Bible Studies – Page 20 – Dr. Kirk Lewis Books

Wonderfully Made…For a Purpose

Background Passage: Psalm 139

The brightest minds in Greek and Roman worlds for centuries before and after the time of Christ believed human wisdom, emotion, memory and thought centered in the heart, not the brain. Ancient ideas of physiology and psychology told them that God spoke through the heart; that within the heart lived the essence of man’s soul. They believed the brain was an internal radiator that simply cooled the blood as it circulated through the body.

Influenced by these cultures, the ancient Hebrews understood that the core of who and what they were was centered in the heart. In other words, like the ancient Greeks, they believed the heart was the focus of all rational thought and emotion. So unimportant was the brain in Hebrew thinking that the word is never recorded in scripture…not once.

Scientifically, we know the ancients were wrong. We continue to learn more about the brain as the depth of scientific research grows into the complex role it plays in our how we think, feel and learn. Though we know better, we still speak of “feeling” and “thinking” with our hearts, a metaphorical echo of scientific error relegated to the pages of history.

The human brain functions as one of God’s most marvelous creations, yet only in the past 150 years have scientists and physicians made serious efforts to understand how it works. In 1861, French physician Pierre Paul Broca discovered that small region of the left frontal lobe of the brain controls our ability to speak. In subsequent studies since that time, scientists have identified 83 specific areas of the brain that activate when we recognize a face, read a book, think about a specific memory or do certain types of physical work.

Neuroscientists at the University of Washington recently published a new map of the brain, revealing more than 97 previously unknown regions of the brain to add to the 83 areas already familiar to today’s scientists.

A Stanford University study recently used a new imaging technique called array tomography to look more closely at the brain’s neurons and synapses. The data collected produced a three-dimensional picture of these tiny cell connections. The images indicate that the number of synapses in the brain exceed the number of estimated stars in 1,500 Milky Way galaxies combined, making the brain far more complex that previously understood.

These new discoveries caused a few of my own synapses to make a few new connections. I thought of Psalms 139. The Psalmist, in his praise of God, wrote beautiful lyrics about his creative work.

“For you created my inmost being;
you knit me together in my mother’s womb.
I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;
Your works are wonderful,
I know that full well.”

We are God’s creation. Whether we developed through an evolutionary process or appeared in a molding of clay and bone is really immaterial to me. Neither view changes my understanding of God as Creator. To focus on that debate misses the point of my personal relationship to him. That he gave me this marvelous brain that thinks, acts, reasons, chooses, understands and loves is an amazing gift that governs my relationships to my God and to others. That he gave me the ability to grasp the concept of faith in him is grace in full measure.

That thought led to another. My son and his wife, Melissa, are expecting their second child in December. They have named her Amelia Diane. We saw another ultrasound of her yesterday. Even now as her body is developing inside the womb, God knows her and all she will become. The Psalmist explored that idea, also.

“Your eyes saw my unformed body;
all the days ordained for me were written in your book
before one of them came to be.”

I think of these things not to get into a debate on abortion and the definition of when life starts. Rather, I stand amazed that God already knows my granddaughter. That a God-ordained, perfect plan already exists for her life. That the only things standing in the way of that life are the choices she makes and the positive influence brought to bear through the unconditional love of her Christian parents and all of those who enter her life.

Her intricate and incomparable brain will be imprinted with her God-given uniqueness etched throughout its gray matter. The life he plans for her will unfold as it is imparted by her parents, instructed by gifted teachers at church and at school, and inspired by the love of family and friends that desire only the best for her.

One final thought occurred to me as I read again this familiar scripture. Intellectually, I know our brains, not our hearts, make us who we are. Yet, we must continue to lean upon the understanding of the ancients, like the Psalmist, to express our desire to be all that God wants us to be.

He planted a seed in all of us that longs for a Father. As we allow that seed to grow, God guides our lives through every trial, test and temptation. The seed, that free-will choice of heart and head–creates purpose. We uncover our purpose in God when we honestly seek him and genuinely desire to walk the path he sets out for us. As the Psalmist sang,

“Search me, God and know my heart;
test me and know my anxious thoughts.
See if there is any offensive way in me.
Lead me in the way everlasting.”

You Matter to God; You Matter to Me

Background Passages: Genesis 1:26-27; Galatians 3:8; Mark 12:26-27

The Broadway musical Waitress tells a story about a young woman whose life turns out vastly different than she imagined it would. When life leaves her struggling as a waitress in a small diner, eking out a day to day existence with little to show for her effort, she feels invisible and unworthy of love and respect. She encounters a man who takes notice of her, sees her for who she really is. He spends time trying to convince her that she, and her life, are important.

Sara Bareilles, a talented singer and songwriter, penned the lyrics to You Matter to Me. The song speaks poignantly to the need in all of us to matter to someone. She wrote,

“I could find the whole meaning of life in those sad eyes.
They’ve seen things that you never quite say, but I hear.
Come out of hiding I’m right here beside you.
And I’ll stay there as long as you let me.

“Because you matter to me.
Simple and plain, and not much to ask from somebody.
You matter to me.
I promise you do, you, you matter, too.
I promise you do, you see?
You matter to me.”

In explaining the lyrics to the song, Bareilles said, “It was something so simple that I think is at the heart of what we really look for when we want someone who really sees us. It’s just a feeling that what you do and who you are matters to someone.”

