Open Doors

Sunday’s sermon brings to mind an oft-told story from the repertoire of Southern Gospel comedian Wendell (“Wendy”) Bagwell…

It seems he and his singing group, The Sunliters, unknowingly booked a concert in a church that handled snakes as a part of their worship. After singing, they sat in the front pew (out of politeness, because the service wasn’t yet over… and because the love offering hadn’t yet been taken!).

After a brief sermon, the preacher produced a box and began to draw the reptiles out. At this, Wendy nervously asked a Sunliter where the back door was. “They haven’t got one!” came the dreaded news.

To which Wendy replied, “Reckon where do they want one?”

Are you a Wendy? I’ve sure been one ‘way too many times. We’ve all gotten into situations – even while following the Lord’s leading – where things just seem to go south fast, and there are no solutions in the think tank and no rescue on the horizon, and we begin scanning the circumstances for an exit.

Where is the door? We see nothing but solid walls. Claustrophobia sets in. Panic reigns, and the mind screams: There’s no way out. I can’t stand it. I’ve just gotta get out of here. Now. And we charge the nearest wall and smash our way through…

But we haven’t made a door. We’ve made a hole in the wall. A mess that someone else will have to clean up. A ragged gap that someone else will have to try to fill and repair. And we’ve broken our trust in God, too. Because He says that He is the doorkeeper: These are the words of him who is holy and true, who holds the key of David. What he opens no one can shut, and what he shuts no one can open (Rev. 3:7-8 NIV). God is a true gentleman, who insists on opening and closing our doors for us. And when we make our own entrances and exits, we are out of His will.

With that in mind, here’s a suggestion for the New Year. Spend some time talking (and listening) with the Lord about your circumstances and His leading and the year that lies ahead. What does He most want from you? What do you most need from Him? How can you cultivate the holy habit of waiting on God's timing and leading?

Then, in light of the answers you receive, write a prayer – a prayer to be prayed every morning of 2010. I’ve written mine… but yours will be different. It will be custom-fitted to your circumstances and weaknesses and needs. And it will help keep you focused on the DoorKeeper who promises, right now, today, on the threshold of a new year:

See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut (Rev. 3:8). Follow Me through!

Goodbye

When our kids were young, Dave and I made the decision to move from our home in Warren County to Erie. A thoughtful aunt, wanting to help prepare the boys for the life-change, gave them a Golden Book titled Little Duck’s Moving Day.

Little Duck was both excited and scared at the prospect of relocating to a new home. As moving day neared, he helped his mom prepare for the movers who would soon come and load their possessions on a big truck. Alone in his bedroom, Little Duck resolutely gathered toys and stuffed animals, and removed the pictures from his walls. He said a solemn “Goodbye” to each one as he sorrowfully placed them in the big packing box.

His mother overheard him. She came into the bedroom and said to him, “Little Duck, you are going to see your books and toys and stuffed animals and pictures again. We will be unpacking these boxes in your new home, and you will have them there.

“And so,” she suggested gently, “instead of saying ‘goodbye,’ why don’t you say, ‘See you later’?”

And that is what a comforted Little Duck did.

And that is what we do, too. Although we are saying “Goodbye, God-Be-With-You” all around, what we really mean is, “See you later, Pastor Rick and Kathy.” See you down at the City Mission as we’re ladling soup into bowls… see you at a special FAC music concert (you’re welcome, you know), see you in the aisles of TJ Max :)… Or if not in some hallway or street or restaurant, then see you in heaven.

For life is a litany of hellos and goodbyes. And while the family of God uses those words in the common manner, we have a most uncommon knowledge. For us, it’s never truly goodbye – not in any final sense. It will always be followed by a hello, somewhere, sometime. And in the end, “Hello” will have the final word.

See you later.

joy, Joy, JOY!!!!

“Fear not, for I bring you tidings of great joy. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior which is Christ the Lord.”

To outsiders on dark and silent sheep-strewn hillsides…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto you is born a Savior.

To magi wanderers, star-struck, following they know not where…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto you is born a Savior.

To a mother and father striving to stretch their minds around their role…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto you is born a Savior.

To men and women walking in darkness, yearning to hear a word of hope…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto you is born a Savior.

To seekers after truth, oft-mislead, becoming jaded and cynical…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto you is born a Savior.

To people in over their heads, worn-out, fed-up, broken-down…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto you is born a Savior.

To we who are still haunted by shadows, searching for answers…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto us is born a Savior.

Beset by failures and regret and a lingering sadness…
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto us is born a Savior.

Like the shepherds, sore afraid,
Like the magi, lone seekers,
Like the Christmas parents, wholly inadequate for what lies ahead,
Tidings of comfort and joy - unto us is born a Savior.

Sure, in this world we will have trouble – but He calls us to be of good cheer; after all, we have a Savior! And a Savior saves! Then… and now. He doesn’t just save from sin; He saves from fear and bondage and the evil one and the sorrow that leads to death. He saves from every single thing that is bigger than we are. He saves every step we take. He saves every second of our every day. He was born to save!

Oh tidings of comfort and joy, JOY, JOY!!!!

Great Expectations

I’ve got to admit that over my life I’ve had a problem with expectations. An even bigger problem with great expectations. My reasoning could be summed up in one word: disappointment. I don’t like it. Never have. In fact, one of the dumber quotes I used to parrot was: “Expect nothing, and you will never be disappointed.”

One problem with that kind of thinking is that it makes us Puddleglums. You know, the character in the Chronicles of Narnia’s The Silver Chair by C. S. Lewis. Puddleglum the Marshwiggle can best be described by his answer to the children who asked his help in finding the prince:

“It stands to reason we’re not likely to get very far on a journey to the North, not at this time of year, with the winter coming on soon and all. And an early winter, too, by the look of things. But you mustn’t let that make you downhearted. Very likely, what with enemies, and mountains, and rivers to cross, and losing our way, and next to nothing to eat, and sore feet, we’ll hardly notice the weather. And if we don’t get far enough to do any good, we may get far enough not to get back in a hurry.”

There’s a fellow who’s not likely to be disappointed. He didn’t seem to cherish any hopes for the venture to begin with, and he certainly didn’t hold out any hope to his fellow travelers. The interesting thing is, Puddleglum is the most reliable, the most faithful creature in the story, besides Aslan Himself. He is good through and through, and capable of the most noble heroics… he just can’t face the future with confidence and cheerfulness. He has no expectations – great or small – except maybe the expectation that all will be hard and unpleasant.

So here we are at FAC, beginning a journey into uncharted waters. We are prayerful and faithful. But are we also Puddleglums? Do we expect bad weather and enemies and losing our way? Are we spreading the feeling that this is going to be a long and arduous process with a dubious outcome at best? Do we say we are only being realistic, as we cast shadows over the terrain ahead?

There’s a far better way to avoid disappointment and disillusionment, and that’s to trust God. To trust Him with a confidence that throws its entire weight on Him. To trust Him implicitly, not expecting Him to do specifically this or that (find us a senior pastor in two months, start a spike in attendance, keep all one thousand of us in wholehearted agreement through the process). He may do those things… but that’s not where our expectation should lie.

We’ve got to trust His heart, believe in His intentions for us, both as individuals and as a church family. Only then can we trust His plans and His timing and His choices. And we’ve got to trust with a faith that isn’t tentative or wishy-washy. With the faith of a kid on a trampoline, who throws himself onto the springy canvas with abandonment, and pushes off with all his might, soaring higher and higher with each jump.

No fear. No Puddleglums. Just trust.

