Category: Faith

Seeing the Big Picture

Background Passages: Genesis 50: 15-21; Jeremiah 29:11

You’ve probably heard the business fable. A story with a moral.

A traveler encountered three stone cutters working in the roadside quarry. Eager to discover what they were working on, the traveler asked the first man what he was doing.

“I’m cutting stone,” he said, returning to his work.

No wiser than before, the traveler walked to the second man. “What are you doing?” He asked.

The second man continued working and gave a more elaborate response. “I’m shaping this stone so it is perfectly square and will fit neatly against that rock over there.”

Still unsure, the traveler approached the third stone cutter. He asked, “What are you doing?”

The stone cutter stopped his work, looked into the distance as if seeing a vision no one else could see. He replied reverently, “I’m building a cathedral.”

I was reminded of this story this week as I visited with a friend of mine who is a hospital administrator. We talked about how hard it is for some people to see how their plans and actions…how their managerial decisions…impact the rest of the organization. We talked about how important it is for leaders to help others see and embrace the bigger picture.

What is true in the business world also rings true in the spiritual realm. There is a real need to see God’s bigger picture.

The selfishness of a sinful world limits our ability to see God’s purpose and plan. Our disobedience, and the sinful choices of those with whom we interact, can put a hiccup in that plan. God continues to guide our lives, however, in ways that work through those misguided and often sinful decisions to put us where he needs us to be at any given point in time doing what he needs us to do to accomplish his will…his big picture.

When we trust enough to look beyond our own desires, God opens our eyes to a deeper meaning and purpose.

Consider the life of Joseph.

Joseph, the first child born to Jacob and his beloved Rachel. Ten older half-brothers, born to different mothers, resented their father’s show of favoritism to their younger sibling. Genesis 37:3 tells it plainly as it sets the stage for all that is about to happen. “Now Israel (Jacob) love Joseph more than any of his other sons…”

Joseph didn’t make it easy on them. The teenager basked in his favored status, wearing his expensive and colorful robe, gifted to him by his father, wherever he went. A constant reminder to his brothers that he was dearly loved and highly favored.

Joseph was a dreamer without a filter. His constant visions and musings painted him as their lord and master…stories he seemed to love sharing with his brothers. He delighted in telling them they would one day bow down to him. Twice he shared similar dreams and scripture says his brothers were jealous, angry and “hated him all the more.”

Taunted by one too many of Joseph’s dreams, the brothers’ resentment took a nasty turn.

You remember the story. Joseph’s brothers were tending the sheep in the rocky hillsides of Judea. After a time, Jacob sent Joseph to find his brothers.

“Go and see if all is well with your brothers and with the flocks and bring word back to me.”

That Joseph was not already with his brothers tending the sheep in the hillside was probably already a source of irritation among the brothers. When they saw him coming in his ornamental jacket, they stewed in murderous contempt. Not wanting to bloody their own hands, they simply dropped Joseph into a deep and dry well, intending to leave him there to die.

The fortuitous passing of a camel caravan presented a more lucrative option. The brothers pulled Joseph from the well and sold him for 20 shekels as a slave to the traders bound for Egypt. With a torn and tattered coat and a little goat’s blood, the brothers returned to their father, false concern etched on their faces, allowing their father to jump to the certain conclusion that his beloved son had been slaughtered by wild animals.

Betrayal.

Joseph probably bears some responsibility for the fractured relationship that existed between he and his brothers, but his brothers violated the expectations of that bond of brothers when they chose bitterness and hate over forgiveness and love.

You probably know the rest of the story as well. Through his God-given gift of interpreting dreams, Joseph rose to a place of prominence in the Pharaoh’s government. During a famine in the land of Israel, the brothers journeyed to Egypt to buy food and came face to face with the unrecognized brother they betrayed. In a series of events to see if his brothers had changed their hearts, Joseph eventually revealed himself to them, extending his forgiveness and inviting the whole family to live in his land of plenty.

It seems that the brothers always expected the heavy foot of revenge to eventually stomp on their heads. They believed that Joseph’s forgiveness and love was a face he put on as long as their father was alive. When Jacob passed away, they just knew Joseph would seek retribution.

They sent word to Joseph offering their lives as slaves. When the brother’s word’s reached Joseph he cried, saddened at the thought that during their time together in Egypt, he had failed to reassure them that they had been forgiven already.

He sent for his brothers. They threw themselves at the feet of Joseph offering again to be his slaves, hoping he would find enough forgiveness in his heart to spare their lives.

Then, he pulled them to their feet and scripture said, “he talked kindly to them.” His words meant to calm and reassure.

“Don’t be afraid. Am I not in the place of God? You intended harm for me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”

“God intended it for good…”

I read the story of Joseph and wonder how long it took him to get to that point. How long did it take him to see the bigger picture of God’s purpose and plan?

I suspect there were many nights while enslaved that he choked back the bitterness. Plenty of times when he languished in prison for crimes he did not commit where he blamed his brothers for his plight.

Maybe he began to see what God had in mind as he was called to interpret the Pharaoh’s dream. Maybe he caught a glimpse of God’s purpose when he rose through the ranks to become Pharaoh’s second in command. Maybe he finally saw God’s bigger picture when famine hit the land of Israel and his people came to Egypt for his help. Maybe it wasn’t until he saw the faces of his brothers that he knew how and why God had worked in his life.

Through his life, Joseph teaches us a great lesson. Everyone one of us will face betrayal, hurt, tragedy…a constant litany of struggles that enter and exit our lives. As we live and work through those problems, we have a tendency to focus too closely on the issue at hand…to fail to see the forest for the giant redwood in front of us.

If we’re not looking for the big picture, it’s easier to hold a grudge and more difficult to forgive. Easier to wallow in misery and more difficult to recover. Easier to abandon the joy of life and more difficult to accept and move on.

So how do we get to that point?

We…I…have difficulty at times really understanding that things that happen in life are within the control of an all-powerful and all-knowing God. It’s the old, “why does God let bad things happen to good people” argument. I can accept that all God’s plans are good. I just know that not all of man’s plans are good. Understanding how God can untwist the messes I make and get me back on the path he intended is mind-boggling. Yet, time and time again, I’ve experienced it.

It boils down to trust. It boils down to seeing beyond my situation and trying to see the circumstances of my life through God’s eyes…to see what he wants to accomplish in and through me. I will never get there if I focus on the mess I’ve made or the dirt the world throws in my face.

God’s plan for my life…for your life…is a good one despite the difficulties and hardships we face. It should always be our prayer that God will use whatever happens in our lives to bless our lives and the lives of others.

