Bethlehem – Dr. Kirk Lewis

Why Bethlehem?

Background Passages: Micah 5:2-4; John 6:25-36

You’ll hear it repeatedly in the weeks leading up to Christmas. One of the most cherished of all Christmas songs, will be sung by congregations and children’s choirs around the world.

“Oh, little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie,
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by,
Yet in the dark streets shineth
The everlasting light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.”

It will be sung as a song of praise and celebration.

In his book Lifestories, Mark Hall, singer and songwriter for Casting Crowns, said he spent nine years trying to compose a new arrangement of Oh, Little Town of Bethlehem.

“I set out to use the hymn’s original lyrics but to spin them into my own version with different chords…I was playing with some chords and realized halfway through the first verse that I was 27 years old and had been singing the song since I was a kid without grasping its meaning.

“Halfway through the first verse, the whole point of the song hit me. They missed it! Bethlehem missed it. They never knew what happened. They had no idea the Messiah, the savior of the world, had fulfilled the prophecy of Micah 5:2 and was sleeping in a feeding trough in their very village.” Said Hall, “They slept through the whole thing.”

Look at the new lyrics written by Hall.

Oh, little town of Bethlehem,
Looks like another silent night.
Above your deep and dreamless sleep
A giant star lights up the sky.
And while you’re lying in the dark,
There shines an everlasting light.
For the King has left his throne
And is sleeping in a manger tonight.

Oh, Bethlehem, what you have missed while you were sleeping,
For God became a man
And stepped into your world today.
Oh Bethlehem, you will go down in history
As a city with no room for its king.

It’s a poignant song. Hall suggests that Bethlehem had no clue what God had done among them that night. Given the continued obscurity it experienced during Jesus’ ministry, he may not be far from the truth. After hearing his interpretation of the song, I could not help but think why would God begin his redemptive work in a village that seemed so unaware?

Why Bethlehem?

I have read enough scripture and experienced enough of God’s amazing work in my own life to know that nothing God does is happenstance. Bethlehem wasn’t chosen by a blindfolded creator who, after the angels spun him around, tossed a heavenly dart at the earth only to have it land in a little-known Judean village. God chose Bethlehem for a purpose. So…

Why Bethlehem?

It would be true, but simplistic, to say that God chose Bethlehem to fulfill a prophecy given to Micah 750 years before Jesus was born.

“But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, are only a small village among all the people of Judah. Yet, out of you will come for me one whose origins are from the distant past…And he will stand to lead his flock with the Lord’s strength, in the majesty of the name of the Lord, your God…And he will be the source of peace.” (Micah 5:2, 4)

I think there’s more to it than that. To call it just a fulfilled prophecy removes from the equation the genius of God as a storyteller and communicator. Throughout history God uses imagery to convey his truths. Metaphors. Parables. It’s not a stretch to think he chose Bethlehem specifically so he could point people to Jesus.

Knowing how he wanted the story to end, God did what any great author does when writing a compelling narrative. He dropped clues along the way. He chose Bethlehem to make a point you and I needed to remember every Christmas.

Beth in the Hebrew language means house of. Le’chem is the word for bread. Beth le’chem. Bethlehem…House of Bread.

Bread was survival to ordinary people of the first century. As the main source of nourishment, bread meant life. Priests used bread in Temple worship. It symbolized God’s provision to the Israelites by sending manna after their escape from Egypt and throughout their wilderness years. A gift of bread laid on the altar indicated that God alone was their provider. Their sustainer.

Jesus fed multitudes of people by breaking bread and sharing it with them, letting them eat until they had their fill with many loaves left over. The next day, the crowd found him again on the other side of the Sea of Galilee and they had some questions. Jesus answered them.

“I tell you the truth, you are looking for me, not because you saw miraculous signs but because you ate the loaves and had your fill. Do not work for food that spoils, but for food that endures to eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.”

“What signs will you do? Our forefathers ate the manna in the desert…”

Jesus answered them, “I tell you the truth, it is not Moses who has given you the bread of heaven, but it is my father who gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who come down from heaven and gives life to the world.”

“’Sir, they replied, from now on, give us this bread.”

Then, Jesus declared, “I am the bread of life. He who comes to me will never go hungry, and he who believes in me will never be thirsty. But as I told you, you have seen me and still you do not believe.” (John 6:25-36)

Why Bethlehem?

Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the house of bread, to remind us that he is our bread of life. He was born in Bethlehem to be our provider. Our sustainer. Jesus was born in Bethlehem to offer himself to the world as bread that never spoils. Bread that brings eternal life.

Why Bethlehem?

Another reason he chose Bethlehem can be found in that prophetic word from Micah. Let’s look at it again.

From the small, quiet and out of the way village, God did a mighty thing. He chose the insignificant to do something that would change the course of history and eternity, bringing his peace to his creation.

Maybe you and I are Bethlehem in that way. God doesn’t need the grand or the grandiose to change the world. He can use the most insignificant among us to point a world to Jesus. To share the bread of life. To be his voice, his hands, his heart in a world that has lost its way.

Why Bethlehem?

God chose Bethlehem to remind us that Jesus is the bread of life. Our provider and our sustainer. He chose Bethlehem to show us that he can use the lowest among us to point the way to the Most High.

Here’s the catch. Here is where we are too often most like Bethlehem. Bethlehem missed a heavenly opportunity. While the angels proclaimed the glory of God in the form of the child he sent to be the salvation of the world, Bethlehem slept right through it. Bethlehem made no room in their hearts for the savior. Mark Hall alludes to it in the final verse of his song.

Mary shivers in the cold, trying to keep the savior warm.
Born among the animals and wrapped in dirty rags because
there was no room for him
in the world he came to save.

Why Bethlehem?

Maybe God chose Bethlehem to remind us that he chose to reveal himself to us. Maybe he chose Bethlehem to remind us that we cannot be sleeping and miss the opportunity to see God at work through Christ. To be Christ at work through that which he has called us to do.

The only way I can do that is to make room for my King…every day…every hour…every minute. I cannot be caught sleeping.

**********

Author’s Note: My church, South Main Baptist Church in Pasadena, hosts A South Main Bethlehem each year. This interactive experience allows you to experience life in the first century as you walk the streets of Bethlehem. Before you leave the village, the Nativity Scene will remind you of the true meaning of Christmas. The event will be from 5:00-8:30 p.m. December 9-11. Come and enjoy the experience. Let it remind you to make room for the King.

Come To Bethlehem

Background Passages: Luke 2:1-20; Matthew 2:1-12

We often get caught up in the extraordinary events of that first Christmas.

- - An angel’s visit to a chosen, teenage girl.
  - A promised and pristine conception.
  - The birth of the Christ-child.
  - A choir of angels proclaiming “peace and goodwill” to everyone.
  - The shepherds’ worship of a Messiah.
  - The wise men’s gifts to a newborn king.

Yet, the Almighty God focused all the extraordinary acts of his perfect plan for the salvation of the world on the obscure, insignificant village of Bethlehem. Chosen from the beginning of creation as the place of the Messiah’s birth, God maneuvered the events of history and enabled the lives of his obedient people to open the gate of a stall and fill its manger with the perfect image of himself.

Sure. Prophecy told us it would be Bethlehem. Israel’s favorite king was born in the little hamlet and herded his sheep in the hills surrounding it. For hundreds of years it slept a few miles from Jerusalem and its Temple Mount. Until the day when Joseph, a direct descendant of David, obediently followed the governor’s law and made a five-day journey from Nazareth to Bethlehem to fill out his census and pay his Roman required tax.

Why Bethlehem?

God could have used any number of better-known cities in Israel to call his king and send his son. Instead, he chose Bethlehem.

If you pay enough attention to God’s work in history, he seldom used the magnificent to achieve his purposes. Far more often, God chose the humble and insignificant. The ordinary and mundane. When it came time to sing the final stanza of salvation that would one day hang on a cross and be raised from the dead, God pointed the world to a tiny village using a star bright enough so all who were willing to follow would find the baby, wrapped in swaddling clothes.

God didn’t send a king. He sent a servant.

God didn’t send a conqueror. He sent a carpenter.

God didn’t choose the temple city of Jerusalem or the royal city of Tiberias. He chose Bethlehem.

Why Bethlehem?

Here’s my thought.

For most of the people of the world, the coming of Jesus to Bethlehem was, and is, a curiosity. A Nativity scene in the courthouse. A painting on a Christmas card. A phrase in a Christmas carol. A tidbit of trivia that changes nothing.

For Mary and Joseph…for the shepherds and the wise men…for me…the coming of Jesus to Bethlehem was, and is, personal and powerful. A God-purposed encounter that changed everything.

