And God spoke all these words . . . (Exodus 20:1).
“Can you make the Costco run today?”
I paused to be sure I had heard her correctly. The trip to Costco is no small matter in our world. Costco is the central supply station for much of what sustains life in our home. Being asked to do this was a bit like a minor league player being called up to the big leagues. I wanted to get it right. Better make a list.
I find satisfaction in making lists. Lists allow me to plan my day; lists are a tangible indicator of progress and accomplishment; lists bring order to chaos; lists allow reflection on priorities, what comes first and what can wait.
But lists are static and inanimate things. When I went to Costco the list was important. It told me exactly what to do. But it was only important because before there was a list there was a voice. My wife’s speaking came first. She knew what we needed. I didn’t have clue. Her words were primary. The list was secondary.
Listening precedes listing. It was true for me at Costco. And it was true for Moses at Mount Sinai.
A couple of days we noted that for many of us the Ten commandments have been reduced to a list, inscribed tablets of stone, silent and foreboding. Fair enough. Exodus 32:16 says plainly that the tablets were “the work of God; the writing was the writing of God, engraved on the tablets.” So yes, we have a written list of commandments.
But God did not give his instruction by writing, at least not at first. First, God spoke. This is how Exodus 20 begins: “And God spoke all these words.” The commandments are not a lifeless list; they are a living voice. Our primary task is to listen for this voice. If we refuse to listen to the voice, we will never be moved to pay attention to the list.
In C. S. Lewis’ Narnia story titled The Magician’s Nephew there is a scene in which Aslan the Lion is singing Narnia into being. A character in that story, Uncle Andrew, is convinced that Lions cannot sing. Lewis writes,
The longer and more beautiful the Lion sang, the harder Uncle Andrew tried to make himself believe that he could hear nothing but roaring. Now the trouble about trying to make yourself stupider than you really are is that you very often succeed. Uncle Andrew did. He soon did hear nothing but roaring in Aslan’s song. Soon he couldn’t have heard anything else even if he had wanted to. And when at last the Lion spoke and said “Narnia awake,” he didn’t hear any words; he heard only a snarl.
There are many who hear the Ten Commandments as a snarl, a harping list of demands or rules. But these words are God’s voice; they are a song. The list is important, but listening precedes listing. If you have not done so already, take a few moments to sit down and read the Ten Commandments. Read them slowly. As you read, listen.
What do you hear in the Ten Commandments?
Prayer:
Before we act in obedience, O God, help us to listen in devotion to you. Tune our hearts to the sound of your voce in your Law. Help us to live in loving response, we ask in Jesus’ name, Amen.
Tuesday, February 05, 2013
Monday, February 04, 2013
"Stay with Me"
You shall have no other gods before me (Exodus 20:3).
Years ago when my children were small I took them out for an afternoon hike on the trails of the Chattahoochee National Park. This park system has a number of locations along the Chattahoochee and this particular site features some beautiful wooded paths that snake along large outcroppings of rock. The main attraction to which all trails lead is the stone-speckled creek that feeds the Chattahoochee River.
Having tossed a water bottle and a pack of saltines into a small backpack, we set out for what I thought would be a pleasant stroll through the woods, an easy and wholesome way to get my suburbanite kids outdoors. Once we had parked and made our way to the trailhead I had to do a reality check.
Turns out our simple stroll wasn’t going to be so simple. And we would not merely be strolling. We would be hiking – leaning into some healthy climbs and digging in our heels on some sharp descents here and there. All of this was complicated further by the fact that the park is made up of a network of trails, multiple paths of varying length. If you wished, you could be gone for the better part of the day. Did I mention that my children were small?
I chose a path that would allow us to have adventure, start to finish, within a two hour block of time. As we set out I gave my kids one simple word of instruction: “Stay with me.”
The entire experience would depend upon their willingness to heed that one simple instruction. “Stay with me: do not go running off; do not deviate to other interesting trails; do not rush ahead out of my sight; do not linger behind in isolation. Sometimes I’ll walk in front leading the way; at other times I’ll behind you urging you on. Just stay with me.”
I did not say to them, “Study the map and meet me back at the car in two hours.”
When God gave his ‘ten words’ of command to his people he started with this very instruction: Stay with me. “I am the Lord your God . . . you shall have no other gods.” If we rush past this in our hurry to find out what God wants us to do, we will never truly understand the Ten Commandments.
Most of us think that the Ten Commandments are about behavior, doing what God wants us to do. But before God speaks about behavior he speaks of belonging. We are God’s people. God does not simply want us to be good. God wants us to be his. “Stay with me.”
Until we know to whom we belong, we will not know how to behave.
Allow this simple truth to rest gently on your mind throughout the day: you belong to God. Stay with him. Don’t rush ahead where has not led you. Don’t linger behind or turn aside to another path that seems appealing. In his Law God offers a lamp for your feet and a light for your path. But first he offers his love.
“I am the Lord your God . . . stay with me.”
Prayer:
Whatever this day brings, wherever this day leads, we will stay with you O God. Thank you for your faithfulness: going before us making a way, ever behind us urging us on. Thank you for claiming us and making us yours in your son Jesus, in whose name we pray. Amen.
Years ago when my children were small I took them out for an afternoon hike on the trails of the Chattahoochee National Park. This park system has a number of locations along the Chattahoochee and this particular site features some beautiful wooded paths that snake along large outcroppings of rock. The main attraction to which all trails lead is the stone-speckled creek that feeds the Chattahoochee River.
Having tossed a water bottle and a pack of saltines into a small backpack, we set out for what I thought would be a pleasant stroll through the woods, an easy and wholesome way to get my suburbanite kids outdoors. Once we had parked and made our way to the trailhead I had to do a reality check.
Turns out our simple stroll wasn’t going to be so simple. And we would not merely be strolling. We would be hiking – leaning into some healthy climbs and digging in our heels on some sharp descents here and there. All of this was complicated further by the fact that the park is made up of a network of trails, multiple paths of varying length. If you wished, you could be gone for the better part of the day. Did I mention that my children were small?
I chose a path that would allow us to have adventure, start to finish, within a two hour block of time. As we set out I gave my kids one simple word of instruction: “Stay with me.”
The entire experience would depend upon their willingness to heed that one simple instruction. “Stay with me: do not go running off; do not deviate to other interesting trails; do not rush ahead out of my sight; do not linger behind in isolation. Sometimes I’ll walk in front leading the way; at other times I’ll behind you urging you on. Just stay with me.”
I did not say to them, “Study the map and meet me back at the car in two hours.”
When God gave his ‘ten words’ of command to his people he started with this very instruction: Stay with me. “I am the Lord your God . . . you shall have no other gods.” If we rush past this in our hurry to find out what God wants us to do, we will never truly understand the Ten Commandments.
Most of us think that the Ten Commandments are about behavior, doing what God wants us to do. But before God speaks about behavior he speaks of belonging. We are God’s people. God does not simply want us to be good. God wants us to be his. “Stay with me.”
Until we know to whom we belong, we will not know how to behave.
Allow this simple truth to rest gently on your mind throughout the day: you belong to God. Stay with him. Don’t rush ahead where has not led you. Don’t linger behind or turn aside to another path that seems appealing. In his Law God offers a lamp for your feet and a light for your path. But first he offers his love.
“I am the Lord your God . . . stay with me.”
Prayer:
Whatever this day brings, wherever this day leads, we will stay with you O God. Thank you for your faithfulness: going before us making a way, ever behind us urging us on. Thank you for claiming us and making us yours in your son Jesus, in whose name we pray. Amen.
Sunday, February 03, 2013
The Path
I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free (Psalm 119:32).
As I sit down to write this I’ve just spent the past hour watching my daughter throw a Lacrosse ball against a concrete wall. Her coach gave her a series of exercises that amounted to 325 throws. The point of the exercises: to master the basics by means of repetition.
Today we begin a series of reflections that will lead us over some familiar ground. In the weeks to come we will linger with that body of material from the Hebrew Scriptures known as the Ten Commandments. Our aim differs little from that of my daughter’s Lacrosse exercises. We will be getting back to basics, mastering fundamentals by means of repetition.
Sounds simple enough. There’s plenty to be said for getting back to basics. There is much good to be derived from repetition.
But if the repetitions are somehow flawed all we do is grow increasingly comfortable with our errors. Doing 325 throws against the wall is good, unless the form of the throw is defective. Then the only thing learned is how to do a poor throw. The same risk confronts us as we turn our attention to the Ten Commandments.
It’s no simple task to untangle the knot of misconceptions wrapped around the Ten Commandments. These ten statements - often called the ‘Decalogue’ or ‘ten words’ – have accumulated a thick crust of faulty associations. If nothing else, common portrayals of the tablets have shaped our imaginations. Two matching pieces of stone, thick and heavy, domed at the top, typically showing parallel lists designated with large Roman numerals.
Somewhere along the way, between Mount Sinai and wherever you are right now, the Law became a list. And then the list became a load. The list told us what to do, a means by which we could measure our moral aptitude. To the extent that we fell short of what the list required it became a burdensome load.
So for the weeks to come we will work with a different image. We will explore God’s law as a path.
There’s nothing new about this. In fact, to speak of God’s law as a path is to return to what the Hebrews understood from the get-go. For proof take a look at Psalm 119. This Psalm is the longest single chapter of the Bible, 176 verses of leisurely meditation on the Law of God. Over and over again the Law is spoken of as a path. “I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free.”
We begin with an invitation. You are being invited to run in the path of his commands, and in doing so you are being called to a truly free life. What kind of path are you on today? How did you come to find it – and where is it taking you?
God’s law was meant to be a gift, not a burden. Tomorrow we’ll take our first steps on the path that leads to the life we were meant to have.
Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, as we begin these days of exploration. Your word “is a lamp to our feet and a light unto our path.” Lead us by your law to the life you for which you made us, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
As I sit down to write this I’ve just spent the past hour watching my daughter throw a Lacrosse ball against a concrete wall. Her coach gave her a series of exercises that amounted to 325 throws. The point of the exercises: to master the basics by means of repetition.