A No-Faux Christmas

I didn’t grow up in the tradition of the advent wreath, so I still need reminded of the significance of each candle…

First… the prophets’ candle: hope
Second… the Bethlehem candle: peace
Third… the shepherds’ candle: love
Fourth… the angels’ candle: joy
Fifth… the Christ candle

Each candle symbolizes some aspect of the Christmas story. When you think about it, Christmas is loaded with symbols, isn’t it? The star on the Christmas tree (or atop the silo or the town water tower) symbolizes the real thing that preceded the wise men. Christmas pageants and outdoor displays portray the entire nativity scene and story. And the gifts under the tree (usually a symbolic tree!) mimic the gold, frankincense and myrrh given to Jesus by the wise men. They’re our way of showing someone we treasure them. They symbolize love.

Those symbols are good… if we recognize and embrace the meaning behind them. But it’s possible to go through the season entirely on symbols, and miss their significance. It’s possible to give gifts… but not have love. To attend parties and laugh and sing… but not have joy. To hold a flickering candle at a Christmas Eve service… with darkness in the soul.

A faux Christmas. It looks like the real thing, but underneath, it’s a sham. Artificial. Merely show.

How can we make sure this Christmas is a no-faux Christmas? We can take Paul’s admonition seriously: “So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen” (2 Cor. 4:18 NIV). And I think he would go on, in the case of Christmas, to say, “For what is seen is only a symbol, but what is unseen is real and life-changing and eternal.”

So light a candle this Christmas. Trim a tree. Get together with friends and family and laugh and hug and exchange gifts. Do all the things that come with Christmas… but do them all with an eye for what’s under the surface. What really matters. Who really matters.

A no-faux Christmas just might be a life-changing one.

Transformation

Kids are known for telling it like it is, and Sunday’s baptisms were no exception. There seemed to be a common theme in their transparent testimonies: “Before I came to Christ, I was a troublemaker…” “I used to be mean to my sister…” “I didn’t have self-control…”

The common thread was change. And it’s not just unique to those kids. The other day, a friend of mine commented on the transformation in her recently-converted father. “It’s not just that he is a better person. He is a completely different person. He’s just not the same man he was.”

Some of us, though, are asking a silent question deep down inside. Why not me? Why haven’t I had a night-to-day transformation? Why am I still struggling with the issues I battled before coming to Christ? Why them… but not me? What am I doing wrong? Am I not truly saved?

Salvation experiences are unique to each individual. Sure, they all involve repentance and confession and forgiveness and surrender. But haven’t you seen some delivered immediately from physical addictions… while others struggle for years in that area? Some begin at once to exercise God-given gifts, while others have great difficulty finding where they can contribute to the Kingdom. Some forge ahead, exercising ever-strengthening faith, while others constantly battle fear and distrust.

But think about new life. Some babies arrive hale and hearty; others are scrawny and pitiful. Some advance rapidly; others develop slowly. Some enter the world voicing clear instructions to the doctors; others have a hard time figuring out how to breathe.

Similarly, some newborn Christians look fresh, healthy, and full of promise. They arrive almost on their feet, nearly ready to begin serving the Body of Christ. Others are candidates for the neonatal unit. They may need a counselor to help them deal with the trauma of their past lives, and a mentor to show them how this new life is walked. Transformation comes slowly. Godly character is acquired in increments.

The point is this: those who went down into the waters of baptism Sunday did not all look the same. They hadn’t each come to Christ with the same personalities or problems or inner workings or past experiences, and the same sins weren’t washed away. Furthermore, the squeaky-clean souls who came up out of those waters of baptism were not transformed into cookie-cutter Christians. They’re still unique individuals and they will work out the salvation they’ve received in unique ways. They each have different needs and they’ve each set out on a different path, at a different pace, as the Spirit leads them.

It applies to us, too. So let’s not waste our energy lamenting our slowness and our struggles. Let’s just be certain we’re doing our part – cooperating with the Spirit as best we understand, doing all we know to grow more like Christ. Beyond that, take comfort in this paraphrase of Ps. 103:

As a father’s heart goes out to his son or daughter,
So the Father’s heart goes out to each of us who have been reborn into His family.
For He knows all that is going on inside each mind and body,
And He remembers that we were formed from the dust of the ground.

Be reminded today that He’s far more patient and compassionate than we can ever know... Yet another thing to be thankful for this week!

The Initiator

Initiative.

It’s a concept so close to our hearts we scarcely realize it’s there, so ingrained in our lifestyle we don’t see it for what it is. And it’s so valued by our culture we look down on those without it. What, in fact, is initiative? Webster tells us it’s “the action of taking the first step or move, responsibility for beginning or originating.”

Ah, that’s the American way! We value those who create from scratch, or take up a worthy cause and rally the troops, or see a need and construct a plan and get the ball rolling. We set those people up as useful and devoutly to be imitated. They are worth something! They are contributing! - unlike the riffraff who loll about taking life as it comes. (And have you noticed that it seems the further north you travel in our great land, the more highly drive and industry seem to be valued? If that’s true, we live in a hotbed of initiative!)

Unfortunately, this lopsided value system permeates our spiritual life as well. As we learned Sunday, too often we go into a relationship with God under the assumption that we have originated the idea of reconciliation with Him. We took the first step, and God responded. That mindset continues to permeate our walk with Christ: we plan great things for Him, and ask Him to respond by blessing it all. We set about reforming our attitudes and actions, and beg His assistance. And when we fail repeatedly, we blame ourselves and muster initiative for yet another attack on the world, the flesh, or the devil.

Theologians have a term that sets us straight and comforts at the same time: prevenient grace. God wants us; God calls us; God softens our hearts; God draws us to Himself; God keeps us there; God changes us into the image of His Son; God will lead us Home. We have to choose to respond and to cooperate… but He initiates and enables everything.

If we are proud and self-reliant (Luciferian qualities, by the way), this truth will humiliate us, will stir up angry resistance within us. But if we are humble (is that why He said we must become as little children?), it will comfort and encourage us. Why? Because salvation and sanctification and glorification no longer rests on our puny shoulders, no longer depends on our trying hard enough or being persistent enough.

Arms exhausted from trying to fan the spiritual flame can relax. Feet aching from frantic service to God can rest. We are not initiators. We are responders. We don’t need to think up a plan to save ourselves or the world. We can’t produce spiritual fruit by our own efforts. And we don’t get extra credit for expending extra energy on self-generated projects for the Kingdom.

We can lay it all down, along with our pride, and wait on the Lord. Wait on His initiative. Listen for the still, small voice of His Spirit.

Then, “whatever He says to you, do it.”

Giving Thanks

Pastor Rick noted Sunday that he only has a limited number of sermons left; therefore my opportunities to respond to them are also limited. I’d like to take this blog, then, to speak for us all and say that (at the risk of sounding like a mutual admiration society) FAC will “thank their God upon every remembrance of you,” too, Pastor Rick and Kathy. In this season of thanksgiving, we want to express our gratitude not only to God but also to both of you:

Thank you.

Thank you for setting a high standard for us all in your conduct and speech and attitudes. Your example has called us higher in all these areas. And when we’ve chosen the low road, we’ve never been able to excuse it away, saying, “I’m just following the leader here.”

Thank you for shepherding all the flock, not just a favorite few or an influential circle. Thank you for genuinely caring about not just the elders and the members with large pockets, but also the seeker on the fringes and the children and the elderly whose years of ministry involvement are largely behind them.

Thank you for your transparency and honesty. We learned you weren’t perfect. We saw you were sometimes struggling. We were thereby able to identify with your various situations, and were comforted in our own troubles with the comfort that you received from God, and passed on to us.

Thank you for your patience. For not becoming totally and irreparably disillusioned with us when we listened to your advice and nodded our heads and went right back out of your office or home and did exactly the opposite. Thank you for not throwing up your hands in despair (or, if you did, Pastor Rick, thank you for not locking your office door and telling Ruth, “No more! I will see no more wayward, balking sheep ever!”).

Thank you for your sermons. For all those hours you researched and prayed and wrote and rewrote and prayed again and wondered if we would get it and if we would remember it and if we would do anything with the truth God was speaking through you. We have remembered, by the way, far more than you realize. And those sermons have made a far greater difference in our individual worlds than you can imagine.

