"...this is the true grace of God. Stand firm in it"
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The astronomers call it an elliptical orbit: A body continues in a stable trajectory around two complementary gravitational forces. If either of those forces is affected, the body circling them falls out of orbit.
Peter writes to a community where the temptation to drift from faithful and true obedience remains ever present. And so he supplies those two complementary realities which all true obedience must circle around. If either of the two shifts or weakens, one's obedience degrades into something that is unsustainable.
What are those two realities? The holiness of God and the grace of God.
His holiness sets before us the mark of what it means to be His, what it means to be truly human. He defines for us what is true, good, and beautiful—deviation from which means a corresponding loss.
His grace reveals how distant we are from the center of His holiness, but also how willing He is to meet us in that place and restore us to Himself and His holiness.
In Christ and His cross we see those two realities plainly and dramatically.
When Peter first encounters Jesus aboard his fishing boat, all Peter can say is, "Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord" (Luke 5:8). To be aware of the holiness of God is to see one's own inclinations as so deeply at odds with what is true and good. In that moment, Peter saw holiness.
When Peter later exhorts his listeners with the encouragement that the Lord will "restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you," it is because he has experienced that grace firsthand—grace that looks past egregious self-interest.
These two realities—His holiness and His grace—are distinct and inseparable. But it remains an ever-present struggle to keep both in view as we live.
Which of the two have you grown less sensitive to, so that your obedience has degraded into something unsustainable?
Have you forgotten His holiness—how what He demands of you is indeed exacting and high? Has the pull of that reality weakened so that you have no sorrow for your disobedience?
Or have you forgotten His grace—that though you offend Him, He will not let you go? Has the pull of that reality weakened so that you have given up the fight to persevere in holiness?
If we are to stand firm in the true grace of God, it will mean we keep both holiness and grace firmly in view. They are the realities our obedience must orbit; they are the only proper motivations for true, sustainable obedience.
As our church body studies the book of 1 Peter in our Sunday morning worship services, our pastors will also be collaborating on weekly devotional e-mails based on the scriptures preached from the pulpit. We are sending the first in this series to the entire church family in case you would like to keep receiving them. If you would not like to receive these e-mails, follow the unsubscribe link at the bottom of this e-mail. You can always unsubscribe at any time. We hope you enjoy these devotional thoughts from our own pastors.
“...to those who are elect exiles of the dispersion...”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
This morning, thousands of people still know what it feels like to be dislocated. A furious storm forced them to flee far from home in search of higher, safer ground. Now, truth be told, where they went is not much different from where they came from; likely, McDonald's and Starbucks still litter the landscape. But they can't get back to their homes right now. And even if they could, it would be some time before home would be truly home again.
These people are feeling, in some small measure, what it means to be an exile. Tens of thousands of other people in this world have likewise fled a fury of famine and war, and know exilic life all the more poignantly. For those who fled the Gulf Coast last weekend, their displacement inevitably creates disorientation.
When Peter addresses his audience as exiles, he employs a compact term with enormous significance for them. Peter's audience could not have been more isolated or disoriented. To Jews they were odious for believing that God became man and died on a cross. To Greeks they were laughable for submitting to but one God when everyone knew that a whole host of gods inhabited the cosmos. And to Romans they were potentially dangerous because they saw their Anointed One as supreme even over Caesar.
But Peter's decision to address his audience as exiles is not merely to sympathize with their isolation. To be an exile, you see, is more than just a status; it is an office. It entails responsibility as much as it elicits sympathy. That's why Peter refers to their identity as exiles three times in this letter alone (1 Peter 1:1, 1:17. 2:11). So what does it mean to live as an exile—as a follower of Christ in a world not yet in full submission to Christ?
Exiles are dislocated but not distraught. As Christians, they're far from home—in the sense of a place of rest, untainted by sin and all its effects. The way things are is not the way things are supposed to be. Corruption prevails. Children die. Noble plans are vanquished. But rather than allow the frustration this creation has been subjected to (Romans 8:20) lead them to rage or despair, they take heart in the fact that, as surely as things ought not be this way, so, too, things won't always be this way.
Exiles are discerning. They recognize that where they are has an insidious capacity to dull their interest in their true home. Exiles are not only wary of the misshapen messages their context sends; they look with care at its rhythms and priorities—lest they indiscriminately adopt what everyone around them seems to stake their lives and futures on. John Wesley, given the tour of an enormous plantation by its owner, was asked what he thought of the vast holdings he'd seen. Wesley replied, "I think you're going to have a hard time leaving all this."
Last, exiles are devoted. They recognize that the day of their repatriation remains undisclosed to them. They know that the culture in which they are immersed is often more conducive to self-indulgence than selflessness. But they will not simply retreat into their enclave of fellow exiles and live only for themselves. They heed the call of Jeremiah to the exiles of the Babylonian captivity when he said, "seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare" (Jeremiah 29:7).
And what is the only adequate motivation to face our dislocation without becoming distraught, to discern the subtle diversions from what is holy, to devote ourselves to the welfare of our present locale? It's not "digging down deep" for strength. It's knowing that we are elect people—chosen from before the foundations of the earth, vouchsafed for eternity by the sacrifice of Christ, and bestowed with help from the Spirit for true obedience. Only by walking in the truth of our election will we find sufficient compulsion to live as true exiles.
So, reflect on two interdependent questions: Are you fulfilling your office as an exile? And is the grace of election what's compelling you to live as an exile?
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! According to his great mercy, he has caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven for you, who by God’s power are being guarded through faith for a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
A mere seventy-five feet separates them. You can see one from the other without straining your eyes. Any duffer can hit a pitching-wedge shot from the sidewalk of one to the sidewalk of the other with only the slightest effort.
Seventy-five feet is all that separates the property line of NorthPark Mall from the property line of Sparkman-Hillcrest Cemetery.
It’s a fascinating juxtaposition of the purpose of each space, and of the underlying theme each space suggests.
Walk the bright, alluring, seasonally changing corridors of NorthPark and you see one persuasive message: Real life is for sale and it is found here; life is a vapor, so get all you can.
Amble through the serene, manicured spaces of Sparkman-Hillcrest, and the place intones just as persuasively: All human striving is for naught; purpose, meaning, and significance are all human contrivances; all persons and plans will one day be snuffed out, often unexpectedly and at the height of their activity.
Each place has its own stark message—calling out for us to give heed, and trying to shout down the other.
It is only the gospel—the “living hope through the resurrection of Jesus to an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading” of which Peter speaks in verse 4—that equips you to walk the acreage of either property without being overcome by its slanted, unremitting message.
Without the gospel, your heart will turn NorthPark’s wares into something far too alluring. How many times have you made a purchase there or elsewhere motivated by a kind of emptiness in your own heart? And how long was it before that very purchase lost the capacity to change your world like you thought it might? In such moments, do we not share John’s sobering discovery in C. S. Lewis’s A Pilgrim’s Regress: “If [this] is what I wanted, why am I so disappointed when I get it?” It’s the gospel that reminds us what our hearts really long for, but what cannot be purchased.
Unbridled indulgence is not the only thing the gospel keeps us from, though.
Without the gospel, the sorrowful sidewalks of Sparkman-Hillcrest can easily overwhelm us with a sense that life is too uncertain to risk anything for—too random in its distribution of tragedy to warrant any hope in anything. Has death ever burdened you so deeply that all activities seemed meaningless (or, ironically, has it sent you scrambling to NorthPark more often to avoid thinking about the implications of your finitude)? It’s the gospel that keeps the reality of our deaths from siphoning away the vigor to face our lives.
The gospel has something significant to say whether you find yourself at NorthPark or Sparkman-Hillcrest. What’s it saying to you when you’re at either place?
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen Him, you love Him. Though you do not now see Him, you believe in Him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In a recent issue of The Atlantic, Nicholas Carr asked, “Is Google making us stupid?” He’d begun to notice in himself a diminishing capacity to focus on any sustained argument, a greater difficulty keeping track of its threads. Wondering what might account for this mental atrophy, he began to suspect his engagement with technologies like Google. It wasn’t Google per se that had him stymied; it was the phenomenon of having an unprecedented volume of information unloaded in his lap each day, which forced him to cull through all that data in a manner more like scanning than pondering. His mind no longer seemed willing to concentrate on an idea, but only gave sufficient attention to assess the most superficial sense of what he was reading.
If there’s any merit to his concern, it’s not an insignificant matter, but could there be even more significant fallout? Could this information-inundating, attention-depleting culture, of which Google is but one feature, be doing something even more destructive?
Could Google also be making us pagan? That is, could the sheer volume of data we are exposed to each day and the habit of considering things only in a haphazard, unreflective way leave us essentially unimpressed by hallowed, consequential truths? Could our habitual consulting of what’s immediately accessible actually be shriveling our awe at this great salvation wrought in Christ?
As was asked of us Sunday, have we lost our sense of awe? And is that loss a casualty of the loss of the ability to ponder? Must not the eyes of faith by which we please God learn to look patiently and probingly, relying not just upon prolonged attention but upon humble appeal to the Spirit to strengthen and solidify that faith?
Peter’s affirmation of the elect exiles of the dispersion is that they have remained faithful despite manifold reasons not to. Grieved by various trials (v. 6), neither having ever seen Jesus nor seeing him now (v. 8a), the recipients of Peter’s letter still love this Jesus, they believe in Him, and they rejoice with a joy inexpressible and full of glory (v. 8b). How can that be? How can reasonable people be expected to ally themselves with anyone, or any philosophy, that doesn’t succeed in insulating them from all harm but actually exposes them to even more harm? How can anyone love someone in an unpretentious, authentic way whom they’ve never met, but whose purported love for them is unparalleled?
Might their faithfulness be explained by how they had pondered deeply—and continued to ponder—this love, this hope, this inheritance? Perhaps their unhurried pondering left them so impressed by these notions—notions in which angels had longed to look (v. 12)—that neither trial nor secondhand testimony could undermine their awe.
The life to which this gospel calls us is not one of slavish imitation, but a life where obedience is a function of loving Him we have not seen, and rejoicing in what we have only a foretaste of. If immersion in those truths is the source of that sustaining joy, the absence of pondering is to our peril.
If we do not ponder, deeply and regularly, this salvation, the trials we face may leave us cold, embittered, cynical. Unless we see with the eyes of faith that He will not leave us alone, we will conclude He either cannot or will not help. There can be no true joy in the midst of trial unless there be a corresponding faith born of sufficient reflection.
If we do not ponder deeply this inheritance yet to come, our obedience will either be fearful or begrudging—fearful because we might forget our acceptance is not on the basis of our performance, or begrudging because we do not see or feel the intrinsic goodness of His commands. Neither fear nor unwilling compliance comport with what it means to be a chosen, redeemed soul. Only faith nurtured by pondering the rich substance of this faith ensures ours to be the “obedience of faith” (Romans 1:5, 16:26).
If we do not ponder deeply the living hope through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead, we will become too easily impressed with the most superficial of things—from who’s atop the BCS poll to when the new season of this or that show premieres, to any number of lesser matters—that leave us increasingly unimpressed and unmoved by the most significant of matters.
Have we unwittingly become so attentive to the things not worthy of attention that we’ve become inattentive to the things most worthy of our attention? The notions that endurance in the inevitable trials of life depends on?
When’s the last time you’ve thought at length about this salvation He’s purchased for you? Even innocuous things, like what Google or your Blackberry delivers, can end up commanding your attention disproportionately. What in your world is siphoning away more attention than it needs to from what must keep your attention?
As you prepare to worship this Sunday, what if you set aside some time simply reading the above passage each day and thinking about—pondering—the substance of our faith, and how our faith appropriately pondered is designed to support us against struggle, steel us against sin, and endear us to Him whom we cannot yet see? What a Google-may-care thing to do!
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been grieved by various trials, so that the tested genuineness of your faith—more precious than gold that perishes though it is tested by fire—may be found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ. Though you have not seen him, you love him. Though you do not now see him, you believe in him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.
Concerning this salvation, the prophets who prophesied about the grace that was to be yours searched and inquired carefully, inquiring what person or time the Spirit of Christ in them was indicating when he predicted the sufferings of Christ and the subsequent glories. It was revealed to them that they were serving not themselves but you, in the things that have now been announced to you through those who preached the good news to you by the Holy Spirit sent from heaven, things into which angels long to look.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Jack Swigert would never have willingly subjected his crewmates to the blood-boiling vacuum of space. Not only would their deaths mean his own death, but the nearly two weeks he, Jim Lovell, and Fred Haise had already suffered aboard the ill-fated Apollo 13 had only steeled his resolve to help get them back to earth. Never in his right mind would he even countenance the idea of separating the command module from the lunar module without all of them aboard the former and both sections securely sealed.
But Jack wasn’t in his right mind, and he knew it.
Days earlier, the thrill of an imminent moonwalk had plummeted into the devastation of knowing no such walk would take place. Their ship had buckled after an on-board explosion, and precious oxygen bled from their supplies. The only way for the ship to make it back to earth was to forgo the moon landing and conserve all the power they could. The crew would endure intense cold and immense stress, all while getting minimal rest.
That’s why in this moment, as the haggard threesome prepared for reentry, Swigert affixed a simple scrap of paper over the switch that would jettison the lunar module from the command module. And upon that makeshift Post-it note he scribbled a simple message: “NO!” With Lovell and Haise contributing to the effort aboard the lunar module, and with all three of them working almost exclusively on adrenalin, their propensity to commit egregious blunders of judgment was high. For Swigert, prematurely jettisoning his crewmates was a conceivable possibility; his fatigue, he said, made him “punchy.” The note served to prevent that.
Jack Swigert’s action epitomized the notion that even the simplest truths need to be at our mental fingertips. Otherwise we risk acting in ways contrary to sense when trials tempt us to react impulsively.
The apostle Peter reminds these persecuted exiles of simple, foundational truths. They were truths that the sheer tumult of the trial could’ve easily wiped from their individual and corporate consciousness. If they lost sight of them, they too were prone to act rashly—returning to old ways, mimicking the ways of their surroundings, or responding in ways that would bring them and Christ dishonor. Only a deep-seated familiarity with those truths would, with the Spirit’s mysterious help, enable them to respond rightly to persecution (1 Peter 3:8ff), to those in authority (2:13ff), to their own spouses (3:1ff), to anyone who took issue with their hope (3:13ff).
What truths from His Word need to be at your mental fingertips these days?
God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble. (Psalm 46:1)
Why are you downcast, o, my soul, and why are you in turmoil within me? Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, my salvation and my God. (Psalm 42:5)
If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall hold me. (Psalm 139:9,10)
Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends. (John 15:13)
There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. (Romans 8:1)
And He died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for Him who for their sake died and was raised. (2 Corinthians 5:15)
Might these and other truths need to be so readily accessible (i.e., memorized) that when trials or threats of any kind come, you are left with something more than your own wits to confront a difficult season of life?
...it is written, “You shall be holy, for I am holy.” And if you call on him as Father who judges impartially according to each one’s deeds, conduct yourselves with fear throughout the time of your exile...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In a few short days, little ones might be rapping at your door in search of sweets, while adults everywhere will be finding yet another reason to recreate. Whether one is young or old, the attraction to October 31 is twofold: the opportunity to masquerade in alternative identities and the opportunity to entertain notions of things fearful. Whether it is ghastly sights, the threat of death, or the mysteries of the spiritual world, on this last Friday in October many will dabble whimsically in what they’d like to ignore the rest of the year.
But October 31 commemorates something else that relates to fear. On Reformation Day, we celebrate a simple, profound statement on what it means to fear God rightly—the watershed moment when Martin Luther nailed his 95 theses to the church door in Wittenburg. For years the monk Luther had agonized over his understanding of God. To him, the holiness of God was an entirely fearful thing when he recognized his own lack thereof. How could he love the God whose justice and holiness was so beyond him? Finally, he saw how in the gospel the fearful wrath of God had been met and satisfied by the astounding grace of God. Luther then understood what a proper fear of God was.
As we heard Sunday, Peter speaks to that fear in 1 Peter 1:17: “Conduct yourselves with fear throughout the time of your exile.” At first glance it may seem that Peter is having an intramural squabble with his fellow apostle, John. John says in his first letter, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love” (1 John 4:18).
John means that there is a fear that cannot coexist with our love for God; that’s the fear of punishment. For in Christ we need not fear punishment because He is our advocate (2:1). Furthermore, God’s love for us is based not on our having loved Him first, but on His love for Christ and Christ’s love for us, expressed inestimably at the Cross (4:19). Our confidence in His love for us cannot stand if we find ourselves thinking His love is contingent upon our loveliness. In that sense, fear does not comport with true love.
Is Peter’s letter contrary to John’s when he calls us to walk in fear of God during our time of exile? Hardly. Upon further review, we find complementarity, rather than a collision of views.
(Of the many gifts of the Reformation, the notion that we must interpret scripture with scripture remains one of the most salutary guides to understanding the faith. For this clarification we have Martin Luther also to thank.)
When Peter speaks of a right fear of God, he means at least three things—things John would have no quarrel with.
A right fear of God sees all other potential anxieties in context. Whatever else might threaten your stability (sickness, loss, persecution, unmet desires) simply pales against the backdrop of the fearful things Christ has rescued us from. Recalling what we’ve been ransomed from is Peter’s attempt to have us see that context (1 Peter 1:18). John likewise points us Cross-ward (1 John 1:7).
Is it your discipline to preach the gospel to your fears, whatever they may be?
A right fear of God anticipates the downside of disobedience. It sees the intrinsic danger of living frivolously, ungratefully, egotistically. It sees also the sorrow of offending the One who abhors disobedience and labored mightily to rescue us from its debt. That’s why Peter recalls the command to be holy in verse 17, and why John casts the sin of hatred as a self-blinding act (1 John 2:11). Francis Schaeffer defended the practice of confessing our sins despite their having been forgiven in Christ. We confess, he said, because though our standing before God does not change when we sin, our intimate fellowship with Him is lost, and “we remember what we had.” In sorrow and in desire for renewed closeness we seek His restoration.
Is it your discipline to muse on what you would lose in disobedience?
Last, a right fear of God liberates us unto love for our neighbor and our enemy. To know you’re loved is a potent motivator. If you know His love for you is unassailable and unflinching, all fears of not being loved by others are subdued; all distress at having your loving acts go unrequited are swallowed up. Peter sees that connection between the fear of God and the love for others in verse 22. John does likewise in I John 4:19-21.
Do you find yourself more or less motivated to love these days?
So these two apostles who’d been invited into Jesus’ inner circle, who’d been with Him at His transfiguration and His darkest hour of anguish in the garden—they walk in lockstep with one another when it comes to a right fear of God.
And so must we.
Are you properly fearful?
...as a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, as well as a partaker in the glory that is going to be revealed...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Perhaps the hardest thing for children to learn when they are young is to share. In the playroom, on the playground, at the restaurant—even in the bathtub—how often do we find them clutching so tightly to things that they think they are entitled to, or that they desperately need?
Faster than you can say “idol,” they identify so closely with what they possess that the very thought of giving it up elicits the volatile mixture of fear and rage. Unless the object diminishes in value to them, they will not yield willingly. Or unless they come to see that what they share is not so much part of them as it is a thing they enjoy, it will remain an object of desire whose importance seems incalculable.
Children find it hard to share because they think what they will lose in sharing it is more than they can bear. They think they can’t afford to part with it.
If only it were a phenomenon reserved for children. Adults are (sometimes) just more subtle in their attachments.
Our Lord is quite different. To know Him is to put away that sort of childish way (1 Corinthians 13:11). For unlike a child who clings intensely to what is trifling, the Lord shares lavishly what is of ultimate value to Him. What He shares, though, cannot be subtracted from Him even when He shares it. Sharing it exalts Him rather than diminishes Him. What is it? His glory and His nature.
Twice Peter uses a word to describe what it is to be the Lord’s—a word that’s largely fallen into disuse in our day. It’s the word “partaker.” It means simply to share in something. What God shares, we partake in. Sunday pointed us to Peter’s first use of the word, when he calls himself “a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, as well as a partaker in the glory that is going to be revealed” (1 Peter 5:1).
Peter is appointed as an elder to shepherd the people of God. His appointment rests squarely upon his having seen the very Lord who commissioned him to this work. But he is not merely occupying an office or fulfilling a mandate. He’s sharing in something of highest value; he’s sharing “in the glory that is going to be revealed.”
The view at the base of a 14,000-foot mountain is breathtaking, but it is nothing compared to the view from the summit. There’s a magnificence, an exaltedness of God which is still to be revealed and experienced. But to partake in that glory, as Peter speaks of it, is more than being simply earmarked for a future reality. For Peter is a present reality, too. He is moved and sustained by the glory of God. That’s how he can say he is a partaker of it.
It is not a partaking reserved exclusively for those in leadership in the church, as Peter’s second use of the word confirms. In his second letter he writes, “His divine power has granted to us all things that pertain to life and godliness, through the knowledge of Him who called us to His own glory and excellence, by which He has granted to us His precious and very great promises, so that through them you may become partakers of the divine nature, having escaped from the corruption that is in the world because of sinful desire” (2 Peter 1:3,4).
To share in that divine nature is to have been liberated from loves of flawed things—longings we once had no interest in laying aside. That’s a partaking all who know Christ may share!
What is it, then, to partake of that glory and that divine nature here and now? It may very well have something to do with our willingness to share—sharing with the world as He does with us.
John Chrysostom, a pastor-theologian of the fourth century, drew the distinction between what is childish and what is mature:
For as in the case of little children, when the child eagerly desires childish playthings, we hide them from him with much care, as a ball, for instance, and such like things, that he may not be hindered from necessary things; but when he thinks little of them, and no longer longs for them, we give them fearlessly, knowing that henceforth no harm can come to him from them, the desire no longer having strength enough to draw him away from things necessary; so God also, when He sees that we no longer eagerly desire the things of this world, thenceforward permits us to use them. For we possess them as freemen and men, not as children.
The Lord shares what is most precious to Himself, and the more we partake in what He graciously shares, the less enslaved we are to the things we thought were so necessary. Be it time, or possessions, or talent, or money, or love—when we partake of His glory, His nature, we see those things less as what defines us or what makes us significant, and more as things to be employed for the good and glory of God.
As the poet David Wilcox put it more succinctly, “you will always have what you gave to love.”
Three questions for your meditation:
Do you think of what you have as a possession, or as what you’ve been entrusted with?
How does what you’ve done with what you have demonstrate having partaken of His glory and nature?
Whatever your answers to the first two questions, why not ask the Lord—who gives wisdom generously (James 1:5)—to show how you might share what you have in the same lavish way He does?
Having purified your souls by your obedience to the truth for a sincere brotherly love, love one another earnestly from a pure heart, since you have been born again, not of perishable seed but of imperishable, through the living and abiding word of God; for
All flesh is like grass
and all its glory like the flower of grass.
The grass withers, and the flower falls,
but the word of the Lord remains forever.
And this word is the good news that was preached to you.
So put away all malice and all deceit and hypocrisy and envy and all slander. Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up to salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Jonathan Edwards famously wrote:
There is a difference between having an opinion, that God is holy and gracious, and having a sense of the loveliness and beauty of that holiness and grace. There is a difference between having a rational judgment that honey is sweet, and having a sense of its sweetness. A man may have the former that knows not how honey tastes; but a man cannot have the latter unless he has an idea of the taste of honey in his mind.
(“A Divine and Supernatural Light,” 1734)
As one does not know honey until one has tasted its sweetness, one does not know God until one has been affected by His goodness.
As Sunday affirmed, both the Psalmists and the apostle Peter proclaim that steadfast obedience rests on a deep-seated affection for God: “Taste and see that the Lord is good.” It’s not a continuously effervescent ebullience that undergirds all our obedience; anyone who’s sought to love another for the glory of God knows it can’t always be done with a smile. Rather, what motivates our obedience is more like what Tim Keller calls a subterranean joy—an appreciation for God that, while not always perceived, is always present. In Edwards’s sense, we can recommend the sweetness of honey to another even if we’re not, at that moment, tasting its sweetness. Those are subterranean affections.
Still, it is only with those affections for God that we will ever find the motive to “put away,” as Peter puts it, all manner of corruption. Among the corruptions he cites, one that insinuates itself into our everyday experience so pervasively is deceit.
The word deceit carries such insidious connotations that we find it hard to apply it to our “little” and all too frequent misrepresentations, mischaracterizations, half-truths, and “white lies.” We even tell ourselves things we know not to be true and operate on the basis of that self-deceit. The fact that we engage so readily in concealing the full truth only confirms how alluring deceit is. But why is it so alluring?
We lie because we’re afraid. We’re afraid of what we might lose if we opt for full transparency: respect, status, influence, peace. We come to value those things to such a degree that we are willing to conceal the truth in order to protect and preserve them.
We lie because we’re opportunistic. On our taxes, in our closest relationships, with our neighbors—we see occasion for keeping something or avoiding something, and we see dishonesty as a way to accommodate our desire. It’s so easy and so seemingly harmless. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, right?
For both those reasons we recognize deceit’s siren call. For both those reasons we acknowledge our need of something more attractive, more compelling, more inviting, more savory to displace the inclination toward deceit. Both Peter and Jonathan Edwards proclaim the solution: The way out of the seduction of deceit is to savor the One in whom there is no lie.
It’s when we savor the Lord, when we are so convinced of His goodness, that we find no need to practice untruth. He is enough for us.
What we might avoid through deceit need not frighten us. He is enough. He will shelter. What we might gain through deceit is nothing compared to what we already have in Him. He is enough, and more than enough.
The 17th-century poet George Herbert summarizes Peter’s thought about deceit:
Lie not; but let thy heart be true to God,
Thy mouth to it, thy actions to them both:
Cowards tell lies, and those that fear the rod;
The stormy working soul spits lies and froth.
Dare to be true. Nothing can need a lie:
A fault, which needs it most, grows two thereby.
(“The Church-Porch”)
How, then, do you know if you “know” the Lord in the way Edwards distinguishes? You see that nothing “needs the lie” because you have all you need in the Lord: status, respect, identity, stability, and everything else that deceit tries to beguile you with. The love of truth rests in a love for God, for in that love for God one finds neither protection nor gain in deceit.
Is Peter’s desire that we simply refrain from lying? It is not. It is that we so pursue the Lord that we feel His goodness. We seek to understand His mind, not for the sake of doctrinal precision alone, but so that we might exult in that doctrine. Then, we feel the folly of deceit because we feel the excellence of God.
Obedience matures when it moves from submission out of respect for authority to submission out of respect for that authority’s wisdom. Surely there are many days that require obedience motivated by our sense of His authority alone; that He is God and I am not remains a sufficient rationale for obeying, even if I feel no overwhelming mirth in doing so. But there must be a deeper, quieter appreciation for His wisdom if obedience is to endure. It’s that gratitude for His instruction that keeps us from taking (false) refuge in deceit. Tasting the Lord’s goodness is cherishing the inherent wisdom in His call to honesty.
The Lord’s goodness can be known in a deep and satisfying way. It can be felt when we entrust ourselves to His care by putting off deceit. When we trust that we will lose no good thing if we insist on transparency, we experience His goodness. When we trust that we will gain no good thing without resisting deceit, we experience His goodness. Who, then, is it time to come clean with—about your priorities, your struggle against sin, your marriage, or whatever you’ve sought to preserve or gain through concealment?
You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Two days ago, for the 44th time in our nation’s 232-year history, our country reenacted the repudiation of an age-old philosophy. For millennia, men and women ruled peoples on the basis of what came to be called the “divine right of kings.” By its premise, authority was conferred on the basis of divine will. Consent was needed from no one else.
With the American Revolution in the West came the crystallization of an alternative notion that had been brewing for some time. Now authority would be conferred by those who were governed. No one would rule unless those who would be ruled granted them that right.
That’s why Peter’s words to the church seem so foreign to our ears: “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession...” These are lofty, ennobling words. To us they’re a bit odd not because he’s conferring designations that grant us power to rule, but because this authority is conferred by God instead of men. This identity, which we heard more about last Sunday, is a divine right ascribed on the basis of His gracious prerogative and through the gracious work of His Son.
And if we’re not careful, our immersion in a cultural moment where legitimate authority comes only by consent of the governed can lead us to marginalize Peter’s ascriptions of authority as mere flattery. Honor that identity conferred by divine decree we must. But how? And how might we use that authority without the arrogance with which too many kings wielded theirs—or without the timidity of spirit that can creep into our souls by living in a setting that largely denies any divinely conferred authority? Peter gives us two mandates that correspond to that identity from without.
Our first divine mandate is proclamation. We walk confidently, not arrogantly, in this divinely conferred identity when we “proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light.” When you love another it is no burden to speak well of them; such adulation comes naturally. Giving sermons or writing devotionals is but one type of that proclamation, but proclaiming those excellencies is everyone’s mandate. To proclaim Him is nothing more or less than representing Him, in word and deed, in ways that portray our value of Him. In acts of hospitality, sacrifice, justice, and mercy—coupled with words that explain our hope, our stability, our reasons for acting in those ways—we proclaim His graciousness to us.
Where does proclamation fit into your sense of this identity you’ve been given?
Our second divine mandate is warfare. We walk humbly, not timidly, when we fight desperately against the wiles of sin. He calls us to “abstain from the passions that wage war against your soul.” Our often unconscious inclinations toward self-promotion, our proneness to uncritically follow the ways of this world, our capacity to seek our stability in things other than the God who gave us life and hope and a future—such propensity for sin in us requires nothing less than vigilant, patient, prayerful, and persistent attention to what besets, unnerves, and derails us.
As an example, C. S. Lewis said in Surprised by Joy that the “surest means of disarming an anger...was turning your attention from [it]...and examining the passion itself.” A consideration of anger’s basis sometimes cuts the legs out from under it. Might not the first step in putting away lust, bitterness, impatience, or joylessness be asking why those vices have emerged from within us? That’s part of the fight, but it takes willingness to undertake that fight. Peter’s call to abstain means that there is hope for true abstention—even against the kind of destructive passions that “wage war.”
Where does the fight against sin fit into your sense of this identity you’ve been given?
Such mandates are the divine responsibilities derived from our divinely-conferred identity. Yet, it is not enough simply to know our responsibilities. Only when we see those divine responsibilities as a divine privilege can we hope to consistently fulfill them. The obedience of faith is a mysterious work of duty and delight. Sometimes one or the other rises more discernibly in our reasons for such obedience. That is why He gives us His Word and His Spirit. When we’re intimately acquainted with His Word and humbly open to the “persuasion and enablement” (see question 31 of the Westminster Shorter Catechism) of His Spirit, we see these responsibilities not merely as what we ought to do, but what we can’t help but do. Peter writes this letter and Jesus sends us His Spirit because this identity, its corresponding responsibilities, and the necessary motivations are not intuited by us but deposited in us. They must be continually awakened and refreshed. Then both proclaiming His excellencies and fighting sin move from obligation to opportunity.
Where, then, does abiding in His Word and prayer fit into your sense of the identity you’ve been given, if the sense of privilege is to be as potent as the sense of responsibility?
It’s a divine privilege to fulfill a divine responsibility derived from a divine identity. Knowing and living in that identity is your divine right.
Honor all men. Love the brotherhood. Fear God.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The chameleon’s claim to fame is his amazing capacity to change colors depending on his mood, often making him almost indistinguishable from his surroundings. The musk ox, native to arctic climes, is a burly, thick-furred animal that travels in herds. Like settlers who circle their wagons in the face of a threat, musk oxen form an outward-facing ring to defend themselves and their turf.
The two animals couldn’t be more separated by climate and distance, and yet they each metaphorically represent a particular orientation to the world that churches too often assume. So goes the thesis of Dick Keyes in his book Chameleon Christianity.
Sunday we heard the contemporary equivalent of what it means to “honor the emperor” (1 Peter 2:17). But all political considerations aside, how does the church remain the church in whatever environment she finds herself? Peter summarizes the church’s call in three succinct commands: “Honor all men, love the brotherhood, fear God.”
Their simplicity and straightforwardness notwithstanding, honoring and loving as Peter exhorts may be more of a challenge than we might think.
If Keyes is right, we have to beware of letting our honor of men slip into accommodation of all men’s ways—like a chameleon adapting to his surroundings. We’re chameleonlike when we adopt the practices of our culture uncritically: when we accrue, expect, schedule, make purchases, and prioritize in ways essentially indistinguishable from those without any interest in the glory of God. We’re chameleonlike when we consciously or unconsciously adopt the prevailing wisdom that our faith is merely a private matter, a choice relevant only to our own circle and situation. The fear of what we might lose keeps us from showing our true colors. The honor of men deteriorates into an honor of our reputations among men.
If Keyes is right, we must also beware of understanding love of the brotherhood as a rationale for stringently insulating ourselves from any and all who are not presently part of that brotherhood. We’re musk ox–like when we take no interest in working for the good of those outside the church, and when we never take the time to translate the very vocabulary of our hope into the dialect of those with whom we’re to share that hope. We’re musk ox–like when we view the parts of this world that have no interest in Christ as regions we ought not tread. The fear of what might become of us if we get too close to what appears antithetical to righteousness keeps us from loving those outside the fold.
The fear of what we might lose and the fear of what might become of us are potent, and yet they creep inconspicuously into our orientation to life. What, then, shall keep us from this often unconscious drift into accommodation or insulation?
Thank God for what Peter reminds us: The fear of God must always complement this kind of honoring and loving. Seeing God’s fearsome holiness keeps us from being too enamored with all that this world defines as good. Seeing His immeasurable love for us keeps us from being content to celebrate that notion only among those who are presently resting in that love. Keeping those realities before us stems the drift.
Then, in whatever her circumstances, the church remains ever the church, as Jesus prayed she would in John 17. We can be in the world without becoming indistinguishable from the world. We can refrain from being of the world while still remembering that we’re here for the world. Then, rather than assuming the features of the chameleon or the musk ox, we live as exiles, for the glory of God and for the good of our locales.
In which direction does your life trend—toward the ways of the chameleon or those of the musk ox? Where might the fear of the Lord—of His holiness and His love—need to push you out of the inclination toward accommodation or insulation?
He himself bore our sins in His body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In September 2005, a convoy of American military vehicles took a wrong turn outside Fallujah. The mistake provoked an eruption of violence against the convoy and led to the ghastly deaths of at least four civilian contractors who were shot, burned, mutilated, and hung from a bridge for all the world to see. You may very well remember those images.
The act was more than an expression of indignation. It was a message—a message of outrage at what they considered to be foreign meddling in a sovereign nation.
It may also be the closest thing we know of to the pronouncement of a curse. Designed not only to thwart the intentions of its victims, the violence intended to strip those men of their dignity. Make someone an object of revulsion and you remove any sense of what formerly gave them honor. That’s what curses do.
It’s easy to miss, but when Peter reminds us that Jesus bore our sins in His body on the tree, we’re meant to notice something more specific about a death on a cross. Those who put Jesus to death intended to silence Him. What’s more, they also sought to make a public mockery of Him, to strip Him of his dignity, so that no one would see Him as worthy of any honor or respect. Paul makes the same point in Galatians 3:13 when he quotes Moses’s declaration that those hung on a tree are cursed of God (Deuteronomy 21:23; there, even the Lord stipulates that bodies hung on a tree must be removed before sundown, lest they be drained of all honor). That Jesus underwent a curse made His work all the more difficult to accept, and yet all the more compelling.
Those who killed him sought to send a message. The Romans proclaimed by His crucifixion that no man could claim authority over Caesar and live—the Jews proclaimed that no one could claim authority alongside God and live. But those messages faded into the backdrop of the more poignant message sent not by men but by God. It was God, Himself, who sent His Son to the cross (Acts 2:23), and His message to all was that you shall not meddle in sin and live.
In suffering the indignities of those curses, the Lord Jesus did two things.
He ascribed to us the highest dignity. For the glory of His heavenly Father, Jesus bore His cross. For the good of those He came to save He did the same. Surely the message of wrath against sin displayed on the cross was designed to make us sober. Any sin is heinous to our God. But a message of divine honor accompanied the message of wrath. Those who’d defaced the image of God by sin needed to remember that they still bore that image. Thus, even in our darkest, most loathsome moments, we must make it our discipline to see the true and unassailable dignity of our lives, since His death confirmed His regard for us. “Greater love has no one than this, that someone lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). How can the object of an unsurpassable love justify denying its own dignity and worth? In other words, who are we to despise, in ourselves or in our neighbor, what the Lord Jesus cherished?
Furthermore, ascribing to us that dignity by His willingness to suffer indignity had designs far greater than merely showing His appreciation for us. In fact, the dignity He ascribes us intends to affect every choice we make.
He called us to find our dignity where He found His: in His heavenly Father. Jesus willingly suffered ridicule, torture, revulsion, and a heinous, public death because He knew there was a deeper dignity that could not be taken from Him, no matter what men said or did. He did not need to protect or preserve what could not be assailed. Our Lord therefore refused to retaliate, not only because it would have kept Him from His appointed task, but also because it would have expressed mistrust in where His dignity came from.
You and I are faced with a similar challenge whenever we feel our dignity is being threatened. The first step toward sin is to forget where that dignity is found. Then all manner of anger, resentment, bitterness, and estrangement may follow as we seek to protect counterfeit versions of what defines our dignity. Holiness follows when we remember who defines and validates that dignity.
Advent approaches. The indignities Jesus endured began not at Calvary, but in the feeding trough of animals. Isn’t it time to reflect again on how He paid us the highest compliment and set before us the highest calling by suffering the indignities of a curse?
Likewise, wives, be subject to your own husbands, so that even if some do not obey the word, they may be won without a word by the conduct of their wives—when they see your respectful and pure conduct.
Likewise, husbands, live with your wives in an understanding way, showing honor to the woman as the weaker vessel, since they are heirs with you of the grace of life, so that your prayers may not be hindered.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
That dear, dreamy old bachelor notion—the notion that the unity of marriage, the being one flesh, has something to do with being perfectly happy, or being perfectly good, or even with being perfectly and continuously affectionate! I tell you, an ordinary honest man is a part of his wife even when he wishes he wasn’t. I tell you, an ordinary good woman is part of her husband even when she wishes him at the bottom of the sea. I tell you that, whether the two people are for the moment friendly or angry, happy or unhappy, the Thing marches on, the great four-footed Thing, the quadruped of the home. They are a nation, a society, a machine. I tell you they are one flesh, even when they are not one spirit. (G. K. Chesterton, Early Notebooks)
Whether disseminated among the churches of first-century Asia Minor, or written in 19th-century England, or spoken last Sunday, the message that marriage is both magnificent and hazardous remains the same. From that notion, two mandates follow. Marriage must be treated with the greatest care. And the proper care of marriage rests on an abiding grasp of the gospel of grace.
Whether the controversy is trivial, and yet leaves one spouse wishing the other were at the “bottom of the sea,” or if the two disagree on matters of eternal significance, the regard for the marital bond is never to oscillate according to the intensity of the disagreement. Both Chesterton and Peter affirm this: The bond that is formed by marriage calls for a steadfast commitment to protecting and preserving the love that united it. In sickness and in health, in want and in plenty, the indissoluble nature of marriage requires the respect and understanding Peter calls for.
But steadfast commitment, respect, and understanding all rely on something greater than just a proper regard for the nature of marriage.
Only with the gospel of grace superintending all thoughts, prayers, and decisions can marriage ever find its purpose in glorifying the God who formed it. Marriages may endure without the gospel, but only those who understand themselves to be “joint heirs of grace” can glorify God by their marriages. For only the husbands and wives that see themselves as the recipients of immeasurable grace can hold at bay illicit enticements or lasting grudges. One cannot look long at the cross of Christ and entertain what threatens fidelity. For never has there been a greater display of affectionate fidelity than when God came for His bride through the love of His Son, the bridegroom.
We’re given time to pause this week. To reunite, share stories, perhaps to delight in some enduring delicacies—all with a view to rediscovering the reasons for gratitude that strengthen our resolve to remain faithful in whatever our lot. For the good of your marriage, wouldn’t it be fitting to reflect on this bond between you and your spouse—how its magnificence in God’s eyes requires a renewed attention to the grace of the gospel so that the hazards of marriage do not threaten?
And for those not married who one day may be, would it not be just as fitting to reflect again how His grace is sufficient for contentment in this moment (Philippians 4:11, 2 Corinthians 12:9), and that only by taking refuge in that grace shall contentment find you in whatever station of life you occupy?
Do not repay evil for evil, or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Many things make a man, but two things did most to form the man Martin Luther King, Jr. The first was that he’d become acutely aware, at an early age, what it felt like to be oppressed on the basis of his skin color. The second was that he’d been steeped since birth in two complementary notions—that God had assigned dignity to men equitably by making them in His image, and that God had achieved man’s liberation from sin by His Son’s refusal to retaliate against those who maligned and murdered Him. As one who’d been oppressed and who had trusted in the One who’d suffered the severest oppression, King spearheaded a campaign to win justice and equity for African-Americans by the same means His Lord had used. The same Lord who had preached, “Love your enemies and pray for those persecute you.” The same Lord who inspired the apostle Peter to write, “Do not repay evil for evil, or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless.”
Though he would suffer indignity, revilement, beatings, imprisonments, and threats, King refused to repay the evil with evil, for he knew that there was a paradoxically stronger power to be exerted through nonviolence. The nonviolent movement seemed to grow with every new instance of unreciprocated violence against them.
Stokeley Carmichael also knew the life of oppression. He, too, had received threats and seen his friends disparaged, mistreated, impugned, and even murdered. For a time he walked in lockstep with King and the nonviolent, gospel-centered movement. But in time his patience for restraint grew thin. To him, achieving equality through nonviolence eventually seemed foolish and futile. Such a conclusion led him to push no longer just for equality, but for power. And the pursuit of power would be exerted by way of raw, unbridled retribution, if necessary. Nonviolent resistance would take a back seat to a strategy that sought ostensibly more immediate results.
Thus set sail a separate movement, loosed from the moorings of Peter’s received wisdom not to repay evil for evil. Now insult would be met with insult, beatings with beatings.
Henri Nouwen wrote in his little book In the Name of Jesus, “Dealing with burning issues without being rooted in a deep personal relationship with God easily leads to divisiveness because, before we know it, our sense of self is caught up in our opinion about a given subject.” What he means is that our pursuit of a principle is compromised when we allow the defense of ourselves to become the overriding motivation for our effort. Truth can end up taking a back seat to will.
The more Stokely Carmichael asserted his movement’s quest for power, the more obvious it became that self-interest had replaced interest in the noble truth of ascribing equal dignity to all. He and his movement became like their adversaries, rather than rising above them and contending for something more noble because what they defended was greater than those who contended for it.
Your struggles may not be as epic as the civil rights movement, but life presents ample occasion for having to contend for something. The defense of both epic causes and small principles requires the same commitment to the Lord’s call to bless rather than retaliate. In any friendship, any business relationship, any marriage, unless it’s the pursuit of the truth of the matter that motivates us, too easily we begin to defend our mere selves. In doing so we risk escalating the tension, upholding the matter of lesser value, and delaying a resolution. Our fallen, deceitful selves (Jeremiah 17:9) require a sturdier, purer motivation for contending than merely the defense of our desires.
Whatever you find yourself contending for, the true object of your pursuit will be revealed by the means you seek to obtain it. Trading insults and jabs is a defense of the self, while absorbing blows as you represent truth bespeaks a quest for a greater thing. What does the way you engage in disagreement or argument reveal about what your true quest is for? How might His call not to repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling adjust not only the means, but the ends, of your contending?
And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Early in his quest to return the ring of power to the place where it was forged and there destroy it, Frodo is deeply wounded by one of the minions of evil who seeks to return the ring to its original owner, Sauron, the Dark Lord of Middle-earth.
Frodo, a diminutive and unassuming creature of the hobbit race, nearly succumbs to that wound but is saved by the medical wisdom of the race called the elves. He lives to continue his and his fellowship’s quest.
Yet even after he completes the momentous task appointed for him, he often feels pain from the blow he took a year earlier. “There are some wounds that cannot be wholly cured,” he is told by his wise, avuncular friend, Gandalf. He longs for a rest his wound will not permit. The elves invite him to a place where he can find enduring rest, from the burdens of his wound and his wearisome way in the world of Middle-Earth. And so he departs from those he loves, to find rest in the Blessed Realm.
In The Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien wove a majestic fantasy that resonated with humanity’s unfading hope of a rest for those wearied by this world. Our hearts lift whenever peace and rest are rumored, yet they also steel themselves against disappointment, should those rumors be unfounded.
Every Christmas we find ourselves in a similar setting where those “rumors” of peace and hope are rehearsed.
The angels who appeared to the shepherds when Jesus was born assert many buoyant promises which, just like Tolkien’s work, evoke our seemingly innate interest in a joy that cannot be quenched. Yet, such promises also evoke inquisitive and incredulous questions from a world drained of the sacred and supernatural:
Why are the tidings the angels bring gladdening? Why is such news destined to bring “great joy”? Why shall “peace” come to those who hear the news of a Savior born in Bethlehem?
Gladness, joy, and peace attend to this news because whatever wounds this life inflicts, whatever losses we take which cannot be replaced, His coming meant a new, bright, and more bounteous hope than had ever been disclosed before. Now, a rest really does await those who trust in Him?a healing balm for those who take refuge in His unparalleled work that began in a manger and was fulfilled on a tree.
Hudson Taylor, a missionary of 51 years to China, and a father who’d lost three children of his own, once wrote: “Love gave the blow which for a while makes the desert more dreary, but Heaven more home-like.” He believed that “there is a homecoming awaiting me which no parting shall break into, no tears mar.”
The hope of Christmas is too easily buried beneath the trappings of Christmas. Yet the wounds we bear, or the wounds we shall bear, require us to dig down deep for where the true hope of Christmas is found.
As the “rumors” of peace, joy, and eternal life are rehearsed for you this Advent, may you pause and ask for the grace to unearth the hope designed to sustain you on your sojourn.
Therefore encourage one another with these words.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The following quote is trotted out perennially to respond to the advance (or decline) of religious faith:
Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people.
Karl Marx made his famous diatribe against religion a century and a half ago, decrying what he thought was its detrimental effect on society. He surmised that the alleged encouragement and contentment found in looking to the next life—its promises of relief and abundance—dampened any interest in seeking the improvement of this life with all its oppressiveness and injustice.