Jeremiah shared God’s promise to the people of Israel that their exile from their land would not last forever as long as they turned to God. The promise God offered Israel is the same promise he offers us.

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.”

God’s plans are always bigger and better than any plan I come up with on my own…a reality for which I am eternally grateful.

Come To Bethlehem

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

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

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

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

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

Why Bethlehem?

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

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

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

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

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

Why Bethlehem?

Here’s my thought.

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

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

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

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

Why Bethlehem?

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

Why Bethlehem?

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

An Inconvenient Faith

Background Passages: Jude; Romans 8:28, Luke 14:28-33; Matthew 16:25-26

We live in a culture that carries with it a sense of entitlement to the good life. A belief that the world owes us a certain standard of living. An expected quality of life. There is an increasing number of people in our culture who hold an unrealistic, unmerited and inappropriate expectation that others should extend to them favorable treatment or conditions to make their lives easier. Our culture seems to have abandoned, to a large degree, the idea of personal accountability.

Everyone signs off on the idea of our responsibility of helping others, but we tend to qualify that assistance with “as long as its convenient and benefits me.”

It’s a sad enough perspective when taken at a culture level, when this sense of entitlement creeps into the life of the church it weakens our message and our ministry. Yet, there is a thread of entitlement weaving its way into the gospel turning worship into entertainment and God’s word into a watered down “make me feel good about myself” version of truth.

The brightly colored billboard advertising a mega-church led with this…

“All things work together for good…” (Rom. 8:28)

On its surface, a positive and encouraging message. The snippet suggests that God loves me so much that he will prevent bad things from happening to me. That I am somehow entitled to his blessing. That his will for my life is filled with financial blessing and physical health. That all I need to do is to stay positive. To think positive thoughts. It is the root of the prosperity gospel so prevalent today.

The trouble with faith grounded in entitlement is as life takes a turn for the worse, which it will inevitably do, the roots of our belief barely stretch beyond the topsoil, depriving us of the strength we need in troubled times. When life and faith fail to match our expectations, we question the reality of God’s love.

The problem with the truncated message of the billboard is that it left out the important part.

“For we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

I have learned in my life that God works through tragedy and turmoil to teach me…and grow me…and nurture me…and sustain me. To make his presence known. To allow me to feel his presence through his perpetual love and perfect will for my life. For me to understand his working in my life I must focus my love, faith and trust on him. Whatever the outcome, God’s result will always be better than anything I try to do on my own.

The conflict between authentic faith and convenient faith is not new. It has been an issue for the church from the beginning. The rich young ruler turned away from Jesus because the demands of discipleship were too high. Judas betrayed Jesus because his gospel didn’t fit his world perspective.

Demas, a cohort of Paul’s during his second missionary journey, shirked his responsibilities and abandoned Paul while the apostle languished in a Roman prison. When Demas faced a difficult moment of ministry, God’s way looked too steep. The world’s way looked easier, more prosperous…more convenient…and he walked away.

Yet, there is an answer. Buried in plain view in one of the most obscure books of the New Testament.

Despite its rapid growth, the early Christian church fought through serious issues that challenged the nature of faith. By the time Jude wrote his letter to a group of Jewish converts, the battle for authentic faith hit with full force.

It didn’t take long for folks to try and make the Christian life more convenient by distorting the teachings of Christ. Within a few years of Jesus’ time on earth, there were those who perverted the concept of God’s grace. Since grace trumped the law, they reasoned, then morality doesn’t matter. You can live anyway you please knowing that God’s grace covers all sin. They took this idea so far that these false teachers declared that the more you sinned, the more grace was revealed, adding to your testimony of God’s goodness. As Dana Carvey’s “Church Lady” once proclaimed, “How convenient.”

The early church also wrestled with those who believed that God granted special knowledge to some people that made them more godly than others to whom this knowledge was denied. That true salvation depended upon receiving this special knowledge.

Early in his letter, Jude tells us he intended to write them about the faith they share. Helping them grow deeper in that faith. Because of the issues they faced, his message changed, urging them, instead, to be prepared to defend the faith against those who would distort the truth. Jude recognized that the greatest danger to the Christian faith was not the opposition from outside the church, but from those inside the faith who would lessen the demands of discipleship to make it more palatable…easier…convenient. Jude called these folks, “clouds that drop no rain but are blown away by the wind.”

Authentic faith is never convenient. Authentic faith never promises personal prosperity. It never promises an easier life by the world’s standards. Authentic faith always calls us to step outside our comfort zones to be obedient to his will and to meet the needs of others. To live the life he called us to live. Authentic faith requires us to set aside any sense of entitlement and live in service to others.

The question is how do we do that?

Jude gives us the blueprint.

“But you, beloved, you must build yourselves up on the foundation of your most holy faith; you must pray in the Holy spirit; you must keep yourselves in the love of God; while you wait for the mercy of our Lord Jesus Christ which will bring you life eternal.” {Jude 20-21)

Build our lives on the foundation of faith handed down through Jesus Christ. The person of faith rests his life not on personal opinion or a man-inspired gospel, but upon the words and truth of Jesus. A few verses earlier he called upon his brothers and sisters in Christ to “remember the words of the apostles.” To ground ourselves in scripture. Yet, he adds a clear distinctive. It’s not enough for us to rely on our own interpretations, but to look at the gospel of Christ under the prayerful guidance of the God’s spirit. Testing what we think we think we know against his word and the spirit’s revelation to us.

Jude also teaches that the foundation of our faith will be evidence in our love for God. God loves us unconditionally. His love is a gift of grace. Such grace…such love…demands that we make the effort to stay in close, intimate relationship with the God we love. Pure. Real. Honest. True. Demonstrated by our obedience to his will and the life he calls us to live.

You see, genuine faith is not designed to make the world different, but to make us different. Faith can never be an intellectual belief nor a cultural perspective. It is meant to be a life-changing, moral imperative.

Jesus told us there would be a price to pay for following him.

“For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost, whether he has enough to finish it…so, likewise, whoever of you does not forsake all he has cannot be my disciple. (Luke 14:28, 33)

“For whoever desires to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it. What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses his soul?” (Matthew 16:25-26)

We are called to an inconvenient faith. It will be hard…demanding…difficult…and, if expressed well, more joyous that you can ever hope to experience any other way.

Faith to Dig a Hole in the Roof

Background Passages: Mark 2:1-12 and Luke 5:17-26

In a world where so many people are hurting, it’s difficult to understand why there are so many empty pews in our churches. Many people blame organized religion for its lack of compassion and concern. Perhaps the fault lies not in the institution but in our individual response to God’s call for ministry and service.