Today we begin a series of reflections that will lead us over some familiar ground. In the weeks to come we will linger with that body of material from the Hebrew Scriptures known as the Ten Commandments. Our aim differs little from that of my daughter’s Lacrosse exercises. We will be getting back to basics, mastering fundamentals by means of repetition.
Sounds simple enough. There’s plenty to be said for getting back to basics. There is much good to be derived from repetition.
But if the repetitions are somehow flawed all we do is grow increasingly comfortable with our errors. Doing 325 throws against the wall is good, unless the form of the throw is defective. Then the only thing learned is how to do a poor throw. The same risk confronts us as we turn our attention to the Ten Commandments.
It’s no simple task to untangle the knot of misconceptions wrapped around the Ten Commandments. These ten statements - often called the ‘Decalogue’ or ‘ten words’ – have accumulated a thick crust of faulty associations. If nothing else, common portrayals of the tablets have shaped our imaginations. Two matching pieces of stone, thick and heavy, domed at the top, typically showing parallel lists designated with large Roman numerals.
Somewhere along the way, between Mount Sinai and wherever you are right now, the Law became a list. And then the list became a load. The list told us what to do, a means by which we could measure our moral aptitude. To the extent that we fell short of what the list required it became a burdensome load.
So for the weeks to come we will work with a different image. We will explore God’s law as a path.
There’s nothing new about this. In fact, to speak of God’s law as a path is to return to what the Hebrews understood from the get-go. For proof take a look at Psalm 119. This Psalm is the longest single chapter of the Bible, 176 verses of leisurely meditation on the Law of God. Over and over again the Law is spoken of as a path. “I run in the path of your commands for you have set my heart free.”
We begin with an invitation. You are being invited to run in the path of his commands, and in doing so you are being called to a truly free life. What kind of path are you on today? How did you come to find it – and where is it taking you?
God’s law was meant to be a gift, not a burden. Tomorrow we’ll take our first steps on the path that leads to the life we were meant to have.
Prayer:
Grant us grace, O God, as we begin these days of exploration. Your word “is a lamp to our feet and a light unto our path.” Lead us by your law to the life you for which you made us, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Unbroken and Unchained
We are hard pressed on every side, but not crushed . . . (2 Cor. 4:7-12).
What the jailers might have noticed first was his back.
The scars crisscrossed, some seeming older than others. Over the years his skin had been shredded and healed only to be shredded again. Guards who recognized what those scars meant might have marveled that this man was still alive. We too should marvel at what the apostle Paul endured as a servant of Jesus Christ.
In one of his letters Paul gave an account of what following Jesus had meant for him. He didn’t like talking about these things; it sounded like boasting. Nevertheless, in a defense of his ministry, Paul reluctantly shared that serving Christ had meant great labor, imprisonment, countless beatings, and had nearly cost him his life more than once. He continued:
Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea . . . I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked (2 Cor. 11:24-27).
If the Roman guards responsible for Paul had taken note of his scars and marveled in his survival, their deeper amazement would have been in the man himself. Given what Paul endured one might have expected to find a man broken and bitter. Such was not the case. What was most noticeable about Paul – far more noticeable than his back – was his life. The man was in chains, but remarkably free. He had been beaten, but he was not broken.
How is this possible? This question will occupy our thinking for next three weeks. Our primary text will be Paul’s letter from prison written to the Philippians. Alongside Paul’s letter we will place the story of another prisoner. Louis Zamperini enlisted in the Air Force in September 1941. He was held in a Japanese prison camp from 1942-1945, enduring repeated brutalities. His story is told in the best-seller by Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken. Again, that this man is still alive is a marvel.
Both Paul and Zamperini have incredible stories to tell – but so do you. Every life eventually involves something that pushes us to the point of breaking. Apart from our own choosing we find ourselves living through something and wondering how long we can last or how much more we can take.
Paul said, “We are hard pressed but not crushed.” How are you hard pressed these days? What has pushed you to almost breaking, giving in or giving up, accepting despair as reality and joy as a foolish expectation?
The message you’ll read over and over again in the coming weeks is that to live by grace is to live unbroken. And you can begin to live that way today.
Prayer:
Merciful God, we do not ask for lives marked by ease but for lives marked by grace. Grant that in every hardship and affliction we might discover more of you and thus live as ‘unbroken’ people. By your Spirit, give us peace and joy in every circumstance, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
What the jailers might have noticed first was his back.
The scars crisscrossed, some seeming older than others. Over the years his skin had been shredded and healed only to be shredded again. Guards who recognized what those scars meant might have marveled that this man was still alive. We too should marvel at what the apostle Paul endured as a servant of Jesus Christ.
In one of his letters Paul gave an account of what following Jesus had meant for him. He didn’t like talking about these things; it sounded like boasting. Nevertheless, in a defense of his ministry, Paul reluctantly shared that serving Christ had meant great labor, imprisonment, countless beatings, and had nearly cost him his life more than once. He continued:
Five times I received from the Jews the forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, three times I was shipwrecked, I spent a night and a day in the open sea . . . I have labored and toiled and have often gone without sleep; I have known hunger and thirst and have often gone without food; I have been cold and naked (2 Cor. 11:24-27).
If the Roman guards responsible for Paul had taken note of his scars and marveled in his survival, their deeper amazement would have been in the man himself. Given what Paul endured one might have expected to find a man broken and bitter. Such was not the case. What was most noticeable about Paul – far more noticeable than his back – was his life. The man was in chains, but remarkably free. He had been beaten, but he was not broken.
How is this possible? This question will occupy our thinking for next three weeks. Our primary text will be Paul’s letter from prison written to the Philippians. Alongside Paul’s letter we will place the story of another prisoner. Louis Zamperini enlisted in the Air Force in September 1941. He was held in a Japanese prison camp from 1942-1945, enduring repeated brutalities. His story is told in the best-seller by Laura Hillenbrand, Unbroken. Again, that this man is still alive is a marvel.
Both Paul and Zamperini have incredible stories to tell – but so do you. Every life eventually involves something that pushes us to the point of breaking. Apart from our own choosing we find ourselves living through something and wondering how long we can last or how much more we can take.
Paul said, “We are hard pressed but not crushed.” How are you hard pressed these days? What has pushed you to almost breaking, giving in or giving up, accepting despair as reality and joy as a foolish expectation?
The message you’ll read over and over again in the coming weeks is that to live by grace is to live unbroken. And you can begin to live that way today.
Prayer:
Merciful God, we do not ask for lives marked by ease but for lives marked by grace. Grant that in every hardship and affliction we might discover more of you and thus live as ‘unbroken’ people. By your Spirit, give us peace and joy in every circumstance, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Monday, December 24, 2012
Next Move
Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, “Where is the one who has been born King of the Jews?” (Matthew 2:2).
Years ago when Tiger Woods was still busy doing commercials and endorsements, I saw a print ad that caught my attention. The photo showed Tiger standing on the edge of a water hazard, calculating. Hands on his hips, eyes on the lie of the ball, he’s clearly assessing the trouble and how to get out of it.
And then at the bottom of the photo, this caption: “It’s what you do next that counts.” What a fitting tag-line for Christmas Eve.
At Christmas we tell a very particular story. We’ve been telling it for weeks through the season of Advent. We will gather tonight and tell it as part of our Christmas Eve worship. This story is Israel’s story. It’s the story of a people and a hope, and in that sense it is our story too.
At Christmas the hope finds fulfillment in a very specific place, among very specific people. Christmas is the story of God entering this world in Jesus. But, it’s what you do next that counts. This particular story calls for a personal response.
Consider Matthew’s account of the Magi from the East. All of the characters in the story of the Magi have access, at some point, to the same information. The question at the heart of the drama is “Where is the Christ to be born?”
Herod wants to know this. The Magi who have come from the east want to know this. The scholars whom Herod consults provide the answer from their knowledge of the scriptures: “Bethlehem in Judea.” There is a moment in the drama when all the players have the same piece of information. The Christ is in Bethlehem. But it’s what you do next that counts.
Herod sets himself in hostile opposition to what he knows. The information presented to him represents an obstacle to be removed, a threat to his power and sense of identity.
For the scholars the information never becomes more than a book report. They issue a written response to Herod, properly footnoted, complete with bibliography. And that’s it. We never see or hear from them again.
And then there are the Magi. They are the only ones who take the information they have and move with it. They persevere in finding what they had sought all along. The information takes them from one place to another – and when they arrive, they worship.
On this Christmas Eve most of us have all the information we need. The information is simple and widely known. Jesus is born in Bethlehem. To use Eugene Peterson’s phrase, God has ‘moved into the neighborhood.’ We conclude our Advent reflections with a question: What will you do with what you know? You can resist it. You can read about it. But maybe you’ll find yourself moved and changed. Maybe you will worship.
It’s what you do next that counts.
Prayer:
These stories are so familiar to us, O God. We acknowledge that they don’t always move us. Sometimes we listen without ever intending to do anything about what we’ve heard. Send your Spirit this Christmas and move us to respond to the good news of your presence among us, we ask in Jesus name. Amen
Years ago when Tiger Woods was still busy doing commercials and endorsements, I saw a print ad that caught my attention. The photo showed Tiger standing on the edge of a water hazard, calculating. Hands on his hips, eyes on the lie of the ball, he’s clearly assessing the trouble and how to get out of it.
And then at the bottom of the photo, this caption: “It’s what you do next that counts.” What a fitting tag-line for Christmas Eve.
At Christmas we tell a very particular story. We’ve been telling it for weeks through the season of Advent. We will gather tonight and tell it as part of our Christmas Eve worship. This story is Israel’s story. It’s the story of a people and a hope, and in that sense it is our story too.
At Christmas the hope finds fulfillment in a very specific place, among very specific people. Christmas is the story of God entering this world in Jesus. But, it’s what you do next that counts. This particular story calls for a personal response.
Consider Matthew’s account of the Magi from the East. All of the characters in the story of the Magi have access, at some point, to the same information. The question at the heart of the drama is “Where is the Christ to be born?”
Herod wants to know this. The Magi who have come from the east want to know this. The scholars whom Herod consults provide the answer from their knowledge of the scriptures: “Bethlehem in Judea.” There is a moment in the drama when all the players have the same piece of information. The Christ is in Bethlehem. But it’s what you do next that counts.
