Christian counselors,” he volunteered. “I’ve been to medical doctors. One tells me I’m suffering from exhaustion. Another tells me I need to see a psychiatrist. One person told me I’m possessed by the devil.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

He told me story after story of the suffering he and his wife endured in the Third World. From the moment they arrived, there was verbal abuse from locals. It soon escalated to threats. Their home was robbed more than once. All his work in translating the New Testament was seized and burned.

Two years into their story, he contracted an intestinal disease.

“I’ve gone through a whole battery of tests since we’ve been back. The doctors can’t find anything wrong. Whatever it is, it’s getting worse and it’s painful. I can’t sleep. I can’t eat well. I keep losing weight. It’s affecting my marriage, my family, my work. Everybody says they’re praying for me but nothing changes.”

Then he said it again, “I don’t know what to do.”

He looked straight at me and expected godly counsel. I knew right then that what he needed I didn’t have. I could feel the despair of his heart and mind, like this huge cloud of darkness enveloping him and sucking out every ounce of hope from his soul. He didn’t say it but I could feel it.

I can’t go on like this much more.

“I want you to do something,” I said, taking a chance. “I’ve got a friend, an older priest. I want us both to go and see him. Will you do that with me?”

I saw hesitation in his eyes. And then, worse.

Hopelessness.

***

“Tell me your story,” the old priest asked as we sat in his office, three chairs facing each other. My friend began, just as he did with me. Occasionally, the priest asked a question and my friend did his best to reply.

“It sounds to me,” the priest interjected, “that you are a Christian man.”

“I am, sir.” And with that my friend began to recall his early days as a Christian. His zeal for the Lord. His desire to be on the mission field. He spoke as a man who once was full of riches – and now had nothing.

I sat there wondering what this dear old priest would do now. It was clear my friend was suffering from chronic intestinal issues as well as severe depression. How does this priest help him now? What does he say or do?

With that, the priest opened his Bible. He took his attention completely off my friend and his problems and began to speak of the things of the Lord. The words of Scripture began to fill the room.

The promises of God. The faithfulness and lovingkindness of God from generation to generation to those who fear Him.

For as high as the heavens are above the earth, So great is His lovingkindness toward those who fear Him. As far as the east is from the west, So far has He removed our transgressions from us.

Psalm 103:11-12

For His anger is but for a moment, His favor is for a lifetime;

Weeping may last for the night, But a shout of joy comes in the morning.

Psalm 30:5

I looked over at my friend and saw his eyes closed and tears running down his face. And then I looked at the priest, his elbows resting on the arms of the chair, his hands lifted to the Lord in quiet surrender as he kept reading.

And I saw what I hadn’t seen before.

This old priest knew exactly what to do.

It was like he was climbing up the great mast of a tall sailing ship. Up and up, reading the promises of God, speaking of the Kingdom of God. Up and up until he reached the crow’s nest where he could see out. See ahead.

And tell my friend he was safe in the arms of the “God of hope.” ¹

With that, he stood in front of my friend and placed his hand on his forehead and anointed him in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. With meticulous care, with both words and silence, he brought before the Lord all of this man’s story. The insults, threats and attacks. The loss of his work.

Cleansing in Jesus’ name.

And again he repeated the promises given by God in Scripture for moments just like these. So my friend could hear and receive them for himself. I suddenly realized, as I knelt in prayer next to both of them, that this old priest had given my friend the greatest gift imaginable.

Cleansing in Jesus’ name.

I felt right then that we were all in the presence of God. As if somehow we’d climbed the mast and jammed into the little crow’s nest together -- able to rise above the darkness of the present times and breathe in the fresh air of the Kingdom of God.

“I felt hope again,” my friend told me later. “I felt the strain and weight of these past years had gone – completely. As the Scriptures were read, as I remembered the Lord’s promises to me, and as this man prayed for me, I felt the joy of my salvation in Jesus Christ had finally returned. ”

I smiled back, even as I do today, and remember the dear old priest who knew exactly what to do. ²

¹ Romans 15:13; 1 Timothy 1:1

² For further discussion, I highly recommend the wonderful chapter entitled, Pastoral Counseling, found in Iain Murray’s classic biography on David Martyn Lloyd-Jones, The Fight of Faith 1939-1981, The Banner of Truth Trust, 1990, pp. 403-423 from which this story is partly adapted.