To be fair, there is a kind of looking forward that can unwittingly obscure a true look at what is. Since redressing wrongs is very difficult, the temptation is strong to defer acting against what needs change. Yielding to that temptation opens us up to Marx’s charge, in so many words, of being “so heavenly-minded that you’re no earthly good.” But must a glance toward heaven and His return necessarily tranquilize us into docility?
Sunday we heard how a preview of gifts yet to come in no way diminishes our anticipation of them. Just as an early peek at a Christmas present heightens our expectancy of enjoying it later, so consideration of any good gift in advance has a salutary effect. And in the case of anticipating Christ’s return, the effect extends beyond mere pleasant feelings. Contrary to Marx’s claim, such anticipation, far from lulling us into complacency, compels us to an orientation towards life that benefits our souls and our societies.
Of the many benefits of making it our discipline to remember His return, three stand out.
It’s a check against the instinctual desire for vengeance. The superabundance of wickedness in this world inevitably provokes the most bloodthirsty responses. Miroslav Volf, a Croatian deeply acquainted with the savagery of a nation enmired in war, said, “the practice of non-violence requires a belief in divine vengeance...if God were not angry at injustice and deception and did not make a final end of violence, that God would not be worthy of our worship.” Jesus’ unabashed description of the tumult accompanying His return in Matthew 24:29-31 promises a full and final reckoning. No matter how exasperated we are by injustice—and no matter how unsettled by our fears of continued injustice—knowledge of that final reckoning brings us the consolation that compels restraint against escalating retaliation.
It’s a check against the burdensome weight of despair. Paul certainly had a category for mourning. Whatever losses we bear, those losses are real and substantial. But he also had a category for a mourning as those “not without hope.” An eye toward Christ’s return tempers mourning—it faces it but does not succumb to it, it concedes the pain but does not relinquish the hope assuaging that pain.
It’s a check against the inertial force of indolence. Whether C. S. Lewis had Marx in mind or not, his comment certainly serves both as a retort and a reminder:
If you read history you will find that the Christians who did most for the present world were precisely those who thought most of the next. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. The Apostles themselves, who set on foot the conversion of the Roman Empire, the great men who built up the Middle Ages, the English Evangelicals who abolished the Slave Trade, all left their mark on Earth, precisely because their minds were occupied with Heaven. It is since Christians have largely ceased to think of the other world that they have become so ineffective in this. Aim at heaven and you will get earth thrown in. Aim at earth and you get neither.
Remembering the Lord Jesus’ work of bringing reconciliation to the earth and His promise to make all things new when He comes again is perhaps the only sufficient catalyst for heart changing, justice seeking, and society building.
Is it your practice to consider perennially the wonders of His return—wonders that have discernible impact on this side of that glorious moment? Might you this week, as you prepare for worship, ask the Lord how Christ’s return is meant to impact whatever you’re engaged in? Then you’ll be really anticipating that return.
So Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, for he ate always at the king’s table. Now he was lame in both his feet.
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And the king said, “And where is your master’s son [Mephibosheth]?” Ziba said to the king, “Behold, he remains in Jerusalem, for he said, ‘Today the house of Israel will give me back the kingdom of my father.’”
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The king said to him, “Why did you not go with me, Mephibosheth?” He answered, “My lord, O king, my servant deceived me.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The story of King David, Saul’s servant Ziba, and Jonathan’s lame son Mephibosheth presents yet another raw episode in scripture: God’s people respond to grace and kindness with less than corresponding gratitude. There’s deception and opportunism followed by apparent obsequiousness. Yet all of it is met with an astounding display of unmerited favor.
And as we heard Sunday, we marvel at such blatant thanklessness for evident kindness, until we replay in our own minds the innumerable instances of that very pattern in our own histories. Then we marvel at our own brazenness and thoughtlessness, and wonder if our hearts shall ever conform to the pattern of kindness shown us in the gospel.
How shall we all close that gap between what we are and what our privileged position as people allowed to benefit from the blessings of the King calls us to be? How shall the deception, conniving, or whatever subtle sin to which our hearts are inclined ever be eradicated from us? Does the fact that we shall struggle with sin until we see the Lord face to face mean that no progress can be made?
Nearly four centuries ago, John Owen wrote exhaustively about what measures ought be taken in our struggle against continuing sin. In doing so he dismissed the notion that sin is just something we have to get along with, and he upheld the truth that with the Word of the Lord and His Spirit there can be, and must be, a diligent fight against that disparity between what we are and what we’re called to be.
Among the strategies for warring against our sinful hearts in view of the mercy of the cross of Jesus, here are three Owen suggested in The Mortification of Sin.
We’re to consider the guilt of our sin. Any sin—whether against another or oneself—is ultimately a sin against God. He is the one primarily offended. For any violation of His law is first a violation of His love—a desecration of the covenant relationship He established by His own prerogative. Unless we recognize the failure to trust the God who came for us as our most egregious error, we forget that we live not before a code, but before a King.
For example, if lust plagues you, Owen implores you to see how you’re treating something God has made as a mere object. You offend the Creator by profaning His creation.
We’re to consider the evils of our sin. The effects of our sin may appear sooner or later, but sin always has a present effect, if nothing more than to make us more susceptible to sinning again—and perhaps with greater impunity. Owen admonished us to consider those present effects, to acknowledge that because we do not live in a spiritual vacuum we must see all sin as consequential.
If you struggle with dishonesty, Owen warns you about the precedent you set in your deceit. If it serves you once, it will be all the more alluring again.
We’re to consider the danger of our sin. Like an unattended fire, unless something is done to stop the spread of our sin, the damage can be substantial. So Owen bids us imagine where this sin could lead, what far more destructive effects it might have if dabbled in repeatedly.
If unrighteous anger afflicts you, Owen would have you notice how it can erupt into a rage that can wreak untold damage.
In a culture so immersed in pep talks, it may seem harsh—even counterproductive—to spend any time thinking about these regrettable outcomes of our failures. Yet, it’s through this honest appraisal of where we’ve been weak that the Lord, Owen says, purges us of our preference for sin. As the songwriter Don Chaffer said of God, “You craft the cold to counter that which we desire but burns us with its heat. ”
Owen is uncommonly forthright to have us muse on our sin. But he is just as direct in reminding us that in Christ we sit at the King’s table. Those who are in Christ eat at His table of grace—receiving His nourishment while enjoying His fellowship—not for what they have done but because of what He has done for them.
Reflection upon our sin will only have its proper effect when we recognize that, like Mephibosheth, we are lame, and yet we are privileged to sit with the King in the confidence of His steadfast love.
It does not take long to isolate a part of our souls that needs this strategy. For what weaknesses might you employ it today?
In your hearts regard Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Heather Mac Donald is a professed atheist, but not as strident as the Richard Dawkins or Christopher Hitchens type. She takes issue with inconsistencies she sees in the faith of most Christians. But she also distances herself from the New Atheism’s antipathy toward Christians. In a recent blog post, she said:
Do modern Christians still believe with the same fervor as in the past all those unyielding doctrines of eternal damnation for the unbaptised and unconverted? They sure don’t act as if they do. If they really were convinced that their friends, co-workers, neighbors, and in-laws were going to hell because they possessed the wrong or no religious belief, I would think that the knowledge would be unbearable. Christians surely see that most of their wrong-believing personal acquaintances are just as moral and deserving as themselves. How, then, do they live with the knowledge that their friends and loved ones face an eternity of torment? I would expect a frenzy of proselytizing, by word or by sword. . . . Either believers live with an extraordinary degree of cognitive dissonance between the inclusive values of their society and the dictates of their religion, or they unconsciously mitigate those bloody-minded dictates as atavistic vestiges from a more primitive time.
Sunday we were reminded of Peter’s teaching that if Christ is in you, you will likely be exposed to harm. Yet, Mac Donald’s comments mean no harm; in fact they may bear something salutary in them—even where her conceptions and conclusions are misshapen.
Christians ought to be more energized to make Christ known and understood. If, as Peter says, Jesus is to be honored in our heart for His holiness, then a right regard for Him would issue in a more concerted effort to explain Him. Mac Donald’s reduction of the gospel to “doctrines of eternal damnation” associates all Christians with the bloviating (and usually unemployed) doomsayers you find on the edges of college campuses. Jesus does warn of eternal judgment (Luke 13:1-5). But He invites us to believe in what He offers for this life as much as what He offers in the next. Consider the woman at the well (John 4:1-42), or consult His Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). The gospel isn’t exclusively a message of warning, as Mac Donald suggests. It is an offer of hope—for both eternal joy and present endurance.
Mac Donald is also right to expect a distinctiveness in where Christians place their hope. If what we invest in, where our priorities are, and how we respond to life are indistinguishable from the investments, priorities, and responses of those without faith, no wonder the gospel at face value seems insipid to them. But what makes someone a Christian is not her “morality” or that she is “deserving.” It is her love and devotion to the only One who was morally deserving of honor and praise. (And we should expect to find some non-Christians who are morally more praiseworthy because they view the favor of God as contingent upon their own holiness.)
Finally, Mac Donald is right to notice the inner turbulence Christians face at their call to evangelize. What we offer in love may in fact be interpreted as anything but, and that can be unsettling for the messenger. To preach “Christ and Him crucified” is to cut across the grain of a culture that responds to universal claims couched in spiritual truths with almost conditioned skepticism. That requires a step of faith, a risk whose outcome we cannot predict. So rather than ascribing to our hesitancy a subconscious ambivalence that our faith is an atavistic vestige from a more primitive time, Mac Donald might ask herself this question: who hasn’t hesitated in the risky act of expressing love?
Therefore both Peter and Heather Mac Donald leave us with two questions:
Have you prepared your defense? Not a jargon-filled, book-length exposition of the gospel, but a succinct explanation for why you place your trust in Christ.
And does the way you live before others show them where your hope is placed?
About 500 years ago, John Calvin said of the Christian, “It is not the mere fear of punishment that restrains him from sin. Loving and revering God as his father, honouring and obeying Him as his master—[even if] there were no hell, he would revolt at the very idea of offending Him” (Institutes of the Christian Religion). It may not be too strong a fear of others that explains our diffidence in witness; rather, it may be too little a love for the One who loved us first and most. Perhaps it’s time to pray that our explanation and demonstration of our hope would rest on nothing less than our love for Jesus’ blood and righteousness.
The time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do, living in sensuality, passions, drunkenness, orgies, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry. With respect to this they are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of debauchery, and they malign you; but they will give account to Him who is ready to judge the living and the dead.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In Mark Helprin’s novel Winter’s Tale, a family heirloom becomes a metaphor for the moral compass of the story’s protagonists. A salver, an ornately decorated tray overlaid in both silver and gold, had survived generations of the Marratta family, giving rise to the notion that the tray was somehow protected. Around the circumference of the tray were embossed four words in Italian: onestá (honesty), corragio (courage), sacrificio (sacrifice), pazienza (patience)—the virtues that defined this family. The son who possessed it remembered his father telling him,
Little men spend their days in pursuit of such things [wealth, fame, possessions]. I know from experience that at the moment of their deaths they see their lives shattered before them like glass. I’ve seen them die. They fall away as if they have been pushed, and the expressions on their faces are those of the most unbelieving surprise. Not so, the man who knows the virtues and lives by them. Ideas are in fashion or not, and those who should prevail are often defeated. But it doesn’t matter. The virtues remain uncorrupted and uncorruptible. They are in themselves the bulwarks with which we can protect our vision of beauty, and the strengths by which we stand, unperturbed, in the storm that comes when seeking God.
The Apostle Peter has told us thus far in his letter that to be found in Christ is free of cost, yet it is a costly fight to follow God. That’s why he calls us not simply to remember Christ’s own suffering but to “arm ourselves” with that knowledge. The fight to follow God presents itself most chronically in the call to uphold virtue before a world that mocks or maligns it. That’s why half of verses 1-6 call attention to the enduring influence of a corrosive way of living—one, sadly, for which our taste remains.
Virtues are not ends in themselves, but expressions rather of our love for Christ, who longs to see them in us. In fact, the only reason we would choose not to pursue them is that we do not trust the one thing that motivates them: the love God has for us in Christ. We lie because we don’t think His love for us is enough to protect us from what telling the truth will yield. We shrink back in fear because we don’t think His love for us is enough to steel us against what threatens. Impatience turns to petulance when we think Him unable to provide us what we need for contentment.
So what shall keep these virtues in us?
Sunday called us to frame the rest of our days in much the same way Jonathan Edwards did in his resolutions—one of which, worth hearing again, would be sufficient to sustain our loving pursuit of those virtues: “Resolved: to examine carefully, and constantly, what that one thing in me is, which causes me in the least to doubt of the love of God; and to direct all my forces against it.” Virtue proceeds from a profound humility before God, issuing from a sense both of His majesty and of His love.
Like that gilded tray ennobled by virtues, we must have the truth of His love embossed upon our souls. The embossing begins and is sustained by a frequent consideration of Him who embodied virtue unsurpassingly. Who has spoken more honestly than the One who unflinchingly told us both the depth of our flaw and the depth of His love for us? Who has shown more courageous sacrifice than He who willingly suffered for us to know God truly? And who has shown greater patience than He who withheld His judgment (Acts 17:29-31), and continues to advocate for us whenever we fall into sin (1 John 2:1)?
Where are you lacking courage at work or school? Where are you lacking patience at home? Not mere willpower, but, as Edwards taught, only a robust sense of the love of God in Christ can nurture those virtues in us. For then we see their beauty and long to see them embodied in us. What’s your plan to direct all your forces to that end? It shall be worth the fight.
But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
If you haven’t already heard, religion is out and spirituality is in. Religion stifles, while spirituality liberates. No longer must you subscribe to the antiquated dictates of religion encrusted with ill-informed notions of reality. Now spirituality merely invites you into a larger universe of realities largely obscured by this world and its conflicting philosophies. What distinguishes this new spirituality from that old religious ethic is that the former codifies nothing, insists upon nothing, demands nothing. Therein lies part of its attraction: the mystique of the ultimate pursued in an almost autonomous way.
Still, with the meteoric rise of interest in the spiritual has come a corresponding interest in “spiritual formation”: a more structured, disciplined approach to becoming aware of, connected to, and in harmony with the realities our physical senses allegedly are not privy to. Now instead of just sitting in a room with candles and incense, waiting for Illumination, you can take matters into your own hands: readings in ancient texts, participation in obscure rituals, contemplation of countercultural ideas—they all become the climbing gear for ascending to the ultimate heights. That approach to spiritual formation tends to center on contemplation and disconnection from the world, and in that sense it is very modern.
But even if we in our Reformed circles do not subscribe to this unanchored view of spirituality, are we not prone to follow its error of limiting spiritual formation to the mind? Do we tend to truncate spiritual formation into just reading, thinking, and praying? Those activities are central to the spiritual life—reflection upon the mysteries and revelations of God, consideration of my congruence (or incongruence) with life in God, voicing cries for help and songs of praise before God. But while those things are central, they are not alone. Something else forms the spirit as crucially.
Ambrose, a mentor of Augustine, said centuries ago: “I, then, wish also myself to wash the feet of my brethren, I wish to fulfill the commandment of my Lord, I will not be ashamed in myself, nor disdain what He Himself did first. Good is the mystery of humility, because while washing the pollutions of others I wash away my own” (On the Holy Spirit, Vol. 1).
For two reasons he followed the example of his Lord. Abiding by those reasons contributed to the formation of his spirit.
He followed this example because his Lord did no less. Love bent the Lord’s knee to wash the feet of sinful but beloved people. How could Ambrose exempt himself from doing likewise? If Christ is to be formed in us (Galatians 4:19), it will come through doing as He did. He came unto His own, and brought them mercy of the highest order.
Even more intriguing is Ambrose’s second reason for following Christ’s example. He followed this example because in washing others’ pollutions he found his own likewise being washed. How can this be? In seeing and ministering to an odious thing in others, did he see his own greater spiritual odium before the Lord more clearly? In participating in a small portion of what the Lord Jesus had done for him, might he have felt the glory and mercy of the Lord more palpably? Or could it be that in leaning against those resistances of soul (pride, sloth, self-indulgence) which kept him from showing mercy, he discovered what it was to put those resistances to death (Romans 8:13)? Acts of faith tend to strengthen the very faith we hope will grow. As we wash, we are washed.
Participating in the acts of mercy is as much your spiritual formation as any sermon you might listen to, any passage of scripture you might read, any prayer you might offer. Does your spiritual formation include attentive care for the least of these (Matthew 25:31-46)? Can we, as Mark mentioned, so prize busyness—in family, school, work, recreational activities—that we leave no time for seeing to the welfare of the city? Might we, as Randy commented, shy away from mercy because we think that others are undeserving, that they are too unlike us, or that their lives are unsalvageable? This last weekend has opened up a variety of paths toward places where mercy is needed. Might the next step down one of those paths be the next milestone in our spiritual formation?
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God’s varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To Him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
At a Lollapalooza concert several years ago you could purchase a psychedelically colored button with a simple phrase: “Jesus is coming. Look busy.”
One might infer from Peter’s opening statement in verse 7 that all his exhortations to us are motivated by a desire not to be caught looking idle when Jesus returns. Jesus does exhort us to be found faithfully obedient at His return (Matthew 24:45-51), but the motive behind that obedience is surely greater than just having the appearance of being faithful. Looking busy is nothing to God.
Every act has a motive. Samuel Johnson, and others before him, identified the measure of an act when he said that “the morality of an action depends on the motive from which we act” (Boswell, Life of Johnson, i, 397). It doesn’t take long for even the most moral to discern a complex of motives driving their actions, some of which are less than virtuous.
As we heard Sunday, Peter spurs believers on to many things, but not without reference to the motives behind them. Since self-control and sobriety can be motivated by a desire for personal advancement, Peter cites unhindered prayerfulness as the proper motive. Since what may seem like loving hospitality can at its core be saturated with begrudging, Peter calls for earnestness. And since using our gifts—whether speaking or serving—can become a veiled act of self-promotion, Peter insists that their use reflect a thoroughgoing regard for the origin and purpose of those gifts.
Even if we don’t find those blatantly suspect motives undergirding our actions, what shall we do if we detect something less than earnestness in our love, or selflessness in our service? Shall we break off obedience until our motives become unsullied? Or are we to pay no attention to the rough edges of our motives and just press on?
Jesus knew we had nothing and could do nothing to commend ourselves to God. Those who recognize their lack of intrinsic virtue, which Jesus terms poverty of spirit (Matthew 5:3), genuinely comprehend the holiness of God and His grace to forgive and renew them. Paul understood that it would not be by our righteousness that we would know God’s salvation (Philippians 3:8,9). Yet both Jesus and Paul speak unequivocally about seeking the “reward” of the Father (Matthew 5:12) and making it our “aim to please Him” (2 Corinthians 5:9). Again, can obedience plagued with mixed motives obtain either outcome?
When we notice conflictedness of motive in us it’s time to ask, “Why is the Lord worthy of this obedience?” The question will drive us back to the Cross and force us to see the stinginess of our love against the lavish backdrop of His. Then, it’s time to pray that the Lord will remove the spiritual blindness and callousness of our hearts so that we obey with increasing earnestness. Finally, we need to act on the conviction that even if suspect motives taint our actions, the Lord, through our continued obedience, will work to refine both our motive and our obedience.
Where do you notice your self-control, your love, your service lacking in unstained motive and vigor? With your colleagues, your children, your spouse? You can take comfort that even the obedience of the disciples often had self-interest infiltrating its motives (Matthew 20:20-28). You may also note well, though, that Jesus had, and has, as much interest in refining motives as in securing obedience.
Jesus is coming. Take every motive captive to obey Christ.
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Standing at the corner of Guadalupe and West 21st in Austin in the early ’90s, I caught up with a childhood friend who had recently matriculated at the University of Texas. Somewhere in the conversation I mentioned that I’d recently placed my hope in Christ, to which he replied with an honest question, “Isn’t that a bit limiting?”
There on that mild fall evening he, in so many words, wondered if all the prescriptions and proscriptions, all the doctrine and dogma, of the Christian faith were so constricting as to make life a virtual prison. Having never considered his concern, I fumbled for an answer.
His question intended no offense and reflected perhaps a widespread perception in the world as to what it means to live a godly life. Without context, one might infer from biblical words like holiness, law, wrath, judgment, and obedience that Christianity is primarily an exercise in restraint. In a world of such abundant opportunity and possibility, an orientation to life with restraint at its core might justifiably be seen as limiting.
Sunday we heard how humility before the gospel of God in Christ expresses itself in submissiveness, sincerity, simplicity, selflessness, and security. That’s a demanding list of traits subsumed within Peter’s call to “clothe ourselves in humility”—so demanding one might think the whole enterprise limiting. But, quite to the contrary of my friend’s assertion, nothing liberates you for life like humility before the cross of Jesus. There’s a freedom for living that only trust in the gospel can provide. In the call to humility there’s an invitation to liberation. How so?
It’s an act of humility to cast all our anxieties upon the Lord. To speak honestly before God all the things that cause us concern is to acknowledge our own limitations in managing our circumstances. It also affirms the Lord’s willingness to respond to what we cannot make sense of or control. And in humbling ourselves there’s a freedom—a freedom from the self-imposed tyranny of having to account for every variable of life. It’s not an invitation to passivity; we’re called to act with godly wisdom in all things. But we’re relieved of the burden of managing things beyond our reach: “Do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? . . . Your heavenly Father knows that you need them all” (Matthew 6:25, 32). Rather than take the burden upon yourself, you’re freed to seek His help.
What is perhaps most liberating about humility, though, is the basis for casting our anxieties upon the Lord. It’s because “he cares for us.” It’s not an obligatory concern; nothing in us obligates Him to care for us. It’s not a begrudging act on His part. Peter wouldn’t use the word “care” if God were simply being perfunctory in that care. It’s a care He expressed in “causing us to be born again” (1 Peter 1:3). It’s a care He expressed in sending His son to bear “our sins upon the tree that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.” (1 Peter 2:24). It’s a care that will be expressed in fullness when he returns to “restore, establish, and strengthen you” (1 Peter 5:11).
To see our unworthiness to receive that care against the backdrop of His willingness to extend it is to be humbled immeasurably—and immeasurably freed.
You’re freed from the fear of condemnation for all your sins of commission and omission. You’re also freed to seek the forgiveness of those you’ve wronged because you rest in the greater forgiveness you’ve received from God.
You’re freed from the sense that you need to prove your worth to God. The “God of all grace” (1 Peter 5:10) champions your cause on the basis of His Son’s worth and work.
You’re freed from trying to keep up appearances, from trying to enhance your performance, from thinking you must establish a name for yourself, freed from the impulse to outwit, outlast, outplay—all because you live before a God who already cares for you. Such freedom doesn’t siphon away determination and diligence; it refines its expression and purpose so that, like a musician in a practice room, you play for the sheer beauty of the thing and not for what you obtain in applause, acclaim, or abundance. Oh, to trust so deeply in that truth! That’s freedom of the highest order.
If your life were used as an example, would it show that the gospel is limiting or liberating? Usually life feels constraining when you are preoccupied with something. What are you preoccupied with today?
The humility engendered by the cross leads us to cast our anxieties on the Lord and to trust foremost in His care. Humble yourself today. Let the cross clear your life of the limitations imposed by fear and by all the fruitless ways you seek to overcome it.
Against You, You only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in Your sight,
so that You may be justified in Your words
and blameless in Your judgment.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
There is only one sin, only one. And that is theft. Every other sin is a variation of theft… When you kill a man, you steal a life. You steal his wife’s right to a husband, rob his children of a father. When you tell a lie, you steal someone’s right to the truth. When you cheat, you steal the right to fairness.
So intones Baba, an alternately brusque and gentle father, to his son, Amir, in Khaled Hosseini’s The Kite Runner. Seizing upon a teachable moment, Baba identifies what he believes to be the common thread running through all human offenses. And who can quibble with his wisdom?
King David finds another commonality to every sin, and an even more profound one: every sin is ultimately directed against the Lord, Himself. In the lament for his sin involving Bathsheba, David acknowledges, “Against You, You only, have I sinned”—his pathos leading him to repeat the identity of the One he’s offended. But how can the Lord alone be the target of his treachery? Was not Bathsheba seduced? Joab compromised? Uriah murdered? Uriah’s wife deprived? Nathan deceived? How can David see the Lord as the “victim” of his designs?
None would argue that David excluded from his remorse what he’d done to those others. But beneath every evil committed against them lay an outright mistrust of the Lord’s goodness and provision. That was the sin that began every other one of David’s sins. It was a replication of the very first sin of biting on the serpent’s equivocation, “Did God actually say. . . ?” (Genesis 3:1). Whether in seduction, or conspiracy, or murder, or deception, David made himself his god by completely dismissing the promises of Him who really was his God. For that his remorse overflowed, because in that sense every sin was a variation of mistrust in the Lord.
So every sin has the Lord in its sights. While that may be of some theological importance, is it necessary to establish that truth whenever I sin? Must we probe the underbelly of our offenses, as David did, to recognize their true grievousness?
For two reasons we must.
Seeing all our sin as directed against the Lord brings us to the root issue of our struggle with sin. Can we really own up to the harm we do to another person without recognizing Who they belong to—that they are made in the image of God? A simple “I’m sorry” doesn’t get to the root of the issue until the belief that led us to act in this harmful way is seen as a mistaken belief about God. If I really believed Him to be good and sufficient, I wouldn’t have acted in this way to get myself a kind of satisfaction that was false and fleeting. The cycle of harm can be broken when at last I recognize the harm I do is a clenched-fisted arrogance toward my heavenly Father—a refusal to believe He is enough.
When we dig more deeply into the motivation for our sin we find something more than mere weakness in us. We find wickedness. Therein lies the second reason for scouring our souls as David did.
Seeing all our sin as directed against the Lord leads us to the proper solution for our sin. David began to grasp the depth of his wickedness when he saw the true Object of his offense. Then also he saw his only hope as being in the steadfast love of God whom he had offended. Seeing the depth of his offense helped him see the even deeper love of God in His willingness to restore unto David “the joy of His salvation.” As Jesus spoke in the Sermon on the Mount, David “mourned” his “poverty of spirit” before God, and then was made humble and “meek” in receiving God’s grace to restore him to favor. God alone was his solution to his offense.
I cannot grasp the fullness of the Cross of Jesus unless I see my earthly sins as having a heavenly trajectory. For I do not understand Jesus adequately unless I see that what He came to do was more than to atone for my offenses—He also came to restore true, loving fellowship between me and my Father whose love is steadfast. He shines His searing light upon our sin not merely to expose its reality to us, but to reveal even more brilliantly His willingness to die for our sin, so that we would know Him as loving and just! We’re left with no one but Jesus when we, like Eli, discover: “If someone sins against a man, God will mediate for him, but if someone sins against the Lord, who can intercede for him?” (1 Samuel 2:25). In which circumstance can we be more confident of another’s love: in their willingness to flatter us or their willingness to forgive us? “God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us” (Romans 5:8).
If David’s precedent must become ours, then any strife in a relationship that remains within your power to address is a sin against God. Any love withheld on the basis of self-interest is a sin against God. Though it may be arduous, consider the true Object of your offenses as you confess them today or this Sunday. In that is our hope of getting to both the root issue and solution for our sin.
Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right* spirit within me.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The word fad originates from the confluence of the two Latin words for foolish and vapid. To say ours is a faddish world is a laughable understatement. Our collective attention tends to dart this way and that way with the appearance of every new event, story, idea, or product. (A current example—soon to be labeled, “oh so February 2009”—is the flash mob: you hover over your social networking account until someone organizes a spontaneous gathering for everyone within network range to flock to.)
As attention goes, so goes our devotion. In this climate of faddishness, we’ve been trained to have low expectations for whatever object we fix our erratic attention upon. Most things that gleam at first glance soon pale with a longer look, so we, in effect, learn to dispense with devotion to anything. Add to our low expectations a palpable sense that we’re missing something if we devote ourselves to anything, and fidelity as a category seems an antiquated response to modern life.
Sunday revealed David’s longing for a new heart built on a renewed sense of the Lord’s presence: Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me. If you were reading from the ESV, you may have noticed an asterisk next to the word “right” in verse 10 with a corresponding footnote explaining how it might also be translated as “steadfast.” Elsewhere in the Psalms, that same Hebrew word is used to connote “established,” or “secure,” or “steadfast.”
So if by “right” David meant he desired a steadfast spirit, why would a clean heart, which is parallel to such a spirit, connote something unwavering, unyielding, and undistracted? Steadfastness is a function of, among other things, vigilance and discernment. Had David’s heart been vigilant, he’d have forgone a foolish second glance at Bathsheba, and thereby kept the episode from cascading into deceit, treachery, and murder. Had discernment been present, he’d have seen what was of true value and what was only vapid.
It would be anachronistic to ascribe faddishness to David’s world, but what David needed then, we still need now: a spirit—a deeply rooted inclination—that is steadfast, anchored not to the alluringly faddish but to the enduring. How is that steadfastness found?
It’s a principle of gardening that the less you water, the shallower the roots will form. Watering more sends the roots deeper, for they know there’s more water to be found there. The deeper the roots, the more robust the grass or plant, because its rootedness enables it to withstand more above ground.
It’s late February and this principle of gardening has applicability to your spirit. It’s possible that whatever vows you made in January to soak in the scriptures may have evaporated just a bit slower than an ice coating in Dallas. Fortunately, it’s never too late to begin again, to renew the soaking so that spiritual roots grow deeper and steadfastness begins to bloom. It is precisely this lack of steadfastness that the Lord Jesus came to redeem. If a bruised reed he will not break and a smoldering wick he will not snuff out (Isaiah 42:3, Matthew 12:20), He is most willing and able to rescue us from our seemingly incorrigible faddishness.
Lent is now upon us, what our Orthodox friends call a time of “bright sadness.” In preparation for this time of fasting and reflection, they’ve soaked in the stories of Zaccheus (Luke 19:1-10), the Pharisee and the Publican (Luke 18:10-14), the Two Brothers (Luke 15:11-32), the Last Judgment (Matthew 25:31-46), and the teaching on Forgiveness and Fasting (Matthew 6:14-21). If faddishness imposes upon us where steadfastness is needed, could we not benefit from the same directed attention to what endures?
Restore to me the joy of Your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
This week U2 released its latest album, No Line on the Horizon. Even in the unlikely event listeners find the new tracks substandard, the fan base of the band has reached such a critical mass that it nearly guarantees astounding sales of the album.
A poll last week by a British social networking site asked which was the most enduring song of the band’s almost 30-year legacy. At number 3 was “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” a 20-year-old anthem to a quest for something captivating but elusive. At number 1 was, appropriately, the song “One”—allegedly inspired by an intramural squabble in the band several years ago. The song’s theme is that despite the things that seek to divide us we are all “one love / one blood / one life... we’re not the same / we get to carry each other / carry each other.”
It’s a stretch to infer something sociological from an unscientific poll. (Wouldn’t we expect songs about unity and longing to connect with the experience of those who’ve lived through Northern Ireland’s tumultuous history?) But is it a stretch to suggest that what’s common to the human condition—and thus why these two songs resonate so deeply with so many—is the unremitting longing for something veiled in mystery whose reality to us is not diminished by its hiddenness? Something that would center us, ground us, and sustain love in us so that we might carry each other perseveringly? Both songs involve what C. S. Lewis referred to as Sehnsucht—the German word for “longing”—that “inconsolable longing for we know not what.” It’s a longing that seems to indicate the existence of a true, but hidden, home for all those who yearn for it.
For a few weeks now, we’ve sat with David in his lament over his sin, couched in the language of longing in Psalm 51. He’s longed for reconciliation with the God who, he’s recognized, was most offended by all his sin (v. 4). He’s longed for a clean, steadfast heart, undistracted by lesser allurements (v. 10). This Sunday we heard his longing for joy, that “deep, abiding confidence that all is well regardless of circumstance or difficulty.” This is what all people are looking for—just scan the bookstores, the conferences, the magazine racks.
The joy David longs for, however, isn’t a generic contentment with self or circumstances. It’s centered specifically on the Lord’s salvation; it sees David’s true condition before God and the pains God has taken to salvage the relationship. The salvation which David knew only in part was more fully and powerfully wrought in Christ: the Lord’s coming to us (John 1:14), His looking past our offenses (2 Corinthians 5:19), and His taking us to Himself to fit us for life and eternity (John 14:2). The contentment that such a joy brings would’ve kept David from being lured away and enticed by his own desire, as James puts it (James 1:14).
But quite unlike many joy-seekers, David knows this joy is entirely dependent on the Lord’s work. That he requests the Lord to uphold him with a willing spirit testifies to that sense of dependence.
There is no greater or more enduring need than having the joy of our salvation. Without it we risk discouragement when we lose what we have or don’t find what we need. But such joy is necessary in times of plenty and in want. When resources are multiplying, without such joy we risk losing sight of Him who enriched us (Deuteronomy 8:11-14).
David’s (and by extension Jesus’) lesson for us is that whatever our pursuits, they must be circumscribed by the more fundamental pursuit of the joy of our salvation. Pursuit of the latter is not instead of the former; Jesus said, “seek ye first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things [food, drink, clothing] will be added unto you” (Matthew 6:33). But as we seek to pay our bills, feed our kids, and attend to our afflictions, unless we seek the joy of our salvation, all those other pursuits will either consume or callous us.
If you realized how desperately you needed that joy, what might you deprioritize to find it? If you realized how dependent you were on finding it, how desperately would you seek to abide in Him so you could know the joy that bears much fruit? (John 15:1-11). How might the season of Lent be transformed in your mind from a time of giving up something to a time of going after something—namely, the joy of your salvation?
His blood. His love. Our life. With Him. That’s what we’re lookin’ for. And those who find it carry each other, because they know that they’ve been carried.
For You will not delight in sacrifice, or I would give it;
You will not be pleased with a burnt offering.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit;
A broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Alice is a buoyant, vibrant school counselor. Her airline pilot husband, Michael, sports both a steely eye and a warm grin. Together they form a blended family with two daughters, a precocious nine-year-old, Jess, and her adoring four-year-old sister, Casey. We’re introduced to the Greens, who seem by all appearances an affable, affectionate family in the 1994 film When a Man Loves a Woman.
In short order, though, we learn not all is well with the Green family. Alice has a drinking problem, eliciting from her both the sophomoric and flamboyant. When Michael begins to challenge her intemperance she, as alcoholics are wont to do, denies a problem, and soon seeks to conceal her addiction, which even she knows is growing unmanageable. One night, as Alice takes advantage of her husband’s absence by spending another night bingeing, Jess tries to take matters into her own hands to get her mother to stop. Erratic and angered by Jess’s hopeless attempt at intervention, Alice strikes her child.
The next morning, reeling from the stupor that led to the incident, she tearfully tells her husband upon his return, “I hit her hard.”
So much harm done so quickly. What could be done to begin the healing? It would’ve been obscene for Alice to come to her daughter with gifts or treats, or to promise her lavish trips. Something had to precede such offerings. Only contrition—transparent, broken-hearted sorrow—could start the reconciliation. Only with anguish for the harm done, honest appreciation for the one she’d harmed, and an adamant desire to bring healing to the relationship could the process begin. There is a sequence to reconciliation; and no gift can substitute for contrition.
King David says as much in his own process of restoration before God. Though the Law prescribed animal sacrifices of various kinds for sin, no sacrificial gift could replace what it was only meant to represent—namely, contrition. To offer a sacrifice without having come to terms with the magnitude and significance of the sin was to short-circuit the process of reconciliation by putting it out of sequence. David had inflicted immense harm in rapid fashion, and, with time and rebuke, recognized that sequence. He knew the Lord would “not delight in sacrifice” until there was first a sacrifice of brokenness—an honest appraisal of the harm he’d done and of the value of those he’d harmed. David, too, knew how obscene it would’ve been to bring gifts to Bathsheba, or a burnt offering to the Lord, without evidence of brokenness for his sin.
Unless contrition preceded offering, David and Alice would’ve believed they could have genuinely compensated for their respective sins. Yet nothing could compensate! What gift could bring back Uriah? What treasure could wipe the memory of Alice’s blow from Jess’s memory?
Why make much of the sequence and substance of reconciliation? We live in a culture that highly esteems the power to purchase, to lavish others with gifts. How tempted are you to circumvent the process of reconciliation with those you harm by putting forth expensive offerings instead of laying your heart bare before them, acknowledging your regret for doing them wrong? Have you ever bought a flower when a heartfelt admission of folly was really called for? Have you ever opted for an expensive purchase rather than an extensive apology? How David sought reconciliation with the Lord is not unlike how we must seek it with each other.
We live before a Lord who would accept no gift from us until a right Sacrifice had been made acknowledging the harmfulness of our very nature. He would take no delight in any offering of our time, treasure, or talent from us without a prerequisite expression of sorrow for sin. This burden he laid upon His own Son. Jesus wept for us. He was contrite for us before the God who sent Him to that cross, and thereby models that sequence of reconciliation. He does more than model, though. By His sorrow we’re reminded that we live not before a philosophy, but before a Father who knows our “inward parts” (Psalm 139:13) and our “weaknesses” (Hebrews 4:15). Contrition—or in Paul’s words, godly grief (2 Corinthians 7:10ff)—removes any illusions about our sin but also restores us to a Lord who is merciful, gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love (Exodus 34:5). For those reasons must we make much of brokenness, for the sake of our fellowship with the Lord and with each other.
My eyes shed streams of tears,
because people do not keep Your law.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
With due credit to Psalm 139:13, every feature of the human body owes its shape, structure, and function to the guidance of the 23 pairs of chromosomes inhabiting every human cell. The 46 chromosomes together are composed of some 32,000 genes, each of which governs a particular expression of a human trait. The genes represent the intricate and delicate synthesis of over 3 trillion DNA molecules.
Though the process of human development occurs innumerable times every moment, that in no way mitigates how astounding it is. And when so much can go so wrong so easily, it’s nothing short of miraculous when formation of the human organism goes right.
The formation of a human soul is no less wondrous and no less susceptible to malformation. Scripture notes several expressions of a soul whose formation didn’t go quite right: there are those who have a zeal for God that is sorely lacking in knowledge (Romans 10:2); there are those in whom godliness seems to be present but who sadly lack the fortitude attendant to it (2 Timothy 3:5); and there are those whose rectitude expresses itself not in merciful love but in condescension (Luke 7:36-40). All these form a spectrum of what can go wrong in the formation of a soul.
What then would a rightly formed soul look like? How would it function? Sunday unfurled for us the Psalmist’s effusive regard for the Law of God and the benefits of submission that accrue to him. Later in the Psalm, in a single verse, he succinctly and elegantly distills one prominent feature of a soul properly formed by that Law:
“My eyes shed streams of tears, because people do not keep your law” (Psalm 119:136).
A well-formed soul loves the Law of God; it sees and savors its intrinsic wisdom. But that soul also loves the people that Law applies to—i.e. everyone—a love sometimes expressed in deep anguish over their blindness to its wisdom.
We perhaps know people who know so much about the Law of God but whose hearts are at the same room temperature as the theological books they’ve pored over for so long. Or those whose admirable offerings of help are nonetheless guided by something less than wisdom. Or still others whose efforts at godly guidance seem motivated more by an interest in domineering than serving. Perhaps we’ve seen those dysfunctional inclinations in ourselves from time to time as well.
Yet, one who knows the law will love the Law, and people who love the Law will naturally long for its appreciation, not only in themselves, but in everyone. They won’t seek to coerce another into loving the Law—no love is coerced. But neither will they remain indifferent to their neighbor’s ignorance or intransigence before the Law. The Law isn’t a matter of taste but a matter of truth. How then can one simply look past another’s indifference to the Law as simply “not their cup of tea”?
The loving lament of the Psalmist in verse 136 typifies what our Lord deemed the greatest, two-pronged commandment: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). What He proclaimed He also manifested. The right formation of His soul led him to express vehement anguish toward the Pharisees whose blindness was rivaled only by their arrogance (Matthew 23:27). It led Him to express an unyielding but compassionate directive to the rich ruler who could not part with his many holdings (Mark 10:21), and an impassioned lament over Jerusalem as He neared her for the last time before His crucifixion (Matthew 23:37). His soul was the perfect synthesis of love for the Law and love for the people it applied to.
Paul reminds us that in Christ we have died to the Law, that its demands no longer condemn our failures of compliance, because Christ has satisfied its demands. But though God has done in Christ what the Law, “weakened by the flesh, could not do” (Romans 8:3), the Law remains “holy . . . righteous and good” (Romans 7:12). And with the help of the Spirit in us who believe, we shall appreciate that Law by seeking to fulfill its “righteous requirement” by walking according to the Spirit (Romans 8:4). Even with our new relationship to the Law through Christ, the synthesis of love for that Law and for its expression in our neighbor remains intact.
How goes the synthesis in you? Do you so treasure the Law’s goodness that you long to see it evident first in you, and then also in your friend, your spouse, your child—even your enemy? If that synthesis seems impossible in you, consider Zacchaeus’s encounter with Jesus (Luke 19:1-10): the Lord rejoices at even our embryonic expressions of love for Law and others. Then as you devote it your time and attention, the Law can overtake you with appreciation. By prayer and the Spirit’s strengthening of our inner being (Ephesians 3:14-19) we will be able to love our neighbors with the Law as we ought.
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart
be acceptable in Your sight,
O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
John Adams, America’s second president, was raised as a farmer, trained to be an attorney, and propelled into political life following his heroic service in the cause of the American Revolution. His incisive analytical skills and trenchant oratory led him to become ambassador to France, England, and the Netherlands, before becoming vice president under George Washington and later succeeding him in 1796.
In the afterword of his biography of John Adams, Pulitzer-Prize-winning author David McCullough celebrates the papers from which he compiled the book as nothing short of a “national treasure.” So much had been preserved of their letters, diaries, and family papers, McCullough contends, that those who peruse them are enabled to know John and Abigail Adams like they can know few of their contemporaries. The couple’s written candor reveals them most vividly.
Sunday explored what God’s candor through the heavens and His law reveals of Him. Psalm 19 concluded that a person with a right apprehension of God would sense His majesty, His goodness, and His graciousness—redounding to a life of praise, humble pleading, and an enduring pursuit of God’s pleasure. John Adams, in his own words, exemplifies someone who has ordered his life around Psalm 19’s celebration of the knowledge of God.
In an invitation to a friend to visit him and his family in their coastal Massachusetts home, Peacefield, Adams extolled the majesty of his surroundings: “I am an atom of intellect with millions of solar systems over my head, under my feet, on my right hand, on my left, before me, and my adoration of the intelligence that contrived and the power that rules the stupendous fabric is too profound to believe them capable of anything unjust or cruel.” Having worked and lived off the earth for all his life, his appreciation for the world was effusive. That “the heavens declare the glory of God” was not lost on Adams.
Neither was the psalmist’s humble acknowledgment of his susceptibility to sin. To his dear friend and fellow patriot Benjamin Rush, Adams conceded having “an immense load of errors, weaknesses, and sins to mourn over and repent of.” But just as the psalmist confessed his need of grace for any hope of becoming blameless before God (Psalm 19:13), Adams, too, found any hope of perfectibility impossible if the pursuit was “abstracted from all divine authority”—as the Enlightenment version of perfectibility had been. “Who can discern all his errors” (Psalm 19:12) was rhetoric Adams found resonant with reality.
As both McCullough’s biography and the miniseries portrayed, John Adams was often inordinately preoccupied with how he was being (or would be) perceived. It was a fault of character in him that Abigail graciously but resolutely ministered to. After years of arduous work, battles military, political, and personal, and the loss of three children, Adams realized one truth that, in retrospect, would’ve most served him—particularly in regard to his most abiding fault.
Long after the end of his presidency, and nearing the end of his life, Adams composed a letter to his son, John Quincy (then the American ambassador to Russia) in which he shared what he considered to be the most important feature of a man’s character. From the words of the apostle Paul, Adams told his son, “Rejoice always in all events, be thankful for all things is a hard precept for human nature, though in my philosophy and in my religion a perfect duty.” Like the psalmist, Adams believed the life well lived was one of “rejoicing evermore”—a life in which what rose to one’s mouth and life, and what was buried deep in one’s heart, were all pleasing to the God who saved and sustained one. The psalmist’s words would have been a fitting epitaph for Adams: “May the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer.”
Rejoicing evermore: Psalm 19, the apostle Paul, and John Adams all think it not only possible but requisite. Do you? What, if anything, is stifling your joy? How might the knowledge of God’s majesty, goodness, and grace in Christ serve to restore joy to your soul? Why not ask for the kind of knowledge He loves to give?
Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
for His wondrous works to the children of man!
...Whoever is wise, let him attend to these things;
let them consider the steadfast love of the Lord.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
How important is thanksgiving? Whether in a human relationship or in relationship with God, does thanksgiving merely express the beneficiary’s acknowledgement of benevolence from the benefactor? Is it for the purpose of gratifying the giver, so that he receives at least a little something for his expression of help? Does it merely enhance the recipient‘s prospects of receiving further help? Or is there more to thanksgiving?
Doug Wilson goes so far as to say that thanksgiving is bound up with belief in God. To his “anti-theist” philosophical sparring partner, Christopher Hitchens, Wilson claims:
The issue of thanksgiving is really central to the whole debate about the existence of God. On the one hand, if there is no God, there is no need to thank anyone. We are here as the result of a long chain of impersonal processes, grinding their way down to our brief moment in time. If there is a God, then every breath, every moment, every sight and sound, is sheer, unadulterated gift. And as our mothers taught us, when someone gives you presents like this, the only appropriate response is to thank them. (Christopher Hitchens and Doug Wilson, Is Christianity Good for the World?)
Only with belief in God, Wilson says, does thanksgiving have any meaning. If there’s no one to thank, gratitude is merely misdirected sentiment for fortuitous actions that had neither design nor intention behind them. Should God exist, though, and all that we are, have, or receive finds its ultimate origin in His will, then not to thank Him is to be as oblivious to one’s surroundings as a dead man in a field of blooming bluebonnets.
