Category: Amazing Grace

A Cautionary Fish Tale

Background Passages: Matthew 17:24-27; I Cor. 9:19-22; and Hebrews 4:15

For two days
they fished the Sea of Galilee.
The catch?
A little light in the net.
Good.
Not great.

Josiah hauled the barrel of fish to market.
Eli stayed in the middle of the lake,
casting the nets.

Selling the tilapia and carp in Capernaum
earned the two partners
a four-drachma coin.
Two day’s wages split
two ways.

That afternoon,
Josiah rowed his boat
alongside his brother’s skiff.

“How much?”
asked Eli.

“Barely enough,”
was the disappointed answer.

Josiah pulled the coin from the small bag
hidden in the pocket of his robe.
Handed it to his brother.
They fumbled the exchange and the
coin slipped from their fingers
into the water.

They watched helplessly as the sun glinted off
the silver coin as it twirled and tumbled
deeper into the sea and
out of sight.

Two days’ earnings lost.

The flash of light on silver caught the eye of a
carp swimming beneath the boat.
On instinct the fish struck and swallowed the object,
Cold and hard.
Lodged in the gullet.

And, the fish swam away.

Except for the fishermen who spent the rest of the day kicking themselves for their carelessness, this imagined episode was an insignificant event of life on the Sea of Galilee. Yet, God used this story to explain a critical truth about his son.

Jesus and his disciples arrived in Capernaum at a time when the “temple tax” was due. Once a voluntary gift to support God’s work at the temple in Jerusalem, the Romans twisted it into a mandatory tax to build its own pagan temples. Once a year, collectors set up a table on the outskirts of every Jewish town requiring everyone to pay the equivalent of a day’s wage to the Roman government. An unpopular tax, as you can imagine.

Jesus and his disciples had gained some notoriety among the people of Capernaum. This seaside village was his Galilean base of operation. Peter lived there. It is not unreasonable to assume the tax collector knew Peter well. As the disciple passed that day, the man, perhaps a natural critic and skeptic of Jesus and his work, challenged Peter.

“Does your teacher pay the temple tax?”

Without a glance at the tax man, Peter’s answer was terse and to the point. “Yes.”

Peter walked the streets toward his mother-in-law’s home where Jesus was staying, stewing over Roman arrogance and the abuse of the temple tax. The idea of paying a tax to build a pagan temple offended him. A few minutes later, Peter angrily pushed open the door, banging it against the wall.

Startled, Jesus looked up from the table where he sat eating a fig. With the insight of God’s spirit, Jesus took one look at the disciple’s face and answered the question before it was asked.

“What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth collect duty and taxes? From their own children or from others?

Understanding the privileges of power, Peter looked at his feet and mumbled, “from others.”

“Then the children are exempt. But, so that we may not cause offense, go to the lake, throw out your line. Take the fish you catch. Open its mouth, you will find a four-drachma coin. Take it and give it to them for my tax and yours.”

What an odd and obscure passage of scripture! It’s no surprise, I guess, that Matthew is the only gospel writer to tell this unusual story. As a former tax collector, it was, after all, in his wheelhouse.

Though I read the passage in the past, I never gave it much thought. When I skimmed it this week, I stopped. The words of the Bible were not written by chance. So, why put these three verses in scripture for us to read?

Barclay tells us in his commentary that the story is a mini-parable. A story. He says Jesus would never use his power for something so mundane as to pay his obligations. Remember the temptations of Christ in the wilderness? Barclay says its Jesus’ way of telling Peter that his followers must pay our lawful debts, even when they find them distasteful. Jesus used this dramatic story to tell Peter, go fish. Earn what we need to earn to pay this tax.

I can buy the idea of a parable, but I’m not sure this commentary’s hammer is hitting its nail squarely.

The parable teaches us about Jesus. Draws our attention to him. Matthew’s gospel addressed the Jewish people who longed for the promised Messiah. It also speaks to all of us in need of the redemption offered by God through Christ. The story is about Jesus. King of the Jews. The atonement for sin. The ransom for the soul to which all the Old Testament and Jewish law pointed. As such, it is an important word.

However, when put in its broader context, maybe there is more we can learn. According to Matthew just a few verses earlier, Peter was among a trio of disciples to recently witness the transfiguration of Jesus on the mountaintop. They heard the affirmation of God declaring his love for his son and his pleasure at his work. When the experience was over, the disciples didn’t want to leave the mountaintop. They wanted to remain in awe-inspired, blissful worship. Jesus and his disciples, though, had more work to do so down in the valley.

With that remarkable experience still fresh on Peter’s mind, the tax collector confronted him in Capernaum. At that moment, I can see Peter bristling at the idea of paying a Roman tax when his master had just been affirmed by God in the presence of Moses and Elijah. There’s a sort of “Don’t you know who he is? or “Don’t you know who I am?” kind of arrogant vibe to the encounter. “This is God’s son you’re hassling, buddy! And I’m his right hand man! Back off!”

Peter really wanted to tell Jesus about the irritating encounter. Before he could get a word out, Jesus,with his keen insight into human nature, opened the conversation. It’s interesting that Jesus used Peter’s old name in this passage. He called him “Simon.” Jesus reverted to Peter’s birth name on those occasions when Peter was not acting like “the rock” he needed him to be. I suspect when Jesus addressed the disciple as Simon it was the same as my Mom calling me, “Kirk Allan.” A “what have I done this time?” moment.

Peter probably answered Jesus’ question tentatively, with uncertainty in his voice, “the others…”, but he answered correctly. The implication from Jesus clear. “On one level, Peter, you’re not wrong. You and I both know I’m the son of God. You heard as much on the mountain. As the son of God I am under no obligation of any kind to man’s law and rule. But, that’s not the point, is it?”

Then, Jesus uttered a phrase that changes Peter’s perspective from a position of holy supremacy to a posture of humble service.

“So that we may not cause offense…”

Those who know tell me that the Greek word used for “offense” in this passage means “to cause someone to stumble.” It suggests that even though Jesus, by nature of who he is, had no obligation to pay this tax, he would pay it so his refusal would not be an obstacle placed before the Jewish people. He didn’t want to create an issue that would distract from the message he preached.

Paul reflected a similar attitude with the Corinthian church.

“For, though I am free from all men, I have made myself a servant to all, that I might win more…I have become all things to all men that I might by all means save some. (I Cor. 9:19-22)

Jesus didn’t come to make a political or cultural point. He came to redeem a world that had lost its way. Throwing up obstacles, creating distractions, would not get it done.

Jesus constantly made conscious decisions throughout his ministry to set aside his position as God’s son consistent with his pattern of grace and sensitivity to the struggles of others. The writer of Hebrews reminds us…

“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, just as we are…yet he did not sin.” (Hebrews 4:15)

As an act of love, Jesus…

set aside his place as the son of God…
never compromised his message or ministry…
complied with the mundane…
replaced condemnation with forgiveness…

all in an effort to avoid setting obstacles in front of those whom he wanted to place their faith in him.

I wonder if that’s not the best lesson found in this fish tale? As children of God, we see many things in this world that we know are not right. Actions counter to God’s law and his will. It has become so easy to condemn without grace. To set barriers between those who offend our political and cultural convictions and the salvation offered by Jesus’ death and resurrection.

The story causes me to think. What barriers have I erected? What have I said or done in my own arrogance that would stand in the way of my witness to others about Christ?

“So that we might not cause offense…”

It’s a fish tale worth considering.

The Last Boat to Tarshish

Background Passages: Jonah 1:1-4:11; John 3:16; Matthew 9:36

The stranger boarded the last boat to Tarshish.