The world seeks help for its problems, but no longer trusts the church to be its answer. When it tries, the world tends to ridicule our efforts, painting them with unintended ulterior motives. As a result, many well-intentioned Christians no longer make the time or effort to heal the brokenness they see in their families, friends and community.

We can learn a valuable lesson from a familiar story in Scripture about what it means to take the initiative in meeting the needs of others and persistently breaking through the barriers that prevent us from doing what we are called to do. Mark and Luke both share an early account of Jesus healing a paralyzed man in Capernaum.

*****

When Jesus taught, people noticed a difference between the words he shared and the hollow recitations cited by the religious leaders of the day. With Jesus, they sensed vitality and life…an authenticity and authority to his teaching that was lacking in the synagogues. Couple his unique teaching with the miracles he shared with the needy and the hurting and Jesus became a national celebrity.

Jesus’ reputation as a master teacher and miracle worker spread across Galilee and Judea like wildfire, prompting people to leave their homes to hear him teach and see him work. Drawn by his compelling words of truth and the hope of healing, crowds followed Jesus wherever he went.

On this particular day, Jesus was invited to teach in a home in Capernaum. It didn’t take long for word to spread. They came from Capernaum and throughout Galilee to hear him speak. Others who had journeyed from Judea, including a group of religious leaders from Jerusalem, caught up to him in this seaside village. As the day progressed, Jesus found himself teaching to a standing-room-only crowd.

The Pharisees took the choice seats in the house where Jesus taught. The rest of the people packed into every nook and cranny, blocking the doorway and leaning in windows trying to catch his words. The crowd eventually spilled out into the street outside, making it impossible for anyone else to get close enough to hear.

Four men traveled for days between villages, constantly following the rumors of Jesus’ location, only to find that he had moved on by the time they arrived. They carried a litter between them, bearing a friend whose body was broken and paralyzed, unable to lift even a finger.

Hearing so much about Jesus’ ability to do the miraculous, they had to get their friend before the great healer. They knew Jesus was their friend’s only hope. As they entered Capernaum, there was a buzz in the town. Jesus was here, teaching in a house near the sea.

Moving through the twisting streets, they followed the crowd to the place where Jesus was teaching. The press of the crowd so great and the people so inconsiderate the men could not get anywhere near the door. Each time they tried to get close they were pushed and shoved to the back of the crowd.

They laid their friend underneath a tree and sat beside him, full of disappointment and despair. One of them kept looking at the house, noticing that they could reach the stairs to the roof. Again picking up their friend, they climbed the steps to the roof of the house. With sticks and fingers, they began to chip away at the mud-covered branches. They work until their fingers began to bleed and they dug some more.

At last, one of them managed to get his hand through the roof. They increased their effort with renewed hope. If they could just get the hole big enough they could lower their friend into the room where Jesus sat.

Inside the room, an arrogant Pharisee looked puzzled and irritated as he brushed the dirt from his sleeve, looking angrily at the ceiling. Jesus, for his part, kept teaching with one eye on the ever-expanding hole above his head.

Finally, even Jesus had to stop what he was doing, the hole and the frenzied activity too great to ignore. With effort, the men began lowering their paralyzed friend by rope into the room until he was resting at the feet of the healer. Perspiring and covered in dirt, they peered into the hole they created and shared the man’s story with Jesus, begging him with such sincere words to heal their friend.

To the chagrin of the religious leaders whose brightly colored robes were flecked with dust and twigs, Jesus acknowledged the great love of these four men who sacrificed their time and energy for their helpless friend. Compassion poured from Jesus’ heart as he knelt beside the stricken man. Nodding in approval of the faith they demonstrated and addressing the man’s deepest need, Jesus held a quiet conversation with the paralyzed man before laying his hand upon his chest in prayer and telling him his sins were forgiven.

The Pharisees muttered to one another in their dusty robes, denouncing Jesus privately for his blasphemy.

“Why does this fellow talk like that? Who can forgive sins but God alone?”

Without hearing their words, Jesus knew their hearts. Never allowing his eyes to leave the man resting on the cot, Jesus responded to their thoughts.

“Which is easier? To say to this paralyzed man, ‘your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Get up, take your mat and walk?”

After a moment his eyes bore into the hearts and souls of the religious leaders until they cringed under the intensity of his gaze. “I want you to know the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins.”

With a deep breath, he paused and prayed. Then, he smiled at the four men poking their heads through the hole in the roof and extended his hand to the paralyzed man. “Get up,” he said as he pulled him to his feet. “Take your mat and go home.”

Every miraculous healing pointed to the power of God demonstrated in Jesus. For anyone paying attention, each act of healing was proof conclusive of God’s power within him. The people left the home amazed at all they had heard and seen.

*****

The story reveals a lot about Jesus. Like the Pharisees we have much to learn about the power and authority we can find in him. But, I find a more personal message in this cherished story demonstrated by the faith of the four friends.

The accounts of this story we find in Mark and Luke are almost identical. Almost word for word. But Luke, the physician, uses a phrase that Mark does not include. Luke wrote this about Jesus,

“And the power was in him to heal the sick…”

On a day when the Holy Spirit was filling Jesus with great power, there was no one present who needed his help. Jesus’ audience that day consisted of people who loved to hear Jesus teach. There were present also a few religious leaders who felt a little threatened and challenged his every word. Yet, other than this one who was brought to Jesus by four wonderful friends, there is no mention of others who were present in need of healing.

On nearly every other occasion where Jesus taught the crowds, we read about the sick, blind, disabled and demon-possessed so desperately in need of Jesus’ touch. But not this day. Given what happened to these four men and their paralyzed friend, we can surmise that many of the sick and helpless were sent away, pushed to the periphery of the crowd. They were not invited inside.

So, despite having the power in him to heal the sick, there was no one present for him to heal…until four men traveled a great distance and refused to go away. I find that moment when they climbed on the roof instructive for my life as a Christian.

Could it be churches have empty pews because we don’t take the initiative to reach out to those in need and bring them to Jesus? Could it be that we find reasonable excuses to disregard the needs of others?

You see, faith demands that we take initiative to bring others to Christ. It wasn’t as if these four friends lived next door to the house where Jesus taught. The scripture implies that the paralyzed man and his friends journeyed over time and distance until they caught up with Jesus. It was an exhaustive effort to carry their friend across hill and valley to reach Jesus.

They didn’t wait for Jesus to come to their village. They didn’t send a messenger begging for Jesus to come for a visit. They didn’t wait for Jesus to just happen by. They didn’t simply tell their friend to find his own way to Jesus. They dropped what they were doing. They picked up the bed and they carried their friend to Capernaum and cared for his needs along the way.