Still there’s more to giving thanks than simply validating your faith in God. Psalm 107, as we heard Sunday, claims any joy from that belief in God is also bound up with thanksgiving. It recounted at least four stories of rescue from affliction—rescue by the hand of God in response to a plaintive cry for help. Whether their plight was due to rebellion against God or to the oppression of wicked men, His deliverance demonstrated His steadfast love. And they couldn’t help but thank Him! Their experience strengthened their faith that God exists, but also liberated their joy that He is good in being so steadfastly loving.
Is it your habit to reflect, as the Psalmist does, upon the various acts of rescue the Lord has entered into on your behalf? Does not Paul remind the church at Ephesus how they were once “dead in trespasses and sins” and following “the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh” (Ephesians 2:1–3)? Only to likewise recount, “But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus” (2:4–6).
Were it not for the grace of God in Christ, we would all still be objects of wrath (2:3). Reflection upon that truth alone would be enough to elicit joy-bringing thanksgiving. But the grace of salvation is only the pinnacle of all other rescue operations He undertakes for us. Paul wants the church at Ephesus to recall how Christ brought them to Himself, but also how He is continually burnishing their souls—a slow and painstaking process of refinement. To that subsidiary help we must give our attention too.
So, what confusions has the Word of God delivered you from? What follies? What idolatries and addictions has He replaced with satisfying, God-honoring affections? What did you once love that you now see, by God’s grace, wasn’t worth the love? Reflection upon His past gifts of rescue are intended to be nourishment to us. So too His present works. What rescue operations are ongoing? What are you beginning to see as evidence of His attempt to get you to trust more in what He promises than in what you thought you could trust?
Dwelling on the loving rescue of God in generic fashion will not do. The concluding command of Psalm 107 is to consider His steadfast love (v. 43). This the psalmist practices by recounting God’s specific acts of rescue. Such considered reflection leads to an understanding, a comprehension of God which leads to thanksgiving, and which we must pray for (Psalm 119:34).
So will you consider again even just a few of the trials and follies He’s rescued you from? Those who do, the psalmist says, will gain wisdom by what they discover. What’s more, your thanksgiving speaks mightily to those who hear your stories: “The upright see it and are glad.”
Let it be known to all of you and to all the people of Israel that by the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, whom you crucified, whom God raised from the dead—by Him this man is standing before you well. This Jesus is the stone that was rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone. And there is salvation in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given among men by which we must be saved.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In school we hear of monumental moments in history like the signing of the Magna Carta in 1215, or the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, or the discovery of the double helix in 1953. Such moments have immeasurable significance in the course of history. Nevertheless, they are moments whose discernible effect on us is negligible. Who of us awoke yesterday thinking of, much less grateful for, the fact that the double helix always spirals in a clockwise direction?
On Sunday we heard afresh the astounding notion that a man, executed as an enemy of God and of the state, came to life again, days after His death; that in Him alone there is hope of a person’s reconciliation and relationship with the God responsible for all things; and that the power at work in Jesus’ resurrection was the same power that made a lifelong invalid walk again.
Yet, while the Magna Carta can’t hold a candle to the account of the resurrection of Jesus, is the latter to have any more palpable effect on us now some two thousand years removed? Is it no more than those other prodigious moments in history whose significance is to be noted, but not noticed in us in any existential way?
The Apostle Paul says that precisely the same power that raised Jesus from the dead is at work toward those who believe (Ephesians 1:19–20). That Jesus rose again might surely elicit our awe at the power of God. It might imbue us with gratitude for the love of God. However, the most precious and palpable effect of the knowledge of the resurrection may be its capacity to bring us contentment.
Contentment, Jeremiah Burroughs says, is “that sweet, inward, quiet, gracious frame of spirit, which freely submits to and delights in God’s wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.” A holy unflappability. A righteous calm.
Burroughs is careful and quick to clarify what he means by contentment. It is not a forced or feigned peacefulness. It is not a continual joviality or an unflinching stoicism. It neither denies the pain when it is present nor refuses to beseech God and His means in times of trouble. As Paul described his own experience, those contented in Christ may be “afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed” (2 Corinthians 4:8–9).
Why would a knowledge of the resurrection nurture the soil of our souls for the growth of contentment?
It confirms to us that there is a power in the universe stronger even than death. The supernova in all its ferocious glory still can’t reanimate a dead person. But a God who restores a man to life allows us to rest in the fact that, whatever befalls us, we are not entirely subject to the capriciousness of life; the wiles of this world are still governed by a stronger Superintendent.
It reveals to us that history has a trajectory—a will and purpose behind all that unfolds. If the Lord wrought life from death and means to do so again at some undisclosed time (this morning perhaps!), then we may also rest content in the hope that we are not adrift in an otherwise unpredictable life; the fact that He arose divulges we are neither without mooring or meaning.
Finally, the fact that Jesus was raised from the dead proclaims most clearly that God is present to us in our condition. He knows our greatest need. “Though Satan should buffet, though trials should come,” the fact that the Lord overturned our most formidable enemy, death, means we are not alone.
The knowledge that we are neither entirely helpless, nor adrift, nor alone—realities intoned by the resurrection—allows contentment to prosper in us. This state of being is in one sense graciously bestowed, in another intensely pursued.
Would you say you have that “inward, quiet, gracious frame”? Is it your practice, whenever you’ve lost your contentment, to trace the path back through the resurrection to find it again? It’s been said the resurrection is the only sufficient explanation for the rise, endurance, and flourishing of the early church. Should we not pray all the more, as Paul did, that the power of the resurrection would have its intended effect in us?
“Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” And they began to celebrate.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Like many, his conversion emerged over time. After 30 years of sitting on the fringe of this fold, he finally broke with his past and took the leap of faith . . . into atheism. A. N. Wilson, a prolific and respected English author and biographer, had once been affiliated with the Church of England. Ironically, after writing a biography of C. S. Lewis, Wilson announced his own personal repudiation of all things Christian.
Sunday ushered us back into Jesus’ parable of the two sons. The defiant younger son renounces all allegiance to his father, which Jesus employs as a metaphor for those who seek their own good without God. Like the younger son, A. N. Wilson thought the so-called heavenly father unworthy of ongoing allegiance. But his choice to disavow the Lord’s authority was not out of disrespect for the deity, but because he considered the whole concept of God a complete sham. To the atheistic cloister he thus committed himself. Among the likes of Richard Dawkins and Christopher Hitchens, Wilson was celebrated and catechized in his new faithless faith, at times reveling in what felt like a new freedom of unbelief.
In time, though, the echoes of his former affiliation grew into gnawing doubts. He began to backslide as certain unassailable truths chastised his seemingly airtight defense of atheism. Observable truths about the very existence of language were inexplicable from a purely naturalistic view of reality. The presence and resonance of beauty seemed to him a complete “aberration” if we inhabited an exclusively materialistic universe: “Materialist atheism says we are just a collection of chemicals. It has no answer whatsoever to the question of how we should be capable of love or heroism or poetry if we are simply animated pieces of meat.”
Most compelling to Wilson—and most decimating to his outlook—was the enduring magnificence of love—love demonstrated in believers like Dietrich Bonhoeffer who had been moved profoundly by the incarnation, passion, and resurrection of the Lord Jesus. Renunciation of Wilson’s former renunciation ensued. “As a working blueprint for life,” he says, “as a template against which to measure experience, [the gospel] fits.” Like the younger son, Wilson came to his senses and sought reconciliation with the Father he’d previously denied.
Both the younger son’s and Wilson’s story might seem saccharine in how reconciliation follows alienation—at least until you imagine yourself in the position of the father. How would you respond to being undeservingly despised, maligned, rejected, and abandoned? Would you be as quick to welcome back, much less trust, one who thus treated you? Now imagine someone faultless in every respect embracing the offender; would not He be eminently justified in forgoing reconciliation?
Is this the God you know? Do you believe He will not only receive one who has formerly repudiated Him, but will receive such a one with celebration (v. 24)? Do you believe He can still turn hearts, long callous toward Him, back to Him? Do you believe that despite whatever way, over whatever matter you’ve formerly renounced Him, His willingness to receive you and restore you to Himself is not exhausted?
Is that the God you know? That is the God who is—the God we see most clearly in Christ, the God who came to us and for us in Christ. He came to show us that the only enduring good is found in Him. He came to show Himself as good by extending it to us even “while we were yet sinners.”
A. N. Wilson’s story imitates the parable which imitates the story our God wrote in Christ. How must it become woven into your story today?
But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You’ve likely never heard their names: Mike Hoare, Simon Mann, Bob Dennard, Robert C. McKenzie, Patrick Sarsfield. They would’ve preferred that, because they weren’t doing what they were doing for notoriety; they were doing it for money.
They were mercenaries—cunning, resourceful individuals without personal, moral, philosophical, or ideological allegiance to those they serve. Financial gain is their only abiding interest, regardless of the geopolitical havoc they’re paid to wreak.
John Calvin employed the same term to refer to some people’s love. “Mercenary acts,” he said, “are of no account in the sight of God. Not that he absolutely condemns all acts of kindness which are done in the hope of a reward; but he shows that they are of no weight as a testimony of charity; because he alone is truly beneficent to his neighbors, who is led to assist them without any regard to his own advantage, but looks only to the necessities of each” (Calvin’s Commentary on a Harmony of the Evangelists). One’s ostensible love for another, Calvin says, may be anything but love if all exertions are for one’s own gain.
The older brother of Jesus’ parable exemplifies precisely what we should fear. He displays a kind of allegiance that has all the appearance of noble devotion. He is faultless in compliance, steadfast in restraint. Yet this allegiance is mercenary because it is not driven by love for his father, but by his own desire for gain—as Sunday’s sermon reminded us.
If it had been for love he obeyed, would he not have looked with sorrow and pity upon his profligate brother, rather than scorn? You mourn for those whose folly keeps them from good if you yourself are the beneficiary of that good. But consider also his response to his father’s joy. If he loved to do his father’s will, would not contentment rather than envy have been his response to the celebration of his brother’s return?
In that light his obedience is even more obscene. A true mercenary knows his only allegiance is to himself. The older brother only thinks his allegiance is to his father; he doesn’t realize where his true affections lie. His younger brother was self-deceived to think he could find his good apart from his father. The older brother was no less deceived to think that it was for his father that he labored.
Can you see why we must fear this older brother’s version of allegiance? How easily can we drift into a self-serving servitude. Like a virus, it can subtly and thoroughly infiltrate every thought, affection, and action. We can comply with a great deal of what the Lord commands, but when we revile others for their folly, when we crater under the weight of our own failures, when we find it difficult to rejoice in the noble accomplishments of others can’t celebrate in their restoration after they’ve fallen, when we tend to view life as one big competition of surpassing and impressing—any of those manifestations reveal we’ve drifted into the older brother’s mercenary love. They all indicate we no longer trust the Lord’s estimation of us. We’ve made ourselves the object of our own affections, and crowned ourselves capable of securing our significance.
Fortunately, the infection of mercenary love reveals itself to the discerning eye. The scorn for his brother and the envy for his father’s magnanimity unmasked the older son’s true motives. The father perceives that and, as Pete noted, revealed to his eldest what he’d been oblivious to: “Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours.” Irrespective of how disingenuous his son’s compliance had been and of how loveless his heart still seemed to be, the father had withdrawn neither himself nor his provision. No show of obedience could impress him enough to love; no display of ingratitude could subdue that love.
The gospel of the Lord Jesus unmasks our delusions and reorients our affections. The cross reveals how deep our corruption lies and how incapable we are of obtaining the love our hearts naturally war against. The cross reveals how unshakeable is that love for those who see their folly and turn to God for reconciliation and renewal. When we see those twin truths, we leave the inclination for mercenary love behind, and at last begin to genuinely love God.
David Brainerd, a missionary to native American Indians in the 18th century, noticed the mercenary spirit in his own obedience when he wrote:
“I saw that I had been heaping up my devotions before God, fasting, praying, pretending, and indeed really thinking sometimes that I was aiming at the glory of God; whereas I never once truly intended it, but only my own happiness.... the whole was nothing but self-worship, and an horrid abuse of God.” (The Life and Diary of David Brainerd)
Where has the mercenary spirit infected you? In what ways have you made yourself the object of your own affections and aspirations? In what ways have you sought to crown yourself capable of securing your significance and salvation? Ask the Lord to reveal that as clearly as the father did for his older son. Then the gain you seek will be God Himself.
That same day Jesus went out of the house and sat beside the sea.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The words at first seem unimportant—ostensibly just some contextual color to connect the previous episode in Jesus’ ministry to this His first parable. But upon closer inspection, Matthew’s reasons for inserting this introductory sentence reveal grander intentions.
That Jesus told His parable of the sower on the “same day” as His encounter with the Pharisees and the incident with his mother and brothers (Matthew 12:22-50) was no mere coincidence. What He had disclosed to a few who were more versed in the Law He also intended to disclose to the crowds who would soon gather around Him on the beach. He had no partiality for the doctrinally-informed.
That Matthew tells us Jesus “went out” to the sea as a prelude to His telling the parable of the sower who “went out” to sow his seed likely intends to draw a tighter connection between the protagonist of the parable and the One who tells it. The biographical becomes subtly autobiographical.
Lastly, that Jesus went out of “the house” to address the crowds, only to return “into the house” (13:36) to share deeper insight with those whose interest had been piqued signifies His overarching interest: not merely to speak truth but to draw people to it—to Him. Jesus employed metaphor to accentuate His point but also to induce attentiveness. Only by the Son of Man shall such truth be revealed; but only through attentiveness to His words—even the seemingly insignificant ones—shall that truth bear much fruit.
Our pastor challenged us to consider the condition of our own souls last Sunday. He asked us to inventory our hearts for the fruitfulness which Jesus intends by His words. Such fruitfulness comes through understanding God’s Word, but that understanding derives from attentiveness.
In an essay entitled, “Reflections on the right use of school studies with a view to the love of God,” Simone Weil argues attentiveness to anything has great benefit to our spiritual lives. “If we concentrate our attention,” she says by way of example, “on trying to solve a problem of geometry, and if, at the end of an hour, we are no nearer to doing so than at the beginning, we have nevertheless been making progress each minute of that hour in another more mysterious dimension. Without our knowing or feeling it, this apparently barren effort has brought more light into the soul. The result will one day be discovered in prayer.” The focused effort exerted to understand something enriches our capacity to pray because we learn to give our minds to something that may not immediately yield its essence.
Furthermore, she adds, not only does such attentiveness teach us to pray; it also teaches us to love: to learn to inquire of another’s condition, to set aside our own concerns for a moment and to hear, consider, and empathize with another’s concerns. Such is love, and it is love borne of attentiveness.
You might say attentiveness is what distinguishes the four soils of Jesus’ parable. Those who give no attention to His Word have it snatched from them. Those who give attention only in pleasant times prevent the emergence of rooted steadfastness. Those whose attention is endlessly diverted to various and sundry concerns lose what follows from patient devotion to His truth, while those who remain attentive find the fruitfulness His Word intends.
So how is attentiveness that graciously finds new capacity for fruitfulness nurtured?
Time must be made for it. It will never take root in an unremittingly harried and hurried existence. Perhaps that means you make a plan to set aside some moments in the morning and evening or to schedule some extended time on a monthly or quarterly basis to give attention to His Word and your own heart.
Part and parcel of making time for it, there must be faith in His power to bless it. Weil assures that “every time that a human being succeeds in making an effort of attention with the sole idea of increasing his grasp of truth, he acquires a greater aptitude for grasping it, even if his effort produces no visible fruit.” The satisfaction is not in having been attentive but in knowing that such attentiveness eventually yields, by the grace of God, the fruitfulness that provides satisfaction. Faith in His promise to bless it, Weil says, is the precondition for ever experiencing that blessing.
Lastly and most importantly, the cross must be at the center of our attention. No other truth can sustain our attention like the cross; in it we see most captivatingly God’s attentiveness to His own glory, our good, our need, and His love. If we take our pastor’s challenge and indeed find a lack of fruitfulness—in contentment, in love, in hope—our task begins with giving our attention anew to the cross. We’re to hold it in view regularly that it might hold us increasingly.
As you come these next few Sundays to hear the parable of the sower unpacked, may you take one of George Whitefield’s suggestions from his sermon on how to listen to sermons: “If you would receive a blessing from the Lord, when you hear His Word preached, pray to Him, both before, in, and after every sermon, to endue the minister with power to speak, and to grant you a will and ability to put in practice, what he shall show from the book of God to be your duty.” That’s attentiveness, and it will be the seedbed for fruitfulness.
Other seeds fell on rocky ground, where they did not have much soil, and immediately they sprang up, since they had no depth of soil, but when the sun rose they were scorched. And since they had no root, they withered away...
As for what was sown on rocky ground, this is the one who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy, yet he has no root in himself, but endures for a while, and when tribulation or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately he falls away.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Whom have you respected most in your life? Likely it’s the kind of person who’s done two things for you. On one hand, they’ve provided you with great hope. On the other, they’ve spoken with great candor about the way things are. Those who do the former without the latter set you up for disappointment. Those who do the latter without the former set you up for cynicism.
The Lord Jesus does both for us. He awakens us to the prospect of being fruitful in Him—of His manifesting something enduringly and undeniably good in us and through us as a result of following His Word. That’s why He intimates His identity as the sower. His intention is to bring forth something abundant in us because what He places in us has inherent potential for doing just that. “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).
But He also alerts us to what impedes that fruitfulness. He speaks of a kind of receptivity to His Word that is doomed from the beginning. Just as a seed sown in a shallow layer of soil on a bed of rock soon withers in the very sun meant to nourish it, so the heart without rootedness in the whole counsel of God will soon find His enlivening promises implausible when struggle inevitably comes. If I assume His Word affords a trouble-free life, my trust in that Word fails when life becomes anything but trouble-free. Jesus is not out to sell us a bill of goods. Just as there is to be an expectation of fruitfulness, so there must be an expectation of struggle. In fact it’s in the struggle itself that the Lord does His best work (James 1:2). To be ignorant of or resistant to the truth of struggle is to be in thin soil. Or as Jesus puts it, to have no root in oneself (v. 21).
Jesus says that to hold to His Word is to expose yourself to tribulation or persecution of some sort precisely because of that obedience. There’s a cost to speaking and demonstrating unqualified allegiance to the Lord. Being dressed down, overlooked, ridiculed, or worse—Jesus offers no illusions about what often comes with obedience. “In this world you will have tribulation, but take heart, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Our aim in life is not to have our obedience cost us, but, in seeking to please Him (2 Corinthians 5:9), to be open to the cost of obedience.
What has been your response if obedience has cost you? A measure of sorrow followed by contentment—or a chronic, perhaps even subconscious, bitterness? Jesus’ candor gently reminds us of what is to be expected in following Him.
With his candor comes encouragement too. He did not tell this parable to his disciples to define categories of people, but to describe situations in which fruitfulness might be squelched—in them and in us. Painting such vivid pictures of fruitlessness paved in their minds the way toward fruitfulness. The cautionary tales served to highlight the high road.
Have you feared the cost of obedience? The reward of His pleasure will make the cost seem like a pittance. Have you become discouraged at your response to the cost? The grace of His cross screams that fruitfulness may indeed follow rootlessness. May our respect for Him grow even more as these truths become more real to us.
As for what was sown among thorns, this is the one who hears the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches choke the word, and it proves unfruitful.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Tolstoy’s short story “How Much Land Does a Man Need” tells of a farmer named Pahom who lives in a commune in pre-revolutionary Russia. When opportunity arises to improve his farm, Pahom displays well-cultivated industriousness in enlarging and enriching his holdings. And he takes right and proper satisfaction in his labor: “When he went out to plough his fields, or to look at his growing corn, or at his grass-meadows, his heart would fill with joy. The grass that grew and the flowers that bloomed there seemed to him unlike any that grew elsewhere. Formerly, when he had passed by that land, it had appeared the same as any other land, but now it seemed quite different.”
But as the story proceeds, another opportunity for enrichment deforms that commendable resourcefulness into an ominous avarice. Word reaches Pahom of nearly limitless land held by an ethnic people willing to sell it for a pittance. He leaves all he has behind and journeys to the remote soil of the Bashkir people. There he is presented an offer he can barely believe but which he can hardly refuse: he may have all the land he can circumscribe on foot between sunrise and sunset of a single day. Trembling at the prospect of immeasurable holdings, Pahom takes the challenge and sets out one morning at dawn to stake his claim.
Walking mile after mile, his prospective land increasing with every step, Pahom travels so far that as the sun heads towards twilight, he realizes he has but little time to return to his starting point. His pace accelerates to a fevered pitch, his would-be benefactors cheering him on. Soaked with sweat and nearly out of breath, Pahom arrives in a heap as the last glimmer of sunlight recedes beneath the horizon. Exhausted, Pahom falls down there—dead. And there they bury him in a six-foot plot. That was all the land he needed.
Tolstoy is careful not to paint a one-dimensional character whose every ambition smacks of greed. This simple farmer knew his capabilities and used his resources well, and he was able to derive sincere delight in their proper use. When the common things began to obscure greater truths, though, he ended up losing even more than he thought he could gain.
Finding an analogy in seed sown among thorns, Jesus warns of common things stifling more substantial things. He speaks of the “cares of this world” and the “deceitfulness of riches” squelching the godly life His Word intends to produce in those who hear Him. But it’s important to note that the cares (merimna) and the riches (ploutos) He speaks of have no stifling quality intrinsic to them.
The cares are just the concerns pertaining to the responsibilities, relationships, and roles that comprise a given life. The apostle Paul uses the same word to refer to his concerns for the churches he’s served (2 Corinthians 11:28). They only become prohibitive when one lets them eclipse the larger context of God’s sovereignty and one’s identity. That’s why both Paul (Philippians 4:6) and Peter (1 Peter 5:7) call us to “cast” our anxieties upon God by seeing them in that larger context.
As for riches, the New Testament typically uses the word to refer to those eternal benefits God gives us in Christ (e.g. Romans 11:12, Ephesians 1:7), but Paul elsewhere instructs those with earthly riches not to be haughty, or to set their hopes on them, but to be rich in good works and generous (1 Timothy 6:17–18). As Jesus’ instruction on wealth corresponded to the bearer of that wealth (cf. the rich young ruler and Zacchaeus), so Paul’s instruction reveals that the usefulness or deceptiveness of wealth depended on the heart of the one who possessed it.
If neither cares nor riches necessarily stifle the godly life intended by His Word, how then do we know when either devolves from something commendable into something dangerous, as it did for poor Pahom?
As Mark reminded us last Sunday, it’s not so much what you produce by your cares and wealth that matters but what your cares and wealth produce in you. The fruitfulness Jesus produces in us is neatly and comprehensively summarized in what Paul outlines in Galatians 5:22–23. Its presence or absence reveals a great deal.
What is your present pace in life producing in you—peace or irritability? What does your pursuit of a living produce in you—generous goodness or self-indulgence? The internal harvest reveals what you believe. Those who believe He is sovereign see fretfulness over what you cannot control as myopic and futile. If you believe He is sufficient, you will labor for yourself with an overarching desire to labor for His glory.
Scripture places no monastic call upon its saints—no command to seclude oneself in order to remain unattached to anything that might taint or distract. But to monastic moments and cycles we are indeed called—both by ourselves and with a few other like-minded pilgrims; they rescue us from becoming too encumbered by the cares or too enamored by the riches common to our existence. In those times of regular and sustained stillness we can see whether our cares or riches have begun to undermine what He intends: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
Such is all the fruit you need.
As for what was sown on good soil, this is the one who hears the word and understands it. He indeed bears fruit and yields, in one case a hundredfold, in another sixty, and in another thirty.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Despite its diminutiveness, the polyphemus moth is a dazzling and majestic silkworm, its wings adorned with eyespots (thus the name) of deep blue in a field of vibrant yellow. In her book Pilgrim on Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard waxes poetically yet dolefully of a childhood experience of watching one such moth in its earliest moments. Like most moths, the polyphemus must undergo a delicate and urgent process shortly after emerging from its cocoon: it must unfurl its wings, allowing the blood to flow to fill them and the substance coating the wings to harden and solidify them. On that day, a friend of Dillard’s had captured a moth still in its cocoon and placed it in a small Mason jar. Slowly wresting himself from the from the cocoon in which he’d undergone his metamorphosis, he began to unfurl his wings to make them both flightworthy and eye-catching—only to find his quarters too cramped to extend them. Within only a few minutes, the lacquer-like coating hardened the wings in their shriveled form, rendering them unalterably useless. Dillard’s last sight of the moth was of him walking the nearby sidewalk—alive but defenseless, functioning but not flourishing.
For weeks now we’ve considered Jesus’ parable of the sower. We’ve said that the fruitfulness Jesus came to manifest in us—godliness working in and through us—requires attentiveness, an appreciation of His encouragement and candor, and a frequent assessment of what is flowing from our heart.
All these requirements for fruitfulness operate on the individual level; they each relate to what we do as individuals because Jesus’ Word has the capacity to bring forth in every individual He chooses the godliness He intends.
However, even though he plants His Word in individual souls, it is to a company of souls He addresses that Word. He calls each disciple to Himself, but He calls them to form a band of disciples.
Each of us will stand before the judgment seat of Christ (2 Corinthians 5:10); to Him each must give an account (Hebrews 4:13). Yet each is called to be a member of a Body (Ephesians 3:6), a part of the living God’s temple (2 Corinthians 6:16), a living stone in a spiritual house (1 Peter 2:5).
So the fruitful life centered on God’s will for the world assumes both a personal and corporate context for its nurture. Private devotion and community participation are interdependent elements—like a moth’s two wings—of what allows a given individual to yield the thirty, sixty, or hundredfold that Jesus promises. The dual context allows the Lord’s ordained intentions to unfurl in those He’s birthed to new life.
Though our culture militates against the stillness that private devotions require, what it means to seek the mind of God is not a complicated matter; Jesus ably demonstrated a life of prayer and reflection on every word that proceeds from the mouth of God. But what are the marks of someone who is rightly related to the community of God? Is not “community” such an overused term now that it has ceased to have any discernible meaning? Can anything begin to diagnose whether we’ve found the center of community life Jesus sought to establish? Consider these questions to begin your diagnosis:
Is there anyone in our Body who prays for you and for whom you pray regularly? Those who know one another well and who recognize that our primary battle is not against flesh and blood, but against the spiritual forces (Ephesians 6:12ff), will pray for one another. It’s how we love one another as Christ loved us (John 13:34).
Is there anyone with whom you can be so transparent as to share matters of soul (the condition of your relationships, your priorities, your finances)? There are too many “one another” commands in the New Testament to adopt an insular attitude toward the brethren.
Is there anyone with whom you are involved in God’s project of seeing His will be done “on earth as it is in heaven”? The commission to be a blessing unto all nations (Genesis 12:3) is too demanding to fulfill 1) as an individual and 2) as a people only superficially connected. We need the guidance, goading, and grace that comes with community to love the world in the way that commends Christ to it (John 17:21, Matthew 5:16).
These questions don’t exhaust what it means to be in community but they offer a barometer of whether you grasp the place of community in your own personal fruitfulness.
It’s been noted that marriages today have never had to be so dependent on themselves for their own vitality. The culture’s movement towards insularity lays the burden of preserving, protecting, and enriching the marital bond almost entirely on the shoulders of those within the marriage—a phenomenon that must now be roundly challenged if such bonds are to endure. If even marital vitality requires a kind of community for its survival, how much more does one’s own spiritual vitality call for the same?
The life lived privately and corporately devoted to the Lord fills one’s heart with joy and conviction, leading to fruitfulness. It means the difference between a soul shriveled and one that soars.
Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In his 1985 book Amusing Ourselves to Death, Neil Postman coined a phrase to refer to what he considered to be one of the negative impacts of the information age. His “low information-action ratio” postulated that with the exponential increase of data now flooding our flat screens, highways, desktops, and cell phones comes a corresponding diminution of actual responsiveness to any of it. There was a time, Postman argues, when most information we received was local, whose implications or impact were immediately felt, and therefore which tended to elicit some kind of reaction more readily. If you heard your neighbor’s house burned down, you were more likely to tend to their need because you knew them and because that information represented almost all the “news” you’d heard all day.
Now, with so much more information coming our way, and from places we’ve likely never heard of, we can’t hope to respond appreciably to even a fraction of it. In constantly receiving without responding, though, we’re being conditioned to respond to nothing. Our responsiveness is atrophying for want of use because we’re becoming accustomed to hearing information only.
That our compassion is being compromised by the onslaught of data we’re exposed to seems a very tenable thesis, but Jesus’ parable of the Samaritan may unearth a deeper reason for our unresponsiveness: the atrophy results not so much from lack of use as it is from a lack of gratitude.
The Samaritan is the quintessence of responsiveness and compassion. He is entirely impartial to the identity of the beleaguered journeyman. He pays no attention to his ethnicity, his physical condition, or his socioeconomic status; he simply attends to his need because of the need. The Samaritan expresses substantial generosity in extending time, care, wisdom, and resources to see to his recovery. Furthermore, Jesus’ protagonist exemplifies clear perspective: whatever the Samaritan’s priorities or responsibilities, nothing was as important in that moment than rendering sacrificial aid to this hapless victim.
Jesus employs the Samaritan as the embodiment of compassion to remind the listening Jews what true neighborliness was—à la Leviticus 19:18. His audience had allowed their warped reading of the Law to excuse them from the true compassion the Law enjoined. Their neighborliness had atrophied for lack of clarity about God’s concern for mercy.
We could all stand to hear afresh, as we did the last two Sundays, the call to neighborliness. Simply following the command to love your neighbor will do much to restore vigor where there has been atrophy.
But it’s even more important to remember that this parable about neighborliness came from the mouth of Jesus. More important because all the reasons you might be hesitant to show the compassion of neighborliness get swallowed up in Jesus when you really believe His gospel. The Word and Work of His gospel inspire abiding compassion. Remember those aspects of the Samaritan’s compassion we mentioned above?
When you see how you are equally in need of mercy in Christ as anyone, impartiality is the only logical response. Believing yourself to be afflicted with sin and self-inflation, and nevertheless tended to by Jesus, you lose all reason to bear prejudice to another in their need.
When you recognize His substantial generosity to you in setting aside much to bring you even more (Philippians 2:6–11), the inclination to be tightfisted with what you have evaporates. You don’t feel the compulsion to hoard your time or money when you know that what you’ve been given is more lavish and substantial than anything you might feel compelled to keep.
Finally, when you see how Jesus saw His glory and our need all in clear perspective, you tend to see another’s need above all the things you “need” to do. Neighborliness is elevated over Netflix in the priorities of your heart.
Postman theorized that our neighborliness suffers for lack of use. Jesus argues that neighborliness will be reinvigorated through use, but moreso through gratitude—a gratitude that can be sustained only by a deep-rooted belief in the love compassionately offered in His cross (cf. Ephesians 3:14–19).
What, if anything, is hindering your neighborliness? How might reconsidering His “voluntary transfer of wealth” to you cause your neighborliness to become more involuntary?
Now Jesus was praying in a certain place, and when he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, as John taught his disciples.” And he said to them, “When you pray, say:
“Father, hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread,
and forgive us our sins,
for we ourselves forgive everyone who is indebted to us.
And lead us not into temptation.”
And he said to them, “Which of you who has a friend will go to him at midnight and say to him, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves, for a friend of mine has arrived on a journey, and I have nothing to set before him’; and he will answer from within, ‘Do not bother me; the door is now shut, and my children are with me in bed. I cannot get up and give you anything’? I tell you, though he will not get up and give him anything because he is his friend, yet because of his impudence he will rise and give him whatever he needs. And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
It won’t be news to you to know that the percentage of people is high who purchase gym memberships and then either never go or stop going before their contact expires. One source says that 30% stop going within 21 days. January tends to be the high-water mark in a given year for new memberships. Yet, somewhere around January 21 tends to be the saddest day of the year when new year’s resolutions—including fitness—have all but disappeared.
You can understand the struggle to maintain commitment. There’s a cost to giving yourself faithfully to exercise: your schedule has to change; you have to pack the workout bag; you have to find a routine that doesn’t become too wearisome; you soon find why “no pain, no gain” became an adage; and the strong, vital, svelte life just doesn’t appear overnight.
So it’s difficult to exit the cyclical rut of inspiration, resolution, execution, frustration, enervation, and disillusion. At some point, you have to feel like what you’re doing is making a difference. The motive has to change from guilt to an appreciation of wellness. The experience has to change from drudgery to strenuous delight.
It can be just as agonizing to extricate oneself from the cyclical rut of trying and failing to cultivate a genuinely prayerful life.
You can hear of prayer’s importance (as you did again last Sunday). You can hear the what, the how, and the why of prayer afresh, and resolve that very moment to commit yourself to prayer. You can set up a plan for praying more often, more systematically. And you can start with great expectation that you will become able to say confidently, but not arrogantly, that you believe in prayer.
But, inevitably, the new burst of enthusiasm for prayer is met with a commensurate blowback of antagonisms, mostly from our own armchair theologizing:
“Why pray, if God is sovereign? He already knows what I’ll ask, and He would do His will regardless of my so-called prayerful intervention.”
“If some, or many, of my prayer requests aren’t answered, wouldn’t it be better to avoid setting myself up for disappointment?”
Some will say to themselves they’re just too busy. But that’s really a pretext for the belief that they themselves can fulfill their desires more effectively than prayer can. Others might begin to languish in prayer when they conclude that the Lord will not hear the prayers of sinful people.
Few, if any, of these soul-dampening thoughts are illegitimate concerns. We’ve been rehearsing them for as long as we’ve been praying. The question remains, though: must we always be at the mercy of these hindrances to a life of prayerfulness? Can nothing extricate us from their rut?
Instruction in prayer, or a prayer system, or accountability—all those elements certainly help. But believing the gospel is the only sufficient ground for prayerfulness.
What the gospel accomplished has implications for our prayers. If the Lord did the impossible in raising His Son from the dead, there are no impossible things we may not pray for. If the Lord conquered death in His Son, may we not ask Him to conquer pride in the human heart? To give hope where despondency threatens, and humility where complacency sings its siren call? The gospel’s power and majesty guide the scope of our prayers.
Perhaps more to our concern, the gospel crystallizes and fortifies the motive for prayer. To believe the gospel is to understand how dependent you are—not just for God’s wrath to be solved, but for the kind of heart that loves the things of God for God’s sake alone. Grasping the extent of your dependence on God for any substantial good thing can’t help but turn you to praying. To know your need is to make asking for help more instinctual.
To believe the gospel is also to trust that because of Christ, the Lord’s acceptance of you is unbreakable. Despite your frailty and flaw, your folly and fear, the Lord loves those who look to the Son. Believing that leads you to prayer; you can’t help but be transparent with someone who loves you like that.
When Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner said, “He prayeth well who loveth well,” he meant that love will inevitably manifest itself in prayer. Yet standing behind the love that issues in prayer is a love that liberated it. That’s the love of the gospel. So we end up praying not in order to please God but because He is already pleased with us.
Prayer then ceases to become a discipline to acquire but an orientation to embrace, an orientation toward life and God. In short, your supplication will feel like obligation until there’s adoration of His salvation.
What have your prayers felt like of late? What does that reveal about what you believe about the gospel? Perhaps, at least for a while, until you can come to times of intercession with a real sense of what He has done for you in Christ, you might begin your prayers with a time of reflection and thanksgiving for the gospel. It’s the only way out of the rut.
If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You likely know the name William Cowper (pronounced “Cooper”) because of his oft-quoted line, “God works in mysterious ways, his wonders to perform.” Less known is the cross he bore for nearly all his life: a profound melancholy that on multiple occasions led him to seek to take his own life.
Born near London, in 1731, Cowper was sent to boarding school at the age of six, following his mother’s death. Goaded into pursuing a law career he had no interest in, he was first overwhelmed by a crippling depression at the age of 21. How he came to trust Christ is a story worth telling for its own sake, but following his conversion, Cowper became acquainted with the famous slave-trader turned pastor and hymn writer, John Newton. Perceiving both Cowper’s chronic despondency and the poignant introspection that accompanied it, Newton invited him into a collaborative hymn-writing effort that would span nearly a decade. While the American revolution raged, Newton and Cowper composed their Olney Hymns, which, for the latter was as much tonic to his soul as it was an expression of his talents. Of the sixty-eight hymns Cowper himself penned, one was entitled "The New Convert":
The new-born child of gospel grace,
Like some fair tree when summer's nigh,
Beneath Emmanuel's shining face
Lifts up his blooming branch on high.
No fears he feels, he sees no foes,
No conflict yet his faith employs,
Nor has he learnt to whom he owes
The strength and peace his soul enjoys.
But sin soon darts its cruel sting,
And comforts sinking day by day,
What seem'd his own, a self-fed spring,
Proves but a brook that glides away.
When Gideon arm'd his numerous host,
The Lord soon made his numbers less;
And said, "Lest Israel vainly boast,
My arm procured me this success!"
Thus will He bring our spirits down,
And draw our ebbing comforts low,
That saved by grace, but not our own,
We may not claim the praise we owe.
As Mark reminded us last Sunday, the first thing the Lord Jesus teaches us about prayer is that we must understand the identity of the One to whom we pray. The Lord is our Father. He is, as our catechism reminds us, “Spirit, infinite, eternal, unchangeable in His being, wisdom, power, holiness, justice, goodness and truth.” Yet, all those divine attributes are best understood in the context of a very this-world conception of fatherliness. Even if our fathers have failed or harmed us, we know intrinsically what a perfect father is like, if only in the wistfulness for such a father.
Cowper’s father may have contributed painfully to his distress. Nevertheless, Cowper’s hymn reveals a keen insight into what it meant to live joyfully before a heavenly Father.
Our Father is the source of all our life and hope. He takes joy in giving us what we need and allows us to rise like a “blooming branch” to bask in the sun of forgiveness and divine delight. Our heavenly father gives us no greater gift than His Spirit. The Spirit awakens us to the majesty of God; He forces us to face our frailty; He convinces us of the singular goodness of Christ and His Cross. All this our Father does to the praise of His glory (Ephesians 1:14), but also because He delights to give us expensive, enduring gifts even more than our earthly fathers do (Luke 11:13). Such is what Jesus means to tell us about the fatherliness of our God.
But Cowper mentions one other aspect of fatherliness we might at first find odd. Within all the exuberance that comes with being born again—the joy at having had your ultimate enemy vanquished, your eternity secured, your purpose outlined, and your acceptance vouchsafed—there lurks a temptation to think oneself “a self-fed spring,” to conclude, “My arm procured me this success.” To which our heavenly Father responds by “[bringing] our spirits down,” and “[drawing] our ebbing comforts low.” And why? That “we may not claim the praise we owe.”
But why does the heavenly Father seek to perpetuate our sense of dependence on Him? Is it not the virtue of our earthly fathers to guide us for a while, like training wheels on a bike, and then let us learn to balance on our own? Are fathers not to release us—to give us wings, as the saying goes—that we might not only learn to fly on our own, but to relish in our having matured?
The answer may lie in the fact that it is never a mark of maturity to become more impressed with ourselves than with our God. It is a mark of our fallenness that whenever we become too intoxicated by a perception of our self-sufficiency we tend to run off the rails into indulgence, arrogance, and folly (cf. Deuteronomy 8:11–14). True maturity discovers that “He must increase and I must decrease.” True maturity sends us to our knees, praying to our God as Father, because we see Him as the source of our life, the guide to our life, and the benefactor for our life.
The four diagnostic questions Mark asked us to pose to ourselves will reveal clearly whom we are more impressed with—God or ourselves. What do your answers to those questions reveal? As you continue to ask the Lord to teach you to pray, ask, seek, and knock for the heart that dares not “claim the praise we owe.”
And he said to them, “When you pray, say:
‘Father, hallowed be your name.’”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Spencer Tracy and Katharine Hepburn play a dynamic duo of married lawyers in the 1949 film Adam’s Rib. Their quick-witted banter illumines the screen and provides the perfect context for the unfolding of the film’s plot.
All gussied up and ready for a night on the town early in the film, Amanda Bonner, played by Hepburn, tries to get her aloof husband to take stock of her dazzling outfit. After a few unsuccessful attempts, she finally comes right out and says with a matter-of-factness belying an ulterior motive, “This is the dress I’m wearing.” For an instant, the otherwise tough-minded, strong-willed, and outspoken attorney displays a touch of puerile insecurity, saying in effect, “Notice me.”
Jesus taught His disciples to include in their prayers a voiced recognition of the hallowedness of God—to notice His holiness. Hearing that one might hastily conclude this God is a bit vain, or at least a touch insecure. Why must He continually be addressed as one who is holy?
In truth, it’s not for His sake that we rehearse His hallowedness; He is not served by human hands, and He needs nothing (Acts 17:25). Rather it is for our sake that we establish every prayer with a recognition of His majesty. It is to our advantage that we look up often from whatever commands our attention to notice again, “This is the God we’re living before.”
Why is it to our advantage?
For one, there is nothing more worthy of focused, fervent attention than the God responsible for all things (Gen. 1:1, John 1:1–3). Yet, the mundaneness of daily routines can seduce us into thinking there is nothing particularly astonishing about what is and what’s been made available to us. (A comedian points out how amazing things are, yet how few of us are really happy about that.) We can become so accustomed to all we have that we unconsciously adopt an attitude like that of Bart Simpson in his famous prayer before dinner one night, “Hey, God, we did all this ourselves, so thanks for nothing.”
We slide into this complacency with God as easily as we do with the people we love. Who hasn’t had the experience of treating someone you love dreadfully, and then, with quiet reflection upon all they are to you, finding yourself scandalized by your own action? The reflection restores your sight, freeing you to relate to them again in their fullness which your heart’s attitude previously obscured.
So it’s to our advantage, first of all, to restore our sense of His hallowedness whenever we pray because it keeps life’s tedium from pulling us into a quagmire of indifference. There’s another reason, too.
The rest of our prayers will find their meaning and motive in seeing Him as hallowed. In fact the remainder of Jesus’ instruction on prayer requires a sense of His hallowedness. We’ll long for earth to reflect how it works in heaven when we’re awakened to His honor. We’ll recognize both our need of His sustenance—physical and spiritual—and His willingness to provide it. We’ll also see sin as sin—harmful in numerous dimensions, but moreover a raw affront to God. Seeing that, we’ll be compelled to confess our own sin, to extend forgiveness to others in light of His forgiveness of us, and to ask for vigilance to resist temptation.
In this prayer, Jesus wasn’t supplying us a script to follow, or a mantra to somehow goad God into action. He gave us this prayer to make us new, and He makes all things new (Rev. 21:5). Before his affliction had resolved, and the bounty he’d lost was restored, Job underwent a change through his suffering. He’d hallowed God before, but in hearing afresh of God’s majesty from God himself—and in response to his agonizing inquiries over his suffering—Job’s sense of God’s hallowedness was intensified:
I know that You can do all things,
and that no purpose of Yours can be thwarted.“Who is this that hides counsel without knowledge?”
Therefore I have uttered what I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me, which I did not know.“Hear, and I will speak;
I will question you, and you make it known to Me.”I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear,
but now my eye sees You;therefore I despise myself,
and repent in dust and ashes.
Answers to his questions had not come; reasons for his suffering were not disclosed. Yet neither those answers nor reasons would’ve been as precious to Job as the deepened sense of God’s hallowed glory. It was for Job’s sake, not God’s, that the former grasped the latter’s glory.
This is the God you are living before. Do you take time in prayer to remember your reasons for hallowing Him?
Hear my prayer, O Lord,
and give ear to my cry;
hold not Your peace at my tears!
For I am a sojourner with You,
a guest, like all my fathers.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
When you feel you’ve been faithful, do you feel as if God is more likely to answer your prayers?
When you feel your faith has faltered, do you feel as if God is more likely to ignore your prayers?
On what basis does He answer any of them?
Sunday we argued that the fight for hope is often a fight in prayer. Men’s wickedness, the world’s triviality, our hearts’ sinfulness—the distress they can cause threatens our hope in God. Yet there’s something about prayer that enables us to find reasons for hope.
The psalmist prays in every circumstance, but what is the basis of his hope that God will answer? Apparently not his own faithfulness, since he acknowledges his need for deliverance from faithlessness (v. 8). Instead, his hope in God’s willingness to show mercy is based on something else—something about being a sojourner.
Sojourners dwelt in Israel’s land but were not of Israel’s lineage. The Lord makes it a continuous point, however, to treat sojourners with the same respect as if they were native to Israel. Though they held no land, they were to be provided for and protected in the same way any Israelite would be (Lev. 19:33). Furthermore, they were held to the same standard of obedience as the covenant people of God (e.g. Lev. 17:15, 20:2).
Our psalmist, David, though an Israelite from the house of Judah, declares himself to be a sojourner, one previously outside the covenant care of God but now brought into that covenant care on the basis of God’s prerogative. In fact, David goes so far as to say that all his forebears are likewise sojourners—not an innovative point but one grounded in what God says to Israel in Leviticus 25:23, “You are strangers and sojourners with me.”
Therefore, any confidence David has in God delivering him from his transgressions (Ps. 39:8), removing the stroke of hostility (v. 10), or hearing his prayer and his cries (v. 12), is based not in his faithfulness but in God’s promise to have regard for the sojourner in the land.
Moses does something similar when the Lord uses portentous language toward Israel, threatening them with extermination for their continual faithlessness (Exod. 32:9–14). There Moses centered his appeal for mercy on God’s promise to make a great nation—even through this stiff-necked people. The case Moses makes is persuasive to the Lord.
The disconsolate setting of this Psalm notwithstanding, isn’t what David (and Moses) did a bit cheeky? Isn’t David presuming upon grace?
In a word, no—if by presume we mean supposing something to be true with no evidence to substantiate it. The grace David appeals to is the same grace that motivated God to move toward Abraham, to make a nation through Abraham, to sustain the progress of His plan through the chronically flaccid hearts of the patriarchs.
More to our concern, David appeals to the mercy of God no more presumptuously than you or I do if we are in Christ. For just as sojourners were afforded protection and provision despite their previous distance from the covenant people of God, those in Christ who were once far off “have now been brought near by the blood of Christ” (Eph. 2:13). God extended mercy to the sojourner on the basis of His prerogative. He extends mercy to the one in Christ on the basis of His prerogative to bless the work of His Son. Our works neither obtained our salvation (Eph. 2:8–9) nor perfected it (Gal. 3:3). Faith in His work does.