Herod sets himself in hostile opposition to what he knows. The information presented to him represents an obstacle to be removed, a threat to his power and sense of identity.
For the scholars the information never becomes more than a book report. They issue a written response to Herod, properly footnoted, complete with bibliography. And that’s it. We never see or hear from them again.
And then there are the Magi. They are the only ones who take the information they have and move with it. They persevere in finding what they had sought all along. The information takes them from one place to another – and when they arrive, they worship.
On this Christmas Eve most of us have all the information we need. The information is simple and widely known. Jesus is born in Bethlehem. To use Eugene Peterson’s phrase, God has ‘moved into the neighborhood.’ We conclude our Advent reflections with a question: What will you do with what you know? You can resist it. You can read about it. But maybe you’ll find yourself moved and changed. Maybe you will worship.
It’s what you do next that counts.
Prayer:
These stories are so familiar to us, O God. We acknowledge that they don’t always move us. Sometimes we listen without ever intending to do anything about what we’ve heard. Send your Spirit this Christmas and move us to respond to the good news of your presence among us, we ask in Jesus name. Amen
Thursday, December 20, 2012
The Gift of a Good Book
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son . . . (John 3:16)
There’s an irony in the fact that the man who wrote A Christmas Carol, giving us the tight-fisted Ebenezer Scrooge, lost money on the publication of his story.
In the fall of 1843 Charles Dickens and his wife Kate were expecting their fifth child. The writing he was doing at the time was not selling well. He was saddled with a large mortgage and family members were adding to his financial pressures with their own requests for money. In October Dickens began work on A Christmas Carol. The book was finished just before Christmas 1843.
The story is rooted in the soil of social problems that plagued England in the mid 19th century. Dickens was especially troubled by the hardships suffered by the children of London’s poor. The ‘Ghost of Christmas Present’ shows Scrooge the sight of two destitute children, named “ignorance and want.” Dickens’ intent in writing A Christmas Carol was to wage war on ignorance and want, and he labored to advance the cause of education for the poor.
As for publication of the book itself, Dickens and his publishers had different ideas about how the book should be produced. Dickens was determined that A Christmas Carol would be a lavish volume. He ended up using his own money to produce a book with an attractive binding, gilt edged pages, and hand colored illustrations. In addition to this he then set the price of the book low so that everyone could afford it.
One of the most beloved Christmas stories of all time came to us at a great personal cost, born of a heart for the poor. And the first Christmas story came to us in much the same way. In the words of the apostle John, “God so loved the world that he gave his only son” (Jn 3:16).
Charles Dickens gave the world the gift of a good book. God gave the gift of his very life in human form, the love and presence of God embodied. This is what we are called to be as God’s people. This involves both heart and hands.
A Christmas Carol came to us because Dickens’ heart was moved to act on behalf of the poor; the heart wanted to change the lives of real people. His hand possessed a particular skill and he worked at his craft, producing art that would touch the hearts of others.
In some way God has gifted you and calls you to use that gift in a way that is congruent with God’s own heart and his purposes in this world. You need not be a politician or a philanthropist or an artist. Somehow, by God’s grace, you have the capacity to make a difference in another person’s life. After 169 years our hearts are still moved because Charles Dickens gave us the gift of a good book.
How will you do this? What resonates in your heart and what will you attempt in order to make a difference?
Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the gift of your son. Grant that we might discover the gift you’ve placed in us and make us eager to share it for the good of others and the glory of your name. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
There’s an irony in the fact that the man who wrote A Christmas Carol, giving us the tight-fisted Ebenezer Scrooge, lost money on the publication of his story.
In the fall of 1843 Charles Dickens and his wife Kate were expecting their fifth child. The writing he was doing at the time was not selling well. He was saddled with a large mortgage and family members were adding to his financial pressures with their own requests for money. In October Dickens began work on A Christmas Carol. The book was finished just before Christmas 1843.
The story is rooted in the soil of social problems that plagued England in the mid 19th century. Dickens was especially troubled by the hardships suffered by the children of London’s poor. The ‘Ghost of Christmas Present’ shows Scrooge the sight of two destitute children, named “ignorance and want.” Dickens’ intent in writing A Christmas Carol was to wage war on ignorance and want, and he labored to advance the cause of education for the poor.
As for publication of the book itself, Dickens and his publishers had different ideas about how the book should be produced. Dickens was determined that A Christmas Carol would be a lavish volume. He ended up using his own money to produce a book with an attractive binding, gilt edged pages, and hand colored illustrations. In addition to this he then set the price of the book low so that everyone could afford it.
One of the most beloved Christmas stories of all time came to us at a great personal cost, born of a heart for the poor. And the first Christmas story came to us in much the same way. In the words of the apostle John, “God so loved the world that he gave his only son” (Jn 3:16).
Charles Dickens gave the world the gift of a good book. God gave the gift of his very life in human form, the love and presence of God embodied. This is what we are called to be as God’s people. This involves both heart and hands.
A Christmas Carol came to us because Dickens’ heart was moved to act on behalf of the poor; the heart wanted to change the lives of real people. His hand possessed a particular skill and he worked at his craft, producing art that would touch the hearts of others.
In some way God has gifted you and calls you to use that gift in a way that is congruent with God’s own heart and his purposes in this world. You need not be a politician or a philanthropist or an artist. Somehow, by God’s grace, you have the capacity to make a difference in another person’s life. After 169 years our hearts are still moved because Charles Dickens gave us the gift of a good book.
How will you do this? What resonates in your heart and what will you attempt in order to make a difference?
Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for the gift of your son. Grant that we might discover the gift you’ve placed in us and make us eager to share it for the good of others and the glory of your name. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Monday, December 10, 2012
Do the Math
Not many of you were wise by human standards; not many were influential; not many were of noble birth (1 Cor. 1:26).
My children stopped asking me for help with their math years ago.
Back then I was still capable of tutoring them as they worked through whatever it was that had them stumped. However, the effort it required of me was a clue to my kids that math was never my academic strength. They take their math questions to Marnie.
As lacking as I may be in math skills, I can follow Paul’s mathematical reasoning with the Christians in Corinth. This is basic arithmetic, made simpler by the fact that Paul doesn’t actually use numbers. He speaks in generalities. Three times Paul makes his point by use of the phrase ‘not many.’
If you take away the ‘not many’ that leaves a few. A few were wise. A few were influential. A few were of noble birth. But most of them were not. ‘All’ minus ‘a few’ leaves ‘most.’ Most were lacking in wisdom, lacking in social standing, lacking in pedigree. It’s basic math.
For some reason, our minds often do not function according to Paul’s mathematical formula. When we look around a room we are prone to think that most of the people we see have it all together. Along with this we silently carry the weight of being the ‘only one.’
If we’re struggling with a financial crisis we think that most are managing fine while we worry about getting through the month. If our children won’t talk to us we think that everyone else’s families are perfect while wonder what we did wrong. If we’re suffocating in loneliness we look around and think every person we see is surrounded by friends.
Paul would tell us to do the math differently. Yes, in any place where crowds gather you’ll find a few who have it all together. There may even be several. But it is not ‘all.’ You are never the only one in the room struggling with something in your life that you’d rather keep quiet about.
Let’s go one step further. Every person you see has a story, even if they are among the wise and influential and well connected. Even the most well put-together lives have a place where things aren’t tightly nailed down. Again, do the math. You are never the only one on the room covering a wound.
Paul explains why this is so. God is not glorified in our boasting. When we live as if we are sufficient for whatever life brings to us, God remains small and marginal. There is always a point of need. Our boasting is silenced and God’s grace is large and real to us. In what area of your life do you sense your deepest need? In what way are you most dependent on God today?
This is how God works in every story. Look around the room . . . and do the math.
Prayer:
Meet us today, O God, in the place of our deep need. Glorify yourself in our limitations and weakness. And make us mindful of every soul that surrounds us, knowing that all of us have a story. Extend your grace through us, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
My children stopped asking me for help with their math years ago.
Back then I was still capable of tutoring them as they worked through whatever it was that had them stumped. However, the effort it required of me was a clue to my kids that math was never my academic strength. They take their math questions to Marnie.
As lacking as I may be in math skills, I can follow Paul’s mathematical reasoning with the Christians in Corinth. This is basic arithmetic, made simpler by the fact that Paul doesn’t actually use numbers. He speaks in generalities. Three times Paul makes his point by use of the phrase ‘not many.’
If you take away the ‘not many’ that leaves a few. A few were wise. A few were influential. A few were of noble birth. But most of them were not. ‘All’ minus ‘a few’ leaves ‘most.’ Most were lacking in wisdom, lacking in social standing, lacking in pedigree. It’s basic math.
For some reason, our minds often do not function according to Paul’s mathematical formula. When we look around a room we are prone to think that most of the people we see have it all together. Along with this we silently carry the weight of being the ‘only one.’
If we’re struggling with a financial crisis we think that most are managing fine while we worry about getting through the month. If our children won’t talk to us we think that everyone else’s families are perfect while wonder what we did wrong. If we’re suffocating in loneliness we look around and think every person we see is surrounded by friends.
Paul would tell us to do the math differently. Yes, in any place where crowds gather you’ll find a few who have it all together. There may even be several. But it is not ‘all.’ You are never the only one in the room struggling with something in your life that you’d rather keep quiet about.
Let’s go one step further. Every person you see has a story, even if they are among the wise and influential and well connected. Even the most well put-together lives have a place where things aren’t tightly nailed down. Again, do the math. You are never the only one on the room covering a wound.
Paul explains why this is so. God is not glorified in our boasting. When we live as if we are sufficient for whatever life brings to us, God remains small and marginal. There is always a point of need. Our boasting is silenced and God’s grace is large and real to us. In what area of your life do you sense your deepest need? In what way are you most dependent on God today?
This is how God works in every story. Look around the room . . . and do the math.
Prayer:
Meet us today, O God, in the place of our deep need. Glorify yourself in our limitations and weakness. And make us mindful of every soul that surrounds us, knowing that all of us have a story. Extend your grace through us, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Sunday, December 09, 2012
The Scorecard
. . . not many of you were wise according to worldly standards (1 Corinthians 1:26).
Over the weekend the winner of the 2012 Heisman Trophy was announced.