Incognito.
Cloak pulled tightly around his shoulders.
Face hooded and hidden.

Mysterious.
With a furtive glance to the east,
he slipped below deck without a word.

Secretive.
“Paid his fare,” the Captain said.
“Don’t ask questions.
Let him be.”

Enigmatic.
Jonah, a man of God,
a fugitive fighting a deep burden of guilt.

How did it come to this?

*****

Israel.
His home. His country.
Ruled by Jeroboam II,
sinful and self-centered like its king,
but regaining military strength.
Misinterpreted God’s leniency
for God’s approval.

Nineveh.
A great city. Powerful and ruthless.
Capital of cruelty.
Wicked and wasteful.
Brutal and bloodthirsty.
Arrogant and aggressive.

Jonah.
Israel personified.
Zealously patriotic.
Lover of his country and its people.
His people.

National pride blinded faith.
Quick to offer God’s grace to the Hebrews.
Slow to offer God’s grace to an ancient enemy.
Provincial.
Predictable.
Prejudiced.

Jonah wrapped his existence in the Hebrew’s
special relationship with God,
the Father.
He lived in a resurgent nation
under imminent threat from the dreaded Assyrians.
That was his world.
Entitled.
Infallible.
In denial.

*****

God said to Jonah,
“Go to Nineveh.
Cry out against it for I have seen their wickedness.”

It sounded simple enough.
Grab your passport,
take a trip.
Admonish their sin.
Call them to turn from evil.
Show God’s mercy.
Encourage them.
Help them survive.

But Jonah heard,
“My blessing is for all people…
even the enemies of the Chosen…
even those who rejected the God of Moses and Abraham…
even those who kill for the sport of killing…
even those you despise with every fiber of your being.
Go!
Let them know I love them.”

Jonah knew the voice of God when he heard it.
He heard,
but refused to listen.

God asked too much!

Assyria.
An historic and mortal enemy.
Nothing good can come from Nineveh.
Forget this!

So, he slipped away in the dead of night,
walked in solitude to Joppa,
boarded the last boat to Tarshish.

Jonah,
the Father’s instrument of salvation to a lost city,
turned his back on his mission.
In response to a call from the Father, Creator,
Jonah opted for a cruise of
disobedience and defiance.

*****

Tarshish.
Not the end of the world,
but you could see it from there.
Jonah paid his fare.
Settled in his cabin for a pleasant cruise across the Great Sea.
To the far corner of the earth.
Far from Nineveh.
As far from God, as a man could go.
A futile attempt to avoid God’s call.

A storm of biblical proportions erupted!
A battered and shattered ship tossed on the waves,
its crew desperately fighting to survive.
While Jonah slept fitfully in the hold,
restless in his dreams,
the gale outside raged as wildly as
the tempest within his heart.

Unanswered prayers to unhearing gods.
Desperate for deliverance,
they cast lots to cast blame.
Jonah drew the short straw.
The weight of the storm
fell squarely on his shoulders.

Tossed overboard in a last ditch effort to placate the vengeful gods,
Jonah embraced Death,
finding it infinitely more desirable
than embracing Nineveh.

Into the waves and into the belly of the monstrous fish.
Three days and three nights Jonah wallowed in his misery,
until he had a change of heart.
Sort of.

“Salvation is from the Lord,”
he half-heartedly prayed.
Yet, Jonah experienced God’s forgiveness,
half dead, washed up on a beach,
bathed in a disgusting pool of fish vomit.

*****

With the reluctant heart,
God’s prophet admitted defeat and
trudged into the city of his enemies.
For three days he mumbled God’s message under his breath,
hoping no one would hear.

“In 40 days, Nineveh will be destroyed.”
No mention of repentance.
No mention of grace.
Simply a much-deserved destruction of the people he despised.

So, after three days, Jonah dusted the dirt from his sandals.
Shortchanged God’s call for repentance.
Nineveh had 37 more days to repent,
37 more days to hear the message,
but as far as Jonah was concerned,
if they didn’t hear the first time,
“Shame on them.”

To the possibilities of forgiveness for the despised Assyrians,
Jonah turned a cold heart.
Clinging to past atrocities of the people of Nineveh,
Jonah climbed to the top of the hill overlooking the great city,
privately praying for fire and brimstone.
Absolute annihilation.

Yet, deep in the marrow of his bones,
he knew God’s grace was sufficient.
“Slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.”
This was the God Jonah knew.
If Nineveh heard,
Nineveh would respond.

In sackcloth and ashes,
Nineveh repented.
God relented.
Jonah resented.

Counting God’s grace to Nineveh as evil,
the prophet’s anger burned.
Jonah, the world’s worst missionary,
needed a lesson in priorities.

A fast-growing gourd for shade.
Jonah rejoiced.
A hungry worm and a withered plant.
Jonah raged.

God reminded him.
People are more valuable than gourds.
God, the Almighty,
offers mercy and forgiveness
to all people who repent and turn to Him.
Otherwise is human hubris.

Compassion

The contrast between
Jonah’s all-consuming anger.
God’s all-encompassing love.
The contrast between them
so vividly illustrated in Jonah’s story.
Human Capriciousness
versus
Divine Compassion.

God desires relationship with all people.
Jonah detested the Assyrians.
Prejudice colored his judgment.
God’s call to Nineveh ran counter to
every emotion in his heart.
He could not bring himself to obey.

How like Jonah we are!
God calls us to do something
outside our comfort zone.
We hate the way that feels.
Run in the opposite direction as fast as we can go.

How many storms and raging seas
would we avoid if we just
did what God wanted us to do
the first time He called?
How much heartache do we suffer needlessly
because we defy God’s will for our lives?

To make matters worse,
sin is so incredibly convenient.
If we want to run from God,
we can always find a boat waiting at the dock,
ready to take us wherever we think our Father cannot find us.
We climb aboard a seductive sailing ship to sin,
headed 180 degrees from where the
Father wants us to go.

We go to Tarshish.
Our rebellion.
Our choice.
Our will.

In the midst of our disobedience
and the storms that ensue,
we find God to be a God of second chances.
A God of compassion.

No matter how far we run,
how big a mess we make of our own lives,
God continually calls us back.
Jonah found a spiritual second chance in the form of a big fish
sent by the loving Father to a prodigal son.

We find second chances around every corner.
God never gives up on us.
Not when we’re evil.
Not when we run away.
Not when we shake our fists at him.
Not when we mope on the top of a hill
waiting for God to judge the sinners around us.

Jonah is the anti-hero of his own story.
He is, however, fully human.
He ran.
He argued.
He bargained.
He whined.
He fumed.

He developed a convenient truth…
The men, women and children of Nineveh should die.
They are Assyrians.
No other reason is needed.

Like Jonah,
we quickly condemn the evil in the world.
Rapidly relegate the sinner to the trash heap.
If they don’t look or act like us,
we react even slower to be the personal agent of
God’s forgiveness.
Basking in the glow of the salvation offered to us.
Balking at sharing that same grace to others.

In a perfect example of our humanity,
Jonah causes us to hang our heads.
We are so like him!
In perfect example of His deity,
God causes us to lift our heads.
He gives us chance after chance
to love more as He loves.

So when we hesitate,
He teaches.
Somewhere in our most reluctant hours,
the Creator of the universe quietly plants a gourd,
sharing a lesson in the priority of grace,
desiring that we finally understand
how deep
and broad
and rich
His love can be.

God’s character causes Him to act on behalf of Creation.
Compassion for the Ninevites.
Compassion for you and me.
Compassion that compels us to make known
the deepest desire of God’s heart.

The Old Testament proclaims.
“Salvation is of the Lord.”