What could happen in our churches if we took the initiative to bring others to Christ? To be enough of a friend to pick up the litter and carry it over time and distance until our hurting friend found the spiritual healing he or she needed and desired. Faith requires us to take the initiative to bring the lost and hurting to Jesus. Faith without service is no faith at all.

There is more to learn in the example of these four friends.

Could it be that churches have empty pews because Christians give up when challenged? Could it be that those who need our help get turned away at the door because we would rather just listen to God’s word than live it?

When these four friends arrived at the house they found every natural entrance blocked by the crowd. Carrying a paralytic and pushing through the unyielding wall of humanity proved impossible. It seemed they had come all that way for nothing.

They could have blamed the unsympathetic crowd. The poor choice of venue that didn’t allow enough people inside. They might have even blamed the paralyzed friend for hurting himself in the first place. When faced with the obstacles, they could have simply gone home. Their faith would not allow them to give up so easily.

Instead, they refused to let the obstacles stand in the way of the healing their friend needed. They found another way. They climbed to the roof and dug in.

You see, sometimes faith requires us to carry the litter to the roof and start chipping away at the dirt and branches until the hole is big enough to let us lower a hurting soul at the feet of our Lord. Faith demands persistence.

Persistent faith digs through a roof. Persistent faith wraps a rope around our hands to bear the weight of those in need.  Persistent faith often leaves us with dirt on our faces, cuts on fingers and rope-burned hands.

Yet, this much is true. When we take the initiative to bring others to Christ and when our faith is persistent in pushing through every obstacle that might prevent us from introducing others to our savior, good things will happen. We will find the power of Christ available to heal and help those in need.

What would happen to the empty pews in our churches if we took the initiative to introduce the world to Jesus? What would happen to the empty pews in our churches if we never gave up or gave in to the obstacles and distractions that stand in the way of ministry and service.

I suspect we might have a hard time finding a place to sit…and that would be just fine.

Waiting for What’s Next

Background Passages: John 21:1-19; Luke 5:1-11

Easter has come and gone. For many of us, the act of remembering Jesus death and the celebration of his resurrection represents the pinnacle of God’s redemptive work. The Bible goes to great lengths in Old Testament prophecy and in New Testament teaching about the miraculous saving work of Jesus Christ. He lived. He died for the sins of the world. He rose again, entering the lives of those who believe as a living Savior. Powerful stuff!

However, it would be a big mistake, I think, for us to live in the resurrection. As necessary as that moment was for our spiritual destiny, God calls us for so much more. Look no farther than one of my favorite episodes in the Bible. It took place just a few weeks after the resurrection on the shore of the Sea of Tiberias.

Peter.
James.
John.
Nathaniel.
Thomas.
Two unnamed disciples.

Seven men
sat around a campfire
smoldering on the shore of the
Sea of Tiberias.
“Go to Galilee and wait for me,”
Jesus told them after his resurrection.
So they sat.
They waited.
Waited some more.

The longer they waited,
the less they talked to one another.
The longer they waited,
the more anxious they became.
Fidgeting.
Uncomfortable.
Mindlessly skipping stones
across the placid water.

Unable to contain himself,
Peter stood.
Balled his fists into the stiff muscles of his lower back.
Looked blankly into the distance.
“I’m going fishing,”
He muttered.

Without another word he walked to his boat,
pebbles crunching under his feet.
Six men with nothing else to do
looked at one another…
“Wait up!
We’ll go with you.”

Even Nathaniel and Thomas,
the only non-fishermen in the group,
raced after him,
eager to do anything but sit.
Anything to break up the endless hours of waiting.

As the sun set,
they set out in their boat,
doing what most of them had done
for years before they met Jesus.

All night they toiled.
Cast and pull.
Cast and pull.

Like fisherman who knew their water,
They moved from one favored spot to another
looking for the schools of fish where they always were.
Yet, they caught nothing.

All night they toiled.
Cast and pull.
Cast and pull.

As the sun broke over the mountains
And the morning haze began to lift,
Peter spread the empty net one last time across boat.
Cupped the solitary, squiggling minnow in his hand.
The first “fish” they caught all night.
He tossed the minnow back into the water
with a sigh deeper than the sea itself.
“Let’s go in.”

As they worked to fold the net and stash their gear,
a voice called to them from the beach.
A man stood ankle deep in the water,
waving at them.
“Friends, have you had any luck?”
He asked.
“Did you catch any fish?”

Their reply simple and terse.
“No.”
Without another word,
they returned to the job at hand.

“Throw your net on the right side of the boat
and you’ll find some,”
the voice on shore suggested.

John’s face flushed with weary anger.
His brother James rolled his eyes.
They knew these waters.
They fished all night.
Sometimes, the fish just weren’t there.

“To the right,”
the voice said again.

Peter, John and James
stopped what they were doing.
Something oddly familiar in the challenge.
A look passed between them.
A memory.

A similar night three years earlier.
A fishing outing.
No fish in the nets.
A voice telling them to cast the nets…
one more time.
A haul so large it threatened to
burst their nets.

A smile passed between the three men
as they remembered the day
Jesus called them to be his disciples.
The day he said,
“Follow me.
I will make you fishers of men.”

Without another thought,
they picked up the folded net.
Tossed it again into the sea…
This time on the right side as instructed.

Together they watched the net sink into the dark water.
Waited a moment.
Pulled the net,
Expecting nothing.

“Must have snagged a rock,”
Peter suggested.
Pulled again with all their strength.
With some effort,
the net reached the surface.
Astounded looks.
Excited shouts.

Peter looked at the teeming net.
Looked to the shore.
The man stood laughing,
clapping his hands in delight.

Peter looked back at the fish
thrashing in the net.
Caught the bewildered eyes of James and John.
Looked back again at the laughing man on the beach.
“It’s Jesus,”
He whispered.

“It’s Jesus,”
He shouted!

Peter turned to Thomas,
giving him his corner of the net.
“Here.
Take this.”

Thomas grabbed the net,
nearly pulled overboard
by the unexpected weight of the catch.

Peter pulled on his tunic.
Dove into the water,
swimming to meet Jesus.
His friends rowed the boat toward shore,
dragging a full net behind them.

By the time they arrived,
Jesus had rekindled the fire.
A couple of fish on the grill.
A loaf of bread baking on the heated stone.
The aroma heavenly.

“Bring some of the fish you just caught,”
Jesus called, ready to prepare a feast for his friends.
With a smile warmer than the sun,
he welcomed them.
Boisterous words.
Bear hugs.
“Come and have some breakfast.”

Such a heartwarming story of friendship and belonging. Jesus’ love for his disciples so evident in the tenor of this scene. Their love for him, equally touching. The man for whom they had waited for these difficult days, sat among them, gutted a few fish, tossed them onto the fire, and prepared a meal for them. He offered a prayer of gratitude for God’s provision. They reconnected in the joy of familiar fellowship.