Where Hope Begins

2011-11-02T15:45:00.001-04:00

Reflections on Psalm 23

The preacher did what few do. He let us see, touch, feel despair. ¹

A gorgeous day in the mountains of Colorado, he told us. Out with three of his grandchildren, playing in the vast forest near their home.

The oldest grandchild, she must have been six or seven, was given the task to take something back to the house to give to grandma. And that’s exactly what she did. But that’s not all she did.

She decided she didn’t want to stay in the house. She wanted to go back out into the woods to find her grandpa and her brother and sister. She didn’t tell her grandma she was going. She didn’t tell anyone. She just went.

Into the woods. Into the wild.

It wasn’t long before he made it home. Or before he and his wife realized their little granddaughter, Brianne, wasn’t with them. That she’d gone back out. By herself. Into a world filled with all kinds of danger, alone.

He ran back to the woods. Shouting her name.

Fifteen minutes passed, nothing. He called back to the house, nothing. They called the police. Search and rescue came.

An hour passed.

Two hours passed. He’d gone down all the familiar paths. Up on the rocks. Down to the stream. He was scared she’d fallen in, that he was about to see her little body in the water. O thank God, she wasn’t there. But his mind kept racing with horrifying images and behind each one, raging, terrifying fear.

Three hours passed. Nothing.

Thousands upon thousands of acres of land. Wild animals everywhere. If night came, she’d never survive it. Not now. It was too cold. He kept shouting her name. Shouting until his voice went hoarse. Waiting, listening.

Just to hear that perfect little voice call back. A sound. A cry. Anything.

Nothing. He called back to the house. Still nothing.

He collapsed to his knees. At the edge of the stream. His hands grabbing his head, falling forward, hitting the ground, weeping. Crying out to the Lord for help. For mercy. Pleading for the life of Brianne.

Helpless. Feeling for the first time since this beautiful child came into the world, what life would be like without her in it anymore.

Scared, panicked way beyond anything he’d ever known.

In the woods. In the wild.

* * *

He asked for the life of his granddaughter.

But he knew the story. He’d been a Christian, a preacher, a pastor, a long time. He’d been there at moments like these when the Lord answered prayers from the begging heart of a parent for their child. And he’d been there when they weren’t answered. When the child died. When the lost were never found.

And he’d learned the secret. On his knees, now grabbing the mud.

Here in the “valley of the shadow of death” there is a rod, a staff, to grab hold of and cling to.

A Shepherd who never leaves. Who is everything He said He is no matter how the story goes.

Even if Brianne is never found?

Darkness, despair washed over him. He couldn’t stop crying, those deep sobs from the pit of his stomach. Three hours and a half. He’d do anything to get her back. It’s why he prayed the prayer most every parent knows.

Take me. Not her.

He didn’t care about his career. Fabulous, no-joke, successful career. He didn’t care about the plans he and his wife had dreamed for their years of retirement. Nothing mattered. Not now. Not in comparison to his beautiful little girl.

And still he held onto the rod. The staff. The Shepherd. Knowing he had to do what he couldn’t do.

Give her to Him.

Trust Him if she’s found. Trust Him if she’s not.

Because He is who He said He is. Always. Because He presides in this dark, terrible, broken-down, horror of a world where little girls disappear and evil somehow, mysteriously, makes us all feel terrifyingly vulnerable and helpless.

Because He is hope. The only hope. The Shepherd Himself.

In the woods. In the wild.

* * *

The phone rang while he knelt there. He was afraid to answer it. Too much time had passed. And plus, he’d just given her back to the Lord.

Was this it? The news he didn’t want to hear.

Just the sound of his wife’s voice made him get up and run. Run with everything he had inside him. Run the path home, up the mountainside and across to the opening where he could see people gathered.

And Brianne.

Where he got to do what he never thought he’d get to do again.

Clutched in his arms. Lifted high in the air. Saying over and over.

I love you. I love you. I love you…

¹ Taken and amended from a story told by preacher-performer Ken Davis, www.kendavis.com, on Saturday morning, October 22, 2011 at the Myrtle Beach Convention Center.

