“ . . . Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
The familiar phrase “kid in a candy store” comes to mind. That’s me when I have a gift certificate to our church bookstore. Earlier this week I went down to the bookstore with a gift certificate that had ten dollars and change remaining on the balance. Ten dollars can almost cover the entire cost of a paperback book, so I went browsing the shelves like a lion stalking prey.
Maybe because we had just finished the family sermon series with a focus on the church, or perhaps because the larger Presbyterian family is being severely strained, this title by Robert Benson caught my eye: The Body Broken: Answering God’s Call to Love One Another. Well, there went my ten dollar gift certificate.
I’m only one chapter into the book. So far, so good. What has lingered with me to this point has been a very brief excerpt from the Book of Common Prayer placed as a prescript to the first chapter. The words are a prayer for the church, asking that all who profess themselves Christians would “hold the faith in unity of Spirit and in the bonds of peace.”
The prayer then ends with these words: “And this we beg for Jesus Christ’s sake. Amen.”
When it comes to the wholeness of God’s family, we’re not just asking, we’re begging. The same should be said of our own individual families. Asking isn’t urgent enough. The stakes are too high. When it comes to our families, we are beggars.
Luther biographer Heiko A. Oberman writes that the last recorded words of the great reformer just before his death on February 18, 1546 were “we are beggars . . . this is true.” The words capture our dependence on the grace of God. Apart from God we have nothing. Jesus said as much. Reminding us that we are branches that must remain connected to the true vine if we are to bear fruit, Jesus said “apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
And so, when it comes to our children and the task of parenting, we are beggars. We plead for grace to parent well and with wisdom. We beg God’s blessings on behalf of our children.
When it comes to our marriages, we are beggars. We petition God with urgency for the grace we need to love well and to live with each other in such a way that God’s original two-made-one design is a reality.
When it comes to honoring parents and loving our siblings we are beggars. We know that left to ourselves we lack the patience and understanding we need to do this – and so we knock on heaven’s door every day and ask for more grace.
And all of this begging is for Jesus’ sake. We don’t make these desperate requests of God simply so that our home life can be pleasant and everyone can find happiness. The name and reputation and character of Jesus are at stake in our homes and in our churches. The well being of our families, or the lack of it, says something about God.
So keep praying for your family and for your church, seeking God’s grace with persistent intense prayers. The stakes are high and, after all, we are beggars . . . this is true.
Prayer:
Gracious God, today we come to you as beggars, pleading for our marriages, our children, our churches, our homes, our friendships, our brothers and sisters. We beg for grace that makes our families a reflection of who you are. We pray for the mercies of patience and love and compassion. We give you thanks for our families and seek your richest blessings with urgency and boldness, for we are indeed beggars who can do nothing apart from you. All of this we ask in Jesus’ name, Amen.
Showing posts with label Family devo series at PPC. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Family devo series at PPC. Show all posts
Friday, July 18, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Fighting For (not With) Your Family
Thanks to the automatic drip feature, the coffee was ready when I woke up. Wrapping my hands around the heat of the cup, I made my way back upstairs to the little room in the far corner of the house that serves as a study. Having turned on the lamp on my desk and situated myself in my chair, I looked at the assigned Bible reading for the day: Micah 7.
I was disappointed. That seems like a strange thing to say. How does one manage to feel disappointed over a Bible reading? It would sound much better to report to you that I came eagerly to God’s word. I hear other people talk like that, and I’d like to be that kind of person. It’s the least someone should expect from pastor. But that’s not how it was for me this morning. I wasn’t too jazzed about reading Micah 7.
What challenges me most about someone like Micah is the fact that prophets have a tendency to make lengthy use of poetic speech. Poetry is hard. I prefer stories, following the action and not just seeing the images. I grew up singing a hymn, “Tell Me the Story of Jesus.” I never sang anything that said “Read Me the Poems of Micah.”
At any rate, I began making my way through Micah 7, and there at verse 6 I came across these words.
For a son dishonors his father, a daughter rises up against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law, a man’s enemies are the members of his own household.
The prophet is describing and lamenting a godless age, a period of time in which people are skilled in doing evil and governments are corrupt and bloodshed is common. Not unlike what you’ll see and hear on the news every night. In such an age, families are fractured and in trouble. Trust and intimacy are losing out to conflict and hostility. But then Micah adds these words:
But as for me I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my savior. My God will hear me (Micah 7:7).
After these weeks of reflecting on the family, I couldn’t escape the pairing of the description of family turmoil with the statement of patient and confident prayer. I pray for my family, but it hit me hard that I don’t pray for my family nearly enough. Prayer is a way of fighting for the well being of our home and our children and our churches. We combat the erosion of family life with prayer.
Not long ago I read a wonderful book by Patricia Rayborn, I Told the Mountain to Move. I could see that the book was about prayer, but as I read it, it became obvious that prayer was a means by which she fought for her family in the midst of her husband’s life threatening illness and her daughter’s decision to reject the Christian faith.
For families in trouble prayer is a weapon. There are other good weapons in counseling and conferences and books. But we’re not fighting against flesh and blood and the culture. There’s more involved. You can do nothing better today than to fight for the well being of your family by praying persistently and patiently. God will hear you.
Prayer:
We pray today, O God, for troubled families. Teach us to pray with confidence and patience, and make us diligent in our praying. We pray for our own families, knowing that apart from your grace we cannot love each other as you taught us to love; apart from grace we will not show that love to the world. Hear our prayers, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
I was disappointed. That seems like a strange thing to say. How does one manage to feel disappointed over a Bible reading? It would sound much better to report to you that I came eagerly to God’s word. I hear other people talk like that, and I’d like to be that kind of person. It’s the least someone should expect from pastor. But that’s not how it was for me this morning. I wasn’t too jazzed about reading Micah 7.
What challenges me most about someone like Micah is the fact that prophets have a tendency to make lengthy use of poetic speech. Poetry is hard. I prefer stories, following the action and not just seeing the images. I grew up singing a hymn, “Tell Me the Story of Jesus.” I never sang anything that said “Read Me the Poems of Micah.”
At any rate, I began making my way through Micah 7, and there at verse 6 I came across these words.
For a son dishonors his father, a daughter rises up against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law, a man’s enemies are the members of his own household.
The prophet is describing and lamenting a godless age, a period of time in which people are skilled in doing evil and governments are corrupt and bloodshed is common. Not unlike what you’ll see and hear on the news every night. In such an age, families are fractured and in trouble. Trust and intimacy are losing out to conflict and hostility. But then Micah adds these words:
But as for me I watch in hope for the Lord, I wait for God my savior. My God will hear me (Micah 7:7).
After these weeks of reflecting on the family, I couldn’t escape the pairing of the description of family turmoil with the statement of patient and confident prayer. I pray for my family, but it hit me hard that I don’t pray for my family nearly enough. Prayer is a way of fighting for the well being of our home and our children and our churches. We combat the erosion of family life with prayer.
Not long ago I read a wonderful book by Patricia Rayborn, I Told the Mountain to Move. I could see that the book was about prayer, but as I read it, it became obvious that prayer was a means by which she fought for her family in the midst of her husband’s life threatening illness and her daughter’s decision to reject the Christian faith.
For families in trouble prayer is a weapon. There are other good weapons in counseling and conferences and books. But we’re not fighting against flesh and blood and the culture. There’s more involved. You can do nothing better today than to fight for the well being of your family by praying persistently and patiently. God will hear you.
Prayer:
We pray today, O God, for troubled families. Teach us to pray with confidence and patience, and make us diligent in our praying. We pray for our own families, knowing that apart from your grace we cannot love each other as you taught us to love; apart from grace we will not show that love to the world. Hear our prayers, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
Tensions
If anyone comes to you and does not bring this teaching, do not take him into your house or welcome him (2 John 10).
I had to separate my children this afternoon. I’d gladly narrate some amusing story about what happened, but I honestly don’t know what happened. They were in the basement, I was upstairs. I know what they told me, and their stories are amazingly dissimilar.
But maybe it doesn’t matter. The plot is all too familiar: crying breaks out . . . accusations fly . . . reprimands are spoken (at elevated volume) . . . protests are made in response to the reprimands . . . the combatants are sent to different corners to cool off. I don’t think that I ever truly addressed the problem, nor did I effectively coach my children in dealing with it, whatever it was. I just got them away from each other and restored peace to the house.
That happened in the early evening. Interestingly, earlier in the day I had spent a few hours at Presbytery meeting. For any non-Presbyterian readers, the Presbytery meeting involves lots of Presbyterians from lots of different churches in an area (Greater Atlanta) getting together to accomplish the work of the Kingdom, or something like that.
After a few hours at Presbytery I need to be sent to my room. I seem to do better there. I hate to admit that. I want to serve the larger church, take my place in the family and be a good presbyter – but those meetings irritate me, and things are so much easier in my own corner of the ecclesiastical house. The real issues that disturb us as God’s family won’t be dealt with that way, but it’s the simplest formula for peace it seems. One party holed up over here, another over there.
I puzzle over the words I read in John’s short letters in the New Testament. No one spoke more about love and loving each other than John. And no one was quicker to point the finger at errant Christians and dismiss them from the family. Love each other, but don’t tolerate deviant teachings and the people who spread them (see 2 John).
Family life is full of tensions – and by that I do not mean strained relationships. I mean two worthy objectives or aims that make opposite demands of us.
Parents need to spend time with their children . . . and they need time with each other alone. But there’s only so much time to go around.
Kids need careful supervision . . . and they need to learn independence. Don’t smother, and don’t be cavalier.
Grown children must establish healthy boundaries with parents and in-laws . . . and yet they are to honor mother and father.
And in God’s family, we are to name the name of Jesus and love each other. And yet, those who name the name of Jesus often have very different ideas as to what the name means for us and what it means to be identified by that name.
Perhaps healthy family life is marked not by the absence of tension, but by a capacity for living in the tension. People who can’t tolerate the ambiguities and tensions won’t stick around to be faithful to their spouse and to raise their children. The trick is being in the tensions without becoming tense. Human anger will never bring about God’s righteousness (James 1:20).
So how are you doing with the tensions of family life today? Are you ready to come out of your room?
Prayer:
Gracious God, work in my life in such a way that I grow in my capacity to love all the members of your family. And at the same time make me bold for Truth. Make me humble to learn from others, and confident enough to challenge them as well. Help me to venture from the safety of my room to take my place in your family. Amen.
I had to separate my children this afternoon. I’d gladly narrate some amusing story about what happened, but I honestly don’t know what happened. They were in the basement, I was upstairs. I know what they told me, and their stories are amazingly dissimilar.
But maybe it doesn’t matter. The plot is all too familiar: crying breaks out . . . accusations fly . . . reprimands are spoken (at elevated volume) . . . protests are made in response to the reprimands . . . the combatants are sent to different corners to cool off. I don’t think that I ever truly addressed the problem, nor did I effectively coach my children in dealing with it, whatever it was. I just got them away from each other and restored peace to the house.
That happened in the early evening. Interestingly, earlier in the day I had spent a few hours at Presbytery meeting. For any non-Presbyterian readers, the Presbytery meeting involves lots of Presbyterians from lots of different churches in an area (Greater Atlanta) getting together to accomplish the work of the Kingdom, or something like that.
After a few hours at Presbytery I need to be sent to my room. I seem to do better there. I hate to admit that. I want to serve the larger church, take my place in the family and be a good presbyter – but those meetings irritate me, and things are so much easier in my own corner of the ecclesiastical house. The real issues that disturb us as God’s family won’t be dealt with that way, but it’s the simplest formula for peace it seems. One party holed up over here, another over there.
I puzzle over the words I read in John’s short letters in the New Testament. No one spoke more about love and loving each other than John. And no one was quicker to point the finger at errant Christians and dismiss them from the family. Love each other, but don’t tolerate deviant teachings and the people who spread them (see 2 John).
Family life is full of tensions – and by that I do not mean strained relationships. I mean two worthy objectives or aims that make opposite demands of us.
Parents need to spend time with their children . . . and they need time with each other alone. But there’s only so much time to go around.
Kids need careful supervision . . . and they need to learn independence. Don’t smother, and don’t be cavalier.
Grown children must establish healthy boundaries with parents and in-laws . . . and yet they are to honor mother and father.
And in God’s family, we are to name the name of Jesus and love each other. And yet, those who name the name of Jesus often have very different ideas as to what the name means for us and what it means to be identified by that name.
Perhaps healthy family life is marked not by the absence of tension, but by a capacity for living in the tension. People who can’t tolerate the ambiguities and tensions won’t stick around to be faithful to their spouse and to raise their children. The trick is being in the tensions without becoming tense. Human anger will never bring about God’s righteousness (James 1:20).