It’s a wonderful story, but…it doesn’t end there. John tells us they finished eating and strolled down the beach together. Their festive breakfast reunion yielding to a quiet conversation of critical importance.

Jesus kicked over a smooth stone with the toe of his sandal.
Bent over.
Picked it up.
Tossed it absently into the water.
Watched the ripples spread from its splash.
A private metaphor for the broadening reach
of his good news.

“Peter,”
he said quietly,
drawing the disciple closer.
“Do you love me more than these?”

Without hesitation.
“Yes, Lord,”
he answered,
“You know that I love you.”

“Feed my lambs.”

Peter shook his head in wonder.
His forehead wrinkled in thought.
“What brought that on?”

A minute later.
“Peter,”
Jesus said again.
The strength of his voice
drew the attention of the other
disciples walking nearby.
“Do you love me?”

Peter stood his ground.
Confused, but determined.
“Yes, Lord!
You know that I love you!”

Jesus’ eyes bore into his soul.
“Take care of my sheep.”

Moments passed.
Everyone lost in thought.
Jesus stopped walking.
The disciples in a semi-circle around him.
He looked at all of them.
Then, looked Peter in the eye.

“Peter,
do you love me?”

Tears filled the disciple’s eyes.
His heart hurt.
Thoughts swirled in his head.
“Does he not believe me?”
“Why does he keep asking?”
“Surely he knows what I feel.”

Peter could not hold the intensity of Jesus’ gaze.
He turned. Stared at a distant fishing boat.
Thinking of the life he once loved.
His mind racing through the last three years.
A montage of images.

He took a deep breath.
Turned back to stare into the
eyes of his Christ.
Emphatic.
“Lord, you know all things.
You know that I love you.”

Two men.
Eyes locked on one another.
Jesus stepped forward.
Draped his arms across Peter’s broad shoulders.
Touched forehead to forehead.
“Feed my sheep.”

Then,
Jesus held Peter at arm’s length.
Flashed a trademark smile
at Peter and the men surrounding them.
He turned Peter around.
Draped his arm around his shoulder.
Grabbed John and did the same.
Walking between them,
He echoed the exact words
he used three years earlier.
To these same men.
On this same beach.

“Follow me.”

Inevitably, we study these two stories—the casting of the net…Jesus’ poignant questioning of Peter…as separate events. Separate truths. Reading through these verses again this week, I view them as one story. As a significant and necessary reminder that we have been called, not just to believe, but to serve.

It is hard to wait on God. It’s hard to wait on Jesus. It’s hard to wait on the Spirit. Think of the time in your life where you wondered, “God, I’m at a crossroad. What comes next?” What do we do when we’re unsure of what to do next?

The disciples were at a crossroad of eternal importance. Their world had been turned upside down. The horror of the cross. Feeling lost and alone. The euphoria of the resurrection. The ground beneath them must have felt like quicksand.

In the days immediately after his resurrection, Jesus sent his disciples to Galilee, promising that he would meet them there. They filtered out of Jerusalem. Headed north. They waited. Days passed and Jesus had not shown up. They had to be wondering, “What’s next for us?”

The disciples went to Galilee facing an uncertain future. Christian writer Elizabeth Elliot suggested in one of her books, “When you don’t know what to do next, do the next thing.” In this moment of waiting, the disciples didn’t know what to do next, so they did what they knew. They climbed into a boat, pushed out to sea and went fishing. Cast and pull. Cast and pull.

Here’s the beauty of how God works in our lives. He uses the familiar to remind us of our connection to him. Every one of us who has committed our lives to Christ can remember that moment with clarity. It is a precious memory. Like us, I imagine each of the disciples could recall the exact moment when Jesus extended his call to them. What they were doing. What he said. How they felt. For most of the disciples on the boat on this particular day, the teeming net served as the trigger that reminded them of Jesus’ call. Reminded them of what they were called to do.

In the middle of their “What’s next?” moment, Jesus used the teeming net to repaint a picture of God’s call to service that had been so vividly etched into their hearts. In doing so, he reminded them of their purpose in life…a purpose muddled by the events in Jerusalem. “I will make you fishers of men.”

Lesson one. When you don’t know what to do next, go back to your beginning with Christ. Remember the joy of your salvation and the purpose to which God called you. Put yourself in the right position…the right attitude…to be receptive to a gentle reminder from God. When that disembodied voice from your past tells you cast your net on the other side, it’s okay to roll your eyes if it makes no sense under the circumstance. But, cast it anyway. You never know what you will catch.

Lesson two. If the disciples didn’t fully grasp the metaphor, Jesus took the opportunity to explain it in words. In John’s follow up to this heartwarming moment in the lives of Jesus and his disciples, we see the men walking along the shore after a hearty breakfast and wonderful fellowship. Jesus posed a question to Peter. “Do you love me?” Three times asked. Three times answered. “You know I love you.”

Now, the questions probably served as an act of redemption for Peter who had denied Christ three times. I can accept that as an ancillary motive for the questioning, but I don’t think it was Jesus’ main purpose.

Casting the net and pulling in that amazing catch allowed the disciples to bask in the warmth of their relationship with a resurrected Christ, but that’s not why they were called. They were called to minister. To serve. To do the work of God. As they walked the shoreline, Jesus refocused them…pointed them outward.

“Feed my lambs.”

“Take care of my sheep.”

“Feed my sheep.”

You see, it’s not enough to live in the glow of the resurrection morning. It’s not enough to celebrate Easter.

After reminding Peter and the other disciples to “feed my sheep,” Jesus said simply. “Follow me.” It’s not enough to love God. If our love doesn’t change the way we live every day…if it doesn’t compel us to serve…if it doesn’t encourage us to live each day as Jesus lived…we’re just going fishing

…and catching nothing.

So, let’s cast our nets. Let’s remember a Christ who died and rose again. Then, let’s find a few sheep to feed.

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.

 

Strain the Camel

Background Passages: Matthew 23:23-24; 2 Timothy 1:7

I don’t much like weeding the garden. Well, that’s not exactly true. I hate weeding the garden.

Recognizing it needs to be done from time to time, I started in one small corner and began pulling up the blanket of milkweed that covered the topsoil. Painstaking and boring. I finished a 10-foot section of ground and looked back on what I had accomplished. All the milkweed was gone. Yet, there in the middle of the flowerbed I just cleared stood a very proud, 18-inch dandelion with a bright, yellow flower on top. So focused on the little weeds, I missed the big, ugly one right in front of me.