There is usually an element of drama or ‘hype’ surrounding this event. The Heisman is awarded annually to the most outstanding college football player in the country, a selection made by 928 votes: 870 journalists, 57 former Heisman winners, and 1 vote representing ‘the fans.’
This year the award went to Texas A&M quarterback Johnny Manziel, nicknamed ‘Johnny Football.’ This is a historic selection in that Manziel is the first freshman to win the Heisman.
On Saturday evening before the announcement was made, my son and I were in the car listening to ESPN radio as a panel of commentators debated the merits of this year’s contenders for the Heisman. What criteria should be considered and how much weight should each factor receive in determining the most fitting recipient of the award? How do age, overall record, and position played factor into the decision?
In other words, what is the scorecard for determining the best college football player in the country? Apparently, it’s not a precise science. The process is hardly free of bias and subjectivity. But the scorecard exists and this year a freshman quarterback met the standards.
Scorecards are not restricted to the world of sports. The world we live in has a scorecard and we live with it every day.
We will receive no trophy. We are not the focus of frenzied media coverage. But in some way or another we’re continually asking ourselves if we measure up. We spend our energies every day proving to others that we do. The scorecard might be as simple as what we possess, what we’ve achieved, and who we know. The game is exhausting.
In Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth he reminded them that God’s scorecard differed greatly from the scorecard of the culture in which they lived: noble birth, wisdom, power and all the trappings of success – none of these things mattered when it came to God’s grace. God’s scorecard is not at all like ours.
At this season of the year we need to hear Paul’s words again. We need to hear them because Christmas is a clear reminder of God’s disregard for the world’s scorecard. Whenever we tell the story about a young virgin, shepherds in the field, and a baby in a manger we see the truth set forth plainly: God chooses the weak and foolish to silence the arrogant boasting the powerful and wise. We’ll spend this week reflecting on the Christmas story in light of Paul’s surprising words.
What’s the scorecard that you’ve been using as you live your life? What are the criteria by which you determine that you’re doing ok?
Prayer:
Too many of us, O God, know the Christmas story but know little about your grace. We live our days using a scorecard that you’ve not given us, striving to prove our worth. Bring this familiar story to life in us that we might know your power and love through the gift of your son, in whose name we pray. Amen.
Over the weekend the winner of the 2012 Heisman Trophy was announced.
There is usually an element of drama or ‘hype’ surrounding this event. The Heisman is awarded annually to the most outstanding college football player in the country, a selection made by 928 votes: 870 journalists, 57 former Heisman winners, and 1 vote representing ‘the fans.’
This year the award went to Texas A&M quarterback Johnny Manziel, nicknamed ‘Johnny Football.’ This is a historic selection in that Manziel is the first freshman to win the Heisman.
On Saturday evening before the announcement was made, my son and I were in the car listening to ESPN radio as a panel of commentators debated the merits of this year’s contenders for the Heisman. What criteria should be considered and how much weight should each factor receive in determining the most fitting recipient of the award? How do age, overall record, and position played factor into the decision?
In other words, what is the scorecard for determining the best college football player in the country? Apparently, it’s not a precise science. The process is hardly free of bias and subjectivity. But the scorecard exists and this year a freshman quarterback met the standards.
Scorecards are not restricted to the world of sports. The world we live in has a scorecard and we live with it every day.
We will receive no trophy. We are not the focus of frenzied media coverage. But in some way or another we’re continually asking ourselves if we measure up. We spend our energies every day proving to others that we do. The scorecard might be as simple as what we possess, what we’ve achieved, and who we know. The game is exhausting.
In Paul’s first letter to the church in Corinth he reminded them that God’s scorecard differed greatly from the scorecard of the culture in which they lived: noble birth, wisdom, power and all the trappings of success – none of these things mattered when it came to God’s grace. God’s scorecard is not at all like ours.
At this season of the year we need to hear Paul’s words again. We need to hear them because Christmas is a clear reminder of God’s disregard for the world’s scorecard. Whenever we tell the story about a young virgin, shepherds in the field, and a baby in a manger we see the truth set forth plainly: God chooses the weak and foolish to silence the arrogant boasting the powerful and wise. We’ll spend this week reflecting on the Christmas story in light of Paul’s surprising words.
What’s the scorecard that you’ve been using as you live your life? What are the criteria by which you determine that you’re doing ok?
Prayer:
Too many of us, O God, know the Christmas story but know little about your grace. We live our days using a scorecard that you’ve not given us, striving to prove our worth. Bring this familiar story to life in us that we might know your power and love through the gift of your son, in whose name we pray. Amen.
Wednesday, December 05, 2012
"O Little Town . . . "
"Sola Scriptura"
Sunday mornings @ 9:00 a.m.
Peachtree Presbyterian Church
Rm. 4303
The Advent 2012 Series:
Dec. 2 – Bethlehem: A Place of Surprises (1 Sam 16:1-13)
Dec. 9 – Bethlehem: A Place of Hope (Micah 5:1-6 and Matt. 2:1-16)
Dec. 16 – Bethlehem: A Place of Suffering and Grief (Matt. 2:16-18)
Dec. 23 – Bethlehem: A Place of Worship (Luke 2:15-20)
The origin of this much loved Christmas hymn is not specific. The author of the text was the renowned preacher and pulpiteer Phillips Brooks (1835-93). Brooks made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land in 1865, traveling in Bethlehem on Christmas Eve. Stories vary here, some saying that Brooks was inspired by Christmas Eve worship in the Church of the Nativity; others mention a ride by horseback to the Shepherds Field. Brooks records both events in writing – but never attributes the hymn directly to a specific moment. It was three years later that Brooks penned the words we sing today, very likely inspired by his memories of the 1865 pilgrimage. He wrote the words for the children’s choir of the Sunday school, entrusting the text to the church organist, Lewis H. Redner, for a suitable tune. Redner is reported to have struggled with the task until the last hours before Sunday worship. The hymn was first sung on December 27, 1868 and published in 1874.
Tuesday, December 04, 2012
December's Demands
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his son . . . (Galatians 4:4-7)
The fullness of time. We know all about that, don’t we?
After all, it is December. With the passing of each day we feel time getting full. Soon we’ll pass a threshold into the back half of the month and time will be crammed. Many of us, remembering our catatonic exhaustion following Christmases past, have promised that it won’t happen again this year. We’re fooling ourselves.
December comes bringing the same relentless roll call of parties and programs and practices. Stores are crowded, traffic is thick. We want to be polite, but we’re easily perturbed. Some are on edge, harried and hurried. The big kids have exams and the little kids have expectations. Honestly, we’ve all got expectations.
I’ve got a calendar on my office wall. The pages of the year are held together by a spiral binding, a different piece of artwork adorning each month. As one might expect, the wall calendar has been turned to show the month of December. The days of the month are represented by nice crisp squares. Every square is blank. The days are wide open. This calendar is lying to me.
The calendar I actually use is on my computer and my phone. Unlike my wall calendar, the lines that border each day are cluttered. And it’s getting more that way. This is December, the fullness of time indeed.
Of course, what I’m describing is not quite what Paul had in mind when he wrote about the ‘fullness of time.’ Scholars and commentators have much to say when they try to unpack the theological significance of Paul’s phrase. The basic idea seems to be that God sent Jesus into the world at just the right time. Jesus came to us according to God’s plan, accomplishing God’s purposes, all in God’s timing.
My definition lacks exegetical precision, but it retains that basic idea. Christmas comes according to God’s plans and purposes. It comes whether we’re ready or not. The fullness of time has little to do with our crowded calendars. This is about God’s timing. I like John Calvin’s comment on Paul’s words.
At what time it was expedient that the Son of God should be revealed to the world, it belonged to God alone to judge and determine. This consideration ought to restrain all curiosity. Let no man presume to be dissatisfied with the secret purposes of God, and raise a dispute why Christ did not appear sooner (Calvin, Commentary on Galatians)
With December’s demands we easily forget that Christmas is God’s project. God comes to us in the fullness of time. God comes to us when our time is full, crammed and committed. God comes to us at the right moment, according to God’s own plan. As Calvin said, let none of us presume to be dissatisfied with God’s timing and purposes. We’re going to spend the remainder of the week thinking about God’s timing.
The month is still young. What kinds of demands is December making on you?
Prayer:
Find us, O God, in the fullness of time. In the midst of December’s demands grant us your presence yet again. In all our striving, grant us grace and make us graceful, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
The fullness of time. We know all about that, don’t we?
After all, it is December. With the passing of each day we feel time getting full. Soon we’ll pass a threshold into the back half of the month and time will be crammed. Many of us, remembering our catatonic exhaustion following Christmases past, have promised that it won’t happen again this year. We’re fooling ourselves.
December comes bringing the same relentless roll call of parties and programs and practices. Stores are crowded, traffic is thick. We want to be polite, but we’re easily perturbed. Some are on edge, harried and hurried. The big kids have exams and the little kids have expectations. Honestly, we’ve all got expectations.
I’ve got a calendar on my office wall. The pages of the year are held together by a spiral binding, a different piece of artwork adorning each month. As one might expect, the wall calendar has been turned to show the month of December. The days of the month are represented by nice crisp squares. Every square is blank. The days are wide open. This calendar is lying to me.
The calendar I actually use is on my computer and my phone. Unlike my wall calendar, the lines that border each day are cluttered. And it’s getting more that way. This is December, the fullness of time indeed.
Of course, what I’m describing is not quite what Paul had in mind when he wrote about the ‘fullness of time.’ Scholars and commentators have much to say when they try to unpack the theological significance of Paul’s phrase. The basic idea seems to be that God sent Jesus into the world at just the right time. Jesus came to us according to God’s plan, accomplishing God’s purposes, all in God’s timing.
My definition lacks exegetical precision, but it retains that basic idea. Christmas comes according to God’s plans and purposes. It comes whether we’re ready or not. The fullness of time has little to do with our crowded calendars. This is about God’s timing. I like John Calvin’s comment on Paul’s words.