And thank you for your music. For your faithful and excellent ministry on the organ and piano and at the mike. For bringing the sounds of heaven to earth, and directing our praises from earth to heaven.

For some reason, God seldom allows us to see the extent of our influence on others and our fruitfulness for Him. But one day, to be sure, God will show you both. And then I know you will be truly astonished to see how even the dullest days and the smallest acts and the most pointless-seeming steps of obedience were fraught with eternal significance. You will have “an embarrassment of reward.”

That will be true of your years here at FAC – and it will continue as you serve the Erie City Mission. Know that we are sad to see you go, and proud of where you are going. And behind your backs, after you have left the halls of FAC, we will be saying what was said of Oswald Chambers by his wife, Biddy:

For they
So shadowed forth in every look and act
Our Lord, without Whose name they seldom spoke,
One could not live beside them and forget.

The King of Nineveh

It’s been suggested that the real hero in the book of Jonah is… the king of Nineveh. That’s right – the top Ninny himself.

Of course I think honorable mentions should be awarded, first to the sailors who threw Jonah overboard and offered sacrifices and vows to Yahweh. And also to the great fish who apparently endured significant gastrointestinal distress resulting in the upheaval of Jonah’s undigestable carcass. Perhaps even to the worm, who was given the unenviable task of snatching the last remaining comfort from an easily-ticked prophet. I’ll bet that worm snuck out at the crack of dawn, hurriedly assessed the vine at its weakest point, chomped at top speed, and was outta there before Jonah could plant a sandal on him. Courage.

But the king of Nineveh deserves hero status because, as the Bible says, those who humble themselves will be exalted (Lk. 18:14). And the king, when confronted with Jonah’s dire pronouncement of doom, didn’t try to shut Jonah up, call for his arrest, or throw him out of the city. Neither did he try to justify himself and his people or argue with the prophet’s message – or with this God he’d never worshipped and couldn’t even see.

Instead, he got down from his throne and laid aside his kingly robe. He put on sackcloth and sat down in ashes. He refused food and drink, turned from violence and evil, and cried out to God in the hope that He might relent and spare them in His mercy.

Not bad for a Ninny. In fact, he ends up looking a lot better than the prophet who sat down and cried over his success. Who, while the city wailed and repented under the torturous sackcloth, waited in the comfortable shade and hoped desperately that God wouldn’t hear their cries.

Oh that more of us would be ninny-heroes. Would just humbly accept God’s correction and crawl down off our high-horses, forget our own comfort, forsake our wrong pursuits, and bank wholly on God being forgiving and merciful yet again. And oh that we would recognize our responsibility to lead others in the same decision.

Not just once, when we bow to accept Christ as Savior. But again and again, every time the Spirit convicts us of a wrong we ought to make right or a course correction that’s needed. Every time we are confronted with the unpleasant realization that we are not what God wants us to be.

In those moments, the ball is in our kingly court. And we must decide whether dismiss it with a wave of our hand, or go to our knees in repentance and choose to be heroes of God’s grace.

The Land of Beginning Again

With apologies to Louisa Fletcher...

The Land of Beginning Again
Song for the Fish’s Belly

For Jonahs of every age there’s a place
Called the Land of Beginning Again,
Where willful mistakes and stubborn heartaches
Rank rebellion and selfish old pride,
Can be dropped, like a string of seaweed, on the beach,
And never cling to us again.

Perhaps it was something we refused to do,
And we think we’ve repented too late
Of praises unspoken and promises broken,
And multiple lives have been hurt -
Even “Ninevites” who were depending on you
And me to escape judgment’s fate.

But runaway "prophets" like us can return
To the center of His plan.
For the God we ignored, disregarded as Lord,
Is the God of the Second Chance.
He is calling out still from Calvary’s Hill –
That true Land of Beginning Again.

No matter the years and the tears and the fears
Time lost and memories past,
Now is the time, opportunity prime,
To bow down and make it right,
Tell the God we’ve not heeded we’ll do what is needed,
Give obedience willing and fast.

Yes, Jonahs, there is a wonderful place
Called the Land of Beginning Again
Where willful mistakes and stubborn heartaches
Rank rebellion and selfish old pride,
Can be dropped, like a string of seaweed, on the beach,
And never cling to us again.

Deep-Sea Prayer

Isn’t Jonah unbelievable? Referring to himself twenty-six times in an eight-verse prayer? How could anyone be that fixated on himself?

C’mon, let’s be honest. We can relate to prayers like that! I can, at least. It’s biblical, isn’t it? “Pour out your hearts to him,” the Psalmist David urged. But then he went on to add, “for God is our refuge” (Ps. 62:8 NIV).

That’s a very important addition, for the one thing can save our fishbelly prayers from becoming merely a time of venting, of self-expression, of self-fixated monologue, is to see God for Who He is. To recognize Him as loving and welcoming and immense and powerful and wise and the Rock in which we can always, always hide.

So by all means let’s keep pouring our hearts out to God. Let’s use “I,” “me,” myself” and “mine” twenty-six times if we need to. But let’s at some point pause and look around at our refuge, and really see where we are. We’re not just trapped in a crisis, surrounded by the disturbing sounds of ourselves being digested… we’re inside of God! He is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble, He never leaves us or forsakes us, He takes complete responsibility for us, He watches over all that concerns us, He is sovereign over circumstances, He has good plans for us and not evil ones, and He surrounds us on all sides with impenetrable protection and holds us there until deliverance comes. Whew! What a wonderful God He is, and how wonderful is His heart for us!

If Jonah had really, really looked at God, he might have dropped of few “I’s” and “me’s” and added some “Thee’s” and “Thou’s.” He might have seen how unlike God he was and torn his slimy robe in the anguish of genuine repentance for his rebellion. His heart might have been broken with compassion for the people of Nineveh, moving him to obey God out of desire rather than coercion. And it might have changed the way his story ends.

A fresh vision of God. It would have done Jonah a lot of good, and it won’t hurt us any, either.

Preparing for the Whisper

“The word of the Lord came unto Jonah the son of Amittai”…

Lucky Jonah. God never speaks to me, we lament. I need direction, but I don’t hear His voice. I want to get closer to Him, but He seems silent. I’d like to do something for Him, but He never gives me any instructions. Why?

I think it’s sometimes because of His mercy. If He told us clearly what direction He wanted us to go, He knows we would balk. If He drew close to us and whispered the truth He really wanted to say, He foresees our defensive protests. If He assigned us the task He longs give us – the work He’s designed and gifted us for – He know we’d scoot in the other direction, just like Jonah.

He’s sparing us the bad decision and the broken relationship and the consequences… the storm and the sinking and the fish. If He spoke and we didn’t respond, it would only increase the distance between Him and us. Our excuses and rationalizations would harden our hearts.

I don’t know why God spoke to Jonah when He knew the response He would get – except that He loved Nineveh so much He had to let them know. And He had lessons for Jonah – and for us. One lesson is this: Those who hear God’s voice need hearts that are ready to receive what He says, to believe His truth, to accept His guidance, to act on His instructions. Otherwise we are far worse off than we were before. This should not make us afraid to hear from God; it should remind us that His whisper is not to be taken lightly.

Do we long to hear that whisper? Do we want the word of the Lord to come to us? Then we must get our hearts and minds ready. We must ask for receptive and obedient spirits, so that whatever He says to us, we will do – His way, in His time, for His purposes, in the power of His Spirit. Then the word of the Lord can safely come to us… and we will be blessed, others will be helped, and He will be honored and worshipped and glorified.

Keeping Pace

Can two walk together unless they be agreed? (Amos 3:3) A.W. Tozer has pointed out that for two people to walk together there must be agreement on at least a few major points:

They will have to agree whether they want to walk together. There must be some kind of compatibility; they must have something in common.

They must be agreed on the direction. If one man is going north and one is going south it is a physical impossibility that they could walk together.