But what of James 5:16, “The prayer of a righteous person has great power”? Don’t his words seem to draw a causal relationship between our righteousness and God’s willingness to respond to our prayers? What motivates our good works if He answers our prayers on the basis of His good work in Christ? Welcome to the astonishingly magnificent heart of the gospel.
That “righteous” one whose prayers are powerful—it’s the same kind of person who confesses their sins (James 5:15), who trusts in the work of the Son to bring them to God (1 Pet. 3:18). Their faith may even fail for a time, as Elijah’s did (1 Kings 19:1–8). Rather than presume upon His grace, though, they will necessarily seek to honor it, because they know their righteousness is entirely attributable to Him.
So, the next time you feel like God is more obligated to answer your prayers because of your obedience, think again (and aright). Any good you’ve done has been a function of His work in you (Eph. 2:10, Phil. 2:13).
And the next time you feel like God would never hear your prayers because of your faithlessness, think again. He surely would have us set aside the sin that so easily entangles (Heb. 12:1), but He also would have us draw near to the throne of grace with confidence that we may receive mercy (Heb. 4:16).
He makes wars cease to the end of the earth;
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
He burns the chariots with fire.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
With a staggering degree of accuracy, John Gottman can predict the future of a marriage by listening to a mere 15 minutes of a taped interaction between husband and wife. In his book Blink, Malcolm Gladwell reveals how this psychologist has developed a remarkable sensitivity to verbal and non-verbal messages between spouses. So sensitive that he’s been able to detect the presence of a single interpersonal dynamic which correlates significantly with the health and life-span of a given marriage: contempt. One or both spouses often display frustration with their mate. When the frustration leads to a conception of the other as inferior to them, however, the relationship has entered into the toxic domain of contempt. “Contempt is special,” Gladwell notes. “If you can measure contempt, then all of a sudden you don't need to know every detail of the couple's relationship.” Where it grows, the marriage tends to die. Contrariwise, where it can be rooted out—or even kept from taking root—the marriage can survive and thrive.
Throughout Psalm 46, the Psalmist declares the Lord’s inimitable power—power to nourish, power to lay waste, and, here in verse 9, power to end strife. God’s interest in and capacity for bringing peace are well noted. Israel’s history can certainly point to God’s peaceable geopolitical activities (e.g. 2 Sam. 10). His prophets anticipate God’s apocalyptic work of bringing peace fully and finally (cf. Daniel 7, Rev. 20:7–15). Far be it from us, though, to conceive of God’s power to bring peace only on the large scale.
That power should be respected even at the scale of interpersonal relationship—where strife can devolve into contempt. Whether it’s in a marriage, within a family, or between friends, our sinfulness continually exposes us to the threat of strife that can sow contempt. How then shall we respect God’s reconciling power so that contempt might not devastate whatever relationships we’re in?
Sunday reminded us that the Psalmist enjoins a stillness of surrender. We do not still ourselves for the sake of stillness, but to surrender to the will and work of God. We humble ourselves enough to listen for what His word is telling us (Joshua 1:8). We recognize our finitude against His eternality and majesty (Ps. 8:4). Above all, we still ourselves to comprehend how He, in His Son, has ended the lengthiest, most entrenched, most devastating, and most consequential contempt—that which existed between us and Him (Eph. 2:14–17). The stillness found in prayer yields the necessary insight.
When we see our strife in the context of His strife with us, the recognition breaks and burns whatever fuels our interpersonal conflicts. Remembering former wrongs (1 Cor. 13:5), speaking unwholesome words (Eph. 4:29), engaging in rivalry or conceit (Phil. 2:3)—they all cease to be our weapons of choice when we submit in stillness to what He’s done for us in Christ.
When, in our stillness, we see Him as our ultimate refuge, strength, and ever present help, we no longer press for such things in another person—the frustration of which often greases the skids toward contempt. As Bob Franke sings:
There's a hole in the middle of the prettiest life
So the lawyers and the prophets say
Not your father nor your mother
Nor your lover's gonna ever make it go away
Meeting God in the stillness to surrender to His sufficiency is the only way to stop the war to get from another what only God can give.
With whom are you at war right now—whether in open conflict or brooding alienation? Where do you notice frustration teetering on the edge of—or plunging headlong into—contempt? If in our stillness before Him we see anew His greatest work of peacemaking, how might such stillness serve to end that present war?
God is our refuge and strength,
a very present help in trouble.
Clap your hands, all peoples!
Shout to God with loud songs of joy!
...Sing praises to God, sing praises!
Sing praises to our King, sing praises!
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known.
If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine.
Final answer: A. Aramis.
Three memorable lines from three very different stories—each line, though, with a strikingly similar motivation.
Sydney Carton utters the first in what is the last line of Dickens’s A Tale of Two Cities. He speaks from the shadow of the guillotine of revolutionary France, prepared to give his life for Charles Darnay, the condemned man with whom Carton has deliberately switched identities because of their mutual resemblance. Despite all he would lose, Carton knew his sacrifice was nothing compared to what it would gain—Darnay’s life as well as the good that awaited Carton in death.
In Star Wars, Obi-Wan Kenobi speaks the second line just before Darth Vader takes advantage of Kenobi’s suddenly defenseless repose and, by all appearances, vanquishes the Jedi knight by lightsaber. Like Carton, Kenobi knew there was something greater to be secured by his loss.
The third line is vocalized with an intriguing tone of relief by a winsome twentysomething named Jamal, the protagonist of Slumdog Millionaire. Caught in a part love story, part rags-to-riches story, Jamal has made it to the final question of India’s version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, while also cultivating a love with a childhood friend, Lakita. For reasons beyond his control, Jamal has been separated from Lakita—his hopes of ever seeing her or hearing from her again essentially dashed. When he phones his brother for help on the final question, it is Lakita who happens to be in the possession of the phone. He hears her voice and discovers she is safe, but when she cannot help him with the question, Jamal simply answers blithely—no longer caring a whit whether he wins the money. Like Carton and Kenobi, Jamal relinquishes what is costly because he knows there is something more valuable, more sure, more worthy to be had.
C. S. Lewis famously wrote that in the gospel of Jesus, myth became fact (God in the Dock, 66–67). The archetypal yearnings of humanity, variously expressed in our legends and fables, eventually entered into history in the person of Jesus. He, like the three characters above, relinquished what was precious to Him for the sake of something of immeasurable value. Such was His praise of the One who brought Him to that moment.
For the last two Sundays we’ve heard how Psalms 46 and 47 bring us to a posture of hope and praise. Those who are confident in God as their refuge and strength (Ps. 46) naturally give praise to God—in the context of these two Psalms, through clapping, and singing, and making music (Ps. 47).
But praise comes in many forms. For our three protagonists, praise comes in the form of relinquishment for the sake of love. For Darnay, Carton offers his life. For Luke, Kenobi offers his immediate presence. For Lakita, Jamal was willing to forsake 20 million rupees. Each saw a greater refuge in what they sacrificed for, and that loving sacrifice was their praise.
The quality of our love reveals where we place our trust. If we find ourselves withholding love, it may reveal arrogance or indifference in us. But it might otherwise reveal fear—fear of what we might lose (or what we might be left with) if we relinquish something of value to us.
Mark has outlined for us what a real stillness before God will lead to. To that list we add freedom to love extravagantly. Abundant care becomes not only possible but preferable because you no longer fear losing what cannot be taken from you. The Christ who bestowed all that we would gain all is meant to persuade you of the fact that He is our true refuge. Persuaded of that in the stillness of prayer, praise will flow, and often through relinquishment for love’s sake.
Who are you afraid to love right now? Nothing the Lord has given you in Christ—forgiveness, favor, renewal, eternity—can ever be siphoned from you. How might the truth of His being our strength in those ways free you to love?
In peace I will both lie down and sleep; for You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety.
Jeremy Weese was raised in the blistering cold of western New York State, on the shores of Lake Ontario. Having lived through his lifetime quota of snow in just his first eighteen years, he fled the Northeast and attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. After graduating, Jeremy then decided that he wanted to study some more, so he studied five more years, this time at Covenant Seminary in St. Louis; served one year as a Pastoral Intern for Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. Jeremy is excited that his journeys have led him to Los Angeles. In the coup of the century, Jeremy wooed, won, and married Esther this past year. Favorite thing to do in LA: Take a book to the beach and then not read it. He also enjoys going downhill.
In a week filled with rain and thunderstorms, I am sure that many of us were jolted awake at some point by the crash of thunder or the streak of lightning all too close for comfort. In that moment of surprise, and maybe (if we are honest with ourselves) fear, were we reminded of similar moments in our childhood? Did we remember the times that we awoke to thunder and lightning, afraid, and in our fear and uncertainty running to the only source of comfort and security we knew—our parents?
Thunder wasn't the only thing that sent us running. We ran from nightmares, monsters in the closet or under the bed, strange noises, and annoying siblings. Our parents' bed was the place of safety where neither monsters nor thunder could reach us.
But somewhere along the way we lost that safety. We grew older, and most of us became parents ourselves—becoming a haven for our own frightened children. Yet we have nowhere to run. The sleepless nights persist, and the fear remains; the only thing that has changed is the source of the fear. It is no longer thunder, monsters, or nightmares. Rather, we worry about our jobs; we are afraid that our savings will run out or disappear. We fear that our kids will stop loving us, stop coming to us; that they will not get into college or into the right college. We worry that our spouse no longer loves us, that our house will never sell, that the cancer will win this time. Peace and safety seem as unattainable as a good night's sleep.
In the sermon on Sunday, we learned that we should not let anxiety (along with attacks and anger) ruin our faith. But what does it really mean to be free from anxiety? How can David sleep in peace and safety? It certainly isn't his situation. As Tim talked about on Sunday, this Psalm, like the previous one, was probably written while David was on the run from his own son. David was forced from his home and city; betrayed by his family and some of his closest advisors. Everything that David could have been relying on for safety had been ripped away: his position, his power, his wealth, and his relationships. Yet still we find David making this audacious claim-he can rest in peace and safety. What does David know that we have forgotten?
When we were young, we ran to our parents' bed for safety. It was not that the bed was much different than ours, or that their room was much farther away from the storm. It was the comfort of their presence: the sense that they were with us. It was the assurance of their power-everything would be all right. Nothing could reach us in our father's arms. But we grew older, and that security was taken away as our parents were revealed as people who could fail us and who could not fix everything. At that point, the world became a bigger and scarier place. Our naive sense of security was stripped away, and we were left to create peace and safety however we could manage. But we aren't good at that, are we? As David's story and our own illustrate, all the things we run to or build up for security can be stolen just as easily as our childhood security. Knowing that, we are left in the ironic position of worrying about the things that we established to keep us from worrying.
Where does that leave us? How can we get to where David is? It is in the little phrase in the above verse: "For You alone..."? David is saying that we got it right as children. We knew intrinsically that the place to go for safety was to the only person or persons who could provide it. There is a reason why God reveals Himself so often as Father in scripture. Our earthly parents are pictures of our heavenly Father, the one and only source of true safety and lasting peace.
What are the thunderstorms in your life? What is keeping you awake at night? Will you continue to look to yourself and your self-built structures for peace and safety? Or will you run to your Father's arms? "For You alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety."
He is my steadfast love and my fortress,
my stronghold and my deliverer,
my shield and He in whom I take refuge,
who subdues peoples under me.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In this one verse, two phrases are brought together which seem curiously joined. Yet their juxtaposition grants us greater clarity into what each of them mean. They also help us see that our Lord—to whom both phrases refer—is altogether different from what we may assume.
The verse begins with David praising His Lord for being his “steadfast love” (hesed). It’s a word used some 150 times in the Old Testament, 100 of which are in the Psalms alone. It connotes His fidelity, solidity, and compassion. The verse ends with David praising his Lord for being the One who “subdues peoples” under him. Now, we know David to have had fierce animals, King Saul, and many opposing nations vanquished before him with the Lord’s help. What makes the last phrase intriguing, though, is the tiny footnote in the ESV translation: in many manuscripts of this text, the phrase reads: “who subdues my peoples under me.”
At first glance, that seems perplexing. How can the God whose love is steadfast be the same God who subdues David’s people under him? How can a loving God, in effect, beat down (another nuance of subdue) David’s people under him?
David’s history surely chronicles that very phenomenon. He was anointed king of Israel following the death of Saul, but not before a rival faction of Israelites sought to enthrone Saul’s son, Ish-Bosheth (2 Kings 2-4). A “long war” (2 Kings 3:1) ensued, with David displaying both great courage and great respect for those who opposed him—a respect that translated even to mourning the death of Abner, who had orchestrated Ish-bosheth’s ascendancy.
Years earlier, the Lord had set David apart to be the king over all Israel. Despite the opposition of Saul, antagonistic nations, or even his own people, the Lord saw fit to subdue them all to fulfill His promise to make David the king through whom He would bring blessing to the world (2 Sam 7:14). This was His steadfast love and His powerful subduing in concerted action. Therefore, from a purely historical standpoint, the Lord indeed steadfastly loves and methodically subdues what (or who) opposes His plan—even those who are to be part of that plan.
So what?
Just as there were segments of Israel who refused to trust in the kingship of David, and thus had to be subdued by the Lord, so there are parts of us—our interests, our affections, our practices—that remain unconvinced that the Lord steadfastly loves or that He is the one in whom we can rightly take refuge.
What are those parts of you that remain unconvinced? Sunday, we mentioned that by our patient praying—by “praying until we pray”—we find a more steadfast sense that the Lord is worthy to be praised, that our peace is in Him, that humility before Him is the only proper posture, and that it is perfectly legitimate to petition Him with astounding requests that further His righteousness. Do any of those truths seem more like assertions than axioms? In what segments of your life is there subconscious, but lively debate about the sufficiency of God and His right to have every part of you?
If you’ve needed a little guidance about what to speak of in prayer, perhaps your answers to those questions form your agenda. And perhaps they illuminate this core truth: Because of His steadfast love, He subdues what opposes us; but by our trust in that steadfast love He shall subdue the opposition in us. The only sufficient object of our trust in His steadfast love falls to the One in whom two other concepts were juxtaposed—The Lord Jesus satisfied God’s requirement to be just toward sin, yet also satisfied His interest in justifying a people by designating those who were still sinners as righteous in His sight (Romans 3:26, 5:8). The more deeply you trust in that union of two seemingly irreconcilable truths, the more readily you will praise Him, find your peace in Him, be humble before Him, and utter your requests to Him.
Jacob said, “I will not let you go unless you bless me.” (Gen 32:26). About what must you now wrestle with God?
Blessed are the people to whom such blessings fall!
Blessed are the people whose God is the Lord!
Jeremy Weese was raised in the blistering cold of western New York State, on the shores of Lake Ontario. Having lived through his lifetime quota of snow in just his first eighteen years, he fled the Northeast and attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. After graduating, Jeremy then decided that he wanted to study some more, so he studied five more years, this time at Covenant Seminary in St. Louis; served one year as a Pastoral Intern for Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. Jeremy is excited that his journeys have led him to Los Angeles. In the coup of the century, Jeremy wooed, won, and married Esther this past year. Favorite thing to do in LA: Take a book to the beach and then not read it. He also enjoys going downhill.
“For several years now my practice has been increasingly filled by teenagers whose problems seem out of proportion to their life circumstances. Like all of us who scramble to provide advantages for our children, I had assumed that involvement, opportunity and money would help safeguard the emotional health of children. Yet my appointment book forced me to consider quite the opposite: some aspects of affluence and parental involvement might be contributing to the unhappiness and fragility of my privileged patients.”
In an article introducing her groundbreaking work, The Price of Privilege, Madeline Levine speaks of how many of her basic assumptions about parenting were challenged. In this article (and more fully in her book), Levine shows a generation of children who have received everything the world has said would produce the perfect life: unlimited resources, unlimited opportunities, and unlimited possibilities. Yet this generation is far from perfect. She continues, “In spite of parental concern and economic advantage, many of my adolescent patients suffer from readily apparent emotional disorders: addictions, anxiety disorders, depression, eating disorders and assorted self-destructive behaviors.” Levine exposes the emptiness of the modern myth that enough resources, education, and strategy will lead us to the perfect life.
We buy into that myth as well, don’t we? We buy and read the latest and greatest Christian books that promise to reveal the biblical strategy to better parenting, better money management, better education, and a better marriage. David, in Psalm 144, reveals a different approach.
He prays.
We might be surprised at the simplicity of the things he asks for: mature children, crops that grow, livestock that reproduces. Aren’t children supposed to mature? Aren’t crops supposed to grow, livestock to reproduce? Why is David praying for such simple things?
In the sermon on Sunday, Patrick reminded us that “If prayer is anything, it is everything.” David reveals what we so often forget: that God is the source of all blessings, big and small, miraculous and mundane. We so often divide up our lives: Sunday and the rest of the week; spiritual and physical; ministry and the workplace; prayer and our actions. David is reminding us that there is no divide. The God we pray to in the face of cancer is the God we pray to in the face of balancing a checkbook. The same God we beg to protect our missionaries as they travel and work overseas is the God we need to protect our children as they grow up.
This is hard news. David is showing us that the things we thought we could handle, the things over which we thought we had some measure of control, are actually in God’s hands. Mature children, successful work, a happy home—these things come from God.
But it is good news. Do you see what this means? Everything about you, everything about your life, is important to God. There is no part that is too mundane, too ordinary for God. In fact, God meets us every day in the “sacred ordinary.”
Blessed are the people to whom such blessings fall!
Blessed are the people whose God is the LORD!
The Lord will keep you from all evil;
He will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In the business world, it’s a principle of customer service to set the customer’s expectations appropriately. Beware of making promises you cannot keep, so the principle goes. For if you fail to follow through on a commitment to have a product or service delivered, a repair completed, or a process fulfilled, you risk losing their trust, and likely any prospect of future business.
Sometimes businesses are as explicit as they can be about all the reasons their product or service might not operate as promised. (It’s almost comical how much time of pharmaceutical commercials is dedicated to enumerating all the potential side effects!) But when such explicitness might be too distracting, there’s always the fine print. For every sweeping promise there’s a slew of caveats.
All that is why Psalm 121 may seem awfully odd to us—even nerve-racking, for those who have had no shortage of evil befall them. The psalm’s promises are so sweeping! And no caveats. No fine print!
How then shall the Psalmist keep from insulting the intelligence of the listeners, thereby losing their ongoing trust and investment? Is he ignorant of the myriad ways this fallen world can inflict real and painful calamity? Is he that naïve? Or does he refuse to qualify himself for fear of selling the Lord short?
On the contrary, he is neither ignorant nor naïve. He speaks from within an assembly of voices whose faith in the Lord’s goodness and might is no less deep than their awareness of what this fallen world is capable of wreaking:
Man is made for trouble, [as surely] as sparks fly up. (Job 5:7)
“In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)
For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. (Rom. 8:21–23)
There’s both candor and confidence in these and other texts, which allow us to believe a deeply encouraging truth in the face of abject sorrow. Tim provided us a fresh example last Sunday of Psalm 121’s confidence amid adversity. To that we add another example:
John Chrysostom was a church father of the fourth century, known for his courage, incisive preaching, and unflinching integrity. Brought before Roman Empress Eudoxia on the charge of preaching the gospel without imperial approval, she threatened to banish him from the empire. The following exchange ensued between them:
“You cannot banish me, for this world is my Father’s house.”
“But I will kill you,” said the empress.
“No, you cannot, for my life is hid with Christ in God,” said John.
“I will take away your treasures.”
“No, you cannot, for my treasure is in heaven and my heart is there.”
“But I will drive you away from your friends and you will have no one left.”
“No, you cannot, for I have a Friend in heaven from whom you cannot separate me. I defy you, for there is nothing you can do to harm me.”
To Chrysostom there was no threat of any true import, for the empress could take nothing of value from him. There was (and is!) therefore every reason for confidence in what Psalm 121 propounds. The Lord would keep him from all evil, in spite of her threats. The Lord would keep his life, from this time forth and forevermore. His confidence derived from the substance of Psalm 121, which Jesus had only further validated by His own testimony: “Do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (Matt. 10:23, 28). The only evil of any concern is alienation from the God who made us—a matter solved in the Son He sent in order to bring us to Himself (1 Pet. 3:18).
He knows our groanings (Rom. 8:23). He hears our cries. (1 Pet. 5:7). He brings goodness out of evil incidents for those who trust in Him (Rom. 8:28). No one whom the Father gives the Son shall be snatched from His care (John 10:28).
Have you prayed your fears, your disappointments, your reasons for preoccupation? Has life’s fine print led you to look incredulously upon the Lord’s claims of provision and protection?
Neither this Psalm nor Chrysostom intend for us to walk with a swagger, but a confidence. Such confidence is found in Christ alone. By His work of redemption, He renders all those ostensible threats mere sound and fury, signifying nothing.
While Jesus provides ample reason for confidence, praying through Him to the Father provides great hope of knowing that confidence (Phil. 4:6–7). Abstraction becomes palpable reality in the mystery of God in the act of praying. So in giving us Himself and in giving us prayer, He has set our expectations high, yet appropriately. May we live and pray in that confident expectation.
Do not fear or be dismayed.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Remember in middle school how your physical science teacher taught you to distinguish between stalagmites and stalactites? It was that simple mnemonic device: “Stalactites hang tight to the ceiling while stalagmites might one day reach the ceiling.” If you’ve been to Carlsbad or Natural Bridge Caverns, inevitably you’ve beheld cave after cave of towering columns, each of which began with a single drip of mineralized water falling from the ceiling. Stalagmite in fact literally means “drip.”
The life of faith bears striking resemblance to those ubiquitous rock formations. It starts out as a rather delicate thing—real, alive, but fragile and malleable. Wherever it forms, it’s intended to grow into something solid and sturdy; only by shutting off the source of its growth or from some other external impairment will it cease to form. Faith is by design intended to mature.
Stalactites and stalagmites grow with that steady, often imperceptible process of calcite deposition through innumerable drips of water. They therefore bear one more resemblance to the structure of faith: the growth is slow—often beyond our powers of discernment—and it requires a steady deposition of substance.
With Deuteronomy and Joshua as his guide, Mark reminded us last Sunday that between a promise of God to us and its possession by us there is inevitably a wait. The wait may vary in time and tenor, but rarely does one of God’s people not have to exercise faith in that wait. That’s why both Moses and the Lord intone, “Be strong and courageous” four times in just the few verses we heard Sunday. In between the promise and possession, Israel had to lean in to the struggle, take their blows and press on, withstand the temptation to buckle, and prepare themselves for even more formidable obstacles as their journey to the Promised Land continued. In their wait for possession, their capacity for steadfastness had to calcify into something sturdier than it was presently. Thus, for every instance of waiting there was opportunity for growing.
How, practically, does fledgling faith grow into a strong column of courageous strength born of trust in the Lord? Here are three ways.
It grows by rehearsing the promises of God. Every command to be strong and courageous rests on a premise of God’s promise. The Lord doesn’t ask our faith to be groundless or blind, but rather informed by what He has told us. So just as the Lord recounted to Moses the reasons for him and Israel to trust, so Moses recounted those to Joshua. Courageous strength matures as we continually review what the Lord has told us about Himself, His plan, and our place in it. Have you lost sight of His promises? It may be time for a little review.
Faith grows by the relinquishing of fears. Those in Canaan would be a fearsome lot, but not as fearsome as the Lord who would go before Israel. Israel therefore had to set what threatened them in the context of their greater hope and strength. Remember last week’s example of John Chrysostom staring down every threat with the sturdier treasure in Christ that could not be taken? Though we do not simply repress fear, fear dissipates when we choose to see it in a fuller context. The second contribution to growth is therefore contingent upon the first: we relinquish fears by rehearsing His promises. Have you allowed what threatens you to obscure the larger reality of His promises? It’s time to relinquish fear.
Robust faith also grows by the requesting the Spirit for strength. The whole work of rehearsing and relinquishing is a spiritual act. For the Lord to say He would be with them and would be their God was not just to communicate some objective reality, but to impress upon their hearts an enduring peace. Not a contrived, conjured, or concocted peace, but a bestowed peace—one they asked for. “May the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.” (Num. 6:26) Have you taken upon yourself too much responsibility to summon the courageous and peaceful strength the Lord urges? It’s time to go back to Him and ask.
You can no more will your faith to grow than a stalagmite can. That is why the continuity of God’s message across time, generations—even across the sins of His people—found its culmination in Christ. In Him are God’s promises fulfilled (2 Cor. 1:20). In Him are our greatest fears lifted (Heb. 2:15). In Him is the peace of the Spirit granted. (Rom. 15:13)
Though schoolchildren quickly learn the difference between stalactites and stalagmites, we never quite graduate from the lesson on how faith grows in us. We never escape the need to rehearse the promises of God, relinquish our fears on the basis of those promises, or request strength to believe from the Spirit. That is also why Jesus makes the bold promise, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.” (Matt. 28:20)
. . . so I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you.
“Houston, we have a problem.” Memorialized by Ron Howard’s 1995 film Apollo 13, these words have left an indelible mark upon our culture and our conversations within it. Even if you didn’t watch the movie, I bet you have quoted astronaut Jim Lovell (played by Tom Hanks), at least once.
Apollo 13 chronicles the ill-fated lunar mission by the same name. Shortly after escaping the gravitational bonds of Earth’s atmosphere, there is an unforeseen problem aboard the space craft, an electrical malfunction—a fuse blows; a circuit is fried. Instantly, all hope of landing on the moon is lost, and, with it, any hope of making it back home to Earth, which is now slowly fading out of sight.
In a flash of brilliance, ground control devises a last-ditch effort to save the spacecraft from floating helplessly into the deathly blackness of space. The plan is to use the moon’s gravitational pull to slingshot the shuttle back toward the earth. To do this, however, the shuttle will have to go around the dark side of the moon. When this happens, all radio contact will be severed, the temperature will drop to 200 degrees below zero, and an inconceivable darkness will engulf the shuttle.
It is one of the most memorable scenes in all of cinema. Jim Lovell watches through a small shuttle window as the earth is slowly eclipsed by the relentless black behemoth. As the scene fades into blackness, the audience is gripped by a sense of utter despair, fear, helplessness. This is what it is like to be completely alone.
This last Sunday, Mark reminded us that there is often a long wait in between what God has promised and the possession of that promise. A long wait can be bad enough. But when that wait happens on the dark side of the moon, it can be excruciating.
Most of you know what I mean. You know what it is to wait for the promise on the dark side where it is cold, black, and lonely. The wait on the dark side has its own vocabulary. There are words like chemo, divorce, addiction, or bankruptcy. There are phrases like “I’m sorry, we can’t find a heartbeat.” “I regret to inform you.” Or “This time it’s inoperable.”
A wait on the dark side can be numbing. Many here find themselves having lost the joy of their salvation. They remember a time when their heart was full of love for God. But for some inexplicable reason they now find themselves indifferent, cold, and stagnant. They long for the presence of God as they once sensed Him; but try as they might, He hides His face from them.
A wait on the dark side can be embittering. In the face of great pain and long absences of His presence, numbness often turns to bitterness. For instance, consider Naomi in the book of Ruth. She lost her husband, her two children, her homeland, and any hope of a reasonable future. To add insult to injury, God was silent. And she was angry. She warns the women of Bethlehem not to call her Naomi, which means “pleasant.” Instead, she gives herself a new name—Mara. It means “bitter.” She exclaims, “Call me Bitter because the Sovereign One has treated me very harshly.” These are the words of a woman waiting on the dark side.
It is at this point that the words of our text become a wellspring of life. “I will be with you. I will not leave you or forsake you.” This promise of God to all His children is sure, no matter how dark it gets.
As Jim Lovell floated helplessly on the dark side of the moon, he could not see the earth. Nor could he hear it. It was as if it had ceased to exist. But, in reality, there was a whole crew of people working feverishly to bring him home.
To all those waiting on the dark side: Your God has not ceased to exist. He will bring you safely home. In the midst of your suffering, He suffers with you. Though you feel forsaken, He will never forsake you. In spite of your sense of abandonment, He has never abandoned you. Although you feel He has let you go, His fist is still tightly clenched around you.
To all those waiting on the dark side: Though you wait, you do not wait alone.
This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Charles Lindbergh experienced it near the end of his groundbreaking transatlantic flight. Several who have traipsed up the punishing heights of Mt. Everest attest to the same. Even the last man out of the South Tower on 9/11 speaks unabashedly of a similar occurrence—something anyone else might consider lunacy.
These and numerous others all share the experience of sensing an unnamed, unbidden, but discernible presence with them in their most arduous moments. John Geiger has written a book about those experiences entitled The Third Man Factor, which takes its title from a line from T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland: “Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together." Eliot penned the line after hearing Ernest Shackleton recount his own episode of being strangely accompanied while seeking rescue during his doomed expedition to the South Pole.
Geiger cites various explanations for the phenomenon, but in the end he suggests an evolutionary adaptation we fortuitously accrued in order to help us brace ourselves in dire situations.
Sunday refreshed our memory that the Lord’s earliest and most enduring promise is to be a God who is with His people. He would accompany Israel where she goes and in what she does.
Here in Joshua 1, the Lord clarifies His promise: the courageous strength that comes from confidence in God’s presence is significantly bound up with the knowledge of God’s Word—of having His word as Joshua’s constant companion. Mere acquaintance with what the Lord has said would not do and would not serve, only a deep familiarity (“Let not this Word depart from out of your mouth”). A familiarity born of regular, thoughtful and prayerful consideration (“You shall meditate on it day and night”). A consideration that leads to cherishing and submitting to that Word (“Be careful to do according to all that is written in it”). The threats to Israel would not necessarily subside by virtue of her knowledge of His Word and submission to it. But the capacity to sense His being with them, irrespective of their circumstances, would rest specifically on intimacy with His Word. On those terms would they sense Him as their “third man.”
Jesus taught no differently when He promised to send a Helper who would teach them all things and would bring to remembrance all He’d said to them (John 14:26). The third person of the Trinity would be the third man for the church, and with His help they would know a peace from Jesus vastly different from what this world provides.
Paul solidifies the relationship between our knowledge of His Word and our sense of His being with us in a single metaphor when he speaks of “the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God” (Eph. 6:17). Only what is deeply known can be deeply felt. And if it is the Word of the Spirit that moves us to faith (Acts 10:44), why would we not think it able to move us to peace in His presence?
So, would you characterize your relationship to His Word as that of acquaintance or constant companion? Do you regularly consider it? Is the consideration thoughtful and prayerful? Do you wrestle with its meaning and its mandate until you see its truth and submit to its teaching?
Our Reformed forbears heralded the efficacy of the scriptures to bring, with the Spirit’s aid, the knowledge of salvation, but they also acknowledged the inherent challenges to making sense of every detail of scripture (WCF I.vii). If in your good faith efforts to make sense of His Word you have run into the difficulties they spoke of, have you given up in despair, or have you sought the help of others in making sense of what it says?
Whether Lindbergh or Shackleton bore testimony to a spiritual presence with them or an evolutionary-adaptation in them (a letter to the editor about the review linked to above argued this question), what we can be sure of is man’s enduring desire “to receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16). The Lord Jesus is that help, confirmed by His work on a cross outside Jerusalem—His Father seemingly far off, but with Him in His darkest hour. The peace to be had from that truth confirmed so long ago shall be confirmed in us today by companionship with His Word. Factor that in. It will serve you in both tame and tumultuous moments.
Remember the word that Moses the servant of the Lord commanded you, saying, “The Lord your God is providing you a place of rest and will give you this land.”
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For if Joshua had given them rest, God would not have spoken of another day later on. So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God’s rest has also rested from his works as God did from his. Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
With typical evocative succinctness, C. S. Lewis orients us to our world:
The settled happiness and security which we all desire, God withholds from us by the very nature of the world: but joy, pleasure, and merriment He has scattered broadcast. We are never safe, but we have plenty of fun, and some ecstasy. It is not hard to see why. The security we crave would teach us to rest our hearts in this world and oppose an obstacle to our return to God: a few moments of happy love, a landscape, a symphony, a merry meeting with our friends, a bathe or a football match, have no such tendency. Our Father refreshes us on the journey with some pleasant inns, but will not encourage us to mistake them for home.
– The Problem of Pain
In so many words, Lewis calls us to recognize both the glories and the limitations of this place.
On the precipice of war for the land promised them, Joshua reiterates what this land represented: a place of rest for the people of God. The storyline of their existence as a people teemed with tension. Their forbears had experienced estrangement from God ever since Eden had closed. A new generation of His people emerged in several inauspicious fits and starts. Then, thinking Egypt to be a refuge from a famine, the people found themselves enslaved by the very people from whom they’d sought help. Even after their liberation from slavery, Israel’s obstinacy left them to wander in the wilderness. This was a people who longed for a home.
So the land would be a bona fide rest for the people of God. But the idea of such a land would be a kind of rest for the people of God long before they ever set foot there. The hope of the future rest would lighten the present burden, and, as we were reminded Sunday, would strengthen them for the battles before them.
Due to their infidelity, Israel’s rest in the land was short-lived, but that did not mean the Lord’s promise of rest had failed. The author of Hebrews appeals to David’s anticipation of a rest for those who would not harden their heart toward God (Hebrews 3:7–4:11). This is an interesting comment by David since he was king of those already in the land—a comment Hebrews notices. If David is in the land and yet heralded a rest yet to come then there must be, Hebrews argues, more to God’s promise of rest than what Joshua understood.
There is, in fact, another rest that awaits the people of God. It is a rest grounded in the work of the Son; a rest appropriated by faith in the Son; and a rest experienced fully once we see the Son face to face (1 John 2:28–3:3).
But even if that experience remains a future reality, its reality presses backward into the present. Like it did for Israel, the hope in His promise of rest makes the burdens we carry a bit lighter. We know that a day awaits when those burdens will at last be lifted fully and finally. It makes the battles we face a little less threatening when we trust a day awaits when those threats will cease.
Joshua, the Lord Jesus, and Lewis all would have us look forward to a real rest. In the meantime, they’d have us savor the sweetnesses God gives us, and seek the righteousness that comports with the Day when we shall enter that rest. To do either of these things requires the help of the Spirit. So ask. Ask that the further horizon seen only by faith might press backward into the sense of your circumstances today. Ask also that the goodnesses He’s given you now might grant you a glimpse of the rest yet to come.
And as soon as we heard it, our hearts melted, and there was no spirit left in any man because of you, for the Lord your God, He is God in the heavens above and on the earth beneath.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
There seems to be a new trend in weight loss advertisements on the internet. They’re all emphasizing the same phrase in an attempt to lure your mouse to click inquisitively. It goes something like this: “I lost 450 pounds of belly fat by following this one simple rule.” Apparently the industry has recognized that most people find the task of slimming, like most things in life, to be far too complicated. Anything that promises results by way of a less convoluted regimen is certain to attract interest.
If curiosity should finally press you to discover that one simple rule, you soon find it is neither simple nor effective. This so-called “one” rule insists you buy the right combination of supplements—a mandate about as helpful and uncomplicated as saying, “invest in the right combination of mutual funds.” And considering how weight loss mantras seem to change with the seasons, anyone who thinks the one rule represents a true breakthrough will believe just about anything. So our cynicism deepens about anything being simple or effective for our need. We conclude there are no simple truths that will free us from what weighs us down—literally and figuratively.
On Sunday, Mark set Rahab the prostitute in startling perspective: She represents us all. Whether it be to the god of approval, power, fame, or fortune, we are constitutionally oriented toward investing too much of ourselves in things that can never yield a commensurate return.
We bear another similarity to Rahab also. The only thing that will overturn what’s offensive and destructive in us is the recognition that the Lord “is God in the heavens above and on the earth beneath.” Only a heart melted by that truth can release the death grip on what is not worthy of the allegiance.
So then, if we are all spiritually licentious, how shall our hearts be melted so that we become convinced that the Lord—not power, approval, sex, fame, or fortune—is the God of heaven and earth? Are there any simple truths that might help us shed the sin that so easily entangles?
Some might say the simple truth we must follow is just to stop sinning. To muster our wills into a resolve that restrains us from doing what we ought not do. But you only have to go as far as Paul’s own autobiographical comment in Romans 7 to find holes in that approach: “I do not do the good I want, but the evil I do not want is what I keep on doing” (v. 19).
Where that approach fails, others might ratchet up the admonition by way of the Hester Prynne approach from The Scarlet Letter. Perhaps if you can be shamed into submission there will be an end to you sinning. There’s room for godly sorrow (2 Cor. 7:10ff) as both a corrective to sin and future deterrent. But is shame to be the sum total of what it means to love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and might (Deut. 6:4)? Surely not.
If neither exercising the will nor showering you with shame works, perhaps there’s the Stuart Smalley approach to sanctification: Yes, you may have sinned, but, hey, “you’re good enough, you’re smart enough, and doggone it [God loves] you.” It’s true His love endures forever, and that love covers a multitude of sins, but that truth isn’t a pretext for dismissing sin.
Each of these approaches bears a measure of truth, but none of them gets to the truth that melts the soul into believing the Lord is God. At the risk of sounding too much like the purveyor of questionable claims, there is one simple rule that you and I must continually preach and apply to ourselves in the battle against our various harlotries of spirit:
What you have in Jesus can never be found sufficiently elsewhere.
The security you might seek from riches is nothing compared to that the security Jesus gives you in Himself. The stability you might desire from employment or the success of your enterprises can never match what is to be found in Jesus. The acceptance you have in Jesus outweighs whatever acceptance you might seek or obtain from the approval of others.
Wealth, work, respect—all of these are good gifts. But anytime we are fretful it’s usually because we’re trying to find in those other things what we already have abundantly in Jesus. And so we must repeatedly circle back to that one, simple truth—in our thinking and in our praying.
In what domain of pursuit have you been recently frustrated or fearful? How might this one, simple truth apply?
Behold, the ark of the covenant of the Lord of all the earth is passing over before you into the Jordan.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
There’s something about river crossings that makes for seminal moments in human history. Julius Caesar crossed the river Rubicon on his way to eventually take control of the entire Roman Empire. George Washington led his Continental Army across the ice-swollen, barely-passable Delaware on a frigid Christmas night, 1776, to fight British-aligned Hessian forces at the battle of Trenton. A hundred years later, General Robert E. Lee and his Virginia regiment would traverse the Potomac to lay siege to Washington, D.C., as a prelude to the battle of Antietam. In each case, the river represented not only a physical feature of the terrain, but a significant transition in the lives of those who crossed it.
Israel’s crossing of the Jordan under Joshua’s leadership bore the same significance, in a uniquely paradoxical sense. The Lord’s people at that moment did not yet possess the land promised them. Yet the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob was nonetheless “Lord of all the earth”—as verse 11 says unequivocally. God’s people were not yet in the land, though God was already Lord of that land. “The earth is the Lord’s and the fullness thereof,” the Psalmist says (Ps. 24:1). The Jordan was therefore a kind of boundary between expectation of the peace and participation in it.
For Israel to cross that boundary, something had to happen. As Joshua 3 recounts, three things happened that allowed Israel to cross.
The ark of God would have to go before them. The earthly representation of His presence—signified by the mercy seat atop the Ark—and His holiness—signified by the copy of the Law within the Ark—would have to lead Israel to a place it had not yet been.
Second, Israel would have to follow at a distance. Perhaps as an allusion to the Lord’s call for Israel to keep a distance from Mt. Sinai as He gave Moses the Law (Ex. 19:12), appreciation for the holiness of God was to be expressed by the people reverently maintaining an interval between themselves and the Ark.
Third, the people had to trust the Lord’s work on their behalf. The priests who bore the ark and the Law within it would have to stand within the Jordan until the Lord stanched its flow. Then Israel could cross into the land of promise unscathed. They were powerless to remove the impediment between them, and so had to trust in what the Lord would do (and did do) to remove it.
It’s not too much to say that in every human heart a boundary exists between the longing for a true and abiding peace and the experience of that peace. Like Augustine famously said, “Thou movest us to delight in praising Thee; for Thou hast formed us for Thyself, and our hearts are restless till they find rest in Thee.” We consider conversion to be nothing less than an awakening of the human heart to the peace found only in Christ. By His Spirit, God moves us across the boundary that separates the longing for true peace and the enjoyment of it.
But for the rest of our earthly lives united to Christ by faith, we repeatedly encounter boundaries like the Jordan: as with Israel on the east side of the river, there’s a sense in which the reality of God’s promise already exists but lies outside our experience of that reality. And the question then emerges: how do we span the distance between what is true and what is not yet experienced as true?
Could it be that as it was for Israel then, so must it be for us this very moment? As the Ark went before the people, so Christ must lead us to where we have not been yet but where we’ve been told is a glorious peace in Him. As the people had to remain a safe distance from the Ark, so Christ had to “do business” with the holiness of God by taking on the wrath of His justice so that we might enter into His favor unscathed. And just as the priesthood had to stand in the Jordan to await the work of the Lord, so we must wait upon Jesus (our high priest who bore the weight of the Law perfectly!) to gain us entrance into the forgiveness and favor of God without our help; we must trust His sufficiency to experience His promise.
All this sounds impressive, but how does it work out in practice? Consider this day at least one thing you’re seeking, the pursuit of which has led you to anxiety, preoccupation, anger, or even despair. Those responses to your unfulfilled aspiration reveal a lost sense of what is already yours in Christ. The only way to move across the boundary separating the idea of His peace from the experience of it is to remember what He’s already done. He is your portion. He is your acceptance. He is your goodness. He is your forgiveness. When you pause to remember to trust that He has led you into the favor of God already, you may continue your labor in whatever you do, but without the gnawing fear that you shall know true goodness only by your labor.
What’s one thing you presently seek which has served to shrivel the fruit of the Spirit in you? How might remembering how Christ has led you safely into the goodness of God serve to usher you across the boundary that separates you from the experience of His peace?
And he said to the people of Israel, “When your children ask their fathers in times to come, ‘What do these stones mean?’ then you shall let your children know, ‘Israel passed over this Jordan on dry ground.’ For the Lord your God dried up the waters of the Jordan for you until you passed over, as the Lord your God did to the Red Sea, which he dried up for us until we passed over, so that all the peoples of the earth may know that the hand of the Lord is mighty, that you may fear the Lord your God forever.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In most places where people live, there’s some identifiable physical object that orients them to their location. It might be a mountain that shadows a city or township. Or a business district teeming with towering skyscrapers. In more diminutive settings, it might be a solitary street light, a courthouse, or an enduring tree under which multiple generations have engaged in conversation, transacted business, or expressed affection.
We come to associate these objects with our sense of place. We give directions by them (“head toward the old oak and turn left”). We celebrate occasions near them. We tell our stories with subconscious references to them—even if they had nothing to do with the experience! And when something happens to those objects—like when Mount St. Helens exploded, or the Towers fell, or the Treaty Oak in Austin was poisoned—we find ourselves affected, as if they have become part of us in some way.
We find this human phenomenon of orienting ourselves by physical objects at work in Joshua 4. Mark led us through many reasons Israel chose to pile twelve stones following their traverse of the Jordan. The stones, as Mark put it, were to be a story to their children—a means of provoking a question that would lead to a telling and retelling of the story God had invited Israel into. The stones were to orient them to their place in His story.
One element of that story was that the Lord was mighty—a fact to be known by all the peoples of the earth. Ever since the plot of the Lord’s story had come into sharper view in Genesis 12, patriarch and prophet alike had given testimony to His one overarching purpose: that the world might know He is God. The stones on the east side of the Jordan would bear testimony to His might. For only that might could explain rocks once at the bottom of the vast and deep river now sitting on the east side.
But the stones did more than just allude to His might. The fury of a volcano or a hurricane demonstrates its intrinsic might as something to avoid, but the stones pointed to their dependence on that might. Verse 24 says the stones would speak persuasively to the peoples of the earth that the Lord is mighty so that they would fear Him—that Israel and all people alike would live trusting in that might. They owed their existence as a nation to a dependence on it. To have been liberated from bondage and led to a place in which they could prosper and display His goodness was inexplicable apart from His might.
The Lord has not called us to ford the Trinity River as some sort of dramatic display of faith to persuade all of Dallas that He is mighty. But if His intention remains that all the peoples of the earth shall know and fear Him as God, what then can we do to dramatize His might?
We can testify to our dependence on it. Both our children and those who know us will come to see the Lord as He who governs all His creatures and all their actions when they hear how He orients us to our world and ourselves.
That’s not as complicated as it might sound; its expressions are manifold. It includes pausing to ask for His aid, not in some ostentatious way (Matt. 6:7ff) but in humble reliance on His might. It’s connecting the dots, for those who wonder, between the significant choices you make and the underlying trust in God that motivates them. To share what anchors you in plenty and in want, in peace and tumult, in joy and sorrow exemplifies His might. As does speaking of the mercies He’s shown (and the mercies you still long to know). Perhaps the most persuasive expression of that dependence comes when you reveal the false gods to which you’ve formerly paid homage, and how what is offered in the gospel is supplanting them.
Do your children ever see those expressions of dependence in you? Do those who’ve come to trust you as a friend ever hear what it is that orients you to your world? People—even little people—can smell a sales pitch a mile away. But if they know you love them, they cannot immediately dismiss the reference to what orients you as mere salesmanship.
Christ is the stone the builders rejected but who is the cornerstone of our existence (Ps. 118:22, Matt. 21:42, Acts 4:11, 1 Pet. 2:7). Upon Him we rest, and by our testifying to that dependence shall all the peoples know of His might.
And the commander of the Lord’s army said to Joshua, “Take off your sandals from your feet, for the place where you are standing is holy.” And Joshua did so.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Four teams remain in the quest for baseball’s annual designation of world champion. Every player recognizes he is competing at the pinnacle of a professional sport; their collective performance thus far has been unequaled. And yet the first thing they do each game day is the same thing any eight-year-old Little Leaguer does: they shag a few ground balls, limber up with the lumber in batting practice, run a few sprints up the first base line. They dare not step onto the playing field without at first reacquainting their minds and bodies with a few fundamentals.
On any given night before a performance of the Dallas Symphony Orchestra, you’ll hear each musician—they, too, at the peak of professional performance—doing the same tuning and scales that any first-year, aspiring instrumentalist does. The lithe way they conduct even their warm-up makes all that informal arpeggiation seem superfluous. But for them it would be unthinkable to dispense with the time in the fundamentals.
