Encouragement – Page 8 – Dr. Kirk Lewis Books

In Damascus, There Was A Disciple…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A voice called…

“Ananias.”

“Yes, Lord.”

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

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

…”Go…”
“Go…to Saul…”

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

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

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

“He is my chosen instrument…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Look For What’s Chasing You

Background Passages: Psalms 23:1-6

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“…a guided path…”
“…a troubled walk…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Surely…”

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

“…goodness and love (mercy)…”

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

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

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

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

David found God’s goodness in his provision…

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

David found God’s goodness in his peace…

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

David found God’s goodness in his protection…

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

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

What is God’s love?

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

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

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

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

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

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

That makes me smile.

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

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

That makes me think.

Why would an all-powerful God do this?

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

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

That, I hope, makes you smile.

What Are You Doing Here?

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

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

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

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

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

Emotionally exhausted.

Spiritually spent.

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

“What are you doing here?

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

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

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

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

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

“Elijah, what are you doing here?”

*****

What are you doing here?

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

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

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

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

Distressed.

Disturbed.

Despondent.

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

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

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

“What are you doing here, Kirk?”

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

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

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

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

Rest for the Weary

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Religion…faith…became a burden.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A Righteous Woman of Influence

Background Passages: Luke 1: 26-38; Luke 1:46-55; Luke 2:22-40; John 2:1-12; and John 19:25-27

Mother’s Day lies just around the corner. I’m reminded of words spoken by the late Dr. Billy Graham speaking to the unique opportunity God gives women to influene and impact the lives of others in ways that few men can.

“There is nothing in this world more personal, as nurturing or as life-changing as the influence of a righteous woman.”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not minimizing the man’s role in God’s world. When men allow God to rule their lives and women live out their call to righteous living there is a divine balance that makes the world a better place.

However, as most of us blessed with wonderful mothers can testify, Dr. Graham’s statement rings with the peal of abiding truth. I have felt it in my own life. The righteous influence of godly women…a wife, a mother, aunts, Sunday School teachers, public school teachers and countless friends…absolutely shaped and molded who I am, spiritually, professionally and personally. A new generation of women, led by my two amazing daughters-in-law, continue to teach me the things I need to know about being the man God needs me to be every day.

As I think of the women who influenced my life, I realized how blessed I am to have known so many women who believed in me. Women who supported me. Women who propped me up when I stood on the edge of failure. I think of the women who lifted me up at some point in my life with their presence…their words…their friendship…their touch…just when I needed to hear or feel it. Their influence is a tremendous gift in my life!

I’m convinced God placed these women in my life for a reason. Their influence in my life shifted from the piddling to the powerful because they live each day as righteous women.

So what does it mean to be a righteous woman of influence?

Of all the women of influence in the Bible I point you to Mary, the mother of Jesus. We, Baptists, fail to give Mary the credit she deserves for her unrecognized impact on Jesus’ life. Mary wasn’t perfect. She didn’t walk around with a halo above her head. She was certainly more than a simple vessel God used to carry his Son. To better understand Mary’s role, embrace the humanity of Jesus.

Let me explain. We tend to think of Jesus in the divine. We casually recognize his humanity, but we want to color it heavily with his godliness. We like to think Jesus was pulled from the womb without crying, speaking King James English and turning water into milk.

We don’t think of him as a baby with colic, crying through the night. A toddler who fell and bumped his head on the table Joseph built. A three-year-old disciplined for taking a toy from his little brother. We don’t think of him as a little boy scraping his knee while chasing a friend. As a teenager who thought that little Jewish girl down the street was pretty. We never consider that as a young, apprentice carpenter he one day bashed his thumb with a hammer, biting back the ugly word you and I might say.

If he came into the world to be like us, we have to embrace his human side…acknowledging the perfect way he dealt with all those very human situations. If we can fully accept Jesus’ humanity, that part of his personhood had a very human mother…one amazingly normal, human mother. The mother who lost it at times because she was up three nights in a row with a squalling baby. The mother who swatted the hand of a three-year-old for taking his brother’s toy. The mother who looked at that pretty little Jewish girl as a threat to her son. The mother who kissed the scraped knees and laughed at her son when he swallowed that ugly word after bashing his thumb.

If Mary was an ordinary, very human woman, why did God choose Mary to be the mother of his only begotten son? Why was she so “highly favored?”

I think God chose Mary because he knew the person she was. Knew the kind of mother she would be. God chose Mary because he knew she would love Jesus unconditionally. Knew she would teach him about life and model everything good in it. God chose Mary because she would stand beside him in the darkest hours of his life. He chose Mary above all others because she possessed the mother’s instinct to raise Jesus with the spiritual and moral integrity to tackle the mission God planned for him as the savior of the world.

God chose Mary because she lived as a righteous woman of influence.

Mary’s story begins in bizarre fashion. Not every woman could handle the news she heard. Mary possessed the spiritual depth to believe an implausible message.

It is one thing to accept the unlikely future while the angel speaks. It’s another thing to stay faithful when the angel disappears in the darkness. The rational side of Mary knew her pregnancy would bring a host of life-altering issues…ridicule and disgrace…embarrassment to her family…Joseph’s anger. What strikes me most about Mary’s response to the unexpected visit from the angel is that, in the end, she submits to the will of God with such obedience and trust. She said in response to all she heard,

”May it be to me as you have said.”

What an amazing moment of faith and obedience! Despite knowing the difficulties this decision posed in her life, she allowed God to work his will. How often do you think Jesus heard this story as he was growing up? Imagine the lesson of obedience and faith it taught him.