The New Testament promises.
“God so loved the world that He gave His only Son
that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish,
but have everlasting life.”–John 3:16

Go.
Tell.
Your Nineveh waits.

*****

When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them,
because they were harassed and helpless,
like sheep without a shepherd. –Matthew 9:36

Author’s Note: “The Last Boat to Tarshish” is just one of nine stories shared in my first book, Put Away Childish Things. The book offers a deeper look at some of your favorite children’s Bible stories. Put Away Childish Things, and my other books–The Chase: Our Passionate Pursuit of Life Worth Living and God’s Mirror Image—are all available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble or any online bookstore. I also have a few copies I can ship to you.

His Mercy is More

Background Passages: I Corinthians 15:17; Romans 6:4

The scene painted a great portrait of God’s Kingdom.

There we sat…A tired collection of English-speaking Americans from Baptist churches scattered over several states, sitting in the pews of a Peruvian Lutheran church, listening to songs sung and a sermon delivered by a Scottish-born pastor speaking, at times, in both English and Spanish. Our time of fellowship and worship transcended the diversity of its context.

Sunday worship kicked off an eight-day mission effort offering Vacation Bible School, medical care, work training and home construction for families in Collique, a proud, but high-poverty community north of Lima. Our efforts were directed by Operation San Andreas, a missionary effort organized by retired Houston cardiologist, Dr. Luis Campos.

I returned this week, exhausted from the work and the travel, only to find loved ones in the hospital for treatment and surgery. On the heels of medical issues, I found myself out of town on family business that needed my assistance. All of those issues turned out fine, but did little to remove the fatigue from my body and soul. This was my frame of mind entering Easter weekend. Not exactly ideal.

With hours on the road to return home, I reflected on my time in Collique and all that happened in the last week. Easter was made for this.

As a time to remember Christ’s death on the cross and a time to celebrate his resurrection, Easter offers hope in its fullest form. It is on this week of Jesus’ life upon which my faith rests. The faith that sustains me through difficult circumstances finds its expression in a resurrected Jesus. Paul said as much when he told the Corinthian church…

“If Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile, and you are still in your sins.” (I Cor. 15:17)

While worshiping at The Union Church of Lima, the Rev. Angus Lamont led us in a song I had never heard. Each verse of His Mercy is More resonated with truth I needed to hear. The final verse, though, reached inside my heart and reminded me of God’s great give of love through his son, Jesus Christ.

“What riches of kindness He lavished on us,
His blood was the payment His life was the cost.
We stood ‘neath a debt we could never afford.
Our sins they are many,
His mercy is more.”

And, thus is the definition of God’s grace. While I have done nothing to merit God’s love, he loved just the same. When I look in the mirror, I see too often a reflection of my failure rather than the image of Christ who is in me.

Yet, God does not require my perfection, just my persistence. My daily desire to live as he leads. The song’s chorus speaks as strongly as the verses.

“Praise the Lord.
His mercy is more.
Stronger than darkness
New every morn.
Our sins they are many,
His mercy is more.”

As that song echoed in my ears, I found my body still weary, but my soul no longer worn. Easter is resurrection. Easter is restoration. Easter is revival.

Easter is my reminder that faith is not futile. I find in Easter my hope of salvation. I find in Easter my hope of eternal life.  Like the Apostle Paul, I find in Easter my hope for life abundant in the now.

“We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life.” (Rom. 6:4)

Driving down the road toward home, I found in Easter my joy.

It is my prayer Easter speaks to you in the same way it speaks to me.

*****

Enjoy His Mercy is More offered beautifully by Matt Boswell and the Boyce College Choir.

 

Here’s Mud In Your Eye

Background Passage: John 9:1-41

God created us with intelligence and natural curiosity. He created us to reason and think. To learn something new every day we live. That’s why I love being around children. In a quest of new discovery, they are willing to ask a thousand questions just to understand one thing more. Learning is a God-given gift.

That’s why I love to study scripture. There is so much of God’s plan and purpose I do not understand, I always feel like a child on the verge of discovery. Seeking new insight. Tossing away old paradigms. I believe there is always something new God can teach me about his nature…about the life he has given me.

That’s probably why I struggle with those who live in such certainty that their faith gets set in concrete leaving them unable and unwilling to test what they know. Dogma is the death of discovery. When it comes to my faith, my certainty rests in my personal experiences, everything else is discovery. Maybe that’s why the blind man in John 9 is one of my favorite Bible characters.

Deep blue skies.
No cloud in sight.
By daily measure…ordinary.
To those walking the streets of Jerusalem…unnoticed.
To the man born blind…remarkable.

He sat on the stone-lined edge of the Pool of Siloam.
Feet dangling into the water.
Cool.
Clear.
Staring in wonder at his reflection
Framed by the blue heavens above.
His first time to see his own image.
His first time to see anything.
His trembling fingers traced the hollow of his eyes.
Touched the rise of his cheeks
The contour of his nose.
Brushed through his coarse beard.
Ran his fingertips along his sun-baked lips.

Heart racing.
Breath,
a series of ragged gasps.
He lifted his eyes to the world around him
and immediately raised his hands.
Shielded his eyes from the harsh glare
of the mid-morning sun.
He blinked.
Tears running down a face
he had never known.

A world of touch and texture,
brought to life in a
confusion of form and color,
now coalesced around him.

For the first time he saw…
the ripple of wind on water.
The elegance of the portico-covered pool.
The dance of sunlight and shadow.
The beauty of the surrounding hills.
The people…oh, the people.

Slowly, his mind adjusted to this new reality.
Standing awkwardly like a new colt,
steadied by the joyful friend who guided him here from the temple,
the man gradually found his balance…
not an easy task for one blind since birth.

In time,
they danced.
Sang.
Laughed.
Cried.
On his way home…
throughout the streets of Jerusalem…
he shouted to anyone and everyone,
“I can see!
I was blind, but now I see!”

John tells this poignant story in a series of scenes set between two major confrontations between Jesus and the Pharisees. We find Jesus and his disciples leaving their time of worship through the south gate of the Temple. As they walked down the steps, his disciples posed a question steeped in Jewish tradition. Pointing to a man begging on the bottom of the Temple steps, they asked,

“Jesus, who sinned, this man or his parents that he was born blind?”

According to the prevailing belief of the day sin was responsible for all illness and disability. A child sick or disabled since birth either sinned somehow in the womb or the parents’ disobedience caused this infirmity. Jesus often fought this kind of misguided thinking. Seizing this teachable moment, Jesus explained to his disciples.

“Neither this man nor his parents sinned. This happened so the work of God might be displayed in his life…While I am in the world, I am the light of the world.”

Neither God nor man caused this unfortunate circumstance, but God would use this man’s condition as a living metaphor of his ability to turn darkness and despair into light and life.

With that declaration, Jesus approached the man. Sat next to him on the steps. Engaged him in quiet conversation. Sensing the man’s open heart, Jesus spat on the ground and worked his saliva and the light gray limestone soil into a muddy paste that he spread across the man’s eyes. Taking his hands in his own, Jesus stood, lifting the man to his feet.

“Now, go,” he said, “wash in the Pool of Siloam.”

With the help of a friend, the man made his way down the slope of the Temple Mount, about a quarter of a mile southward toward the large, terraced pool, fed by the Gihon Spring. The man must have received odd looks as he made his way through the crowd with mud covering his eyes.

He sat on the edge of the water and did has he was instructed. Splashing the cool water on his face, the man wiped the mud from his eyes. I can see him taking a deep breath as he wipe away the water and grim with the sleeve of his robe. Slowly, he opened his eyes to a brand new world.