God, through his son, Jesus Christ, will never force his way into our lives. Rather, he hangs a star above a stable and invites us to come to Bethlehem. He lets his angels sing and invites us to come to Bethlehem.

We must come to Bethlehem, not for the cold glitter and gold of a palace or cathedral, but for the chance to feel the warmth of a child held in our embrace…God in human form…a child to be adored and loved and worshiped. You see, the where is not nearly as crucial as the why.

Why Bethlehem?

Because Bethlehem is a place where God becomes personal…and powerful. A place where you can find the answer to your greatest longings of heart and soul. A place to see Jesus as God’s gift to you…God’s gift to a hurting world. A chance to embrace Jesus as savior and be forever changed.

Why Bethlehem?

Perhaps its time to come to Bethlehem and see for yourself.

The Stable Boy

Background Passage: Luke 2:1-20

People flooded Bethlehem
in answer to the governor’s decree.
Returning to their home town to be taxed.
Travel made them…
irritable.
Taxation made them…
irate.Boisterous.
Belligerent.
Bellicose. Families poured into the
City of David from all directions of the wind.
Swelling the population of the sleepy village,
well beyond its capacity.

Hospitality ruled.
Family and stranger
open home and business to the weary travelers.
Considerate.
Courteous.
Custom.

A stable boy.
Ten-years old.
All too skinny.
Almost skeletal.
A brush with a Roman chariot as a young boy
left him with a shattered leg that never healed properly.
Twisted at an awkward angle.
Weak and wobbly,
each step aided by a walking stick.

The stable boy
dodged through familiar streets.
Picked his way back and forth
from the town’s only inn
to the stable inside the rocky cave,
behind the mud-bricked building.

He spent his day…
Lugging belongings
to the rooms inside.
Leading beasts of burden
to the stalls out back.
Lifting water jars
to fill the troughs.
Laying fresh hay in the mangers
To feed the livestock.

Seen, but unseen.
Speaking, but never heard.

Long after the sun set,
The stable boy blew out a slow breath.
A sigh heavy with fatigue.
He leaned down.
Picked up a wooden bucket,
Turned it over.
Sat wearily upon it.
Pulled his knees to his chest.
Laid his head on his arms
Fell instantly asleep.

His mind registered the sound
long before his eyes blinked open.
The echoing clip clop of a donkey’s hooves
trudging through the rocky street.

A young man walked out of the shadows.
Broad-shouldered.
Brawny.
The flow of his robe could not conceal that he was
powerfully built by years of hard work.
Physical vitality betrayed only by the
exhaustion in his eyes.

The man led his donkey by a loose halter.
Upon the donkey a young woman.
Pregnant.
Pained.
Spent.
Jostling back and forth with each
labored step of her animal.

The couple stopped at the door to the inn.
The man gently braced the woman
as she slid from the donkey’s back.
A kind smile and a quiet word
let her know they reached their destination.
She leaned against the donkey as
he stepped toward the front door.
With a crooked grin,
he placed a heavy hand on the
stable boy’s shoulder as he passed.
Squeezed it in a way that said,
“We made it,”
Walked inside without another word.

The stable boy stared at the woman.
He could not help himself.
Saw how young she was.
Could not imagine the difficulty of her journey.
Knew enough of the world to know…
she was ready to deliver her child.

She greeted the boy with a wave.
“Good evening.”
After the chaos of his day,
her words sounded like the melody of a meadowlark.
Wistful.
Welcoming.
Warm.

Before he could answer,
Her husband came out of the building
followed on his heels by the apologetic innkeeper
They spoke in whispered and urgent tones.
The stable boy listened to the muted conversation,
deliberately kept quiet and low to
avoid alarming the woman.

“Look at her,”
the man pleaded.
“She is due any day. I must find her a place to stay.
We’ve been everywhere else.
I can find no bed for her rest.”

“We have no room,”
said the man in sympathy,
all too aware of his unfulfilled responsibility as host.

The young man looked again at his wife.
Nodded his acceptance of a bad situation.
Shook the innkeeper’s hand.
Stepped toward his wife,
fatigue etched in his face and
his fallen shoulders
All too aware of his unfulfilled responsibility as husband.

“Wait,”
said the innkeeper.
The young man turned back,
a faint glimmer of hope in his eyes.