Still, like the disciples and like us, Mary struggled to understand God’s way of working out his redemptive plan. Her understanding of “Messiah” did not contemplate a tragic death. Though she heard it in the temple when Jesus was born, she did not anticipated a “sword would pierce her soul.” Even though she didn’t have Jesus all figured out, she grappled with the unknown, trusted God, and remained faithful to his call on her life.

More than once we see where Mary “pondered in her heart” all that happened around her. She did more than simply deliberate the meaning of a word or event. Rather, she watched, listened and thought about all that happened around her and her son in light of the message from the angel that night, in light of the words from the rabbi and prophetess in the temple. She constantly made the connections, determining how she could help make God’s plan come to pass in the life of her son. Not content to just let life happen, she laid the groundwork needed to bring it to pass.

At some point in Jesus’ life, Mary’s faith, obedience and trust, stood out as an encouragement to Jesus when he was struggling to follow God’s plan. Can’t you almost hear Mary’s words whispered in the Garden of Gethsemane as Jesus agonized over his impending death on the cross? I believe at such a time, Jesus recalled the words of his mother when she told the angel, “May it be to me as you said.” His prayer says, “Not my will, but yours…” the essence of obedience and trust…Mary’s model of faith that carried him through his most difficult times.

To be a woman of influence requires obedience to God and trust in his plan for your life.

GROUNDED IN AND GUIDED BY SCRIPTURE—MARY’S SONG
We encounter Mary again in scripture when she visits her aunt, Elizabeth. After they share each other’s miraculous stories of God’s blessing, Mary sings a song from her heart. Find in the words of Mary’s song the boldness to call for God’s justice in an oppressive, unjust world. Find in Mary’s song, the words and deeds of Jesus. She sings from Old Testament scripture, the traits of a living God:

“…you are mindful of me in my humble state…” Look at Jesus’ own humility before God.
“…scatters the proud…” Look at Jesus’ challenge to ritualistic faith of the Pharisees.
“…lifts up the humble.”… Look at how Jesus work so fervently for the poor and needy.
“…fills the hungry…” Look how Jesus fed the multitudes both physically and spiritually.
“…he is merciful…” Look how Jesus offered mercy to those who did not deserve it.

This was the image of God that Mary carried in her heart. Things she learned from scripture before the culture really allowed women to study God’s word. She internalized scripture she read or heard to the point where it shaped her life and ultimately the life of Jesus. That was the God she knew. That was the character of God she taught God’s son. I can imagine Mary singing her song to Jesus every night as she laid him in bed as a child, a poignant lullaby…embedding those godly virtues into his very being. Modeling it for him every day. In the end, her influence contributed to his role as the servant Messiah.

To be a righteous woman of influence ground yourself in scripture. Let it guide your actions. Share its meaning with those you love. Live out its lessons as you tend to the needs of others.

ENCOURAGING THE READY…THE WEDDING
We see Mary at the wedding in Cana. Mary tried to work through a potentially embarrassing situation when the host family ran out of wine. She brought the problem to Jesus.

Why would she do that? Jesus even asked her, “Why are you bothering me with this? My time has not come.” My mind sees Mary looking deeply in the eyes of Jesus without saying a word. Never taking her eyes off his, she spoke to the servant beside her, “Do whatever he says to do.” The twinkle in her eye and the crooked smile on her face signaled her belief that Jesus would do the right thing…every time. Her trust in him full and complete. That one look gave Jesus permission to be who he was intended to be. It is as if she were saying, “Now is as good a time as any, my son. I don’t need you as much as the world needs you. What are you waiting for?”

A woman becomes a righteous woman of influence by playing the role she plays…recognizing when it’s time to push the bird from the nest. Knowing when a simple word of encouragement to someone convinces them it is time to get started doing what God called them to do…time to take that leap of faith. Letting them know, “This is your time.”

DEEPLY LOVING AND BEING DEEPLY LOVED
The most endearing and enduring passage concerning Mary takes place at the foot of the cross. Scripture paints a vivid picture of a mother watching the son she raised and loved dying an agonizing death on the cross. A death she could not comprehend. Only a mother who lost a child can begin to fathom the emotional suffering Mary experiences as she hears his ragged breathing. Sees the pain etched on his features. Watches his life flow out with every drop of blood spilled on that rocky soil.

The words of Jesus from the cross whispered to John and Mary tell us everything about Mary’s influence on Jesus. “Behold your Mother.” “Behold your son.”

Jesus’ loved his mother so deeply he could not let death take him without ensuring that Mary would never be alone. Jesus recognized through his own pain the deep sorrow of one who loved him. Surely, while on that cross, there were flashbacks to every embrace, every kiss, every smile. Jesus hung on that cross, feeling like God had abandoned him, looking down on a mother who never could. A mother whose love was endless.

You become a righteous woman of influence when you love others so deeply that you are deeply loved in return.

My mom passed away 20 years ago. I cannot explain the magnitude of her impact on my life…my understanding of who I am…how I relate to others…the focus and purpose of my life.

I learned from her delightfully sarcastic sense of humor. Never mean-spirited, but always catching you off guard. Life needs laughter and it is always easiest to laugh at yourself if for no other reason but to avoid taking yourself too seriously.

She taught me to deeply respect the ability of women to be accomplished in any field, reminding me to keep capable, intelligent and independent women in my life. I loved it when she convinced my sister to leave the nursing field and become a medical doctor because she was smarter than most men with the degree.

She instilled in me an understanding that marriage was a partnership, promising to break my arm if she ever heard that I did not help with the housework.