Over the next few hours and days, the man faced disbelief and disparagement. Some friends thought him an impostor. The Pharisees called him before the council, not to celebrate his healing, but badger him in hopes of accusing Jesus of violating the Sabbath. They sapped the joy of his healing.

Fearing for their own reputation, his own parents refused to stand by him. Ultimately, the Pharisees condemned him as a sinner, eventually excommunicating the man from the synagogue because he refused to deny that Jesus was the one who restored his sight.

In the end, John tells us that Jesus sought out the man whom he healed after learning about the Pharisees’ actions. Face to face with Jesus, the man made a heart-felt confession of faith. At the Pool of Siloam, in the blink of an eye, his physical blindness became 20/20 vision. Over the course of the next 48 hours, he went from being entombed in spiritual darkness to being embraced by the Light of the world.

The power of Jesus echoes throughout this amazing story. But, I also marvel at the authoritative testimony of the man born blind. Standing before a hostile panel of powerful religious leaders who called him a fraud, grilled him mercilessly, challenged his every word, the man never faltered. Never failed to speak the truth.

The Pharisees clamored for him to deny Jesus’ power. Pushed him to denounce his healer. “We know this man is a sinner!” they shouted, challenging him to confirm their accusation. With uncommon strength of character, the man, so unlearned in theology, said simply,

“Whether he is a sinner or not, I don’t know. One thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.”

What an extraordinary confession of faith!

Imagine the man’s first few moments at the pool. Sights never seen began to fall into context in new ways. Not only were his eyes changed, but God transformed his mind to allow him to interpret and make a sense of what he was seeing for the first time. The miracle changed his heart. A life of resigned despair became a life of renewed hope and endless possibilities.

So what is the take away from this man’s experiences?

There is so much about God’s creation I do not understand. So much about his plan and purpose I cannot comprehend. So much about his nature which remains unknown to me. So much he still must teach me. I don’t know about you, but like the Pharisees, I tend to build a false world around me filled with my plans, my truth and my finite understanding of God and his world based on what I think I know. What I’ve discovered in my life is that that viewpoint is almost always limited. To an extent, that’s okay.

Look at this man’s example. He could not explain what happened. How his eyes were opened remained a mystery to him. He didn’t claim to understand. Nor did he back down in the face of mounting pressure. He merely spoke out with a growing faith borne of powerful, personal experience.

“This one thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.”

What an extraordinary confession of faith! This man born blind from birth would find ahead of him a life of discovery, not just in the physical world he could now see, but in his budding faith. Knowing what he did not know, he started his new life on what he had experienced with Jesus. That’s a fine place to start.

When I don’t have answers to every question that comes my way, this one thing I do know. I was blind, but now I see.

So, my prayer today is simple. “God, cover my eyes in mud. Let me wash in the Pool of Siloam. Let me understand more clearly, God, who you are and what you need from me. Let me see the world from your perspective. Open my heart and my mind to the discovery of this life you’ve given me. At the end of the day, when the world challenges that which I do not fully know, let me share my personal experiences with you.”

Maybe that’s a prayer that works for you as well.

Here’s mud in your eye.

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.

Always Love

Background Passages: Matthew 12:1-14; Mark 2:23-3:6; and Luke 6:1-12

I read another news account this week about the Baptist church in Kansas staging another protest to condemn with unholy words those they deem to be sinners responsible for the ruin of the world. Citing scripture. Calling names. Their views right. All others wrong. Compassion lost to the certainty of their conviction.

I don’t understand it. How can a people claiming to be of God miss so badly the spirit of God? How can they interpret scripture so strictly that they fail to see the hurt they inflict?

Their actions this week reminded me of a story from scripture. Journey with me to Capernaum.

*****

He watched from the shadow of the alley between two homes as Jesus wound his way through the streets of Capernaum, a gathering crowd surrounding the healer and his closest friends. He darted from house to house, staying just ahead of Jesus, always in shadows cast by the rising sun. Unnoticed. That’s the way he liked it. When people noticed, they stared. When people noticed, they judged.

Without warning, someone grabbed his left arm startling the man. Dark brown eyes under bushy eyebrows, stared into his own. The elegant robe told him all he needed to know. A Pharisee. He recognized him as one of the priests from Jerusalem following in the footsteps of the healer for the past three weeks.

“Come with me,” commanded the priest, pulling him down the alley into deeper darkness. When alone, the priest looked at his withered right hand, dangling uselessly at the end of an arm lacking any strength. Nodding at his infirmity, how did that happen?

“I was kicked by a donkey eight years ago. I can no longer use my hand.”

“I have a proposition for you…” started the Pharisee as he explained his plan. Then, with a furtive glance and a smile that lacked sincerity, he slinked away.

Instructed to go to the synagogue where the healer would teach that morning, the man with the shriveled hand stood by the entrance to the white-stoned building near the market, waiting for Jesus. As Jesus approached, the man stepped out to greet him. “Rabbi, I am in need of your healing.” Words the Pharisee told him to speak.

Jesus smiled. Saw his hand. The need obvious, but sensing more to the story. “Why come to me?”

“I’ve seen what you can do,” said the man. Then, with a nervous glance inside at the Pharisees finding a seat in the crowded synagogue, “They told me you could heal me today.”

Jesus looked at the men who questioned his every move for weeks. “Did they now?”

The man, oblivious to the obvious, continued, “I need to provide for my family. I need to work. I want to work. If there is a chance…” His voice trailed off in all too familiar whisper of hopelessness.

Jesus looked into his eyes. Heart full of compassion. He threw his arm around him, glancing once more at the Pharisees. “Come on in. Find a seat. Let’s see what God will do today.”

Jesus walked to the front of the room. Sat down on the stone bench. Surveyed the packed room filled with the contrite, the curious and the condemning. The stage set for another lesson about the priorities of God.

*****

Read the account of the man with the withered hand in three of the four gospels. The confrontation between the religious leaders and Jesus in the Capernaum synagogue started in the fields that morning on the way to worship. In the end, the Savior’s compassion was both rejected and received. It started as an ordinary Sabbath morning.

Jesus and his disciples rose that morning, intent upon going to the synagogue for the Sabbath time of teaching and worship. The local rabbi requested Jesus lead the discussion, a frequent occurrence early in his ministry.

For days, the Pharisees sent from Jerusalem tagged along everywhere Jesus went, hovering always on the edge of the crowd. Dipping in and out of the conversation when it suited them. Questioning his motives. Probing for answers. Checking Jesus’ words against their own rigid interpretation of scripture. Determined to find reasons to discredit his teaching. Hoping to turn the crowds against him.

As the disciples moved along the country path into the village, they walked along the edge of a wheat field. Through stalks of grain ripe for harvest. In the cool of the morning, they absentmindedly plucked heads of grain from the stalks. Rubbed their hands together to remove the husk from the kernels. Blew into their palms to separate the wheat from the chaff. Popped the morsels into their mouths. Hungry men on the way to church.

On any other day the action of the disciples would raise no eyebrow. Eating another man’s grain along the path was a standard of care for the hungry and weary traveler. But, today was the Sabbath. The Pharisees almost giggled in delight. They caught Jesus’ followers violating the strict rules of the Sabbath regarding work…harvesting, winnowing and preparing food.

They practically ran over the disciples in their haste to confront Jesus for this egregious violation. This blatant disregard for Sabbath law.

Jesus took the opportunity to teach, hoping his words would resonate. “Have you not read…” reminding them that David entered the Temple while under duress and took the consecrated bread in order to feed himself and his hungry men.

He quoted Hosea, “If you had known what these words mean, ‘I desire mercy, not sacrifice,’ you would not have condemned the innocent.”