Continue reading “The Stable Boy”

A Father's Grace

Background Verses: Luke 15:11-32

My four-year-old grandson spent the night with us last week. Wired to the max, Eli just wouldn’t go to sleep. Every two minutes he was up out of bed. Every two minutes I would scold him from downstairs and urge him to get back in bed. About 11:00 p.m., I threatened to come upstairs to deal with things. I heard him jump back in bed and in a voice I don’t think he intended me to hear, he said, “Stay where you are, Grandpa. Stop worrying about me.” I’m not sure if I was being scolded or reassured, but I know I laughed…long and hard.

His comment made me think of a biblical son who once said much the same thing to his father in a much more serious situation. The story of the prodigal son lives vividly in my memory since I first heard it. The rebellious son, tired of the routine at home, perceiving his father’s guidance as meddling in his business, demands his inheritance in a desire to live life on his own. In his own way. His free will choice. In Jewish culture of the day, his demand was horrifically insulting, casting his father aside as if he no longer existed. Treating him as if he were dead.

The father saddened by the decision, hurt by the demand, nevertheless, divides his resources and gives to the younger son all that he is due. The young man, we will call him Joseph, leaves his home for the wild life of the city, in a short time squandering all he had been given in a life of decadence and sin.

In a freakish coincidence, at the same time he spends his last dime, a famine hits. Life becomes hard for the young man, finding himself abandoned by the friendships he had bought. Destitute and in in desperate need. Joseph finds the only job available to him…slopping hogs for a mean-spirited farmer in a foreign land. Hungry and alone, Joseph is tempted to eat the table scraps he’s feeding to the hogs. Tears roll down his face, horrified at the turn life has taken. Joseph realizes his father’s servants fare better. Tossing the last of the garbage to the sow and her litter, the young man sets out for home, practicing a speech borne by hunger both physical and spiritual…full of regret and repentance.

It is a story to which most of us can relate as we think of those times we chose to go our own way, seduce by the glamour and glitz of the world. We tell God in no uncertain terms, “Stay where you are. Stop worrying about me.” Before we make that choice, it makes sense to give some thought to the father in our story. I suspect it went something like this.

The routine.

Repeated every day since Joseph left.

The father.

Rises early each morning.

Climbs the stairs to the roof of his home.

Turns toward the morning sun,

offering a prayer for his son’s safe return.

Day after day.

He labors.

One eye on his work.

One eye on the road his son had taken.

Work stops with every

shadowed figure emerging from the distant haze.

Heart beating through his chest as he prays

this distant traveler is his returning son.

The father watches until he discerns the inevitable.

The traveler’s posture and gait…

unfamiliar and unknown.

The knot in his stomach…

Tight with tension.

Thus ends another day…

longing for his son’s embrace.

Day after day.

Until this day…

The father stood in the middle of the field,

watching the small swirl of dust rising in the distance.

Hope again rises in his heart as it always does.

Compassion overflows with the recognition.

The step of the traveler is

fatigued, but familiar.

The father pulls the hem of his garment above his knees,

dashing quickly down the road.

Eyes never straying from the approaching figure.

Calling out his son’s name in sheer joy.

Joseph!

My Joseph!

The father’s arms encircle the young man’s waist,

hoisting him off the ground.

He spins twice with Joseph in his arms,

not quite believing he has returned.

The father sets him down at last,

holding him at arms-length.

A grin as wide as the Jordan Valley on his face.

Joseph stunned at his father’s welcome,

drops his eyes and falls to his knees.

Begins his practiced speech.

“Father, I have sinned…”

“…no longer worthy of being your son…”

Expecting rebuke

He experienced grace.

The father wrapped his strong arms around his boy,

lifting him to his feet.

He turns to the servants just now catching up after the father’s mad dash.

In a voice choked with emotion he tells them,

“Bring his robe.

His ring.

His best pair of shoes.

Dress him as my son.

Prepare a barbecue feast.

Invite the whole village.

Let’s celebrate.

My son who was lost has been found.”

In one of his most powerful parables, Jesus defined sin with crystal clarity. How often have we looked at the world around us, enticed by its “eat, drink and be merry—live for today” philosophy, insisting upon our inheritance, our piece of the pie? How often have we looked at the Bible and its teachings and decided it lacks relevance to life, situation or need? How often have we demanded of the Father, “It my life, my inheritance. I desire to live life on my own. In my own way. My free will choice. You don’t worry about me!” How hurtful that must be to the Father when our choice is tantamount to saying, “I want you out of my life. You are dead to me?” There’s no other way to sugarcoat it. That’s what sin is. Running away from the Father to pursue our own brand of selfishness.