They must be agreed on their destination. If they were aiming for two different cities, they would have to separate somewhere on their journey.

They must agree on what path they want to take. There might be a dozen paths to where they are going, and if they are going to stay together they are going to have to take the same path.

They will have to agree on the rate of speed. If one walks very rapidly and the other saunters along, they might ultimately get to the same place but they could not go together because they could not agree on the rate of speed.

Tozer’s insights are very helpful to me when I think about keeping pace with the Holy Spirit, walking in step with Him. It helps me realize I need to continually agree with the Spirit that, yes, I want to walk with Him, I want to go in the direction He’s headed, I want to share His ultimate goal for this journey, I want to follow in the specific path He’s taking to reach that goal, and I want to travel at His pace.

It might seem like an unduly strict discipline, this devoting every second and every step to following His leading. For sure, the enemy will tell us it is unnecessary and impractical and it will stifle our dreams and dry up our potential… but here’s what Satan won’t tell us:

Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom (2 Cor. 3:17). Somehow, in the wonderful, indecipherable way of the Kingdom, when I follow closest, I am freest. When I share the Spirit’s goal, I reach my greatest potential. When I travel at His pace, I accomplish the most. When I agree with His leading, doors open into places I’ve never dreamed of.

When I fall into step with Him, we walk together, in triumph, into glory.

The Spirit of Power

Power. It makes me think of tractor pulls, for some reason (too many county fairs!). When those mechanical monstrosities are backed up to the weighted sled and hooked onto their load, the idle purrs and the tractor waits, motionless. But then… suddenly it leaps forward, engine roaring, back tires digging in and front tires lifting off the dirt, black smoke billowing out of the exhaust pipe, pulling strongly, steadily, three hundred feet to victory.

Power. The Holy Spirit promises power to believers who open themselves to Him. Who just fling open the doors and windows of their inner beings and of their lives, and say, “It’s all yours. Do what you want to do.”

Then we listen for the roar of His engine and watch for the column of smoke to pour from our service to Him. And alas, because there often are no crowd-pleasing theatrics, nobody raised from the dead, no multitudes flocking to the kingdom through our witness, we wonder if we got it wrong. Aren’t tuned up right. Didn’t say the right words. Didn’t surrender everything. Missed a cue somewhere along the way.

Think about this, though. What if into that county fair arena purred a tractor that hooked onto the heavy sled fast and pulled it fast and far without lifting a front tire or venting a puff of smoke or throwing a clod of dirt or even raising the idle. Which tractor really had power?

The power of the Spirit isn’t just about miracles and mountaintop experiences and multitudes pouring through the pearly gates. And His power isn’t proven by noise and motion - those things are not the by-product of power. They’re the by-product of effort.

As A.W. Tozer’s points out, true power is defined as simply “the ability to do.” I looked it up in my Webster’s dictionary to be sure it was really that straightforward, and, yep, the foremost definition of power is: “Ability to do.”

So when we wonder if we are living in the power of the Spirit, we don’t need to look for smoke and commotion and people cheering. All we need to ask ourselves is, Do I have the ability to do? When He asks me to do something, am I able? Do I feel His strength pouring into me when I need it? Does the job get done?

If the answer is no, the solution is not more effort on our part. It’s stopping all our plans and efforts, and opening ourselves to His – because “it is God who works in you to will and to act according to his good purpose” (Phil. 2:13 NIV). It’s His strength, not ours. His power, not ours. His victory, not ours. To God be the glory!

An Aggressive Peace

What an intriguing phrase Pastor Ben tossed out in Sunday’s sermon… did you catch it? An aggressive peace. Have you ever thought that maybe the delicious fruit of the Spirit called peace isn’t such a fragile, delicate thing after all? That it might actually be able to weather the worst life can send our way – that it might even rise to the occasion and beat back the enemy and protect our minds and hearts for us? That it might be… aggressive?

Webster defines aggressive as “ready or willing to take issue or engage in direct action; militant.” Doesn’t sound very peaceful, does it? But listen to Philippians 4:7: “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

John MacArthur writes: “The word for ‘guard’ in Philippians 4:7 is not the word that means to ‘watch,’ or ‘keep imprisoned.’ It is a word that is often used in a military sense, meaning ‘to stand at a post and guard against the aggression of an enemy.’ When peace is on guard, the Christian has entered an impregnable citadel from which nothing can dislodge him. The name of the fortress is Christ, and the guard is peace.” I like Chuck Swindoll’s word picture; he says the peace of God “will do sentry duty” around our hearts and minds. Can you envision His peace protectively patrolling your inner being while you sleep and eat and work?

There’s a condition to be met by us, however; it begins in verse 6: “Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything; tell God your needs and don’t forget to thank him for his answers. If you do this you will experience God’s peace” (TLB)… that peace which is commissioned to do sentry duty around your heart and mind. Never sleeping, always watching, missing nothing, God’s peace knows well the lay of the land in our hearts and lives. It sees the direction from which the enemy is approaching and calls out sharply, challenging the intruder. It sounds the alarm and alerts us to the looming threat. We hear his voice, a pinprick in our hearts that says, “Here comes trouble. What will be your response?”

Too often, at that point we forget to “pray about everything.” To tell God our needs and thank Him – in advance – for His protection and His answers. By our silence, our growing inner dread, our outward shaking on our boots, we say to the sentry, “Let the enemy pass.” We will not resist him. We will not fight. We cave and cower and run up the white flag. Peace steps back, then, and watches helplessly as fear and worry and all their troops rush the walls of our hearts and minds, scale them easily, and quickly begin their evil work, wounding, tying up, taking captive.

Paul is saying that it doesn’t have to happen. God offers an aggressive peace that will encircle us, watch for us, warn us, and effectively protect us – not from the battles of life, but from fear and worry and dread. His peace will not desert, but it cannot protect us without our permission and cooperation.

Sunday’s sermon nudges me; I can do a better job of this. I can make my Sentry’s job a lot easier than I have in the past, and I can let him rout Fear and Worry from every situation… even from the situation that threatens right now…

The question is, Will I?

Giving Our Lives Away

Have you given your life to Christ?

Probably everyone reading this blog would answer “yes,” and nearly everyone listening to Pastor Ben’s sermon Sunday would also answer yes. But I’m afraid by “yes” most of us really mean:

“I have given my sins to Christ.”
“I have given my really bad habits to Him.”
“I have given my major decisions to Him.”
and, if we’re really surrendered,
“I have given my deepest struggles to Him.

But our lives. Have we truly given our lives to Him? That can’t be done in one lump surrender. It can be decided then, but it can’t be done. We can only give our lives away like we live them – day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. An unceasing, perpetual giving, like a spouting artesian well or a thundering waterfall. Like Old Faithful; no, like the Niagara Falls.

That begins to happen when we acknowledge that we no longer have control over our seconds and minutes and hours and days. It’s never again going to be “our turn to say what we do today,” never time for some off-duty self-indulgence. We gave our life to Him and from now on we’re alive on His time and terms; we’re operating under His authority; we’re living out His days and plans and purposes for us.

Lest we think God is expecting something unreasonable in this arrangement, let’s remember that Jesus gave His life for us (did He not give His seconds and hours and days, as well as His final breath, for us?)… should we not at the very least return the favor?

I say all that to say this: being led by the Spirit is just what it sounds like – following Someone else every second of every day. But it’s not just the lifestyle of a few fanatics. It’s actually what every one of us signed up for when we gave our lives to the One who gave His life for us. It’s for you and me.

No, it doesn’t come automatically; it’s something we have to learn, something we have to work at. Something we get better at day by day and step by step and breath by breath. Something we need a Teacher for, something that calls for a Guide… Someone like the Holy Spirit.