I wonder if that was what it was like for the Pharisees as they settled into their comfortable lives. So focused were they on complete obedience to the letter of law that they missed its intent. So comfortable in the routine of religion, they ignored the needs of a lost world, never practicing what they preached.

In other words, they laboriously pulled the milkweed, but ignored the dandelion. Jesus’ call to righteous living put a spotlight on the dandelion.

In the last days of Jesus’ ministry prior to his journey to the cross, we find him spending more and more time grounding his disciples in the deepest fundamentals of faith. The more he talked about the kingdom of God, the more his opponents protested, pressured and plotted to eliminate him.

Instead of a concentrated effort to discern the truth the Pharisees made a concerted effort to discredit every word he spoke. They picked at the minuscule and ignored the material. A master of hyperbole, Jesus challenged their hypocrisy. The religious leaders of the day took great care to cross every “t” and dot every “i” in their quest for religious piety. So focused were they on the legalities of religion, they missed the point of faith.

Jesus acknowledged that they regularly gave their tithes of mint, dill and cumin, but he chided them for failing to practice the important matters of the very law they claimed to obey. Where is justice? Mercy? Faithfulness? “You should have practiced the latter without neglecting the former.”

Jesus took them to task for their improper perspective. “You blind guides! You strain out a gnat, but swallow a camel.”

Had I been standing next to Peter and John that day, I’m pretty sure the snicker I failed to choke back would have drawn an ugly glare from the closest Pharisee and a pained glance from Jesus that said, “Really? That’s your contribution to this debate?”

What a powerful commentary Jesus made with a tongue-in-cheek comment. It is a brilliant analysis of the problems preventing the Pharisees from accepting the new truth Jesus brought to the world. They were so driven by the principle of not eating what they deemed unclean that they would use a cloth to strain their drink to make sure they would not accidentally consume the tiny, filthy insect. Yet, they never seemed to see the camel they swallowed whole.

Had I been walking next to Jesus later that afternoon, I suspect I might have apologized and rationalized my inappropriate behavior. “I’m sorry, Jesus, but that was a good line. Pretty funny. Did you see their faces?”

I think Jesus would have put his arm around me and said with a rueful smile, “It might have been funnier if it weren’t also true in your life, too, my friend.” As my mind reeled, I’d hear something about ignoring the 4” x 4” beam in my own eye.

I am, at times, guilty of the same Pharisaical behavior. The Pharisees practiced their faith. They made dedicated effort to comply with the ritual and rules, focusing in extreme measure on the “thou shalts” and the “thou shalt nots,” while spending precious little time on the “love thy neighbor.” Being right was a higher calling than doing right. I may not always be that different.

You and I live in a time when it’s fashionable to be hypercritical. To declare ourselves politically and socially holier than thou. You and I live in a time when pronouncing our truth rides roughshod over proclaiming his truth. When we love the sound of our own voice rather than seeking to sound the voice of love. Such arrogance drives people away from the very one to whom our deeds and our words should point and proclaim.

It’s easy to play the Christian card in a world struggling to do what’s right. Attend church every week. Sing a few songs. Sit through the sermon. Study his word in Sunday School. Gather up a few old clothes to give to the poor every now and again. Now, somehow, I’m better that that other poor soul. It’s not that these things are wrong. Like Jesus reminded the Pharisees, these are things that should not be neglected.

However, when we focus on the “things” of our religion to the exclusion of the crucial matters of our faith…justice, forgiveness, love, compassion, truth…

…we become critical rather than encouraging…

…we divide rather than bring together…

…we falsely elevate our standing in the eyes of God, and…

…we fail in the deeper call of Christ.

We wonder all the time how the Pharisees could be so obtuse, time and time again failing to recognize the truth of Jesus’s words because they threatened to push them out of their comfort zone. The truth is they lived in fear of the kingdom of God that Jesus personified. It upset their apple carts and threatened to pull down their carefully constructed walls that isolated them from a world in need.

Jesus tells them, “You put on a good front. Make a good show of things. But, your heart cannot see what I see. Until it does, you will continue to go through the motions, critical of those less “pious,” feeling safe and comfortable within the walls you built around you.

“Until you see the world through my eyes and move past the ritual and routine, you’ll keep straining that gnat and eating that camel.”

Jesus calls me to keep doing those things I ought to be doing, but to focus on what matters most. I must set aside the fear that keeps me from embracing in love a world that knows no better way. I need to step outside my comfort zone. To challenge what I believe and dig deeper until God teaches me the next thing I need to know to become more like him. Fear stared the Pharisees in the face and gripped their hearts. It does the same to me at times.

When he needed to encourage Timothy, the young pastor of Ephesus, Paul reminded him,

“God did not give us a spirit of timidity and fear, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.”

I also find that encouraging. My ability to move past the trappings of religion and into a full expression of faith rests not in my own ability, but in the power of God through his spirit within me. My desire to love others will not come from the goodness of my own heart but from a realization of sacrificial love and mercy God extends to me every day. My desire to see the needs of those around me and to, therefore, act, comes from the discipline to be more like Christ every day in every way.

I don’t know if you feel the same way at times, but, if we assume we’re doing pretty well at filtering out our gnats, maybe it’s time we both strain the camel.

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.

Chase the Lion

Background Passages: II Samuel 23:20; Jeremiah 29:11

The list of places to see and things to do on our imaginary bucket list grows shorter each year. One particular trip remains unchecked. We want to go on a photo safari to Africa. After far too many trips to the zoo, I’d really like to see these magnificent animals in the wild…the way God intended them to be.

Certain movies create that kind of visceral response. The Ghost and the Darkness, a 1996 movie starring Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer, is one of those movies that triggers primal fear within me. The Ghost and the Darkness is based on a true story about the Tsave Man-Eaters…two African lions that terrorized the workers on the Uganda-Mombasa Railroad in western Kenya in 1898. Atypical of most lion attacks, Ghost and Darkness would stalk the campsite and drag their victims from the tents into the tall grass.

Work on the project ceased when the workers refused to enter the area. The railroad company hired famed British hunter, John Henry Patterson to track and kill the lions. In the story of man versus beast, the hunter became the hunted as the animals began intentionally stalking Patterson. Every time I watch it I find it absolutely terrifying. That we have yet to go on our photo safari may best be explained by that movie and my irrational fear of being mauled by a lion.

Maybe that’s why an obscure verse in II Samuel caught my eye.