Here’s the thing. Those who heard Jesus speak that parable would clearly understand that the father would have been in his right to disown the son. To send him from his home, penniless, with nothing. Just for making the demand. Banished from the love of the father and the security of his home. Yet, the father reacts unexpectedly. Heartbroken at his son’s decision…most certainly. Fearful of the dangers his son would face…without a doubt. Painfully aware the son would surely fail on his own… no question. Yet, he let him go. Just as the father in our story, God in heaven yields to our free will, feeling the heartbreak, fear and understanding that the path we have chosen leads to ruin.

By its very definition, to be prodigal is to be wasteful. When we walk out on God, we are wasting our potential, our promise and our purpose, tossing those things aside as if they were scrapes to feed the hogs. Yet, while we’re away living life our way, the Father remains at home, one eye on His labor, one eye on the road we’ve taken, praying that we will come to our senses, longing for our safe return. Too often, we have to be sitting in the muck of a pig sty, Hungry for that which sustains us, before we realize how wonderful it was to rest in the bosom of our Father.

There is one more act of significance buried in the story…one that may be less familiar to us than to those who listened as Jesus taught. The village had a shared responsibility to protect the father from further embarrassment. Had the young man entered the village, even to return to the father, it would have been their responsibility to send him away, to protect the father from the humiliation of the son’s return. They would never get that chance because the father took the first steps. You see, in the culture of the day, running was an undignified act for a man. It just wasn’t done. To run, the man would need to life his robe, exposing his undergarments. An act of humiliation. The father, beyond caring or concern of what he must look like, was more than willing to suffer humiliation to welcome home his lost son.

Was it not God Incarnate who allowed himself to be nailed on a cross in ultimate humiliation to offer salvation to a lost world. Is this not God’s way? When we return home with a repentant heart, ashamed of the life we have lived. Afraid of what the future holds. He meets us along our path and draws us into his arms. He never gives up on us even when the world around us does. No rebuke. No recriminations. No accepting the son’s remorse and assigning him less than his place in his father’s house. His embrace said it all…Welcome home. Wear the clothes of my son. Eat at the family table. Worthy of celebration.

As I told my grandson, Eli, after I stopped laughing and entered his room. “I have to worry about you. I love you.” I think God tells us the same.” I will watch, wait and worry for you until the day you return simply because I love you.

As the song reminds us, “Amazing grace. How sweet the sound. That saved a wretch like me. I once was lost, but know I’m found. Was blind but now I see.”

Source: The Searcher

No More Worries

(Background Verses: Luke 12:1-36)

If you read enough about former British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, you’ll discover a unique spirit, one who marched to the beat of his own drum, one who freely said what he felt needed to be said. His own country had an interesting “love/hate” relationship with the man who led them through the trials and troubles of World War II.

His speeches fascinate me with his choice of words; the way he told a good story. As leader of his country during the war, one would assume he had more than his share of worries. Yet, when asked how he dealt with the anxiety of his day, he said, “When I look back on all the worries I remember the story of the old man who said on his deathbed that he had had a lot of trouble in his life, most of which never happened.”

We tend to worry about things that never happen…a mixture of human nature and human sin. Our inability to let go of that which we dread, not fully trusting that if we respond to His will, He will guide our steps.

The Gospel of Luke tells us about a man who came to Jesus deeply worried about financial security; his lot in life. We don’t know his name. We don’t know his circumstance. What we know of the man must be inferred from what he asked of the Teacher (Luke 12:13). So much seems wrong in his heart.

What drives someone into a crowd of thousands (Luke 12:1), pushing his way through the unruly throng until he stands face to face with the popular Teacher?

The young man shoved his way

through the crowd of thousands.

Bitterness drove him forward.

Impatient with the masses, he

brushed aside an elderly couple,

stepping through the gap.

Found himself face to face with the popular Teacher.

Jesus looked in surprise as the man

stepped in front of him.

Furrowed his eyebrows at his impatience.

Sensed his anxiety,

Smiled a smile to ease the man’s discomfort.

Heart pounding.

Breath labored.

Face flushing.

His well-rehearsed speech forgotten.

The young man squared his shoulders.