Five Suggestions

Here are five ways to internalize Sunday’s sermon and get the entire series on the Holy Spirit off to a good start:

1. Sometime this week find a quiet, private spot and spend fifteen minutes considering this mind-blowing fact: The Holy Spirit lives in me.
2. The Holy Spirit is a Person – divine and perfect where we are faulty and human, but a Person nonetheless. We can relate to Him person-to-Person. Choose one activity with that in mind: Take a walk with Him, write a letter to Him, even go out to eat with just the Spirit as your dinner guest.
3. Make a list of everything you typically do to prepare for and accommodate houseguests. Then consider the kind of hospitality you give to the Holy Spirit on a daily basis. How can you make Him feel more welcome in His temple?
4. Most often, the Spirit’s voice is quiet and low. Pray for specific ways to tone down the noise/distraction level in your “temple” in order to better hear His words of comfort and guidance. Then implement those changes!
5. Honor Him by letting Him be Counselor and Guide: trust Him with your biggest headache – that concern that preys constantly on your mind. Lay it all out before Him and wait for His counsel on the next step you should take.

Try one of these suggestions each day… or one a week throughout the series… You, and your relationship with the Holy Spirit, will never be the same.

Out of the Boat

What a day (or night) for Peter! He saw His Master miraculously walk on water - then he walked on water himself, until suddenly his faith and his body were both sinking, saved only when Jesus reached out and caught him. In the space of mere minutes Peter lived out a roller-coaster story and illustrated lessons that would be retold and relearned for centuries to come.

And all because he’d made a simple request: “Lord, if it is you, tell me to come to you on the water.”

Of course, nobody in that boat had refused to walk on water. The onlookers hadn’t disobeyed. They hadn’t even dragged their feet. And they didn’t get wet and they weren’t chided for doubting. They kept it safe and kept themselves dry and watched someone else prove for them Who Jesus was and what He could do and what He could empower them to do. And they missed the thrill and the mind-boggling miracle and the nearness to Christ.

Now I’m not saying we need to be forever clambering out of boats and putting God to the test and asking Him to do miraculous things through us to prove He’s Who He says He is. I don’t believe we’re all intended to be like Peter all the time, and I don’t think we should expect too many water-walking moments in a lifetime. But sometimes…there is a need. A need to know Who is walking the waves of our situation. A need to get closer to Him at whatever peril to ourselves. An inner compulsion to cut through the doubt and face the fear and find out Who’s calling our name and reaching out a saving hand.

If that’s where you’re at right now, have you taken up the challenge that Pastor Steve threw out Sunday: “Have you asked God to call you out on the water?” Have you at least told Him you’re willing to leave the boat if He does call your name? And if you’ve heard your name, are you responding, instead of wavering, half in and half out of the boat, both drawn by Jesus’ invitation and paralyzed by the crashing waves?

This week, take your eyes off the rest of the disciples. Take them off the wild waves. Fix them on Jesus. Then listen for His voice - that still, small voice that can be heard over the shrillest wind. If He bids you “Come,” it just might be the beginning of your walk on the water. It just might get you out of that boat.

Does Jesus Love Me?

In 1993 John Fischer wrote Saint Ben, a novel about a ten-year-old pastor’s son. Ben was a curious combination of rebel and seeker.

His first Sunday at Colorado Avenue Standard Christian Church, Ben refused to sing any of the Sunday School songs. Ben didn’t sing the songs, he replied when questioned, because he didn’t like the songs, because they weren’t true. “Have you ever been on Jacob’s ladder?... I bet no one here has ever even seen Jacob’s ladder. It’s just a dream some guy had in the Bible. If we’re never going to see it or be on it, why are we singing about climbing it?” Ben, the rebel.

There was, however, one song Ben would sing: “Jesus Loves Me.” He sang it so clearly, so bell-like, so other-worldy, that all the other children and even the leaders stopped singing and stared at him. But he had changed the last words of the song. Yes, Jesus loves me, But I will tell me so.

When questioned about it months later by his best friend, Jonathan, Ben explained, “I don’t believe that Jesus loves me. Show me where the Bible says ‘Jesus loves you… Ben.’ I can’t find it anywhere. The song should really be ‘Jesus loves us.’.. He died for everybody. But I’m not everybody. I’m Ben Beamering. I get lost being a tiny part of everybody.” Ben was looking for his place in redemption and he couldn’t find it. Ben, the seeker.

Nor was he comforted by his father’s frequent allusions to the saying attributed to Blaise Pascal: “There is a God-shaped vacuum in every human heart” - an empty longing that only God could fill. The thought just seemed to aggravate his sense of lostness.

Months later, Ben wound up in the hospital, gravely ill with an infection in his defective heart. One morning he confided to his pastor-father that as he’d laid in his hospital bed the previous night, he’d heard from God. It was obvious that what he’d experienced had given him peace at last. But Jonathan never knew what God’s message had been until after Ben’s funeral, when he opened the worn piece of paper Ban had been clutching since the night he’d heard from God. On one side was the hospital menu. On the other, Ben had written:

Saturday, January 17, 1959
There is a God-shaped vacuum in the heart of Ben.
There is a Ben-shaped vacuum in the heart of God.

It’s not just the rebels and seekers who need to hear what Ben heard. Too many of us Christians believe that God loves everybody, no doubt about it - after all, He sent His Son to die for the world. But what about you and me personally? How do I figure in? How much do you matter to God?

The theologians tell us God is self-contained, perfectly sufficient in Himself, needing nothing. I’m sure that’s true… but He desperately wants something: Me. You. He created you. He doesn’t want to lose you. There is a place in Him that only you can fill.

It’s crucial that you grasp how much you personally matter to God. Otherwise, your heart, like Ben’s, will always get lost being a tiny part of everybody… and you’ll never truly be able to sing, "Yes, Jesus loves me."

Morning Questions

I was out of town this past weekend and haven’t yet listened to Sunday’s sermon on tape, so I’d like to share something else that came across my path this week…

Paul Heil, in his "Gospel Greats Weekly Newsletter," recently noted that John Wesley, co-founder of the Methodist movement, “developed an interesting list of thought-provoking questions, designed as a daily self-evaluation for Christians. Wesley published it in various forms throughout his lifetime”… Below are some of the questions he included. Perhaps they would be useful for challenging us at the start of each day, or as a once-a-week spiritual inventory…

• Do I give the Bible time to speak to me every day?
• Am I enjoying prayer? [I like Wesley’s word, “enjoying.” Doesn’t it make sense that fellowship with God should have an element of enjoyment?]
• Is Christ real to me?
• Am I jealous, impure, critical, irritable, touchy, or distrustful?
• How do I spend my spare time?
• Do I pray about the money I spend?
• Do I laugh at the mistakes of others, reveling in their errors or misfortunes?
• Do I insist on having my own way?
• Do I handle discouragement well or do I have to be coddled?
• Is there anyone whom I fear, dislike, disown, criticize, hold a resentment toward or disregard? If so, what am I doing about it?

And let’s add a couple more that might help us establish perspective at the start of a day:

• Have I given God this day as His to do as He pleases in it?
• Have I given Him myself as His servant?
• Is my desire and prayer that He be honored in the eyes of others through all I am and do today?
• Am I willing to be inconvenienced, stretched, demeaned, or tested for His purposes and glory?
• Am I entering this day with a pilgrim mindset, positive and persevering, looking forward to the promise of eternal life with Christ?

One caution – some of us are prone to go easy on ourselves; others of us beat ourselves up needlessly. Ask your questions prayerfully, and let the Holy Spirit answer them. After all, it’s His perspective that matters. Ask for His forgiveness when necessary; receive His commendation when you’ve done well. And then go into the day filled with God-confidence and God-sufficiency, for if God is for you, who can be against you?

It’s Me, O Lord

We teach children to pray with their eyes closed. Parents, Bible School leaders, and Sunday School teachers all do. I guess that’s because children are easily distracted otherwise, and besides, there’s nowhere to direct their attention outwardly because they are praying to a God who is not seen. So we instruct them to bow their heads and fold their hands (probably so they don’t pinch their neighbor) and shut their eyes and grow very quiet in preparation for prayer.