So how are you doing with the tensions of family life today? Are you ready to come out of your room?
Prayer:
Gracious God, work in my life in such a way that I grow in my capacity to love all the members of your family. And at the same time make me bold for Truth. Make me humble to learn from others, and confident enough to challenge them as well. Help me to venture from the safety of my room to take my place in your family. Amen.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Say "Shibboleth"
. . . They said, "All right, say 'Shibboleth.' “If he said, "Sibboleth," because he could not pronounce the word correctly, they seized him and killed him at the fords of the Jordan (Judges 12:6).
“Are you one of us?”
We’re constantly asking that question, though not with those words. We know what to listen for. We quickly pick up on clues that reveal a stance or attitude or belief. We arrange the evidence in our minds and reach a conclusion. “Yes, one of us” or “No, not one of us.” The conclusion shapes the relationship.
There’s an odd story in the book of Judges about jealousies that crept up between two Israelite tribes. The tribe of Gilead had gone to war against a familiar nemesis, the Ammonites. Gilead – small and insignificant among the Israelite tribes – came away with an upset victory. This made the tribe of Ephraim jealous. “You should have included us in the fight,” they whined.
Gilead fires back, “We asked for your help, but you wouldn’t respond. We had to protect ourselves so we fought them alone. Get over it.” This answer was not well received. Things got ugly between Gilead and Ephraim. Very ugly. They ended up fighting each other. I’m sure that’s hard for us to imagine. The people of God fighting each other. Family members eaten up with jealousy, taking shots at each other. Unheard of? Not so much.
When Ephraim tried to retreat and escape Gilead, some of them were captured crossing the Jordan. As a way of clearly identifying their enemy, the Gilead tribe demanded that the captured Ephraimites pronounce the word “Shibboleth.”
Ephraimites couldn’t say that word. They tried but it came out “Sibboleth.” Too bad for them. If you can’t say the word, you don’t belong to us. Say it right or say goodnight.
My Dad was asked to say “Shibboleth” the other day. Not the exact word really. He had made a hospital visit but didn’t have his clergy card when he tried to leave the parking garage. The card is basically a pass for free parking. The attendant told him to simply write his name and the name of his church on the parking ticket. And then he added, “Once you do that, I have a test for you.” That got my Dad’s attention.
Dad signed the card and handed it to the attendant, who then questioned him. “You say you are a minister of the gospel . . . everyone knows John 3:16, but can you quote John 3:17?” In other words, say “Shibboleth.” My Dad gladly quoted John 3:17. The attendant praised his knowledge of the scripture and let him leave the parking garage. (So what if Dad had drawn a blank on that verse? I have no idea).
The story from Judges is peculiar, but timely. Within God’s family we keep asking each other to say “Shibboleth.” We keep looking for ways to determine who’s like me and who isn’t. Who’s one of us, and who’s one of them.
The New Testament offers different criteria for knowing the family. Name the name of Jesus and love one another. That sounds good – but it’s so hard. Can’t we find an easy test like “shibboleth?” Shibboleth is easier in some ways, but it’s a wedge that fragments the family. The world takes notice of our love, or lack of it.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, it is hard to love the brothers and sisters we find in your family. We test each other, assess each other, including some as true family and regarding others as strangers. But you have prayed for our unity and given us a new command to love one another. With your command give us your grace, that we might truly be your children. Amen.
“Are you one of us?”
We’re constantly asking that question, though not with those words. We know what to listen for. We quickly pick up on clues that reveal a stance or attitude or belief. We arrange the evidence in our minds and reach a conclusion. “Yes, one of us” or “No, not one of us.” The conclusion shapes the relationship.
There’s an odd story in the book of Judges about jealousies that crept up between two Israelite tribes. The tribe of Gilead had gone to war against a familiar nemesis, the Ammonites. Gilead – small and insignificant among the Israelite tribes – came away with an upset victory. This made the tribe of Ephraim jealous. “You should have included us in the fight,” they whined.
Gilead fires back, “We asked for your help, but you wouldn’t respond. We had to protect ourselves so we fought them alone. Get over it.” This answer was not well received. Things got ugly between Gilead and Ephraim. Very ugly. They ended up fighting each other. I’m sure that’s hard for us to imagine. The people of God fighting each other. Family members eaten up with jealousy, taking shots at each other. Unheard of? Not so much.
When Ephraim tried to retreat and escape Gilead, some of them were captured crossing the Jordan. As a way of clearly identifying their enemy, the Gilead tribe demanded that the captured Ephraimites pronounce the word “Shibboleth.”
Ephraimites couldn’t say that word. They tried but it came out “Sibboleth.” Too bad for them. If you can’t say the word, you don’t belong to us. Say it right or say goodnight.
My Dad was asked to say “Shibboleth” the other day. Not the exact word really. He had made a hospital visit but didn’t have his clergy card when he tried to leave the parking garage. The card is basically a pass for free parking. The attendant told him to simply write his name and the name of his church on the parking ticket. And then he added, “Once you do that, I have a test for you.” That got my Dad’s attention.
Dad signed the card and handed it to the attendant, who then questioned him. “You say you are a minister of the gospel . . . everyone knows John 3:16, but can you quote John 3:17?” In other words, say “Shibboleth.” My Dad gladly quoted John 3:17. The attendant praised his knowledge of the scripture and let him leave the parking garage. (So what if Dad had drawn a blank on that verse? I have no idea).
The story from Judges is peculiar, but timely. Within God’s family we keep asking each other to say “Shibboleth.” We keep looking for ways to determine who’s like me and who isn’t. Who’s one of us, and who’s one of them.
The New Testament offers different criteria for knowing the family. Name the name of Jesus and love one another. That sounds good – but it’s so hard. Can’t we find an easy test like “shibboleth?” Shibboleth is easier in some ways, but it’s a wedge that fragments the family. The world takes notice of our love, or lack of it.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, it is hard to love the brothers and sisters we find in your family. We test each other, assess each other, including some as true family and regarding others as strangers. But you have prayed for our unity and given us a new command to love one another. With your command give us your grace, that we might truly be your children. Amen.
Monday, July 14, 2008
Is this (Really) What God Had in Mind?
“. . . the people I formed for myself that they may proclaim my praise” (Isaiah 43:21).
The task was simple enough. Marnie had asked me to change out a light bulb in the fluorescent light fixture in our kitchen. She was making dinner at the time, and I had offered to help. Dinner was under control, but the lighting in the room was dim. Some bulbs needed changing. That’s where I came in.
As simple as the job sounded, things went south in a hurry. To get to the long florescent bulbs I had to remove a wood frame from the light fixture. No sooner had I removed one screw than the entire fixture dropped from the ceiling, showering flecks of drywall down on the kitchen floor, leaving me stranded like Moses with my arms raised supporting the fixture.
I tell you the story for this reason: The great gift of that moment was the fact that my wife was right there. A partner. Someone there to help me. As I held the fixture above my head with increasingly weary shoulders, Marnie managed to detach the wires that held the fixture in place and I lowered the wreck to the floor.
I will also admit this: The great challenge of that moment was the fact that my wife was right there. We immediately began a lively exchange of opinions as to what had happened and why it happened and how it might have been done differently or not. This was rather unpleasant.
Got any stories like that? Details may vary but the basic plot is all too familiar. The recurring motif is the peculiar nature of family life. It is at once a gift of grace and a source of trial and testing. Is this really what God had in mind?
A little more than a month ago we began thinking about God’s design for the family. The very first reflection of this series spoke of God’s basic intent for human-kind; we were “made to stick.” The family exists because we need to be connected to others. To be alone is not good.
At the same time we recognized that sticky is sometimes messy. Being connected to other people means having to deal with those same people in all of their humanness. It means being there for each other when light fixtures fall from the ceiling and someone has the flu or a nasty diaper needs changing.
Family is both a blessing and a burden. Family holds us up and pushes us to our limits. Family can sometime drive us nuts, and quite often drive us to our knees. Maybe this is exactly what God had in mind. The original design for family assumes God. Remove God from the equation and family life becomes difficult indeed.
Every family arrangement is given to us for one reason: it mirrors God. Marriage, parenting, brothers and sisters – all of it reflects God’s covenant bond with his people. And what’s true of families is certainly true of the church. God has always been about the business of forming a people for himself, a people who exist to proclaim God’s praises and goodness and excellence. It’s a risky plan. We don’t always do it well. The church as God’s family. That’s what we’ll be thinking of this week as we wrap up our reflections on God’s design for the family.
Prayer:
Gracious God, remind us yet again that there is more at stake in our families than happy children and a loving spouse and a well kept yard. You have called us to live in such a way that the world around us sees something of who you are. Help us to do this not only in our families, but in our churches as well. Let us be a people who declare your praise by reflecting your goodness and love, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
The task was simple enough. Marnie had asked me to change out a light bulb in the fluorescent light fixture in our kitchen. She was making dinner at the time, and I had offered to help. Dinner was under control, but the lighting in the room was dim. Some bulbs needed changing. That’s where I came in.
As simple as the job sounded, things went south in a hurry. To get to the long florescent bulbs I had to remove a wood frame from the light fixture. No sooner had I removed one screw than the entire fixture dropped from the ceiling, showering flecks of drywall down on the kitchen floor, leaving me stranded like Moses with my arms raised supporting the fixture.
I tell you the story for this reason: The great gift of that moment was the fact that my wife was right there. A partner. Someone there to help me. As I held the fixture above my head with increasingly weary shoulders, Marnie managed to detach the wires that held the fixture in place and I lowered the wreck to the floor.
I will also admit this: The great challenge of that moment was the fact that my wife was right there. We immediately began a lively exchange of opinions as to what had happened and why it happened and how it might have been done differently or not. This was rather unpleasant.
Got any stories like that? Details may vary but the basic plot is all too familiar. The recurring motif is the peculiar nature of family life. It is at once a gift of grace and a source of trial and testing. Is this really what God had in mind?
A little more than a month ago we began thinking about God’s design for the family. The very first reflection of this series spoke of God’s basic intent for human-kind; we were “made to stick.” The family exists because we need to be connected to others. To be alone is not good.
At the same time we recognized that sticky is sometimes messy. Being connected to other people means having to deal with those same people in all of their humanness. It means being there for each other when light fixtures fall from the ceiling and someone has the flu or a nasty diaper needs changing.
Family is both a blessing and a burden. Family holds us up and pushes us to our limits. Family can sometime drive us nuts, and quite often drive us to our knees. Maybe this is exactly what God had in mind. The original design for family assumes God. Remove God from the equation and family life becomes difficult indeed.
Every family arrangement is given to us for one reason: it mirrors God. Marriage, parenting, brothers and sisters – all of it reflects God’s covenant bond with his people. And what’s true of families is certainly true of the church. God has always been about the business of forming a people for himself, a people who exist to proclaim God’s praises and goodness and excellence. It’s a risky plan. We don’t always do it well. The church as God’s family. That’s what we’ll be thinking of this week as we wrap up our reflections on God’s design for the family.
Prayer:
Gracious God, remind us yet again that there is more at stake in our families than happy children and a loving spouse and a well kept yard. You have called us to live in such a way that the world around us sees something of who you are. Help us to do this not only in our families, but in our churches as well. Let us be a people who declare your praise by reflecting your goodness and love, we ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Friendship Strained
Barnabas wanted to take John, also called Mark, with them, but Paul did not think it wise to take him . . . they had such a sharp disagreement that they parted company (Acts 15:37, 39).
Ever had someone let you down?
Most of us, whether we’ve sung the words of the old hymn or not, know exactly what the hymn is saying when it asks “do thy friends despise, forsake thee?” Sometimes that’s what happens. It may not be intentional. It may not be malicious. Nevertheless, our friends can let us down. This is why friendship is risky and why many had just as soon not bother with it.
Jesus knew all about this kind of thing firsthand. Judas betrayed him. Peter denied him. Folks back in his hometown took offense at his first sermon and ran him out of town. On the night of his deepest agony, his closest three friends couldn’t stay awake to pray with him.
And the early church dynamic duo of Paul and Barnabas hit some rocky times as well in their friendship. They had tried to take Mark along on a missionary journey, but Mark got homesick and bailed on the endeavor. When it came time for the next journey Barnabas wanted to give Mark another chance. Paul said, “no way.” This difference of opinion broke up the team. God blessed their labors and continued to work through both men, but it’s hard to imagine that this didn’t sting, and deeply.
The answer to the hymn’s question is obvious. “Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?” The answer is “Yes, they do.” And if this is so, what are we to do with those strained friendships?