At what time it was expedient that the Son of God should be revealed to the world, it belonged to God alone to judge and determine. This consideration ought to restrain all curiosity. Let no man presume to be dissatisfied with the secret purposes of God, and raise a dispute why Christ did not appear sooner (Calvin, Commentary on Galatians)
With December’s demands we easily forget that Christmas is God’s project. God comes to us in the fullness of time. God comes to us when our time is full, crammed and committed. God comes to us at the right moment, according to God’s own plan. As Calvin said, let none of us presume to be dissatisfied with God’s timing and purposes. We’re going to spend the remainder of the week thinking about God’s timing.
The month is still young. What kinds of demands is December making on you?
Prayer:
Find us, O God, in the fullness of time. In the midst of December’s demands grant us your presence yet again. In all our striving, grant us grace and make us graceful, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Monday, December 03, 2012
The Work of Waiting
But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his son . . . (Galatians 4:4-7)
It’s been snowing at my house.
Lightly, off and on. A sustained breeze will always bring a flurry and cover the grass with a fresh dusting – not of crystal flakes of frozen precipitation, but brown and brittle flakes from the large branches that canopy my yard.
The leaves on the ground are one thing, but it’s the leaves that have yet to fall that mock me. Thousands of them are still clinging to branches. I imagine them hanging there, laughing at my labor, waiting for the very moment when the grass can be seen again, and then letting go.
There’s a school of thought that says “don’t even bother.” Until every leaf is down it’s futile to rake them up. Maybe so. Maybe it’s best to wait for this season to run its course. In one way or another it seems we spend our lives waiting: waiting for leaves to fall and the seasons to change, waiting for the market to go up, waiting for something or someone to change, for the big break or the breakthrough.
There is a kind of waiting that lulls us into boredom and atrophies into neglect. But there is also an active waiting, a waiting that works. The work doesn’t hurry things along. It doesn’t exercise control or set the schedule. Rather, it makes ready. The work is preparation for what will be. This kind of waiting is vigilant, guarding against the inattention that slides toward forgetfulness and lands in despair.
In Galatians 4:4 Paul told the story of Christmas in one tight sentence. “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his son.” We begin our Advent reflections this week by meditating on the fullness of time. This much is clear: Whatever Paul meant by the ‘fullness of time,’ it was God’s doing. We did not bring it about. We receive it and enter into it. These weeks before Christmas (Advent) remind us that our primary task, as much as we may dislike it, is to wait.
Waiting, however, is hard work. We do not always do it well. Sometimes we get tired of waiting and decide to take charge. Sometimes we get tired of waiting and stop caring, allowing our waiting to become neglect.
Perhaps the work of waiting simply means doing what you’ve been given to do today. Bring your life before God. Be obedient in familiar and simple things. Love your neighbor, pay attention to your family, tell the truth, do good work, bless others with your words, give thanks for good health and good food, for trees and sky and all kinds of weather.
Tend to that plot of ground that is your life; go ahead and rake the leaves. You’re not wasting time. You’re getting ready.
Prayer:
"Come thou long expected Jesus, Born to set Thy people free; From our fears and sins release us, Let us find our rest in Thee. Israel’s Strength and Consolation, Hope of all the earth Thou art; Dear Desire of every nation, Joy of every longing heart.” (Come Thou Long Expected Jesus, Charles Wesley, 1745).
It’s been snowing at my house.
Lightly, off and on. A sustained breeze will always bring a flurry and cover the grass with a fresh dusting – not of crystal flakes of frozen precipitation, but brown and brittle flakes from the large branches that canopy my yard.
The leaves on the ground are one thing, but it’s the leaves that have yet to fall that mock me. Thousands of them are still clinging to branches. I imagine them hanging there, laughing at my labor, waiting for the very moment when the grass can be seen again, and then letting go.
There’s a school of thought that says “don’t even bother.” Until every leaf is down it’s futile to rake them up. Maybe so. Maybe it’s best to wait for this season to run its course. In one way or another it seems we spend our lives waiting: waiting for leaves to fall and the seasons to change, waiting for the market to go up, waiting for something or someone to change, for the big break or the breakthrough.
There is a kind of waiting that lulls us into boredom and atrophies into neglect. But there is also an active waiting, a waiting that works. The work doesn’t hurry things along. It doesn’t exercise control or set the schedule. Rather, it makes ready. The work is preparation for what will be. This kind of waiting is vigilant, guarding against the inattention that slides toward forgetfulness and lands in despair.
In Galatians 4:4 Paul told the story of Christmas in one tight sentence. “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his son.” We begin our Advent reflections this week by meditating on the fullness of time. This much is clear: Whatever Paul meant by the ‘fullness of time,’ it was God’s doing. We did not bring it about. We receive it and enter into it. These weeks before Christmas (Advent) remind us that our primary task, as much as we may dislike it, is to wait.
Waiting, however, is hard work. We do not always do it well. Sometimes we get tired of waiting and decide to take charge. Sometimes we get tired of waiting and stop caring, allowing our waiting to become neglect.
Perhaps the work of waiting simply means doing what you’ve been given to do today. Bring your life before God. Be obedient in familiar and simple things. Love your neighbor, pay attention to your family, tell the truth, do good work, bless others with your words, give thanks for good health and good food, for trees and sky and all kinds of weather.
Tend to that plot of ground that is your life; go ahead and rake the leaves. You’re not wasting time. You’re getting ready.
Prayer:
"Come thou long expected Jesus, Born to set Thy people free; From our fears and sins release us, Let us find our rest in Thee. Israel’s Strength and Consolation, Hope of all the earth Thou art; Dear Desire of every nation, Joy of every longing heart.” (Come Thou Long Expected Jesus, Charles Wesley, 1745).
Monday, November 26, 2012
Black Friday
My plans for the day involved a rake, roar
of blower, hours of bending and bagging
and yet leaves shower down like thick confetti.
This party is nowhere near over.
of blower, hours of bending and bagging
and yet leaves shower down like thick confetti.
This party is nowhere near over.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Bring Your Umbrella
So Peter was kept in prison, but the church was earnestly praying to God for him (Acts 12:5).
Years ago I had the privilege of serving as pastor to a wonderful group of people in a community that had a long history as a farming community. It was not uncommon, especially during the long parched days of summer, for rain to be mentioned as a “prayer request.” On one occasion an older member of the congregation recounted to me how in times past they used to gather for specially called prayer meetings to pray for rain. Folks who came to the prayer meeting often brought umbrellas with them.
The umbrellas may have been a symbolic gesture, but I think it was more than that. I think the umbrellas spoke to their confident faith. Bringing an umbrella to the prayer meeting was a quiet way of declaring that God would respond to the prayers of his people. In my mind, those umbrellas also spoke to the church’s power. We don’t make it rain, but we pray to the God who gives rain and all good things.
There is a wonderful story in Acts 12 about prayer and power. Things were not going well for the church. James, the brother of John, had recently been executed by King Herod. Not long after that, Herod had Peter arrested and assigned sixteen soldiers to guard him. We are told that as Peter sat in prison “the church was earnestly praying to God for him” (Acts 12:5).
Making a fairly long story less long, an angel of the Lord appeared and escorted Peter from his prison cell in miraculous fashion. Once free and clear of the jail house, Peter went to the place where a prayer meeting was being held – very likely a prayer meeting for Peter.
Peter knocked on the door. When the servant girl Rhoda announced to the praying Christians that Peter was at the door, they didn’t believe her. They told he she was nuts, out of her mind (Acts 12:15).
These were not the kind of Christians who brought their umbrellas to the prayer meeting. Nevertheless, God answered in power.
The church’s only true source of power is prayer. Nothing of lasting significance happens without it. There are other aspects of church life that appear powerful: large crowds, impressive facilities, wide-ranging programs of all kinds for all ages. But apart from prayer these are wires without current.
Far too many of us will show up to pray, but we don’t bring an umbrella. At some deep level, we’re not sure anything will come of our prayers. Said another way, we’re busy at church but we’re not especially powerful. When Peter shows up at the door, we refuse to believe it.
We need the church, but not because we need something more to do. Most of us are already busy enough. We need the church because we need to pray. We need others to pray for us and we need to be praying for others. That’s where power comes from.
So pray. And while you’re at it, be sure to bring your umbrella.
Prayer:
Too often, O God, we live in ignorance of the power you make available to us. We pray with low expectations and we live as if it all depends on us. Move your people to bold prayer, trusting your promises and resting in your grace. Through our prayers grant your power and change our world, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Years ago I had the privilege of serving as pastor to a wonderful group of people in a community that had a long history as a farming community. It was not uncommon, especially during the long parched days of summer, for rain to be mentioned as a “prayer request.” On one occasion an older member of the congregation recounted to me how in times past they used to gather for specially called prayer meetings to pray for rain. Folks who came to the prayer meeting often brought umbrellas with them.
The umbrellas may have been a symbolic gesture, but I think it was more than that. I think the umbrellas spoke to their confident faith. Bringing an umbrella to the prayer meeting was a quiet way of declaring that God would respond to the prayers of his people. In my mind, those umbrellas also spoke to the church’s power. We don’t make it rain, but we pray to the God who gives rain and all good things.
There is a wonderful story in Acts 12 about prayer and power. Things were not going well for the church. James, the brother of John, had recently been executed by King Herod. Not long after that, Herod had Peter arrested and assigned sixteen soldiers to guard him. We are told that as Peter sat in prison “the church was earnestly praying to God for him” (Acts 12:5).
Making a fairly long story less long, an angel of the Lord appeared and escorted Peter from his prison cell in miraculous fashion. Once free and clear of the jail house, Peter went to the place where a prayer meeting was being held – very likely a prayer meeting for Peter.
Peter knocked on the door. When the servant girl Rhoda announced to the praying Christians that Peter was at the door, they didn’t believe her. They told he she was nuts, out of her mind (Acts 12:15).
These were not the kind of Christians who brought their umbrellas to the prayer meeting. Nevertheless, God answered in power.
The church’s only true source of power is prayer. Nothing of lasting significance happens without it. There are other aspects of church life that appear powerful: large crowds, impressive facilities, wide-ranging programs of all kinds for all ages. But apart from prayer these are wires without current.
Far too many of us will show up to pray, but we don’t bring an umbrella. At some deep level, we’re not sure anything will come of our prayers. Said another way, we’re busy at church but we’re not especially powerful. When Peter shows up at the door, we refuse to believe it.