Access to the Father

2011-10-25T09:50:00.000-04:00

Reflections on Acts 4:12

“You’ve got to read the book,” a pastor told me. Turns out he’s a personal friend of the author and it’s on every best seller list in the country.

I got the book and read it. It felt to me like a delightful infusion of a child’s faith pouring into my veins.

This little four year old boy, during a life-threatening operation, caught a glimpse of heaven and slowly, over weeks and months, told his Dad and Mom about what he saw. His Dad wrote the book. His Dad’s a pastor of a church.

“Daddy, what’s a funeral?” the boy, Colton, asked.

“Well, buddy, a funeral happens when someone dies. A man here in town died, and his family is coming to the church to say good-bye to him.”

“Did the man have Jesus in his heart?” the four year old asked.

“I’m not sure, Colton,” his Dad replied, “I didn’t know him very well.” With that, Colton got worried and insisted, “He had to have Jesus in his heart! He had to know Jesus or he can’t get into heaven!”

The same scene repeated at the church. It was the first time Colton had ever seen a casket. When he learned the dead man was inside, the worry came back.

“Did that man have Jesus?!” Colton said, nearly shouting. “He had to! He had to!” The outburst caused his Mom to snatch him up and take him outside. “He can’t get into heaven if he didn’t have Jesus in his heart,” he kept saying. ¹

A little boy who’d spent a little time in heaven. With a simple message.

One that grown-ups have a hard time hearing.

* * *

At least that’s been my experience.

A few weeks ago I was at a funeral. I could tell the pastor loved the dear woman who’d died. She had spent years in the church. A gentle soul, a person overflowing with kindness. That, of all her gifts, was her legacy.

The pastor’s message was heartwarming as he remembered story after story of this great woman’s life. He encouraged us to make godly choices and live godly lives as she had done. He wanted us to know how much God loved us.

And that she was safe in heaven now.

Cheering us all on.

It was a gentle, sentimental message, touching the heart. I could hear people around me responding with quiet sobs. The pastor honored the remarkable character of this woman but in doing so – forgot the simple message.

Colton’s message.

Then came the eulogies. One of the woman’s sons rose to the microphone. So like his mother – gracious and kind. After a few minutes of remembrance, he told us the most comforting words possible for a grieving soul.

His mother knew Jesus.

It may seem strange, he told us, and hard to understand. But having cancer might have been the best thing that ever happened to her. Not that God caused it but that He used it for her good. ²

It was this diagnosis, and the ominous “less than two years to live” that moved her to turn to the Lord. And her prayer was answered because He changed her from being an active church-going woman to being a real and courageous follower of Jesus Christ who had deep faith in Him.

There was comfort in his voice. Comfort that it was all true. What the pastor said. His Mom was safe in heaven now. Because of Jesus Christ.

And then he did what Colton did. With compassion and sincerity, gentleness and care, he invited the people to have the same personal relationship with Jesus Christ. To have Him in our hearts.

* * *

Funny how we grown-ups avoid the subject. We get so afraid that people will think we’re pushing our religion on them.

But Jesus said it so clearly, "I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father but through Me.” ³ The message is almost too simple. The way to the Father, the way into heaven, only happens through Jesus Christ.

Because He’s the only “Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” ⁴

Because His blood is the only blood that has been presented to and accepted by our Father in heaven securing the forgiveness of our sins. ⁵

Because His death tore in two the veil that separated us from God thereby giving us “confidence to enter the holy place by the blood of Jesus, by a new and living way which He inaugurated for us through the veil.” ⁶

He is the Way to the Father. The only Way.

It’s why the early Christians called themselves the people of the Way. ⁷ It’s why their message was a simple message.

A Colton message.

"And there is salvation in no one else; for there is no other name under heaven that has been given among men by which we must be saved."

Acts 4:12

No one else. No other name.

So many people hate this about Christians. They say we’re “narrow-minded”; “intolerant” of other faiths and personal beliefs; “arrogant” to think we’re the only ones in the world who have the key to get into heaven.

They find it hard to hear that a Champion has come. That He has done what none of us could do. He has opened the gates of eternity by His blood.