The events in Joshua 5 represent for Israel a rehearsal, of sorts, of the fundamentals. Niel Nielson explained last Sunday how preparedness for life in the world as a servant of God is bound up with assurance of His presence with us. The assurance itself was bound up with a few fundamental truths Israel had to be reacquainted with—truths which you and I must reacquaint ourselves with not periodically, but daily.
What are they? What might we best remember in prayer each morning before we step onto the playing field or orchestra stage of our day?
We are His. When Joshua circumcised the generation born in the wilderness, he wasn’t out to fulfill mere ritual requirement. It was to remind the rising generation they belonged to God. However their experience may have shaped their self-perceptions, they could not understand themselves apart from how the Lord understood them. By the covenant sign of circumcision they would remember whose they were. That’s no small point. How often are you tempted to define yourself by something other than your relatedness to God? We live indestructibly when we identify ourselves with Him whose designation does not fluctuate. What person, position, or portfolio can promise that? Like the shortstop who before each game fields some fungoes, shouldn’t we be vocalizing an “I am Yours” as a necessary warm-up?
We are His at a cost to Him. Eating the Passover on the east side of the Jordan was more than for the sake of sharing a family tradition. It was to remind the people of Israel that they lived contingently upon His provision—specifically a provision of sacrifice in blood. If ever they would doubt His regard for them, the meal would be one more testimony to His expensive love. We have even more reason to trust that regard: we are the beneficiaries of a gift that cost Him His own Son. We therefore can never evaluate our worth apart from how He established it by the provision of His Son. Like the cellist who dutifully practices his scales, it’s fitting that we should rehearse to ourselves, “I am Yours at a cost to You,” as a prelude to our day.
We are His for His honor. The commander before whom Joshua bowed in worship did more than remind Israel of the Lord’s presence; He braced them with their purpose. He’d led them to a land where they could prosper, to fruit that they might savor. But above all, they’d been made His at His cost so that they might make His name known everywhere. They would not order their purposes apart from His purposes for them. Neither shall we when we rehearse this truth. If the Lord is changing the world through changing men’s hearts in Christ, ought not all our pursuits become aligned with his overarching purpose for us? Take a moment and remember what you heard when you were young: “I am Yours for Your honor.”
There’s nothing innovative about these truths. You’ve heard them countless times. But you never escape the need to reflect upon what’s rudimentary. A professional athlete or musician neglects the fundamentals to his or her peril. So do you. Considering all the things or people to whom you might feel inordinately beholden, all the ways you might superficially define your worth, and all the causes in which you might rashly find your purpose—forming a routine of remembering the fundamentals qualifies you for life in the real world. It would be unthinkable not to.
And the Lord said to Joshua, “See, I have given Jericho into your hand, with its king and mighty men of valor. You shall march around the city, all the men of war going around the city once. Thus shall you do for six days.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Scintillating prose it isn’t.1 With the numerous repetitions of phrase, you get the sense that Joshua 6 might be more an exercise in remedial reading than a summary of a pivotal moment in Israelite history. First it records what the Lord says to Joshua. (March around the city!) Then it relates Joshua telling Israel what the Lord told him to tell them. (The Lord says to march around the city!) Then it tells how Israel obeyed what the Lord had told Joshua to tell them to obey. (Israel marched around the city!) Think the seemingly tedious storytelling is over? Hardly.
In verse 10 Joshua does add the clarification that on days one through six, Israel is to say nothing as they encircle Jericho; only on the seventh day are they to erupt with a shout. But the narrative then repeats the very same words in verse 13 about the very same actions spoken of in verse 8. When he gets to what happened on day seven, Joshua (mercifully!) elects to summarize the movement of the Israelite contingent rather than repeat what had been done during each of the last six days. But just when you think the repetition has come to an end, true to form, the account relates what Joshua told Israel to do upon entering the vanquished city—only to follow with an almost word-for-word recounting of Israel doing what Joshua told them to do upon entering the vanquished city.
We can account for Joshua’s narrative style here because he is addressing an oral culture. Words to be remembered were words that had to be repeated. But someone unfamiliar with scripture might find this chapter awfully tiresome in its style. Inwardly, they might wonder if the Lord couldn’t find a better copy editor for His inspired Word in order to strip it of its redundant phrases. Wouldn’t greater attention to pacing, variety of sentence structure, and more evocative language add impact to the story line? Won’t this unimaginative, just-the-facts-ma’am approach to narrative leave the reader so bored out of his mind that he comes away largely unimpressed with the historic significance of its contents?
Why take so much time to recount a simple promise of the Lord upon which He issues a simple command to be fulfilled in simple obedience?
Stop for a moment. What’s the last straightforward act of obedience you felt the Lord was calling you to fulfill, but, for whatever reason, you haven’t followed through? What simple yet significant promise has He made that explains the basis of His command? Why might you have moved onto other concerns without first doing what you know ought to be done? Truth is, we need both simplicity and repetition—the kind expressed in Joshua 6—in order to be faithful. We tend to delight at first in the idea of obedience, but then easily let that moment fade, and with it, the motivation to obey. Consider this episode from the era of the third-century desert fathers:
A certain brother was eager to have a scribe copy a book [of Scripture] for him. The old man agreed to do so, and “wrote, omitting some phrases and [including] no punctuation.” The brother noticed that some words were missing and, wishing to have the text punctuated and corrected, he returned to the old man and asked him to take care of it. The old man, however, must have discerned something in the brother’s manner which disturbed him, for he refused to make the corrections. He simply told the brother pointedly: “practice first that which is written, then come back and I will write the rest.”2
We are that certain brother, often in need of a firm but gentle reminder to obey what we know now. More instruction may come in time, but not before we take care of this matter presently.
The Lord has made us a simple and profound promise: you are His eternally by virtue of the work of His Son. He has issued straightforward commands based entirely on that promise—commands He repeats often in His Word (John 17:17), and which His Spirit brings to remembrance (John 14:26) just as often. What is to be done today? Right now? “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin.” (James 4:17). It may be entirely without the fanfare of bringing down the walls of Jericho, but it is just as important to God, considering how often He’s brought it to our attention.
Now read this again.
1. What might be interpreted as a critique of inspired scripture should be understood by the reader as a somewhat jocular way of setting up the author’s intended point.
2. Patrologia Graeca [65:320BCD], quoted in Douglas Burton-Christie’s Word in the Desert (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 154.
Then they devoted all in the city to destruction, both men and women, young and old, oxen, sheep, and donkeys, with the edge of the sword.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Remember the scene early in Dead Poets Society when Professor Keating, played by Robin Williams, instructs his astonished class to summarily rip the introduction out of their poetry textbook? In Keating’s estimation, the author’s angular, formulaic perspective on something as majestic as poetry indicated such a profound ignorance that it was best to remove it from consideration entirely. The introduction did not fit with the grandeur of the poetic art.
Marcion, a bishop of the early second century, had a similar notion, but not about poetry. He surmised the whole of the Hebrew Scriptures should be completely excised from the church’s Bible1. In his estimation the character of the God revealed in the Old Testament was so inferior to that revealed in Jesus that it would be best to eliminate from consideration the more ancient rendering of God. His primary rationale: the violence sanctioned therein did not, in Marcion’s view, square with the grace extended in Jesus.
Mark voiced the question we all ask inwardly when we come to a text like Joshua 6:21–27: Is what God did here fair? The complementary question we may ask resonates with Marcion’s issue: Does this text fit with what else we know of God from Christ—the one said to bear the “the exact imprint of [God’s] nature” (Heb. 1:3)?
Christopher Wright does not take on the role of spin doctor when he comes to the conquest of Canaan, but in his book The God I Don’t Understand he does try to set texts like Joshua 6 in context. His several points don’t mitigate the episode’s awfulness, but they do argue for its coherence with the rest of scripture.
In the background of the conquest is not raw imperialism, nor a sense of ethnic superiority on Israel’s part. Wright reminds us of the message from God in Deuteronomy 9:4–5:
Do not say in your heart, after the Lord your God has thrust them out before you, “It is because of my righteousness that the Lord has brought me in to possess this land,” whereas it is because of the wickedness of these nations that the Lord is driving them out before you. Not because of your righteousness or the uprightness of your heart are you going in to possess their land, but because of the wickedness of these nations the Lord your God is driving them out from before you, and that he may confirm the word that the Lord swore to your fathers, to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob.
The land Israel was to possess had the singular purpose of providing a place from which she was to bless all nations of the world; such was her mandate from Genesis 12. Any prosperity to be found there was expressly for the sake of equipping Israel to serve the nations so that they might know the God who led them to this land.
The cynic might easily counter with, “So, as long as Israel could wrap herself in the flag of magnanimity, she could justify any of her jingoistic urges?” For two reasons does Wright take exception with the cynicism. For one, the instruction to possess Canaan did not typify Israelite foreign policy, so to speak. Once in the land, there is no further instruction to undertake additional sorties into neighboring lands to expand Israel’s territory. This land, and only this land, had been set aside for that aforementioned purpose. Second, whatever perceptions one might have about Israel concocting a divine story to warrant her actions, consider this: What God authorizes against Jericho for their sin He likewise authorizes against His own people for their disobedience. The fact that Israel would in time be vanquished and exiled demonstrates that God had a priority far loftier than merely providing for and prospering His adopted nation.
What priority was that? The priority that sanctioned the conquest was the same priority that sanctioned the slaughter of the Son of God: that the world may know that the Lord is God and that He is holy. What Jericho suffered for its sin, Christ suffered for ours. Justice and mercy would align in both settings. Justice fell upon most of Jericho while mercy came to Rahab and her whole household for her faith. Justice fell on Jesus while mercy fell (and continues to fall) on those whose faith is in Him. The fabric of scripture is mottled with blood but seamless in its story.
We all have to be wary of a subconscious Marcionism seeping into our thinking. It’s a text like this that keeps us from recasting God in our own preferred image. It keeps us from misconstruing the love of God in Christ as detached from the wrath Jesus’ death came to reconcile. God’s love can’t be understood or appreciated without a sense of His wrath. Joshua 6, in context with the whole of scripture whose trajectory takes us inexorably to the Cross, is meant to preserve our sense of the utter holiness of God, to deepen our gratitude for His mercy at Calvary. It’s also meant to inspire greater urgency in speaking, and demonstrating, the truth in love—truth about the salvation found in Christ.
We meditate upon it until it has those effects in us.
1. To be precise, the books comprising the Bible were not validated—or “canonized’’—until the mid–fourth century. Marcion, ironically, catalyzed the church to come to agreement about which documents were most credible.
You cannot stand before your enemies until you take away the devoted things from among you.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Licking her wounds from the embarrassment at Ai, Israel is crestfallen and befuddled. Joshua voices the whole nation’s consternation when he asks the Lord, “Why have you brought [Israel] over the Jordan at all, to give us into the hands of the Amorites, to destroy us?” He rightly interprets God’s unwillingness to let Israel prevail against her enemies, but misinterprets His rationale. It’s not due to some oversight on God’s part that Israel failed at Ai. It was for her breaking covenant with the Lord. A member of the nation had disobeyed the Lord’s command by pilfering some of the spoils of Jericho—booty which had been expressly consigned to destruction.
But this was no mere larceny. It represented an insidious precedent of unbelief in the authority and sufficiency of God. You see, Israel’s enduring weakness was that she rarely met a religion she didn’t like. Whether in close proximity to, or exiled within, a nation who worshipped some other alleged deity, Israel’s mode of interaction was not simply to appreciate the diversity of her surroundings but to actually forswear allegiance to her core beliefs in the supremacy of Yahweh. The command, therefore, to set ablaze all the remains of Jericho was not to prove Israel’s might but to prevent Israel from becoming attached to things that might ultimately lead her to infidelity.
As we noted last week, the ruthlessness of the punishment evidenced God’s overarching interest for his entire creation: that they would know that He is God and that He is holy. The Lord had displayed His mercy to Israel on several occasions before. Here He demonstrated His singular justice. To underscore that priority, the Lord makes an unforgettable cautionary example of Achan and his family. But not before He explains what must be true for Israel if she is to exist in the center of God’s will: “You cannot stand before your enemies until you take away the devoted things from among you.”
Israel would consistently fall before whatever threatened her unless one thing changed.1 She would have to relinquish her hold of the things that represented a mistrust of God’s sufficiency. Her enjoyment of God in whatever enterprise or circumstance was tied to her trust in what He had promised. Trusting Him would not insulate her from threats, but it would allow her to face them with peace and courage.
Along the way we collect things. Possessions, to be sure, but also attitudes, priorities, and positions. Some of them seem entirely harmless. Over time, though, some grow to become so important to us that whenever we risk losing them we find ourselves compromising something important in order to preserve them. We place their value somewhere above our fidelity to God and His commands.
When real threats to our stability, identity, and peace come, we find ourselves unable to face their onslaught. Why? Because we’ve come to entrust ourselves to something other than the God who entrusted us to His Son (John 17:12). Like Achan buried his contraband in his tent, we hold to things we think can substitute for the promise of God. Deeply in our hearts, we stash the acceptance of a parent, a boss, or a peer group as if that were the only thing that mattered; we place a fortification around our desire for control; we place productivity over a praise-filled life and work over a worshipful soul.
And then, like Joshua, we wonder why our hearts melt before whatever threatens our peace. What Achan kept back was not intrinsically evil but nevertheless represented an affection for something greater than God. Jesus does not hate mothers and fathers, wives and children, but He does say that unless we hate those things—i.e. value Him more than them—we do not understand what it means to follow Him (Luke 14:26); we will not know His peace in believing.
Not all our losses or sorrows stem from sin (cf. Job and the blind man in John 9), but some do. It’s therefore worth asking the question from time to time: What have I come to cherish more than God’s adoption of me? What priority, position, or possession have I become so enamored with that I would find it difficult to relinquish if God asked it of me? Your answer may very well reveal why your heart melts before what threatens you.
1. Why refer to all Israel as complicit in Achan’s sin? This Sunday will address how the consequences of sin are rarely confined to the one who commits it.
The Lord said to Joshua, “Get up!”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Historians of science debate who discovered the property first. Some say Galileo. Others credit René Descartes. Still others think the third-century-B.C. Chinese philosopher Mo Tzu identified the phenomenon. Irrespective of who had the epiphany first, most of us attribute to Sir Isaac Newton what he coined as the first law of motion in his Principia Mathematica: “A body persists in a state of rest or of uniform motion unless acted upon by an external force.” We know it as the law of inertia.
Bewildered by the defeat against Ai, all Joshua knows to do is pour dust upon his head (v. 6) and prostrate himself in lamentation. To don the detritus of the earth was an ancient Near Eastern statement of humiliation. If you thought you’d acted insolently toward God, forgetting your entire dependence on Him, you dressed yourself in the very dust into which you would one day deteriorate. “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return” (Gen. 3:19).
From the Lord’s perspective, however, this was not a time for contrite stillness. Joshua had to be roused from his languishing, and God’s Word would be that external force to act upon him. So twice in chapter 7, the Lord issues a bracing “Get up!” (vv. 10, 13). The first was to prepare him to hear—the second to act.
First, Joshua needed to rise to his feet to hear that Israel had placed her trust in something other than her covenant with God. Their defeat was not the result of simple misfortune. God had engineered their drubbing due to His displeasure over an Israelite’s sin.
Then Joshua needed to hear again, “Get up!” to know how to act. As we said last week, only by casting off what they’d come to value more than their fidelity to God would Israel be able to survive external onslaught. God’s curt command made plain the need for decisive action.
Our frenzied pace often belies a spiritual inertia. Kathleen Norris warns of the ancient and insidious sin of acedia, that spiritual indifference that slowly nests in our souls: “We appear to be anything but slothful, yet that is exactly what we are, as we do more and care less, and feel pressured to do still more.”
We can be lulled into languishing for any number of reasons. Forgetfulness of our identity in Christ. Cynicism that our efforts will be of no effect. Fear of what might happen if we do listen and act. But each of those tend to be effects of our more everyday habits. As Norris puts it, “In this hyped-up world, broadcast and Internet news media have emerged as acedia's perfect vehicles, demanding that we care, all at once, about a suicide bombing, a celebrity divorce and the latest advance in nanotechnology"—all of which "makes us impervious to caring.” They can drain us of any vitality for listening to and heeding the word of God. Brought to a standstill, we need something to rouse us either from our inattention or inaction.
Have you lost your edge in listening for God? Paul Miller’s instruction for cultivating a praying life begins with the simple exhortation of “get to bed” and (ironically!) “get up” to pray. What you do in the evening, he argues, correlates to your readiness to pray in the morning. Hearing again what is true from God keeps you from the spiritual torpor the culture can inflict; it can also rescue you from a bewildered disorientation, like it did for Joshua.
Once you hear from Him, you might be reminded of what the next holy thing you need to do is. Is there a neighbor or a colleague you have yet to meet and befriend? Is there someone from whom you need to ask forgiveness? Someone to whom you need to offer it? (Matt. 6:23–24) Is there some act of generosity calling for your Christ-centered participation (2 Cor. 8–9)? Distracted by much, we often need a divinely authored, “get up!” to move us on to those good works prepared in advance for us to do (Eph. 2:10). What good work has He consecrated you for that remains undone?
Near the end of Paul’s letter to the church at Ephesus, he quotes a fragment of what many scholars believe to be an early Christian hymn: Awake, O sleeper, and rise from the dead, and Christ will shine on you (Eph. 5:14). Christ alone is sufficient to rouse us from our spiritual slumber, because only someone who loves us like that is able to compel loving attention and service.
At that time Joshua built an altar to the Lord, the God of Israel, on Mount Ebal, just as Moses the servant of the Lord had commanded the people of Israel, as it is written in the Book of the Law of Moses, “an altar of uncut stones, upon which no man has wielded an iron tool.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You’ve likely heard the cynical adage “good enough for government work.” In so many words it connotes that when you consider the recipient of the labor, only minimal attention and effort is required; meticulousness would be a waste of energy. The same jaundiced attitude finds its way into most domains of labor; sometimes you even hear it voiced “good enough for religious work.”
With Ai now lying in ruins, its king dangling from a tree, Israel builds an altar upon which to offer sacrifices of thanksgiving. Joshua and his men gather stones in gratitude for the Lord’s renewal of their strength and restoration of their purpose. Not just any stones though. These were to be “uncut” stones “upon which no man has wielded an iron tool.” Why give such detailed instruction on the nature of the stones that would comprise the altar of thanksgiving? It’s an instruction with a long history.
Before they’d entered the land, Moses commanded Israel in Deuteronomy 27:4–6, “When you have crossed over the Jordan . . . you shall build an altar of stones to the Lord. You shall wield no iron tool upon them; you shall build an altar to the Lord of uncut stones.” So Joshua’s motive here in chapter 8 is to follow precisely the instruction given Israel. But it still doesn’t explain why the stones must be uncut and why no iron tool may be applied to them. For that you have to venture back further in Israelite history.
With the Ten Commandments still echoing in Moses’ ears, the Lord turns his attention to the issue of altars. In Exodus 20:25 the rationale for uncut, unhewn stones materializes: “If you make me an altar of stone, you shall not build it of hewn stones, for if you wield your tool on it you profane it.” There it is. Cleaving a stone by the blows of an iron tool would for some reason render the altar unfit for sacrificial use. It would be profaned.
Scholars debate why the application of an iron tool would have profaned the stones. The medieval French rabbi Rashi intuited a reason from the juxtaposition of iron tool and altar: “The altar was created to lengthen a man’s days and iron was created to shorten a man’s days; it is not fit that the means of shortening should be brandished over the means of lengthening” (cited in Robert Alter’s The Five Books of Moses). A few centuries later, Rashi’s fellow Frenchman John Calvin understood the prohibition to be against establishing a permanent altar formed by iron-hewn stones. Since Israel had not yet settled in a permanent locale, an unmarked, unsupervised, yet enduring altar of worship might “entice superstition” (Calvin’s Commentaries).
Others advance alternative theories, but in the end, why iron tools would profane the stones remains a mystery to us (Deut. 29:29). What is crystal-clear, though, is Joshua’s, Moses’s, and the Lord’s ultimate concern: that offerings of worship not be profaned. Bringing blemished sacrifices (e.g. Exod. 12:5), offering worship in pretense (Isa. 29:13), or making sacrifices without corresponding love (Hosea 6:6)—Each represented a profound desecration worthy of sharp rebuke.
In view of God’s mercies to us in Christ, Paul exhorts, we ought to offer our bodies as “living sacrifices, holy and acceptable to God” (Rom. 12:1). Christ Jesus sacrificed Himself for us, so that we might live for Him (2 Cor. 5:15) and be “poured out like a drink offering” (2 Tim. 4:6).
What tends to profane our offerings most often? Hypocrisy? Prejudice? Licentiousness? Perhaps. Consider another likely suspect: stinginess—that is, giving what’s left over in us rather than what’s first and best from us. If all things were “created through Him and for Him,” and “He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together” (Col. 1:16–17),” then He is worthy of first position in all things we have and create. Our first attention of the day. The firstfruits of our labors. Giving first consideration to His purposes for us as the basis for all our choices.
What might it look like to set down your iron tool in the fashioning of your own kingdom in order to give first attention to the building of His?
Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for He has visited and redeemed His people
and has raised up a horn of salvation for us
in the house of His servant David.
Jeremy Weese was raised in the blistering cold of western New York State, on the shores of Lake Ontario. Having lived through his lifetime quota of snow in just his first eighteen years, he fled the Northeast and attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. After graduating, Jeremy then decided that he wanted to study some more, so he studied five more years, this time at Covenant Seminary in St. Louis; served one year as a Pastoral Intern for Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. Jeremy is excited that his journeys have led him to Los Angeles. In the coup of the century, Jeremy wooed, won, and married Esther this past year. Favorite thing to do in LA: Take a book to the beach and then not read it. He also enjoys going downhill.
In a black night faintly lit by the dim lamps behind her, Ivy waited patiently amidst the urgency of the bells. With people rushing around her fleeing to the safety of home, of doors and locks, basements and silence, she waited, her hand outstretched. With family calling for her to come inside, as unnatural shadows stalked the streets, she waited. “He will come,” she said, “Lucius will come.” The alarms grow louder, and the shadows in the pale lamplight move closer. At the last possible moment, a hand grasps hers, and Lucius leads her into the house.
This breath-stealing scene opens M. Night Shyamalan’s The Village. The most striking thing about the scene is not the crescendo of the music, nor the quick and thrilling glimpses in the shadows. It is the image of a girl, standing in the midst of hurry, waiting in the midst of madness. It is Ivy’s certainty that no matter where the one she was waiting for was, he would come for her, he would find her, he would rescue her. It is a certainty that in the midst of the scene seems ludicrous; yet when her empty hand is filled with his, it makes all the sense in the world.
In the sermon on Sunday we looked at Luke chapter 1, and the story of Zacharias, culminating in his prophetic song. In a passage rife with meaning, I want to draw attention to one thing. Zacharias, in his song, speaks of the Lord’s redemption as if it was already in the past. “He has visited… has redeemed… has raised…” John, the one who would prepare the way, was probably less than a month old. Jesus, the horn of salvation, was not even born and was thirty-three years away from accomplishing redemption. Israel was still under oppression, her enemies still apparently triumphant over her. Zacharias was an old man of a downtrodden people, all but forgotten in a backwater province of the empire; his declaration seems as ridiculous as Ivy standing on the porch in the midst of danger. Yet it is all the more striking because of his certainty. He was so certain that God would fulfill His promises that Zacharias spoke as if God had already accomplished them. Zacharias had good reason to believe, right? God had promised and delivered him a son, in spite of all the odds against it. God had struck him mute as a sign. In the face of these events, belief and certainty make all the sense in the world.
We feel less certain, don’t we? The world seems all too big; our enemies, with faces and without, seem all too numerous. The promises seem too ridiculous in the light of reality; hope seems ludicrous in face of the exigencies of life. We find ourselves less like Ivy and more like her family, crying to ourselves and others to save ourselves in the face of danger. We believe that God will come, that He will redeem, that He will save… but we would be ridiculous not to have a plan B. And that is why such certainty as Ivy’s and Zacharias’s surprises us.
How do we gain such confidence? How can we begin to grasp such certainty? First, we must realize that our situation is more desperate than we think. Plan B won’t work. Dan Allender writes: “If one wants redemption, it will not be in comfort, nor ease—it will be in the darkest moments of disaster. He does not offer redemption to those who are well or to those who live in light. Redemption comes when nothing else will do.” And second, we must look to what God has already done. Zacharias was able to see what God had done for him in giving him a son. His certainty was based on a grasp of God’s promise and God’s prior actions. Ours must be as well. We look to a birth, not of our son, but of God’s Son. In Jesus, as Paul says, all of God’s promises are “Yes!” In short, Christmas is one of the ways we hold on to certainty in the face of doubt. In this Advent season, let us sing with Zacharias: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for He has visited and redeemed His people!”
...and His name shall be called Wonderful Counselor...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Long before the Quakers came to be associated with oats, they were known for their supreme respect of silence and the spiritual insight it could yield. Parker Palmer, in his book To Know as We are Known, describes one Quaker tradition that, while not calling for complete silence, enjoins a patient listening for the Spirit. It’s called a “Clearness Committee,” and it was created to provide guidance for those making significant decisions.
If you were contemplating marriage, or facing a vocational decision, or had some significant problem in need of resolution, you would call for a committee of 5 or 6 to gather around you and hear a summary of your issue. Then, rather than offering advice, the committee would only ask you questions. “What benefits or losses do you see from the various choices you might make?” “Why has this matter brought you to an impasse?” “What are your motivations for making either choice?”
The committee members took great care not to insinuate their own opinions. It was their belief that by simply asking questions, the respondent’s answers would unearth the needed insight. Like a seasoned paleontologist instructing an apprentice in how to brush away the detritus from an ancient artifact, the committee’s role was just to help clear away the peripheral thoughts and emotions that had obscured the truth. By hearing themselves, those seeking guidance would come to hear what they ought to do.
Quaker theology puts great trust in what it calls the Inner Light—the intrinsic capacity, given by God, to discern the truth. The Reformed tradition, while certainly believing in God’s ability to reveal His will, is far more circumspect about relying on one’s own personal discernment. Notwithstanding our being made in God’s image, we all suffer from the same propensity for self-deception. “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick; who can understand it?” (Jer. 17:9).
So are we adrift in a sea of unreliable impressions, unable to glean trustworthy insight into our given circumstance? Far from it. The Lord has convened and commissioned His own Clearness Committee—a committee led by the one who would be called Wonderful Counselor (Is. 9:6). Christ is that Counselor, because He sees more than we can see. He sees more clearly into our hearts than we can. He gives instruction, not ostentatiously, but for our good. He makes the way plain, leads us in that way, and encourages us to follow. He does not coerce or manipulate but rather allows us to see the most excellent way and then find joy in having walked in it.
His counsel is by committee in that, as Mark reminded us last Sunday, His Word, His Spirit, and His Church each supply, clarify, and confirm the wisdom we need for the issues we face. Listening for the Lord’s guidance demands that we let His Word “dwell in us richly” (Col. 3:16), that we “draw near to God” (James 4:8), and that we submit ourselves to the elders (1 Peter 5:5) and the wisdom they have.
What lingering questions, concerns, or issues need clarity for you? Have you run them through His committee? Whether they are relational, financial, or vocational questions, at bottom they are all spiritual. They deal with our deepest desires and therefore are grounded in our most fundamental beliefs about what is true, good, and enduring.
We’re not Presbyterians because we like committees, but because we believe the Proverb, “Where there is no guidance, a people falls, but in an abundance of counselors there is safety” (11:14). Christ is our wonderful counselor because He has lived in the triune community of wisdom for all eternity; because He has supplied us with the committee of Word, Spirit, and Church; and perhaps most of all because He impoverished Himself and submitted unto death to bring us His wisdom. He is no armchair counselor. He lived what He spoke and rose again from the dead to validate it. His Wisdom must ask us the deep questions of our heart, and we must submit to its counsel.
For what matter is it time to convene His Committee?
...and His name shall be called...Mighty God...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Spielberg’s Schindler’s List is as much about Commandant Amon Goeth as it is about Oskar Schindler, the dissolute, shrewd entrepreneur turned savior. Goeth personifies the dispassionately murderous juggernaut of the Third Reich from which Schindler connives to rescue thousands of Jews.
Sipping brandy and smoking cigars one evening as they lounge in Goeth’s balcony overlooking the Plaszow prison camp, Schindler, almost blithely, has the commandant reconsider where true power lies. Discerning Goeth’s blood-thirst really to be a quest for demonstrating power, Schindler says, “Power is when we have every justification to kill—and we don't. That's power. That's what the emperors had. A man stole something, he's brought in before the emperor, he throws himself down on the floor, he begs for mercy, he knows he's going to die...and the emperor pardons him. This worthless man. He lets him go. That's power.”
Goeth muses on what is to him a quite counterintuitive notion. For the next few scenes we see him dabbling in the exercise of pardoning. Minor irritations that would have normally provoked his brutality are now met with forbearance. When, however, he does not find the same satisfaction in restraint as he did in ruthlessness, he quickly returns to his maniacal caprice; pardon had no place in the outworking of the Final Solution.
The deliverer who would come for Israel would be many things to her. Among those, Isaiah foretells, this deliverer would be nothing less than a Mighty God. (Isaiah 9:6). In heralding Israel’s hope, Isaiah foreshadowed the one who would demonstrate such might supremely, the God-Man, Jesus. Mark shared with us Sunday the manifold dimensions of that might, to which we add one more: Christ is mighty in His restraint.
Though the world would fail to recognize Him (John 1:10), He would not answer their obtuseness with retort. Though His own would abandon Him in his most desperate hour (Mark 14:50), He would not revile them. In submitting to a travesty of justice and a ghastly death, Jesus would not respond with justifiable indignation and fury. In all these He demonstrated true might by restraining His wrath. “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Luke 23:34).
Why? To show Himself heroic? No. You know why. He restrained His wrath so that God’s wrath might be restrained against us—not dissipated, but redirected toward Himself. Christ knew fully what Goeth only countenanced briefly: Restraint is not the absence of might but the clearest expression of it.
The shepherds hurried to the stable and the Magi “fell down and worshipped” (Matt. 2:11) the child who was a king, whose greatest manifestation of might would come in the form of restraint. We attend to Him and His will with the same urgency, and we bow before Him with our whole lives because of that mighty restraint.
How might respect for that form of His might begin to manifest in us? If you live long enough, you will likely be the victim of cutting words or of some defamation of your character. Pilfering of your goods or harm to you or your loved ones is everyone’s lot in varying degrees. Persecution for acting honorably is too often the rule rather than the exception. In each of those instances our first instinct tends to be rage and revenge. Revenge makes at least two assumptions: that we are always the best candidates for obtaining justice, and that the only way to assuage our pain is to exact the same loss upon the one who’s diminished us in some way. But as the beneficiaries of God’s restraint in Christ, we find the reason and strength to show the same restraint. Were His threshold for choosing judgment over restraint as low as mine tends to be, I would’ve been silenced long ago. “If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand?” (Psalm 130:3).
Now, do we never seek to defend ourselves, clear our name, or reclaim what’s been lost? No, but we never make the restoration of what’s been taken from us to be the linchpin of all our hope and peace. Things whose loss we lament were indeed good gifts from God, but they were never intended to be the foundation of our joy. Only God. Only God.
When have you gravitated toward judgment where restraint might be an even more powerful statement? With whom do you need to seek peace rather than escalate tension? In what matter do you need to remember that what Christ has purchased for you far exceeds whatever you might’ve lost?
To observe Advent, not just in word, but in deed, means we ponder what His coming meant and still means for us. What if you took a moment (or 30) and pondered His restraint?
...and His name shall be called...Everlasting Father...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
From a soldier in Prizzi’s Honor to an executive in The Devil Wears Prada, to the husband of Julia Child in this year’s Julie and Julia, Stanley Tucci has demonstrated the versatility that sustains a twenty-year acting career. His most recent, and perhaps ghastliest, role as George Harvey in the adaptation of Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones has already earned him widespread acclaim.
Seven months ago, Tucci lost his wife of 14 years, Kate, to cancer. He and their three children will spend their first Christmas without her this year.
In a recent interview in the Wall Street Journal, Tucci was asked how he’s responded to his wife’s passing. With great candor he said, “My wife passed away seven months ago and I don’t want to think about the afterlife. I don’t believe in that sort of thing. It’d be nice, if it were there. Woody Allen has that great quote where he says he doesn’t believe in an afterlife, although he’s bringing a change of underwear. That’s how I feel.”
Wry wistfulness.
For three weeks now we’ve ambled toward Christmas, pausing along the way to ponder each name of the one Isaiah anticipated. This one who would lead and guide Israel, who would come with power and reign as David had, would be an “everlasting father.” Unlike all other kings—even the good ones—there would be no conclusion to his reign.
The Jewish mind would’ve likely interpreted Isaiah’s words to mean an everlasting procession of holy and wise leadership. But, apart from God, they would have no category for a king who was, himself, everlasting—as Jesus, who fulfilled supremely what Isaiah foretold, was. That’s why Jesus’ words of suffering, death, and rising again were so cryptic to all his listeners. The theological left of the day dismissed resurrection entirely. The theological right anticipated an eventual resurrection, but certainly not inaugurated by the death of one who was both God and man.
And yet, He rose. Then “He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve. Then He appeared to more than five hundred brothers at one time, most of whom are still alive, though some have fallen asleep. Then He appeared to James, then to all the apostles” (1 Cor. 15:6–7). Such is the testimony of those who gave up much to follow the risen One who heralded eternal life and then validated His claim.
In all probability, Stanley Tucci finds that an admirable yet quaint belief. Perhaps even a fantastic projection of wish fulfillment. It just couldn’t possibly be true.
N. T. Wright is a learned, winsome, and eloquent theologian. His understanding of the doctrine of justification has provoked much controversy. Many have roundly (and rightly) criticized his revision of the well-established understanding of this central doctrine of the Reformation. But Wright has written what many consider to be the most comprehensive and compelling case for the veracity of the resurrection accounts in his book The Resurrection of the Son of God. He concludes that the most reasonable explanation for the existence of the church and the emergence of the faith is that it held to an actual bodily resurrection of the One who Isaiah said would be an everlasting father. Hallucinations, metaphorical projections, political conspiracies—all these alternative theories for the rise of the church require more intellectual artifice than the simple notion that the church formed because it believed Jesus rose and still lives. Even while Stanley Tucci’s grief is still tender, would it not do to for him to consider the simplest reason that belief persists?
Our faith can’t be proven, but it is not irrational. It indeed resonates with our deepest desires, but to ascribe wish-fulfillment to its essence is to ignore the events that prompted its proliferation among rich and poor, learned and unlearned, Jew and Gentile. And all this without Jesus so much as establishing a single trust fund, massing the slightest army, or founding even an incipient political-action committee.
Why speak of these things during Advent? Are they not more suited to Lent? In this wintry season, we traffic in categories that depart from our experience: virgin births, angelic annunciations, astrologers bowing before an infant. We’re therefore tempted to categorize it as the stuff of pure, irrelevant mystery. When, however, we work backward from the resurrection, a notion just as extraordinary as a virgin birth, we find our reasons for reveling in the nativity to be well-founded.
And when we work forward from the resurrection, we find our reasons for believing in the afterlife equally so.
I think I will write Mr. Tucci a letter, enclosing a copy of Wright’s book. Not to lambaste his wry wistfulness, but to suggest his disparagement of the afterlife is perhaps less enlightened than he assumes.
Who in your sphere might stand to hear why all those nativity scenes scattered across the landscape are more than a quaint throwback to an obsolete belief?
Do you need to hear again why it was fitting that the Magi, when they found the child, “fell down and worshipped” (Matt. 2:11)?
“We do not know what to do, but our eyes are on You.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
GPS technology hasn’t been with us so long that we can’t remember a time of being lost. On a hike or drive in unfamiliar territory, we came to a bend and did not find what we expected. We thought we knew where we were and where we were headed, only to discover neither was true. That feeling of disorientation sometimes manifested itself in frustration, or even fear. We were not sure whether to sally forth until we found something that looked familiar or retrace our steps to rediscover the point at which our recollection, or our map, relocated our true position.
In the Chronicles of Israel, we find the nation was often disoriented for one of two reasons. Menacing assaults from marauding nations would strike fear into her people. Our text last Sunday catalogued one such episode. But more often than external threats, Israel’s stability was compromised by her misguided allegiances. Alluring promises of strength, wealth, and prestige led the nation to align herself with peoples that eventually led her astray. Even our humble hero of 2 Chronicles 20, King Jehoshaphat, was later chastised and disciplined for a foolish alliance (vv. 35-37).
In fact, though the imperialistic urges of Assyria and Babylon eventually carried the nation away into exile, scripture is clear on the ultimate reason for Israel’s dislocation: infidelity to her God through entanglements with nations who worshipped other so-called deities. Scripture calls those entanglements by a different name—idols. Ezra 5:12, in speaking of the nation’s final stage of exile, puts it bluntly: “Because our fathers had angered the God of heaven, He gave them into the hand of Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon... who destroyed this house and carried away the people to Babylonia.” Having placed too much of their trust in what could not bring them life, they had lost their way and come upon exile.
This last year has plenty of us reeling for one reason or another. Disorientation is perhaps the most euphemistic way of characterizing our condition. Some of us have been blindsided. Fear tempts us because we, like Jehoshaphat, are under siege from forces outside our control.
Others of us, though, have come to find that we have placed so much importance on what we have lost, or on what we might yet lose, that our entire sense of stability has also come under siege. Forces outside our control threaten us, but it’s because our hearts have made misguided allegiances with wealth, or reputation, or strength that we find ourselves in a lost and fearful frame. Pensions, promotions, prospective fiancées, and projects—they’re all good things worth pursuing—but if they’re lost, and we find ourselves embittered, it’s ultimately because we made an almost Faustian deal with them. Having placed too much of our trust in what could not bring us sustained life, we’ve lost our way and come upon what feels like a kind of exile. Peace and joy are at a great distance, not soon to be rediscovered.
As we said Sunday, this world is magnificently efficient at eliciting anxiety, anger, anguish, and ennui. Any of those can emerge in response to external forces. Usually, however, they’re the result of an internal allegiance we’ve made with some finite thing. We’ve come to hope so deeply in them and define ourselves so much by them, that when they’re taken away we’re lost. No one is exempt from the phenomenon. It’s the experience of CEOs and cashiers, housewives and horticulturists, policemen and point guards—and pastors.
And like Jehoshaphat, we sit there at an impasse and say candidly, “We do not know what to do.”
Whether embroiled in an assault from without, or entangled in an allegiance from within, the way back to life is a matter of worship. We may not know precisely what to do, but, like Jehoshaphat, we must set our sights back on the One who is our peace—the only One capable of securing it: “But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ. For He himself is our peace.” (Eph. 2:13–14). And He is the only One capable of sustaining it: “Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you” (John 14:27).
What allegiances have you perhaps made whose loss, or threatened loss, has you lost? It’s the acute and chronic bouts with anxiety, anger, anguish, and ennui that evidence such an allegiance. As Tim Keller puts it in his book Counterfeit Gods, the way forward is a matter of identifying and replacing your idols by retracing your steps back to the one true God, most clearly seen in His Son, Christ Jesus (Heb. 1:3). Learning to worship Him is the way out of the entangling allegiance.
“Give thanks to the Lord, for His steadfast love endures forever,” the Israelite choir sang on the verge of that remarkable battle in 2 Chronicles 20. The way you know you’ve found your way back to the path to life is when that praise becomes more than just words on a page.
It is the Lord your God who has fought for you.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You cannot call him a friend of the Reformation in England. As one of his first acts after reclaiming the vacant throne of England, Charles II rescinded the reforms to the Church which had been outlined by the Westminster Assembly not 12 years earlier.
Yet in the Great Fire of London in 1666, Charles II did an extraordinary thing—a most unkingly thing. Forsaking royal privilege, he took to the streets himself to fight the fire. He left the protection and comfort of the palace and entered into his people’s tumult to render aid. Seen building a firebreak with the Duke of York, Charles was found “filthy, smoke-blackened and tired.” He hadn’t donned his robes for a photo op. He came to fight for his people.
In the winter of his life, Joshua gathers Israel to remind them of the Lord’s intervention on their behalf. Like Charles, the Lord had refused to remain above the fray as His people faced insurmountable odds. The Lord, Joshua says, had fought for them.
But he doesn’t recapitulate recent history for the sake of storytelling. He means to endear the Lord to Israel and to elicit a response. In view of God’s help, they’re to keep the Book of the Law (v. 6). They’re to cling to Him alone (v. 8), being vigilant to keep Him as the Lord of their lives. And then in verse 11, Joshua summarizes and amplifies what it means to keep the Law and cling to the Lord: “Be very careful, therefore, to love the Lord your God.” He does not solicit a slavish obedience from them, but a loving one.
Blaise Pascal, in his Pensées, said, “What a long way it is between knowing God and loving Him,” to which Peter Kreeft in his commentary adds, “The length of the gap is infinite. The most brilliant theological mind in the universe is also the one with the least love: his name is Lucifer” (Christianity for Modern Pagans).
How easily we content ourselves with a knowledge of God that does not translate into joy in Him or love for His people! How pitifully we fool ourselves into thinking that the ability to articulate the truth of God is proof of our love for Him!
So how does one bridge the gap between merely knowing God and actually loving Him? You find your love for Him in His loving fight for you. You can celebrate the beauties He’s authored in creation. You may delight in the glories of His manifold gifts. But His battle against what has threatened you foremost must form the capstone of your love. You must continually look into that truth.
That is why Joshua recounted Israel’s history the way he did.
That is why Mark reminded us Sunday of how God fought most deftly for us in His Son.
Our very conversion centers on apprehending that God in Christ vanquished sin, death, and hell on our behalf. Our ongoing sanctification demands a continual reflective recapitulation of His loving fight for us—lest we fall prey to less substantial overtures of love. All sin is a failure to trust that His love for you is true. Our perseverance in the work He lays before us is sustained by a sense of His fight for us. “Peter, do you love me?... Feed my sheep” (John 21:17).
It is, in a sense, a fight to traverse that distance between the knowledge of God and the love of God. Yet even in that fight, you aren’t left to your own devices. You are not alone! He fights for you in that too. Why else would Jesus be interceding for us if not to marshal the Lord’s strength in our fight? (Heb. 7:24–25).
Though one might say true knowledge of God necessarily translates into love for God, does your sense of Him today feel more like bare knowledge? If it does, then for now, as Joshua told the people, listen closely to what the Lord has said in His Word, cling tightly to what He says is good, then consider (again) deeply the cost and outcome of His fight for you.
Be very careful, therefore, to love the Lord your God.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Vulpes vulpes. It’s the Latin name for the common red fox. Wes Anderson has taken Roald Dahl’s classic children’s book Fantastic Mr. Fox and overlaid it with a poignant adult theme.
Mr. Fox, or “Foxy” as his wife affectionately calls him, had made a promise early in his marriage. Though he’d pursued danger with reckless abandon all his life, now that he’d betrothed himself to someone and had the prospect of becoming a father, he vowed to forsake his former thrill-seeking.
But later in life, with an awkward son stumbling into adolescence, Foxy finds his conventional life too constraining and desires to rise above it. Outside his window he sees a way: three prosperous and eccentric farmers by the names of Boggis, Bunce, and Bean possess immeasurable stores of chickens, turkeys, and apple cider, respectively. Foxy convinces himself it’s almost a moral imperative to dig his way furtively beneath their lands and abscond with a measure of their bounties.
The tension of Anderson’s retelling emerges when Foxy’s thievery elicits the ire of the farmers. For all his ingenuity and courage his plans have imperiled him, his family, and all the nearby animal population. During a brief respite from their flight from the vengeful threesome, Foxy’s wife, typically calm and collected, takes her husband aside, moaning, “Why’d you have to get us into this, Foxy?” Never to be found flat-footed—or flat-pawed, as the case may be—in justifying his actions, Foxy quickly deduces what has brought them to this moment:
“I think I have this thing where I need everybody to think I’m the greatest—the quote-unquote fantastic Mr. Fox—and if they aren’t completely knocked out, dazzled, and kind of intimidated by me, then I don’t feel good about myself.”
There it is. The core of the matter. It’s fear. Fear of how he might be thought of—by himself or others—if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands to establish his own fantasticness. It’s not the love of danger, or the desire to improve his family’s station, or even the indignation that the three clownish farmers have more than they can ever need. It’s the fear of what he thinks he might be that drives him to imperil everyone else.
For the last two weeks we’ve heard Joshua’s gravest concern for the Israel he’ll soon depart from in death. He admonishes them to “Be very careful, therefore, to love the Lord your God.” Why? Because if they did not love their Lord, they would end up loving, so to speak, the next closest authority—the priorities enshrined in the deities of neighboring nations. Sadly, Israel eventually defied Joshua’s warning. Into a ruinous exile they went, imperiling their place in the outworking of God’s intentions for them (Gen. 12:2).
In a sense, Mr. Fox displays the same error Israel did, and the same consequence. Not being confident in God, Israel sought her own good in what was not of God—surely an homage to the first sin in the Garden—and found herself compromised. Foxy sought his own good without confidence in what really did make him good, and found himself compromising all he loved. Which brings me to my point.
If you do not trust what makes you righteous and beloved of God (in Foxy’s language: fantastic) you will take measures to establish your own fantasticness. In so doing you will inevitably imperil all you know and love because you’ll be acting out of the same fear Foxy did.
Coming to terms with what makes you fantastically beloved of God is the process of spiritual formation. It’s laboring to have the truth of the gospel of Jesus Christ inform and shape your every pursuit. Specifically, it’s about deeply internalizing the truth that while you were incapable of overcoming your greatest problem (sin) and obtaining your greatest desire (God), God sent His Son to resolve both at great cost to Himself.
As Martin Luther said, “The truth of the Gospel is the principal article of all Christian doctrine. . . . Most necessary is it that we know this article well, teach it to others, and beat it into their heads continually.” That head-beating is spiritual formation. And, as Mark reminded us Sunday, the formation that leads to the confidence of our belovedness is accomplished through not merely reviewing, but possessing, the Word of God. God surely forms our souls through a variety of means, but not without what He has already said and preserved.