We need the church, but not because we need something more to do. Most of us are already busy enough. We need the church because we need to pray. We need others to pray for us and we need to be praying for others. That’s where power comes from.
So pray. And while you’re at it, be sure to bring your umbrella.
Prayer:
Too often, O God, we live in ignorance of the power you make available to us. We pray with low expectations and we live as if it all depends on us. Move your people to bold prayer, trusting your promises and resting in your grace. Through our prayers grant your power and change our world, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Thursday, November 01, 2012
The Fool
And I will say to my Soul, ‘Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.’ (Luke 12:19)
Jesus had a strong word for anyone who calls someone a ‘fool.’ Hold your tongue. Restrain your anger. If you call your brother or sister a ‘fool’ you’ll be liable to the hell of fire. Best to drop that word from your vocabulary (Matt. 5:22).
But then Jesus told a story about a successful businessman, blessed with good fortune and skilled in leveraging it to maximize his profits. He was by every measure a very smart man. But in Jesus’ story God sums up this man’s life with one word: ‘Fool.’
My question: Why was this man a fool? What was it that God saw that merited this judgment?
Interestingly, these two scripture texts use a different Greek word for ‘fool.’ The word that Jesus forbade, the one which places our souls at peril, is the root of our English word ‘moron.’ It is a derogatory word, an insult. By contrast, the word God speaks in judgment upon the savvy rich man is a different word. God is not insulting the successful farmer. God is simply telling the truth, as God always does.
Sometimes ‘fool’ is an outburst, a slanderous word spoken in anger. But sometimes ‘fool’ is a word of truth. A person may rightly be named a fool because that’s exactly how they have chosen to live.
Note that God’s word of judgment is spoken at the very end of the man’s life. For this reason we may rightly regard this man’s death as tragic. The tragedy is not in how he died, for we do not know that. His death is not tragic because of when he died, for we know nothing of his age. The man’s death is tragic because of how he lived.
Embedded in Jesus’ story is the brief mission statement by which the main character had chosen to live. In our culture, whether consciously or not, so many have adopted the same mission statement. Lay up ample goods . . . relax . . . eat . . . drink . . . be merry.
The man in Jesus’ parable was not a fool because he was successful. He was not a fool because planned well and managed his resources wisely. He was not a fool because he built bigger barns. He was a fool because the aim of all of this was his own comfort. All of it was directed back at the self. The highest aim of his life was accumulation for the purpose of indulgence.
Such aims are not worthy of your life. Upon such a life God will pronounce his judgment. To use our energies and resources and intelligence to create a self-serving existence is foolish.
So, work hard. Manage well. Invest wisely. Grow your business. Advance your career. But live for something worthy of the gift of life. Use every grace that is yours to glorify the one who gave it to you. This is why you were made. This is why you are here.
Rightly used, earthly treasure reveals God as our greatest treasure. Where and how are you “laying up treasure” today?
Prayer:
Guard us, O God, from foolish living. Make us thankful for your gifts and grant us wisdom in using them well. But keep our hearts from loving the gifts above you, the giver. Make us bold to use what we have for glory of your name in this world, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Jesus had a strong word for anyone who calls someone a ‘fool.’ Hold your tongue. Restrain your anger. If you call your brother or sister a ‘fool’ you’ll be liable to the hell of fire. Best to drop that word from your vocabulary (Matt. 5:22).
But then Jesus told a story about a successful businessman, blessed with good fortune and skilled in leveraging it to maximize his profits. He was by every measure a very smart man. But in Jesus’ story God sums up this man’s life with one word: ‘Fool.’
My question: Why was this man a fool? What was it that God saw that merited this judgment?
Interestingly, these two scripture texts use a different Greek word for ‘fool.’ The word that Jesus forbade, the one which places our souls at peril, is the root of our English word ‘moron.’ It is a derogatory word, an insult. By contrast, the word God speaks in judgment upon the savvy rich man is a different word. God is not insulting the successful farmer. God is simply telling the truth, as God always does.
Sometimes ‘fool’ is an outburst, a slanderous word spoken in anger. But sometimes ‘fool’ is a word of truth. A person may rightly be named a fool because that’s exactly how they have chosen to live.
Note that God’s word of judgment is spoken at the very end of the man’s life. For this reason we may rightly regard this man’s death as tragic. The tragedy is not in how he died, for we do not know that. His death is not tragic because of when he died, for we know nothing of his age. The man’s death is tragic because of how he lived.
Embedded in Jesus’ story is the brief mission statement by which the main character had chosen to live. In our culture, whether consciously or not, so many have adopted the same mission statement. Lay up ample goods . . . relax . . . eat . . . drink . . . be merry.
The man in Jesus’ parable was not a fool because he was successful. He was not a fool because planned well and managed his resources wisely. He was not a fool because he built bigger barns. He was a fool because the aim of all of this was his own comfort. All of it was directed back at the self. The highest aim of his life was accumulation for the purpose of indulgence.
Such aims are not worthy of your life. Upon such a life God will pronounce his judgment. To use our energies and resources and intelligence to create a self-serving existence is foolish.
So, work hard. Manage well. Invest wisely. Grow your business. Advance your career. But live for something worthy of the gift of life. Use every grace that is yours to glorify the one who gave it to you. This is why you were made. This is why you are here.
Rightly used, earthly treasure reveals God as our greatest treasure. Where and how are you “laying up treasure” today?
Prayer:
Guard us, O God, from foolish living. Make us thankful for your gifts and grant us wisdom in using them well. But keep our hearts from loving the gifts above you, the giver. Make us bold to use what we have for glory of your name in this world, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Wednesday, September 26, 2012
Zeal and Fervor
Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord (Romans 12:11).
I’ve concluded that the propane tank on my grill has some kind of sensor that tells it when guests are at our house. Without fail, it is when guests are present and the burgers are on the grill that the propane tank refuses to make fire, literally runs out of gas.
The frustration in this is that I don’t know what’s happening until I check the burgers, only to discover half-cooked meat sitting on a lukewarm grill. This usually means a hurried trip to get a new propane tank and an awkward delay in the meal.
I came across a Native American proverb that said something to the effect of “better a pot that boils over than one that does not boil at all.” The same could be said of a gas grill. No fire, no food.
In his letter to the Romans Paul gave this exhortation: “Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord” (Romans 12:11). The Greek word “slothful” that Paul uses here is the same word used in the Greek translation of Proverbs 6:9; it is the word “sluggard.” It suggests indolence or slackness.
The positive command coupled with this warning about sloth is a word that means “to burn.” It suggests the idea of a boiling pot. Thus we are told to burn or to be “fervent in spirit.”
Interestingly, few Christians aspire to zealotry. Zealots are dangerous. We think of zealots as being out of control, often angry in their passion for a cause, violent in the expression of their convictions. In American culture, the last thing a Christian wants to be is “zealous.” We prefer other words life “faithful” or perhaps “devout.” But zealous? No thanks.
However, in our fear of zeal we have unwittingly become slothful. Our faith is thoroughly tamed, void of adventure and risk. We’ve done the very thing that Paul warned us not to do. Spiritually speaking, the burgers are on the grill but there’s no fire. The pot doesn’t boil at all.
For the remainder of this week we will examine the deadly seduction of sloth by looking at its opposite: Zeal and fervor. Specifically, we’ll get a picture of spiritual zeal by looking at one of the most fervent and passionate characters in the New Testament – John the baptizer.
Consider your own life: is there something in your life that stirs ‘zeal’ in you? Perhaps the more familiar word for what we’re after is ‘passion.’ Where do you see this in yourself? When it comes to spiritual matters, what do zeal and fervor look like? Specifically, what would a fervent spirit look like in your life of faith?
Prayer:
Grant to us, O God, a zeal and fervor in our walk with you. Above all, make us passionate for the glory of your name in this world. Guard us from the timidity that so easily becomes sloth. Help us to live our faith in such a way that zeal is expressed in love and service to others. We ask this is Jesus’ name. Amen.
I’ve concluded that the propane tank on my grill has some kind of sensor that tells it when guests are at our house. Without fail, it is when guests are present and the burgers are on the grill that the propane tank refuses to make fire, literally runs out of gas.
The frustration in this is that I don’t know what’s happening until I check the burgers, only to discover half-cooked meat sitting on a lukewarm grill. This usually means a hurried trip to get a new propane tank and an awkward delay in the meal.
I came across a Native American proverb that said something to the effect of “better a pot that boils over than one that does not boil at all.” The same could be said of a gas grill. No fire, no food.
In his letter to the Romans Paul gave this exhortation: “Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord” (Romans 12:11). The Greek word “slothful” that Paul uses here is the same word used in the Greek translation of Proverbs 6:9; it is the word “sluggard.” It suggests indolence or slackness.
The positive command coupled with this warning about sloth is a word that means “to burn.” It suggests the idea of a boiling pot. Thus we are told to burn or to be “fervent in spirit.”
Interestingly, few Christians aspire to zealotry. Zealots are dangerous. We think of zealots as being out of control, often angry in their passion for a cause, violent in the expression of their convictions. In American culture, the last thing a Christian wants to be is “zealous.” We prefer other words life “faithful” or perhaps “devout.” But zealous? No thanks.
However, in our fear of zeal we have unwittingly become slothful. Our faith is thoroughly tamed, void of adventure and risk. We’ve done the very thing that Paul warned us not to do. Spiritually speaking, the burgers are on the grill but there’s no fire. The pot doesn’t boil at all.
For the remainder of this week we will examine the deadly seduction of sloth by looking at its opposite: Zeal and fervor. Specifically, we’ll get a picture of spiritual zeal by looking at one of the most fervent and passionate characters in the New Testament – John the baptizer.
Consider your own life: is there something in your life that stirs ‘zeal’ in you? Perhaps the more familiar word for what we’re after is ‘passion.’ Where do you see this in yourself? When it comes to spiritual matters, what do zeal and fervor look like? Specifically, what would a fervent spirit look like in your life of faith?
Prayer:
Grant to us, O God, a zeal and fervor in our walk with you. Above all, make us passionate for the glory of your name in this world. Guard us from the timidity that so easily becomes sloth. Help us to live our faith in such a way that zeal is expressed in love and service to others. We ask this is Jesus’ name. Amen.