As the debate ensued, Jesus silenced them. They stood with their mouths opening and closing like a fish out of water. No rebuttal. “The Sabbath is made for man, not man for the Sabbath. For the Son of Man is Lord of the Sabbath.”

The day cannot take precedent over human need. The law cannot substitute for mercy. This whole episode troubled Jesus. The conversation lingered in the Savior’s heart as he began to teach the lesson that day. A lesson about the priorities of God.

The same Pharisees who hassled Jesus during their walk into town laid their trap for him, taking advantage of a man’s disability for personal gain. Dangling him in front of Jesus. A worm on a hook. Begging Jesus to bite. To heal the man so they could challenge Jesus in a public setting about his contempt for the Sabbath.

Can’t you see the Pharisees fidgeting in their seats, waiting for Jesus to take their bait? When he didn’t immediately do so, one of them could no longer contain himself. Interrupting Jesus as he taught, he reminded Jesus of the episode in the grain field. He demanded to know. If, as you say, it’s permissible to harvest on the Sabbath… “Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?”

From the moment he met the man with the withered hand outside the synagogue and heard his story, Jesus expected the question. “If any of you has a sheep and it falls into a pit on the Sabbath, will you not take hold of it and lift it out? How much more valuable is a person than a sheep!” The implication clear. “It is lawful to do good on the Sabbath.”

Jesus waited for their response. Jesus expected the question. They didn’t expect that answer. So they sat, tight-lipped and tense.

It’s hard for 100 people to fall silent, but if a pin dropped in the sanctuary at that moment, everyone would hear it. All sat perfectly still. Only their eyes darted back and forth between Jesus and the Pharisees, waiting for the next sandal to fall.

Jesus rose to his feet. Walked to the middle of the room. He looked for the man he met earlier by the door. He found him, sitting in the corner. Hiding behind the town’s burly blacksmith. The savior caught his eye. Motioned for him to come forward. A smile, warm with compassion. An invitation. Jesus stood behind him. Rested his hands on the man’s shoulders. “Stand here with me in front of everyone.” In front of these self-righteous men.

With fire in his eyes stoked by their hard hearts, Jesus bore into the soul of the Pharisees. Hear a heavy sigh in Jesus’ voice as he posed one last question, hoping to elicit a glimmer of understanding from their closed and locked hearts.

“Let me ask you, which is lawful on the Sabbath: to do good or to do evil, to save a life or destroy it?” To do the good I intend to do or the evil you’re now doing?

Every eye in the room drawn to the obvious. The misshapen and shriveled hand, hung uselessly at the man’s side.

In the silence of the Pharisees, more contempt. More condemnation.

Jesus looked toward heaven. Eyes closed. Let out a slow breath to purge his gut of the bile of disgust rising in his throat. When he spoke softly to the man, little more than a whisper in his ear. “Stretch out your hand.”

In the instant the man followed Jesus’ command, the muscle and tendons regained their strength. The gnarled, misshapen fingers relaxed. As he raised his hand in front of his face, his hand was completely restored. Strong and sound like the other. Healthy again. Productive again. The synagogue erupted in shouts of joy from the people gathered to worship.

In a huff unable to celebrate for a life made whole, the Pharisees stormed out to conspire with bitter enemies to plot the death of Jesus.

*****

When you read these stories, we tend to look at them only as episodes chronicling the growing confrontation between Jesus and the religious leaders. If that were all it was, I’m not sure all three gospels would have carried an account of the story. There is a deeper, richer lesson waiting to be learned and it starts with the verse quoted by Jesus from Hosea, “I desire mercy not sacrifice.”

Jesus told the Pharisees, “If you understood what these words mean…” Well, what do they mean? Mercy trumps sacrifice. Compassion trumps dogma. The Pharisees clung so tightly to their “truth” they failed to recognize the need in front of them. Their strict adherence to law served as blinders to the suffering of those around them. We cannot and must not hold our “truth” so tightly that we dismiss how valuable another human being is to God.

Through these two vignettes Jesus suggests that we cannot place every jot and tittle of scripture over our call to serve, care for and forgive. Feed the hungry. Tend to the infirmed.

Think about it. Jesus didn’t dishonor the Sabbath. He was there every Sunday. (If you don’t see the irony of that statement, maybe that’s the problem.) Jesus sat aside the Sabbath as a day of worship to God the Father. As natural to him as breathing, but not if it meant ignoring a need.

We tend to cherry pick our Sabbaths. Taking things out of context without applying the whole of Jesus’ teachings. We cannot condone sin, but, by nature of our own sin, we are also disqualified to judge it in others.

Jesus met the woman caught in the act of adultery by another group of Pharisees. Jesus asked them to reflect upon their own sin. When her accusers faded away in the reality of Jesus’ question, he told her. “Neither do I condemn you…go and sin no more.” Rather than exclude, Jesus chose to love and teach.

Is it possible the social issues of our day have become our Sabbath law? The eating of the grain. The man with the shriveled hand. Depending on your personal beliefs, consider them the ancient equivalent of our attitudes toward whomever we deem undesirable. The Liberal. The Conservative. The Gay. The Transgender. The Straight. The Black. The White. The Brown. The Rich. The Poor. The Gun Owner. The Unarmed. Consider them anyone on whom we pass judgment. Anyone we point to in disdain while channeling our inner Pharisee.

Those in whom we easily see the sawdust in their eye while disregarding the 2 x 4 jutting from our own. Judgment is the easy way. Loving is the hard way. I’m too often guilty of taking the easy way.

If we are to live as the image of God, if we are to be like Christ, we cannot declare our “truth” or value “being right” more than we value lifting our hands to help the broken, the hurting or the drifting. As soon as we do so we lose the heart and spirit of Jesus. For him, it was always truth and right grounded in love. But always love.

In the story, the Pharisees never see themselves as a soiled robe in need of a good scrub. They see themselves as a garment already cleansed by their strict obedience to the law…in need of nothing else…now or ever.

Here’s the really sad thing about these stories. The Pharisees never doubted that Jesus could heal the man. They begged him to do it. Knew he would. They recognized in him God’s sufficient and amazing power and gift of healing. They never questioned his ability to heal, only his timing that broke a rule they created to set them apart from others. Staring them in the face was the chance to join with the Son of God and they could not comprehend it.

Never doubt for a moment that God loves the Liberal and Conservative. The Gay. The Transgender. The Straight. The Black. The White. The Brown. The Rich. The Poor. The Gun Owner. The Unarmed. Let us escape the confinement of our entrenched Pharisaical truths.

Jesus calls us to love. Jesus calls us to serve. This week let’s reach out to the hungry heart and the shriveled soul. It is always lawful to do good.

 

Come, Let Us Reason Together

Background Passage Isaiah 1:11-18

He was the coolest guy in town, wearing his jeans, a white t-shirt and leather jacket. A snap of his fingers called six attractive girls to his side. A tap of his fist or a quick kick turned on the jukebox. If a kid from another high school was threatening his friends, his mere presence sent the bully running for the exit of the malt shop.

Arthur Fonzarelli. He was the Fonz. As a leading character of the popular 1970s sitcom Happy Days, the Fonz, played by Henry Winkler, dispensed his brand of street wisdom to his group of wide-eye followers, Richie Cunningham, Ralph, “the Mouth”, and Potsie. In their eyes, Fonzie could do no wrong.

The Fonz rarely made a mistake so sitcom writers gave him an endearing quirk. He had a hard time admitting he was wrong. He would start to confess his mistake to Richie or Ralph and invariably stumble over the word. “I was wwwrr…” After a pause to collect himself, he would again stutter, “I was wroonn…” Trying again and again to communicate his mistake, he would change his approach and finally admit, “I wasn’t exactly right.”