Let’s begin by admitting that every human friendship and every human family is fallen. This fact alone shapes how we do family life and friendship. It reminds us that our relationships are still stained by the reality of sin. All of us are inclined toward selfishness. We don’t love as we should. We do things we later regret and say things without thinking.
But here’s the surprise in this: our fallen families and friendships are the means by which God is honored. Strained relationships are the arena in which grace is shown to be real and forgiveness possible. In our strained friendships we show the world what God is like.
But we’ll never do this apart from a friendship with Jesus. Apart from the presence of Christ in us, we can’t put God’s grace on display. When our friendships are strained we fall back on the only thing that can hold our friendships and families together: the power of God’s very life in us.
We keep coming back to this same answer: There’s nothing better that we can do than take our strained friendships to the Lord in prayer. By the help of the Holy Spirit we get direction for how to forgive, we get the courage to confront, we discern what it will take to reconcile, and we also may learn how to move forward in different directions like Paul and Barnabas did. When others let us down, the hymn promises that we will find solace in Jesus. Maybe we just need to ask.
Prayer:
Grant us the grace we need, O Lord, to befriend those who have suddenly become strangers to us. Help us to know how grace works and what it means for us to extend it to others. In our fallen and strained relationships, help us to be more like your Son, in whose name we pray. Amen
Ever had someone let you down?
Most of us, whether we’ve sung the words of the old hymn or not, know exactly what the hymn is saying when it asks “do thy friends despise, forsake thee?” Sometimes that’s what happens. It may not be intentional. It may not be malicious. Nevertheless, our friends can let us down. This is why friendship is risky and why many had just as soon not bother with it.
Jesus knew all about this kind of thing firsthand. Judas betrayed him. Peter denied him. Folks back in his hometown took offense at his first sermon and ran him out of town. On the night of his deepest agony, his closest three friends couldn’t stay awake to pray with him.
And the early church dynamic duo of Paul and Barnabas hit some rocky times as well in their friendship. They had tried to take Mark along on a missionary journey, but Mark got homesick and bailed on the endeavor. When it came time for the next journey Barnabas wanted to give Mark another chance. Paul said, “no way.” This difference of opinion broke up the team. God blessed their labors and continued to work through both men, but it’s hard to imagine that this didn’t sting, and deeply.
The answer to the hymn’s question is obvious. “Do thy friends despise, forsake thee?” The answer is “Yes, they do.” And if this is so, what are we to do with those strained friendships?
Let’s begin by admitting that every human friendship and every human family is fallen. This fact alone shapes how we do family life and friendship. It reminds us that our relationships are still stained by the reality of sin. All of us are inclined toward selfishness. We don’t love as we should. We do things we later regret and say things without thinking.
But here’s the surprise in this: our fallen families and friendships are the means by which God is honored. Strained relationships are the arena in which grace is shown to be real and forgiveness possible. In our strained friendships we show the world what God is like.
But we’ll never do this apart from a friendship with Jesus. Apart from the presence of Christ in us, we can’t put God’s grace on display. When our friendships are strained we fall back on the only thing that can hold our friendships and families together: the power of God’s very life in us.
We keep coming back to this same answer: There’s nothing better that we can do than take our strained friendships to the Lord in prayer. By the help of the Holy Spirit we get direction for how to forgive, we get the courage to confront, we discern what it will take to reconcile, and we also may learn how to move forward in different directions like Paul and Barnabas did. When others let us down, the hymn promises that we will find solace in Jesus. Maybe we just need to ask.
Prayer:
Grant us the grace we need, O Lord, to befriend those who have suddenly become strangers to us. Help us to know how grace works and what it means for us to extend it to others. In our fallen and strained relationships, help us to be more like your Son, in whose name we pray. Amen
Thursday, July 10, 2008
Needless Pain
Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves (Ecc. 4:12).
The very words “needless pain” should make us pause for a moment. If those words happen to show up in a hymn, you are not likely to linger and think. For one thing, hymns don’t stop. There’s no time to think in the middle of a song. Second, the familiarity of the hymn itself works against sustained reflection. Once you’ve sung “O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear” a few hundred times you stop hearing the words. Unfortunate but true.
But right now you’ve got a few moments to think. “Needless pain.” Unnecessary. Pain you don’t need. Pointless. We get that. But those words suggest that there might be such a thing as needful pain. That’s what we struggle to understand. Most of the messages we receive from the world around us tell us that all pain is to be avoided. All pain is bad, indicative of something gone wrong, cause for alarm.
Our scriptures tell us something different. There’s no shortage of biblical language about rejoicing in our sufferings. The writer of Hebrews tells us that Jesus learned obedience through what he suffered. Psalm 119 repeatedly speaks of the good that comes from affliction. “It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees” (Ps. 119:71). C. S. Lewis had it right when he spoke of pain as “God’s megaphone.” God speaks to us in suffering. A pain free existence lulls us into spiritual slumber.
And yet, that God speaks to us in pain does not mean that God asks us to be gluttons for pain. It is one thing to bear pain well. It’s another thing entirely to invite more pain into your life than God intends to give you. That’s where friendship comes in. To refuse friendship is to bear needless pain.
Few have said it better than the wise author of Ecclesiastes. His basic premise was that two people together will have a better time of it than one who does life alone and without companionship (Ecc. 4:9-12).
To insist on working solo invites needless pain. You can’t accomplish as much. You can’t earn as much as you might with a team effort.
To walk alone invites needless pain. When you fall there’s no one to hear your cries for help, no shoulder to lean on as you limp. It’s hard to place all of your weight on your own wound.
To face alone all that life throws at you is to invite needless pain. We can’t make a decent defense by ourselves. Someone needs to stand with us and watch our back.
So God gives us friends. The old hymn resonates with truth when it reminds us that to refuse friendship, especially friendship with Jesus, is to forfeit our peace and to bear needless pain.
The practical response to this may be as simple as a conversation. If you’re bearing needless pain today the best thing you can do is talk to someone. Let someone else know what you’re dealing with, what you’re afraid of, what you’ve done. This is why God gives us friends. To keep solitary company with your pain means that there is very likely something you’re suffering needlessly. Be done with it. Take it to a friend in conversation. Take it to the Lord in prayer. And unload the weight of needless pain.
Prayer:
To often, Lord Jesus, I forfeit the peace you want to give me and take on needless pain by distancing myself from you and from others. Give me courage to reach out. Teach me to pray. And show me how to be there for someone else, that they might find relief from needless pain and receive grace through our friendship, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
The very words “needless pain” should make us pause for a moment. If those words happen to show up in a hymn, you are not likely to linger and think. For one thing, hymns don’t stop. There’s no time to think in the middle of a song. Second, the familiarity of the hymn itself works against sustained reflection. Once you’ve sung “O what peace we often forfeit, O what needless pain we bear” a few hundred times you stop hearing the words. Unfortunate but true.
But right now you’ve got a few moments to think. “Needless pain.” Unnecessary. Pain you don’t need. Pointless. We get that. But those words suggest that there might be such a thing as needful pain. That’s what we struggle to understand. Most of the messages we receive from the world around us tell us that all pain is to be avoided. All pain is bad, indicative of something gone wrong, cause for alarm.
Our scriptures tell us something different. There’s no shortage of biblical language about rejoicing in our sufferings. The writer of Hebrews tells us that Jesus learned obedience through what he suffered. Psalm 119 repeatedly speaks of the good that comes from affliction. “It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn your decrees” (Ps. 119:71). C. S. Lewis had it right when he spoke of pain as “God’s megaphone.” God speaks to us in suffering. A pain free existence lulls us into spiritual slumber.
And yet, that God speaks to us in pain does not mean that God asks us to be gluttons for pain. It is one thing to bear pain well. It’s another thing entirely to invite more pain into your life than God intends to give you. That’s where friendship comes in. To refuse friendship is to bear needless pain.
Few have said it better than the wise author of Ecclesiastes. His basic premise was that two people together will have a better time of it than one who does life alone and without companionship (Ecc. 4:9-12).
To insist on working solo invites needless pain. You can’t accomplish as much. You can’t earn as much as you might with a team effort.
To walk alone invites needless pain. When you fall there’s no one to hear your cries for help, no shoulder to lean on as you limp. It’s hard to place all of your weight on your own wound.
To face alone all that life throws at you is to invite needless pain. We can’t make a decent defense by ourselves. Someone needs to stand with us and watch our back.
So God gives us friends. The old hymn resonates with truth when it reminds us that to refuse friendship, especially friendship with Jesus, is to forfeit our peace and to bear needless pain.
The practical response to this may be as simple as a conversation. If you’re bearing needless pain today the best thing you can do is talk to someone. Let someone else know what you’re dealing with, what you’re afraid of, what you’ve done. This is why God gives us friends. To keep solitary company with your pain means that there is very likely something you’re suffering needlessly. Be done with it. Take it to a friend in conversation. Take it to the Lord in prayer. And unload the weight of needless pain.
Prayer:
To often, Lord Jesus, I forfeit the peace you want to give me and take on needless pain by distancing myself from you and from others. Give me courage to reach out. Teach me to pray. And show me how to be there for someone else, that they might find relief from needless pain and receive grace through our friendship, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
Sorrows Borne, not Banished
Surely he has borne our griefs, and carried our sorrows (Isaiah 53:4 ESV)
There’s a reality-style game show on TV these days, very similar to a much older show called “Name that Tune.” The modern day spin on that older classic allows contestants to hear several bars of a song, and then they have to sing the missing lyrics after a certain point in the song.
So let’s play. “What a friend we have in Jesus, ________________________.”
Some of you may not have a clue. Plenty of you don’t even have to think about it.
The next line: “All our sins and griefs to bear.”
That says something significant about friendship. Of course we cannot do for others what Jesus did for us. Jesus took our sins, our failures, our brokenness upon himself. What’s more, he did it once and for all. It doesn’t have to be done again. Good thing!
But if Jesus our friend bears our sorrows, what does that mean for those who follow him? If Jesus defines friendship, in what sense do we bear another’s sorrows? This isn’t theological speculation. Many of you may have a friend who lives every day under the smothering weight of sorrow. You do what you can to express your concern and let them know you care. And you never feel it’s enough.
We might do well to remember that there is a difference between sorrows borne and sorrows banished. What you’d probably like to do is take away their sorrow. That’s the kind of truly meaningful help most of us want to give. We’d like to know what to do or what to say that will banish the sorrow. But that’s beyond both our capacity as a friend and the calling of friendship itself. To bear someone’s sorrow does not mean you banish it.
Not even Jesus does that. Jesus has removed the penalty of our sin but not the struggles of everyday life. Jesus does not spare us from heartache. In fact, those who trust Jesus still know all kinds of grief, the shame of bad choices, the hurt of lost hopes and dashed expectations. All of that is familiar territory to those claim friendship with Jesus. Jesus our friend bears our sorrows, but he will not always take them away. He stands with us.
But his standing with us is no passive presence. Jesus stands ready to hear us. That’s the part of the old hymn that gets sung over and over again. “Take it to the Lord in prayer.” Jesus hears us when we pray. And then, as the hymn affirms, he shields us in his arms. Shields are not necessary when skies are clear and breezes fair. Shields are for those under attack. Again, our sorrows are borne, not banished.
One very simple way to bear another’s sorrows is to do exactly what the hymn says. Take it to the Lord in prayer. You may have a friend whose sorrow is so deep they can’t manage to pray for themselves; deep sorrow has a way of choking prayer. But a friend is someone who comes alongside and bears the sorrow, not by trying to take it away, but by offering it up to the one who can.
Prayer:
Surely, O God, you have borne our sorrows. Teach us to do the same for those close to us. Today we lift our prayers for all who live in the shadows of sorrow. By the help of your Spirit, let us bear their sorrow through our faithful prayers. Shield them with your grace we pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
There’s a reality-style game show on TV these days, very similar to a much older show called “Name that Tune.” The modern day spin on that older classic allows contestants to hear several bars of a song, and then they have to sing the missing lyrics after a certain point in the song.
So let’s play. “What a friend we have in Jesus, ________________________.”
Some of you may not have a clue. Plenty of you don’t even have to think about it.
The next line: “All our sins and griefs to bear.”
That says something significant about friendship. Of course we cannot do for others what Jesus did for us. Jesus took our sins, our failures, our brokenness upon himself. What’s more, he did it once and for all. It doesn’t have to be done again. Good thing!
But if Jesus our friend bears our sorrows, what does that mean for those who follow him? If Jesus defines friendship, in what sense do we bear another’s sorrows? This isn’t theological speculation. Many of you may have a friend who lives every day under the smothering weight of sorrow. You do what you can to express your concern and let them know you care. And you never feel it’s enough.