I’ve listened a great deal to that song in the past two weeks. Within the lyrics lies an answer, I think, to the many issues that tend to divide us today, including “Black Lives Matter.” “Police Lives Matter.” These are such sensitive issues and I’ll probably fumble through it. Please bear with me as I try to express my thoughts.

First, it matters to me that an African American man or woman is shot and killed by a police officer, whether that act was willful and deliberate, a terrible misunderstanding or an absolute accident. Black lives matter. Secondly, it matters that an individual, acting in unmitigated anger, willfully and deliberately targets and kills any police officer. Police lives matter.

The personal and national tragedies occurring across our country today sadden me. The division among us which these tragedies create saddens me. That the tragedies get exploited by individuals, media and groups with political agendas, saddens me. The social wedge it drives between us creates a deep, personal and public fracture that will take time and selfless understanding to heal.

I believe fundamentally that your life, regardless of who you are or what you do, matters. First and foremost, you matter to God. Genesis declares that people…all of us…are made in the “image of God.”

“So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them.” Gen. 1:26-27.

Every human being, regardless of race, ethnicity, background or profession, in some way mirrors God…something of God can be seen and felt in each of us. As a result of our created connection to God, all people are important to God. All people matter to God.

There ought to be a God-inspired corollary to that truth, especially to those who call ourselves Christian. Because God matters to me–as His child, His creation–you also matter to me. Neither race, nor ethnicity, nor social status, nor profession, ought to change that belief.

Paul tells us in Galatians 3:8, “There is neither Jew nor Gentile, neither slave nor free, nor is there male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”

The apostle need not spell out every category of human being for us to understand that in the eyes of our Father in heaven we stand the same. In every way that matters to Him and to us, we stand the same.

I was taught never to judge another unless I had walked in their shoes. My actions and the actions of others, are typically predicated on our personal experiences. How I respond to situations depends on what I have experienced, seen, heard and perceived…circumstances that impact my life. I cannot, therefore, fully understand the real and perceived discrimination African Americans feel. I have never walked in their shoes.

Nor can I fully understand the anxiety and trepidation a police officer must feel every time he or she answers a radio call for a domestic disturbance, a break-in, traffic stop or at any social protest. I have never walked in their shoes.

The plain and simple truth is we don’t need to walk in another’s shoes to sense their anguish over life circumstances. We just need to act on our faith principles and react in the love of Christ to each and every person we encounter.

Consider this. Jesus had been involved in one of those intense debates with the Jewish leadership who questioned so many of his teachings. Near the end, one of the teachers of the law came to Jesus and asked, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?” Our Savior responded with a clear message about our relationship to God and to one another.

“The most important one is this: Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength. The second is this: Love your neighbor as yourself. There is no commandment greater than these.” Mark 12: 28-31

We have an abundance of issues that would divide us today…gay and transgender rights, immigration, terrorism, “Black Lives Matter,” “Police Lives Matter.” “All Lives Matter.” All I know is that my political and social perspectives…all aspects of my life…must match my faith perspective.

Those groups and individuals at the center of every one of these issues matter to God. Therefore, they and their feelings must matter to me. I matter to God. Therefore, I and my feelings, must matter to you. Until we start listening with intent to love as God loves, we will never find the common ground we need. We will never truly matter to each other.

You matter to God. You matter to me. As Bareilles says, “It’s not much to ask from somebody.”

In Whom There is Nothing False

Background Passage: John 1:43-51

Gene Lewis is 90 years old, still living by himself in Levelland, Texas. He is my Dad.

Born in Rhome, TX, in 1925, my Dad grew up in the small, West Texas farming community less than 20 miles from where he lives today. He served in the Navy during World War II, spending his time in San Francisco ensuring that the military supplies reached their destination on the front lines. He jokes that he served in the Navy and never set foot on a ship. After the service, he returned home, worked as a clerk in a bank until he was robbed at gunpoint and locked in the vault.

Dad spent most of his years as a cotton farmer and his later years working in the county tax appraisal district. After he retired and up until a few years ago, he delivered meals on wheels to the “old people” who couldn’t make it out of the house. He still works occasionally at the appraisal district during their busy times or to help train a new worker. He spends time trying to grow a few tomatoes in baked, red dirt that doesn’t cooperate much. He does love his home-grown tomatoes, but then, so does anyone who has ever tasted home-grown tomatoes.

That tells you what he has done, but not who he is. For that, I’ll simply remind you of the story of one of Jesus’ disciples.

Nathaniel (Bartholomew), born and raised in Cana in lower Galilee just a few miles from Nazareth, worked as a part-time fisherman and a full-time seeker of God’s truth. As Jesus began his ministry, Nathaniel followed the new rabbi for several weeks, listening to his teaching, probably sitting in the back row or on the edge of the crowd, getting his own measure of his teaching. He found Jesus’ conversations in the synagogue always rich with meaning and purpose. The stories to the multitudes penetrating…challenging the listener to think more deeply about God’s word. He was intrigued by this carpenter from Nazareth.

On this particular day, Phillip, one of Jesus’ new disciples, grabbed Nathaniel’s arm with a sense of urgency and excitement. “Come and see,” he said. “We have found the one whom Moses wrote about and about whom the prophets also wrote. Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.”