Blurted out his question

laced with all venom

coursing through his veins.

Agonizing over his future.

Angry at his brother.

Anxious about his life.

“Rabbi,” he spat.

“Tell my brother to split the

inheritance with me.”

Not an unreasonable request in today’s legal world. Pleading for an even split among heirs. In his day, however, a double portion of the inheritance went to the eldest son to provide the resources he needed to become the head of the extended family. It was the way of the world. Imagine the heated discussions between brothers within days of their father’s death. The elder now financially secure. The younger burdened by debt, demands and expectations. Isn’t it funny how anxiety creates demons where no demon exists? The mental image of his future that he allowed to dominate his thoughts grew desperate and despairing.

Resentment brought him to Jesus…not to change his own heart, but to change his brother’s. When Jesus recused himself as judge and arbiter in his situation, the man thrust his hands in the pockets of his robe and huffed away, deeply troubled about what tomorrow would bring.

On its surface, greed seemed the trigger. He coveted what another possessed. When he could not cajole, beg, insist or argue his way into financial security, the sought a judgment against his brother to force the issue. Jesus sensed enough avarice in the young man to issue a warning to the crowd against the danger of putting one’s trust in material possessions. Saying in essence, “You can build a bigger barn to secure your wealth, but you can’t take it with you.”

I think Jesus thought about that young man throughout the day. That He made on connection with the man disturbed the Savior. The scene played out repeated in his thoughts. Pictured him asking his question. Saw the flash anger in his eyes at the mention of his brother. Recalled how the man puffed his cheeks in response to Jesus’ answer. Remembered how he shove his way back through the crowd until he was lost from sight. Jesus’ heart broke with every man, woman or child who turned from his message.

Jesus sensed more than simple greed infecting the man’s life. Jesus recognized a deeper affliction. The man was drowning in waves of worry. This deep anxiety that ate away at the man’s happiness disturbed Jesus at the profoundest level. Turning to his disciples, those who followed him most closely, Jesus shared these words in Luke 12:22-26.

“I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. Life is more than food and the body more than clothes.” He pointed into the nearby field where ravens plucked the ground in search of worms and insects. “Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. How much more valuable you are than the birds! Who among you by worrying can add a single hour to his life? Since you cannot do this little thing, why do you worry about the rest?”

His words resonate with me. I’m months away from an announced retirement. While it brings a degree of uncertainty, I choose not to worry about what the future holds. I think back on my life, the choices I made, the chances I took. The lean financial years. Starting a family. Raising my sons. The work I performed. All the mistakes in life I’ve made. I think of the days and nights of anxiety and worry about things beyond my control. I’ve learned one irrefutable fact. Worry changed nothing. Like the old man in Churchill’s story, I worried most deeply about things that never happened.

For Christians, worry rises as a barrier between us and God, making our fears seem more real than the God who cares for us, in effect, dethroning him as Lord of our lives. So, how do we keep from falling into the trap of anxiety and fear? Jesus gave us the hint in the latter part of Chapter 12. Here’s how I picture it.

The campfire smoldered.

Knocking the chill from the evening air.

Jesus and his disciples sat around the fire.

Content in fellowship.

Comfortable in conversation.

They talked easily of the day’s activity.

Jesus tossed a small twig into the fire.

Watched the flame envelop it.

Deep in thought.

He spoke quietly to everyone and no one.

More thought than thesis.

“I can’t stop thinking about the young man

who wanted me to pass judgment about his inheritance.”

Thomas said,

“He was too greedy.

He had no right to ask what he…”

Jesus stopped him mid-sentence.

“No, Thomas. It was more than that.

You could see it in his eyes.

The tenseness of his shoulders.

His worry consumed him.”

With familiar compassion,

Jesus used the moment to teach.

Imparting another life lesson.

To his disciples.

To us.

“Do not set your heart on what you will eat or drink;

do not worry about it.

For the world runs after all such things and

your Father knows you need them.

Instead, seek his kingdom and

these things will be given to you as well.

For where your treasure is,

there your heart will be also.”

Source: The Searcher

Invitation to a Book Signing

You are cordially invited to a book signing for my recent release “The Chase: Our Passionate Pursuit of Life Worth Living.” Drop by the Barnes and Noble Bookstore on Fairmont Parkway in Pasadena, TX, from 5-8 p.m., Tuesday, July 14, 2015. I look forward to seeing you there.

Source: The Searcher