Now I know that they - and we adults - don’t really have to pray with eyes closed, but even if we don’t close them physically, there’s a good case for praying with the eyes of our heart closed tightly. Closed against the cares of our lives that are filling our field of vision. Closed against the distractions and temptations that vie for our time and attention. Closed against the terrifying mirages the enemy throws across our path. Not because we want to pretend everything’s perfect and life’s challenges aren’t real, but because we want – need – for a few moments to see what is more real and more powerful and more important – Jesus. And we need to see those challenges through His eyes.

If only the Pharisee in Sunday’s parable had done that! Instead, he saw himself magnified many times over, and felt compelled to describe what he saw to God and everyone within earshot. He saw the tax collector standing some distance away, and compared himself quite favorably with the unfortunate man. He saw the works he did as his justification before God.

I don’t know if the tax collector had his eyes closed, but I do know he wouldn’t lift them to heaven. He didn’t look God in the eye; he didn’t look at the Pharisee; he ignored the rest of the people in the temple. His inner eyes were closed to all that. It was just him, standing in the need of prayer… and God, who he knew to be gracious and merciful.

Again, it’s not a matter of physically shutting our eyes. It’s a matter of inwardly shutting out every other urgent voice and becoming totally present to God alone.

I wonder how much our prayer times would improve if we narrowed the focus to “God and me.” If we quit talking up what we’re doing for Him and comparing ourselves with others and excusing our shortcomings and failures. If we just bowed our hearts in His presence and received His mercy and grace to cover all our sin and all our need.

I think we might please the Lord, set an example for anyone watching our lives… and go Home justified.

Three Sons

I am a middle child.

I was well into my teens, I guess, when I learned that this is supposed to be a challenging position, that I am supposed to feel like a second class citizen, underloved, undernoticed, and undercelebrated.

On the contrary, I have generally found it to be quite a comfortable spot in the lineup. While the older child is trying everything first and enthusiastically accepting responsibilities (i.e., work), and the youngest is still requiring attention and assistance… the middle child can quite comfortably lay back and watch it all. Or step back and escape it all. I recall long treks in the woods with my dog (while my older sister was likely energetically cleaning the house) and happy hours circling the lawn on the riding mower (while she learned to cook and bake and sew). No mistake, I would be very reluctant to give up middlehood.

Maybe that’s why I envision another character in the Parable of the Prodigal Son. I know the father had only two sons, but in trying to identify with either of them I find that I am somewhere in the middle – and I think a lot of Christians today are with me on this.

We shrink from the elder brother. We respect our Father too much to protest the celebration of any prodigal’s return. We might shrug and mutter a bit – but not to the Father. We wouldn’t want to make a scene or throw cold water on His joy. So we don’t stay out on the porch or begrudge our transformed brother a fatted calf and a few hours of dancing.

But neither do we always rush to hug him and offer him a place beside us at the dinner table and take him to town to proclaim his return. We play the middle child, present in body but not in heart and soul. While we’re genuinely relieved that the Father’s long days of anguish are over, we’re content to step back to watch the festivities. Keep our reservations to ourselves. Maybe make an early exit to take care of duties, or just hide in the hay and contemplate the day’s events.

Middlehood. It might work if the Father didn’t know our hearts, but He does. In His family, there’s no escape. No carefree hours spent circling the issue while neglecting what He wants most of all – a heart like His, eyes that see every brother for what they are – prodigals every one, and ourselves first of all. Lips that welcome the wanderer home, arms that offer a grace-filled embrace, and feet that dance with the angels in heaven.

Now there’s a challenging position... but there’s no more comfortable spot in the lineup!

Counting the Cost

I can relate to the Parable of the Unmerciful Servant. Like that servant, I’ve acknowledged my poverty to a holy King and willingly accepted His pardon, but too often my attitude says, Because God made me and loves me so much, He’d do anything to have me back. Redemption is a right I claim. (Sometimes it’s like I’ve done Him a favor and allowed Him to save me.)

I have not grasped what mankind initially owed nor how much was the ransom paid nor what it cost the King. I have so little concept of the debt He cancelled. So is it any wonder if I struggle to forgive my brother or sister?

How much did we owe, anyway? What kind of debt was cancelled?

• The earth – that place of beauty of which the Creator said “It is good” - was trashed. Sin entered. Decay spread. Death reigned.
• Man and Woman – who alone were made in God’s image – were disfigured and shamed and polluted, stripped of their original dignity and glory, and doomed to eternal separation from God.
• The heart of God was so anguished He was sorry He had ever made us.
• The Son of God, the Glorious One of heaven, stepped into the tragedy, disguised in human flesh, and endured our disbelief and abuse and rejection.
• He died under the immeasurable weight of every sin ever committed, as God laid His hand upon the Scapegoat of the human race, and sent Him into the wilderness of death alone, bearing our sin.

Bearing my sin. My debt – mine alone. For such a tremendous price would have been exacted even if I been the only one needing rescued. It would still have meant an earthly life and an ugly death and agonizing separation from the Father. So there’s no sense shifting any of it onto any other sinner in the world. I was enough to cause it all.

So can I forgive the one who has wronged me terribly and repeatedly? In the words of missionary Amy Carmichael, “Count the cost. But when you do, take your figures to the foot of the cross and tally them there.” I must go and sit at the foot of the cross as I ponder the question. I must let the blood of Christ trickle down over my calculations. Let just a tiny fraction of the weight of sin He bore press on my heart. Let the jeers sound faintly in my ear. If I dare, for a nanosecond, I can even try to imagine what it felt like to be utterly rejected by the Father. Then I can compare the cost of forgiving my brother…

To be honest, the foot of the cross gives the matter a whole new perspective. From that vantage point, I feel like looking around my world for somebody, anybody, to forgive, and forgive again and again and again in response to God’s payment of my debt. It would still require His supernatural grace, but He promises to give it.

What better way to show my grasp of His grace and my gratitude for His mercy than to assure my fellow man, “Your debt to me? Paid in full.”

The Time for Faith

“When the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on the earth?”

Faith pleases God (Heb. 11:6). But here’s what I’m (slowly) learning. Faith is only needed – and only possible – when I can’t see the outcome. Once I have the answer to my question or the solution to my dilemma or the blessing I was asking for, I have the “cash in hand.” The time for faith has passed.

So in every uncertainty there’s a window of opportunity, a time frame in which we have the opportunity to please God by showing faith. Poet Fay Inchfawn, writing about how the spirit of Jacob revived when he saw his sons returning from Egypt with wagons laden with provision, put it this way:

…Oh, man who walked by sight.
You should have known the darkest hour of night
Is just before the earliest streak of gray.
Your wagons, all the time, were on their way!...

And she turns the lesson on us…

Oh, sorrowful soul! Trust just a little longer.
Who knows, but o’er your bare, brown hill
The wagons may be coming nearer still?
Give faith a chance. For soon, how soon it may
Give place to sight; and then never again
Will you have opportunity to show
That you can trust, albeit you cannot know.

What is testing your faith right now? The wagons are on their way, and when they arrive the opportunity to demonstrate faith in that situation will be passed. Today is your chance to demonstrate faith in God, to please Him with your trust, and to believe that He exists and is the Rewarder of those who earnestly, persistently seek Him.

However feebly, however imperfectly, as much as you are able by His grace... trust now!

Imitating the Master

Is the parable of the vineyard (Mt. 20:1-16) a tale of injustice? Was it justifiable for the Master to pay the 12-hour worker and the one-hour worker the same wage? Depends on who you ask.

If Fox Network’s Sean Hannity assembled the parable’s key players for The Great American Panel this evening, he would be delighted with the lively exchange of opinions. Those who worked from sunup to sundown would be heated in their protest, “Unfair! Unfair!” Those who joined up halfway through would be defending themselves vociferously. And the objects of their scorn, those hired at the eleventh hour, would keep interjecting, “Hey, you got what you were promised! What’s your beef?” Hannity might get his best ratings ever!