Knowing the scripture as he did, Nathaniel had trouble believing that the Promised One would come from Nazareth. Not yet knowing that Jesus was born in Bethlehem, he stated as fact, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” It was not a put down as we have made it over the years. He questioned because the “facts” he knew didn’t align with scripture.

When Phillip and Nathaniel approached, Jesus stood to greet him. With a smile and a comment that conveyed immense respect, Jesus said, “Here is a true Israelite in whom there is nothing false.”

Whenever I think of that story and the high praise Jesus rained upon Nathaniel, I think of my Dad. The thought popped into my head again this week we approach Father’s Day. My Dad is a true child of God in whom there is nothing false. While certainly not infallible, he lives his life with the utmost integrity. What you see is what you get. And you get a whole lot of good.

As a child growing up and an adult trying to find my own way in the world, Dad’s lifestyle laid out a set of undeclared expectations I still try to meet. He loved my Mom completely and with full devotion. That was a gift to his three children that he modeled each day. They were affectionate, but not mushy. They endured good-natured ribbing and laughed freely. Dad was her biggest supporter and she was his. His ability to love his wife and family openly was, and is, one of my greatest blessings in life.

Farming was not the easiest life to live. Dad would have supported any career path we chose, but we all knew his preference was for us to find another line of work. As a result, he helped raise a lawyer, a doctor and me. Dad instilled in all of his kids a serious work ethic, an attitude I see reflected in my brother and sister in the work they do. He worked hard and did what was necessary to support his family. While we may not have had a lot of material things, we were never poor…in reality, nor in spirit.

Dad spent long hours in the field, but he also knew how to rest. He understood that there was a time and place for everything. He knew how to leave the worries of the work on the tractor and come home focused on his family. He could also put things beyond his control in proper perspective. If the crop was hailed out, he spent little time moaning about his bad luck and more time thinking about the next steps. His work ethic and attitude toward life impacted me greatly.

Dad continues to teach me a great deal about our relationship to others. I don’t think I have ever heard a prejudiced word escape my father’s lips. Given the time period in which he grew up, that’s pretty amazing. He taught all of us that a person’s worth is measured by who he is and not where he comes from or what he looks like. Worth, to Dad, is not measured by political preferences, religious beliefs or immigrant status. A person should be measured by how he lives each day, how he treats others, the value he adds to the world. To treat anyone differently is just wrong.

I watched Dad as I grew up. If he found himself in a fractured relationship for any reason, he did his best to set it right, even if it meant having difficult conversations. Most of the time, those conversations led to a deeper friendship or, at least a mutual, respectful understanding of the other’s position.

These things and so many others make my Dad a great man in my eyes. However, if you know my Dad or ever met him, it would not take you long to understand that his relationship to God is his greatest gift to his family and friends.

If you look back to Nathaniel’s encounter with Jesus, you find Nathaniel stunned that Jesus used such kind words to describe him. “How do you know me?” asked Nathaniel. Jesus replied, “I saw you under the fig tree.” Sounds rather cryptic to us, but Bible scholars say it was not an uncommon circumstance for students of the scripture to congregate under the trees, unroll a scroll to study and discuss God’s Word. I like to think that Jesus was so aware of his surroundings that Nathaniel’s study under the fig tree, his desire to know God more intimately, did not go unnoticed by the Savior.

After a long day at work, it was not uncommon to see my Dad, sitting in his recliner, studying his Sunday School lesson while we watched Andy and Opie or some inane Star Trek episode. His discussions and debates with my Mom about scripture were often lively and always deep. Just reading the words of the Bible at face value is not enough for Dad. He wants to find its core meaning and its common sense application. The Bible for Dad is not spiritual pabulum or an outline of denominational theology, it is a blueprint for practical daily living. Its message drives the way he lives and loves.

I could regale you with stories about my Dad in hopes that you would know him as I do, but I can think of nothing better than this. Dad is Nathaniel in my eyes. A man in whom there is nothing false. And, I am a better man because he continues to teach me all he knows.

I love you, Dad.

Happy Father’s Day.

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.)

The Mountain God Forgot

Rising from the seaside in steep elevations, the barren mountains surrounding Collique, Peru, outside of Lima, reflect the hopelessness seen in the eyes of its people. Devoid of life. Buried beneath layers of grayish-brown soil. Crushed by the mass of humanity. Gridlocked in hopelessness.

Every step taken by the hundreds of thousands of people populating the hillside in lean-tos constructed of cardboard and tin, kicks up powdery earth, making it hard to determine if the haze above the sprawling squalor is pollution from Lima or dust from under foot. To the American eye Collique is both alien and alienated. A friend called it “the mountain God forgot.” No grandeur in its creation. No grace in its spirit.

Staring into the haze, I was reminded of God’s word in Matthew 5:16…

“Let your light so shine before men that they may see your good works and glorify your Father which is in Heaven.”

God calls us to good work. To reach out to the harmed and the hopeless with helping and healing hands, offering change to body and soul. Beyond the immediate impact. Beyond the experience of one. The kind of change that sustains from one generation to the next. Such is the power of Christ. That a single life changed for good, now possesses a soul with a burning desire to make a difference in the lives of others.
We are called to make a difference.