And then sent a four year old to tell us the good news.

¹ Todd Burpo with Lynn Vincent, Heaven is For Real, Thomas Nelson, Nashville, TN, 2010. pp. 57-59.

² Romans 8:28

³ John 14:6

⁴ John 1:29

⁵ Matthew 26:28; see also Ephesians 1:7 and Hebrews 9:11-28

⁶ Hebrews 10:19-20

⁷ See Acts 9:2; 19:9; 19:23; 22:4; 24:14; 24:22

Power in the Blood

2011-10-19T11:26:00.000-04:00

Reflections on Psalm 32:1-7

Andre sat next to me in church. His Bible in one hand. A pen in the other. A notepad on his lap.

“This morning we’re looking at five key steps of God’s plan of forgiveness,” the preacher began. “Steps that have radically changed my life.”

I saw Andre out of the corner of my eye write FORGIVENESS on his pad and then underlined it. Of all people, I thought to myself, I’d choose him to bring the morning sermon.

He came from the streets. He once told me he couldn’t remember a day when alcohol and drugs weren’t part of his childhood. Big family. Absent father. Mom with a big heart but unable to care for her children.

He was there when it happened.

He saw his brother shoot and kill his mom.

I remember a day, several years back now, when he asked a group of men at our church to pray for him. He’d been sober a couple of years. He’d been in an intentional rehabilitation program. He loved to quote his lifeline Bible verse: “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!” ¹

“It’s time,” he told us, “for me to go visit my brother in jail. I called and the date is set. I want you to pray for me. I want him to know I forgive him.”

We were all dumbstruck. How does anyone do that? Forgive the man – let alone your own brother -- who shot and killed your mother?

But he did just that.

“It’s ok if my brother doesn’t receive it,” he said. “But I need to tell him. I need him to know what Jesus Christ has done for me He can do for him. He may not get it now. But I bet he’ll never forget. And maybe someday he’ll believe too.”

* * *

The preacher testified he’d had an abusive father. He described the impact to his self-image and how he’d spent his early adult years in reckless sin.

“The first step is to acknowledge the pain. Don’t run from it. Engage the story. Know that forgiveness is a process. Sometimes a long process…”

“The second step is to dig deep inside ourselves. We’ve first got to forgive ourselves. If Jesus taught us to love our neighbor as we love ourselves, we’ve got to start there. And when we’re hurt, when we’re beaten up, this is a hard thing to do. We need God’s help. We need to learn to love ourselves again.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Andre writing the steps down.

“The third step is full of choices. I choose not to speak ill of the person who hurt me. I choose to pray for that person. I choose to see that person through the lens of God’s love for them. I choose to take steps, as God leads, to show signs of peace toward that person. And I choose to release my pain to God.”

Off on the margins of his paper, I saw Andre write in big letters, “WHERE IS THE POWER???” I felt like a school kid peering over at his notes.

The preacher got to the fourth step. “It’s the hardest of all. We need to ask God to help us go to that person. Now for some of you this isn’t possible. Maybe the person is dead. Maybe the person is too violent and you can’t go back. But for many of us, we need to dig deep inside ourselves…”

Again Andre wrote in big letters, “NO! NO! NO! He doesn’t get it.”

The preacher went on with his story. He’d gone to his father’s bedside when he was dying. Even then, he never got the blessing he needed so badly.

By this time, Andre had tuned out. It looked to me like he was writing poetry. I looked more carefully and saw something all too familiar.

Would you be free from the burden of sin?

There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;

Would you o’er evil a victory win? There’s wonderful pow’r in the blood.

There is pow’r, pow’r, wonder-working pow’r In the blood of the Lamb;

There is pow’r, pow’r, wonder-working pow’r In the precious blood of the Lamb. ²

* * *

“What are you doing?” I whispered.

“He doesn’t know. He’s not helping the people. He needs Jesus.” He kept writing.

Would you be free from your passion and pride?
There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;
Come for a cleansing to Calvary’s tide…

“We don’t dig deep in ourselves,” Andre whispered back emphatically. “That’s what counselors tell us all the time. It doesn’t work. It never works. Do you think I could have forgiven my brother on my own? I couldn’t do that. Nobody can. We have to go to Jesus. There’s power in His blood.”