“Benaiah, son of Jehoiada, was a valiant fighter from Kabzeel who performed great exploits. He struck down two of Moab’s best men. He also went down into a pit on a snowy day and killed a lion.” (II Sam. 23:20)

I don’t know why Benaiah felt compelled to jump into the pit with a lion when most of us would run the other way. It was cold. Snowing. Perhaps the lion’s ordinary prey grew scarce in the frigid temperatures. Maybe the lion was terrorizing the village. Regardless, Benaiah took it upon himself to chase the animal down. When it fell into a pit or tried to hide in a cave (depending on your translation), Benaiah jumped in after him.

If you stayed outside the pit like I would, you would probably hear the frightening roar of the angry lion and the shouts of a determined man. The sounds of a life and death struggle would echo from the depths. Then, silence. You might hear the scratching of someone or something scrambling up the walls of the pit. As you start backing away, you see a hand grab the overhanging tree branch. Benaiah drags himself out of the pit. He lies in the grass catching his breath, scratched and bloodied, but victorious.

In his book, Chase the Lion, author Mark Batterson uses this little known scripture to challenge the reader to face fear and chase the will of God even when the path looks far too difficult. He writes, “In every dream journey there comes a moment when you have to quit living as if the purpose of life is to arrive safely at death. You have to go after the dream that is destined to fail without divine intervention.”

As Christians we are taught from the beginning that God has a plan and purpose for our lives. What most of us find is that the dream he gives us scares us. His will looks far too difficult. Our natural tendency is to reject what looks too hard. We look for an easier path. But, Jesus told his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me.” (Luke 9:23) In other words, I should set aside my own will and desire to follow the more difficult path God has chosen for me…the one that requires me to take up his cross every day.

He doesn’t call us to play it safe. If that was his intention, we would have little need for him. No. The life he chose for us will not be easy, but the victory is already won. Later Jesus said, “I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)

God’s plan for each of us requires us to chase the lion. That’s not always the most comfortable thing to do. We see the path God has laid out in front of us. Solitary lion tracks in the snow. A distant blood-curdling roar. Suddenly, we see clearly that God’s path takes us outside our comfort zone, especially when the path we want to take looks well-traveled. Smooth. Secure. Safe.

The Bible gives us examples beyond Benaiah of those who chose to chase…

Noah chased his lion onto the ark.
David chased his lion to Goliath.
Jesus chased his lion to the cross.
Peter chased his lion onto the water.
Paul chased his lion to Rome.

Lest we think such courage is best left to Bible characters…

Martin Luther tacked his lion’s carcass to the door of the cathedral.
The Pilgrims chased their lion to a new world.
Dietrich Bonhoeffer chased his lion to a Nazi concentration camp.
Martin Luther King chased his lion to Selma.
Billy Graham chased his lion across the earth.

Knowing the difficulty of the task to which God called them, each of these biblical and modern day heroes of faith probably wished to run the other way at some point. Instead, they chose to chase the lion. Maybe at some point, they heard the same voice Joshua heard when he fearfully scanned the Promised Land from the safety of his bank of the Jordan River. Maybe they, too, heard the voice of God saying,

“Have I not commanded you? Be strong and of good courage. Don’t be afraid. Do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.” (Joshua 1:9)

I don’t know what lions you’re facing. I know they all look frightening. I have faced a few of my own. All I know is that God wants us to chase his will. To follow where he leads. When we turn and run the other way, we’re missing out on the best God has to offer simply because it is his plan and not one we dreamed up on our own.

“I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord. “Plans to prosper you and not to harm you. Plans to give you hope and a future.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

So when you hear the lion roar, know that his blessing comes in the chase. Our victory comes in the pit. Gather your courage and jump on in.

Help My Unbelief

Matthew 17:14-21; Mark 9:14-29; Romans 8:26-27

Life can change in a heartbeat. One moment we are dancing on the mountaintop. The next moment we are trudging through the muck in the valley. One moment buoyed in faith. The next set upon by a world cloaked in doubt.

Jesus moved so easily between his mountaintop experiences and those moments that surely sucked the breath from his lungs. We find one such episode following the Transfiguration. Jesus found himself wrapped in the arms of his Father God, strengthened by his Father’s presence. Within moments, he was immersed in a pitched battle of wills that stripped away the deep sense of peace he enjoyed at the top of the mountain.

Halfway down the mountainside
Jesus heard
the first echo of angry shouts.
Glanced at his three trusted friends,
heart beating faster.
Quickening their pace,
they scurried down the slope toward
the sound of madness.
In a heartbeat,
Jesus traded the
tranquility of the transfiguration
for the
frenzy of a fight.

Reaching the bottom of the path,
Jesus pushed through a bewildered crowd
to find his disciples squared off against
an equal number of scribes.
Hurling insults at one another.
Jesus stepped to the center of the melee.
The crowd grew quiet.
Silenced by Jesus’ sudden appearance.
The bitter argument of rivals
Ceased when Jesus stepped into the clearing.

His eyes shifted back and forth between
the scribes and
his disciples.
Jesus turned to Simon the Zealot
standing at the front of the disciples
Fists clenched.
Jaw set in anger.

Tilting his head toward the scribes,
Jesus asked in a wary voice,

“What are you arguing with them about?”

The quarrel erupted anew.
Each side shouting.
Pointing fingers.
Jesus cringed at the hostility.

Before Jesus could silence them,
a man grabbed his arm.
Caught his attention.
Something in his eyes convinced Jesus
to walk with him a short distance
from the heated confrontation.

“I brought you my son today…”

And the words flowed unrestrained.
First a halting trickle of detail.
Then a torrent of despair.
Unburdening his heart to a healer
concerning the nature of the severe illness
that plagued his son for years.
Growing worse with each passing day.
Sapping the boy’s strength.
Threatening his life.

“I asked your disciples to heal him
but they could not.”

The scribes who had followed from a distance,
erupted in laughter.
Seized the opportunity to belittle the disciples
and their master.
The failure of the disciples
opened the door for them to
discredit Jesus for their incompetence.

The disciples.
Seeing the pained look in Jesus’ eyes,
studied the ground at their feet.
Defiance before the scribes turned to
embarrassment and shame.

Jesus ran his left hand through his hair,.
Rubbed his eyes.
Smoothed his beard.
Deep in thought.
The shake of his head almost imperceptible.
A heavy sigh escaped his lips.
The master spoke quietly to his disciples.

“Oh, faithless generation.
How long shall I stay with you?
How long shall I put up with you?”

He turned to the father.
“Bring the boy to me.”

We learn something about Jesus in this passage that instructs us about living in the moment. Jesus just experienced the most moving moment in his earthly life. In the ultimate of mountaintop experiences, Jesus’ work gained affirmation from the father in the presence of Moses and Elijah. For a brief time, Jesus walked in the bright light of God’s presence and praise.