I had the privilege this week of serving with members of South Main Baptist Church, Pasadena, and Christians from across the country, on a mission effort in Collique, providing improved shelter and health care for those living on the steep, dusty slopes of the forgotten mountain. Sponsored by Operation San Andres, an extraordinary effort led by Houston cardiologist Dr. Luis Campos, OSA stands as an oasis of hope and help amid poverty deeper than anything you can imagine.

Our team worked quickly to build a two-room home on the side of the mountain for a family of six, little more than a backyard storage shed to us. Yet, it was a dwelling that would make a difference to 10-year-old Maria and her family.

Maria’s smile and personality captured my heart upon meeting her. She radiated intelligence, curiosity and affection. She would peek around a corner in wide-eyed wonder at the work being done only to duck way when noticed. It was not long, however, when our smiles and encouragement drew her out. The lives of Maria and her family exuded joy that only God can bring to those living in such conditions. As we showed them through their new living quarters, their expressions of delight were contagious. Through the existing language barriers, we felt their gratitude and shared a blessing we all knew came from God.

The new home will make only a little change in their current living condition, but it is a chance. A difference. Among a people who seem beaten down and battered by a brutal life existence, OSA makes a difference. We will never know the generational impact of the seed planted here and now. OSA and its many volunteers reach out with the practical expression of God’s love, renovating a lifestyle and rejuvenating the spirit of those whose lives are touched.

I am now certain. The mountain was not forgotten by God. Psalm 90:1 reminds me…

“Lord, you have been our dwelling place for generations. Before the mountains were born from everlasting to everlasting, you are God.”

In other words, God knew what he was creating among the mountains of Collique. Created in his wisdom and for his purpose. God does not forget his creation.

Then again in Psalm 90:17, we extend our prayer…

“May the favor of the Lord rest upon us. Prosper the work of our hands.”

God grants to us opportunities to serve. Opportunities to make a difference. He takes that simple service we offer and makes it prosper, grow, expand and extend for generations to come. What we did this week made a difference to Maria, my little sister-in-Christ. As God prospers the work, that little difference, coupled with the hope of the better life it provides, will, through Maria and her family, change the people of Collique for generations to come.

What’s In A Name?

John 11:1-16; John 14:1-7, Luke 24:1-12 and John 20:1-29

Babies make delightful noises. My seven-month-old granddaughter, Lena, babbles with the best of them. Every sound more precious than the last. I want to warn her to be careful, though. When I was her age, my innocent sounds charmed my parents and evidently baffled my uncle. My family says my prattles sounded like “gugen, gugen, gugen” as I crawled across the floor. My uncle, Dean, needed no more reason to shatter my burgeoning self-esteem than to give me my early childhood nickname, “Gugenburger.” Here we are some 61 years later and if Dean wants to pull my chain, he just calls me Gugenburger.

Nicknames have a way of sticking with us far longer than they should, rarely reflecting our more complex personalities.

Consider the label attached to Thomas, one of Jesus’ 12 disciples… “Doubting Thomas.” One incident recorded in scripture, forced a label upon him centuries ago. Like a loving uncle we latch on to it, refusing to let it go, despite the years that pass and the ministry he performed in the following years. I get it. I made the noise. I get stuck with the nickname. Thomas demands to see the nail-pierced hands and gets branded as one who cannot believe unless he sees for himself…a doubter.

Thomas was more than that single life vignette. Discarding the simple listing of disciples named in the gospels, we first encounter him in John 11. He was ministering with Jesus along the Jordan River. One day news arrived that Lazarus, a dear friend of Jesus and his disciples, was deathly ill. The message from his sisters begged Jesus to come quickly. Yet, Jesus spent two more days in ministry in and around the Jordan. On the morning of the third day, Jesus woke his disciples and said, “Let’s go to back to Judea.”

The disciples reacted in horror, reminding Jesus that the Pharisees in Jerusalem tried to kill him just a few days before. “How can you go back,” they said, “when the Jews just tried to stone you? I suspect Thomas argued vocally for an alternate plan.

Jesus would not be deterred. He told the disciples plainly that Lazarus had died. God’s timing is perfect, according to Jesus. “For now that Lazarus is dead, you can see with your own eyes the power of God through me and may believe.” When it became clear that Jesus was going to go to Bethany with or without them, Thomas rallied the disciples with fatal resignation and fierce devotion, “Let us also go, that we may die with him.”

Later in the solemnness of the upper room recorded in John 14, Jesus began preparing his disciples for the cold, hard reality of the cross. In words never more clearly spoken, Jesus told them that he would be betrayed, tried, convicted, nailed to a cross and put to death. He offered comforting words.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me…if I go to prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.“

His words echoed around the chamber. Grave with meaning. Resting heavily on the heart. Every disciple listened, struggling with the words Jesus spoke. Thomas, searching for clarity and understanding, asked the burning question no one else dared ask. “Lord, we don’t know where you are going so how can we know the way.”

Be grateful that Thomas asked the question others failed to ask. For the response to Thomas’ question drew from Jesus salvation’s road map. “I am the Way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Yes, our friend Thomas is pessimistic at times. Devoted at others. Troubled one moment. Seeking clarity the next.

The seminal moment for Thomas’ life and ministry is that same moment that labeled him unjustly as the doubter. According to Luke 24, Mary returned from the empty tomb that first Easter morning telling the disciples the good news that Jesus had risen. No one believed her. All the disciples doubted her story. Every single one of them. They believed in the resurrected Jesus only when he appeared to them in the upper room…and remember, Thomas was absent that day.