Monday, September 24, 2012
More of the Same
All things are wearisome, more than one can say. The eye never has enough of seeing nor the ear its fill of hearing. What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun. (Ecc. 1:8-9).
The words of Solomon are baffling. That a king could be bored is hard for us to believe. Here is a man who lacks nothing, bemoaning his boredom. “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again.” Poor Solomon.
I find it hard to be sympathetic with a bored King. His words hit me in much the same way my children’s words do when they complain of boredom. “You’ve got to be kidding; how can you possibly be bored?” And yet, kids with computers and Xbox and smart phones get bored. Busy grown-ups with comfortable homes and beautiful families and well paying jobs get bored. And, as Ecclesiastes plainly shows us, Kings get bored.
Leo Tolstoy, in Anna Karenina, wrote that boredom is “the desire for desires.” That captures something of the inner deadness that boredom is. Look deeply into the deadly seduction of “sloth” and you’ll find boredom. The heart beats but never races. The eyes see but never dance in what they behold. The mouth speaks words but rarely to truly say anything.
Thus was Solomon afflicted. Maybe you know the deadening weight of this particular seduction. Caring about things requires so much energy and seems to make so little difference. Sloth isn’t a sin we commit. Sloth settles on us as we abandon our commitments.
In Ecclesiastes the boredom is described as a numbing repetition. What has been will be again. Solomon observed the movements of the sun and the wind. He watched the relentless flow of streams that feed the ocean but never fill it (Ecc. 1:5-7). All of this left him numb. That’s what sloth does. It makes us numb to joy and blind to beauty.
We observe the same traffic patterns in our morning commute, the same scheduled meetings, the routines of carpool and practices and laundry. Imperceptibly the sloth settles and the numbness spreads.
Typically, our first response is a change of pace, a new variable in the equation of our lives. This might mean a vacation or a career move. But over time even the new element becomes tired and familiar. What we need is the capacity to see into the ordinary repeated parts of life and discern the presence and purposes of God.
Sloth is what we’re left with when God is bleached out of an otherwise wonderful life. Absent God, the gift of ordinary things, of routines and practices, becomes burdensome.
Try this today: Look for God in something familiar. Identify a person in your world with whom you interact every day or every week. Determine to learn one new thing about that person’s life.
Prayer:
God, through this day and all of its familiar routines, help me to detect your presence. Remind me that you are at work in the most ordinary details of the most ordinary day, and help me to live this day in eager expectation. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
The words of Solomon are baffling. That a king could be bored is hard for us to believe. Here is a man who lacks nothing, bemoaning his boredom. “What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again.” Poor Solomon.
I find it hard to be sympathetic with a bored King. His words hit me in much the same way my children’s words do when they complain of boredom. “You’ve got to be kidding; how can you possibly be bored?” And yet, kids with computers and Xbox and smart phones get bored. Busy grown-ups with comfortable homes and beautiful families and well paying jobs get bored. And, as Ecclesiastes plainly shows us, Kings get bored.
Leo Tolstoy, in Anna Karenina, wrote that boredom is “the desire for desires.” That captures something of the inner deadness that boredom is. Look deeply into the deadly seduction of “sloth” and you’ll find boredom. The heart beats but never races. The eyes see but never dance in what they behold. The mouth speaks words but rarely to truly say anything.
Thus was Solomon afflicted. Maybe you know the deadening weight of this particular seduction. Caring about things requires so much energy and seems to make so little difference. Sloth isn’t a sin we commit. Sloth settles on us as we abandon our commitments.
In Ecclesiastes the boredom is described as a numbing repetition. What has been will be again. Solomon observed the movements of the sun and the wind. He watched the relentless flow of streams that feed the ocean but never fill it (Ecc. 1:5-7). All of this left him numb. That’s what sloth does. It makes us numb to joy and blind to beauty.
We observe the same traffic patterns in our morning commute, the same scheduled meetings, the routines of carpool and practices and laundry. Imperceptibly the sloth settles and the numbness spreads.
Typically, our first response is a change of pace, a new variable in the equation of our lives. This might mean a vacation or a career move. But over time even the new element becomes tired and familiar. What we need is the capacity to see into the ordinary repeated parts of life and discern the presence and purposes of God.
Sloth is what we’re left with when God is bleached out of an otherwise wonderful life. Absent God, the gift of ordinary things, of routines and practices, becomes burdensome.
Try this today: Look for God in something familiar. Identify a person in your world with whom you interact every day or every week. Determine to learn one new thing about that person’s life.
Prayer:
God, through this day and all of its familiar routines, help me to detect your presence. Remind me that you are at work in the most ordinary details of the most ordinary day, and help me to live this day in eager expectation. I ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Friday, September 21, 2012
Help from an Old Hymn
My wife and I readily admit to our children that we are nerds. My children readily agree.
Marnie and I proved this to ourselves several years ago when we celebrated our tenth wedding anniversary with a trip to London. Among the many places we visited there was Bunhill Fields Cemetery. I doubt that many visitors to London intentionally spend an afternoon at Bunhill Fields, but being church history nerds we did so eagerly.
In the late 17th and early 18th centuries Bunhill Fields was a ‘nonconformist’ cemetery. That is to say, it was a burial site for those who had renounced their ties with the official Church of England. The names of those to whom the Church refused a ‘decent burial’ are surprising. They are, in my mind, some of the greatest names in Christian history.
As you walk among the gravesites at Bunhill Fields you’ll see the burial place of John Bunyan, author of Pilgrim’s Progress. Also buried there is Susanna Wesley, the godly mother of the founders of Methodism, John and Charles Wesley.
Keep walking and you’ll come upon the burial site of Isaac Watts (1674 - 1748). Watts was a pastor, but we know him best as the composer of the much loved hymn When I Survey the Wondrous Cross.
The opening verse of the hymn is of particular interest to us this week:
When I survey the wondrous cross
On which the Prince of Glory died
My richest gain I count but loss
And pour contempt on all my pride.
We close this week thinking about what we can do to wage war on pride or, in the poetic words of Isaac Watts, “pour contempt” on our pride. Watts’ answer is simple. We pour contempt on our pride as we look to the cross of Jesus. Pride is put to death at the cross.
We would be wise not to speak of the cross in a way that subtly inflates our pride. The cross does indeed tell us of God’s love for us, but it says much more than that. It tells us that God loved us while we still sinners. In this, we are profoundly humbled.
Every illusion that pride constructs, the cross demolishes. The first sin an every sin that flows from it will not be made right by more education or better economic systems. We need a savior. That’s what the cross tells us. And if we’ll look at the cross and ponder it prayerfully, our pride will look silly to us, worthy of our contempt.
In what other ways does the cross kill our pride?
Prayer:
“Forbid it Lord that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God; all the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to his blood.” Amen. (Isaac Watts, 1707).
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Grace and Grasping
. . . she took of its fruit and ate, and she also gave some to her husband who was with her, and he ate (Genesis 3:6).
Your life is a gift, everything about it. Ponder that for a moment. Ponder it and ask yourself whether you believe it.
That’s not the same as asking whether you can affirm it. Sometimes we affirm things without really believing them. We may say that life is a gift but we don’t actually live as if this is true. We are prone to ignore all that we have received while we obsess over what we resent and regret. Our stress, our edginess, our fatigue tell the world that life is more grind than gift.
The story of what happened in the Garden of Eden may explain why we live this way. Yesterday we observed that the tempter’s first strategy in stoking human pride is to diminish God. In the midst of this something else is happening. In a very subtle way the tempter shifts the focus of life away from all that has been given to the one thing that has been withheld: The one tree of which God has said, “No.” Grace slips into the distant background. The goodness of the giver is called into question.
When life is no longer gift and when there is no good giver, there is only one way left to live: We define the good life based on our desires. We spend our energy scraping and clutching at what we want.
The verb “took” in Genesis 3:6 is very significant. Until now all has been given. The breath of life was given. The abundance of the garden was given. The work of tending the garden and naming the animals was given. All was gift – until the serpent appears in Genesis 3. Drawn to the tree by the serpent’s promise, the woman “took.”
This act of taking changed everything. Grasping, not grace, became our way life.
One of the most practical ways you can wage war on pride in your life is by identifying the ways in which life comes to you as a gift. If we can recover our capacity to see life as gift, we will cultivate thankfulness. Gratitude is the only fitting response to a gift. And gratitude has a way of tempering our pride. If truly proud people have a hard time being thankful, maybe truly thankful people will have a hard time being proud.
Your life is a gift, everything about it. Do you believe this?
If not, begin paying attention to the grace that surrounds you today. Wage war on pride by naming the gifts that God has placed in your life. Receive them all with gratitude. More grace, less grasping.
Prayer:
With each new day, O God, your gifts come to us afresh. Too often our sight is clouded by pain or we miss your gifts because of our frenetic way living. Grant that we might live this day with open hands, ready to see and receive what you give, ever thankful and humble before you. We ask this in the name of your son Jesus, the greatest gift of all. Amen.
Your life is a gift, everything about it. Ponder that for a moment. Ponder it and ask yourself whether you believe it.
That’s not the same as asking whether you can affirm it. Sometimes we affirm things without really believing them. We may say that life is a gift but we don’t actually live as if this is true. We are prone to ignore all that we have received while we obsess over what we resent and regret. Our stress, our edginess, our fatigue tell the world that life is more grind than gift.
The story of what happened in the Garden of Eden may explain why we live this way. Yesterday we observed that the tempter’s first strategy in stoking human pride is to diminish God. In the midst of this something else is happening. In a very subtle way the tempter shifts the focus of life away from all that has been given to the one thing that has been withheld: The one tree of which God has said, “No.” Grace slips into the distant background. The goodness of the giver is called into question.
When life is no longer gift and when there is no good giver, there is only one way left to live: We define the good life based on our desires. We spend our energy scraping and clutching at what we want.
The verb “took” in Genesis 3:6 is very significant. Until now all has been given. The breath of life was given. The abundance of the garden was given. The work of tending the garden and naming the animals was given. All was gift – until the serpent appears in Genesis 3. Drawn to the tree by the serpent’s promise, the woman “took.”