She taught me about being a beloved grandparent. I loved how every minute she spent with our kids was personal and filled with joy. She was, after all, the one who sat on the floor with my boys and my brother’s girls and taught them to play poker.

Like Mary, my mom was obedient to her God, trusting him in all of life. Demonstrating her faith in the most difficult of times. She was able to do so because she was grounded in and guided by scripture, knowing just how to apply Christ’s teaching in the most practical of ways. Mom encouraged each of her children to pursue our dream and passion, instilling in us the belief that we could do anything. There were times when she pushed us with an impeccable sense of timing to start down the path God intended for us. In the end, Mom was loved deeply because she deeply loved.

Without a doubt, like Mary, my mom was one of those righteous women of influence.

I recently saw a posting on Facebook that said, “The fact that you are a woman doesn’t make you a different kind of Christian, but the fact that you are a Christian ought to make you a different kind of woman.”

Being a righteous woman of influence is a choice. Make it.

Living as a righteous woman of influence is a commitment. Live it.

The responsibility of being a righteous woman of influence is a gift from God. Claim it.

Wherever He Leads

Background Passages: Mark 8:27-36; Luke 9:18-25

Jesus slipped to the grass from the flat rock upon which he sat as he spent the last hour in prayer. The canopy of trees under which he now reclined with his back against the rock sheltered him from the late afternoon sun. Jesus glanced at his disciples gathered in a loose cluster about 40 feet further down the hill. As they finished their prayers one by one, they talked quietly among themselves, breaking out a small loaf of bread and passing it around, satisfying their hunger.

Jesus looked from his disciples down into the town of Caesarea Philippi, a bustling city 30 miles north of the region of Galilee. He watched the frenetic pace of the people as they finished the work of the day and headed home. He lifted his eyes toward the sheer cliff on the north side of the city. It rose 150 feet above the lush, green valley below. He knew the streamlet gushing from the massive grotto on the western edge of the cliff were the headwaters of the Jordan River as it flowed south to the Sea of Galilee.

The cavern was said to be the birthplace of Pan, the Greek god of nature. Worshippers still brought their offerings of fruit and grain, laying them at the altar.

His vision shifted to the gleaming temple of white marble which Philip, the region’s ruler, dedicated to Caesar Augustus, the Roman emperor whom the people considered a god. Before these temples and altars were built, Jesus knew his history well enough to know the whole area stood as a center dedicated to the worship of Baal, the ancient Canaanite god.

It was a deeply reflective moment. Jesus contemplated the scene spread across the valley below. Considered all he had done during his ministry. Felt his gut tighten when he thought about the cross to come. Had anything he said and done made a difference? Before he began his final journey to the cross Jesus needed to know. Did anyone really know who he was?

He turned to his disciples quietly talking and laughing in the ease of friendships forged by common experiences. His words cut through the comfortable conversation. “Who do the crowds say I am?”

They turned toward Jesus in a rustle of robes and shuffling feet. They were used to his probing. Knew an answer was required. “John the Baptist,” one blurted. “One of the old prophets brought back to life,” announced another. “Elijah,” another proclaimed.

Jesus glanced again at the city below, lost in thought for a moment. Then, he turned back to his disciples. “But what about you? Who do you say I am?”

Jesus held his breath, looking into the eyes of each of his closest friends. Their answers would make all the difference. Would he see blank stares of incomprehension? Would he catch so much as a spark of understanding that meant he had at least lit a torch in their hearts. He waited. Felt his heart thump anxiously in his chest.

How his soul must have soared when Peter stood among them, looked at his friends, then to Jesus, knowing that he answered for all of them. “You are the Messiah. The Anointed One of God.”

That moment sealed the deal for Jesus. He then taught them intently about the events to come. Suffering. Rejection. Death. Resurrection. Prophecies that left them frightened and confused. Then, he challenged them with words that echo still in the ears of every believer today.

“If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will save it. What does it profit a man to gain the whole world and yet lose or forfeit his very soul?”

The call of Christ demands that we deny self. It’s not a matter of dismissing our lives as unworthy or inconsequential in the grand scheme of God’s plan. Denying ourselves means to set aside our egos. Deliberately subordinating our will to the will of God. Opening our lives to the possibility that his plan for us is greater and more meaningful than the one we planned for ourselves. It means turning from where we wish to go to follow the path he lays before us.

The call of Christ demands that we take up his cross. Not just any cross…his cross. Jesus knew the horror of what lay before him. When Jesus was a boy, a Jewish rebellion in Sepphoris, just four miles from Nazareth, ended badly for those who fought against the Roman empire. Historians tell us more than 2,000 rebels were crucified, set in lines along the roadside as a frightful reminder of the power of Rome.

To face the cross was a vicious reality burned into the back of his mind. He, as well as anyone, knew what it meant to take up the cross. It stood as the inevitable certainty he faced by declaring a kingdom of God that rocked the boats of the pious and the political.

Today, taking up the cross of Christ means to live our life with the same focused commitment to God’s purpose that Jesus did. It means preparing for rejection in a world that does not understand. Letting nothing… no thought of ridicule, persecution, or embarrassment…prevent us from doing that which we know God desires us to do. It means looking at a world that dismisses Jesus as irrelevant and proclaiming in word and deed, “I belong to Christ!”

Denying ourselves. Taking up his cross. These are steps in the right direction. If we stop there, however, we miss that which matters most. The call of Christ demands we follow. It means spending our lives, not hoarding it. It means giving of ourselves, not taking from others. It means not playing it safe, but doing the right thing at all times and in all situations. It means not getting by with as little as we can for the cause of Christ, but investing ourselves completely in his ministry.