When the disciples told Thomas what they witnessed, he responded much as they did when Mary first shared the news. “Unless I see the nail marks in his hands and put my fingers where the nails were; and put my hand into his side, I will not believe it.” And we tarnish his reputation, labeling him with a nickname…the Doubter.

Here’s the deal. A few days later, Thomas sat sullenly, his head hanging down, surrounded by the energized and enthused followers of Christ, unable to join in their revelry about their risen Lord. Can’t you see the scene unfold?

Looking down.
Lost in thought.
Thomas never heard him enter.
Never registered the rising
volume of excitement.
Never noticed the quiet the then descended like a
blanket of fresh snow as Jesus looked for the
one person he needed to see.

Thomas unconsciously processed the change in atmosphere.
Came out of his trance as a shadow fell over him.
Sandaled and nail-scarred feet stepped into view.
Thomas slowly lifted his head,
almost afraid of what he would see.

Jesus stood before him.
Nodded his head in quiet greeting.
Eyes probing the depths of Thomas’ soul.

Thomas’ mouth opened.
Forming words of surprise without sound.
Stood on shaky legs.
Speechless.
Staring at his Savior.

The reality was too much to bear.
The sound of his early disbelief shouting in his brain.
Thomas could look no longer at the one before him.
Dropped his eyes.
Bowed his head.
Adrift in shame and embarrassment.
Unable to look Jesus in the eyes.

A gentle voice called his name.
“Thomas.
Look at me.”
Arms outstretched.
A welcoming gesture.

Taking a step closer.
Jesus said with sincerity that
begged for belief.
“Put your finger here.
See my hands.”
Thomas stared at the hands of Christ.
Swallowed hard.
Made no move to touch.

“Reach out with your hand.
Put it here in my side.”
An open invitation for Thomas to prove for himself that
this was no dream.

Thomas never flinched.
Touch no longer needed.
Proof no longer required.

Thomas’ eyes.
Once riveted on those hands,
looked into the eyes of Jesus.
Tried to form the words of his heart.
Words that still would not come.
Tears flowed down his cheeks,
rolling through his beard and to the floor.

Thomas’ struggled to gain a breath.
Took a step back.
Clutched his arms across his chest,
forced his hands beneath his armpits,
squeezed as if afraid his chest would explode.
Took another deep breath.
Let it out again slowly and raggedly.

He shook his head with a rueful smile.
Dropped to his knees.
Bowed in reverence.
In a voice that grew
stronger with each word.
Thomas proclaimed
truth of profound understanding…

“My Lord and My God.”

No shred of doubt.
No a moment of pessimism.
No inkling of uncertainty.

Thomas,
the Convinced.

I like Thomas. I find his nickname unfair. Labeled for eternity for a moment of doubt and confusion common to all of Jesus’ followers at some point in life. I find compelling. Complex. And, at times, I am so much like him.

My response to Christ often fluctuates based on the circumstances in which I find myself. At times, I find myself pessimistic, perhaps even a little fatalistic about God’s plan and the troubled times in which we live. Yet, Thomas revealed the answer. My responsibility is to be with him. Simple as that. Wherever he leads I’ll go…even if that leads me to a place I don’t wish to go. Devotion drives the destination. Devoted Thomas.

There are times I find myself struggling to understand God’s will and purpose for my life. Unable to see the where he wishes me to go, what he wants me to do. I can stand immobilized by fear. Hobbled by my lack of understanding. Pretending to know what I don’t know. Or…I can be like Thomas. Asking for clarity. Digging deeper into what he desires for me at this moment in my life. Searching Thomas.

When it came down to it, Thomas left his heart open to the possibilities. “Show me his nail-pierced hands.” Less a scream of doubt as a prayer to make it so. A longing to believe when everything around him said run away. My Lord and My God. Trusting Thomas.

Thomas’ is a story of Easter at its finest. A time when I am reminded…beneath the shadow of the cross and the silhouette of my risen Savior, that he is My Lord and My God.

Call me Gugenburger if you must and we’ll both have a laugh. Would that I live each day with a different nickname…devoted….searching…trusting…convinced.

Lucado Hits the Nail on the Head

We find ourselves embroiled in the middle of the political season as Americans across the country consider whom they prefer to serve as the next President of our nation. It is a serious time for serious-minded people.

The last Republican debate left me speechless and sorrowful. The lack of civility and decorum displayed by those running for our nation’s highest office did nothing but diminish their credibility to serve as leader of the free world.

As I struggled to find the words to express my frustration at the lack of statesmanship, I came across Max Lucado’s blog, “Decency for President.” Many of you may have seen it posted on Facebook, but I thought it worthy of sharing again.

Think about the message he shares and how it applies to all who want to serve us as President, both Republican and Democrat.

Decency for President

Living Life Without Regret

Background Passages: II Timothy 4:6-7; Philippians 3:2-14; Acts 7:58-60; Acts 9:1-22

The difference between night and day.
Negligible in the grand scheme.

Night.
A visual nothingness.
The kind of darkness
where imagination resides as the only frame of reference.
Where the mind conjures its demons.

Day.
A shade of deepest black,
lightened by the faint glow
filtering around the edges of the iron plate
covering the portal in the
ceiling of his prison cell.