We might do well to remember that there is a difference between sorrows borne and sorrows banished. What you’d probably like to do is take away their sorrow. That’s the kind of truly meaningful help most of us want to give. We’d like to know what to do or what to say that will banish the sorrow. But that’s beyond both our capacity as a friend and the calling of friendship itself. To bear someone’s sorrow does not mean you banish it.
Not even Jesus does that. Jesus has removed the penalty of our sin but not the struggles of everyday life. Jesus does not spare us from heartache. In fact, those who trust Jesus still know all kinds of grief, the shame of bad choices, the hurt of lost hopes and dashed expectations. All of that is familiar territory to those claim friendship with Jesus. Jesus our friend bears our sorrows, but he will not always take them away. He stands with us.
But his standing with us is no passive presence. Jesus stands ready to hear us. That’s the part of the old hymn that gets sung over and over again. “Take it to the Lord in prayer.” Jesus hears us when we pray. And then, as the hymn affirms, he shields us in his arms. Shields are not necessary when skies are clear and breezes fair. Shields are for those under attack. Again, our sorrows are borne, not banished.
One very simple way to bear another’s sorrows is to do exactly what the hymn says. Take it to the Lord in prayer. You may have a friend whose sorrow is so deep they can’t manage to pray for themselves; deep sorrow has a way of choking prayer. But a friend is someone who comes alongside and bears the sorrow, not by trying to take it away, but by offering it up to the one who can.
Prayer:
Surely, O God, you have borne our sorrows. Teach us to do the same for those close to us. Today we lift our prayers for all who live in the shadows of sorrow. By the help of your Spirit, let us bear their sorrow through our faithful prayers. Shield them with your grace we pray, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
What a Friend
I have called you friends, for everything that I learned from my Father I have made known to you (John 15:15).
Yesterday I attended a memorial service in which we were invited to sing some of the great old hymns of the faith. One of them I didn’t know so well. As for the others, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t known them. The familiar tunes echo deep into childhood where they soaked into me while I sat restless on a pew next to my mother just before Dad got up to preach. I might not have sung them then. I’m not sure I even liked them. But I learned them. And now I love them.
The focus of our reflections this week is friendship. That’s why I paid careful attention to the text of one of those old hymns we sang yesterday. “What a friend we have in Jesus.” The idea is biblically sound. Jesus himself told his followers that he didn’t call them servants, but friends (John 15:15). The friendliness that marked Jesus’ life was at the heart of the accusations leveled against him. Jesus was a friend to people like tax collectors and prostitutes. That bothered those who were serious about their religion.
Jesus is a friend. And every friendship we have in this life is derivative of that friendship. That is to say, our friends extend the grace of Jesus to us, and we to them. They are the people in our lives for whom we become the presence of Christ. And if our friends don’t have the slightest interest in Jesus, Jesus still defines how we relate to them.
Jesus defines friendship. Apart from him, we don’t fully grasp what friendship is. Apart from him, every friendship we have is fragile, hanging on the threads of common interests and mutually enjoyable activity and proper respect. Jesus bridges differences and teaches us about forgiveness. We need the presence of Christ because our friends are not always likeable people.
We’re going to spend some time this week thinking about friendship with Jesus. We may return to the words of that old hymn and place them next to words of scripture. But today, the story of the hymn itself gives some insight into friendship with Jesus.
The author of the hymn text, Joseph Scriven, did not publish the hymn during his lifetime. Shortly before Scriven’s death in 1886, a friend saw the manuscript and took an interest in it. When he asked if Scriven had written the text unaided, Scriven remarked that “the Lord and I did it between us.” After Scriven’s death, the hymn was coupled with the familiar tune many know today.
Jesus delights in partnering with us, taking what we regard as insignificant and using to make a difference in someone’s life, perhaps a difference in the world. Scriven had written a little poem for his mother as she was going through a tough time. Christians around the world know it today.
Today Jesus might take a note you write, a phone call you make, a conversation you have, an act of help or an act of giving, and use it in ways you never imagined possible. Who knows what Jesus might do through you and with you today? The possibilities are endless, and this can change the way you feel about the day that lies in front of you. Who knows what can happen today when you live it in friendship with Jesus.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, teach us what it means to live in friendship with you. Take all that we will endeavor to do this day and fill it with the power and direction of your Spirit so that our deeds and words will make an impact far beyond what we see. Amen.
Yesterday I attended a memorial service in which we were invited to sing some of the great old hymns of the faith. One of them I didn’t know so well. As for the others, I can’t remember a time when I haven’t known them. The familiar tunes echo deep into childhood where they soaked into me while I sat restless on a pew next to my mother just before Dad got up to preach. I might not have sung them then. I’m not sure I even liked them. But I learned them. And now I love them.
The focus of our reflections this week is friendship. That’s why I paid careful attention to the text of one of those old hymns we sang yesterday. “What a friend we have in Jesus.” The idea is biblically sound. Jesus himself told his followers that he didn’t call them servants, but friends (John 15:15). The friendliness that marked Jesus’ life was at the heart of the accusations leveled against him. Jesus was a friend to people like tax collectors and prostitutes. That bothered those who were serious about their religion.
Jesus is a friend. And every friendship we have in this life is derivative of that friendship. That is to say, our friends extend the grace of Jesus to us, and we to them. They are the people in our lives for whom we become the presence of Christ. And if our friends don’t have the slightest interest in Jesus, Jesus still defines how we relate to them.
Jesus defines friendship. Apart from him, we don’t fully grasp what friendship is. Apart from him, every friendship we have is fragile, hanging on the threads of common interests and mutually enjoyable activity and proper respect. Jesus bridges differences and teaches us about forgiveness. We need the presence of Christ because our friends are not always likeable people.
We’re going to spend some time this week thinking about friendship with Jesus. We may return to the words of that old hymn and place them next to words of scripture. But today, the story of the hymn itself gives some insight into friendship with Jesus.
The author of the hymn text, Joseph Scriven, did not publish the hymn during his lifetime. Shortly before Scriven’s death in 1886, a friend saw the manuscript and took an interest in it. When he asked if Scriven had written the text unaided, Scriven remarked that “the Lord and I did it between us.” After Scriven’s death, the hymn was coupled with the familiar tune many know today.
Jesus delights in partnering with us, taking what we regard as insignificant and using to make a difference in someone’s life, perhaps a difference in the world. Scriven had written a little poem for his mother as she was going through a tough time. Christians around the world know it today.
Today Jesus might take a note you write, a phone call you make, a conversation you have, an act of help or an act of giving, and use it in ways you never imagined possible. Who knows what Jesus might do through you and with you today? The possibilities are endless, and this can change the way you feel about the day that lies in front of you. Who knows what can happen today when you live it in friendship with Jesus.
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, teach us what it means to live in friendship with you. Take all that we will endeavor to do this day and fill it with the power and direction of your Spirit so that our deeds and words will make an impact far beyond what we see. Amen.
Monday, July 07, 2008
Got Your Back
David went down with his men to fight against the Philistines, and he became exhausted. And Ishbi-benob . . . said he would kill David. But Abishai, son of Zeruiah came to David’s rescue. He struck the Philistine down and killed him (2 Samuel 21:15-17).
The people had never forgotten what David did that day in the Valley of Elah. There David had made a name for himself as a giant-slayer.
Valiant David. Refusing the King’s armor, he faced Goliath with his sling and hand–picked stones from the brook. Having felled the Philistine, he put the sling away long enough to lift the giant’s own sword and then he held Goliath’s bloody mane up high for Israel to see.
The feat was celebrated in song. “Saul has killed his thousands and David his tens of thousands.” The song didn’t go over so well with Saul, but it said plenty about David’s rock-star status. David was a warrior among warriors. As both obscure shepherd and then later as Israel’s King, David was the Philistines’ worst nightmare.
Until one day David encountered a giant he could not kill.
A Philistine by the name of Ishbi-benob, armed with a new sword, toting a spear with a spearhead weighing three hundred shekels, intended to do what Goliath had not done. In the course of battle, we are simply told that David became exhausted. No details are given. We don’t know if David faltered in combat or if he gave ground to the advancing Philistine. All we are told is that in his state of exhaustion, David had a friend. Abishai came to David’s rescue and killed the Philistine.
This scene from 2 Samuel is often overlooked. In the sweep of the David stories, it is a scene of little consequence. But it gives us a picture that differs significantly from the one we see when the shepherd David faced Goliath.
In the Valley of Elah we see the underdog walking out to face the giant, a solitary figure dwarfed by the Philistine’s vulgar presence. This picture lends drama to the battle. This picture emboldened Israel’s army once David had slain the giant.
But years later, against Ishbi-benob, things are different. David is surrounded by his men. The fight has exhausted him and he cannot hold his own against the Philistine. Abishai comes to the rescue.
Many of us live life in the Valley of Elah. We live in a place where we bravely walk out each day and face our giants alone. We see ourselves facing challenges that no one can face for us; we walk every day into that valley trusting God and relying on our best weapons. We don’t want to drag anyone else into our depression or share our financial worries or admit how we think we’ve messed up at parenting.
But eventually we face a giant that we cannot kill. We get tired. We need help. We need someone like Abishai to come alongside and slay the giant.
So what are the giants you’re facing today – and how are you facing them? Are you walking into the day as a solitary figure facing significant threat and challenge? Is there someone who has your back, someone who knows your life and cares enough to step in and help you face whatever you’re facing? We all need someone like Abishai. Who is that for you?
Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for friends who stand with us as we face the different troubles and threats life brings our way. Teach us how to reach out to others, honestly admitting our need for friendship, and help us to be there for others who face giants they can’t handle alone. Amen.
The people had never forgotten what David did that day in the Valley of Elah. There David had made a name for himself as a giant-slayer.
Valiant David. Refusing the King’s armor, he faced Goliath with his sling and hand–picked stones from the brook. Having felled the Philistine, he put the sling away long enough to lift the giant’s own sword and then he held Goliath’s bloody mane up high for Israel to see.
The feat was celebrated in song. “Saul has killed his thousands and David his tens of thousands.” The song didn’t go over so well with Saul, but it said plenty about David’s rock-star status. David was a warrior among warriors. As both obscure shepherd and then later as Israel’s King, David was the Philistines’ worst nightmare.
Until one day David encountered a giant he could not kill.
A Philistine by the name of Ishbi-benob, armed with a new sword, toting a spear with a spearhead weighing three hundred shekels, intended to do what Goliath had not done. In the course of battle, we are simply told that David became exhausted. No details are given. We don’t know if David faltered in combat or if he gave ground to the advancing Philistine. All we are told is that in his state of exhaustion, David had a friend. Abishai came to David’s rescue and killed the Philistine.
This scene from 2 Samuel is often overlooked. In the sweep of the David stories, it is a scene of little consequence. But it gives us a picture that differs significantly from the one we see when the shepherd David faced Goliath.
In the Valley of Elah we see the underdog walking out to face the giant, a solitary figure dwarfed by the Philistine’s vulgar presence. This picture lends drama to the battle. This picture emboldened Israel’s army once David had slain the giant.
But years later, against Ishbi-benob, things are different. David is surrounded by his men. The fight has exhausted him and he cannot hold his own against the Philistine. Abishai comes to the rescue.
Many of us live life in the Valley of Elah. We live in a place where we bravely walk out each day and face our giants alone. We see ourselves facing challenges that no one can face for us; we walk every day into that valley trusting God and relying on our best weapons. We don’t want to drag anyone else into our depression or share our financial worries or admit how we think we’ve messed up at parenting.
But eventually we face a giant that we cannot kill. We get tired. We need help. We need someone like Abishai to come alongside and slay the giant.
So what are the giants you’re facing today – and how are you facing them? Are you walking into the day as a solitary figure facing significant threat and challenge? Is there someone who has your back, someone who knows your life and cares enough to step in and help you face whatever you’re facing? We all need someone like Abishai. Who is that for you?
Prayer:
We give you thanks, O God, for friends who stand with us as we face the different troubles and threats life brings our way. Teach us how to reach out to others, honestly admitting our need for friendship, and help us to be there for others who face giants they can’t handle alone. Amen.
Friday, July 04, 2008
Held Accountable
I’m not responsible for what outsiders do, but don’t we have some responsibility for those within our community of believers? God decides on the outsiders, but we need to decide when our brothers and sisters are out of line and, if necessary, clean house (1 Corinthians 5:12-13, Mssg.).
Sometimes loving confrontation looks like a fight. Sometimes what begins as loving confrontation becomes a brawl. It’s a very fine line, easily crossed. What we thought was brotherly love quickly morphs into contempt. What started out as well meaning suddenly becomes just plain mean.