Would you be whiter, much whiter than snow?
There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;
Sin-stains are lost in its life-giving flow…

“I’m going to tell the preacher after service,” Andre said, still writing. “He’s still living in the abuse of his father. He’s still trying to forgive him. I’ve got to tell him he can’t. He never can. He’s got to go to Jesus for that. Not himself.”

Would you do service for Jesus your King?
There’s pow’r in the blood, pow’r in the blood;
Would you live daily His praises to sing?

And that’s exactly what he did.

I don’t think I’ll ever forget that Sunday morning. Andre knew more than most preachers ever know. It’s rare these days to hear the message of the cross: “there’s power, wonder-working power in the blood.” But Andre knew. He knew the one and only key step in God’s plan of forgiveness.

Run to Jesus. The power in His blood. For the forgiveness of our sin. ³

I miss Andre. He’s relapsed twice since that day. But each time, he’s found his way back. I hear he’s somewhere in the Midwest these days. And I hear he’s clean, sober, and still singing of the “precious blood of the Lamb.”

¹ Philippians 4:13

² Lewis E. Jones, There is Power in the Blood, 1899., copyright: Public Domain.

³ In Leviticus 1:4 we find the incredible word, one that fills the soul when understood, that we are “accepted.” The offering is made. The blood is shed. And we hear the words of our Father, the blessing of our Father, we are accepted! This is the joy of King David’s writing in Psalm 32. This is the joy I feel when I remember what the Lord Jesus Christ, our beloved Lamb of God, did for my friend Andre.

Balloons!

2011-10-11T15:43:00.000-04:00

Reflections on Leviticus 16:20-22

He sits in church. Staring at the preacher in the pulpit.

It’s all come back. The accusations and gossip. Angry words said to his face. Said behind his back then told to him, or told to his wife, or told to his friends. It happened sixteen years ago. But it feels like it happened three weeks ago.

“You see that man?” a fellow Christian whispered to a new family joining the church. “He used to be a preacher. Got caught in a sex scandal that made the papers and everything. Said it was an underage teen girl.”

It wasn’t. But it doesn’t matter. It’s what people believe. And every couple of years, the whispers in the church turn to a loud thunderous roar.

“Keep your young daughters away from him.”

“…sexual offender…”

“…people like that never change…”

He hates what it does to his wife. His family. His close friends. No matter what he does, where he goes, it’s like he wears the big red bulls-eye from Target on his chest. And when he least expects it, hunting season opens all over again.

Over the years he’s fought the urge to stand up, tell people what really happened, so at least when they accuse him they get the story straight.

But that doesn’t matter either. The fact is, he did mess up. He exercised poor judgment. He crossed boundaries he knew not to cross. When he was caught, disciplined, tossed out of the pulpit and labeled a sex offender, he knew the perception would never change. And he knew, at least in part, it was true.

He was a sex offender.

He’d never be entrusted with the pulpit again. Ever.

He’s never get the red bulls-eye shirt off his back.

* * *

A year and a half after his crime, he and his wife were still fighting a world of demons. Legal issues were still pending. Church disciplines were still in place. They were at a new church. The pastor and the council welcomed them but they felt more like “an elephant in the room” than “sinners saved by grace.”

As weeks, months passed, depression wrapped around him like a dark cloud. He hated his new job. He hated his new life. He hated the hurt he’d caused so many people. Countless people. People who still write him in anger.

He hated what he’d done to his wife. And more, what he’d done to God.

There were days he felt like he was walking down the stairs of a dungeon. Darker and darker. Colder and colder. The smell of ancient mold filling his nostrils. The fear of eternal flames flashing in his head.

He was scared.

Except for his wife and few straggler friends, he was alone. Very, very alone. And wondering, more than ever, if life was worth living.

* * *

It was in those days that he came home one night bursting through the door, calling out for his wife.

“It’s over!” he said. His face different. Bright. His eyes alive again.

“What are you talking about,” she asked, confused.