Wes Anderson doubtless ruminated long and hard on the simple storyline of Dahl’s classic tale before he brought forth something wonderfully creative and particularly poignant. He made the film for the joy of filmmaking, and, let’s be honest, for the $14.6 million the film has made already. If he committed himself for those reasons to that kind of consideration of a fox’s search for fantasticness, should we do less in our consideration of what confirms our belovedness?
Choose this day whom you will serve.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You don’t know if you’re more enthralled by his intellect or his coiffure. Robert Sapolsky is a renowned professor of biological and neurological science at Stanford University. He has spent years analyzing the behavior patterns of baboons, and his research has focused in the domain of primatology.
Sapolsky is also a self-proclaimed strident atheist, sans the acrimonious air typified by Richard Dawkins. Yet in a recent commencement address, Sapolsky appealed to theology as the basis for his argument for the uniqueness of the human race.
He devoted most of his address to establishing the commonalities of humans and other primates. Aspects of human behavior like culture, cultural transmission, communication, empathy, and aggression were all shown to have complements within other primate species. All that distinguished humanity was the degree to which those aspects had been developed.
But near the conclusion of his comments, he conceded that one feature of humanity set it dramatically apart from all other forms of life: the ability to hold two seemingly contradictory truths in mind simultaneously, and to find the proof of the possibility of something in its apparent impossibility.
Mercifully, he provided two examples to rescue his thesis from cold abstraction. The first was from the Danish Christian and existentialist philosopher Søren Kierkegaard, who said that Christian faith is “a faith that persists in the face of its own impossibility.” In other words, from a purely human perspective, part of what catalyzes faith is the acknowledgment of how impossible it seems. Even as I write that, I’m not sure I get what he means, which is why I’m glad Sapolsky gave one more example—this time from Sister Helen Prejean. (You may remember her from Dead Man Walking, the film based on her ministry to death-row inmates.) When asked what would motivate her to care for the most deplorable of our society, according to Sapolsky, Prejean said, “The less forgivable the act, the more it must be forgiven; the less loveable the person is, the more you must find the means to love them.”
For Prejean, recognizing how impossibly difficult it would be to forgive someone made forgiving them not only possible but necessary. Believing someone to be unlovable made it morally imperative to love them. Call it an oxymoron or just a paradox, humanity distinguishes itself, Sapolsky argues, by how it can powerfully believe what is seemingly unbelievable. This he considered “the most irrational magnificent thing we are capable of as a species.”
As we heard Sunday, Joshua pressed Israel to trust in the Lord despite plenty of reasons not to. Prospering civilizations built on many alternative conceptions of the divine surrounded the fledgling nation. Their presence presented ample rationale not to trust the one, true God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Even Israel’s own experience revealed a world full of incongruity, chaos, and sorrow that made it seem impossible to believe in a sovereign God. Yet Israel, in a Sapolskian sense, did the most human thing possible by believing in what seemed unbelievable.
This hard-wired feature of humanity also finds expression in anyone who believes in the gospel of Jesus. All things now living will one day succumb to death—inexorably and irreversibly. Yet foundational to our faith is the belief that God brought a man back from death, and that in Him began the overturning of death. This is a tenet so seemingly absurd and yet so critical to our believing. “If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied” (1 Cor. 15:19).
That’s not the only pillar of our faith that requires this capacity Sapolsky identifies. For the implication of Christ’s death and resurrection reveals another apparently irresolvable tension: that we are more deplorable than we care to admit, and yet more prized than we can imagine. Jesus’ suffering proves that. Those truths seem impossible to hold simultaneously. Yet their apparent irreconcilability yields a more profound and believable truth: this eminently just God is undeniably for us. That’s why the “love of Christ controls us” (2 Cor. 5:14). His love—not the preference for absurdity—is what explains Kierkegaard’s and Prejean’s faith. It must also be what explains ours.
What point can be made from Sapolsky’s observation that humans have the unique capacity to believe quite strongly in the face of equally strong reasons not to believe?
Has your zeal for God waned? Have your circumstances begun to cripple the confidence you once had in the goodness of God? Finding renewed faith may require circling back to the most absurd foundations of our faith. Considering the salutary effects of holding to the ethical demands of godliness is helpful. But ethics must be buttressed by the deeper truths that motivate it: that Christ rose again and that, despite your unholiness, this Holy God is for you. If such impossible things be true, then hope shall find its way into all other concerns.
Trust Him. You’re only human.
They gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The Spirit is willing, but the wheel is stuck.
One of NASA’s two Mars Exploration Rovers has officially been designated a “stationary science platform” as of January 26. After a 286-million-mile journey from Earth and an ambling six-year scrutiny of the Martian surface, Spirit’s right rear wheel ensnared itself in a patch of soft soil. For nine months NASA attempted everything, save sending a sand wedge, to extricate the rover. But with no progress in freeing it, and with all Spirit’s instrumentation still operative, NASA elected to modify the rover’s mission, focusing its attention on the three-square-meter piece of Martian real estate it now occupies. Spirit now has an opportunity to dig more deeply into where it is.
We know our faith has innumerable implications for how we think of, and use, our wealth. We may prefer to give cursory attention to those implications. Yet, what’s happened to Spirit may be just what we need: an unhurried look beneath the surface of where our hearts are with respect to what we have.
From cover to cover, the scriptures commend a generosity toward God with all that we are and all that we have, in light of and in response to God’s generosity toward us. Still, it’s our instinct to be miserly rather than magnanimous. We unconsciously ask, “What’s the least I can do in order to fulfill my obligation?”
What would we find if we, like Spirit, dug deeper beneath the surface of our hesitant generosity? Likely we would find one thing: fear. In fact, both frugality and self-indulgence are often born of that same motivation. There’s the fear of what we might miss out on if we devote that portion elsewhere; or the fear of how we might be interpreted or regarded by others if we don’t demonstrate the same accomplishments, priorities, or trappings. And then there’s the fear of what we might not have later if we give it away now.
If you were to sit stationary in your living room, like a gimpy robot on Mars, what might you find beneath the surface of your motivations for what you have and what you seek? If it’s fear, then you’re in a kind of tyranny.
Fear impairs generosity—what must motivate it? If we dig beneath the surface of the generosity God intends, we’ll find one thing: love. Not only does perfect love cast out fear (1 John 4:18); it’s the only sufficient motivation for true generosity. Though God loves a cheerful giver (2 Cor. 9:7), some give out of fear of what might happen if they don’t. Though it’s our privileged duty to serve (Luke 17:10), some give out of the expectation of reciprocity. And though we’re to keep the left hand from knowing what the right hand is doing (Matt. 6:3), still others give in order to enrich their reputation. In each of these, something other than love compels the giving.
It’s February, and perhaps you’re receiving those notices that itemize your charitable contributions. If you were to sit with those documents, what might you find beneath the surface of your motivations for giving? Is it love, or something else?
Which leaves one last artifact to search for beneath the surface: in the matter of generosity, what shall move us from fear to love? As we heard Sunday in the words of Paul, the only way to move from hesitant generosity to a love for it is through the Cross. Jesus sets an unsurpassed example of forsaking deserved riches to enrich those who are impoverished in the worst way. But His self-imposed impoverishment exposes the senselessness of our fear of generosity, or the false motives for it. What we have from Him defies calculation. What we can lose here is nothing compared to what we gain in Him. What we can give for His sake we shall never lose. In the words of Thomas Merton, “love can be kept only by being given away.”
Almost from birth, Jacob had deceived and defrauded his choleric older brother, Esau. When Jacob encounters his brother much later in life, he fears Esau’s vengeance. Instead, Esau shows him great love and grace (Gen. 33:4ff). Jacob marvels at it and offers his brother a great gift of material kindness, saying, “Accept my present from my hand. . .for I have seen your face, which is like seeing the face of God, and you have accepted me. Please accept my blessing that is brought to you, because God has dealt graciously with me.” Beholding grace and love in the face of Esau liberated Jacob’s generosity.
In Christ’s face we see (and have) God’s acceptance. His acceptance elicits and sustains our generosity.
Spirit sits stationary to explore a richness that a more energetic mode might miss. Is it time to adopt its same posture and, with the help of God’s Spirit, look beneath the surface of our sense of His richness toward us?
For they gave according to their means…and beyond their means of their own accord…and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us.
Trent Casto
Pastor of Family and Men’s Ministries
Trent Casto became Covenant’s Pastor of Family and Men’s Ministries in April 2010. He earned a B.S. in Finance from West Virginia University and graduated from Covenant Theological Seminary in St. Louis, Missouri with a Master of Divinity degree. Trent grew up in Buckhannon, West Virginia, and his wife Emily comes from Morgantown, West Virginia where they met in 2001. They have one son, Hudson, and a daughter, Anna Kate. Before coming to Covenant, Trent served as a Pastoral Intern at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCA) in Dallas, Texas, and for three years as the Minister to the English-speaking congregation at Korean Hope Community Church(KAPC) in St. Louis, Missouri. Trent and Emily also spent a year in the Czech Republic serving as missionaries. Trent enjoys triathlon training, reading, spending time at the beach with his family, supporting the West Virginia Mountaineers, and playing sports of any kind.
“It’s complete surrender.” These are the last words of Eric Liddell, Scotland’s finest athlete. Those familiar with the movie Chariots of Fire will remember Liddell as the man who refused to run on Sunday, even when it meant not running the 100-meter sprint in which he was favored to win Olympic gold. Instead, Liddell entered the 400-meter race—a race that no one believed he could seriously compete in, let alone win. In the 1924 Olympic Games, Liddell shocked the world and brought glory to his God when he not only won the gold medal, but also set a world record in the process.
What is less known about Liddell is that, while at the height of his running career, he left his home in Scotland to serve as a missionary to China. Throughout his life, he was known for his astounding progress in spiritual growth. No matter the circumstances in which he found himself, Liddell was always a faithful ambassador for the Kingdom of Heaven, even in a Japanese internment camp where he would eventually give his life for Christ. With his final breath, Eric Liddell revealed the secret to spiritual maturity—“It’s complete surrender.”
In the sermon this week, Mark reminded us that before we can give ourselves up for others we must first give ourselves to the Lord (2 Cor. 8:5). In other words, we must surrender. According to Liddell, “Surrender means that we are prepared to follow God’s guidance, wherever or however He guides, no matter what the cost.” In the context of finances, many of us will find that we have been reluctant to surrender that part of our lives.
What is it that keeps us from surrendering our finances or any other aspect of our lives to the Lord? For some of us, we are not willing to surrender certain parts of our lives to the Lord because we believe we can manage our lives better than God can. If we surrender to Him, then we ultimately lose control over how we spend our time, our talents, and our treasures. And this loss of control frightens us. Why? Because in our heart of hearts we do not trust the one to whom we are surrendering.
The rich young ruler knew this very well. When Jesus invited him to sell all he had and give it to the poor, the wealthy and powerful young man knew that this was the ultimate act of surrender for him. Ultimately it was an act of surrender that he was not prepared to perform, and so he walked away from Jesus with all of his wealth, and also a deep sadness in his soul. You see, the more one has to lose, the more difficult surrender becomes. Thus the difficulty we have in America with surrendering our finances. How can we trust the Lord to such a degree that though it may cost us everything, we will surrender all?
Perhaps the answer may be found by remembering what Jesus has done for us. The scriptures tell us that “though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich.” No one has ever had more to lose than Jesus, and for no one has surrender ever cost so much. Yet, we find that the one who invites us to surrender all to Him has already surrendered all for us. And in His surrender of Himself even to the point of death on a cross, He has secured for us every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, and an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading. If we are to make any progress in the Christian life, we must agree with Eric Liddell that the secret to following Jesus in every part of our lives, including our finances, is “complete surrender.”
For this reason I bow my knees before the Father... that according to the riches of His glory He may grant you to be strengthened with power through His Spirit in your inner being.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
For 65 hours, Dan Woolley lay in a darkened elevator shaft beneath the rubble of the Hotel Montana in Port-au-Prince, following the devastating earthquake of January 12. Bleeding from the back of his head and suffering from a compound fracture to his leg, Woolley used medical apps on his iPhone to diagnose and treat his injuries. (Could Steve Jobs have ever foreseen such a use?) When the likelihood of rescue seemed to recede, Woolley took pen in hand and composed what he thought would be parting notes to his wife and two sons.
In words to his boys, he wrote, “I was in a big accident. Don’t be upset at God. He always provides for his children, even in hard times. I’m still praying that God will get me out, but He may not. But He will always take care of you.” A kind of courageous strength welled up within him to face his death, and to do so in a way that would impart hope and strength to those he left behind.
Where do you find the strength to die?
Or the strength to say goodbye? To endure suffering, or confess grievous sin, or just persevere in unremarkable, quotidian events?
You find it in what Paul prayed when he prayed for the church at Ephesus. Tim led us to where Paul found that strength—and where we must also. It’s a strength instilled by the Spirit of God, deep in our heart where all hope and action is forged.
Paul calls it strength because it manifests in the ability to face any circumstance without terror or overwhelming despair. It brims with hope and courage that this moment is not vacant of God; that this is not the end of goodness; that though there may be true loss, all is not lost. All that constitutes the strength Paul prayed for when saying farewell to the elders at Ephesus for the last time in Acts 20.
But the strength is not self-existent or self-originating; it is grounded in something deeper still. This strength springs from an abiding confidence in one discernible but incomprehensible truth: that the love of Christ is real and powerful. Fortitude grows where faith rests in the fact that He sacrificed Himself, in love, to rescue you from your greatest calamity: a life vacant of God. Courage blossoms when you believe that He secured for you, in love, an irrevocable liberation from the fear of failure, the threats of men, and the sting of death. Hope teems when you trust that His love exerts itself in this very hour, sometimes palpably but often imperceptibly.
Christ’s love for you is stronger than the regret for sin, the heartbreak of disappointment, the pain of suffering, or the sorrow of death—more powerful than the weight of all those ravages. We cannot escape those ravages in this world, but we can, Paul says, find strength to face them with the same kind of hope Dan Woolley did beneath six stories of rubble.
Metaphorically speaking, do you find yourself in a dark, cramped place, where the prospects of rescue seem bleak? Are you in need of the strength Paul prays for? That Paul had to bow his knees in prayer for such strength confirms one thing. This strength cannot be manufactured. It can only be sought. It can only be bestowed.
Day and night Your hand was heavy upon me . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In The Great Divorce, C. S. Lewis imagines what it would be like for a busload of spirits consigned to hell to make a trip to the outskirts of heaven—each given the choice to have what kept them from glory purged from them, or to return to hell.
Lewis portrays the visitors to heaven as ethereal, insubstantial beings (labeling them “ghosts”), while heaven and its inhabitants are solid and vivid—in a word, real.
In one chapter, a ghost encounters one of heaven’s bright and burning angels. Upon the ghost’s wispy shoulder sits a small lizard, crimson in color, whispering in his ear. The ghost confides to the angel his disdain of the lizard; the slithering presence has been a constant source of frustration, but the ghost has never had the will to cast him off. Recognizing the lizard’s mendacious influence, the angel offers to quiet the lizard by killing him.
You’d think the ghost would leap at the chance for liberation; instead he offers up one hesitating excuse after another not to part with the lizard: Couldn’t he consider the angel’s offer and get back to him? Isn’t there some more gradual process to obtain the same result? Won’t it hurt to have the lizard removed—or worse, won’t he himself die in the process of extraction?
The angel counters each of the ghost’s concerns but will only fulfill his promise if the ghost gives permission. With great apprehension the ghost yields, but not before complaining of the pain of the angel’s work. To which the angel replies, “I never said it wouldn’t hurt you. I said it wouldn’t kill you.” Both ghost and lizard are sent careening to the turf, at last separated by the angel’s power.
And then, a double transformation: the ghost loses his insubstantiality to obtain a new, solid nature—at last, human in form and in reality; the lizard, now lifeless and abolished from his parasitic existence, revives and grows into a majestic stallion. Where lizard had once governed the life of his vaporous host, now whole man rode upon a transformed, trusted companion. Horse and rider gallop into the havens of heaven.
In this and other episodes, Lewis construes gospel transformation (we might call it spiritual formation) as the purifying of our natural loves into true loves. That is, only by making our loves for earthly things subservient to our love for God can those loves ever become true. Until such transformation occurs, what we love can end up lying to us about its preeminence.
The ghost couldn’t dream of life without the lizard, or at least it feared the pain of dispensing with him. Likewise, you and I let lesser loves creep upon our shoulders until we think them so part of us that they become more important—more vital—to us than God. Control, reputation, wealth, sex—they all can usurp God’s authority in our hearts. “Lust,” says the spiritual guide to the narrator of Lewis’s book, “is a poor, weak, whimpering, whispering thing compared with that richness and energy of desire which will arise when lust has been killed.” The only way to have such loves killed and then reborn is God’s mighty work in us, authorized, if you will, by our repentance: the acknowledgement of our folly, our helplessness, and His sufficiency.
For the ghost, repentance was painful. Why? He feared what submission to the angel entailed—fear of what was unknown, fear of the loss of something so entrenched in his heart and history. Yet both this imaginative episode and what we heard in Psalm 32 aver the same truth: though there is pain in repentance, there’s a greater pain and loss in concealing and cherishing a love for what is false: “When I kept silent, my bones wasted away through my groaning all day long” (Ps. 32:3).
Such pain, real as it is, is mitigated when seen in light of the Love that seeks to make the pain purposeful and productive. God’s hand “heavy upon” us (v. 4) demonstrates His love for us. Christ’s bearing the ultimate pain of separation from God on our behalf exposes the insubstantiality of what we think so important. Faith in His work inaugurates the often painful process of making us real and solid people.
So, is there a lizard on your shoulder? Is there anything that’s whispering to your soul that you can’t live without it—or that the pain of dispensing of it would be too great? If so, why are you interpreting God’s offer to kill it as anything but love?
“Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting!” (Ps. 139:23–24).
The path from an earthly hell to heaven starts with that prayer.
Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In a world full of words, it’s become an annual tradition to note the dawning and passing of words into and out of our collective vocabulary. In 2009 the editors of the New Oxford American Dictionary welcomed words like netbook, birther, and green state—while the neologism of the year was unfriend. In that same year some at Lake Superior State University bemoaned the ubiquitous presence of words like shovel-ready, app (which this author refuses to discard), and chillaxin’.
If words are powerful, their birth and burial raises a question: As words fall out of use, do the things or categories they denote pass with them from our consciousness? Take for instance the word servant. You can’t say it has been eradicated from our discourse, but hearing the word tends to conjure scenes from Gone with the Wind or The Remains of the Day. “Public servants” may be the last bastion of its usage, but our cynical tendency to ascribe self-interest to those so named renders the word essentially meaningless.
Notwithstanding all the heinous associations with the word, there is much salvageable meaning compressed into it. It represents a grateful indebtedness, of belonging to someone. Allegiance, respect, and reverential fear are all evoked. But with the passing of servant from common language, are we the less likely to assume the posture of servanthood?
In the Bible, you can’t read long without encountering the word servant. In the New Testament, Jesus construed himself as one sent not to be served, but to serve (Mark 10:45). In His parable of the talents, He affirms those who stewarded their resources well with the words, “well done, good and faithful servant.” (Matt. 25:21). Paul opens three of his letters by identifying himself foremost as a servant of Christ, as in Philippians: “Paul and Timothy, servants of Christ Jesus.” It’s pivotal to his self-understanding because it’s so embedded in what it means to belong to God.
Mark reminded us Sunday that you cannot understand yourself unless you understand yourself to be a saint—one chosen, purchased, and set apart from the world yet for the world. To be God’s is to be a saint.
What Paul’s self-identification also tells us is that to be a saint is to be a servant. Sainthood and servanthood are correlates, and our spiritual formation entails apprehending how they correlate.
First, servanthood is a natural response to sainthood. Like agents in a chemical reaction, those who grasp the justice and mercy exhibited to them in Christ are compelled to imitate the same. “For the love of Christ compels us. . .” (2 Cor. 5:4, NIV).
Second, our sainthood is perfected in our servanthood. As Paul will say later in Philippians 3, he owes His righteousness to Christ alone (v. 3); but Christ having made Paul his own, Paul now longs to make the fullness of fellowship with Christ his own (v. 12). As John writes in his epistle, “What we will be has not yet appeared, but when He appears, we will be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is. Everyone who thus hopes in him purifies himself as he is pure.” (1 John 3:2–3) Though our sainthood is achieved by what Christ has done, living as a servant enriches our sense of what it means to be a saint. A man may be married on his wedding day, but he learns what it means to love as a married man engaging in the servanthood marriage enjoins.
Finally, living as a servant compounds the joy of our sainthood. John’s bearing testimony to what he has seen and heard, and touched with his hands “completes his joy” (1 John 1:4). Paul’s labor for the maturing of the saints at Philippi represents an effort to complete his joy (Phil. 2:2). We rejoice when we reflect on how, despite our sinfulness, Christ died for us out of love (Rom. 5:8). But our joy will be full, Jesus says, as we abide in the love which our servanthood is primarily dedicated to (John 15:11).
An officer in Bosnia during the conflict of the 1990s said, “before you are a captain or a cook, you’re a soldier.” Our multilayered self-perception can often obscure its more fundamental levels, and with them our role. The word servant may pass across our lips only when we read a biblical or historical text, but whether you are a mother, a lawyer, a waiter, a butcher, a baker, or a candlestick maker—do you see yourself foremost as a saint who is a servant?
Some words shape history. In Jesus we find that lives of servanthood speak more audibly.
And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
He’s the son of Sheikh Hassan Yousef, a founder of Hamas—the Palestinian organization internationally condemned for its terrorist efforts to resist Israeli occupation of Palestinian territories. His father now sits in an Israeli prison for his leadership and coordination of suicide bomb attacks.
The son, Mosab Hassan Yousef, followed in his father’s footsteps, participating in uprisings and buying weapons for Hamas.
But only for a season.
Upon his own arrest by the Israelis, the younger Yousef was approached by his captors with an offer: they’d lighten his sentence if he’d work for Shin Bet, Israel’s security service, as an agent within Hamas. At first tempted to double-cross his captors for Israel’s violence against Palestinians, he nevertheless took their offer after witnessing the horrid torture he says Hamas committed upon its own people.
Once he became an operative for Israel within the Palestinian resistance, he exposed Hamas’s plans, foiled assassination attempts, and thwarted sleeper cells. He even convinced his own father to accept a partial truce with Israel. His employer deemed him the most reliable agent Israel had.
The “Son of Hamas,” (which also happens to be the title of his newly released book) infiltrated the highest echelons of Hamas leadership and provided valuable information to the Israelis.
But only for a season.
You see, he met a British cab driver in Jerusalem who gave him a copy of the New Testament and invited him to a local Bible study with other Christians. “I found that I was really drawn to the grace, love, and humility that Jesus talked about,” says Yousef. In time, he placed his trust in Christ, “convinced by Jesus Christ as a character, as a personality. I loved him, his wisdom, his love, his unconditional love. . . . I see that when he does exist in other Middle Easterners there will be a change.”
As you would expect, there has been a personal cost—first to his defection from Hamas, and then to his embrace of Christianity. His father has officially disowned him. Islamists continue to issue threats. The son’s response? “That’s not the worst thing that can happen to you. . . . Palestinians have reason to kill me. Some Israelis may want to kill me. My goal is not to defeat my enemy. It is to win over my enemy.”
That the Lord brought Mosab Yousef to Himself (and through the simple gesture of a cab driver!) bears further testimony to His will and power. But it also speaks to His willingness to persevere in us and with us throughout our earthly sojourn. As Mark reminded us Sunday, there is something we cannot start and something we cannot finish: God’s salvation, His forgiveness and transformation of us. On the basis of God’s interest and ability to convince Mosab of the truth of Jesus, Mosab may also have confidence that God will persevere in him.
Yet when anyone seeks to follow in Jesus’ footsteps, the struggle against our idolatries still takes a toll—shakes our confidence in His love.
Do you ever have an uneasy feeling that He’s washed His hands of you out of fear that you’re too much for Him to change? Does your heart’s entanglement with sin lead you to believe you are a lost cause, to fear that He is not patient enough to endure you?
In an anonymous letter to a doubter of the early second century, the author, self-identified only as “disciple,” summarized our hope:
By what other one was it possible that we, the wicked and ungodly, could be justified, than by the only Son of God? O sweet exchange! O unsearchable operation! O benefits surpassing all expectation! that the wickedness of many should be hid in a single righteous One, and that the righteousness of One should justify many transgressors!
We persevere in God because what is corruptible in us has been exchanged with what is incorruptible in Christ. His work is the basis of our confidence that we shall persevere.
The Lord brought Mosab to Himself, despite the killer’s zeal for vengeance. The Lord brought you to Himself, despite (perhaps) your lack of zeal for anything but yourself. If God can turn us to Himself, despite our arrogant protestations, can He not continue to conform us into the image of His Son for all time?
Your heart is deceitful and desperately sick, Jeremiah warns (17:9). Yet Jesus confirms in His Word and work that you are loved more than you can imagine, Those twin truths form the only explanation for why Christ would die for us. They also explain why God will not give up on us. He persevered for us so that we shall persevere in Him.
Mosab, your heart—what might they tell us?
He is not done with you.
Work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure . . . Not that I have already obtained this or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own, because Christ Jesus has made me His own.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In every human there are two kinds of beliefs: the things we say we believe and the things we believe. It’s our hope, of course, that our professed belief and our operative belief are in perfect alignment. We pray we “practice what we preach,” or that we “walk the talk.” Many times, though, we come to discover that the disparity between our words and our works couldn’t be larger. We encounter a set of circumstances we did not anticipate, and any confidence we had in our ability to respond to them properly is sucked from us like the air from a collapsed balloon.
Peter demonstrated that kind of deeply deflating moment near the outset of Christ’s passion. When the Lord portends his disciple’s denial, Peter asserts, “Even though they all fall away, I will not . . . If I must die with you I will not deny you” (Mark 14:29, 31). Hours later, having denied Jesus multiple times in rapid succession, Peter “broke down and wept” (v. 72). What he said he believed and what he believed were found to be as far apart as the east is from the west.
Paul understands this kind of disparity, too—if not in the same stark contrast Peter displayed. His ambition is to “gain Christ and be found in Him,” to ”know Him and the power of His resurrection” (Phil. 3:8–10)—that is, to live with complete trust in the sufficiency of Christ. But he recognizes the ground yet to cover between his ambition and his present condition: “Not that I have already obtained it, or am already perfect, but I press on to make it my own because Christ Jesus has made me His own” (v. 12). To live before Christ is to learn to live with perfect trust in Christ—trusting that He is sufficient in every circumstance, every ambition, every relationship.
That manifestation of perfect trust is a matter of pursuit; as Mark reminded us Sunday, Paul uses the vivid language of “pressing on” and “straining forward” to illustrate the pursuit. But Paul also says the pursuit is motivated by an overriding confidence in one thing: that Christ has claimed us as his own. He and we press on to see perfect trust formed in us because Christ Jesus already has made us His own. The fulfillment of our calling to trust Him rests on a confidence in His having called us to Himself.
All sin is a consequence of one simple, devastating belief: that we are not His own, which in turn leads us to believe He is not enough. Peter’s denial expressed his failure to believe that Jesus was ultimately trustworthy. That same failure to believe manifests in us in different ways. Some of us run roughshod over others to find the acceptance that we don’t trust Jesus for, thinking them an impediment to the control or power we think gains us acceptance. Others of us default to accommodating others to find acceptance in their approval. Though the means are different, the objective is the same: to compensate for what we think Jesus is either unwilling or unable to supply us in the way of acceptance.
If “whatever does not proceed from faith is sin” (Rom. 14:23), and our foundational sin is not believing we are his, then part of what Paul means by working out your own salvation is practicing trust that Christ Jesus has indeed made you his own. Already guaranteed forgiveness and favor by Christ, we don’t have to sacrifice others to obtain what we think gains us acceptance. We can practice the belief that God will not let us go by refusing to acquiesce to others inordinately. Like a fledgling nudged from the nest, we can learn to spread wings of faith, discovering that God does will and work in us according to His good pleasure.
But that process of moving from a professed to an operative belief is carried out, Paul says, “with fear and trembling.” With all the reverence of a patient before a surgical team, we allow Him to expose the competing beliefs that seemed to serve us all these years but which ended up imprisoning us. Soberly we recognize how dependent we are upon His grace to release our heart’s grip on those beliefs. Then we’re awed that He would be willing to endure our merely professed belief and transform it into something solid.
In what ambition, relationship, or circumstance have you discovered a disparity between what you say you believe and what you believe about Jesus? What resentment or anxiety indicates your refusal to believe you are already and eternally His? What would real rather than rehearsed faith look like in this moment?
For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Editor’s note: This week we are publishing the meditation that will be offered in Good Friday’s noontime service.
Twenty years ago this week, Kevin Costner strode to the podium in the Shrine Civic Auditorium in Los Angeles to accept the Best Picture award for Dances With Wolves. Before he finished, he said in an almost defiant tone, “I just want to say that it’s very easy for people to trivialize what we do sometimes. And they do it in ways of saying, ‘Well, if it’s such a big deal, how come nobody remembers who last year won the Oscar?’ And I’ve got a real flash for you. I will never forget what happened here tonight.”
In 1997, James Cameron came forward to receive the same award for his work on Titanic. In his concluding remarks he said, “Mom, Dad, there is no way that I can express to you what I’m feeling right now—my heart is full to bursting—except to say, “I’m the king of the world!”
And if you were alive in 1984, you likely know that when Sally Field accepted the award for Best Actress in Places in the Heart, she said, in a clearly unrehearsed moment, “I haven’t had an orthodox career and I’ve wanted more than anything to have your respect. . . . I can’t deny the fact that you like me. Right now, you like me!”
In each case, what they said indicated that, to them, this was more than just an acceptance speech for a theatrical work. You might say that what each of them was celebrating, down deep, is that they thought they’d really found true life—the sweetness and lightness of being that translates into seemingly endless vitality and stability. Their words revealed their belief that life was found in being remembered, in being on top, in being respected.
Some of us might smirk at their triumphalism. Others of us might secretly envy them. In truth, we’re just like them, but often on a much different stage. We find ourselves hoping for and seeking the same things they have, albeit through different avenues. We think, deep down, that these things are where true life is found.
What you’ve heard from every man who’s stood in this pulpit—what you’ve heard in every text so far and in the text you’re about to hear—is that true life isn’t found there. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to be remembered, or pursuing excellence, or being admired. But what the Apostle Paul says to us today, on this Good Friday, is that life is found in a quite counterintuitive place, in a highly countercultural manner.
Listen to what Paul says in Galatians 2:17–21:
But if, in our endeavor to be justified in Christ, we too were found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin? Certainly not! For if I rebuild what I tore down, I prove myself to be a transgressor. For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.
We encounter Paul here in the midst of an intramural debate of enormous significance. His compatriot in the faith, Peter—the one who had accompanied Jesus for all His ministry, who had seen Him die and yet raised again—this Peter had lost sight of something fundamental about the good news Jesus spoke, for which He died and was raised. Peter had come to understand that it was by faith alone in the word and work of Jesus that anyone would have the favor of God. But in time he’d been led to believe by others that it took more than faith in Jesus to be included in the people of God. It took subscription to all that Moses had spoken of in the Law. And that included having table fellowship only with those who had been circumcised.
And so Paul, aggrieved at the subtle way an ostensibly moral teaching had begun to obscure the good news of Jesus, confronts Peter publicly. Peter was being hypocritical. He was insisting that Gentiles be circumcised, while he himself was not in full compliance with the Law. How could he demand compliance with part of the Law when he too was failing to comply with all the Law? But worse, Peter was giving Jewish and Gentile believers a deeply flawed impression that the way to God’s favor was through one’s own demonstration of moral rectitude; that acceptance from God would be found through doing what was acceptable to Him.
Aghast, Paul rebukes Peter and gives the entire church in Galatia a remedial course in what makes us acceptable to God. It’s not in one’s compliance with the moral standards of God found in His Law. Six times just in chapter two, Paul makes it plain: no one is accepted in God’s sight because of their adherence to His law. For a man’s every obedience to the law there are untold other examples of blatant disobedience, blatant disregard for the holiness of God.
Right now, it may seem that what Kevin Costner, James Cameron, and Sally Field were tittering over and what Peter and Paul were fighting over couldn’t be further apart. Yet I say their respective subjects couldn’t be more alike. As I said, those actors weren’t just discussing awards and accolades; they were talking about where life is found. Peter and Paul—they weren’t just talking about laws, righteousness, and favor with God. They were talking about the life that is to be found in a right standing with God. Both the 21st-century artists and the 1st–century theologians had their sights set on life and were asserting where it would be found.
You and I have our sights set on where life is found, and too often they are set on where it can’t be found. When’s the last time you’ve been so frustrated by not obtaining something that it sent you into a prideful outrage? The outrage signaled that you were looking for life where it would not be found. When’s the last time you’ve been so frightened by what you lost or could not have that it sent you into a panic? Or when you’ve been so disappointed that you teetered on despair? Panic and despair reveal a search for life where it will not be found.
So where is life found? Will it be found by displaying virtue until God is impressed? Or will it be found in our efforts to achieve or dazzle the masses, to amass power, influence, or prestige? Or in getting our hands on all the thrills, delicacies, and extravagances we can? The Good News of Good Friday tells us the security and stability sought in those efforts won’t be found in those ways. Paul explains it will be found in this way only: by faith in a death born of love.
True life rests, paradoxically, upon a death. Christ’s death. When Paul says “for through the Law I died to the Law, that I might live to God,” he means the one thing that kept us from the life of sweet communion with the God responsible for all things was our alienation from the heart of God, expressed most clearly in His Law. That was our condition, and we were powerless to reverse it. Paul also means that the only thing that could restore me to communion with God was One who had the means to satisfy what the law required of me. It had to be the One who would submit to all the Law demanded in a righteousness life, and who would submit to its death penalty for sin. Only by His submission to the Law could I become totally and finally unassailable by the Law. It can no longer accuse or condemn me because Jesus bore its accusation and condemnation on my behalf. Life for us begins and rests on a death in Him, because no other kind of effort can overcome my primary hindrance to life in God.
But further, the life found in His death is ultimately born of love. Paul understands full well that Jesus’ willing sacrifice was no stoic, perfunctory offering. He knows Christ’s love for us is the only thing that can explain His willingness to give Himself for us in death. And though it might seem like Jesus’ death is an effort to appease a tyrannical God, the love that led Jesus to go to His cross is the same love with which our Father who is in heaven sent Him there. The violence done unto Jesus was full of hatred, not toward us but toward our sin. The blood He shed does not dispute but rather confirms that God is both holy and merciful. And God’s mercy is born of love.
Why must we know that this death was born of love to find our life? When you know Jesus isn’t trying to sell you a ticket, so to speak, or compensate for His insecurities, or manipulate us out of fear of others’ approval, it compounds the trustworthiness of His act. Which leads us to the last aspect of what brings us true life.
The life found in death born of love comes by faith. Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. The life I live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God.” Paul’s true life—brimming with hope, strength, and stability—rests on his belief that Jesus’ death is in a sense his own death. In other words, what Jesus’ death accomplished is now his. Sin is forgiven, righteous wrath turned away, relationship reconciled; a whole new kind of life is inaugurated and an entirely different destiny sealed. Paul identifies himself with Christ, because Christ identified Himself with him. It’s by faith that Paul identified with Christ, and it’s by faith that we identify with Christ.
As Christ identified Himself with us in becoming what we are, so must we identify ourselves with Him by faith in what He did. Win every award. Astonish every soul. Accomplish every goal. Obtain every luxury. The life you seek from those efforts will not endure and therefore will not satisfy. Jesus has to become your acceptance speech, or you will become consumed by your own pursuit of it. In Christ you have the acceptance of God. His love meant your acceptance. His work. His accomplishment. And because He is my acceptance, it’s by faith in Him that I discover life that is strong and true.
You know what life with that sort of faith translates into?
It doesn’t mean you stop trying to earn a living, or pursue excellence, or raise honorable children. It doesn’t mean you stop trying to find a mate or nurture the one you have. It doesn’t mean you stop enjoying the opportunities that give gladness to others, and it doesn’t even mean refusing to do things that lead others to think well of you.
Faith in His death born of love translates into a life of profound relief—the greatest relief imaginable. Relief that your greatest need has already been met. That you no longer have to strive in fear for the acceptance He has already obtained for you. Relief that your successes and failures are not tied to the approval of the only One in this universe whose approval matters. Looking in faith to the Son of God, you can’t deny the fact that He does love you, and not because of what you’ve done or not done. That’s relief.
It translates into relief, and then it translates into a life uniquely catalyzed. Fear of what you might not become or what you might not obtain is a powerful motivator, but one that will ultimately destroy you. However, a confidence in His love for you compels you much differently. Being remembered, or being on top, or being respected become so much less important than a life of faith working through love. That’s a life worth living, and in truth, the only sustainable life.
On that Good Friday, Jesus came to his own podium at Calvary and stretched out His arms in triumph, and by His death and resurrection confirmed He is the king of the world.
If your presence in this sanctuary today is the equivalent of you taking an old dusty picture off the shelf you haven’t considered in years, it’s likely you’ve been trying to find true life in the ways those actors, directors, and even Peter in his funk had been: through every means possible to obtain or preserve your acceptance. This cross behind me invites you to find your true life in Christ.
If you’re here because you know Christ to be Lord but have found yourself tempted to find your peace in something other than the acceptance of God in Christ, I invite you to remember why they call it a Good Friday. In Christ, there is no greater acceptance to be had, and no greater life to be found.
Then He opened their minds to understand . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Something happens when the training wheels come off and the child pedals his first journey in precarious balance. It’s the same thing that happens when a medical resident, having pored countless hours over textbooks, makes a deft diagnosis of a mystifying affliction. It even happens when a spouse brings home just the right gift or says just the right word, and her beloved smiles with the most satisfying feeling of being well known.
In those moments, something’s clicked. A piece has fallen into place. Or to put it another way, they get it.
In the text we heard last Sunday, Jesus comes to his disciples in their stupefaction, eager to displace their doubts, fears, and confusions with a simple explanation of recent events. He wants them to get it—to grasp the essence of what He’s about and its implications for them. It’s been His love that sustained Him in His sacrificial labor for them. Now it’s that same love that fuels his interest in helping them get it.
What must they get to move forward? It’s the same thing you have to get to move past just observing Easter to living it out.
For one, what He’d endured was no unfortunate turn of events, but rather an eternally decreed, long-awaited, and necessary act (Luke 24:46). Jesus had more than teaching to share. He had a task to accomplish. He embodied more than a principle; He entered into human history and established a precedent. He would suffer as the Christ and be raised on the third day according to plan. As one pastor explains, remove Buddha as a historical figure and you lose nothing of Buddhism. But dispense with the historicity of Jesus and Christianity is vacated of meaning. The disciples had to grasp that Jesus had come in history to change it.
Second, the disciples had to understand that His purpose for coming was to elicit repentance based on His purchase of forgiveness (v. 47). They could be impressed with His teaching, devastated by His death, or astonished by His rising again from the dead. But unless they saw His work as a confirmation both of their greatest need (forgiveness) and His peerless love, they would not comprehend what He meant to secure: a defiant turning away from all that conflicted with the heart of God, coupled with a humble turning toward the grace and wisdom of God. Jesus had come to change them.
Last, Jesus would not leave until He knew they’d come to understand something about their own purpose, now forever changed by His work for them and in them. Getting Jesus meant knowing that what He accomplished was a message to be shared with every corner of the earth; that those who’d come to believe it would be the primary messengers; and that the strength and clarity such messengers needed would have to come from God. If what He’d done was true, this was news that had to be told. What better people could best explain this news than those in whom such news had taken residence (Col. 3:15)?
Easter Day is behind us now, but the Easter life is always before us. And it asks us, “Are you getting it?” Does any part of this message still stump you?
Is Jesus more an idea to consider than a person you must wrestle with? He’s not an inanimate philosophy, but a person you must draw wisdom and strength from.
Have you come to conceive of His death and resurrection as a demonstration of mysterious power, but not an invitation to the join in His work in reforming your life (Phil. 2:12–13)? It is both.
Have you hastily concluded that His commission to be a messenger has been reserved for other folk? Or have you realized His call applies to all those who rest upon Him for the grace and favor of God. The joy of belonging to Him is most keenly felt when serving as His messenger. It’s a task of word and deed—most times our deeds laying the groundwork for our words.
They’d seen Jesus with their eyes, but doubts and fears still beset them. Yet Jesus still loved them enough to labor a bit longer until they got it. He does the same with us.
Get it?
And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Piano tuners, I’m told, have two objectives in bringing an instrument into harmony. There’s the technical dimension of a given pitch, expressed in waves or “beats” which the tuner must listen for. The frequency of the waves must correspond to the frequency of an established pitch. But tuning also involves an aesthetic dimension, involving the resonance of two pitches together, known as an interval. The tuner has found a harmony of a given interval when the respective waves they emit are in sync. In sum, the tuner must listen to the note itself (the technical dimension) and to the note in relationship to other notes (the aesthetic dimension). His task is to hear both dimensions to bring the instrument into tune.
Commands in scripture are plentiful. Jesus summarized them all in His response to the Pharisees, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets” (Matt. 22:38–40). Neither the scripture nor Jesus submits these as mere guidelines or good ideas. Commands, by definition, expect obedience.
Hearing those commands properly, though, is crucial to heeding them. For implicit within every command is a call to remember what compels the command. Like the piano tuner, we have to hear both the mandate and the motive behind it, or our obedience will never be in tune.
Sunday, Mark helped us to see that balance of mandate and motive in scripture’s commands. Paul prayed that the love in the church at Philippi would burgeon, and so fulfill their mandate to love. But such love was to be grounded in the “knowledge” of the love of Christ for them, which was the only sufficient motive for love’s mandate. As a piano string never emits its sonorous tone without being struck by the hammer, so love only rises from us when struck deeply by the love of God in Christ for us.
Why is it so crucial to hear both dimensions of a given command? For one, the apparent absurdity of some commands demands we hear His rationale. Love your enemies? Pray for those who persecute you? Our first instinct is to do quite the opposite, because our first feeling teems with fear and anger. How can we love and pray with any sincerity in that condition? Unless something tames our rage we see no purpose or profit to complying with Jesus’ command. Only when we consider His love for us, while we were strangers and aliens to Him (Eph. 2:19), hostile in mind and deed (Col. 1:21), can we see the logic of His command. How can I justify hatred for one who hates me, when God did not hate me for hating Him? Hearing His love beneath His command to love is our only hope of obeying that counterintuitive command.
An even more prevalent struggle in our obedience is not whether the command is illogical but whether it is even possible to follow. Can I ever be “strong and courageous” in the face of all that threatens me? Can I ever stare down lust, dishonesty, and partiality? Will I ever successfully navigate between the rocks of man-hating and man-accommodating? Fear, prurience, bitterness, derision—they all have their root in a belief that God is not good. But if you listen for the resonance of His love inside the tone of His command, then you will find strength to obey. That’s why Paul prays for their love to abound more and more. He knows love grows where love is perceived; and God will not fail to make His love known to those in whom He wants such love to resonate. For Spirit-infused confidence in His love enables you to choose against the sin that is at bottom a mistrust of that love. Hearing the motive beneath the mandate makes the impossible possible.
You may never be a piano tuner, but you will always have to take note of both the mandate and motive of every command. Are you listening for the His love within His command—the most resonant truth designed to compel your obedience? It’s the only thing that can sustain it.
For whatever was written in the former days was written for our instruction, that through endurance and encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
I don’t remember much from seventh grade life science class, but I do remember the day we dissected earthworms. Our teacher distributed a handout with a diagram of the anatomical structures we were about to witness firsthand. She then laid our sacrificial specimen in its cold metal tray upon our desks and carefully handed each of us our scalpels. The excitement about looking beneath the surface of the earthworm’s membranous skin was as potent as the smell of the formaldehyde. Cautiously, fearfully, I made the incision, hoping to get my first glimpse of the subpharyngeal ganglion, the ventral nerve, the gizzard, and the intestine—all surrounded by the pumping vessels of the earthworm’s circulatory system.
Having completed the surgical maneuver, I placed the scalpel to the side and beheld . . . nothing identifiable. Back and forth went my eyes from the diagram to the specimen. Where was all this wonderment the diagram promised I’d see? It just looked like someone had opened a can of tuna fish.
With all the unqualified urgency a seventh grader can muster, I shot up my hand in a desperate plea for the teacher to explain why nothing looked as it should. She approached, peered into my specimen tray, and said with all the restraint the teacher of fledgling students can muster, “You can’t see the structures, because you’ve destroyed them.” Imagine my disappointment.
There was nothing wrong with the earthworm. I’d just incised too haphazardly. In so doing I’d obscured—decimated, really—the integrity I was meant to see, and delight in.
We all come to scripture in search of something. Without care in our handling of it, we, too, can manage to obscure what constitutes its integrity. Though we can commit ourselves to a year-long reading plan, the scriptures are not a task to be completed. Though within their pages there’s a wealth of history and culture, it’s not just a collection of ancient documents to be analyzed. The breadth of characters in their stories confounds and inspires, but the scriptures are not primarily an anthology of biographies to emulate. You may even be surprised to hear that though its contents speak effusively of what is moral and life-giving, we’re not to reduce the Word of God to a course in life enrichment or a book of virtues to master.
Instead, scripture presents us with a single overarching responsibility: to find its story line. That is, while you make your way through the sea of episodes, characters, and commands, you must make it your task to keep your eyes on the horizon where the whole story is headed. There is a beginning to the story God has written and disclosed to His people. That story took a sharp turn toward frustration early on (Gen. 3, Rom. 8:20). Ever since, it’s been a battle for redemption—full of gains and losses, hints and heralds of deliverance—culminating majestically in an unexpected tragedy which turned out to be the world’s finest hour. Miss the story line and you miss God’s intention for addressing you in it. As Eugene Peterson puts it in Eat This Book, “it takes the whole Bible to read any part of the Bible.”