Because this happens so easily, many well intentioned Christians would prefer to avoid conflict altogether. The world around us doesn’t know or care about the difference between loving confrontation and religious backstabbing. Thus, in any and all forms of confrontation the church loses. Let’s all make nice . . . for Jesus’ sake.
But to truly be brothers and sisters to each other means that we cannot afford this luxury. Our identity as brothers and sisters is surely compromised when we fight. But let’s also admit that our identity as brothers and sisters is equally damaged when we refuse to hold each other accountable. Sometimes love demands a tough word gently spoken.
The family of faith in Corinth had a problem. A moral problem. As Paul summarized it, “a man has his Father’s wife.” This kind of thing even stretched the sensibilities of local pagans. But for some reason, the church was not addressing it. They were proud. We might say “progressive.” That’s what really troubled Paul. The behavior was bad enough – but the real issue was the failure of the family of faith to speak to it, to hold their Christian brother accountable.
How quick we are to get this backwards. There are too many instances in which the church points its finger at the culture, people outside the family, while ignoring issues that need to be confronted within the family. Paul reminds us that God will deal with the outsiders. We have a responsibility as brothers and sisters to hold each other accountable.
Our world tells us that we respect another’s freedom by keeping our opinions to ourselves, minding our own business. But absolute self-determination is not freedom. It is form of slavery called isolation. The truly free are held accountable. Being free means belonging to a family of others who care enough and have courage enough to speak the truth, especially when the truth is hard to say and hard to hear.
Are you blessed with people in your life who tell you the truth, brothers and sisters who hold you accountable? Is there a brother or sister to whom you need to speak a word of truth? This is not easy – but it’s better than being chained by fear and superficiality. Honesty and truth and freedom all belong together.
Prayer:
Gracious God, in Jesus you have set us free. Help us to live in that freedom. Set us free to be all that you call us to be. In our freedom, keep us closely bound to each other as brothers and sisters who love each other enough to say the hard things. Give us the courage to live as people who are truly free in Christ. Amen.
Sometimes loving confrontation looks like a fight. Sometimes what begins as loving confrontation becomes a brawl. It’s a very fine line, easily crossed. What we thought was brotherly love quickly morphs into contempt. What started out as well meaning suddenly becomes just plain mean.
Because this happens so easily, many well intentioned Christians would prefer to avoid conflict altogether. The world around us doesn’t know or care about the difference between loving confrontation and religious backstabbing. Thus, in any and all forms of confrontation the church loses. Let’s all make nice . . . for Jesus’ sake.
But to truly be brothers and sisters to each other means that we cannot afford this luxury. Our identity as brothers and sisters is surely compromised when we fight. But let’s also admit that our identity as brothers and sisters is equally damaged when we refuse to hold each other accountable. Sometimes love demands a tough word gently spoken.
The family of faith in Corinth had a problem. A moral problem. As Paul summarized it, “a man has his Father’s wife.” This kind of thing even stretched the sensibilities of local pagans. But for some reason, the church was not addressing it. They were proud. We might say “progressive.” That’s what really troubled Paul. The behavior was bad enough – but the real issue was the failure of the family of faith to speak to it, to hold their Christian brother accountable.
How quick we are to get this backwards. There are too many instances in which the church points its finger at the culture, people outside the family, while ignoring issues that need to be confronted within the family. Paul reminds us that God will deal with the outsiders. We have a responsibility as brothers and sisters to hold each other accountable.
Our world tells us that we respect another’s freedom by keeping our opinions to ourselves, minding our own business. But absolute self-determination is not freedom. It is form of slavery called isolation. The truly free are held accountable. Being free means belonging to a family of others who care enough and have courage enough to speak the truth, especially when the truth is hard to say and hard to hear.
Are you blessed with people in your life who tell you the truth, brothers and sisters who hold you accountable? Is there a brother or sister to whom you need to speak a word of truth? This is not easy – but it’s better than being chained by fear and superficiality. Honesty and truth and freedom all belong together.
Prayer:
Gracious God, in Jesus you have set us free. Help us to live in that freedom. Set us free to be all that you call us to be. In our freedom, keep us closely bound to each other as brothers and sisters who love each other enough to say the hard things. Give us the courage to live as people who are truly free in Christ. Amen.
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Welcome to the Family
Obedience is thicker than blood. The person who obeys God’s will is my brother and sister and mother (Mark 3:35 Mssg.).
I remember the morning my brother was born, certain details of it at least. I was 9 years old. It was a Sunday morning. My sister and I were awakened by the matter of fact voice and portly presence of Mrs. Alma Higgins, a member of our church. “You kids get ready for church. Your Mother’s gone to the hospital.” In the very early hours of morning my parents had called Mrs. Higgins to come over and be with us.
Later that day Michael was born. I had a brother. A younger brother, which made me the older brother – the oldest of three, and I thought that was fairly cool. I couldn’t wait for him to move in to the house and become a member of the family.
Something very much like that happened last night. For the past few days our family has been at the Christian Life Conference at Montreat. Marnie and I had teaching duties during the day. At the evening plenary sessions we heard great teaching from Pastor Scott Dudley. Typically during the evening sessions our kids were in a program for children. Last night my son decided he wanted to come with us. I had misgivings about that . . . but why not. We let him come.
The evening services ended with an opportunity for people to go to different parts of the auditorium and have someone pray with them. Signs were posted around the perimeter of the room indicating various kinds of prayer needs: family needs, health and healing needs, concerns for our nation, etc. Down front a sign said “Salvation: Receive Christ.”
“I want to go do that,” my son said.
There had been no heavy-handed evangelistic appeal. Just a good solid message about following Jesus with all that you are. I wasn’t even sure how well John was listening. I don’t know what it was that moved him or gave him courage to walk down to the front. I say I don’t know, but it’s the Spirit that does this kind of thing. Without consulting me, God was working in John’s life in ways that I didn’t perceive. We questioned him, making sure that he really wanted to do what he said he wanted to do. And then we walked with him and a pastor stooped low to talk with him and then prayed with him.
That moment alone would have been enough. God surprising us again. But there was more. After the pastor had prayed with John people began to come up and embrace him and welcome him into the family. Some of these people I didn’t even know – but it didn’t matter. They were welcoming a new family member. I was self-conscious about my tears, furtively wiping my face and trying to hold it together. Others were less guarded. They wept as they welcomed my son to the family.
And so I experienced last night what I’ve known in my head for a long time. Jesus makes us family. We are brothers and sisters not because we have much in common or because we sense a natural affinity for each other and really enjoy each other’s company. We are brothers and sisters because of what Jesus did to bring us into the family. When Jesus’ own mother and brothers sought him out, Jesus re-defined family. Hearing God’s word and doing God’s will defines the family.
I can’t help but wonder if someone reading this today has sensed the Spirit’s work bringing them into the family of faith. Perhaps, as with my son, the Spirit has been at work in you for a while. With a simple response of faith, a yes that comes from your deepest self, you can enter this family. Many brothers and sisters wait to receive you.
Prayer:
By the work of your Spirit, gracious God, you bring us into your family. Work in our hearts so that we might truly be brothers and sisters to each other, desiring only what you will, ever attentive to your word. Amen.
I remember the morning my brother was born, certain details of it at least. I was 9 years old. It was a Sunday morning. My sister and I were awakened by the matter of fact voice and portly presence of Mrs. Alma Higgins, a member of our church. “You kids get ready for church. Your Mother’s gone to the hospital.” In the very early hours of morning my parents had called Mrs. Higgins to come over and be with us.
Later that day Michael was born. I had a brother. A younger brother, which made me the older brother – the oldest of three, and I thought that was fairly cool. I couldn’t wait for him to move in to the house and become a member of the family.
Something very much like that happened last night. For the past few days our family has been at the Christian Life Conference at Montreat. Marnie and I had teaching duties during the day. At the evening plenary sessions we heard great teaching from Pastor Scott Dudley. Typically during the evening sessions our kids were in a program for children. Last night my son decided he wanted to come with us. I had misgivings about that . . . but why not. We let him come.
The evening services ended with an opportunity for people to go to different parts of the auditorium and have someone pray with them. Signs were posted around the perimeter of the room indicating various kinds of prayer needs: family needs, health and healing needs, concerns for our nation, etc. Down front a sign said “Salvation: Receive Christ.”
“I want to go do that,” my son said.
There had been no heavy-handed evangelistic appeal. Just a good solid message about following Jesus with all that you are. I wasn’t even sure how well John was listening. I don’t know what it was that moved him or gave him courage to walk down to the front. I say I don’t know, but it’s the Spirit that does this kind of thing. Without consulting me, God was working in John’s life in ways that I didn’t perceive. We questioned him, making sure that he really wanted to do what he said he wanted to do. And then we walked with him and a pastor stooped low to talk with him and then prayed with him.
That moment alone would have been enough. God surprising us again. But there was more. After the pastor had prayed with John people began to come up and embrace him and welcome him into the family. Some of these people I didn’t even know – but it didn’t matter. They were welcoming a new family member. I was self-conscious about my tears, furtively wiping my face and trying to hold it together. Others were less guarded. They wept as they welcomed my son to the family.
And so I experienced last night what I’ve known in my head for a long time. Jesus makes us family. We are brothers and sisters not because we have much in common or because we sense a natural affinity for each other and really enjoy each other’s company. We are brothers and sisters because of what Jesus did to bring us into the family. When Jesus’ own mother and brothers sought him out, Jesus re-defined family. Hearing God’s word and doing God’s will defines the family.
I can’t help but wonder if someone reading this today has sensed the Spirit’s work bringing them into the family of faith. Perhaps, as with my son, the Spirit has been at work in you for a while. With a simple response of faith, a yes that comes from your deepest self, you can enter this family. Many brothers and sisters wait to receive you.
Prayer:
By the work of your Spirit, gracious God, you bring us into your family. Work in our hearts so that we might truly be brothers and sisters to each other, desiring only what you will, ever attentive to your word. Amen.
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Me First
I wrote to the church, but Diotrephes, who loves to be first, will have nothing to do with us . . . he refuses to welcome the brothers (3 John 9-10).
I didn’t know how long it would take. My two children were reunited a few days ago following a two week separation while brother was away at camp. I had hopes that it would be days before either of them cried foul for whatever reason. While away, my son had written a letter to his sister. He said things in that letter that I’d never heard him say before. His words were genuinely kind and it sounded like he truly missed his sister. I was a little concerned. For a moment I wondered, “Who wrote this letter and what have they done with my son?”
So here we are with three full days of togetherness behind us . . . and we’ve already had our moments. For the most part they have been the best of friends. But it doesn’t take much to evoke conflict. Annoyances creep up from out of nowhere. They bicker. They compare and complain of perceived injustices. I’m not too bothered by this, at least not yet. This is what brothers and sisters do.
What happens in the family under my roof happens with troubling frequency in God’s family as well. The difference is that we almost expect this kind of thing between siblings who live in the same house. But when it comes to brothers and sisters who are joined by the Spirit of God and gathered in their common desire to worship and to love God, we expect better.
Explanations for our failure to obey Jesus and “love one another” are many. However, in the little New Testament letter of Third John we get a specific insight into what goes wrong and why we sometimes struggle to love our brothers and sisters.
The entire letter of Third John is only 13 verses long. Right near the middle John mentions someone in the church who seems to be causing trouble. Diotrephes won’t have anything to do with John and “he refuses to welcome the brothers.” John diagnoses the problem with a simple observation. Diotrephes loves to be first (3 John 9-10).
Me first. The words sound like something we might hear from children, especially brothers and sisters. And these words will almost always invite resistance. “Me first” is always answered by “No . . . me first.” And on it goes.
As we grow older we outgrow those petty words, but we find different ways to say the same thing: Me first. And when me first is resisted or denied, when that approach to life isn’t working for us, we find that hostility towards our brothers and sisters grows. James put it this way: “What causes fights ands quarrels among you? . . . You want something but don’t get it” (James 4:1-2).
The presence of brothers and sisters in our lives means that we do not have unhindered access to our own way. Sometimes we have to give way, let others go first, attend to the needs of someone else before our own. To truly love our brothers and sisters we’ll have to wage war against pride and against self.
We all love to be first. Having brothers and sisters means allowing someone else to occupy that place. How can you do that today?
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, we need your grace to follow the new command you gave us. We need your help to love one another. Forgive our insistence on being first, especially when it divides your family. Teach us to relinquish that place, not grasping and fighting for position, but receiving what you give to us. Amen.