Nothing stings as much as the sudden realization that we are wrong. I suspect it happens in our lives more often than we’d like to admit. I know it does in mine. Like the Fonz, we struggle to admit we are wrong. The words catch in our throats.

At no time is that fault more evident than when we sin against God. In our attempts to live our lives in our own strength, we fail miserably at times to live up to the standard of Jesus Christ, making a mess of our days. Even when confronted with our sin, we use every excuse, every reason to justify our behavior. Only when the earth gives way beneath us and our world starts to crumble, do we admit that we were “wwwrr…,” “,,,Wroonn.” “…Not exactly right.”

God knows this struggle within us and stands ready to talk it out.

The people of Israel in the days of Isaiah gave lip service to worship of the One God. They went through the motions of honoring their God. Offering their sacrifices. Singing their praises. Conducting their religious festivals. Spreading out their arms in prayer. Because God knew the insincerity of their hearts, he called them to task for their sin.

“The multitude of your sacrifices, what are they to me?” says the Lord. “I have more than enough of burnt offerings.” God called their offerings “meaningless” and their assemblies “unbearable.” He said, “I will hide my eyes from you. I will not listen to your prayers.” God, their Father, challenged them. “ Stop doing wrong, learn to do right! Seek justice, encourage the oppressed. Defend the cause of the fatherless, plead the case for the widow.”

Then, he offered something that only a loving Father would offer. An offer he still makes to us today. He said,

“Come, let us reason together.”

Imagine that. Our God, our Creator, the Almighty, wants to sit down with us to talk it out. Another translation of this passage says, “Come, let us argue it out.” God’s word here is not an offer to negotiate our decisions and choices. It is so much more. God extends an invitation to us to talk about our lives, the things with which we struggle, the things that break our hearts, the things we do to try and control our lives on our own. He calls us to engage in thoughtful and honest conversation.

Why would a sovereign Lord seek time with us about the things we do that run counter to his teaching and his will for our lives? When we make an argument before God in an attempt to justify our sin, and when we sincerely listen to his counter arguments, God knows that at some point in that conversation we’re going to open our eyes and our hearts and realize he was right and we were wrong. In an honest dialogue with God, that outcome is inevitable.

Within that debate, if we’re honest with ourselves, God’s logic, his evidence, his arguments against our chosen lifestyle will simply be too convincing and compelling. We will have no choice but to admit our guilt. Oh, we’ll struggle to say it out loud. We will pussyfoot around it. We’ll admit, “I wasn’t quite right,” before we finally bow down before him and say it. “I was wrong.” “I have sinned.”

God doesn’t just want us to admit our mistakes, he wants us to turn away from them. To repent and reclaim his promises. And, he offered restoration. He told the people of Israel,

“Though your sins are as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow. Though they are red like crimson, they shall be like wool.”

The conversation God invites us to enter with him, the dialogue that ensues, doesn’t leave us begging for forgiveness that will never come. It always leads to redemption and restoration. Admitting our guilt is step one. Turning from our ways to full obedience and trust sets us back on the proper path of God’s will for our lives. And, it all starts with the conversation. “Come, let us reason together,” says the Lord.

Understand clearly, in the balance between our God-given freedom and his divine sovereignty, our obedience does not force God to forgive. If it did, we would control his forgiveness. God forgives, not because our obedience requires him to, but because he wants to forgive. It is the desire of his heart. Just ask David or Jonah or a host of others throughout the Bible. God is the God of do overs and second chances.

I saw a poster recently. Paraphrased, it said, “Nothing stinks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you’re wrong.”

There may be an element of truth in that statement as it pertains to our worldly relationships. We just don’t like to be wrong. But, in our relationship to God, there is nothing sweeter than that moment when our conversation with the Father convinces us of our mistakes and draws us back under his will and way.

“Come, let us reason together.” What a life changing conversation that can be!

***

Dr. Kirk Lewis is author of two unique devotional books–Put Away Childish Things and The Chase: Our Passionate Pursuit of Life Worth Living. Learn more about author and his books at www.drkirklewis.com. 

New Morning, New Mercies

Background Passage: Lamentations 3:1-25

You’ve seen them in magazines at the grocery store checkout line. Heard them listed in television newscasts. It’s that time when we look back upon the preceding 12 months and remember the major news events of the year. Depending on the organization creating the list, you’ll find celebrity marriages and deaths, natural disasters and human tragedies highlighting the lists.

The Associated Press ranked the following among its top 10 world news events this year:

• U.S. Election
• Brexit
• Black Lives Matter
• Worldwide Terror Events
• Attacks on Police
• Democratic Party Email Leaks
• Syrian Civil War
• Supreme Court Vacancy
• Hillary Clinton’s Emails

The thread of turmoil runs within all of these news stories. It’s difficult to determine whether the upheaval these events caused will eventually bring about something good. So, we look with promise of a new year to settle things down again, hoping that any negative consequences of these events do not touch us or our families.

But what about your personal year in review? If you had to list the top news events in your life for 2016, what would they be? Here’s my list (in chronological order).

• Our 40th wedding anniversary
• Retirement from full-time work
• An uncle’s stroke
• A cruise with friends in the Baltic
• Signing with a new book publisher
• Teaching part-time at the university
• Father diagnosed with cancer
• Death of several friends
• Birth of Amelia, our 2nd granddaughter
• Mother-in-law’s stroke

When I thought about this list, the first events I recalled were the bad news events…the diagnoses and the deaths. That’s human nature I suppose. It’s comforting to know that our days are filled with moments of joy amid the personal turmoil created by some life events. Yet, in those times when trouble falls like rain from a thunderstorm, life feels oppressive and overwhelming.

The writer of Lamentations in the Old Testament probably felt much the same way. The crushing nature of life events left him mourning for the nation of Israel and crying out on behalf of the people who faced the consequences of their own rebellion against God. He counted himself among them. Chapter 3 reads like a “Top 10” list of the devastating physical and emotional conditions in which the writer found himself…

• “…I am a man of affliction…”
• “…driven me away…”
• “…besieged and surrounded me with bitterness and hardship…”
• “…dwell in darkness…”
• “…weighed me down in chains…”
• “…made me a target…”
• “…pierced my heart…”
• “…became the laughingstock…”
• “…deprived of peace…”
• “…mocked me in song…”

Yet, the writer of Lamentations refused to abide in the circumstances. Refused to let life events control his spiritual condition. The crux of his faith centers on a confession he makes in Lamentations 3:21-23.

“Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope. Because of the Lord’s great love, we are not consumed for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. I say to him, ‘The Lord is my portion. Therefore, I will wait for him.”

As we must deal at times with events of life that suck the breath from our lungs and threatened to stop our hearts from beating, we must understand what this writer knows. Though the issues bubble never far from our thoughts, we still have hope. How is this possible?

God loves us. Pure and simply. His compassion and mercy flows always in abundance and prevents us from being eaten up or overwhelmed by that which we face. He proved it so in the past and continues to this day. His love never fails. Never.

Here’s the part that I really like. His mercies, his compassions, come new every morning. Fresh. Sustaining. We don’t have to rely on grace remembered that came once and never comes again. The dawn of each new day brings with it God’s abiding and unfailing love. Each day. Every day. God’s faithfulness is sufficient for our needs. So, as the writer declares, “I will wait for him” to carry me through the day…I will rest my hope in him.