The way of the world always seeks to gain advantage over another. The goal of the world is to amass more wealth, power and glory than the guy next door. Jesus would answer that unbridled ambition with this question. Where is the eternal profit in that way of life? Jesus said one saves his life when he loses it in service to others.

As believers in Christ we have been called to follow the lead of Christ, not always knowing where it will take us. Doors open and doors close. Following his lead is not always easy, but it is always best.

I’m reminded of the old invitational hymn, Wherever He Leads, I’ll Go, written in 1936 by Baylus Benjamin McKinney. He penned the words to his poem after meeting with the Rev. R.S. Jones, a South American missionary who had been pulled from service. Because of a serious illness, he would not be allowed to return.

“What will you do?” McKinney asked his friend.

“I don’t know, but wherever he leads, I’ll go.”

From a simple conversation between two old friends poured the words that challenge us…challenge me…today.

“Take up thy cross and follow me,”
I heard my master say;
“I gave my life to ransom thee,
Surrender your all today.”

He drew me closer to his side,
I sought his will to know,
And in that will I now abide,
Wherever he leads I’ll go.

It may be through shadows dim,
Or o’er the stormy sea,
I take my cross and follow him
Wherever he leadeth me.

My heart, my life, my all I bring,
To Christ who loves me so;
He is my master, Lord and king.
Wherever he leads I’ll go.

The chorus of the song declares, “I’ll follow my Christ who loves me so.”

Wherever he leads, let’s go.

Living as the Image of God

Background Passages: Genesis 1:27; John 14:9; Matthew 5:1-12

I pored through a number of old 35mm slides, pictures taken by my parents when my siblings and I were small. I enjoyed sharing those captured memories with my children and grandchildren. Fascination grew as we recognized family resemblances across generations…the power of genetics, I suppose. If I heard it once, I heard it several times, “I see your Dad in his eyes.” “You look so much like your uncle at that age.” “She is the spitting image of your mother.”

There is some measure of joy in knowing that we physically resemble those most dear to us. Then, I wonder, when others look at us, do they see how closely we resemble Christ in spirit and deed. Can the world see Jesus…see God…in us?

“So God created man in his own image,
in the image of God he created him;
male and female he created them.”

On the surface, being created in the image of God seems such a complex theological concept requiring a deeper understanding of the nature and spirit of the Creator himself. But, it’s really not that hard. Jesus told his disciples, “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father.” In other words, we find in the character of Jesus Christ, the very nature and spirit of God. The image of God reflected in the life of Christ. To be the image of God in our world, as we were created to be, simply requires us to be like Jesus.

So, how are we to know what that looks like?

Every gospel story reveals the character of Christ. We can identify in Jesus God’s compassion, love, faith, humility and honesty. We find in his teachings keys to living as the image of God.

People flocked to Jesus early in his ministry in Galilee, drawn by the candor and consistency of his teaching and the power of his healing. As he left Capernaum one day, the crowd pressed around him to hear his words and feel his touch. Eventually, somewhere on the northeastern shore of the Sea of Galilee, he sat himself down on a rocky hillside and began to teach. Matthew records this event as the Sermon on the Mount.

Rather than being a single event, the Sermon on the Mount may be a collection of ideas that Jesus taught over and over again throughout his ministry captured by Matthew as a summary of his teaching themes. William Barclay, in his commentaries, suggests as much.

One of the most beloved segments of this passage is known as The Beatitudes, a passage that unveils the character demanded of those who desire to be a part of the kingdom of God. When you look at the passage and look at the life of Christ, you’ll find that Jesus modeled each characteristic in his daily walk.

Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.
Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst after righteousness,
for they will be filled.
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall be shown mercy.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called the sons of God.
Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Jesus teaches about kingdom living. Think of them as proverbs or declarations. Assuring us that we will feel blessed as a result of our actions or attitudes that align with the expectations of the Father. That demonstrating these character traits leads to promised rewards.

Consider the word “blessed.” Some translations substitute the word “happy” rather than “blessed.” But, “happy” feels too frivolous. Too superficial. Think, rather, in terms of the contentment, joy and peace that comes from being in right relationship with God. It cannot be dampened by external circumstances. Happiness may be a part of the equation, but take it deeper into the heart of our relationship with the Father. One commentary called being blessed “a pledge of divine reward for the inner spiritual character of the righteous.” I like that. Jesus promises that if we live in such a way as to reflect the character of Christ, we will be filled with inner peace and joy.

Let’s discuss the specific character demanded of those who would be a part of the kingdom of God and the promise that follows. Blessed are…

…poor in spirit.
To be poor in a financial sense is to be destitute. To be poor in a physical sense is to be oppressed. To be poor in the spirit is to be humbled, to live without arrogance or self-sufficiency. It speaks to the person who recognizes his or her sinful nature; who comes to God each day with a contrite heart; knowing that God’s grace is an unmerited gift that promises a life within the kingdom of God.

…those who mourn.
Everyone in this life will experience sadness and grief. Such mourning is a natural part of the ebb and flow of life. Here, Jesus speaks of those who mourn for a lost world; for the sinfulness that serves as a barrier separating us from God…from the relationship he desired with us when he created us. If we don’t grieve for the lost we will never feel compelled to share the love of Christ with a ruined world. God will provide comfort for those whose hearts break when confronted by sin and disbelief. Comfort which allows us to continue the hard work of reconciling a lost world to the one who loves them so much.

…the meek.
Think of meekness not as passivity or weakness. That is the world’s definition. Its first century meaning carries an idea of self-control…gentleness…kindness…all fruits of the spirit identified by Paul. The meek control their instincts and impulses, harnessing the passion and power within them to build and edify, to lift up rather than tear down. They see all things through the eyes of empathy, hearts free of evil intent and purpose. These are people who treat everyone with respect and dignity regardless of their station in life.