I didn’t know how long it would take. My two children were reunited a few days ago following a two week separation while brother was away at camp. I had hopes that it would be days before either of them cried foul for whatever reason. While away, my son had written a letter to his sister. He said things in that letter that I’d never heard him say before. His words were genuinely kind and it sounded like he truly missed his sister. I was a little concerned. For a moment I wondered, “Who wrote this letter and what have they done with my son?”
So here we are with three full days of togetherness behind us . . . and we’ve already had our moments. For the most part they have been the best of friends. But it doesn’t take much to evoke conflict. Annoyances creep up from out of nowhere. They bicker. They compare and complain of perceived injustices. I’m not too bothered by this, at least not yet. This is what brothers and sisters do.
What happens in the family under my roof happens with troubling frequency in God’s family as well. The difference is that we almost expect this kind of thing between siblings who live in the same house. But when it comes to brothers and sisters who are joined by the Spirit of God and gathered in their common desire to worship and to love God, we expect better.
Explanations for our failure to obey Jesus and “love one another” are many. However, in the little New Testament letter of Third John we get a specific insight into what goes wrong and why we sometimes struggle to love our brothers and sisters.
The entire letter of Third John is only 13 verses long. Right near the middle John mentions someone in the church who seems to be causing trouble. Diotrephes won’t have anything to do with John and “he refuses to welcome the brothers.” John diagnoses the problem with a simple observation. Diotrephes loves to be first (3 John 9-10).
Me first. The words sound like something we might hear from children, especially brothers and sisters. And these words will almost always invite resistance. “Me first” is always answered by “No . . . me first.” And on it goes.
As we grow older we outgrow those petty words, but we find different ways to say the same thing: Me first. And when me first is resisted or denied, when that approach to life isn’t working for us, we find that hostility towards our brothers and sisters grows. James put it this way: “What causes fights ands quarrels among you? . . . You want something but don’t get it” (James 4:1-2).
The presence of brothers and sisters in our lives means that we do not have unhindered access to our own way. Sometimes we have to give way, let others go first, attend to the needs of someone else before our own. To truly love our brothers and sisters we’ll have to wage war against pride and against self.
We all love to be first. Having brothers and sisters means allowing someone else to occupy that place. How can you do that today?
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, we need your grace to follow the new command you gave us. We need your help to love one another. Forgive our insistence on being first, especially when it divides your family. Teach us to relinquish that place, not grasping and fighting for position, but receiving what you give to us. Amen.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Where is Your Brother?
Then the Lord said to Cain, “Where is your brother Abel?” (Genesis 4:9)
Brothers fighting.
It’s as old as the origins of the human race, roots sinking deep into the early pages of Genesis. The first man and woman became one as the creator intended and brought two boys into the world. Those boys grew up and one killed the other. As we make our way further into the biblical story, things don’t get much better.
Jacob was the younger twin, a mama’s boy. The older Esau had the doting affections of his Father. Jacob had lousy boundaries, constantly getting into Esau’s business, stealing his birthright, deceptively robbing his blessings from Isaac.
Joseph was given a gift. The other eleven boys got nothing. They despised his colorful coat and they despised him. It wasn’t just the coat. Joseph had dreams that suggested that his brothers would bow to him. Lacking good judgment in this matter, Joseph told his brothers about the dreams. They eventually sold him to a caravan of traders and made up a story about his death to tell their father.
Moses led the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt. Moses was at the head of the line when the waters parted and the people crossed the Red Sea. Clearly, Moses had a gift, a calling – but his brother and sister began to feel that they needed a cut of the action. What made Moses so special? They challenged their brother. God afflicted Miriam with leprosy and brought an end to their squabbling.
Let’s not forget Eli’s sons, Hophni and Phineas. Corrupt priests. These brothers were religious bad boys and a source of shame to their Father. And then we have brothers Absalom and Amnon, sons of David. Sexual abuse in the family provoked Absalom to kill his brother.
Fast forward to the New Testament. Even among the twelve that Jesus chose as his closest followers, there were two brothers who conspired to seek the place of honor. They made a quiet bid for special box seats in eternity. Jesus had a nickname for them: “sons of thunder.” That ought to tell us something.
The list could go on and on. The landscape of the Bible is littered with fractured relationships between brothers and sisters. It appears that the worthy models are easily eclipsed by the examples of jealousy and brokenness and ill will.
And yet, when we look for language to describe the new community of faith that Jesus brought into existence we consistently find one prevailing image: brothers and sisters. Here and there we find “membership” language in the Bible when it speaks of the church. But we can’t escape the language of family – especially brothers and sisters. Sibling language is used time and time again.
Where is your brother? It’s a good question. It’s good for those of us who like Cain are alienated from our own blood, brothers and sisters of the flesh. But it’s good for those of us who claim to know Christ but remain strangers to other believers. Do we know our brothers and sisters? This week we’ll ponder what it means for us to be brothers and sisters, and why that relationship is sometimes so very difficult for those who claim God as Father.
Prayer:
Father God, help us to recognize our brothers and sisters. And then turn mere recognition into love. By your grace and the gift of your Spirit you have brought us onto your family. May our claim to love you be evidenced by our love for each other, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Brothers fighting.
It’s as old as the origins of the human race, roots sinking deep into the early pages of Genesis. The first man and woman became one as the creator intended and brought two boys into the world. Those boys grew up and one killed the other. As we make our way further into the biblical story, things don’t get much better.
Jacob was the younger twin, a mama’s boy. The older Esau had the doting affections of his Father. Jacob had lousy boundaries, constantly getting into Esau’s business, stealing his birthright, deceptively robbing his blessings from Isaac.
Joseph was given a gift. The other eleven boys got nothing. They despised his colorful coat and they despised him. It wasn’t just the coat. Joseph had dreams that suggested that his brothers would bow to him. Lacking good judgment in this matter, Joseph told his brothers about the dreams. They eventually sold him to a caravan of traders and made up a story about his death to tell their father.
Moses led the Hebrew slaves out of Egypt. Moses was at the head of the line when the waters parted and the people crossed the Red Sea. Clearly, Moses had a gift, a calling – but his brother and sister began to feel that they needed a cut of the action. What made Moses so special? They challenged their brother. God afflicted Miriam with leprosy and brought an end to their squabbling.
Let’s not forget Eli’s sons, Hophni and Phineas. Corrupt priests. These brothers were religious bad boys and a source of shame to their Father. And then we have brothers Absalom and Amnon, sons of David. Sexual abuse in the family provoked Absalom to kill his brother.
Fast forward to the New Testament. Even among the twelve that Jesus chose as his closest followers, there were two brothers who conspired to seek the place of honor. They made a quiet bid for special box seats in eternity. Jesus had a nickname for them: “sons of thunder.” That ought to tell us something.
The list could go on and on. The landscape of the Bible is littered with fractured relationships between brothers and sisters. It appears that the worthy models are easily eclipsed by the examples of jealousy and brokenness and ill will.
And yet, when we look for language to describe the new community of faith that Jesus brought into existence we consistently find one prevailing image: brothers and sisters. Here and there we find “membership” language in the Bible when it speaks of the church. But we can’t escape the language of family – especially brothers and sisters. Sibling language is used time and time again.
Where is your brother? It’s a good question. It’s good for those of us who like Cain are alienated from our own blood, brothers and sisters of the flesh. But it’s good for those of us who claim to know Christ but remain strangers to other believers. Do we know our brothers and sisters? This week we’ll ponder what it means for us to be brothers and sisters, and why that relationship is sometimes so very difficult for those who claim God as Father.
Prayer:
Father God, help us to recognize our brothers and sisters. And then turn mere recognition into love. By your grace and the gift of your Spirit you have brought us onto your family. May our claim to love you be evidenced by our love for each other, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Friday, June 27, 2008
A Name Better than Sons and Daughters
This is what the Lord says . . . let not any eunuch complain “I am only a dry tree.” For this is what the Lord says: “To the eunuchs who keep my Sabbaths, who choose what pleases me, and hold fast to my covenant – to them I will give . . . a name better than sons and daughters (Isaiah 56:3-5).
Then the word of the Lord came to me: “You must not marry and have sons or daughters in this place.” (Jeremiah 16:1-2)
Yesterday I watched my daughter jump off the diving board. I watched her delight in the act of splashing around aimlessly in the pool. And for just a few seconds I sensed blessing deep within myself. Sure, I’ll readily admit on any day of the week that I’m blessed, but in those moments yesterday as my daughter swam I felt it like something weighty in my chest.
Tomorrow I will go to pick up my son after his two weeks away at Camp. I can’t wait to see him. Again, the sense of blessing and grace is so real right now. Marnie returns from the General Assembly on Saturday, meeting up with us in North Carolina. All of us will be back in one car and under one roof. Yes, the sense of blessing can quickly dissipate in one car – but I’m still eager and ready for all of us to be close enough to get on each other’s nerves again.
Sons and daughters are a blessing. And even the ordinary rhythms of family life are a gift of grace. But there is something greater. There’s a name better than sons and daughters.
That’s what God spoke through the prophet Isaiah. God’s word was aimed at eunuchs who felt themselves excluded from blessing. A eunuch would never see his daughter swim or anticipate the sight of a son after a two week absence. The eunuch might be tempted to say of his life, “I am only a dry tree.” Lacking life. Unfruitful. God answered: “Don’t say that. There’s something more to your life than that. There is a name better than sons and daughters.”
Another prophet, Jeremiah, was commanded not to marry and have children. Jeremiah probably grew up assuming marriage and parenting would be a part of his life . . . until God said “don’t do it.” Why? Because there was something more significant happening in Jeremiah’s world. God was at work in some powerful ways and Jeremiah had a role to play in what God was doing. That role took priority over marriage and family.
A name better than sons and daughters. God at work in the world and inviting us to participate.
The greatest name by which we can be known is God’s name. The name better than sons and daughters is given to all who live for God, choose what pleases God, keep fellowship with God. And the highest calling is to be a part of what God is doing in the world. Our God is on a mission and invites us to join. Marriage is a not a prerequisite for participation.
For those married and those not married, this name and this calling tells us who we are. This is how God gathers his family together. And this is the source of our greatest blessing.
Prayer:
Gracious God, through this day remind me of who I am and to whom I belong. Help me to keep company with you and do what pleases you. Thank you for including me in your family and for the gift of your Spirit that makes me yours. Wherever you place me today, use me as you see fit, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Then the word of the Lord came to me: “You must not marry and have sons or daughters in this place.” (Jeremiah 16:1-2)
Yesterday I watched my daughter jump off the diving board. I watched her delight in the act of splashing around aimlessly in the pool. And for just a few seconds I sensed blessing deep within myself. Sure, I’ll readily admit on any day of the week that I’m blessed, but in those moments yesterday as my daughter swam I felt it like something weighty in my chest.
Tomorrow I will go to pick up my son after his two weeks away at Camp. I can’t wait to see him. Again, the sense of blessing and grace is so real right now. Marnie returns from the General Assembly on Saturday, meeting up with us in North Carolina. All of us will be back in one car and under one roof. Yes, the sense of blessing can quickly dissipate in one car – but I’m still eager and ready for all of us to be close enough to get on each other’s nerves again.
Sons and daughters are a blessing. And even the ordinary rhythms of family life are a gift of grace. But there is something greater. There’s a name better than sons and daughters.
That’s what God spoke through the prophet Isaiah. God’s word was aimed at eunuchs who felt themselves excluded from blessing. A eunuch would never see his daughter swim or anticipate the sight of a son after a two week absence. The eunuch might be tempted to say of his life, “I am only a dry tree.” Lacking life. Unfruitful. God answered: “Don’t say that. There’s something more to your life than that. There is a name better than sons and daughters.”
Another prophet, Jeremiah, was commanded not to marry and have children. Jeremiah probably grew up assuming marriage and parenting would be a part of his life . . . until God said “don’t do it.” Why? Because there was something more significant happening in Jeremiah’s world. God was at work in some powerful ways and Jeremiah had a role to play in what God was doing. That role took priority over marriage and family.
A name better than sons and daughters. God at work in the world and inviting us to participate.
The greatest name by which we can be known is God’s name. The name better than sons and daughters is given to all who live for God, choose what pleases God, keep fellowship with God. And the highest calling is to be a part of what God is doing in the world. Our God is on a mission and invites us to join. Marriage is a not a prerequisite for participation.
For those married and those not married, this name and this calling tells us who we are. This is how God gathers his family together. And this is the source of our greatest blessing.