Every one of us can relate for all of us have longed to hear our father’s praise…to hear our father’s words of love. Jesus stood in the middle of a heavenly scene and heard his Father proclaim, “This is my Son, whom I love. Listen to him.”

Can you imagine the overwhelming joy of that personal and poignant moment? More certain than ever of his role in God’s plan to redeem humanity, Jesus committed himself again to the cross. It was the assurance he needed.

Jesus shared that experience with his three closest friends. In the afterglow of the Transfiguration, I can see them standing in a circle with their arms around each other’s shoulders, foreheads almost touching in that prayerful and mind-boggling moment. Expressions of wonder plastered on amazed faces. “Did we see what we just saw? Did we hear what we just heard?”

What a tremendous moment of absolute joy!

Within the hour, though, Jesus found himself in the valley, facing yet another human crisis. He just reaffirmed his commitment to the cross only to find his closest followers baffled and beaten in the task for which he had called them from their tax tables and fishing nets.

In that moment when the disciples could no longer look him in the eye, Jesus must have felt the weight of the world again upon his shoulders. Gone was the aura of glory. In its place, the painful reality of the work that still needed to be done. To go to the cross would be difficult enough. The change human nature might be the more hopeless task. If he could not capture the trust of those closest to him while he was present among them, how could their faith survive the cross?

How often have our mountaintop experiences been followed by that which seemed hopeless? The joy of the mountain rarely survives the walk in the valley. In that moment of crisis, how do we cling to a shaken faith?

Jesus provided an answer. The savior didn’t let his moments of despair overwhelm him. At a time when he surely wondered if mankind would ever find the faith they needed, he did the one thing he knew he could do. He changed the circumstances of a little boy. He changed what he could.

Living as a Christian in an angry, despairing world challenges our faith. Begs us to make a difference. We wonder how we can impact a world that refuses to listen? What can one person do? We lose heart. Lose faith.

Jesus teaches us in this episode that we draw upon the reserves of faith energized on the mountaintop to enable us to deal with the inevitable valley moment. To not let the faithlessness of the world drain our energy or resolve. Jesus shows us that we fight through the episodes that discourage us, finding that thing we can do and doing it, rather than giving in to our despair.

That, my friends, is a lesson I need to learn in this day as I grow so frustrated with the rancid animosity and argument so prevalent in society. When I wonder what I can do to change the world I need only follow Jesus’ example. His example tells me to change what I can. We were not saved by God to stay on the mountain, but to get down in the valley and change what we can.

This passage teaches another great lesson about coming to terms with our struggling faith. God uses even our shrouded faith to accomplish his will. A little is often enough.

Join me back in the story. Jesus asked the father to bring the boy to him. The father obediently carried his boy to Jesus, standing him in front of the great healer. Immediately, the young boy suffered another seizure…violent and terrifying. As the boy fell to the ground trembling, I can imagine Jesus dropping to his knees, placing his hand on the boy’s chest, trying to quiet the tremors.

With his eyes never leaving the boy, Jesus asked the father, “How long has he been like this?” The question was not a medical inquiry. Rather, hear the heartfelt compassion Jesus felt for the misery suffered by an innocent child. The father shared more of the boy’s story and finally asked the favor he wanted to ask of Jesus when he approached the disciples earlier that day. “If you can do anything, take pity on him and help us.”

Jesus looked up at the father, “If you can?…” Hoping to see a glint of faith reflected in the man’s eyes. “Everything is possible for him who believes.”

With tears in his eyes, the father responded, “I do believe, but help me with my unbelief.”

What a true confession of this father’s heart. What a true confession of my own soul. He came seeking Jesus. When Jesus was absent, he thought he found the next best thing…Jesus’ disciples. Whatever faith he brought to the mountain was thrown to the wind by the disciples’ inability to help. The result left him so discouraged that all he could muster when Jesus asked his question was a whispered plea, “If you can…”

Face to face with Jesus, his fragile faith bubbled to the surface. Oh, how his words echo how I feel at times. “I do believe, Jesus. I believe, but I am so discouraged. Doubt is my constant companion. Please, Lord, take away the uncertainty and replace it with unquestioned belief.”

God moves when imperfect faith cries out to a perfect savior. Belief, though flooded with doubt, calls out to the only one who can fix that which is broken. “If you can….” The Father’s prayer is often my prayer. The father’s doubt is my doubt. The father’s reservation is my reservation. I live all too often in this shallow faith, hoping it is enough.

That’s always what I thought this verse taught as if God were saying “If only your faith were stronger, I could act upon your request.” I suspect there is a measure of truth in that interpretation. However, I look at the verse and wonder if Jesus did not hear the father’s profession of doubt-filled faith as sufficient. Might Jesus be telling him, “Listen, everything is possible for him who believes. Give me whatever faith you have, no matter how limited, because my belief in the father is big enough for both of us.”

Follow me again to the story.

Evening comes.
Jesus and his disciples
lay upon the roof of a house,
staring at the stars glittering the night sky.
Tired after a long day.
But sleep will not come.

In the silence surrounding them,
The disciples think about what happened.
Weeks prior they walked two by two
preaching, teaching and healing
in the power of God.
This morning,
when the father lay is son at their feet…
Dismal failure.
Humiliation.
Embarrassment.
From the mountaintop to the valley.

A raspy voice breaks the silence.
Maybe Simon the Zealot.
Mustering all his nerve,
asks the question all wanted to ask.

“Jesus,
Why could we not heal the boy?”

In this teachable moment, Jesus spoke quietly.
“This kind of thing requires prayer.
This kind of thing requires faith.”
Thinking back on the father with feeble,
but sincere faith,
Jesus added,
“Faith as small as a mustard seed
can move a mountain.”

Hyperbole? Maybe. But maybe this story hits upon the central truth of the matter. Jesus doesn’t ask us for perfect faith because we are imperfect. He asks for whatever faith we have to be placed in his hands…If for no other reason that he has enough faith in the grace, goodness and the power of God for all of us as he lifts our needs to the Father in heaven.

Paul shared this with the church in Rome.

“In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express. He who searches our hearts knows the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints in accordance with God’s will.”

Place at his feet whatever faith we have and he will take it to the throne of God with the perfect faith of the Spirit.

So, I like this story because we can identify at times with Jesus who came off this amazing mountaintop experience only to find disorder and disarray. Next time we come off a spiritual high, we can look amid the inevitable chaos, as Jesus did, for what we can do and we can do it.

Then, if we find our faith blanketed by the mist of doubt, like the father in the story, let’s give Jesus all the faith we hold no matter how small. Declaring before God, “Help us in our unbelief.” And knowing more that his trust in the Father is enough for all of us.

Plant your mustard seed. Move a mountain.