“Today, at lunch. I had to get out of my little cubicle office space and go for a walk. There’s a park nearby. I was walking, just walking. So tired of it all. And I saw this mom with her two little children. Toddlers, a boy and a girl, holding these balloons. They were all so happy until the boy let them go.”

“And three balloons went up into the air. Higher and higher. The boy started screaming, ‘Get the balloons, Mommy! Get the balloons!’ She said, ‘I can’t. Their gone. I can’t reach them anymore.’ And the boy cried and cried.”

“And quietly, in my heart, as if the Lord was standing right there, He whispered to me and said, ‘Scapegoat!’ Before I could wrap my mind around it, I suddenly knew it was over. I mean, done! Completely done!”

“I couldn’t get my eyes off those balloons. I felt so sorry for the little boy. He was crying so hard. But those balloons kept getting higher and higher, smaller and smaller. The wind was taking them off to the west. And this joy, this cleansing unbelievable joy was filling my heart. I couldn’t wait until I couldn’t see them anymore. Smaller and smaller and then they were gone!”

“It’s over, sweetheart. It doesn’t matter what the courts say. It doesn’t matter what people say. It’s over!”

His wife had taken in his infectious joy but she was still puzzled. “What does ‘Scapegoat!’ have to do with anything?”

“It’s a visual. Remember the High Priest takes two goats. One for sacrifice. Once its blood is brought into the Holy of Holies, he takes the other goat, the scapegoat, and lays the sin on it. Then he sends it away so everyone can see the goat leaving. Going out into the wilderness. ¹ Getting smaller and smaller.”

“As far as the east is from the west,

So far has He removed our transgressions from us.”

Psalm 103:12

“And that’s just it. All this time, I’ve been clinging to the cross. I’ve been giving my sin, my horrible, horrible sin to Jesus. I know in my head that He forgave me on the cross. I know His blood covers me. But I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t feel it in my heart. I didn’t know if it was really true for me.”

“Not until I saw the balloons in the sky, going higher and higher, getting smaller and smaller. Not until I heard Him say, “Scapegoat!’” And with that, she smiled and leapt into his arms as he kept saying, “It’s over! It’s over!”

And that memory has never left him. Even now, sitting in church, with another wave of accusation and controversy spinning around him. He closes his eyes. He can still see the balloons reaching to the skies.

And he can still hear the sound of the Lord’s voice, “Scapegoat!”

¹ Leviticus 16:21-22: "Then Aaron shall lay both of his hands on the head of the live goat, and confess over it all the iniquities of the sons of Israel and all their transgressions in regard to all their sins; and he shall lay them on the head of the goat and send it away into the wilderness by the hand of a man who stands in readiness. The goat shall bear on itself all their iniquities to a solitary land; and he shall release the goat in the wilderness.”

2011-10-07T11:19:00.000-04:00

We Must Wait

2011-10-04T15:48:00.000-04:00

Reflections on Leviticus 17:1

My friend – I admire him so much.

He’s not the guy driving the 18-wheel Mack-truck, hard and fast, running over people, leaving a trail of hurt and broken people in his wake.

He’s the guy who keeps getting hit.

And he’s the guy who knows exactly what to do. He does it over and over again. He goes to Jesus. He confesses his sin, yes, his sin, even though he’s the one being sinned against. But he knows what the Lord requires of him. He knows his own anger, the outbursts of his tongue, the bitterness of his soul.

He goes to Jesus. He prays with his wife. He prays with a few close brothers in Christ. And we pray over him. We pray protection. We pray healing and mercy. But more than anything, we pray the blood of our Lord Jesus Christ over him, asking the Lord to grant His forgiveness to bless our dear friend.

He knows he needs it. Desperately needs it. Because he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life constantly reacting to the Mack-man driving his 18-wheeler.

But that Mack-man was his boss.

And – if you can believe it -- that Mack-man was a Christian leader.

Eventually my friend got other employment and the Lord gave blessing to his work and his family. But six months after, eighteen months after, three years after, he’d still be talking about the Mack-man – the pain he caused, the pain he continues to cause others.

He still goes to Jesus.

“It’s like I finally get to that place,” he told me, “where I’ve given it to Jesus. I’ve confessed my own anger and hatred for the man. For this short window of time, I get a taste of the Lord’s forgiveness. It’s like it’s over. I can close that chapter in my life and move on with my eyes finally off him and onto Jesus.”