Prayer:
Gracious God, through this day remind me of who I am and to whom I belong. Help me to keep company with you and do what pleases you. Thank you for including me in your family and for the gift of your Spirit that makes me yours. Wherever you place me today, use me as you see fit, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Better to Be Single Than to Wish You Were
“. . . if anyone is thirsty let him come to me and drink.” (John 7:38)
I love that line. Better to be single than to wish you were. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can’t. It came to me in an email from a friend. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Today I’d like to tell you the tale of two emails. They don’t carry the weight of biblical epistles, but I think God has something to say to us through them
Email # 1:
This came to me from a single woman who wrote to express appreciation for the daily devotionals but offered a word of challenge on this weeks’ series of meditations on the single life. The critique pointed out that singleness involves a very real struggle with loneliness. This person fully embraces her call to serve Jesus and has good friends in her life. But losing her husband to cancer after 22 years of marriage has been hard, and loneliness is an ever present reality in the single life. As she put it, “I have many friends, but that cannot compare with the quiet I have had to learn to deal with.”
Email # 2:
This came from a friend who wrote to tell me about her mother who has been single for 15 years since the death of “the love of her life.” After working through her grief, which sounds like it took a while, she started leading a group called “Begin Again” for others who have lost their spouse. My friend wrote, “Mom sees a lot of people who, after losing a spouse, are desperate to get married again because they are afraid of being alone.”
The common thread that links these emails is the reality of loneliness in the single life and what to do with it. One writer reminds us that even a full and active life as a single adult doesn’t remove the ache of a silent and empty house. The other writer also knows the pain of loneliness and reminds us that loneliness is a bad reason to get married.
Loneliness is a wound on the soul, and the human soul bears many such wounds. Soul wounds have no regard for your marital status. What married people and single people share in common here is our tendency to mend the wound ourselves, to find something that will make us better, take the pain, make us stop hurting.
The lonely tend their wound by jumping into another relationship. The anxious tend their wound by trying to control everyone and everything around them. The grieving tend their wound with constant busy-ness. Those who live with a nagging sense of inadequacy might tend their wound with constant work and ladder climbing, piling up the accolades.
Jeremiah diagnosed our condition when he identified the sin of the people in turning from the source of living water to dig their own cisterns (Jer. 2:13). We do that more than we know. We dig our own wells when Jesus invites to come to him and drink of living water.
In one way or another we’re all thirsty. When we dig our own wells and try to fix loneliness on our own, the remedy we use often proves inadequate. Thus the proverb: Better to be single than to wish you were. God can be trusted with every wound of the soul. God is sufficient, and those who trust him lack no good thing (Ps. 34:10). Thanks be to God!
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, we are thankful for your invitation to come to you and find living water. There are places in our lives that are parched, and we need what only you can give us. Forgive our efforts to mend ourselves and teach us to rest in you. We thankfully cast every care upon you in the knowledge that you are sufficient for all that concerns us today. Amen.
I love that line. Better to be single than to wish you were. I wish I could take credit for it, but I can’t. It came to me in an email from a friend. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Today I’d like to tell you the tale of two emails. They don’t carry the weight of biblical epistles, but I think God has something to say to us through them
Email # 1:
This came to me from a single woman who wrote to express appreciation for the daily devotionals but offered a word of challenge on this weeks’ series of meditations on the single life. The critique pointed out that singleness involves a very real struggle with loneliness. This person fully embraces her call to serve Jesus and has good friends in her life. But losing her husband to cancer after 22 years of marriage has been hard, and loneliness is an ever present reality in the single life. As she put it, “I have many friends, but that cannot compare with the quiet I have had to learn to deal with.”
Email # 2:
This came from a friend who wrote to tell me about her mother who has been single for 15 years since the death of “the love of her life.” After working through her grief, which sounds like it took a while, she started leading a group called “Begin Again” for others who have lost their spouse. My friend wrote, “Mom sees a lot of people who, after losing a spouse, are desperate to get married again because they are afraid of being alone.”
The common thread that links these emails is the reality of loneliness in the single life and what to do with it. One writer reminds us that even a full and active life as a single adult doesn’t remove the ache of a silent and empty house. The other writer also knows the pain of loneliness and reminds us that loneliness is a bad reason to get married.
Loneliness is a wound on the soul, and the human soul bears many such wounds. Soul wounds have no regard for your marital status. What married people and single people share in common here is our tendency to mend the wound ourselves, to find something that will make us better, take the pain, make us stop hurting.
The lonely tend their wound by jumping into another relationship. The anxious tend their wound by trying to control everyone and everything around them. The grieving tend their wound with constant busy-ness. Those who live with a nagging sense of inadequacy might tend their wound with constant work and ladder climbing, piling up the accolades.
Jeremiah diagnosed our condition when he identified the sin of the people in turning from the source of living water to dig their own cisterns (Jer. 2:13). We do that more than we know. We dig our own wells when Jesus invites to come to him and drink of living water.
In one way or another we’re all thirsty. When we dig our own wells and try to fix loneliness on our own, the remedy we use often proves inadequate. Thus the proverb: Better to be single than to wish you were. God can be trusted with every wound of the soul. God is sufficient, and those who trust him lack no good thing (Ps. 34:10). Thanks be to God!
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, we are thankful for your invitation to come to you and find living water. There are places in our lives that are parched, and we need what only you can give us. Forgive our efforts to mend ourselves and teach us to rest in you. We thankfully cast every care upon you in the knowledge that you are sufficient for all that concerns us today. Amen.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
If Only: A Reflection on Misguided Envy
Friends, stay where you were called to be. God is there. Hold the high ground with him at your side (1 Cor. 7:24 Mssg.).
I’m a single adult tonight. Well, not really. It just feels that way.
My wife is in California at the General Assembly meeting. My son is still away at camp. My daughter and I, along with my Mom, are in a hotel in Greensboro, North Carolina. We drove up here today to visit my grandmother who hasn’t been doing so well lately. I’m sitting here trying to write something meaningful about God and the single life while my little girl is down the hall in Mimi’s room watching TV.
It’s quiet in here. I’m by myself. And I really don’t like it. This surprises me because I spend a fair amount of mental energy dreaming of just this. A quiet room, books to read, time to write and think and pray. My wife says, only half joking, that by marrying me she saved me from a monastic life. Sort of funny . . . sort of true.
I never feel like I have enough of this kind of thing. I live with a low grade frustration over not being able to read and think and pray enough. If only there were wider margins in my life I could be a better pastor and a better writer and teacher or whatever. But here I am in the quiet and I don’t really want to write or read or pray. I miss the family. Quiet and solitude are overrated.
It seems that we’re always living under the weight of misguided envy. A different kind of life looks appealing. Not just appealing, but curative. If we could have more of this and do more of that we’d be better at you name it.
This means that single people often look at married life and yearn for the particular demands of being a spouse and a parent. And married people look at the single life and yearn for the freedom, the time to do whatever, the mobility and the options. And both are misguided.
Sometimes it happens. The single person marries and raises a family and finds in quiet moments of near exhaustion that this whole thing is not what they thought it would be. Sure, it’s good. It just looked different from a distance. And sadly, sometimes the married person finds their freedom again. And even though the marriage was difficult, the freedom is hollow.
Paul’s advice along these lines was simple: whatever your life was like when God called you into fellowship with himself – stay that way. Don’t try so desperately to change your place in life. In one of his letters to Timothy, Paul spoke of contentment with godliness.
There’s a quality in the life of every soul that we spend a lifetime trying to develop. It’s true for married people and single people alike: Contentment. Receiving with thankfulness the life we’ve been given right now in all of its detail and particularity.
So what does your life look like today? Aspire to be all that God calls you to be, and in your aspiration do not despise the life you’ve been given now. No more “if only” excuses. No more “if only” fantasies. Take what you’ve been given and determine to live well for the glory of God right where you are. Whatever life is like for you today, God is in the midst of it.
Prayer:
My soul is too often restless, O God, searching and waiting for something that will make me right and whole. Teach me what it means to rest in you, content with the life you’ve given me today. Help me to live this day with a heart that is thankful, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
I’m a single adult tonight. Well, not really. It just feels that way.
My wife is in California at the General Assembly meeting. My son is still away at camp. My daughter and I, along with my Mom, are in a hotel in Greensboro, North Carolina. We drove up here today to visit my grandmother who hasn’t been doing so well lately. I’m sitting here trying to write something meaningful about God and the single life while my little girl is down the hall in Mimi’s room watching TV.
It’s quiet in here. I’m by myself. And I really don’t like it. This surprises me because I spend a fair amount of mental energy dreaming of just this. A quiet room, books to read, time to write and think and pray. My wife says, only half joking, that by marrying me she saved me from a monastic life. Sort of funny . . . sort of true.
I never feel like I have enough of this kind of thing. I live with a low grade frustration over not being able to read and think and pray enough. If only there were wider margins in my life I could be a better pastor and a better writer and teacher or whatever. But here I am in the quiet and I don’t really want to write or read or pray. I miss the family. Quiet and solitude are overrated.
It seems that we’re always living under the weight of misguided envy. A different kind of life looks appealing. Not just appealing, but curative. If we could have more of this and do more of that we’d be better at you name it.
This means that single people often look at married life and yearn for the particular demands of being a spouse and a parent. And married people look at the single life and yearn for the freedom, the time to do whatever, the mobility and the options. And both are misguided.
Sometimes it happens. The single person marries and raises a family and finds in quiet moments of near exhaustion that this whole thing is not what they thought it would be. Sure, it’s good. It just looked different from a distance. And sadly, sometimes the married person finds their freedom again. And even though the marriage was difficult, the freedom is hollow.
Paul’s advice along these lines was simple: whatever your life was like when God called you into fellowship with himself – stay that way. Don’t try so desperately to change your place in life. In one of his letters to Timothy, Paul spoke of contentment with godliness.
There’s a quality in the life of every soul that we spend a lifetime trying to develop. It’s true for married people and single people alike: Contentment. Receiving with thankfulness the life we’ve been given right now in all of its detail and particularity.
So what does your life look like today? Aspire to be all that God calls you to be, and in your aspiration do not despise the life you’ve been given now. No more “if only” excuses. No more “if only” fantasies. Take what you’ve been given and determine to live well for the glory of God right where you are. Whatever life is like for you today, God is in the midst of it.
Prayer:
My soul is too often restless, O God, searching and waiting for something that will make me right and whole. Teach me what it means to rest in you, content with the life you’ve given me today. Help me to live this day with a heart that is thankful, in Jesus’ name. Amen.
Friday, June 20, 2008
There and Back
Not long after that, the younger son got together all he had and set off for a distant country . . . (Luke 15:13).
The mind is prone to fill in gaps. That can be dangerous when you’re reading the Bible. Paul warned the Corinthians “not to go beyond what is written” (1 Cor. 4:6). Good advice. Still, omitted details in a story quickly become fodder for the imagination.
So it is with the story we know as the “prodigal son.” Jesus told us exactly what we need to hear but he didn’t tell us everything. How does the prodigal get to the far country? I imagine the faint light of dawn revealing a neatly folded note on the kitchen table.
Father,
We’ve both seen this coming for a while. Since it was bound to happen I probably should have packed and left after breakfast or while the sun was up. But knowing of something and actually watching it happen are two different things. It seemed best to me to leave in darkness – thus the note. . . .
And on it goes.
Did he get what he wanted and leave as quickly as he could manage? Did he linger around for a while so as to avoid the obvious stigma of running as soon as he got the money? Jesus doesn’t tell us that. But the absence of this detail in our biblical text allows us to ask a larger question.
How does anyone get to the far country?
Without doubt, some run there. They can’t get there quick enough. It isn’t clear if there’s something in that far place that they are running toward, seeking with high hopes. Or maybe there’s something they’re running from. It doesn’t matter where the far country is as long as it’s away from here, wherever “here” might be.
But it’s just as likely – and every bit as common – that some simply meander to the far country. It was never a destination. It was never even a conscious decision. They drifted there, further and further from home, further and further from their truest and best self. Sometimes our hearts get to the far country before our bodies do. We check out, and then go looking for . . . well, we’re not sure what for. But again, whatever it is isn’t “here.”
And if this is so we may do well to remember that we find ourselves getting home in much the same way. Sometimes the road to the far country is long, and so is the road home again. This prodigal son first found himself in need, then he found himself feeding pigs, then he wanted to share the pigs’ food, then he finally came to himself. Again, Jesus didn’t tell us, but it seems that he resisted the road home for as long as he could.
Maybe how we get back home and how long it takes doesn’t matter, as long as we get there. Perhaps there are some today who are on their way to the far country. At break-neck speed or a gradual slide. Either way. There is a loving father who allows you to go there and graciously waits for you. And this same Father gladly, joyfully welcomes you home.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father, today we pray for all who are lost. We pray for all who have wandered far from their truest self, for all who have rejected the person you created them to be, for all who have slowly become someone they no longer know. We thank you for your faithfulness as we wander in distant places and for your grace that receives us home again. Thank you for being a good and loving Father, we pray in Jesus’ name. Amen
The mind is prone to fill in gaps. That can be dangerous when you’re reading the Bible. Paul warned the Corinthians “not to go beyond what is written” (1 Cor. 4:6). Good advice. Still, omitted details in a story quickly become fodder for the imagination.