…those who hunger and thirst after righteousness.
Hunger and thirst represent our most primal needs. When truly hungry and thirsty, a body will do almost anything to secure food or drink. Little else seems to matter. To hunger and thirst for righteousness is to demonstrate that strongest spiritual desire to understand and act upon the will of God. Our passion to live for him takes precedence over anything else. Therein lies the promise. The one who seeks after God will have those needs satisfied. His or her life filled with the joy of knowing who walks beside you.

…the merciful.
Mercy is an act of grace. Despite our sinful ways, God offers his forgiveness, requiring only a contrite heart. It is pure, unmerited grace. Mercy is not a quality limited to God alone. As believers in Christ discover his forgiveness, mercy toward others ought to be a natural outgrowth of our hearts. People hurt us. Ignore us. Sin against us. Hate us. Persecute us. We face a choice: retaliate or redeem. Mercy finds expression in the kindness and compassion we extend even to those who hurt us. It is a quality borne out of the mercy God extended toward us even when we hurt him. As we forgive, so are we forgiven. That is the promise of God.

…pure in heart.
When the Bible speaks of the heart, it speaks to the center of will, the choices we make. Pure in heart means the decisions we make, the desires we hold, the intent of our thoughts and deeds must be unblemished with sin, wholly pleasing to God. The purity of our hearts lies at the center of every characteristic proclaimed in the beatitudes…our mercy, our quest for righteousness, our meekness and humility. Jesus told Nicodemus, “You must be born again” to suggest a spiritual change in his heart. To take that which was unclean and purify it from all self-interests and desires.

Jesus promises those who would listen that the pure in heart would see God. There is certainly within this statement a promise of our life eternal in the presence of the father. It might also suggest that the pure in heart have within them the capacity to see God in every circumstance…seeing his presence in life’s heartbreaks and horrors as well as its blessings and bounty.

…the peacemakers.
The kingdom of God is a kingdom of peace and yet we are too often at war with one another. The broken relationships, the societal divisions, the political acrimony, the racial bigotry drive a wedge between God’s people. Joy comes to those who find ways of bringing people together in the love of Christ, reconciling others to God and to one another. This statement promises the peacemakers will be called Sons of God.” The Old Testament called angels the Sons of God. Angel may be an apt description of those who act as God’s peacemakers.

…the persecuted.
Living a lifestyle exemplified by the characteristics listed in the beatitudes puts one in a precarious place. The life God demands of his children is a life the world opposes and rejects. All who identify with Christ face a hostile world that tolerates in the best of times and terrorizes in its worst. God offers a promise to those who face such opposition. Hold on. Run the race. Keep the faith. God’s kingdom is yours forever.

I go back to the beginning. We are to live as the image of God. That’s how he created us. We discover how to do that by looking at the life of Christ and paying attention to his teachings. Throughout his ministry Jesus taught us how to live and modeled those choices every day of his life. He lived and breathed every action and attitude he taught in the beatitudes. If we are to live like him, as the image of God, we ought to do the same.

The promise of the beatitudes is not a pie-in-the-sky, wait-for-it, kind of promise. Barclay writes, “…the beatitudes are not pious hopes of what shall be; they are not glowing but nebulous prophecies of some future bliss; they are congratulations on what is…It is a blessedness (a joy and peace) which exists here and now.”

Blessed are those who live as the image of God. Live it and claim the promise.

Whose Neighbor Can I Be

Background Passages: Luke 10:25-37; Mark 12:28-34; Matthew 7:12

“What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

The question, shouted by an expert in the law, quieted the intimate conversation Jesus was having with the small crowd that gathered around the Galilean teacher. Heads turned toward the booming voice coming from the edge of the crowd. The man hiked up his flowing robe, pushed himself away from the large rock he leaned against, moving forward until he towered over Jesus who was sitting on a cedar log.

Jesus had noticed him skirting the periphery of the crowd for the past three days. Listening without hearing. Rolling his eyes. Biting his tongue. Biding his time. He was among a small group of Pharisees tracking Jesus from Jericho on his way to Jerusalem. They weren’t there to understand Jesus and his teaching. They were there to find fault in his words in an effort to discredit him in the eyes of the people.

Though the scribe asked a good question, it lacked in sincerity. Uttered by one who loved to hear his own voice. Seeking a specific answer. Hoping for something heretical. Jesus looked at the man for a moment and smiled. “What does the law say? How do you read it?” giving the man his moment in the spotlight.

The scribe turned to the crowd and confidently proclaimed, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and ‘love your neighbor as yourself.’” With a self-satisfied grin, he turned back to face Jesus, challenging him to disagree.

“You’re absolutely right,” Jesus answered. “Do this and you will have eternal life.” Jesus sat silently, his eyes never wavering from the eyes of the Pharisee. As the silence deepened, the scribe shuffled his feet. He did not get the answer he was expecting from the teacher. His eyes flashed as he fell back on his legal training, focusing his attack from a different angle. “Ahh, and just who is my neighbor?”

Jesus’ lips tightened and he let out a slow breath through his nostrils. For all he understood of God’s greatest commandments to his people, the lawyer limited its universal truth by qualify its spirit.

What Jesus speaks next is perhaps one of the most well-known parables he ever shared. The parable of the Good Samaritan transcends religious conversation, working its way into a secular context. Good Samaritan laws protect those who lend assistance in life-threatening situations. Those who go out of their way to help another are called good Samaritans.”

Here’s the gist of the story Jesus told.