Days upon days.
Months upon months.
A year?
A lifetime?
Time lost its meaning.

Paul sat.
Back against the damp wall of his dungeon.
Shivering beneath frayed clothes
devoured by time and the surrounding
rot and rock.
Body ravished by sores.
Skin raw and with infection
beneath the rusty iron chains
locked around wrists and ankles.

What his eyes could not see,
his ears could hear.
His nose could smell.
His mouth could taste.

The steady drip of water seeping
through the limestone walls.
The ragged breathing in his chest.
The moans of the criminal chained to his side.
The stench of
death and disease.
The foul odor of the sewer in which he slept.
The bitter taste of the air he breathed.
Of the soiled and stale bread he ate
for his only meal of the day.

Paul knew.
Rome’s most hellish prison was his
final home on earth.

Time…
his only competition.
Memory…
his only conversation.
Faith…
his only companion.

Months passed since he last heard from Onesiphorus.
A brother in the faith who had
scoured the city to find him.
A brother in purpose
who had offered brief, but bold words of encouragement.
A brother in heart
who bribed a guard to pass along parchment
to write a final message to Paul’s dearest friend.

Paul remembered…
life before he encountered Christ.
“Circumcised on the eight day exactly as the law required.
Of the people of Israel Of the tribe of Benjamin.
A Hebrew of Hebrews.
In regard to the law, a Pharisee.
As for zeal, persecuting the church.
As for legalistic righteousness, faultless.”

Paul recalled…
standing at the edge of the crowd.
Their outer garments piled around his feet.
Watching with a gleam of pride in his eyes as they hurled
stones at Stephen.
Cold in rage at Stephen’s plea to God to
forgive those who were killing him.

Paul reminisced…
pleading before the high priest.
Begging to bring righteous justice
upon people of The Way.
Those who lived in Damascus under the banner of Jesus Christ.
Leaving with his soldiers the following morning
“breathing out murderous threats”
against the followers of Christ.

Paul reveled…
in the memory of the blinding light.
The challenging voice.
“Why do you persecute me?”
Blinded by the truth of his own guilt.
Stung by the voice of Christ.
Awakened to the unmerited forgiveness of God
graciously offered that turned his
passion for persecution into a
firestorm of faith.

Paul reflected…
on his life spent sharing the good news of Christ’s salvation
extended to Jew and Gentile alike.
On the constant reminders of the Holy Spirit’s
guidance and direction throughout his ministry.
On God’s sustaining power through times of
problem and promise.

Paul knew…
his days were numbered.
His delivery from this cell would be by
spirit alone.

In the darkness of his prison,
Paul smiled a smile seen only by God.
By the thin light of a waning candle, he
scribbled on the parchment
words of hope and joy
that would escape the
depths of a dungeon.

“For I am already being poured out like a drink offering.
The time has come for my departure.
I have fought the good fight.
I have finished the race.
I have kept the faith.
Now is in store for me
the crown of righteousness
which the Lord will reward to me on that day…”

Of all people,
Paul had reason to regret.
Consider his arrogant attitudes.
Lives he haunted and ruined.
People he persecuted in a planned
attack on all who would proclaim
Jesus as Lord.
Yet, he remembered his life, not for the …
misguided beliefs or misaligned purposes.
The hurtful things done or the helpful things left undone.
The bitter things said or loving things unsaid.
The hearts broken or hearts never touched.

Paul remembered his life as one forgiven;
his life forged in the crucible of his Damascus
encounter with the Living Lord.
His Lord.

Funny thing about God’s forgiveness.
A repentant heart finds every fault laid at the feet of Jesus
swept away and forgotten.
When we set aside that which God forgave,
he sets before us a new task.
A new work designed to spread the
good news of Christ to a
world desperately in need of
God’s good news.

Regret prevents us from opening ourselves to the
possibilities of God at work within us.
Leaving us feeling unworthy of his faith in us
to do what he called us to do.

Living life without regret means
surrendering all to him…
Our past.
Our now.
Our tomorrow.

Surrendering all to him…
Our bad.
Our indifference.
Our good.

Surrendering all to him allows us to try to do
what Paul tried to do each day:
“…forgetting what is past and
straining toward what is ahead.”

Paul sets before us a wonderful example of
living life without regret.
May we look back on our lives
content in the knowledge that we…
Fought the good fight,
Finished the race,
Kept the faith.

No worries.
No fears.
No regrets.

How Deep Are Your Roots

Background Passages: Matthew 13:1-23, Mark 4:1-20, Luke 8:1-15

“Like locusts,”
Peter marveled,
“descending on a field of grain.”
The disciple commented on the crowd
gathering for the Master’s teaching.
Another day.
Another multitude.

James.
A disciple of Christ.
The son of Alphaeus.
Not the fisherman.
Raised his head.
Glanced back at the mass of humanity
spreading out across the mountain.
Muttered his agreement.
“Give them credit,” said James.
“They’ve come a long way in this heat
just to hear his words of wisdom.”

James watched Jesus working his way
among the crowd.
So full of energy.
Eager to engage each person on a personal level.

Stretching almost as far as he could see,
hundreds of men, women and children
congregated on the dusty hillside.
Turned its landscape into a
blossoming field of flowing robes.
Stretching their necks to catch a glimpse of the man who…
Worked miracles.
Fed thousands.
Healed the infirmed.
Spoke more clearly than any rabbi.