This act of taking changed everything. Grasping, not grace, became our way life.
One of the most practical ways you can wage war on pride in your life is by identifying the ways in which life comes to you as a gift. If we can recover our capacity to see life as gift, we will cultivate thankfulness. Gratitude is the only fitting response to a gift. And gratitude has a way of tempering our pride. If truly proud people have a hard time being thankful, maybe truly thankful people will have a hard time being proud.
Your life is a gift, everything about it. Do you believe this?
If not, begin paying attention to the grace that surrounds you today. Wage war on pride by naming the gifts that God has placed in your life. Receive them all with gratitude. More grace, less grasping.
Prayer:
With each new day, O God, your gifts come to us afresh. Too often our sight is clouded by pain or we miss your gifts because of our frenetic way living. Grant that we might live this day with open hands, ready to see and receive what you give, ever thankful and humble before you. We ask this in the name of your son Jesus, the greatest gift of all. Amen.
Monday, September 17, 2012
Empty Promises
. . . your eyes will be opened and you will be like God, knowing good and evil (Genesis 3:5).
Say the word ‘sin’ and immediately our minds go to a list of bad behaviors. To sin is to break a rule, to do something harmful or dishonest, to lie or steal or gossip or injure someone violently.
Perhaps, having managed to tame or avoid those clearly prohibited behaviors, we sin in more subtle ways. We define ‘sin’ in terms of wrong attitudes and disordered emotions. We manage to hide these fairly well. The well behaved are generally well thought of, and that suits us just fine.
But beneath the outward disobedience and the inner deceptions something deeper is at work. Sin has to do with what we believe, what we trust to make us whole, what we look to for our sense of well being in this world.
Every sin makes a promise and to sin is to believe that promise.
Seven of those promises will hold our attention in the weeks ahead. To the extent that a promise has the power to lure and entice we may rightly speak of these as ‘Seven Deadly Seductions.’ You may be more familiar with the designation of ‘Seven Deadly Sins.’ But before there is a sin, there is a belief, a promise embraced, a seduction.
Pride promises you that the praise and adulation of others will make you whole and happy.
Sloth promises you that leisure and ease are the mark of success and the aim of life.
Lust promises you that the pleasure of someone’s body will cure your boredom.
Gluttony tells you you’re hungry when you aren’t and promises that the emptiness you live with can be fixed by food.
Envy promises to ease the pain of your resentments and tells you that if you can have someone else’s life, then life will be good.
Anger insists that you’ve been wronged or deprived and promises that hitting back is right and just, bringing satisfaction through venting.
Greed tells you that you deserve more, that more is possible and permissible. Greed promises you that getting more will prove you matter.
Each of these promises has one thing in common: they are all lies. And yet we are prone to believe them. In the weeks ahead we’ll be trying to expose the empty promises we’ve embraced. We’ll also look for the alternative promises that come to us from God and from the good news of God’s grace through Jesus.
For today: Which of the promises above are you most vulnerable to believing?
Prayer:
Far too often and far too easily, O God, we embrace empty promises. We place our trust in things that cannot save us and live our days restless and discontented. Help us to face hard truths about ourselves that we might embrace the blessed truth of your promises. As we go through this day remind us that where sin abounds, grace abounds even more, through Jesus our Lord. Amen.
Say the word ‘sin’ and immediately our minds go to a list of bad behaviors. To sin is to break a rule, to do something harmful or dishonest, to lie or steal or gossip or injure someone violently.
Perhaps, having managed to tame or avoid those clearly prohibited behaviors, we sin in more subtle ways. We define ‘sin’ in terms of wrong attitudes and disordered emotions. We manage to hide these fairly well. The well behaved are generally well thought of, and that suits us just fine.
But beneath the outward disobedience and the inner deceptions something deeper is at work. Sin has to do with what we believe, what we trust to make us whole, what we look to for our sense of well being in this world.
Every sin makes a promise and to sin is to believe that promise.
Seven of those promises will hold our attention in the weeks ahead. To the extent that a promise has the power to lure and entice we may rightly speak of these as ‘Seven Deadly Seductions.’ You may be more familiar with the designation of ‘Seven Deadly Sins.’ But before there is a sin, there is a belief, a promise embraced, a seduction.
Pride promises you that the praise and adulation of others will make you whole and happy.
Sloth promises you that leisure and ease are the mark of success and the aim of life.
Lust promises you that the pleasure of someone’s body will cure your boredom.
Gluttony tells you you’re hungry when you aren’t and promises that the emptiness you live with can be fixed by food.
Envy promises to ease the pain of your resentments and tells you that if you can have someone else’s life, then life will be good.
Anger insists that you’ve been wronged or deprived and promises that hitting back is right and just, bringing satisfaction through venting.
Greed tells you that you deserve more, that more is possible and permissible. Greed promises you that getting more will prove you matter.
Each of these promises has one thing in common: they are all lies. And yet we are prone to believe them. In the weeks ahead we’ll be trying to expose the empty promises we’ve embraced. We’ll also look for the alternative promises that come to us from God and from the good news of God’s grace through Jesus.
For today: Which of the promises above are you most vulnerable to believing?
Prayer:
Far too often and far too easily, O God, we embrace empty promises. We place our trust in things that cannot save us and live our days restless and discontented. Help us to face hard truths about ourselves that we might embrace the blessed truth of your promises. As we go through this day remind us that where sin abounds, grace abounds even more, through Jesus our Lord. Amen.
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
God's Design in Our Depletion: Five Lessons from Elijah
“Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.” (1 Kings 19:7).
When long-distance runners or cyclists hit a state of depletion it is usually a sign that something is going wrong. The body is beginning to shut down. Runners call it ‘hitting the wall.’ Cyclists call it ‘bonking.’ Whatever you call it, if you are an athlete you don’t want it happening to you.
As strange as it seems to us, unlike physical depletion, a depleted soul is not always a mistake. In fact, God often has a design in our depletion. If we’ll linger with Elijah under the broom tree we might detect what God’s design is. Here are five lessons drawn directly from the text.
1. A depleted and empty soul is not the same thing as a loss of faith; people of faith find themselves in this valley of emptiness. (19:1-9).
Throughout the entire story Elijah is in constant conversation with God. This is the essence of a life of faith. Faith is insisting that in all things we must deal with God: questions, complaints, doubts, everything. People of faith experience this depletion, this emptiness of soul.
2. Our depletion and emptiness of soul may be grounded in a disordered view of reality (19:2-4)
When Elijah stood on Mt Carmel God was the defining reality of his life. God was large; Baal and his prophets were small. Jezebel and Ahab were small. But under the broom tree, his view of reality changed. Jezebel was suddenly large and threatening and God was small. How does this happen? We’ll look at this later in the week
3. Depletion of soul and body are connected (19:5-7)
When God responds to Elijah’s complaint God does so with bread and water and sleep. Spiritual depletion and physical exhaustion are integrally connected. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your soul involves taking good care of your body. Eating and sleeping can be spiritual disciplines.
4. In our depletion God is bringing us to himself; be patient with this journey (19:8).
The journey from Beersheba to Mt. Horeb can be done on foot in about 14 days. However, God led Elijah on a 40 day journey. In our depletion God is at work to bring us to himself. That might take longer than we expect. Be patient with the journey.
5. Depletion is remedied by hearing the word of God in a fresh and personal way (19:9).
On Mt. Horeb Elijah heard God’s voice in a powerful way. The word of God came to him and restoring his vision of reality and renewing his call. What we need more than anything in our depletion is the voice of God in a fresh and personal way.
We’ll take a closer look at a few of these in the days ahead. For today: What would you identify as the signs of your own spiritual depletion?
Prayer:
Your ways, O God, are not our ways. We struggle to understand your design in our depletion – how you work your will in the dark and barren places of our lives. Renew our faith today, provide what we need for this journey, and make us attentive to your voice. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
When long-distance runners or cyclists hit a state of depletion it is usually a sign that something is going wrong. The body is beginning to shut down. Runners call it ‘hitting the wall.’ Cyclists call it ‘bonking.’ Whatever you call it, if you are an athlete you don’t want it happening to you.
As strange as it seems to us, unlike physical depletion, a depleted soul is not always a mistake. In fact, God often has a design in our depletion. If we’ll linger with Elijah under the broom tree we might detect what God’s design is. Here are five lessons drawn directly from the text.
1. A depleted and empty soul is not the same thing as a loss of faith; people of faith find themselves in this valley of emptiness. (19:1-9).
Throughout the entire story Elijah is in constant conversation with God. This is the essence of a life of faith. Faith is insisting that in all things we must deal with God: questions, complaints, doubts, everything. People of faith experience this depletion, this emptiness of soul.
2. Our depletion and emptiness of soul may be grounded in a disordered view of reality (19:2-4)
When Elijah stood on Mt Carmel God was the defining reality of his life. God was large; Baal and his prophets were small. Jezebel and Ahab were small. But under the broom tree, his view of reality changed. Jezebel was suddenly large and threatening and God was small. How does this happen? We’ll look at this later in the week
3. Depletion of soul and body are connected (19:5-7)
When God responds to Elijah’s complaint God does so with bread and water and sleep. Spiritual depletion and physical exhaustion are integrally connected. Sometimes the best thing you can do for your soul involves taking good care of your body. Eating and sleeping can be spiritual disciplines.
4. In our depletion God is bringing us to himself; be patient with this journey (19:8).
The journey from Beersheba to Mt. Horeb can be done on foot in about 14 days. However, God led Elijah on a 40 day journey. In our depletion God is at work to bring us to himself. That might take longer than we expect. Be patient with the journey.
5. Depletion is remedied by hearing the word of God in a fresh and personal way (19:9).
On Mt. Horeb Elijah heard God’s voice in a powerful way. The word of God came to him and restoring his vision of reality and renewing his call. What we need more than anything in our depletion is the voice of God in a fresh and personal way.
We’ll take a closer look at a few of these in the days ahead. For today: What would you identify as the signs of your own spiritual depletion?
Prayer:
Your ways, O God, are not our ways. We struggle to understand your design in our depletion – how you work your will in the dark and barren places of our lives. Renew our faith today, provide what we need for this journey, and make us attentive to your voice. We ask this in Jesus’ name. Amen.
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