A man traveling alone from Jerusalem to Jericho was attacked by robbers who beat him senseless and took his clothes and his money. They threw him in the ditch next to the road, bleeding , broken and near death. At separate times, a Jewish priest and a temple administrator happened upon the scene of the crime. They pretended not to see the man lying in the ditch. They averted their eyes, shuffled to the other side of the road and quickened their pace, ignoring the man in distress. Out of sight. Out of mind.

Later, a Samaritan on his way to Jericho came across the bleeding man. Compassion ruled the moment and the Samaritan jumped into the ditch to render aid. He cleaned the man’s cuts and bruises with his oil and wine and tore the hem of his garment to bandage the man’s wounds. He lifted the injured man onto his own donkey and walked him miles into the city. He took the man to an inn, nursing his needs throughout the night. The next morning, the Samaritan paid the innkeeper to watch over the man, promising to cover any additional costs the innkeeper incurred when the Samaritan returned.

Jesus told the story to the crowd gathered around him. He looked into the faces of every person around him. Finally, his eyes bore into the eyes of the scribe still standing in the middle. Jesus’ eyes narrowed and his voice lowered an octave. His next question landed like a heavy weight upon the man’s chest, crushing the breath from his lungs. “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell in to the hands of the robbers?”

I picture the man opening and closing his mouth like a fish out of water, fully aware that he had been outfoxed by the master teacher. His brain flashed in overdrive as he tried to think of a snappy comeback. Unable to give credit to a hated Samaritan, he answered in little more than a grudging whisper. “The one who showed mercy on him.”

The lengthy conversation between Jesus and the scribe must have inspired those who sat around and watched it unfold. The parable shared by Jesus subtly suggesting that faith is best demonstrated, not by grand theological arguments, but by the things we do for others. And, it is a message that echoes loudly today. A lesson I still need to learn at times.

Here’s the thing. The scribe asked a great question in the beginning. It is the fundamental question all of us who long for meaning in life should ask. “How do I find eternal life?” Ironically, he gave the same answer that Jesus gave to another group of Pharisees who questioned him about God’s greatest commandments (Mark 12:28-34). Had the man stopped to consider the meaning and spirit of the words he spoke, the whole conversation might have taken a different and better turn.

His second question, however, reveals an exclusionary faith. “Who is my neighbor?” is a question that seeks to limit our compassion…creating boundaries that give us an out. “Who is my neighbor?” suggests that some groups or some individuals are unworthy of my time and effort.

The scribe practiced a ritualized religion based on man-made rules that identified peoples that the law considered unclean and unworthy of God’s love. The Pharisees and scribes knew Jesus frequently associated with tax collectors, Samaritans, Gentiles, lepers, outcasts and outlaws. When the scribe asked his question, I suspect he hoped Jesus might identify as a neighbor one among this group of the unclean which Jewish law excluded from fellowship.

We often fall into the same trap as the scribe. Surely my “neighbor” only includes those people with whom I have a relationship…those who look like me…those who live in my social circle…my own racial subset, those for whom I can give money, but not get my hands dirty…those whose needs do not inconvenience me.

Jesus rejects that view. In Jesus’ parable, the Samaritan showed compassion and mercy to the injured man even though society considered the Samaritan an outcast and unworthy of God’s love. So, from Jesus’ standpoint, the question is not “Who is my neighbor,” but rather, “Whose neighbor can I be?”

It’s not a matter of identifying the person I wish to help. It’s a matter of looking for the unfolding opportunities God places before me where I can serve my God and my fellow man. Determining whose neighbor I can be demands that I step outside my comfort zone…insists that I engage with those whose backgrounds and cultures differ significantly from mine…mandates that I move past the safety of simple charitable giving to immerse myself in the gritty world of need in which others live.

Jesus defined our “neighbor” when he addressed the Pharisees in Mark. “Love your neighbor as you love yourself.” Find the definition also encompassed in the Golden Rule. “Do unto others (your neighbor) as you would have others do unto you.” Both verses suggest an empathy that allows us to see ourselves in the circumstances experienced by someone else. Except for the grace of God we could find ourselves in similar circumstances. That realization should compel us to provide the help and assistance to another in need that we desire in our most desperate times.

In essence Jesus asked the scribe to abandon the smooth road ritualized religion and live in the dirty ditch of practical and powerful faith. Forget about qualifying those we choose to help. Look instead for the chance to change the course of another’s life.

It’s a good question.

Whose neighbor can you be?

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Peace on Earth

Background Passages: Luke 2:1-14; John 14:27

The young man leaned against a boulder, resting his head upon his arms as his calloused hands gripped the shepherd’s staff held in front of him. The quiet of the night interrupted by the soft bleating of a ewe calling for his lamb. The nearby campfires set around the hillside illuminated the measured steps of his friends standing watch around the flock. He found comfort in their presence.

Without warning, an angel in radiant garments, appeared among them, night’s shadows chased away by the brilliance of God’s glory. Stricken with fear, the shepherds dropped to the ground. “Do not be afraid,” the angel said with a voice calm and clear. “I bring you tidings of great joy for all the people. Today, in the city of David, a Savior is born to you. He is the Messiah, the Lord.”

As soon as he made his announcement, a great host of angels surrounded them, singing praises to God of his unsurpassed greatness and declaring “peace to all on earth on whom God’s favor rests.”

From the moment the angel declared the birth of God’s own Son, we have longed for the promised peace. When we look past the tinsel and trappings of the season into the world around us, the angel’s words of good cheer and peace seem elusive at best. The fault lies not with the angel’s pronouncement, nor with God’s promise. Rather, the failure lies in our definition of peace.