James shook his head in wonder.
Leaned hard against the prow of the boat.
He and Peter
pushed the small fishing vessel
into the warm waters of the Sea of Galilee.
Gave their Master a platform from which to speak.

The multitude settled at last to understand more about
the carpenter turned rabbi.
Many shouted out.
Sought answers to their most pressing questions.
“Who are you exactly?”
“Why are you here?”
“What must we do?”

Questions James had heard since the
Jewish leaders began their disinformation campaign
accusing Jesus of every type of heresy in the Law.

James watched.
Jesus waited
for the tide of questions to ebb.
Amid the silence of anticipation,
Jesus pointed to the distant hillside.
“See that farmer?”

The crowd turned to look.
James chuckled under his breath,
at the sound of rustling robes turning in unison.

The Farmer.
Stood straight against the weight of the
heavy seed bag tied around his waist.
Every two or three steps he stopped.
Dipped his hand bag.
With a casual and practiced flick of his wrist,
he cast seeds across his small plot of land.

“My work is much like his,” said Jesus,
“Sowing seeds of God’s truth to those who will hear.”
As the crowd turned back, he asked,
“Will you listen?”

“A farmer went out to sow his seed…”

James sat at Jesus’ feet as he always did.
Mesmerized
by every word.
Marveled
that the simplest illustration held such elaborate truth.
Awestruck that Jesus could pull a lesson of
immortal value from the
most mundane acts of life.

Sermon ended.
Service began.
Jesus and the disciples moved through the crowd.
Helping in any and every way they could.

James thought about the parable
throughout the day as he worked.
Unsettled.
Uncertain.
Uneasy.
He missed something.
He was sure of it.

At last,
the crowd dispersed.
Jesus sat around the campfire surrounded by
his most trusted followers.
Exhausted from the day’s ministry.
As was their habit,
they sat around the campfire…
Talking quietly.
Reflecting privately.
Discussing intimately.
Debating meaning and intent of the words they heard.

Jesus.
Sat against a fig tree.
Arms across his chest.
Head back.
Eyes closed.
Listening, but not looking.

James.
Shuffled from group to group.
Listened intently to the conversations.
Contributed little as he processed what he heard.
He found himself standing beside the tree where Jesus sat.
More nervous than usual when alone with Jesus.
Kicked the toe of his sandal against a root,
hoping that Jesus would notice his presence.

Finally, he cleared his voice.
“Jesus.
Are you awake?”

Jesus.
Didn’t move a muscle though
a rueful grin broke across his face.
One weary eye opened.
One eyebrow raised.
“I wish!” He groaned.
Glancing up at the young disciple,
“What do you need,
my friend?”
.
James looked sheepishly at the others around the fire,
feeling inside that they knew things he did not know.
“That parable you told today…
about the farmer…
What exactly did it mean?”

Jesus arched his back.
Pushed away from the trunk of the tree.
Grasp his knees and pulled them to his chest.
Speaking in a voice loud enough for all the disciples to hear,
“Among all men, you are fortunate.
The secrets of the Kingdom of God have been revealed to you.”
James chuckled again as the rustle of their robes
reminded him of the crowd on the hillside.

Closing his eyes as if thinking of the multitude,
Jesus shook his head.
“The others…the people…
I speak in parables to help them understand.
So they can see what they may not see.
Hear what they may not understand.”

He paused for a moment.
Searched their eyes.
Sensed their uncertainty.

“This is what the parable means…”

The explanation.
Lengthy and to the point.
The disciples listened.
Some nodded in agreement.
Some probed with further questions.
James sat silently.
Getting the point,
but still sensing a gap in his understanding.
Innate shyness prevented him from pushing for clarity.

Later.
Jesus leaned again,
alone against his tree.
The others congregated in small clusters around the camp.
Again in quiet conversation.

James.
Paced the edge of darkness.
Hands behind his back.
Deep in thought.
He found himself once again
standing beside the tree.
Silent.
Still.

Jesus again wearily opened one eye.
Raised one eyebrow.
Smiled slightly at the timid intrusion.
Spoke in a quiet, reassuring voice.
“Something bothering you, James?”

The young disciple
leaned against the tree.
Facing east to Jesus’ south.
Slid quietly to the ground,
letting the course bark scratch his back.
He settled in silence into a comfortable spot.

Always patient,
Jesus waited for his friend to speak.
After a moment, James said,
“I get most of it, I think.
You’re the farmer…at work in your world.
The seed…God’s truth. His word.
The different kinds of soil…hearers of His word.
Hard.
Rocky.
Thorny.
Fertile.”
James paused again,
unsure of his next thought.

James pressed Jesus for clearer understanding.
Deeper insight.
About the soil…the listeners.
“How can they hear the same word so differently?”

“What do you think?” Jesus asked.

“The hard soil.
On the surface, no pun intended,” he smiled.
“it seems to talk about the…
Determined opponent of God.
Disinterested in godly things.
Hard. Bitter. Beaten down by life.
Refusing to let any ounce of truth penetrate the surface.
Hardened to any possibility of faith.
Clearly, an unbeliever.”