Our ability to wait for him is built upon our history with God. Our knowledge of God and who he is strengthens our faith in difficult and uncertain times. For when we know what kind of God it is we trust…one whose mercies arise new each morning…we can remove the baffling and troubling aspects of life from our shoulders and place them instead in his hands.

This is my challenge to you. Reflect upon your year and remember that God’s love never fails. His compassions arise new every morning. Despite the difficulties you’ve experienced and those that are sure to come in 2017, let God be your portion. Wait for him.

May you enjoy a blessed new year.

It’s Just Not That Complicated–A Story

Background Passage: II Kings 5:1-15

The driver guided the gilded chariot
to the side of the valley road.
Dust from the day’s drive dulled its luster.
The Captain hopped off the back of the chariot.
Pressed his balled fists into the
small of his aching back.
Stretched the kinks from
his muscled frame.

He pulled the headpiece gingerly from his brow,
snapped his fingers.
Within seconds a servant boy
handed him a goblet of water.
Cool.
Fresh.
Soothing his parched tongue.
Slaking his deep thirst.

His caravan passed by,
continuing his journey.
Wagons bearing a king’s ransom.
Ingot and coin.
Silver and gold.
Carts hauling a king’s clothes.
Finest silk.
Softest fabric.
Gifts to the King of Israel
and his prophet.
The one his wife’s servant called
“The Healer.”

The Captain.
An imposing figure…
from a distance.
A head taller than those around him.
Shoulders broad.
Hips narrow.
Legs and arms
muscular and
mighty.
Tall in stature.
Regal in bearing.
Accustomed to the mantle of command.
Adorned with the tributes of his master…
Ben-Hadad II.
King of Aram.

An imposing figure, indeed…
until closer inspection.

His once handsome face
hidden beneath a soiled cloth.
Stained by open sores and
Ssall, weeping tumors which
consumed the skin around
his eyes and nose.
Red blemishes
circled his neck.
Gray splotches
covered his hands and arms.
Disfigured.
Discolored.

Naaman.
The Captain.
Greatest of Aram’s warriors.
Battlefield survivor.
A soldier’s soldier.
A prominent man
in search of
an improbable cure to
a dreaded disease.
A leper.

Naaman watched his entourage pass.
His men avoided looking his direction.
Partially in deference.
Partially in disgust.
Naaman noticed the slight.
He always noticed.
He roughly stroked his cheek,
angry at sensing no pain, no feeling
from the dying flesh.
More dead than alive.

An unknown prophet
his last ray of hope.
This trip a simple favor from the king
to his most trusted general.
Healing was a long shot both men willingly grasped.

Naaman gathered his strength again.
Exhaled a deep breath.
Climbed onto his chariot.
Nodded to his driver.
Followed the caravan toward the city of Samaria,
high on the distant hill.

He shook his head in weary disbelief.
He traveled this far on the word of a slave-child and
her blind trust in a holy man of Israel.

*

Naaman walked out the front door of what passed
for the king’s palace in Samaria.
Repulsed and revolted by the cowardice
he had witnessed.
He judged the Hebrew king.
A tattered bundle of nerves.
A sniveling sovereign.
A weak and whimpering ruler.

Entirely too intent upon keeping the leper at a distance,
the disdainful monarch summarily
dismissed the general from Aram.
Escaped personal accountability by
sending Naaman to
Elisha,
Israel’s prophet,
rather than ordering the prophet to the palace.
Unthinkable.

With each step along the path to Elisha’s house
Naaman grew angrier.
”What am I doing here?”
he muttered to himself.
“A fool’s errand.”

If the Israelite king’s palace was unimpressive,
the prophet’s home was little more than a hovel.
Naaman approached the door.
Hopelessness in his heart.
Contempt on his countenance.
A servant stepped onto the porch,
closing the rough-hewn door behind him.
Bowed respectfully at Naaman’s feet.

“My master bids you welcome and knows why you are here.
I tell you on his behalf to go to the Jordan River.
Dip yourself seven times into its waters.
When you rise up from the water the seventh time,
your flesh will be restored.
You will be cleansed.”

As quickly as he appeared,
the servant re-entered the home.
Closing the door in the Captain’s face.

Naaman stood stone-still in shock.
Mouth agape.
A man used to getting his way.
Now being sent along his way.
Accustomed to deference,
not dismissal.

Naaman.
Shouted indignantly at the prophet inside.
Rapped loudly at the locked door
with the hilt of his sword.
“I’ve traveled a great distance to see you.
Come outside and face me.”
Elisha did not come.
Naaman left in anger to return to his home.

Thoughts
troubled and
tumultuous.

“Not what I expected.”
“Did not stand before me and call upon his God.”
“No wave of his staff.”
“No potions.”
“No pronouncements.”
“No pretending
to do something…
anything!”

He shouted in anguish at the top of his voice,
staring at the heavens.
“Go bathe in the Jordan…Really?”
“A puny prophet!”
“An insignificant river.”
“An inconsequential country.”

“Superior rivers near Damascus…
Clearer.
Purer.
Could I not simply wash in them?
Why must I travel this far?”

He rode in silence aboard his chariot.
Returning home without a cure.
Fury slowly subsiding
into somber submission.
Resigned to his fate.

After moments of uncomfortable silence
his trusted chariot driver spoke in a meek voice,
never taking his eyes off the road ahead.

“My Captain,”
he hesitated before screwing up his courage to speak,
“if the prophet told you to do some great thing,
would you not do it?
It seems such a simple thing…
‘Wash and be cleansed.’
Is it not worth a try?”

A servant’s simplicity.

Naaman stared at the back of his driver’s head.
Then, into the distance.
Trying to find fault with his servant’s reasoning.
When he could not,
his anger evaporated.
Breathed deeply.
Exhaled slowly.
Clapped his hand upon the driver’s shoulder,
“Turn us around.
Take me to the Jordan.”

*

Naaman left the caravan a distance away,
taking only three servants with him.
Stood on the muddy bank of the Jordan.
Ankle deep in its languid flow.
Little more than 20-feet wide.
Slowly moving to the south.
A lazy current of muddy water reflecting
a greenish tint from the brush
along its slippery banks.

He stripped himself of his shirt and tunic.
Removed the soiled cloth covering his face and neck.
Hesitant.
Halting.
He waded into the water past
his hips to his chest.
With a quick glance at his servants
who had turned away to give him privacy,
Naaman submerged beneath the water…
Once.
Twice.
Six times.
Stared each time he emerged from the tepid stream
at his reflection in its wavy surface.
No change.
No transformation.

He took another breath.
Bent his knees.
Sank into the river a seventh time.
He floated beneath the surface.
Stared up through the murky water at the heavens,
filled once more with despair.

In the muddled quietness,
disturbed only by the rush of blood pulsing in his head,
he thought to himself.
“Just sink.
Open your mouth.
Drown.”
He exhaled and waited to die.
Self-preservation and aching lungs
forced him to the surface.

Water dripped from his hair.
Ran into his mouth,
Sputtering as he gasped for air,
the Captain offered a quick prayer
to a God he did not know.
Almost too afraid,
he willed his eyes open.
Looked again upon his image in the water…

Tears mingled with the
trickle of water
running down unspoiled cheeks.

The man with the smooth skin of a child
Splashed and danced in the muddy waters like a child at play.

Cleansed.
Whole.
Transformed.

With a shout that echoed through the hills of Samaria,
Naaman lifted his unblemished hands and arms to the sky…

“Now, I know there is no God in all the world
except in Israel.”

*

Naaman’s story.
An act of God leads to salvation.
Yet, he didn’t go down easily.

Look between the lines.
Arrogant by accomplishment.
Prideful of position.
Naaman almost missed out on
physical and spiritual cleansing.
We’re not so different from the
leprous warrior.