So it is with the story we know as the “prodigal son.” Jesus told us exactly what we need to hear but he didn’t tell us everything. How does the prodigal get to the far country? I imagine the faint light of dawn revealing a neatly folded note on the kitchen table.
Father,
We’ve both seen this coming for a while. Since it was bound to happen I probably should have packed and left after breakfast or while the sun was up. But knowing of something and actually watching it happen are two different things. It seemed best to me to leave in darkness – thus the note. . . .
And on it goes.
Did he get what he wanted and leave as quickly as he could manage? Did he linger around for a while so as to avoid the obvious stigma of running as soon as he got the money? Jesus doesn’t tell us that. But the absence of this detail in our biblical text allows us to ask a larger question.
How does anyone get to the far country?
Without doubt, some run there. They can’t get there quick enough. It isn’t clear if there’s something in that far place that they are running toward, seeking with high hopes. Or maybe there’s something they’re running from. It doesn’t matter where the far country is as long as it’s away from here, wherever “here” might be.
But it’s just as likely – and every bit as common – that some simply meander to the far country. It was never a destination. It was never even a conscious decision. They drifted there, further and further from home, further and further from their truest and best self. Sometimes our hearts get to the far country before our bodies do. We check out, and then go looking for . . . well, we’re not sure what for. But again, whatever it is isn’t “here.”
And if this is so we may do well to remember that we find ourselves getting home in much the same way. Sometimes the road to the far country is long, and so is the road home again. This prodigal son first found himself in need, then he found himself feeding pigs, then he wanted to share the pigs’ food, then he finally came to himself. Again, Jesus didn’t tell us, but it seems that he resisted the road home for as long as he could.
Maybe how we get back home and how long it takes doesn’t matter, as long as we get there. Perhaps there are some today who are on their way to the far country. At break-neck speed or a gradual slide. Either way. There is a loving father who allows you to go there and graciously waits for you. And this same Father gladly, joyfully welcomes you home.
Prayer:
Heavenly Father, today we pray for all who are lost. We pray for all who have wandered far from their truest self, for all who have rejected the person you created them to be, for all who have slowly become someone they no longer know. We thank you for your faithfulness as we wander in distant places and for your grace that receives us home again. Thank you for being a good and loving Father, we pray in Jesus’ name. Amen
Thursday, June 19, 2008
Stretched Thin
When Israel was a child I loved him . . . But the more I called Israel the further they went from me (Hosea 11:1-2).
What parent doesn’t know what this is like? Few things elevate the blood pressure quicker or baffle the mind more than the ignored summons, the I’m-going-to-pretend-like-I-can’t-hear-you game.
Sometimes, when children are very young, their delight in something truly keeps them from hearing. The delight becomes distraction. They are running about or discovering something new and interesting. Innocent delight. An early love affair with the world and with life that enthralls them to the point of not hearing their own name. They are more wonder-struck than willful. It’s possible.
But that kind of enchantment is soon outgrown. In its place there emerges something far more dangerous and sinister. Marnie and I call it the “media coma.” The media coma looks like innocent delight, but it is nothing more than technologically induced deafness.
A visual fixation accompanied by complete auditory failure. Very early signs can be detected in association with Elmo. Later manifestations might involve Hannah Montana or Sponge Bob.
This leads to the real test of parental patience and sanity: the child’s intentional disregard for their own name. Oh they hear you clearly. They just won’t respond. No answer.
I’m pleased to say I don’t experience that very often. My kids and I, we have our moments, but generally they will respond to my voice when it speaks their name – especially if it is spoken loudly and with notable intensity.
Nevertheless, I do know what it’s like to be ignored and my experience of that kind of thing makes it very hard for me to fully comprehend God’s words to Israel spoken through the prophet Hosea. God called to Israel but they wandered further away. God called through his law, through the prophets and eventually through his own Son. They didn’t listen.
And yet, Hosea continues, God continued to lead his people with “cords of human kindness.” That’s surprising to me. God calling to his people, the people refusing to heed the call, wandering further away and yet being led by “cords of human kindness.”
When my call to my children is ignored my cords of human kindness are stretched thin. At times the cords of kindness are little more than a few strained fibers. I resort to a different kind of leading. When ignored I lead with steel cables of parental threat, of declared authority, of fatherly anger, whatever works.
The words of the prophet remind us again of how differently God parents us. We wander, but never far enough to break the cords of human kindness and the ties of love.
Long after the prophet Hosea had spoken those words, the apostle Paul wrote that it was God’s kindness that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). The Bible says plenty about God’s anger. But when it comes to turning us around and bringing us back to himself, back to the voice that calls us by name – God’s kindness does that. And just maybe kindness can do the same thing in our own families.
Prayer:
Ever calling Father, even in our wandering you lead us with kindness. Teach us to do the same with our children. Guard us from the impatience and frustration that fray the cords of kindness and ties of love in our homes. Make us more like you, our merciful Father. Amen.
What parent doesn’t know what this is like? Few things elevate the blood pressure quicker or baffle the mind more than the ignored summons, the I’m-going-to-pretend-like-I-can’t-hear-you game.
Sometimes, when children are very young, their delight in something truly keeps them from hearing. The delight becomes distraction. They are running about or discovering something new and interesting. Innocent delight. An early love affair with the world and with life that enthralls them to the point of not hearing their own name. They are more wonder-struck than willful. It’s possible.
But that kind of enchantment is soon outgrown. In its place there emerges something far more dangerous and sinister. Marnie and I call it the “media coma.” The media coma looks like innocent delight, but it is nothing more than technologically induced deafness.
A visual fixation accompanied by complete auditory failure. Very early signs can be detected in association with Elmo. Later manifestations might involve Hannah Montana or Sponge Bob.
This leads to the real test of parental patience and sanity: the child’s intentional disregard for their own name. Oh they hear you clearly. They just won’t respond. No answer.
I’m pleased to say I don’t experience that very often. My kids and I, we have our moments, but generally they will respond to my voice when it speaks their name – especially if it is spoken loudly and with notable intensity.
Nevertheless, I do know what it’s like to be ignored and my experience of that kind of thing makes it very hard for me to fully comprehend God’s words to Israel spoken through the prophet Hosea. God called to Israel but they wandered further away. God called through his law, through the prophets and eventually through his own Son. They didn’t listen.
And yet, Hosea continues, God continued to lead his people with “cords of human kindness.” That’s surprising to me. God calling to his people, the people refusing to heed the call, wandering further away and yet being led by “cords of human kindness.”
When my call to my children is ignored my cords of human kindness are stretched thin. At times the cords of kindness are little more than a few strained fibers. I resort to a different kind of leading. When ignored I lead with steel cables of parental threat, of declared authority, of fatherly anger, whatever works.
The words of the prophet remind us again of how differently God parents us. We wander, but never far enough to break the cords of human kindness and the ties of love.
Long after the prophet Hosea had spoken those words, the apostle Paul wrote that it was God’s kindness that leads us to repentance (Romans 2:4). The Bible says plenty about God’s anger. But when it comes to turning us around and bringing us back to himself, back to the voice that calls us by name – God’s kindness does that. And just maybe kindness can do the same thing in our own families.
Prayer:
Ever calling Father, even in our wandering you lead us with kindness. Teach us to do the same with our children. Guard us from the impatience and frustration that fray the cords of kindness and ties of love in our homes. Make us more like you, our merciful Father. Amen.
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Lunch with Dad
This then, is how you should pray, “Our Father . . .” (Matt. 5:9)
I had lunch with my Dad on Sunday. That’s not so remarkable. I’ve had plenty of lunches with my parents, meals in their home, family gatherings at holidays, having them to our house to grill burgers. My Dad and I have been at the same meal and sat at the same table more times than I can remember.
But on Sunday I had lunch with my Dad alone. Just me and him. And honestly, I can’t remember the last time that happened.
The day, of course, could not have been more fitting. It was Father’s Day. My mother has been in North Carolina tending to her own mother who is in poor health. My wife was in a different part of North Carolina delivering John to a two-week camp experience. So we two preachers, finding ourselves wife-less on Father’s Day, made plans to meet for lunch after church. Like I said, that doesn’t happen often. I’m glad it happened Sunday.
We’re going to be thinking this week about the ways that God is a parent to us and what it means for us to mirror who God is in our own parenting. Today, having sat at table with my own Father, I’m particularly aware of the fact that God’s fatherhood is defined by intimate fellowship with us.
To speak of God as Father says so much about who God is and what God is like. Such language certainly speaks to God as creator and the giver of life. God is our father in that our life issues forth from his very own. Fatherhood speaks to the ways in which God provides for our needs. God’s guiding and teaching are included as well as God’s discipline.
But at the heart of all of this is simple fellowship. Apart from the intimacy of ongoing fellowship with our God we will not be able to hear his word of instruction, we will resent his hand of discipline, we will take far too much credit for our own existence, we’ll assume that hard work and smart decisions allow us to provide for ourselves and those we love. When we lose the experience of daily fellowship with God we may also find that we’ve lost our delight in his Fatherhood.
Interesting. Few people saw the raw power of God unleashed and displayed more than Moses. With every morning deposit of manna, Moses knew that God provided. With the tablets of the Law, Moses knew that God would guide and instruct. And after the people lapsed into idolatry Moses knew that God would discipline his people.
And yet it was Moses who spoke with God face to face as a man speaks with a friend.
This morning God invites you into fellowship, a few moments at the table. You are free to sit quietly, free to voice questions and worries, free to think through the events of your day and the people in your life, free to give thanks. And all of this is done in the company of your loving Father.
What was the last time that happened? Hopefully it hasn’t been long, and hopefully it you will return again to this table.
Prayer:
By the help and presence of your Spirit, O Lord, teach me how to keep fellowship with you throughout this day. Guard me from a hurried appointment in the morning, the quick read of a devotional thought in route to more pressing matters. Keep me mindful of your presence in all things. Amen.
I had lunch with my Dad on Sunday. That’s not so remarkable. I’ve had plenty of lunches with my parents, meals in their home, family gatherings at holidays, having them to our house to grill burgers. My Dad and I have been at the same meal and sat at the same table more times than I can remember.
But on Sunday I had lunch with my Dad alone. Just me and him. And honestly, I can’t remember the last time that happened.
The day, of course, could not have been more fitting. It was Father’s Day. My mother has been in North Carolina tending to her own mother who is in poor health. My wife was in a different part of North Carolina delivering John to a two-week camp experience. So we two preachers, finding ourselves wife-less on Father’s Day, made plans to meet for lunch after church. Like I said, that doesn’t happen often. I’m glad it happened Sunday.
We’re going to be thinking this week about the ways that God is a parent to us and what it means for us to mirror who God is in our own parenting. Today, having sat at table with my own Father, I’m particularly aware of the fact that God’s fatherhood is defined by intimate fellowship with us.
To speak of God as Father says so much about who God is and what God is like. Such language certainly speaks to God as creator and the giver of life. God is our father in that our life issues forth from his very own. Fatherhood speaks to the ways in which God provides for our needs. God’s guiding and teaching are included as well as God’s discipline.
But at the heart of all of this is simple fellowship. Apart from the intimacy of ongoing fellowship with our God we will not be able to hear his word of instruction, we will resent his hand of discipline, we will take far too much credit for our own existence, we’ll assume that hard work and smart decisions allow us to provide for ourselves and those we love. When we lose the experience of daily fellowship with God we may also find that we’ve lost our delight in his Fatherhood.
Interesting. Few people saw the raw power of God unleashed and displayed more than Moses. With every morning deposit of manna, Moses knew that God provided. With the tablets of the Law, Moses knew that God would guide and instruct. And after the people lapsed into idolatry Moses knew that God would discipline his people.
And yet it was Moses who spoke with God face to face as a man speaks with a friend.
This morning God invites you into fellowship, a few moments at the table. You are free to sit quietly, free to voice questions and worries, free to think through the events of your day and the people in your life, free to give thanks. And all of this is done in the company of your loving Father.
What was the last time that happened? Hopefully it hasn’t been long, and hopefully it you will return again to this table.
Prayer:
By the help and presence of your Spirit, O Lord, teach me how to keep fellowship with you throughout this day. Guard me from a hurried appointment in the morning, the quick read of a devotional thought in route to more pressing matters. Keep me mindful of your presence in all things. Amen.
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