But I’m guessing the owner of the vineyard wouldn’t put in an appearance, wouldn’t even be available for comment. He’d had his say, and he did it mostly through his actions. No one was cheated. The only crime was grace. The only logic was love.

I by nature want to live by the Law – an eye for an eye and everything neatly balanced and meted out equally (like little children who check to make sure their siblings weren’t given a bigger piece of candy), but Jesus melted that Law into two commandments, the Laws of Love: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, and strength” and “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

The first commandment I understand – God has a right to our all-consuming love. But to love my neighbor as I love myself? What might that lead to? It might make me care about someone who’s considered worthless. It might distract me from the goals I’ve set, take a chunk out of my savings, lead me to lend or give something away that’s precious to me…

That kind of love might even make me say, “So he came at the eleventh hour. I’m sorry, for his sake. He missed the best part of the day. The sun was bright, the breeze was cool, and we had a great time in the fields. The Master worked right alongside us, and sang us through the hard parts… so hey, give him the denario. It’s what I’d want done if I were in his workboots.”

It might make me act like the Master Himself.

More Beggars!

Behind the house where I grew up, just at the back of our yard, ran train tracks… and those tracks carried more than conductors and cabooses and boxcars heaped with coal. One day a strange man showed up at our door, not the most dapper of fellows. He was a hobo who’d likely come from the train, perhaps dropping out of a boxcar when the conductor slowed for our crossing.

He knocked on the door and asked for a bit of food, which Mom supplied, then sat out on the side porch, downing his meal. When he was finished, without fanfare, he set out for parts unknown. But he was not the last to come. Somehow, others found their way to our door. Tramps had a way of “marking” houses, we children were told. Apparently one beggar had told another beggar where to find bread.

If spiritually I am a beggar (and I am), then I want to be like that first fellow – the kind who knows where the Bread is! Who has stopped there and tasted and found that it was good! Who trusts that the kitchen is big and the cook is gracious and that there will always be enough. I don’t even need to hesitate to call others to come and share the feast; there’s plenty to go around!

But if there’s anything that doesn’t sound important when the plate is empty and the tummy is full, it’s food. We don’t think about our own stomachs for quite awhile, let alone anyone else’s. And when we do… well, we’re camped at a place where we need never go hungry again! Life is great! So we quickly forget the beggars who have not yet found an open door and a kind reception. We forget what hobo-life was like. We forget the gnawing hunger pangs, the trembling weakness, the rising desperation for something, anything to fill the belly.

The Parable of the Great Banquet reminds me that the Father never forgets. That He can’t get enough beggars around His table. “More! Go out and get more!” He still urges His servants. It reminds me that I should be embarrassed to be found sitting here stuffing my spirit with all the good things He’s provided (long after my hunger is appeased), while fellow hobos are starving, and my Father’s heart is breaking for them.

It’s a sobering parable, and not just for the high-muckety-mucks who snubbed the Host. It should challenge some of us beggars who've already "arrived" to look around at all the empty chairs, put down our forks, and heed the urgent calls of the Father…

“More! Bring more!
My house must be full!”

True Followers

Pastor Rick and Kathy’s twenty years of ministry among us says a lot about God, His grace, and His power. It says a lot about Rick and Kathy. And it also says a little bit about FAC, too.

There’s a verse in Hebrews 13 that congregations don’t hear very much – probably sounds a little bit high-handed for a pastor to haul out on Sunday morning – but it talks about the role and responsibility of the congregation in relation to its leaders. I think “leaders” includes all those in positions of spiritual authority, not just senior pastors:

“Obey your spiritual leaders and submit to them, [continually recognizing their authority over you], for they are constantly keeping watch over your souls and guarding your spiritual welfare, as men who will have to render an account… [Do your part to] let them do this with gladness and not with sighing and groaning, for that would not be profitable for you” (Heb. 13:17 Amp).

Of course we can quickly point out that not all leaders are truly concerned about their followers’ souls, some have their own interests in mind, some are not keeping much of a watch over anyone or guarding anything very well. Of that they will have to render an account. I don’t think that is a huge problem at FAC.

The bigger concern, I think, is whether we are making our servant leaders’ jobs a burden or a joy. As far as we individually are able, are we letting them carry out their calling with gladness, or are we contributing to the sighing and groaning that they bring before the Lord? (I envision Moses, praying while each Israelite family wailed in discontent at the entrance to their tent: “Why have you brought this trouble on your servant? What have I done to displease you that you put the burden of all these people on me? Why do you tell me to carry them in my arms, as a nurse carries an infant?... If this is how you are going to treat me, put me to death right now...” I do hope no FAC pastor has ever been brought to that!).

What kind of report do they carry to the One we are trying to please? As the Living Bible expresses verse 17, “Give them reason to report joyfully about you to the Lord and not with sorrow, for then you will suffer for it too.”

That Pastor Rick and any other of our leaders can express joy in serving God here is itself cause for celebration. It means that maybe, by God’s grace, we have understood Heb. 13:17, at least to some degree. Or maybe God is giving them an extra degree of patience while we learn! Whatever the reason, let’s celebrate their gladness and continue to recognize that the joy of our leaders is partly our responsibility – and definitely our profit.

Soil Testing

At the risk of sounding a bit self-satisfied, I confess that as I listened to the Parable of the Sower, I immediately identified with the good soil. (C’mon, didn’t you, too?) Well, surely I wasn’t rocky – hadn’t the Holy Spirit spent years dragging major boulders off the piece of land that was me? I wasn’t hard… didn’t I strive to internalize the truths I found every day in His Word and to live continually open to the Spirit? I wasn’t thorny… sure, the cares of life get in-my-face sometimes, but I don’t feel like they’re choking me or anything.

Probably the majority of us in the pews Sunday morning considered ourselves good soil. Could do with a bit of fertilizer, perhaps, but all in all pretty good stuff to work with.

But during the sermon a little arrow of truth shot through my self-satisfaction, and I realized something. I’m not all good soil. I mean, maybe there aren’t any mammoth boulders any more, but it doesn’t take a twenty-ton piece of granite to prevent seed from growing. A low-lying ledge of shale will do it, too. In a certain corner, could there be such a hardness lying just below the surface, preventing truth and transformation from penetrating deeply, taking root, and bearing fruit in that area?

And what about the well-traveled paths of my life? The exposed, worn-down places of daily activity, the busy and very practical places that lie open to the critical eyes of others, like the home and the workplace. Have I refused to let the Heavenly Farmer plow up those areas? Does He have to write any of those off as fruitless territory?

And hadn’t I noticed some thorns and thistles cropping up far out in left field? I tried to pull them out but they are stubborn! And it’s hard to see the harm in just a few. There’s so much wheat waving around them, I’ve been sure the good seed would eventually choke them out. Besides, how can the Farmer expect anything good to grow in that spot anyway – it’s pure clay there!

That doesn't deter Him. It’s easy to forget that there’s a richness and a tenderness and a yet a terrible ruthlessness in the sowing and cultivating work of the Holy Spirit. He intends to pour Himself into the soggy, discolored clay pits of my life, making them dark and rich and loamy; He purposes to dig up the shale, revealing untouched potential; He stands ready to clear away the brambles and thorns, giving the Truth room to breathe and stretch and grow in me.

But He awaits my go-ahead signal (we are ever soil-with-a-will, and He respects that). If I refuse Him that freedom, I am left with the stone and the thorn and the diminishing crop.

And if I grant it, who knows what can come from just a little plot of earth and a Heavenly Farmer?