When we find its story line, salutary things happen. At the very least, it helps us keep our place when we risk getting enmired in some of scripture’s more obscure details. Furthermore it refines all those other motives we brought to scripture. Our discipline to complete what we start finds new enthusiasm. Our analysis of its contents finds purpose. We see the frailties and the virtues of the people in its pages in the light of the great frailty shared by all men and the great virtue demonstrated by the God-man. Then our search for life becomes a search for Him. In Christ’s sacrifice of life, we find ours.
Even more importantly, when we find the story line, we find that the only one who could’ve brought such seemingly disparate threads together into a seamless garment was the One who we believe supervised its authorship. And somehow as we find Him in that story, as the author and finisher of that story, we find ourselves in that story—how we’ve been made part of that story. How it is our story. Then, at last, we find what the Apostle Paul and Dr. Chapell told us we’d find: we find hope.
Whether you are in Isaiah or Philemon, Jude or Jonah, Revelation or Daniel, take care to notice the story line that gives the Bible its integrity. For in finding its integrity you find its hope. “And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out His love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, Whom He has given us” (Rom. 5:5, NIV).
Love is patient and kind.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
James Davison Hunter is a sociologist at the University of Virginia whose most recent book, To Change the World, is causing quite a stir.
As an incisive observer of culture who happens to be a Christian, he has particular interest in how the church ought to be influential in the societies that surround it. Too often, he finds, Christians have reduced their responsibility of being salt and light in the world to obtaining and exercising influence through purely political channels. Problem is, efforts by Christians to effect policy have just as often run aground into morally dubious methods (One thinks of Cal Thomas’s lament of some Christians’ foray into the corridors of power in his book Blinded by the Light). More to Hunter’s point, focusing attention at the policy-making level is based, he argues, on a flawed premise that cultural change occurs through primarily political means.
Hunter theorizes that a tide turns in a society when networks of people situated in positions of institutional authority exercise principled influence. Cultures change when those in academia, business, scientific inquiry, medicine, law—to name just a few—don’t just fulfill their job descriptions, but align their work with human flourishing. That’s principled influence.
And what sort of principled influence does Hunter argue Christians must wield? Why, love that is patient and kind, of course, just as we heard unpacked last Sunday. Hunter calls it “faithful presence.” As Christ became fully present to our condition in the incarnation—fully aware of and concerned for our need—He engaged Himself fully in attending to our need. He became one of us, awakened us to our true condition, solved our greatest need in His death and resurrection, and left His Spirit with us to discover the fullness of the life He intends for us. He was faithfully present in His unparalleled expression of longsuffering kindness to us. As we recognize how much we are the beneficiaries of that kindness, the only logical response is to imitate such kindness, and, in turn, exercise faithful presence to others. We notice them, sit with them, take note of their need, marshal our resources, and do unto them what is good for them, as Jesus defines what is good and with the love He supplies; in other words, in Jesus’ name.
This sort of commitment has implications far beyond our interpersonal encounters with others. Hunter documents how it led automotive companies to formulate their core philosophy with the question “What do we owe our customers and employees?” It inspired art galleries to take their exhibits of what is true and beautiful into places mostly overlooked by the art world. The commitment to faithful presence moved music aficionados to provide an alternative to those art publications that tended to glorify what was degrading. In these and other varied industries, those with influence took the time to understand the needs of others and, as an expression of thanksgiving to the One who was faithfully present to them, went and did likewise.
Those small stories confirm that patient, kind love has implications for every domain of existence—including the boardrooms, the think tanks, and the strategy sessions of all movements and industries. Anyone with any influence in any industry ought to be asking the Lord how to manifest His patient and kind love in his or her sphere. The needs are too great and the Lord is all too willing to answer for us to reduce our work to just earning a paycheck or managing a business plan.
But what if you’re not in those higher echelons of cultural influence? Is the act of faithful presence reserved only for those who strategize and supervise, who purchase and manage vast resources? Consider one more of Hunter’s examples of faithful presence, “a woman who rang up and bagged groceries and whose sphere of influence was only six square feet”:
Every day she greeted her customers with genuine enthusiasm, remembering customers’ names and asking about their families. She would end every conversation by saying that she was going to pray for their family. Over time, this caused problems, for people wanted to get in her aisle, which resulted in larger lines. People would wait, though, because they enjoyed being with her, encouraged just by her presence. At her funeral, years after she retired, the church was packed to standing-room-only capacity, and she was eulogized again and again by people whom she had encouraged for years. (p. 269)
From conference rooms to cashier lines, love that is patient and kind plays everywhere. Because it is needed everywhere, and because the Lord Jesus means for it to go everywhere. Where does it need to go in your neck of the woods today?
Praise the Lord, all nations!
Extol him, all peoples!
For great is his steadfast love toward us,
and the faithfulness of the Lord endures forever.
Praise the Lord!
Jeremy Weese was raised in the blistering cold of western New York State, on the shores of Lake Ontario. Having lived through his lifetime quota of snow in just his first eighteen years, he fled the Northeast and attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. After graduating, Jeremy then decided that he wanted to study some more, so he studied five more years, this time at Covenant Seminary in St. Louis; served one year as a Pastoral Intern for Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. Jeremy is excited that his journeys have led him to Los Angeles. In the coup of the century, Jeremy wooed, won, and married Esther this past year. Favorite thing to do in LA: Take a book to the beach and then not read it. He also enjoys going downhill.
“Imagine there’s no heaven… no hell below us, above us only sky… Imagine there’s no countries… no religion too. Imagine all the people, living life in peace… and the world will be as one.”
– John Lennon, “Imagine”
Lennon was neither the first, nor the last, to call us to unity as a world. His song, deceptively simple in its lyrics, hauntingly simple in its melody, is far from simple in its message. As a dreamer, a poet, an activist, he saw all the divisions in the world, and he called us to unity. His answer: get rid of all the things that divide us, one of the main dividers being religion.
But it is not simply poets and former Beatles who locate a source of our disunity in religion. Regina Schwartz, currently a literature professor at Northwestern University, wrote The Curse of Cain: The Violent Legacy of Monotheism on the very same question. She argues that it is intrinsic within monotheism to create division—to create a “chosen” people, and thus by default an “un-chosen” people. It is in the creation of “the Other” where violence begins, division begins, and peace is lost. These voices are just a few of the myriad in our culture calling all religions toward unity and peace and away from the violence of differentiation.
The assumption lying behind these calls is simple: “Our different beliefs in god/s divide us and lead to violence.” The corresponding solutions then, are often apparently simple:
None of these solutions have worked, or will work.
Our passage this Sunday, as Rev. Dan Iverson reminded us, also directs us toward unity. “All nations, all peoples” are the addressees. The assumption behind this text is far different from the one driving Lennon and Schwartz. The source of division is not found in religion, or in God at all; the source of division is found within the human heart. Religion is divisive because humanity is divisive; one look at the last century will show that we are as divisive in our irreligion as we ever are in our religion. Thus the solution cannot simply be to rid the world of all religion and all gods; rather than leading to unity, that would create a world even more divided, and a world full of eight billion gods.
The Psalmist’s solution? His path to world unity?
Praise.
If the problem with the world is not that our belief in God divides us from each other, but rather that our belief in ourselves divides us from God, then the answer must be a refocusing of our attention, our belief, and our praise. It is only in our reconciliation to the One God that we can achieve reconciliation with each other; it is in our reunion with Him that we can truly find unity with each other.
And what is the reason for our praise? It is in His great love and his forever faithfulness, made all the more amazing by our minuscule affection and fleeting faith. For the Psalmist, his praise looked both backward and forward: back toward all the ways in which God had demonstrated his love, in the Exodus, in the Promised Land, and in His appointed king; forward to the promises still waiting. For us, our praise too looks backward and forward: back toward God’s love demonstrated perfectly in the cross; forward to the culmination of the reconciliation which finds people of every tribe, every nation, and every language joined together praising God.
You may say I am just a dreamer, but on that Day, the world will finally be one.
Love does not envy.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
As we’ve said in these pages before, what’s new about the so-called New Atheists is not their protest against Christianity—or any religious conviction for that matter—but the strident tone with which they express it. Some observers note, however, that another novelty of this newest incarnation of unbelievers is a mind-bogglingly superficial understanding of their adversaries’ position. They may be articulate in their acerbity, but their arguments belie an impoverished understanding of history, logic, and theology.
Take for instance one argument from the most artful of the New Atheists, Christopher Hitchens. In his traveling debate with pastor Doug Wilson (the subject of the documentary Collision), Hitchens pointed to covetousness as one example of human nature that the Judeo-Christian faith had sadly reframed as sinful. To him, what the Decalogue calls coveting is a “perfectly healthy thing to do” because “the ambition of jealousy and emulation [is] the necessary spur to innovation and progress.” That people are “made to feel guilty” about coveting adds another plank to Hitchens’s case that Christianity is not good for the world.
What of his assessment? Why impugn coveting when its outcomes seem to have proven so fruitful? For that matter, why impugn envy, as Mark did last Sunday, since envy is itself a species of coveting? At the surface, coveting and envy may seem beneficial. But what lies beneath them reveals both their inherent danger and Hitchens’s fundamental misunderstanding of their nature.
Envy begins innocuously with comparison—of attributes, achievements, or acquisitions, of past or present circumstances, or of future prospects. But the innocuous turns invidious when the comparison becomes a complaint. “He doesn’t deserve (what I want),” or “I’m entitled to (what I don’t have)” are the thoughts envy sprouts. If the sprout is allowed to grow, the complaint blossoms into distress. Here the thoughts become “I’m nothing without (what I don’t have which they have)” or “I must have that and will pay any price to obtain it.”
Envy isn’t just bare desire. It’s discontentedness with the status quo that at first leads to dread, and then to a despising of the person with the sought-after attribute. Premised on powerful beliefs that one is entitled to what one doesn’t have—or worse, that one is unacceptable until they have it—envy often leads to obsessive pursuit. No, envy is not the harmless interest in acquisition that Hitchens portrays. It is an expression of the most profound self-deception. It represents an unsustainable motivation toward change.
Worst of all, envy is entirely devoid of love. You cannot love those you envy, because by definition envy refuses to rejoice in the good of another. (This point further undercuts Hitchens’s position, since his basis for morality in the absence of God is “human solidarity.” How can there be solidarity when we should encourage the coveting and envy that alienate humans?)
In defense of Hitchens, there is such a thing as a healthy competitive spirit that elicits determination and diligence. We must allow and encourage the kinds of human interactions that prompt a quest for excellence. Even the Proverbs acknowledge that “Iron sharpens iron, and one man sharpens another” (27:17). But envying cannot be the solution because of how it delivers discord instead of the love that keeps our pursuits from becoming obsessions.
Since love cannot exist where envy compels us, what can ensure that our pursuits are life-giving? The gospel of God in Christ—specifically these two aspects of its message:
Those may seem like awfully stark beliefs employed to ward off envy. But as they are embraced (how else can you explain the Cross if they are not true?) envy is turned back. You find reason to rejoice in what your neighbor is that you aren’t or what he or she has that you lack. And even where you seek to become what you are not or obtain what you have not, the gospel enables you to direct your energies in ways that are life-giving. You are no longer compelled by an arrogant view of yourself or of a desperate desire to be accepted. You give your entire self to something with the understanding that both your greatest need and your greatest good are found in God alone. Then love reigns.
It’s Thursday. Last Sunday, Mark challenged you to prayerfully consider whom you envy and what about them you envy—and then to reflect upon the Cross to see the irrationality of your envy—and, let’s be honest, its odiousness. Have you followed your pastor’s lead?
Love does not. . . boast. It is not arrogant or rude.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
According to Wolfram Alpha this morning, life expectancy for the average American is 77.9 years. Compared to 1935, that represents an astounding increase of over 15 years, or nearly 25 percent.
We’re probably aware of some of what accounts for the change: seat belts and reflective tape, improved regulation of risky activities, access to healthier food and cleaner water.
And, of course, medical advances. Two in particular: more sophisticated diagnostic tools and more robust forms of treatment. The success of the latter is contingent mostly on what the former seeks: early detection. Even the most devastating diseases have significantly improved potential for cure the closer to onset they are recognized—before they have had time to ravage their hosts.
Though our souls are the immaterial complement to our material bodies, they operate in much the same way. The maladies that afflict them are most profitably treated when detected early.
We heard Sunday what stands opposed to love. We considered not only the offense of love’s absence, but also its cost. Left unchecked, the boastfulness and rudeness born of arrogance will metastasize and consume us like a cancer. Too often, though, the effects spread beyond us into the lives of those we love.
What, then, facilitates early detection? And what can be applied to effect a cure?
We mentioned Sunday a regular practice of reflection, oriented toward the question “Is love our priority?” Over the centuries those who’ve taken an interest in seeing Christ formed (Gal. 4:19) in those they serve have created their own diagnostic tools: questions that get to the heart of the heart. Maybe you’ve heard of Donald Whitney’s Ten Questions to Diagnose Your Spiritual Health; or, even more recently, David Powlison’s thirty-five “X-Ray Questions.”
John Wesley formulated a set of questions he considered crucial to growth in what it means to be a disciple of Jesus. It was his practice to enter a time of stillness at the close of each day and ask himself questions like these:
These questions don’t address a to-do list of behaviors. They serve as a barometer of our heart.
Our hearts have great potential for operating in a precisely opposite fashion to the character of God. Yet our lifestyles most often reserve precious little time for patient, prayerful consideration of our own hearts. Submission to questions like Wesley’s provides the diagnostic tool for detecting what is insidious in our hearts.
But as both doctor and pastor will tell you, early detection is only helpful if the proper treatment is applied. It’s a misunderstanding of the nature of the gospel to think of it as an immunization that you only administer once. Even after the Spirit of God persuades and enables me to believe and embrace the gospel (Westminster Shorter Catechism, Q. 31), I have to rehearse at every turn what is true of the gospel. Every time I discover there is someone I “fear, dislike, disown, criticize, or hold resentment toward,” I have to come back to what’s true in the gospel to keep the absence of love each of those things represents from incapacitating my soul.
Two caveats are in order, though. With all due respect to John Wesley, the last question of his soul survey leaves the impression that the solution to my lovelessness is found in my own will to conform. Seeing the lack of conformity will necessarily motivate me to alleviate the disparity, so it seems. On the contrary, only by meditating on what Christ has done shall I find the will to do what I must. His love disconfirms my reasons to be afraid. His kindness to me weakens the urge to protect myself against another’s unkindness by criticizing or resenting.
Second, while we’re called to account for our own heart, our nature always requires the observation of others to get a clearer view of its condition. The diagnostic questions may yield great insight, but without the loving insights of others, we depend too much on the very faculties in need of healing.
Only by detecting what is putrid about my soul can I see why it must be and how it can be made pure again. Dosing yourself with the gospel may not necessarily lead to a longer life (Matt. 5:10, 2 Tim. 3:12), but it does promise a truer one. If new health begins with early detection, what’s keeping you from making use of His diagnostic tools?
Love... does not insist on its own way.
“Greed, for lack of a better word, is good. Greed is right; greed works. Greed clarifies, cuts through, and captures the essence of the evolutionary spirit. Greed, in all of its forms—greed for life, for money, for love, for knowledge—has marked the upward surge of mankind.” These are the infamous words of Gordon Gecko, the ruthless Wall Street tycoon, for whose portrayal Michael Douglas won an Academy Award in the movie Wall Street.
There is something both shocking and intriguing about this statement. Our first reaction is to recoil at its bluntness; yet, there is something peculiarly admirable about it. Perhaps it’s that Gordon Gecko is the only one who had the guts to say what we were too afraid to say. Or that he unabashedly lived out these words without regret.
The “better word” that Gecko was searching for is selfishness. It’s what the ESV calls “insisting on your own way” (1 Cor. 13:5). The brilliance of Gecko’s statement is that he has taken an issue that plagues us all and turned it on its head, transforming it into a positive moral value. Gecko’s counsel is to stop fighting against selfishness and embrace it. Stop denying the tremendous influential power of insisting on your own way. Become preoccupied with yourself; after all, it’s what you’re best at. Use this to your full advantage.
But the counsel of the apostle Paul could not be more different. He declares, “Love does not insist on its own way.” Love is not selfish. We were reminded of this last Sunday morning by Mark Davis.
So, what’s the answer to our selfish tendencies, aside from calling something good which God has called evil or simply ignoring it altogether? The answer is in getting at what lies behind our selfishness. In other words, we must ask ourselves the question Why are we selfish in first place? What is it that motivates our selfishness?
Selfishness stems from fear. If I don’t look out for myself, no one else will. Think about it for a second. If you struggle with selfishness concerning money, is it not because you are afraid that if you don’t hoard what you have there could come a day when you might have nothing? Or if you’re a selfish spouse, is it not because you fear that you might give and give emotionally only to find that your spouse has not invested the same amount of love in you? Fundamentally, something deep within us really believes that nobody is looking out for me besides me.
Selfishness is really a smoke screen. It helps to mask a deep-seated discomfort. Selfish people are really fearful people. It’s ironic, isn’t it? For all his brazen confidence, behind Gordon Gecko’s cool demeanor lies a very fearful person. And the way he deals with this is by insisting on selfish greed.
It is at this point that the gospel has real answers for the fears that plague us. For Christ comes to us at our most vulnerable, our most fearful, our most selfish moments, and shows us that someone is indeed looking out for us. In fact, He was looking out for us long before we were looking out for ourselves. By dying on the cross, rising from the dead, drawing us to Himself by His Spirit, He has demonstrated the ultimate act of selflessness.
Furthermore, He guarantees that He will never leave us or forsake us, that He will work all things in this life for our good and our salvation, and that He has all of our days wrapped up in His sovereign yet compassionate hand. What exactly do you have to be afraid of?
The God of the universe who could have chosen to look out only for Himself has instead chosen to look out for you! He’s got your back. Now, whose back do you have?
Love . . . is not irritable or resentful.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Anger began to smolder in Thabiti Anyabwile (“thuh-BEE-tee An-yahb-WEE-lay”) at an early age. His father left his family when Thabiti was fourteen. A run-in with law enforcement distanced the teenager from his friends, fueling his anger further.
As an adolescent of the 1960s, his anger found validation in the radicalism of Malcolm X and others who attributed all the travails of Africans and African-Americans to those with paler skin. Describing himself as a “young, hot-headed militant seething with not just anger but hatred,” Anyabwile converted to Islam his sophomore year of college. His new faith promised to channel constructively his resentment toward white people—and toward the white Jesus of whom they spoke so highly.
Yet, after a patient consideration of the Qu’ran, he found an internal inconsistency in his arguments for Islam against Judaism and Christianity. The Muslim holy book enjoined, rather than disparaged, respect for the revelation given to Moses and the gospel delivered from Jesus. The Qu’ran recast some fundamental elements of what the Gospels said of Jesus but never called for Muslims to discard their teaching. Anyabwile found that troubling. How could a Muslim disregard the singular authority of Jesus, he wondered, if the Qu’ran accepted the virgin birth? How could the Five Pillars of obedience to Allah essentially obscure the need for atonement in Jesus if the Qu’ran had no quarrel with Jesus’ teaching? That and other inconsistencies eventually led him to renounce Islam, and in turn, all religions.
Still, there’d been no balm for his anger.
Later, in the wake of the miscarriage of his and his wife’s first child, he found himself staring at a television with a preacher expounding from 2 Timothy. In time, he led his wife to visit the church of that preacher, who on that day preached from Exodus 32. The title of his message was “What does it take to make you angry?” In that sermon, Anyabwile heard of the holiness and justice of God, and of His abhorrence for sin. He also heard of the Lamb of God who had come into the world to save those who believe—even “a former Muslim who was an avowed and determined enemy of the cross.” Thabiti and his wife were stirred to repent and believe in the gospel. And on that day, all his reasons and rationale for anger evaporated. What had stirred such animosity for over a decade had now been displaced by a love even more potent, and, at last, truly constructive.
That all sounds compelling, but how does the gospel do that? Mark reawakened our sense last Sunday of the danger of unrighteous anger and resentment which are antitheses of love. He also reminded us of how the gospel is the only sufficient force to displace them.
Irritability squelches love because it responds asymmetrically and wickedly. Resentment allows anger to seethe in us until it explodes like a ruptured gas line and sullies any hope of love’s emergence. But the gospel undercuts their appearance when it exposes three things about them.
The gospel exposes the blindness attendant to anger and resentment. They Such reactions ignore the reality that the Lord himself chose not to let His anger burn against us. The cross proves that the Lord bears no lingering grudge, but aims to reconcile what taints our fellowship. For us to resort to anger or resentment, we have to disregard His love for us.
The gospel also exposes the tyranny of those sins. Anger begets anger. Resentment festers and spreads like gangrene. And our hearts are not strong enough to simply release their hold on us by sheer force of will. We make ourselves prisoners of those sins so long as we indulge them.
Lastly and most significantly, the gospel exposes their offensiveness. Irritable anger and resentment flout the Lord. They discount His provision and besmirch His goodness. As David acknowledged, though they may be directed toward others, their intended victim is really the Lord (Psalm 51:4).
Only the gospel is strong enough to persuade us how anger and resentment have no place, make no sense, and obtain no good thing.
It doesn’t just put us in our place, though. The promise of forgiveness and renewal in Jesus are designed to make us more like the God who made us.
So what has it taken to make you angry lately—in hotheaded irritability or quietly seething resentment? Have you deployed the gospel to rescue you from your blindness, your tyranny, and the inherent offensiveness of those sins? What was true of Paul became true for Thabiti: “He who used to persecute us is now preaching the faith he once tried to destroy” (Gal. 1:23). If the gospel has that kind of power, why would it be any less effective in your struggle with anger?
Love is not resentful.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Whitney Cerak and Laura Van Ryn were two of five students traveling in a Taylor University van in April 2006 when an oncoming 18-wheeler lost control and slammed into their vehicle. All but one of the students perished.
Authorities on the scene identified the lone survivor as Van Ryn and hastened her to a nearby Indiana trauma center. The parents of the other four victims were notified that their children had died tragically. Whitney Cerak’s parents memorialized and buried their daughter days later.
Badly bruised, swollen, and bandaged from the accident, Laura was barely recognizable to her friends and family. Still, her condition improved remarkably and in a few weeks she was transferred to a rehabilitation facility.
In the weeks leading up to her transfer, family members began to notice peculiarities in Laura’s appearance that left them confused. Only when a therapist at the rehab facility asked Laura to write her name on a pad did she awkwardly scribe, “W-H-I-T-N-E-Y.” Confirming that patient Laura Van Ryn was in fact Whitney Cerak, hospital officials had two momentous phone calls to make.
One can scarcely imagine the elation the Cerak family must’ve felt upon hearing that the daughter they thought they’d buried was actually alive and progressing in therapy.
The intensity of their joy could only be rivaled by the Van Ryns’ heartbreak when they came to learn Laura’s true fate. The accident had deprived them of their child. A hasty identification ended up providing them hope, only to steal it away. Can you imagine the potential for resentment to seethe in their hearts? Resentment at the authorities who allowed an oversight to persist for weeks. Even resentment at God, who’d allowed that massive truck to steal four lives in an instant, including Laura’s.
Mark reminded us Sunday of Paul’s admonition that love is not resentful. It does not stockpile a record of wrongs to be used as an arsenal against the one who’s wronged us.
The Van Ryns had been wronged, deeply wronged. Their loss was incalculable, compounded by the subsequent devastation of dashed hope. Rather than take the path of resentment, however, something else led them to a hopeful kind of mourning: the kind that allowed them to grieve but at the same time rejoice in the Ceraks' good news. What led them there was the gospel. As Laura’s mother, Lisa, put it, “The message in our story is one of hope that we have in Jesus.”
You see, the Van Ryns avoided the path toward resentment by trusting in profound truths: that what they have in Christ is even greater than what they lost in their daughter; that the harm that befell their family did not mean God had abandoned them or was unable to bring great good out of that tragic moment; and, of course, that the Laura who left them will one day walk again with them, when the dead in Christ shall rise.
Only by the grace of God and in the power of His Spirit would anyone be able to face the sorrows the Van Ryns did. The path away from resentment and toward love and contentment is nothing less than a work of God.
But His work was not limited to the Van Ryns. For Matt Lauer, who considered it an honor to tell this story to America on Dateline, acknowledged, “I don’t know how long I’ll do this job, but for as long as I do it, I think your families will be the most extraordinary families I’ve ever met. . . . I’m not a deeply religious person, but I am a spiritual person. I just said to someone (Thursday morning) as we were getting ready to do the show, ‘It makes you want to be even more spiritual and makes you want to embrace your spirituality.’ These people have such a positive outlook on life, despite all they’ve been through, and that's because of their faith.”
That Lauer was so moved by the Van Ryns’ faith I think confirms another paradox of the Christian faith: The conditions under which resentment might take root most easily are the same conditions under which God’s glory might be displayed most radiantly. The Van Ryns could’ve rued their daughter’s loss in bitterness. Instead, by God’s grace, their loss elicited love resting on faith. In so doing they validated once again the nature of our God: He turns tragedies into triumphs through trust in His love.
Few of us will face tragedy similar to the Van Ryns’, but every one of us will face opportunities to harbor resentment for wrong done to us. What’s eating you today, due to some slight, deprivation, or wrong? Do you see the opportunity to adorn the gospel by how you face that circumstance? Do you grasp how much you will have to turn to the truths of the gospel in order to find the strength to love whoever landed the blow? A turn not only to the truths, but to the One who spoke and proved them. The first step away from resentment begins with a prayer. To the One who’s already been praying for you—that love would displace it.
Love does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
“The story has been called grotesque,” she admits, “but I prefer to call it literal.”1 A story that begins amusingly ends violently. But “violence is never an end in itself,” author Flannery O’Connor, explains, “Violence is a force which can be used for good or evil, and among other things taken by it is the kingdom of heaven.”
There’s plenty of violence in her short story “A Good Man is Hard to Find.” Without divulging any plot spoilers I’ll tell you it’s set mainly in a forest in O’Connor’s sultry South. A backbiting family, shortly after embarking on vacation, has a car accident. Stranded but mostly unharmed, they’re met unfortunately by a small band of prison escapees.
Amid the humidly tense air, a discussion of spiritual matters arises between two of the characters—the grandmother of the clan and the de facto head of the escapee band, known as “the Misfit” (his punishment, he alleges, didn’t fit the crime). At one moment in their conversation, the Misfit waxes prophetic and philosophical:
“Jesus was the only One that ever raised the dead,” The Misfit continued, “and He shouldn't have done it. He thown everything off balance. If He did what He said, then it’s nothing for you to do but thow away everything and follow Him, and if He didn’t, then it’s nothing for you to do but enjoy the few minutes you got left the best way you can by killing somebody or burning down his house or doing some other meanness to him. No pleasure but meanness.”2
From the one least likely to notice comes the realization that Jesus changes everything. You can either rejoice with the truth—in His truth—or rejoice in unrighteousness and find your pleasure in meanness. Some might call that an oversimplification—a false dichotomy. But if it’s true that God became man to rescue those enslaved to the guilt and corruption of sin, then anything less than rejoicing in His truth is tantamount to a denial of reality. As Julian reminded us last Sunday, love does not rejoice in unrighteousness because love does rejoice with the truth. A demonstrated appreciation of His truth pushes back against a preference for what is unrighteous—or so The Misfit concludes for his captive audience.
What shall we glean from such an unnerving story? How might it address what Paul says about love and truth?
O’Connor explains her use of extremes in storytelling when she says, “When you can assume that your audience holds the same beliefs you do, you can relax a little and use more normal means of talking to it; when you have to assume that it does not, then you have to make your vision apparent by shock—to the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind you draw large and startling figures.”3
You and I, like those in what O’Connor calls the “Christ-haunted” South, can become so familiar with the gospel that, in a paradoxical way, we are no longer moved by it. We assent to its truth, but its joy is far from our lips or our hearts. We may not be rejoicing in unrighteousness, but we’re certainly not rejoicing with the truth. Such joy doesn’t evaporate overnight. We drift from it over time. Once we have drifted from it, we not only love less—we let an appreciation for what is unrighteous creep in like scum on a backwater pond.
So the spirit of the Misfit insinuates a couple questions for us:
The first is this. What of the Truth has been marginalized in your practice? What truth of Jesus have you been giving assent to but have refused to follow in the way of? You may not have been tempted to terrorize like the Misfit and his gang, but casting an indifferent eye, withholding a necessary encouragement, or refusing a loving sacrifice all express something less than a rejoicing with the truth.
The second question is foundational to the first. What time do you give to ponder the truth you’re to find joy in? Are you so addicted to activity, to your e-mail, to the maintenance of certain perceptions of yourself, that you’ve no time left to feed on the truth that’s meant to enlarge and enliven you? Sometimes we may not know the joy of walking in truth until we obey, but far be it from Jesus to simply guilt you into loving obedience; He meant to set before us His joy as the basis for our willingness to endure hardship out of love (cf. John 15:11, Heb. 12:2). Are you setting before yourself what constitutes His joy so that you may walk in it?
“If He did what He said, then it's nothing for you to do but thow away everything and follow Him.” Sit with that. Then let it rouse you to your feet so that this world might find its good men.4
1. “Writing Short Stories,” Mystery and Manners: Occasional Prose (1969).
2. “A Good Man is Hard to Find,” Flannery O’Connor: Collected Works, Penguin, 151.
3. “The Fiction Writer and His Country,” Mystery and Manners.
4. With thanks to Peggy Skidmore who, while on vacation, happened unsuspectingly into a Sunday school class considering the works of Flannery O’Connor, and brought home a compilation of the quotes.
"Love never ends."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
What do a 17th-century Jesuit priest and a 21st-century bioethicist have in common? More than you might think.
In Roland Joffe’s, The Mission, Jesuit priests journey to South America to evangelize a tribal people known as the Guarani, who live embedded in the high tropical forests of what is now Brazil. Father Gabriel, the leader of the missionary team and played by Jeremy Irons, makes his first overture to the tribe, not with words or supplies but with the lilting sounds of an oboe. The tribe soon comes to trust the courageous but gentle priest. In time he and his order establish a thriving mission.
Fr. Gabriel’s efforts take place amid the colonial wrangling of Spain and Portugal. When Spain cedes to Portugal the territory in which the mission exists, the Portuguese see the missions as impediments to the development of their economic interests; the peoples now organized into fledgling Christian communities would serve well as slaves.
A fierce debate emerges among the priesthood in how best to protect the mission and the people who comprise it. While many of Fr. Gabriel's men opt for resistance by force, Fr. Gabriel himself insists that violence only compromises the very convictions they're trying to protect. He summarizes his position in a succinct, impassioned phrase: “If might is right, then love has no place in this world.”
Peter Singer is a renowned and outspoken bioethicist at Princeton University. He holds to a naturalistic worldview in which reality is comprised of only the material. To him the soul and the spiritual dimension are only human inventions. He proceeds from the ranks of those who consider themselves, as Richard Dawkins put it, “intellectually fulfilled atheists.” In that, Singer is unremarkable.
What distinguishes him is the extent to which he fleshes out his atheism and naturalism into the social sphere. In the absence of a transcendent authority, one’s evolutionary advantage becomes determinative in the assigning of rights. From a cognitive-development standpoint, some animals demonstrate much earlier awareness than humans. That’s why Singer thinks it reasonable to suspend so-called rights to infants until they are at least a month old. Parents ought to be given the right, he argues, to dispense with their infant child on the basis of their minimal fortitude and extensive dependence—characteristics that deem their survival advantage comparatively low. Singer's world considers the concept of might—in the sense of the ability to survive and outlast—as more valuable than love as a foundation for society.
As haunting as that vision might be for many, observers like Dinesh D'Souza note that at least Singer is being an “intellectually honest atheist.” If there is no rational basis for being disadvantaged for the sake of another, which could be one definition of love, then might carries the day. Love becomes another human invention whose place in this world would be established on purely arbitrary grounds.
What Fr. Gabriel and Peter Singer have in common is the belief that a single concept foundational to the ordering of a society. But that’s the extent of their agreement. They articulate radically different visions for that society, the implications of which could not be more disparate.
Mark has led us through [Sunday's sermon] a patient review of Paul’s vision for society, the one based on love—not just any love though, the love articulated and demonstrated by no less than Jesus. Rather than trying to vanquish, love bears all things. Instead of dismissing what is ostensibly unfruitful, love hopes and believes all things. Love endures all things rather than cratering, faltering, or retaliating. It’s that vision for society, Jesus argues, that bodes well for its flourishing.
Now, descending from the lofty heights of cinema and academia, why consider such dramatic and provocative ideas? Because, perhaps more than we’d like to admit, our hearts are ordered more toward Singer’s vision for society than Father Gabriel’s. We tend to be more about self-preservation than self-abnegation. We think, speak, and act with designs toward supremacy instead of servitude. We regard one another more often as means to our ends, rather than as those with a dignity conferred them by God. It’s not just society that hangs in the balance of whether love or might reigns; our own little societies do, too—our marriages and families, our friendships and neighborhoods, our churches and small groups.
If love never ends—if it is intended and destined to endure—you and I have to check our hearts often for when love recedes into the background of our preference for asserting our own importance. Our self-interest may not lead us to follow Singer’s outlandish proposal, but it can still incur regrettable loss and damage.
And that’s why we have to keep in view the One who asserted love’s supremacy most supremely. He exercised His might in the cause of love. We must dwell often on Him who kept love’s vision firmly in place and then depend on His Spirit to strengthen such love in us. Then love, whose place Jesus firmly established in this world, will have its place in us.
"For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
Jeremy Weese was raised in the blistering cold of western New York State, on the shores of Lake Ontario. Having lived through his lifetime quota of snow in just his first eighteen years, he fled the Northeast and attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill. After graduating, Jeremy then decided that he wanted to study some more, so he studied five more years, this time at Covenant Seminary in St. Louis; served one year as a Pastoral Intern for Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. Jeremy is excited that his journeys have led him to Los Angeles. In the coup of the century, Jeremy wooed, won, and married Esther this past year. Favorite thing to do in LA: Take a book to the beach and then not read it. He also enjoys going downhill.
“For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.” – Paul
“To be or not to be–that is the question.” – Hamlet
Life. Death. These twin mysteries lie at the core of what it means to be human. What do we do with the fact that we are alive? And what do we do with the fact that one day we will die?
As important as these questions are, they rarely find their way into our everyday lives. They get pushed out by grocery lists, appointments, budgets, and parent-teacher conferences.
We need stories like the Apostle Paul’s and plays like Hamlet to bring us face-to-face with these questions. But it is not enough simply to ask the questions; we need an answer. At first glance, it might seem that Paul and Hamlet have similar answers to these questions. Both are wrestling, facing death, and uncertain whether to choose life or death. But it is there that the similarities end. Paul, in chains in prison, wonders aloud whether life or death is better. Hamlet, a Danish prince in the midst of politics and intrigue, wonders aloud whether life or death is worse. These are different answers to the same questions; what is more, we see that how we answer those questions determines how we live our lives and face our deaths.
So what is the right answer? We are surrounded by dozens of answers played out in millions of lives. The ancient Egyptians, for example, so revered death and the afterlife that the bulk of their wealth and labor of their lives was directed toward preparing properly for the afterlife. The pyramids are a lasting testament to their focus and devotion. Our monuments to death in Western culture can be no less elaborate. But rather than revering the afterlife, we have emphasized this life. Thus the bulk of our wealth and the labor of our lives is devoted to enjoying and preserving this life.
As Hamlet’s soliloquy unfolds, he comes to this point: in the face of all the troubles and trials of our lives, suicide seems a valid option, except for the fact that we fear death. He muses, “But that the dread of something after death, the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have than fly to others that we know not of.” In our culture we are children of Hamlet–tempted to manage our pain and maximize our pleasure for as long as we have life.
As we heard on Sunday, that is not Paul’s answer, and it is not ours.
For Paul, to live is Christ and to die is Christ. The question is not whether he will live or die, because either way, he is Christ’s, and Christ is his. Death for Paul, and for the Christian, is not “the undiscovered country” of Hamlet; rather in Christ we have One who has gone into death ahead of us and taken away its sting. Death is now neither unknown nor feared, and that changes life. It is no longer about creating a legacy or monument for this life or the next, or limiting our pain, or managing our risk, or “getting the most out of life,” or “living life to the fullest.” Rather, life becomes about living for the One who lived for us. Christ lived for us, died for us, and was raised for us; how can we not give our lives to the One who gave His life for us?
So what do we do with the fact that we are alive? And what do we do with the fact that one day we will die? Is your answer Paul’s answer?
Without Jesus, the life we have isn’t really life; with Jesus, our death is no longer really death. “For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”
And most of the brothers, having become confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, are much more bold to speak the word without fear.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
A probing question: When is the last time you mentioned something specific about your hope in the gospel to a friend, colleague, or neighbor who may not have that same hope? Not the passing phrase that sounds like homespun lore: “God works in mysterious ways,” or “Someone’s watching over me.” Rather, I’m talking about phrases that get to the heart of what motivates your humility, holiness, or helpfulness—that explain your hope and why you still have some.
It’s a subsidiary point to the Philippians, but within Paul’s recapitulation of recent history, he articulates a principle of what it means to know and follow Jesus: “And most of the brothers, having become confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, are much more bold to speak the word without fear.” His chains have served, not to weaken their faith, but to strengthen it. (Think William Wallace’s men as they watch his torture: rather than siphon their resolve to pursue Scotland’s freedom, his agony steeled it.) Paul’s imprisonment had the fortuitous consequence of emboldening the believers’ witness. They speak more effusively about the Lord, their hearts kindled by what they see their brother, Paul, willing to suffer for. Paul’s point is that the life of following Jesus includes an increasing interest in making Him known, irrespective of what it costs you.
There are many reasons we might stutter a bit when it comes to evangelism. For some it’s a matter of the tongue: we wouldn’t know what to say even if given the chance. We have some vague understanding of the contours of the gospel, but to put it into words would be a challenge. Peter has an answer for the tongue-tied: “In your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you” (1 Peter 3:15). Evangelism is a matter of preparation based on a desire to honor the One of whom you bear witness.
For others it’s a matter of the mind: We’re just not sure of some elements of our faith. If we have trouble believing some aspect of the gospel, how can we expect another to believe what we proclaim? Witness doesn’t require having an encyclopedic knowledge of scripture, but it does entail having a basic grasp and confidence in its essential message. We’re called to consider and answer whatever challenges that core message: “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ” (2 Cor. 10:5).
But for many, our hesitancy in witness is a matter of the heart: We don’t prepare our tongues or sharpen our minds because we’ve made what it might cost us more valuable than the message we might speak. We’re motivated more by a person’s response or a potential backlash than what bearing witness might accomplish. To be sure, we’ve heard plenty examples of people sharing their faith without the requisite “gentleness and respect” Peter insists upon. We may have even been in the presence of those whose explanation of the gospel seems about as intelligible, relevant, and plausible as the proverbial huckster peddling his snake oil. But while we may take issue with those less winsome, honest expressions, we tend to use them as excuses not to speak, rather than as inducements to say it better. Jesus, in another setting, explained how, “out of the abundance of his heart the mouth speaks” (Lk 6:45). Our speech reflects our heart’s innermost beliefs, its deepest loves. If speech of him is absent from our lips entirely, we must examine our hearts for why that might be so.
Peter, Paul, and Jesus all have something to say to our motivation to be bold in witness. But remember that other motivation of which Mark spoke last Sunday [link to sermon]. Making the gospel known is not a matter of fulfilling a mandate, or recruiting people to a team, or pontificating on some philosophical system. It’s a message that points people home. If the gospel is true, the longing we all feel for resolution to what’s distorted in us and in the world finds its explanation and its answer in the gospel.
“Spiritual Formation” takes its cue from a phrase Paul uses in his letter to the church at Galatia: “My little children, for whom I am again in the anguish of childbirth until Christ is formed in you!” (Gal. 4:19). That of course includes having His character manifested in you. But it also means having His message so resident in you that when opportunity avails, it rises to the surface without flamboyance or fear.
So, which of the reasons mentioned above explains your hesitancy, if there be any? The good news is that the Lord doesn’t stand there, as it were, tapping His toe until you get it right. Rather, He labors to see Christ formed in us by making the love of Christ real to us. It’s that heart that then speaks well of Him.
“What do you make of Jesus?” It’s a harmless, respectful question you might pose as an entrée into a larger discussion with someone. It may also be the question you take with you into your prayer closet so that you might become “more bold to speak the word without fear.”
The fear of the LORD is the beginning of knowledge.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
A right fear of the Lord has everything to do with a life of true wisdom, which last Sunday’s prologue to the Proverbs illustrated. We argued that without a profound sense of awe for the Lord you lack both a proper or a sufficient motivation to heed and persevere in the instruction of the Proverbs.
There’s something else you lack without a right fear of the Lord: you can’t be logically consistent in whatever ultimate concerns you have for this world.
Now, Christopher Hitchens[1] doesn’t believe one must have a belief in God in order to be moral and virtuous. Instead, he argues those without religious faith are just as capable of admirable displays of virtue as anyone claiming said faith.
Doug Wilson, Hitchens’ friendly adversary in the touring debate over the goodness of Christianity, grants Hitchens’ point: Christians do not corner the market on virtue. But while you can ascribe nobility to an unbeliever’s irreligious virtue, you cannot ascribe logical consistency to such. Even atheists must borrow from theistic categories to ground their moral convictions and actions. Or they must contrive their own standards, which ultimately fail on the basis of arbitrariness. Without the fear of the Lord, an individual’s selfless concerns will always be begging for an ultimate rationale which their agnosticism or atheism can’t deliver.
You want to save the planet from ecological disaster? Why? Because you want to preserve the planet’s resources for future generations. But why should they matter? Or maybe you want to intervene for the sake of planet itself. It deserves respect, you say. But on what basis? Because it provides us so much? Why should reciprocity become a controlling principle?
Maybe you want to end the sex-slave trade in India? Why? Because humans deserve to be free? On what basis? Who or what determines that humans have intrinsic dignity worthy of defense? Without a transcendent category that grounds such dignity, the conviction that drives you to free those born into brothels, while ostensibly noble, is still artificial.
You want to end poverty in W. Dallas? Eradicate corruption at City Hall? Challenge greed among the moneyed? Fine, but why are poverty, corruption, and greed necessarily unacceptable?
Even atheist Antonia Senior recognizes the intrinsic illogic of a quest for justice that rests on a morally ambiguous framework. If you reject the notion that there is a standard by which to evaluate a culture, then you have no place, for example, to condemn the practice of female circumcision. It’s logically inconsistent to condemn an action while at the same time denying a basis for evaluation. (Hat Tip to Marvin Olasky’s interview with Tim Keller)
Every cause requires a rationale that goes beyond our own interests if they’re to have any validity. As you ground a cause in a firm rationale, you’ll have to appeal to some universal principle to which we are all accountable. The Proverbs argue we are accountable to the Lord, from which we derive our proper fear of Him and the rationale for all our obedience to Him.
The fear of the Lord validates your fight. It provides a consistency of conviction and action to your fight, and therefore keeps you in the fight.
A fear of the Lord also keeps the fight from becoming about you. How many of our most desperate efforts are centered, not on the objects of our cause, but on defending or proving ourselves? The Gospel refines our engagement with causes in a profound way: if we think we must ingratiate ourselves with God by doing His moral will, we’re tempted to think less of the cause itself and more about whether it will curry God’s favor. If, however, we know nothing we do obtains that favor and everything has already been done by Christ to secure it, then our efforts change. We’re freed, so to speak, to act strenuously in un-conflicted concern for the cause, and in gratitude to the One who made us His own.
In what are you engaged? Nurturing a child? Mediating a conflict? Pursuing justice? Do you see how the fear of the Lord is crucial to the consistency of your cause? The Cross of Jesus is the clearest reason for why we fear the Lord. It is the most potent truth to cultivate that fear. May He foster consistency in you as you meditate upon His Cross.
[1] It’s a fear of the Lord that should also compel us to pray for Mr Hitchens, who was recently diagnosed with esophageal cancer. His inconsistency and antagonism, notwithstanding, it’s only consistent with a respect for what the Lord has done for us in Christ to love those at odds with us. (cf. Proverbs 25:21,22, Mt 5:44)
Then I saw and considered it;
I looked and received instruction.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
On Sunday, we discovered that we may be more acquainted with that arcane word sluggardliness than we’d care to admit. We shift our attention toward less important matters so effortlessly that we lose sight of what truly requires our care. Or sometimes we don’t appreciate what we have that we forget how our responsibilities constitute a privilege. For both reasons we find ourselves drifting toward the neglect of the sluggard’s way. So, we asked, what can be done to keep us from that drift?
It’s a matter of focus, of where you fix your gaze. Such is the testimony of both ancient and modern Christians.
John Chrysostom, the fourth century Archbishop of Constantinople, contended diligence derives from a look beyond the present moment. He said, “Is work at first difficult? Then look to its results. Is idleness sweet? Then consider what comes out of it in the end. So let us not look to the beginning of things, but let us also see where they end up” (Commentary on the Proverbs of Solomon). Today’s demands can often overwhelm us and drain us of strength. But when we imagine where present practice may lead, we begin to understand the significance of our efforts. The plodding work may seem trivial in the moment, but its result produces a satisfaction that justifies the effort.
Not only does diligence come from having a look to the future?it comes from surveying our ultimate future.
Early in C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Edmund and Lucy visit their relatives’ home for the summer. In Lucy’s bedroom hangs an evocative picture of a ship, which reminds them of their previous adventures in Narnia. Wistful for a return to that magical country, Edmund asks while beholding the picture, “The question is whether it doesn’t make things worse looking at a Narnian ship when you can’t get there.” Lucy replies, “Even looking is better than nothing.”
Edmund understands the struggle of feasting his eyes on a reality to which he doesn’t have full access, but which he’s been promised to someday enjoy. So wouldn’t it be better, Edmund wonders, if we saw nothing of that magical country?
Lucy knows better though. To have even a glimpse of what is a joy still to come makes the lack more tolerable, not less. Having had a taste of that place, even just the sight of it keeps them hopeful about their return.
Fixing our heart’s gaze on Jesus’s glory and His return supplies a taste of what’s to come. In turn, it keeps us doing what must be done, including our attention to the sometimes tedious and frustrating demands of love and holiness. So when we’re tempted to quit, we have to turn our attention to Jesus. Then we’re motivated to diligence not only because of His loving example, but also because we recognize the destiny to which it’s ordered that makes diligence meaningful. That is, when we consider how diligence in love resonates with the glory we have yet to see when Christ returns, we realize our diligence doesn’t just matter to us?but to God.