Jesus’ birth did not usher in a time of peace. The savior was born in a region consumed by strife for hundreds of years. The Roman conquerors, just the latest in a long line of foreign rulers, kept a heavy hand upon Judea. Herod, the appointed king of Judea, feared any and every rival, eventually calling for the death of every child under the age of two. Jesus’ parents fled to Egypt. No, Jesus’ world was hardly a place of peace.

Throughout his life and ministry Jesus encountered suspicion and hatred, ultimately leading to his death on a cross and the persecution of his followers. Upon hearing of the declaration to the shepherds, the casual observer might ask, “Where is the promised peace?”

Nineteen centuries later, the world watched as the United States of America tore itself apart in a ugly Civil War, fought to end the enslavement of one people by another. During this brutal time, the eldest son of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, the famed American poet, enlisted in the Union army without his father’s permission. Young Wadsworth suffered a severe wound at a battle in Virginia.

As a result, our poet wrote Christmas Bells, a poem later put to music and renamed, I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day. It begins with a declaration of the popular seasonal sentiment of peace on earth before decrying the reality of war and violence. The sullen lyrics proclaim, “And in despair, I bowed my head; ‘There is no peace on earth,’ I said; ‘For hate is strong, and mocks the song of peace on earth, good will to men.’” The casual reader might hear the song and ask, “Where is the promised peace?”

Understand clearly, Jesus’ birth remains one of earth’s most amazing events and marks the beginning of the final expression of God’s plan for bringing salvation to the world. It did not then, and does not now, end the disharmony among men. Turn on the television and listen to the divisive conversations. See the reports of warfare and violence across the globe. The casual observer might ask, “Where is the promised peace?”

God calls us to live in harmony today with one another, to love our neighbors and our enemies, but this is not the peace of Christmas. God’s promised peace is not found in our external relationships. God’s perfect peace is internal…in the heart of every believer…and it is eternal…in the life everlasting he promised through his son, Jesus Christ.

As he prepared for his death on the cross, Jesus comforted his disciples. “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.” Then, he echoed the words of the angels to the shepherds, “Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid.”

While the world’s discord ought to concern us and our lives ought to be about bridging those damaged and fragile relationships, we tend to live in fear of the anger that exists among us. God reminds us often in scripture, “Do not be afraid.” Fear is overcome by living as God desires us to live.

God loves it when we live obedient to his will. It pleases him. We find the peace and contentment he promised while here on earth only when living in the light of his will for our lives. It is not the absence of conflict as the best peace given by the world. It is the peace he gives us as his spirit lives within our hearts in the here and now.

The baby God sent to lie in the manger in Bethlehem, the one the angels proclaimed as the Messiah, brought God’s gift of grace and salvation to a hateful world so that those who would place faith and trust in him would find true peace…not just in the present day, but for all eternity.

In the end, Wordsworth’s expressed pessimism yielded to the promise of the baby in the manger. His last stanza declares our greatest hope. Where is the peace? It is found in these words.

Then rang the bells more loud and deep.
God is not dead, nor doth He sleep.
The wrong shall fail, the right prevail,
With peace on earth, good will to men.

Then ringing, singing on its way,
The world revolved from night to day.
A voice, a chime, a chant sublime
Of peace on earth, good will to men.

Listen to my favorite rendition of this Christmas classic by Casting Crowns.

God is still in control and his victory over all that is wrong is assured. In Christmas we catch a glimpse of what we can be. In Christmas we bury that which divides us to find a brief respite from the rancor that rules the year. In Christmas we find peace that only a life committed to Christ can find. Because of Christmas we rest in God’s promise of eternal peace.

This is my prayer for you this Christmas.

Prayer Warriors

Background Passages: Colossians 1:7-8; 4:12-13; Philemon 23; James 2:14-16

The great Protestant reformer, Martin Luther learned the need for deep spiritual concentration in prayer from his dog, Klutz. Luther said, “If I could only pray the way this dog watches meat …(beyond that one thing) he has no thought, wish or hope.” Effective prayer requires a singular focus.

One such prayer warrior, casually mentioned in scripture, poured his every thought, wish and hope into his passionate prayers for the believers in Colossae. Consider the example of Epaphras.

I suspect the long journey to Rome gave him time to reflect on the troubles plaguing the Colossian church as it resisted the heretical attacks of those who misunderstood and misapplied the gospel of Christ. After his conversion experience in Ephesus experienced at the feet of Paul, Epaphras took his missionary zeal 100 miles west to the cities of Colossae, Laodicea and Hierapolis.

As it was in other areas, the spread of Christianity faced a host of problems caused by those who wished to assimilate Christ’s teachings into the prevailing religions or philosophies of the day. Some Jewish leaders embraced the teachings of Christ to a point, but insisted that Jewish laws, rituals and traditions be embraced as a condition of salvation. Some Gentiles attempted to blend Greco/Roman philosophies with Christian teaching, but proclaiming a “secret knowledge” that made them more in tune with God. Other philosophers tried to meld Christian humility and servanthood with the joyless stoicism of self-denial.

Faced with all of these pressures upon the churches he served, Epaphras boarded a boat to Rome intent upon sharing his concerns with Paul, his spiritual mentor and guide. When Paul heard of the difficulties in the church, he penned a letter addressed to the churches providing instruction from the apostle to the believers. In the book of Colossians, Paul encouraging them to set aside the false teachings and focus instead on the teachings of Christ.