Why is it so hard for us to accept the simplicity of God’s grace?
“Believe.”
“Be saved.”
So easy to hear,
yet too hard to believe.

Whether grace unto salvation or
grace toward our need,
we pound on the Father’s door
demanding an audience.
He sends
his servant…
Pastor.
Friend.
A word of scripture.

They tell us,
“Why do you make this so hard.”
“Go wash…”
A simple act of obedience.

We fume!
He didn’t present himself to us personally.
We fuss!
He offered us nothing spectacular.
No whisper of a magic word.
No wave of a magic wand.
We demand something…anything
different than…
“Go wash.”

Far too simple for our tastes.
Not at all what we expected.

Such cleansing ought to be demanding.
A requirement through which
we can prove ourselves worthy
of His grace.

Thank God.
Naaman learned a lesson we all must learn.
God’s grace is not that complicated.
It’s a gift.

Naaman teaches one more thing.
There is no other river into which we can
plunge that offers us cleansing.
Not the rivers of our home.
Not the rivers of our family.
Not the river of our deeds.
No other river.
No other Lord.

“There is no other name under heaven given to men
by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)

One last lesson.
Blessed is the one who has someone in life,
Like the chariot driver,
willing to challenge his or her stubbornness…
Someone to remind us of our illogical pride
that prevents simple obedience to God’s will.

“If He asked you to do some great thing,
would you not do it?
It seems such a simple thing.”
Go wash.”

You see.
It’s not that complicated.
The cleansing power of Jesus Christ
washes away…
Sin.
Self-importance
Smugness.
Stubbornness.
Everything that stands in the way of receiving
His grace.

Because it’s so simple,
we stare at the heavens through murky water.
Falling to its depths.
Waiting to drown.
until self-preservation pulls us to the surface.

With tentative eyes,
we stare at our own reflection…
our now unspoiled condition.
Cleansed.
Whole.
Transformed.
Shouting to the world in absolute joy…

“Now, I know there is no other God.”

Trust.
Believe.
Act.
It’s just not that complicated.

*

Publisher’s Note: You’ll find stories similar to this in each of the author’s books, Put Away Childish Things and The Chase: Our Passionate Pursuit of Life Worth Living available from Xulon Press, amazon.com, barnesandnoble.com or most online bookstores. You may subscribe to the author’s blog by entering your email in the subscription block on the right side of the page at www.drkirklewis.com.

Afraid to Let Go

Background Passages: II Samuel 11:1-17 and 12:1-13; Isa. 43:18-19; Psalm 51:19 and Heb. 12:1-2

My brother celebrated one of those milestone birthdays years ago, determined to scratch parachuting from an airplane from his bucket list. With the appropriate time in the classroom, he strap a parachute to his back, climbed into a perfectly fine airplane and took off for his first…and only…static line jump.

In my mind a static line jump fits a on an insanity scale at a level slightly less than skydiving simply because it reduces operator error. Rather than jump, fall and pull your ripcord before you die, you climb out on the wing onto a metal platform with your parachute’s ripcord attached to a static line inside the plane. When you jump, you get two or three seconds of freefall until the line pulls the cord, automatically deploying the parachute. Blind panic assisted by old school technology. Once the canopy fully inflates, you enjoy the magnificent view from above as you glide to a soft landing on the good, green earth below.

My brother found himself standing on the platform flying at 5,000 feet, clutching tightly with both hands to the strut underneath its wing. Buffeted by the wind rushing past him. He waited for his instructor to give him the thumbs up to jump. At the appropriate time, the signal was given. He executed a perfect three-point jump. His feet lifted from the platform and one hand released its death grip. His fourth point, his right hand, refused to release the strut. He flapped wildly in the slipstream underneath the wing, unable to will himself to let go of his hold on that last vestige of safety.

Let’s leave him hanging there and come back to him in a minute and see if I can draw a point from this story.

*

David, God’s chosen king of Israel, did some pretty horrible things in his life. One particular incident would have spawned a salacious investigation in today’s news cycle. An affair with a married woman left her pregnant. David attempted to manipulate the situation by recalling her husband, Uriah, from the front line of battle to create the impression that the baby was a result of her husband’s leave. Her husband unknowingly thwarted the king’s maneuvering by honorably refusing to go home while his brothers were at war. David then compounded his sin by quietly ordering Uriah and his soldiers on a suicide mission where he would most certainly die, giving David the chance to marry the hero’s widow. David did some despicable things.

When God’s prophet challenged the king’s actions, David recognized his sin, feeling the heavy burden of remorse for his actions. He fell on his face in repentance, asking God to forgive him for everything he had done. David’s felt the sting of his guilt, but he would never now release from that heavy burden until he let go of his failed past and accepted the ever=present reassurance of God’s grace and forgiveness. Only then would his relationship with the Father be reconciled and restored.

Two things happen to us who feel genuine remorse when faced with our own sin. We can seek God’s forgiveness and start anew within the grace he provides, much as David did. Too often, however, we never move past remorse to repentance, clinging to our failure with loathing and self-pity, certain that God could never forgive anyone so unworthy.

I was reminded of that fact not too long ago when I visited with a former pastor who had walked far from the path God intended. He was certain he strayed so far that God could never use him again in kingdom work. The work of Christ on the cross cleared the path for forgiveness, but this man could not bring himself to let go of the past and find a new way of serving him. It’s a journey most of us have made at some point in our lives.

When we refuse to accept the grace of God and forgive ourselves, we tend to drag the past behind us like an anchor. Instead God tells us the same thing he told the people of Israel in Isaiah 43:18-19…

“Forget (let go of) the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing. Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the desert and streams in the wasteland.”

The instruction is so clear. Let go of our sin. Release it into God’s forgiving hands. He makes a way in the wasteland of our lives to restore us for a new thing. A new work.

*

Let’s not leave my brother hanging on the wing.

Though it probably seemed like an eternity bouncing around in the slipstream, my brother eventually let go of the strut. The static line pulled the ripcord. The parachute opened. He enjoyed “a new thing.” For minutes on end, he floated lazily on his descent to earth 5,000 feet below with the wondrous panorama of sky and earth laid out before him. He called it “exhilarating,” and “adrenaline rush.” Yet, he only experienced the joy when he let go.

*

There may be nothing as miserable for a Christian who desires to walk the walk than to fail to do right. Walking in that shadow of guilt is debilitating, affecting not only our relationship with God, but our relationships with others. We can fall on our knees earnestly seeking and intellectually accepting God’s forgiveness. We will never experience full release until we let go of the past and accept the next new thing God prepares for us.

David got his life back on track by asking God to “Create in me a clean heart and renew a steadfast spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:19) It is a simple prayer of a fully repentant heart that says, “God, help me set aside my past and stay focused on you.”

The writer in Hebrews puts it another way by telling us to “throw off” or let go of everything that hinders us from serving God to the best of our ability. And, he even tells us how. Look at that remarkable passage in Hebrew 12:1-2.

“…Let us throw off (let go of) everything that hinders us and the sin that so easily entangles us. Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes upon Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith.”

Guilt effectively destroys grace-filled living. Keeps us from believing God can use us in any significant way. I’m convinced when we let go of our guilt we will find life laid out before us in a wondrous panorama of God’s exceptional will for each of us. Exhilarating. An adrenaline rush of eternal proportions.

(Author’s Note: Feel free to forward this Bible study to anyone you feel might benefit from its message. Encourage your them to subscribe to the blog by going to www.drkirklewis.com and entering their email address in the box on the right side of the page. Once registered, you will receive an email announcing each new post. Thank you for sharing.)