“But, I think there’s more to it than that.”
Turning to Jesus he said,
“Isn’t it possible a person could be so wrapped up in doing good,
that he may no longer hear a new word from God?
So focused on his ministry that he misses other opportunities to serve?

Jesus.
Eyes still closed.
He said,
“True enough.
Look at the Pharisees.
So busy with ritual they never get to know God intimately.
So involved in “worship” they never practice what they preach.
Worship must be personal.
Must breech the hardness of our hearts
or it’s meaningless.”

Encouraged,
James pressed on.
“The soil on top of rocky ground…
Enough sustenance to sprout.
Not enough to grow.
Some listeners,
excited about the work of God,
try to live it daily.
Yet when crisis comes,
when they fall upon hard times,
they fall away.
Faith withers and dies.”

Jesus nodded.
“We must be grounded,
rooted in our faith,
if we are to withstand the difficulties
we will inevitably face.
Life is not easy.
A true life of faith even more difficult.
Setting our roots means we must be so grounded
in our study of God’s word
that we never lack for spiritual nourishment that sustains.”

James quietly quoted something Jesus said
in another time,
another place.
“If I say I love God and don’t evidence it in my life,
I’m a liar.”

Jesus laughed,
“You have been listening.”

The two men sat in silence for a while as James thought
deeply about what Jesus said.
The disciple took another deep breath.
“Let’s talk about the third soil…
Full of weeds and thorns.
Choking the life out of the good grain.
Bad attitudes and actions strangle life.
Good intentions get choked out by disbelief.”

James.
Energized.
Engaged.
Eager.
Sat cross legged facing Jesus.
Hands gesturing to punctuate his excitement.
“Lives get smothered by things that ultimately don’t matter.
We nit-pick each other over inconsequential things.
Kill our own spirit and the
spirits of those around us.”

Jesus.
Fully awake and animated
mirrored James’ posture.
Cross legged and leaning toward his friend.
He reached across the distance between them.
Slapped him on the knees.
“Now, you’re getting it!”

Jesus added,
“There is a tendency to lose the joy of salvation.
The dogs of life nip at our heels.
We let bias and prejudice get in the way of loving relationships.
Arguments over things…
great or small…
just don’t matter in the end.
It chokes our relationships.
Gets in the way of our ability to love one another.

Jesus’s eyes danced.
“Go on, James,” he urged,
“What about the good soil?”

James sat for a minute.
Stunned that he was enmeshed in this conversation.

“The good soil…
Fertile.
Rich.
Bountiful.

“Represents those of us who get it.
Those who understand what God desires of us.
Understand more clearly who you are.”
Those who take part in the harvest.
Bringing people to know you.
To accept your truth.

Jesus.
Shook his head.
“Think, James.
“It’s deeper than that. There’s more.
Keep digging.”

James found himself…
Prodded.
Probed.
Propelled beyond
convenience and conventional wisdom.
His mind raced.
Vaguely aware that others had gathered around.
Listening intently to the dialogue.

His finger punched in frustration at the ground beneath him.
“I don’t understand.
You’re not making sen…”
James stopped in mid-sentence.
Sat back.
Mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
His mind processing a new thought.

Quietly.
Thinking aloud.

“The farmer broadcast his seed in the field.
The field…
The field…
It’s the same field…
All of the soils.
Hard packed.
Shallow.
Thorny.
Fertile.
They’re all in the same field!”

Jesus leaned in…
Broad smile on his face…

“Sooooo…”

James looked at Jesus.
Tears of understanding welled in his eyes.
“They’re all me.
Every soil is me.
It’s not about how the multitude responds to the gospel,
it’s about how I respond.

I can be at times too hard…
too busy even in service to be of service.
I can be shallow and artificial in faith…
fainting at the first sign of adversity.
I can be overly concerned with things
that don’t matter in God’s grand scheme.
Hypercritical of others.
Or,
I can be productive, fertile…
fully responsive to the will of God in my life.

Jesus looked at James.
Eyes sympathetic and understanding.
“Knowing our capacity for failure is the
first step in avoiding the pitfalls.
Like I said before,
‘All have sinned and fallen short of the
glory of God.”

James wiped away tears with the sleeve of his tunic.
Embarrassed by his display of emotion.

Jesus.
Grasp the hand of his disciple.
Firm and reassuring.
“Don’t worry about the tears, James.
You’re in the good soil now.
You’re just watering your roots.”

Growing Deep Roots

I’m not sure about you.
This parable speaks to my faith…
crisply and clearly.
Identifying my life, at best, as a
spasmodic attempt to respond to the call of God.

Any honest evaluation of my life shows that I am…

Sometimes…
self-absorbed.
Busy acting good, rather than doing good.

Sometimes…
false and artificial.
Exhibiting a show of faith, without the substance of faith.

Sometimes…
Nit-picky and hypocritical.
Judging harshly the speck of sawdust in the eyes of others,
while ignoring the plank in my own.

Sometimes…
fertile and productive.
Stretching my roots into the deep, loamy soil of God’s truth.
Fully responsive to his will.

My prayer.
For me.
For you.
That we find time to listen to the voice that tells us…
We’re missing something important in God’s word.
To find the courage to sit at the tree where Jesus sits,
asking for clarity and understanding.
To dig deeper into familiar scripture.
To sink our roots into the fertile soil of truth.

May our tears of understanding
water the roots of our faith.