“But then it comes back in full force. Just the mention of his name, or some news of someone else he’s hurt, and my insides tighten into a fist. Before I know it, I can’t stop thinking about him, talking about him, and it’s like the anger and bitterness is worse than before.”

So he goes to Jesus.

“I keep giving it to Him, over and over” he tells me. “Then, before I know it, I take it right back.”

He’s tired. He wants it over. But he doesn’t know what else to do.

* * *

We go back.

Back to the Old Testament. Back to where the Lord taught us, in great detail, how to receive the forgiveness of our sins.

It starts with confession. We have to have the courage to speak it out loud. All of it. Not in self-defense, no, but on our knees and in humility before the Lord.

In those days, our hands would rest on the head of the sacrifice so that our sins would be transferred to the animal. Without the shedding of blood, the Bible teaches everywhere, there is no forgiveness of sin. ¹ For this reason, the animal, now bearing our sin, dies. Dies for us, as us.

But there’s more. The ritual is not done.

We must wait.

This is hard for some. We want to run to Jesus – our Lamb of God, our holy, once for all, sacrifice. Repent and confess our sin. Receive His forgiveness and that’s that. Done. Over. What else is needed?

We must wait.

The priest has work to do. This is especially seen on the Day of Atonement when the High Priest was given special access through the veil, into the very Presence of God, in the Holy of Holies. He would carry in the blood.

And there the High Priest would pray for us. This was his job. As he sprinkled the blood on the mercy seat, he would intercede before God on our behalf.

And it’s still His job. To this day, our great High Priest, the Lord Jesus Christ, goes before His Father to “make intercession” for us. That what He does. ²

We must wait.

"When he goes in to make atonement in the holy place, no one shall be in the tent of meeting until he comes out…”

Leviticus 16:17

Wait “until He comes out.”

If we don’t wait, we’ll keep giving it to Him and taking it back. Giving it to Him and taking it back. But if we wait, wait until He comes out, wait until He comes with the gift in His hand – the best gift of all – and gives it to us. Really gives it to us. So that we open our hands and receive it. Really receive it.

The forgiveness of our sin. And not just sin in general. This sin – in particular.

* * *

My friend – I admire him so much.

He taught me how to wait. He did it by showing me how hard it was. Like him, I’m massively impatient. I’m part of the fast-food generation so, naturally, I want to go to Jesus. Confess my sin. Get His blessing -- story over! But that’s not the way it works. Never has. Never will.

He did it. I watched him.

He waited.

And one day he called me up and said what I’d hoped to hear. It was over. Really, really over. The scars were still there. He expected relapses from time to time. But the pain, the anger and bitterness, were safe in the hands of Jesus.

The gift was his and, he told me, it was worth the wait.

¹ Hebrews 9:22

² Romans 8:34; Hebrews 7:25; see also Revelation 5:8; 8:4. When the High Priest entered the Holy of Holies, the incense from the golden altar would fill the room. This incense, the Bible teaches, is a picture of the “prayers of the saints.”

Way Beyond Sorry

2011-09-27T14:43:00.002-04:00

Reflections on Leviticus 17:11,

Hebrews 9:22

It’s like he got in his 18-wheel Mack-truck, revved the engines, and tore off. Not caring that his friends, his closest friends – even his wife – were standing in the middle of the road.

And he drove it hard. Drove it fast. Right over them. No looking back.

All the while, telling himself he’s right. It’s not his fault. He’s able to list the reasons why he did what he did – the perfect, iron clad defense.

While those he loves lay on the side of the road bleeding.

That’s Ron. He sinned, sinned big. After nineteen years of marriage, he ran into the arms of another woman. Not once, twice. He blamed it on a “loveless marriage” and knew he needed “a way out.”

There are those who just keep driving. Never looking in the rear view mirrors. Never counting the bodies lying on the side of the road. Never caring because caring requires a heart that can still feel – feel the guilt, feel the shame, feel the hurt they’ve caused. But their heart is cold -- so they drive. Drive hard.