As he closed his letter to the Colossian church, Paul spoke highly of Epaphras, one of only three times this dedicated pastor was mentioned in the Bible. In the brief biblical references to Epaphras, he is called “servant of Christ Jesus,” “our beloved fellow servant,” “faithful minister” and “my fellow prisoner.”

Paul held this man of faith in high esteem, considering him a valuable member of the ministry team and a personal encouragement in his life. However, Paul’s reference to his friend reveals a great deal about Epaphras that I find instructive. He wrote,

“Epaphras, who is one of you and a servant of Christ Jesus, sends greetings. He is always wrestling in prayer for you, that you may stand firm in all the will of God, mature and fully assured. I vouch for him that he is working hard for you and for those in Laodicea and Hierapolis.”

Epaphras understood what we tend to forget. Our prayers tend to be incident specific, offered during times of personal need or want. Our prayers tend to be generic as we intercede for “them,” those whose struggles we see, but never really touch. Epaphras prayed differently.

Paul said, “He is always wrestling in prayer for you…” He offered prayers of intercession, lifting his congregation to the throne of God, laying their needs at the feet of Christ. Knowing what they faced…knowing that great was their need for the Spirit’s presence at a time when false teachers were pulling them in all directions…Epaphras prayed.

I suspect he did more than pray for the generic spiritual health of his church. He knew his people, his friends. He knew the unique struggles each individual faced. He knew their personal hurts, their unique desires, their individual weakness. He knew their joy, their devotion, their strengths. He prayed for each member of his congregation that God’s presence might be felt. God’s voice heard. God’s will obeyed.

How much more effective would our prayer life be if our first thought was not for our own needs or for a faceless crowd, but for the specific needs of the one? Praying not just for the universal needs of the Christian community, but for specific friends and family we know caught between the loving arms of God and the selfish pull of the world. Praying for friends and family that God’s joy might be made complete in them.

We learn another truth from this passage. “He is always wrestling in prayer for you,” Paul wrote. Epaphras prayed persistently and continuously for his people, lifting them up constantly to the Father. So great was his love for his congregation, their situation remained at the forefront of his heart. Though miles separated Rome from Colossae, Epaphras could not take his mind off their struggles. When you know those you care for are under spiritual attack and you cannot stand physically by their side, prayer provides a connection one to the other, linking your heart to theirs.

Thessalonians reminds us to “pray without ceasing,” not so a forgetful God will be reminded of our requests, but that we remain connected to those we love through a spiritual life line. Persistent and continuous prayer for another never allows the needs of another to get buried beneath the bustle of daily life.

Epaphras knew that effective prayer is labor intensive. Paul said, “He is always wrestling in prayer for you.” This servant of Jesus Christ agonized over the souls of those for whom he was responsible. They were that important to him. He carried their burdens as his own and that heavy responsibility left him seeking answers day in and day out, desperate to discover what he could say or do to bolster their faith and give them strength.

The word “wrestle” found in this text comes from a Greek word meaning “to agonize.” In a real sense, it paints a picture of competing for a prize. Figuratively, it suggests fighting an adversary. Both concepts ring true. The false teachers threatened the work of God’s grace, eternity’s highest prize, in the daily life of the Colossians. Those Epaphras opposed stood as enemies of the faith. True adversaries. He would fight them with every spiritual weapon at his disposal. Praying for the Colossians brought heartbreak and pain. The danger to their faith was never more real.

Epaphras labored in prayer over Colossae, Laodicea, and Hierapolis. Stretching his mind, his heart, his spirit and his soul, Epaphras’ prayers consumed his time, drew upon his strength and challenged his commitment.

Prayer that fails to burden the soul echoes as a hollow sound. Epaphras teaches us that prayer should compel us to go to the mat for those in need and should define who we are and that for which we stand.

Epaphras prayed specifically and intelligently for the people. He prayed that in the face of all that opposed them, they might “stand firm” in the will of God. That their faith might be “mature” and “fully assured” as they withstand the assault on their beliefs. We might have prayed for God’s blessing upon them, or God’s peace and presence… and God would hear that prayer. However, Epaphras prayed for specific manifestations of their faith in a troubled time. His prayer came with a stated purpose for personal spiritual growth and confidence that they did not walk alone.

The most effective prayers we utter are those that are backed by our own hard work. Paul reminded the Colossians of their pastor’s tireless effort on their behalf. “I vouch for him that he is working hard for you and those in Laodicea and Hierapolis.” It wasn’t enough to lay his concerns before God, Epaphras set out to make those prayers a reality in the lives of those he loved. He worked. He worked hard as God’s hands and feet to make his prayers a reality.

James tells us of the link between faith and works. “Suppose a brother or sister is without clothes and daily food. If one of you says, ‘Go, I wish you well; keep warm and well fed,’ but does nothing about his physical needs, what good is it?”

I suspect the same is true of our prayers. Casual prayers of blessing for those we know who are struggling sound like we simply wish them well. We need to back our prayers with our actions. In this way we serve as God’s conduit for the answers he provides.

Every day we encounter someone who lives life in turmoil. Will we wrestle constantly in prayer for the heart that is broken? Will we put ourselves to work to ensure that our prayers actually touch a life of another? Can we go to God with such fervor and focus there exists no greater thought, wish or hope beyond that for which we pray?

The lesson taught by this obscure Christian giant is a good one. Whose Epaphras will you be?

*****

Author’s Note: This devotional thought is the third in a series of posts about some of the unsung heroes of the New Testament. These men and women, in many ways, carried the responsibility of the spread of the gospel in first 50 years after the ministry of Christ. By putting together the limited biblical references to their work and filling in the gaps with a little imagination, we find ways in which we, as ordinary Christians, can find in the examples they set our own heart for ministry.

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