Thoughts on Weeds

A couple of thoughts from the sermon on “Weeds”…

It was a good reminder of the dangers of worshipping “wheat.” Of putting any mentor or Bible teacher or missionary or similar seeming spiritual giant on a pedestal, thoughtlessly taking their word for gospel truth and mindlessly imitating their example. Even in the field of faith the tares are growing, and we need to be discerning. It’s not good enough to pick a good person and fashion our lives after him or her. There’s only One worthy of our unquestioning loyalty and veneration.

It was also a good reminder that “we have a yard, not a lawn.” That’s the oft-repeated saying of my brother-in-law, also our neighbor. People in subdivisions and city neighborhoods have lawns, Dan says, but we who live in the country and mow several acres of grass have yards. We don’t even plan to pull out all the dandelions and other assorted weeds - not if we want to get anything else done in the short Erie summer! Same for this ole earth, and for our individual lives. We’ve been planted in a yard, not a lawn. God has no intentions of weeding out all the tares – He’s letting us all grow together. I’m pretty sure the enemy is always pointing out the bad grass to Him, how well is it growing, how it is crowding out the good stuff and making a good showing… but the summer is short, says Jesus’ parable. The harvest is coming, the Day of Distinction, when His yard will become a lawn, perfect in beauty, without the tiniest sprout of a weed. Til then, bloom in His yard, by His grace, without insisting on perfect surroundings.

In my college days, a couple of us students were hired by a lawyer who had a fondness for gardening, and given a number of flower beds to weed. But neither of us knew much about flowers, and on what was not a Day of Distinction, my co-worker pulled out what was to the lawyer a very uncommon and prized plant. It hadn’t looked all that special, but it was, and suddenly my co-worker’s services were no longer needed.

That event reminds me that as for this world we live in, there’s nobody qualified to weed here, either. We unable to distinguish weeds from wheat. Even if we could, that prickly thornbush we long to grab by the throat and throttle with pleasure may be to the Gardener a prize in the making, just awaiting His transforming touch…

Therefore let us live by the Rule of Saint Benedict, and welcome everyone who enters our lives as if they were Christ Himself. As if they were tall, golden wheat growing on the perfect lawn of Heaven. For one day they just might be.

The 30 Hardest Days of Your Life

The youth service was awesome Sunday. I was taken back about 35 years to the on-fire youth group my sisters and I participated in as teenagers. There was a youth choir then, too, and honest, powerful testimonies, and extra prayer times springing up and a little revival that touched Youngsville High School and reached unchurched kids… I can understand what our youth are feeling and sense what a powerful impact these years will have on the rest of their lives.

I don’t know about you, but I was intrigued by the study book they were talking about – The 30 Hardest Days of Your Life. I’d not heard of it so I got online and looked it up. It got very positive reader reviews, although one gal wrote that it was great for newer Christians but contributed almost nothing to her spiritual life because she’d already experienced everything it was talking about.

She must be an exceptional person. I think most of us who listened Sunday felt that these kids had been challenged in ways that would benefit us, too – and also in ways that would likely be very difficult for us to handle. How many of us blanched inwardly at the thought of a 21-day media fast?

I can say from experience, though, that God’s appointed fasts are more than worth the “deprivation” we suffer. Especially when He tailors them to our individual needs (sort of like a personal trainer). For instance, I’m an avid reader. And I read really good stuff – biographies of exceptional Christians, spiritual classics… we’re talking Fenelon and Tozer and Oswald Chambers - no trash novels there! Yet God temporarily took me off all books but the Bible some months ago (all those library books are for my mom, Barb :)and I have been driven to pray, “Lord, I need a new love for the Word if this is going to work. Please give me a passion to read it and an ability to enjoy it”… and He has. It probably was His intention all along!

I guess I’m saying that what our youth testified to Sunday morning is something each of us might well benefit from. We can’t prescribe it to ourselves, but we can approach our Personal Trainer and express a willingness to fast from the good He sees is stuffing our lives, leaving little room for the best (even really good Christian books!). It’s a gutsy kind of prayer, but aren’t some of us ready for the kind of renewal we heard about Sunday morning?

The Power of One

I add a British “Hurrah!” to John Guest’s sermon on “The Power of One.” The Bible testifies from Genesis to Revelation that one individual – often an insignificant person – can be used mightily by God for His purposes and glory.

Do you think, though, that those individuals always realized their significance in God’s plan? Could Peter have predicted, when he stood to refute the accusation of drunkenness, that three thousand souls would be added to the fledgling church that Pentecost day? Was Stephen aware, as he sank under the volley of stones and cried “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit,” that he was giving a long and noble line of Christian martyrs a pattern to die by? Did Paul realize, as he penned letters to the churches at Philippi and Colosse and Ephesus from a lonely jail cell, that the Spirit was inspiring words that would richly nourish believers as long as time endured?

I think they each were just doing what they, solitary individuals, understood needed done in those moments, without calculating the outcome or having to see the larger picture. Certainly they were led and empowered by the Holy Spirit, but I don’t think they had any idea how much their contribution mattered.

We don’t either… and that’s something Satan tries to use to his advantage. He wants to use our shortsightedness to convince us our contribution doesn’t matter, our influence is minimal, and our efforts are worthless in the larger scheme of things. Like a predator stalking his prey, the enemy singles us out and tries to cut us away from the encouragement of the flock and the safety of the Shepherd. And then he begins tearing away at our souls:

*Do you really think you’re making any headway with that Sunday School class?
*You’ve been praying for that guy a long, long time. Nothing’s gonna happen!
*Have you compared your results with --? Shouldn’t you just sit down?
*Why do you dabble in little things? When will you do something that matters?

It’s a good thing Paul wasn’t cowed by the enemy into laying aside his pen and sinking into a gloomy silence in his jail cell. That Satan failed to force Stephen to recant in the face of a murderous crowd. That he couldn’t curb a Spirit-filled Peter from addressing the mockers that day at Pentecost.

Let’s not let the enemy cow us, either. If we’ve got a job to do, however small, let’s do it, believing that God can use the smallest and the most seemingly insignificant thing for eternal purposes. One brief prayer. One note of encouragement. One small act of obedience to His leading. It all matters.

And we’ll fully realize it, one Day, when He reveals to each of us the power of one.

The Return of the Prodigal

While thinking about the prodigal and the pigs and the pods this morning, I was reminded of the spiritual journey of a friend who attended Youngsville Free Methodist church with Dave and I many years ago.

Like the prodigal of Sunday’s sermon, Sue had once been distanced from her Father. But unlike that prodigal, she’d been living “high on the hog.” No pods for her. She’d acquired the husband she wanted, the children she wanted, the lifestyle she desired, the success she’d worked for… her life was complete, or should have been.

And yet, it wasn’t enough. There was an emptiness, an “Is this all there is?” And that inner emptiness, like the physical emptiness of the prodigal’s stomach, drove her to seek her heavenly Father. I remember how Sue stressed to us, “Don’t think everyone has to be brought to unbearable circumstances before they’ll come to Christ. Sometimes it’s the most perfect of situations that show the sinner that they’ll never find satisfaction outside of Christ. Trust God to use whatever way He chooses, and never count Him out of the picture.”

I’ve never forgotten what she said, because our tendency is, I think, to pray for a particular set of circumstances, and watch down one particular road for the return of our prodigal. Yet while Jesus is the only way to the Father, a creative God has many ways to beckon and woo and work. When you think about the gazillion options God has for drawing our prodigals to Himself, the one we have our hearts and prayers set on is probably just not the way it’s gonna happen!

So we who are waiting and watching the road can mourn in sackcloth and ashes because we aren’t seeing what we’re looking for – and become frustrated with God and prayer… or we can trust His methods, because we trust Him. We can reaffirm to God that we believe He’s at work, that we want His plan and not ours, and that we pledge ourselves to cooperate with Him by His grace.

I’m not saying that we don’t need to intercede diligently for our prodigals. We just need to be sure that our intercession is freeing, not tying, God’s hands. Then, whether they come home down the high road or the low road, our prodigals will find us waiting with open arms and joyful celebration.