While others look back. They stare in the rear view mirror. They can see the pain they’ve caused those they love. They know their sin, their wrong. They know they have to stop, pull over, and do something about it.

Ron called a friend. He told him what he’d done.

His friend told his wife. His wife then called Ron and “encouraged” him to tell Deborah, his wife, and if he didn’t, she said she would.

Ron had to get out of his big, bad truck and go to the crime scene. He had to face a world of devastation and unspeakable pain that he, in his stupid selfish lust-driven sin had caused. How does he say “sorry” to the other woman – whom he wrongfully used for his own pleasure? How does he face his wife of nineteen years?

Ron captured in writing what happened when he told his wife.

“Then I went home and confessed to Deborah. My spin: Her disinterest had driven me into the arms of another woman,

one who wanted me just the way I am – money and all.”

“’What!’ she screamed, flying into a rage. ‘Nineteen years! Nineteen years! What were you thinking? How could you do this?’”

“Shoes, vases, and figurines flew through the air, some a direct hit. When nothing else presented itself as a weapon, Deborah pounded me with her bare fists until her arms wore out and hung limp at her sides.”

“The night spun by in a whirl of sleepless anger.
The next morning we phoned our pastor…” ¹

He’d done it weeks before. He’d run that big, bad truck over his wife the second he decided to take the other woman into his arms and not look back.

But now he got to see the replay – in real time. He got to see his wife’s eyes as the words came out of his mouth and the news broke over her soul. Her eyes – as the gunshot of his sin came barreling at her at full force -- crushing her heart. Smashing nineteen years of trust into smithereens.

The word “sorry” simply didn’t work. He’d gone way beyond sorry.

* * *

The call to the pastor was the right thing to do. Pastors know what to do at times like these. Actually, every Christian should know.

In the Old Testament, we’d come to the sanctuary with a live offering (a goat or lamb) and stand before the priest. We’d place “one hand on the head of the animal, make confession of the sin, and then with the other hand, slay the animal. A priest would catch the blood in a basin…”

“In the Old Testament, forgiveness of sin was granted

whenever confession was made (e.g., Ps.32:5); the sacrifice

symbolically completed the process, showing the forgiveness

was based on the shedding of blood. The confession without the ritual was incomplete, but the ritual without confession was worthless.” ²

It was never enough just to say sorry.

Sin costs. It always costs. If we want to know forgiveness – real, God-given forgiveness, then we do it His way. And His way requires an offering for sin. A sacrifice. It requires we face the horror and devastation of our sin…

In the eyes of a little lamb.

So we make our confession. But we never leave it there. We have to go through the Lord’s ritual. Our hand on the head of the lamb. Our sin transferred. The death of the lamb for us because of what we did. We have to see it, experience it, and know that our sin costs, costs deep – as we watch the little lamb die.

This is God’s way. There must be the shedding of blood in order to receive the Father’s gift of the forgiveness of our sin. ³ And what He taught us in the Old Testament, He fulfilled in the New. So that we know what to do today.

We know where to go to make our confession. Though the offering has already been made, once for all, we still have to walk through the ritual. We still have to face the horror and devastation of our sin…

In the eyes of the Lamb of God.

* * *

They went to their pastor. They went to counseling. They made a commitment “to rewrite the future history” of their marriage.

But Deborah knew more, so much more.

She grabbed Ron’s hand and led him to the local rescue mission in Fort Worth, Texas. She wanted him to see the homeless and addicted, the poor and needy, the beaten up and broken down. Because she knew Jesus was there. And she knew the only way to get her husband back, for their marriage to be healed and forgiven, was for Ron to meet Jesus Christ.

It didn’t seem possible. How could anyone meet Jesus by spending week after week just coming alongside the homeless and poor?

But Deborah knew, yes she knew! And that’s exactly what happened.

¹ Ron Hall, Denver Moore with Lynn Vincent, Same Kind of Different As Me, Thomas Nelson, Nashville, TN, 2006. pp67-69

² Allen P. Ross, Recalling the Hope of Glory: Biblical Worship from the Garden to the New Creation, Kregel Publications, Grand Rapids, MI. 2006. pp 198-199

³ Hebrews 9:22

2011-09-23T22:10:00.002-04:00