As the apostle John says, “Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who thus hopes in Him purifies himself as He is pure.” (I John 3:2-3). Our gaze turned toward Christ and His return purifies us of negligence. The picture of the ship kept Edmund and Lucy in hope of their future voyage to that magical country. Our heart’s sight of Jesus keeps us in diligence on our present passage.
The neglect of anything stems from the neglect of one thing: our sense of the majesty and mercy of God. To have that sense rekindled, we must not only gaze upon Christ in the Word, and pray to Him in the Spirit, but we must also ask the Father to help us behold His glory in our hearts (Cf. Eph 3:14-19). So today, if you find yourself drifting toward negligence, ask, with whatever words you can find, that God would renew your diligence as you see His love for you.
let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
“Sorry won’t keep me from getting killed, now will it, ma’am?” were his curt words, interrupting my wife’s contrite apology. It was somewhere around 10:30 pm outside a dusty town in the Texas Panhandle, on our way home from two weeks in Colorado. Our four month old had filed his share of complaints over riding in the car seat during our vacation. So we’d committed to getting home without delay, no matter the cost, in order to minimize his (and our) further agony.
We’d filled up about an hour before, my wife offering to take the next shift, and were making good time back to Dallas. Suddenly we found ourselves on the shoulder of US 287, turned east but getting nowhere fast, squinting our eyes in the interrogatory-like shine of bright and colorful headlights from a sheriff’s vehicle. Our offense: violation of Texas Transportation Code - Section 545.157 which states that in the proximity of a stationary emergency vehicle, passing vehicles must vacate the lane closest to that vehicle, and slow to at least 20 mph beneath the posted speed limit. The law went into effect in September of 2003, but apparently we’d missed that month’s issue of Texas Transportation Code.
At first confused at why we’d been pulled over and then abashed once she’d been informed of her unwitting malfeasance, all my sweet wife could think to say was, “I’m sorry.” Neither her contrition nor our now rudely awakened newborn elicited the least sympathy from the officer. But then, they shouldn’t have. A law had been broken, which had been put in effect to protect lives. A penalty would have to be paid.
When Paul tells the church at Philippi they must let their manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ, he is of course admonishing them to conduct themselves consonant with the character of beloved and forgiven people. But to walk worthily of the Gospel is as much about how you respond to your failures as it is about how you endeavor to reflect its virtue.
Discovering that some dimension of your life is out of step with the promise of the gospel is not a matter of if, but when. The Spirit of God inevitably awakens you to someplace your affections are misdirected—in what you long for, what measures you take to get what you want, how you conduct yourself in secret as well as in public. Trust in the goodness and provision of the gospel has to become operative there. Once illumined, we’re faced with a choice of how to respond. There are worthy and unworthy responses to correction.
Unworthy responses might include a blithe disregard for the offense. Like saying to the officer that night, “Quit your whining, Copper. You ain’t bleeding.” Imagine the officer’s response to that kind of brazenness. Now imagine that kind of flippant comment made to the God of the universe for known sin.
Or consider a defensive retort that the moral bar has been set too high. No one can attain to that level of compliance, one’s heart might say. So to demand so much is unreasonable. Again, a complaint against what is noble and good is no defense.
Impudence isn’t the only kind of unworthy response. Your hope of ever doing well might wilt in the face of reproof. Yet, the gospel reproves us because it believes our hearts, by His grace, can and will change. And if our hope should wilt because we think God unwilling to endure us further, we must ask, “Why would God go to the trouble of reproving us if not for His love for us?”
So what is a worthy response to being pulled over, so to speak, and accused of violating the love and law of God? If I may be so bold (and biased), you respond like my wife did. You acknowledge the wrong that’s been done. You recognize the reason the law is in place and the potential consequences if it goes unheeded. You accept that what you sought in your breach of the law wasn’t worth what compliance with the law offers. And then, when applicable, you make amends for what you’ve done—you pay your debt.
As for that last part, there are some offenses which we can make restitution for bv asking forgiveness from those we’ve hurt. But in another sense the cost of our offenses exceed our ability to make compensation for them. That’s why the foundation of our hope rests on the gospel of grace that covers our sin and confirms His steadfast love for us.
So for what offense do you now find yourself pulled over, as it were, and found guilty? (Or what secret offense are you now waiting to acknowledge?) We learn to walk worthily of the gospel’s virtue by responding worthily to our failures thereof. How do you need to walk worthily of the gospel in this moment when your actions may have been anything but?
. . . with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the gospel. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
There’s a song by Don Chaffer about two lovers staring contemplatively at the sunset on a warm afternoon at the beach. Breaking the stillness, the girl asks her boyfriend if he ever has a deep desire to be free of all that constrains, to escape the mundane and the trivial. He pauses and replies,
Kelly, I don’t think
I’ve ever wanted as much
To be free as I’ve longed to be known
And of the things that I hate
When I look at my life
The worst is my being alone
His unpremeditated comment has the unintended consequence of awakening her to the same conclusion. She, too—despite all her desires to be unencumbered by the tedium and travail of this life—longs to be known.
We’re all part of a variety of communities. We join the Boy Scouts or pledge a sorority. We become part of professional organizations or fraternal orders. We form bowling leagues and quilting circles. We gather in large halls as political parties and on back porches as the de facto neighborhood think-tank. For a number of reasons do we make ourselves part of those communities—to learn skills and share ideas, to heighten our enjoyment of something through shared experience, or to multiply our efforts through the synergy of collaboration. But because we have an innate drive to be understood and accepted, we also join them for the purpose of being known.
For the last two weeks, Mark has noted that Paul’s concern for the church at Philippi was that they would live a life worthy of the gospel—worthy in form and purpose. As to its form, a gospel-worthy life manifests in a unity of love and respect among the brethren. That’s why Paul admonishes them to be standing firm “with one spirit, with one mind striving side-by-side.” But the unity has a purpose larger that mere consensus. It’s for the sake of contending for the “faith of the gospel”—spreading its message where it was not known so that gratitude for that message would grow where it had taken root. As the nature of the gospel is to go forth, so those who understand its nature naturally go with it.
Herein lies the intriguing parallel: where making Christ known is paramount, there the potential for being known is richest. We don’t make Christ known in order to be known, but inevitably the latter follows from the former. How can that be? It’s the community of the gospel that has interest in the entirety of the person because it is that whole person for whom Christ died. We live before a God before whom “no creature is hidden. . .all are naked and exposed” (Heb 4:13), and yet from whom there is “now no condemnation for those who are in Christ” (Rom 8:1). Therefore there is no place for concealment of what is laudable, sorrowful, or yes, reprehensible. For the community that understands itself to have been dead in sin (Eph 2:1) and yet made alive in Christ, upholds compassion for our remaining corruptions and support for our ongoing renewal. Furthermore, it’s a community with that self-understanding that labors to nurture the gifts in its people (Eph 4:12, 13) so that they bear fruit for the sake of the gospel (Jn 15:16). That’s a community that knows its members—which understands them and accepts them—because it’s laboring to make the One known who is singularly equipped to make us new.
Bowling leagues may give us sweet excitement. Professional organizations may float our resumes. Political parties may amplify our voice. But it is in the church, when its primary interest is in making Christ known, that we come to be known as we have always longed to be known.
As you look at your life in the church, how highly does contending for the faith of the gospel rank in your reasons for membership, in your participation in its life? The community you most long for will be found in the pursuit of making Christ known.
If there is any encouragement in Christ. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones puts his finger on an unfortunate paradox among Christians, in one of his sermons comprising the book, Spiritual Depression. He laments that those in whom the joy of the Lord has most reason to be present are actually those in whom it is less likely to be found. Those raised in the fold of Mother Church, he argues, tend to demonstrate a greater consternation about themselves than those converted to Christ out of an unchurched background. The former are familiar with the notion of the peace that passes understanding, but so few experience it—and their notice of its absence only compounds the distress.
Lloyd-Jones attributes the phenomenon to a familiarity with the gospel that never blossomed into an intimacy with it. As a result of simply having heard the message so frequently, those raised in the church are tempted to assume they’ve internalized its essence. To be able to repeat John 3:16 or mouth that “God forgave my sins in Christ” is too often equated with a deep sense of their implications. A familiarity with the gospel that in time leaves one unimpressed with it is no familiarity at all; it betrays a profoundly wrong understanding of the gospel. And as R. Michael Allen put it recently, “Wrong thoughts about the right God may be more threatening than thoughts about the wrong God.” (Reformed Theology, 14)
Paul was aware of the presence of turmoil within the church at Philippi. To stave off disunity, he admonished them to remember the deep encouragement to be had in Christ. Remembering what they have in Him undercuts the potential for the Body to become embroiled in divisive but ultimately insignificant matters, as Mark explained Sunday. But whether it’s turmoil within the church or within one’s own soul, the solution is the same: earnestly seek clarity as to why Christ is of the utmost encouragement. “There are certain things about which we must be perfectly clear before we can really hope to have peace, and to enjoy the Christian life,” says Lloyd-Jones (Spiritual Depression, 27). He boils down that pursuit of clarity under two heads.
The first task of obtaining deep encouragement is to become “miserable” about one’s true condition. Though we may lament a given sin, even a besetting transgression against the will of God, Lloyd-Jones insists that such are mere symptoms of our fundamental flaw: we do not love the Lord our God with all that we are. A flippant word hurled at your wife, a subtle omission of an income source on your tax-return, a brooding contempt for a colleague—these are slight matters by comparison to what ultimately motivates them: a contempt for the goodness of God. It is that contempt—whether or not we recognize it as such—that verifies our identity as sinners. If the glory of God is not our utmost concern, we prove our alienation from Him with every attempt at self-glorification. And for that indifference to His majesty we are cut off from His joy and would be eternally condemned.
Our encouragement in Christ will only be as deep as our sense of our alienation apart from His work on our behalf. That is why Lloyd-Jones’ second admonition is to recognize how Christ’s work is the only sufficient remedy to our alienation. He points to the story of John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, who lived for years sacrificing himself believing it would establish his acceptance with God. It was only when he saw his best efforts as but filthy rags (Is 64:6) and that Christ alone was sufficient to forgive his sins and declare him acceptable to God, did Wesley’s heart burn with clarity that “a man is justified by faith without deeds of the law” (Romans 3:28). How often do you and I find ourselves striving to find a measure of acceptance—either from God or others—which He has already secured for us in Christ? How many of our efforts are at bottom an attempt to outrun fears we cannot escape, or, in our pride, to fulfill expectations we can never satisfy? In either case our unstated worry is always, “Am I good enough?” “The essence of Christian salvation,” says Lloyd-Jones, “is that [Christ] is good enough and I am in Him.”
When’s the last time you sought to remember why there is deep encouragement for you in Christ? Rehearsing the basis of our encouragement may at first seem childish—like rote memorization, but consider: you re-read stories; you stare at paintings whose contours you’ve beheld before; you let familiar symphonies wash over your brain again and again. Why do you return to them? To remember what they say to you about truth and beauty. Why not take the time to ask the Lord to turn your familiarity with the gospel into an intimacy that brings peace and, in turn, the love that unifies both church and soul?
So if there is any . . . comfort from love . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
His foster father had made abuse almost a ritual in the home. Every night the patriarch would arrive home in an angry stupor, he’d lay a wrench, a belt, and a bat on the table to ask his foster son what method of beating he’d prefer. Years of abuse twisted the son into an angry young man. But the one thing the foster father couldn’t beat out of him was brilliance, or so the story goes in the 1997 film Good Will Hunting. (to the unfamiliar, caveat emptor: the language can be as caustic as the story is brilliant)
Working the janitorial night shift in the mathematics building at M.I.T., Will Hunting would furtively solve complex equations that professors had scribbled on blackboards outside their offices as an intellectual challenge to the school’s budding mathematicians. A professor happened to catch young Will exercising his mathematical prowess one night. With more delusions of grandeur than magnanimity, the professor invited Will to an apprenticeship—an opportunity to have his talent groomed and harnessed for the greater good.
But one thing hindered the commencement of the apprenticeship. A rap sheet of arrests for assault destined Will for some time in a Boston slammer. Only by submitting to psychiatric counseling could Will avoid incarceration. The professor calls his old collegiate friend turned psychiatrist, Dr. Sean Maguire, to take the case. Begrudgingly, Will complies.
After weeks of Will’s attempts to sabotage the counseling, Dr. Maguire receives the case history on Will’s time in foster care. The grisly record of the beatings are compiled in graphic detail. Despite Maguire’s probing, Will offers only the slightest commentary on the experience. Then with great courage and compassion, Maguire looks Will in the eye and begins repeating over and over: “It’s not your fault. It’s not your fault.”
Will at first acknowledges and dismisses his comment as a mere sentimental gesture. When Maguire persists, Will becomes angry—the fear of having his heart made transparent now as painful as if he were being tortured. Only when Will begins to believe that Maguire’s relentless incantation is designed not to meddle with him but to free him of the burden of guilt he’s carried quietly for so long, does the anger dissolve into weeping. The pompous pretense, the resistance to honesty, the mistrust of the counseling effort—all of it crumples just as Will does into Maguire’s strong embrace.
What happened in that moment, and why take time to recount the scene?
In recent weeks, Mark has brought to our attention Paul’s litany of reasons that make unity of heart and church possible. One of those reasons is the immense comfort to be found in the love of Christ as we heard last Sunday. Just as Will shrugs off Maguire’s offer of comfort at first, we tend to shrug off Paul’s fourfold promise as mere pious language. But Maguire’s belief in the potency of his comfort parallels Paul’s belief in the potency of the comfort of Christ’s love.
Will’s guilt had warped his soul into a defiant posture of animus and isolation. But at last he was comforted by love that was stronger than his strongest efforts to repudiate them. To finally believe he was blameless for the turmoil his foster father had inflicted was his liberation.
Christ comes to us, not just with words of comfort but as the means by which it is found. He does not say to us that our sin is not our fault, but in our quest to become unburdened of its guilt He does say, as it were, “it’s not your fight.” By His relentless Spirit He confirms to us the Lord’s forgiveness, His favor, and His eternally furnished future.
Who of you bears a secret guilt for things of which you were a victim rather than a perpetrator? Who of you bears a secret guilt for things you believe are unforgivable? Refusing to release the guilt that Christ bore for you leads you either to despair or to a frantic pursuit of establishing your own acceptance. Yet, Christ’s love is stronger than your strongest efforts to repudiate it. It breaks through into your dismissive heart and lifts whatever burden has warped your soul. It frees you to love.
Then, like Maguire, it enables you to comfort others in their affliction with the same comfort with which you have been comforted by God (2 Cor 1:3).
Beware of lightly considering the comfort of Christ’s love. There is much freedom to be found in a few words.
. . . but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
At least one reason we give credence to the gospels is their unabashed portrayal of the disciples’ obtuseness. There provide plenteous examples. They often mistake Jesus’ metaphorical words for the literal (Mt. 16:7), glory in their newly bestowed authority rather than in new the identity they’ve been given (Lk 10:17), and jockey for position in His entourage, rather than imitate His self-abnegation (Mt 20:20ff). They even call for excessive retribution against detractors (Lk 9:54) and are surly toward children (Lk 18:15). And despite Jesus’ frequent references to His own imminent passion, they are at best perplexed when he shares His last supper with them.
What pitch for the credibility of the faith would include such embarrassing anecdotes of its earliest adherents? In our age of spin, the absence of consensus in a given group detracts from its message. Yet, those who compiled the testimonies of Jesus seem not to care that His message was understood so poorly at first by His disciples.
For the next several weeks, Mark and this column will devote attention to the humility of Jesus. We’ll explore the basis, expression, and necessity of humility—both in Him and in us.
This last Sunday, Mark prepared us for the Table by unpacking how it supremely demonstrates Jesus’ humility. That He gives Himself at all—and entirely—is proof positive of that humility. But we do well to notice a subtler dimension of His humility in that moment: He gives what is eminently precious to those who scarcely understand its value.
The disciples’ obtuseness notwithstanding, Jesus does not predicate His offer on the basis of how much they’re tracking with Him. To be sure, He lingers with them until the earliest signs of understanding materialize (Mt 16:13ff), but His kindness is not contingent upon full respect of what He’s doing.
We, on the other hand, tender kindness too often with an unconscious expectation of commensurate respect. And when neither respect nor reciprocity manifest, we come away perturbed. Has the kindness you show your spouse drifted into a mode of self-seeking, rather than self-giving? Does the love you show your kids or your friends hinge on their respect of what you offer? Have you been present to the needs of your neighbors and colleagues only insofar as you gauge their appreciation of your past efforts? Does your willingness to make a defense of the hope that is in you (1 Pet 3:15f) pivot on whether you think they’ll respond?
You and I stand before the grace of God’s redemption in Christ, at best, obtuse. We scarcely understand how broad, long, high, and deep is His love (Eph 3:14-19). That Christ has secured us an eternal inheritance tests the limit of our imagination. Who of us can say we love to a degree comparable to His demonstration of love anticipated at the Table? Had Christ waited for His disciples’ full respect of what He would do, we’d all still be waiting for His redemption. We marvel at His humility in the extent of His sacrifice. Perhaps just as marvelous, though, is His willingness to extend grace to those who barely comprehend it.
It is a grace of God that anyone begins to understand what He has done for us in Christ—that’s the essence of conversion. It is a continual grace of His that we should grow in our appreciation of it. Because our hearts are prone to make demands of others we ourselves are unwilling to fulfill, there’s never a bad time to ask that He grow in us that appreciative understanding of His grace. Otherwise our love devolves into a contingent act, obscuring the most compelling argument for our faith. As Marilynne Robinson has recently put it, “Christians acting like Christians would be the most effective possible evidence for the truth of what they profess.”
Pray that love might flow as freely from us, and without condition, as it did from Him. Therein lies the humility He means to build in us.
Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Even if you’re not a geek like me, you can still probably recite the introduction to an episode of Star Trek, the Starship Enterprise’s commission to “seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one had gone before.”
But just as intriguing as the alien cultures they encountered was a particular principle they were committed to in the event of such an encounter. It was called the Prime Directive, and it mandated that there be no interference by a Federation starship in the social development of a previously unknown culture. No matter how troubled or errant a given society might be perceived to be, it was forbidden for crews like that of the Enterprise to engage in its epochal moments.
A recurrent subplot in Star Trek was the crew’s internal debate as to the wisdom of the directive: how could they stand idly by when they had the capacity—if not the obligation—to preempt events whose consequences would most likely be tragic? Although Star Trek took us to fantastical worlds, it explored very earthly realities.The crew’s turmoil over the directive resonates with our own ambivalence about getting involved in another’s need. Should we become involved in another’s consequential moments, or should we best stay out of it?
That’s one challenge we face in living among those unlike ourselves, but that’s not the only one.
Last year Steve Corbett and Brian Fikkert released their book, When Helping Hurts. They acknowledged the abiding and abundant need for intervention in the plight of so many among us and far from us. But they also identified what can go wrong when aid is misplaced, no matter how noble the intentions. Unless we understand the difference between relief, rehabilitation, and development, we can unknowingly reinforce an unhealthy dependence and deepen an unrelenting shame. Where Star Trek exposed our ambivalence to involvement, Corbett and Fikkert awaken us to the equally unproductive impulse of rushing in to help unreflectively.
Last Sunday, Mark made plain to us another dimension of Jesus’ humility—this time in His incarnation. Incarnation may be a word as foreign to us as hyperdrive. We know from its root that it means Jesus came to us in the flesh, but it deals with more than the form in which He appeared. The humility of His incarnation was in the expression of identification. He came and dwelt among us, the apostle John says (1:14). Setting aside the privileges of divinity without divesting Himself of such, He walked in our shoes, submitted to our constraints. He inhabited our condition not to study us, like an ornithologist studies the migration patterns of swallows, but to take our burden upon Himself in order to relieve us of it. He became like us so that we might become more like Him. Only by humility would He identify with us to such a degree.
Study His words and actions closely and you find no ambivalence in His willingness to engage our condition. Even in the Garden when the pressure was greatest, the struggle to obey yielded to His love for His heavenly Father.
Meditate on His forays into humanity’s battle with sin, sickness, and the Deceiver, and you will notice no hasty movements, no ill-conceived plans. Though He invited one to follow Him who would later betray Him, even that was according to an eternally orchestrated plan.
The humility in Jesus’ incarnation challenges both our ambivalence and our hastiness. We cannot look long at Him and sit back; nor can we analyze His efforts for long and then rush in to help unreflectively.
What need have you hesitated to act on that the humility of Jesus now beckons you to step up? What effort have you engaged perhaps too hastily that the humility of Jesus now asks you to pause for a bit of reflection? Are my words contradictory here, exhorting you to both action and reflection? Or do they send us back to the One who called us to pray (Mt 6:5ff), and to ask for wisdom we do not have (Ja 1:5)?
He was despised and rejected by men;
a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;
and as one from whom men hide their faces
he was despised, and we esteemed him not.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Imagine a slide-projector screen just a bit too far away for the image it’s displaying to be clear. That’s a crude picture of what it’s like to have myopia, that malady of nearsightedness diagnosed in over 850,000 new people each year in America. I was diagnosed with it in seventh grade and have been squinting ever since.
As with most aberrations of the body, myopia is now attributed to the confluence of both genetic perturbations and environmental influences. Though the smoking gun still remains a mystery, whatever its cause, myopia occurs when the axial length of the eye increases, creating more distance between the lens and our retinas. Since our lenses cannot adjust their focus like that now archaic slide-projector, they cast the image either a few millimeters too short (or too far) of the region that transmits said images to our brain. Aunt Edna from thirty feet now looks vaguely reminiscent of some intriguing rock formation in Utah.
All kidding aside, the degree to which myopia impairs our perception is no laughing matter. “Myopes,” as they’re called, can’t make out what they need to see even a few feet beyond them. Considering how many large things in this world move at blistering speed, one lives in great danger unless one dons corrective lenses or submits to surgical procedure. Even when it’s not dangerous, unaided visual perception leads to premature and misinformed choices.
Just as our physical sight can become myopic, so our spiritual sight can suffer similarly. We are susceptible to present circumstances filling our field of vision, and obscuring more distant, but no less true realities.
One could say that when the Lord Jesus faced His passion He was tempted with a spiritual myopia. If He failed to see beyond His immediate circumstances toward the ultimate and glorious objective of His suffering, He might’ve chosen any number of options that would’ve meant our doom.
Rather than suffer the indignities done to Him, He could have retaliated against the sinful, self-seeking men responsible. Or He could have quite legitimately reneged on his original plan to provide a sacrifice for our intrinsic hostilities, since he was under no real obligation to do what was gracious—that’s why they call it grace. Still another possibility: He could have simply run away, letting those anguished utterances at Gethsemane usher Him from the vestibule of despair into its great hall.
And yet, Hebrews tells us, Jesus fixed His gaze upon the joy set before Him. He endured the pain so that you and I who see so dimly—so myopically—might see Him by faith now and know Him one day with perfect clarity (I Jn 3:2).
All of us are acquainted with rejection to some degree. Whether you were the last guy picked on the grade school kickball field, or one of the mealy-mouthed girls trying not to look like the wallflower you were at the 7th grade dance; whether you struck out in asking for her number, or received the one-page condolence letter from the university—this world knows how to inflict rejection with surgical precision. To our point, there’s nothing like rejection to narrow our field of vision to what is immediate.
The challenge in facing most encounters with rejection lies in responding in a reputable way. But when rejection comes on the account of our faith, the stakes are higher—the temptations are perhaps more profound. In those moments, retaliation feels like a delicious rejoinder, even though it discredits us and defames Him who warned us there’d be days like these. Reneging on our covenant to take Him wherever we go or running away in fear or despair might seem the only way out of the fires of others’ fulminating—yet playing the shrinking violet forever defrauds you of the joy of seeing faith withstand confrontation. Whether retaliating, reneging, or running, they all betray a spiritual myopia that can no longer make out the sharp contours of the end for which we were made and re-made.
As it was made clear to us last Sunday, if we’re ever to face rejection without succumbing to myopic responses, we’ll have to fix our gaze on Jesus. He establishes the pattern and inspires the emulation. But more importantly, He both validates the reasons for enduring rejection and exposes the flimsiness of our reasons not to. So seeing Him is key to having a clear eye amid rejection.
To go one step further, the heart humble enough to face rejection in a holy way is the one that’s always learning how to pray. As learning to pray starts with reading and reciting texts, it matures as it recalls and reflects on who God is and what He is like. It enunciates and declares to Him (and our own hearts) what He has done, may be doing, and still promises to do. Like the patriarchs, prophets, and psalmists, we pray as if we’re almost reminding God what He can and must do—not because He has forgotten, but because we must learn to speak with the importunity that reveals our sense of the significance of what we ask and Whom we’re asking.
Is your vision of your purpose and future clear enough to refuse spiritual myopia when rejection stares you in the face? While Jesus prays for you, He also invites you to renew your vision by praying in His name.
...but made himself nothing, taking the form of a servant. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Remember the commotion that erupted several years ago about the new trend in business called “outsourcing”? As a cost-cutting measure, more companies were tapping into cheaper overseas labor to perform jobs that Americans had done previously but only on a higher pay scale. So thousands upon thousands of jobs were fleeing to far away locales, to the chagrin of many. For some it became no less than moral tragedy that companies should adopt such a practice just to improve their bottom line. The upheaval over the hemorrhaging of American jobs even made it into the planks of some presidential campaign platforms.
However, with global economics now having far greater problems than the outsourcing of jobs, we don’t hear much about it anymore. But its essence remains very much a part of contemporary debate. Who would deny that much of what drives the American immigration imbroglio is the attraction of paying workers to do jobs many Americans aren’t willing to do—even if it means employing those who aren’t in the country legally?
What’s happened on the multinational and national levels is emblematic of the modern urge to reallocate responsibility in order to recapture time for ostensibly more important things. Just as we like our labor-saving devices, so we like the idea of letting (or employing) others do for us what we find tedious, or at least not as gratifying. But while there may be no harm in opting for a lawnmower instead of a scythe, the tendency to offload responsibilities—our individualized form of outsourcing—has trickled down into our responsibilities of love, which ends up costing us more than we thought it would save. What do I mean?
We’ve outsourced to Hallmark, for instance, the work of finding a few appreciative words for one we love. We let expensive gifts bear the weight of love rather than uninterrupted, undistracted time. As it relates to the spiritual nurture of our children, how often are we tempted to “let the professionals take care of it”—despite the vow we made, “in humble reliance upon divine grace, . . .that [we] will strive, by all means of God’s appointment to bring them up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord?” (PCA Book of Church Order, 56-5) Though others might be more capable or have greater aptitude, our efforts, however stumbling or awkward they might be, shout greater love than even the most polished offering.
When we think of the gospel, we recognize that there was no alternative to Jesus and His sacrifice—His work could not be outsourced. We could look to no one else to be a sufficient offering for the sin of those He came to save; our God would be satisfied by nothing less. Furthermore, we could find no one else who loved us to the same degree—who would be willing to submit Himself entirely for us. No stronger love resided elsewhere. If we would be reconciled to God, we had no one else to turn to but Jesus for His singular work.
That Jesus could not outsource His work has implications for the pattern He set for us. We sacrifice His joy to the degree we outsource serving others with His love. Yes, the work of a servant is often tedious and tiresome. Its results often go unnoticed and unheralded. The time it takes to serve another in love could indeed be used in a variety of other ways, but what we might capture, in the end, is nothing compared to what we receive by following in His steps. “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (Jn 10:10)
What responsibilities of love have you unwittingly (or wittingly) outsourced for the sake of convenience? How might taking His yoke upon you (Lk 11:28-30) in service to His work actually recapture what is more precious?
He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
We felt like Julia Roberts in Runaway Bride. Remember how she approaches the altar—that long awaited moment when she would face the man she’d spend the rest of her life with—and all she can think to do is run away in a panic? On the day we met the little boy we’d formally adopt a few days later, our hearts sunk into our lower intestine. Whatever fantasies we had about welcoming a new child into our family were suddenly eclipsed by fears of, among other things, all we might lose as a result of accepting this responsibility.
It’s a delicate matter for a pastor to use his own experiences to make a point. His failures can be interpreted as giving license to do likewise—his triumphs as subtle self-promotion. So, in speaking of one moment in our recent history, I pray you will let neither our weakness give you excuse nor our strength suggest conceit. First, though, a little context for those of you who live beyond our church community:
When we last spoke last Sunday about the humility of Jesus in His obedience unto death, we argued that part of its radicalness was in the character of His obedience. Though it was for the joy set before Him that Jesus endured the cross (Heb 12:2), His steps toward that cruel cross were not in a lighthearted frame. Furthermore, though He walked resolutely into His passion, it was not without the experience of profound and agonizing ambivalence, which He enunciated at Gethsemane. So we say Jesus’ obedience was radical in its character because He committed Himself to what He knew was His Father’s will despite His own significant misgivings. He did not insist that His heart be entirely without wistfulness for some other alternative before He would do what was right.
Why Jesus’ humble obedience is compelling to us is that we, in some small way, felt a similar ambivalence in the face of what was, in our mind at least, a huge undertaking in adopting a son.
To say yes to adoption was to invite all manner of change. We would have all the responsibilities of caring for an infant foisted upon us afresh. We would be introducing, so to speak, an unknown quantity into our family, the consequences of which were unforeseeable. Because he is of a different ethnicity, we had to confront a subterranean, inarticulate racism in our own hearts. And almost three years earlier, the last baby of ours we’d held in our arms was one we had to say goodbye to in death. All these concerns created in us palpable ambivalence. While others have voiced their almost “primal” affections for their adopted children at first sight, our experience was far more tentative. And our tentativeness prompted questions as to the propriety of the choice.
For two days we wrestled, praying with tears and soliciting wisdom from godly counsel. Myriad questions continued to beset us until one wise mentor put them all in perspective. “Your questions,” he said forthrightly, “are fear and convenience couched in theological language.” He then supplanted them all with the only important question: “Would God be pleased by this decision?” We knew the answer to that question. It was the same answer God articulated through His own Son. God was pleased to bring near those who were once far off by the blood of Christ (Eph 2:13)—to adopt as sons through Christ, not according to anything in them, but according to His gracious purpose (Eph 1:5). In other words, what we had been given the opportunity to do in adopting this little boy was precisely what God took the opportunity to do for all those who now call Him Father.
As the finishing touch on our mentor’s wise counsel, he assured of this: “If you adopt this boy, you will flaunt the grace of God in front of everyone, beginning with yourselves.” Though there had been a moment when all we could think to do was run, now a new thought pealed like church-bells, “We can’t not obey this moment.” With the radical character of Jesus’ obedience as both our guide and our rationale, we said yes, though with a measure of fear and trembling.
On this side of the decision we see that it is through this kind of obedience not yet fully refined that we “work out our salvation,” as He works in us to will and to work according to His good pleasure (Phil 2:12,13). God had something to do in us as we sought to do something for our new son. Fear gripped us when we first laid our eyes on him. Lately as we consider how he has blessed our family even in the short time we’ve had him, we are often stunned into silence at the thought that we ever hesitated. We cannot see the future, but we do know this: love takes risks because Christ risked all for love.
Again, we tell our story, not to extol ourselves (if anything we blush at the substance of our hesitations), but to extol the One who was a beacon for a choice that was radical to us—just as His choice was radical for us. We also tell it to you to ask a straightforward question: what implications does the radical character of Jesus’ obedience have for an issue in your life where your ambivalent feelings might be overshadowing the righteousness of the choice?
Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
My seven-year-old is learning a bit about Newton’s laws of motion this week with the help of vinegar, a spoonful of baking soda, and a plastic rocket he cajoled us into buying for him on a recent trip. Liberate carbon-dioxide through the interaction of the vinegar-baking soda solution inside the rocket’s chamber and to his delight he’s discovering how objects tend to stay at rest unless an external force acts upon them. Allow the effervescent froth to escape through the rocket’s small engine nozzle and our first-born is taking note of how every action has an equal and opposite reaction. He never knew something so fun could at the same time reveal something so inviolable as Newton’s laws of motion.
Jerry Coyne is a professor of ecology at the University of Chicago and in recent days has written of how science is on an unalterable track to eradicate any residual credibility religious faith may still retain. With each passing year, he argues, the advance of scientific discoveries continues to whittle away at tenet after tenet of religious doctrine until, as he sees it, those who hold religious belief are either aloof or just plain guilty of holding two contradictory notions simultaneously. (Some of you may remember our consideration of one primatologist’s discovery that humanity’s uniqueness lies in its ability to hold two competing ideas.)
Space doesn’t permit an analysis of Coyne’s argument and wiser minds have already taken up that responsibility with both clarity and integrity. But with all due respect to Professor Coyne, there is at least one dimension (among others) of religious faith that resonates with the scientific sensibility. Just as there are inviolable laws of physics, as my firstborn is learning this week, so there is an inviolable law of theological dynamics, so to speak, uttered in I Peter 5:6. “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble”—a rendering of Proverbs 3:34. For every assertion of pride there will be, eventually, if not immediately, a corresponding experience of humbling. And for every instance of humility there will be an opposite experience of gracious exaltation.
Last Sunday, our consideration of the humility of Jesus culminated with as look at the supreme demonstration of this inviolable theological law. God the Father crowned the Son with peerless majesty and honor in response to the Son’s unqualified display of humility. With that divine reaction to pure submission the integrity of this theological constant remained intact. And it’s the inviolability of that law, Paul argues, that has deep implications for us. We may either acknowledge its truth and submit to its effects, or try to subvert its dictates and find ourselves as frustrated as the man who tries to fly with only his arms.
Pride comes in as many forms as there are elements on the periodic table. The most common form is in the assertion of our own importance to the neglect of others—it’s as pervasive as hydrogen and its effects are as predictable as the sunrise. Scorn your spouse or your children for long enough and you can expect a corresponding diminution of the intimacy you have with them. Make your career or your children the primary means by which you find your stability and in time you can expect disappointment and dissatisfaction. Elevate personal advancement as your highest goal and you’ll find yourself either surrounded by sycophants or abandoned by anyone of substance. It being baseball season, the heralded Ty Cobb’s comment about what he would do if he could do life over is fitting—and telling:
“I was aggressive, perhaps too aggressive. Maybe I went too far. I always had to be right in any argument I was in. I always had to be first in everything. I do indeed think I would have done some things different. And if I had I believe I would have had more friends.”
The pride of aggressiveness yielded an equal and opposite experience of isolation and regret.
Pride is the catalyst for many of our human maladies, but it is also at the core of our fundamental instability. What shall turn back its effects? A humbling of ourselves by a turning to the One who humbled Himself most dramatically. He is the only One sufficient to absorb the guilt of our sin and the force of God’s wrath. Like the probing insight of an electron microscope, He is also the only one capable of exposing the folly and futility of our pride.
Newton’s third law of motion is as applicable to the human heart as it is to a carbon-dioxide-powered plastic toy: for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. So where might you be trying to subvert God’s inviolable law of humbling the proud and exalting the humble?
...work out your own salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
For $300 you can learn if you have what it takes to pitch like Todd Lincecum of the San Fancisco Giants or Cliff Lee of the Texas Rangers—or if you should keep your day job. October’s Wired magazine showcases 3P Sports, a company taking the science of sports medicine to an entirely different level. Founded by a former Major League Baseball pitching coach, 3P Sports will transform raw footage of your pitching delivery into a 3D computer analysis of everything from your wind-up to the follow-through. 3P Sports will help you see not only what keeps you from delivering the perfect pitch but also what about your mechanics might be deleterious to your body. With an unprecedented precision their service seeks to work out the kinks so you can bring the heat.
We now see what brings a pitch into perfect alignment. Is the same true for bringing our souls into godly alignment? When Paul speaks of working out our own salvation with fear and trembling, we understand him to be exhorting us to move our professed theology into an operative theology—working the knowledge of the gospel into practice of its truth. But does his exhortation provide us only with an ideal to imitate, or is there an implicit process we might follow that would move us along toward that ideal, the fullness of the salvation Jesus came to work into our souls?
There’s nothing formulaic to learning to walk worthily of the gospel, but we’re not left to our own devices to find that stride. Working out our salvation entails just a few things . Let’s sketch the process and use the rivalrous attitude that plagued the Philippian church as an example of how it might look.
Working out our own salvation first means to pause and reflect upon our priorities and practices—to take note of our patterns and how we conduct ourselves in them. Rivalry insists on proving ourselves right or better than others. It seeks to surpass them and it often manifests, either in a delight over their loss or a despair at your own.
Then we have to ask ourselves what beliefs are animating our recurrent choices. Though we may not always be conscious of what drives what we do, we never act without a reason for acting in that way. Our beliefs inform and motivate what we do. Beneath the act of rivalry is a deep, two-pronged desire: to see the other hurt or vanquished and to elevate ourselves out of fear of being considered inferior.
Once we have a preliminary grasp of the beliefs that compel our choices we have to then evaluate the truth of what we’re considering to be true enough to act upon. Sometimes the evaluation will bring us shame at how our mistaken beliefs have led to unfortunate consequences. Sometimes the evaluation will simply reveal the folly of our beliefs and thus serve as a stern warning about what that belief can lead to. As it relates to rivalry, if I’m acting in such a way to cause another pain, then I’m clearly not walking in love as I am called to and flouting the love of God He has shown me in the Son; in that is my shame. If by what Jesus has done I am not only acceptable to God but beloved by Him, then my attempt to establish my worth through rivalry is not only a waste of effort, but entirely futile since it will only deliver a fleeting satisfaction, if any—in that is my folly.
Identifying the shame or the folly of my beliefs is part of this process of working out but it’s certainly not the whole of it. Paul makes clear that behind the entire process is the Lord Himself. It takes His Word and Spirit to awaken us to the disparity between my beliefs and what trust in the gospel is like. It also takes the gracious intervention of God to accomplish two other things.
God must first of all, load my conscience with guilt, as the Puritan John Owen once put it. Owen’s words certainly cut across the grain of modern attempts at behavioral modification, but what he means is far more salutary than just dampening our spirit. What he means by a conscience loaded with guilt is nothing more than the Lord helping us see the true nature of our actions. Like a doctor shows you the lab report, or a parent shows her child what his errant pitch broke, it is the Lord’s work to reveal the depth of our problem and its consequences. He impresses upon our heart both the magnitude and the offensiveness of the error.
At the same time though, the Lord also confirms to us the superiority of trusting in what He promises. God has no ego to prop up by asserting His authority. He gives us those guidelines because in them is an aligned life.
So rivalry offends God and destroys us as it seeks to best another. Whereas trust in the gospel assures us of an irrevocable acceptance by no less than God which a rivalrous spirit at first ignores, and then seduces me into a series of choices that will never yield abiding satisfaction.
A preliminary grasp of the offensiveness and folly of rivalry is for now enough to move us to a new obedience—even if our walk by faith in that obedience is more often like a stumbling in it.
(While the process of working out our own salvation is intensely personal, I hope you’re seeing that just as every budding pitcher needs the external acuity of someone like 3P Sports, so every soul needs a more objective set of eyes to see what’s underneath the surface of our choices.)
Because this world excels at seducing us into sin and our hearts exude willingness to be seduced, doubtless all of you who read this (just as it is with the one who writes this) have something to which the probing analysis of the gospel ought to be applied. There are mechanics in your life not only out of step with your identity in Christ but also deleterious to your existence. What’s in need of such life-giving analysis?
Do all things without grumbling or questioning, 15 that you may be blameless and innocent, children of God without blemish in the midst of a crooked and twisted generation, among whom you shine as lights in the world. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
They seem like awfully trifling things to chide—like Paul was just looking for something to call out in the Philippian church. “Grumbling and questioning” don’t exactly repulse us like lust, envy, or avarice. Are these not the most pedestrian of sins? Paul doesn’t think so. So, perhaps we should ask why he considers them dangerous and how we displace them?
If you’ve been following along in Philippians with us you know Paul sought to root out a growing divisiveness within the church in Philippi. “Rivalry and conceit” (2:3) found a foothold in the fledgling community and risked tearing it apart. Only with a deepened sense of the humility of Christ would that community set aside its unprofitable response to its differences, and preserve the harmony necessary to fulfilling its ministry.
Paul doesn’t specify in the letter the substance of their dispute (though later, in 4:2, he names names). But he does identify the primary manifestation of rivalry and conceit: grumbling and questioning.
The modern ear hears Paul’s admonition like some voice of oppression. Haven’t we learned the value of questioning authority? Wasn’t our country forged in the crucible of complaint against tyranny? What’s wrong with voicing disenchantment with the status quo? While those are valid questions, they miss Paul’s point. Paul had no quarrel with argument—his tireless defense of the gospel was soaked in disputation and opposition to falsehood. In the background of Paul’s choice of words is an allusion to Israelite history that explains his vehemence.
The Red Sea behind them, its roar practically still echoing in their ears, Israel responded to its new challenges, not with faith, but with grumbling— first, toward Moses, and then ultimately toward the God who’d liberated them. Moses didn’t downplay their distress; he didn’t pretend they weren’t in need. He pleaded with God for food, for water, for protection from enemies. But in Israel’s grumbling, there was more than distress—there was denial. To grumble was to do more than desire relief; it was to deny much about God: that He was present to them; that He was for them and their good; that He was powerful enough to rescue them; and that He had His reasons for allowing the distress—reasons He would sometimes disclose, but other times not. Grumbling and questioning weren’t innocuous calls for change; they were outright refusals to trust God in the face of difficulty. And in Israel’s case, grumbling only paved the way toward idolatry (Ex. 32).
The Philippian church may not have been on the verge of forging a golden calf, but distressing circumstances tempted them to forget what was true. Thinking themselves the master of their fate, they began to kick and scratch against one another. In that posture they risked their credibility with the world by becoming indistinguishable from the world. So Paul’s one simple instruction to them is to set aside the temptation to grumble by applying faith to their situation—in his words to, “…work out their own salvation.”
Distress comes to us all and entices us to find relief in grumbling and questioning. We grumble when we criticize without being constructive. We question when we conclude God has nothing good for us in this moment—a faith statement in itself.
So how shall we avoid the tendency to grumble, in all its God-denying, community-destroying, heart-consuming power? We find our way out of the pit of grumbling onto the broad plain of faith like the Psalmist did. We acknowledge our circumstances and their effect on our heart’s condition. We voice the character of God and His promises, remembering His work on the behalf of others and ourselves. We ask that He would change, if not our circumstances (though certainly we may ask), at least our heart’s disposition toward those circumstances. And then, at last, we ask for strength to take Him at His word.
Yes, the way out of grumbling (or the hedge against it) is significantly a matter of praying. But it’s praying with the gospel in our minds and on our lips. We consider the humility of Jesus, the outcome of His faith—both for Him and for us. We remember what we have in Him that cannot be taken from us. And then, by His grace, He replaces our passive-aggressive impulse to backbite with a calmer pursuit of clarity and peace.
What’s eating you that’s tempting you to devour another? What’s preoccupying you that’s leading you to be preoccupied only with yourself? What circumstance is He calling you to apply faith to in this moment? It’s no trifling matter.
For we are the circumcision who worship by the Spirit of God and glory in Christ Jesus and put no confidence in the flesh.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Mary Eberstadt writes this month about the perils of today's college experience, which she terms “Toxic U.” Higher education has always been known as a season of experimentation by most of its matriculates. But Eberstadt documents levels of homage to Bacchus and Aphrodite that would make even the most indulgent of the 1960s sexual revolution blush.
Hers is no indictment of the idea of the university—she acclaims how those four years are as potentially magnificent as they are pivotal. Instead she warns parents who live somewhere between denial and nonchalance at their little baby's youthful indiscretions. She also warns university administrators whose policies seem to accommodate, in effect if not in intention, today's sins of the flesh—all to preserve an atmosphere of free and open inquiry.
Paul takes a similarly paternal tone when he warns the church at Philippi to “Look out for the dogs, look out for the evildoers, look out for those who mutilate the flesh.” Now, there are times in his various letters when his use of the word flesh parallels the kind of indulgence Eberstadt bemoans. But here in chapter three, Paul has in mind a sense of flesh even more insidious than pure debauchery. In fact, it's quite the opposite of debauchery. For in the sense he means, Paul acknowledges his own interest in the flesh, and yet by the resume he supplies later in this chapter, he'd be the least likely person to be found at a frat party. So what is this confidence in the flesh he had and now warns of?
His impressive resume supplies us his meaning of flesh. His bulleted list of pedigree and accomplishments all ring of Ivy-league aspiration. His record is spotless—his ticket written or so it might've seemed to him. But all that is now “rubbish” to him—the English translator's euphemism for Paul's reference to “excrement.” But why does he now find worthless what he once held in high esteem? Should he fault himself for the name he had, like some self-loathing Carnegie or Rockefeller? Should others ridicule him for having the fastidiousness of a Phi Beta Kappa and the piety of a monastic. It's not what's in his spiritual resume that presents the problem. It's what he concludes about what's in that resume—that it would, so to speak, get his foot in the Lord's heavenly door. That's putting confidence in the flesh—believing your efforts establish your acceptance with God, rather than evidence it.
While indulgence of the flesh seeks its bliss in excess, confidence in the flesh seeks its satisfaction in its own impressiveness before God. The two uses of flesh could not be further apart in meaning, but their respective outcomes are identical: neither obtains what it seeks.
Which may raise a question in all those who strive to do well—the collegian and graduate alike: if there's nothing inherently wrong with pursuing excellence, and yet at every turn we run the risk of allowing our excellence to confuse what establishes our acceptance with God, how do we avoid putting confidence in our attainments as Paul did with his? How do we keep from turning our work—whether on the trading floor, or the kitchen floor—from becoming a substitute for the sacrifice of Jesus? Dietrich Bonhoeffer, a summa cum laude graduate of the University of Berlin, said we must expand our vision of what our work is for:
Work plunges men into the world of things. The Christian steps out of the world of brotherly encounter into the world of impersonal things, the “it”; and this new encounter frees him for objectivity; for the “it” world is only an instrument in the hand of God for the purification of Christians from all self-centeredness and self-seeking. The work of the world can be done only when a person forgets himself, where he loses himself in a cause, in a reality, the task, the “it.” In work the Christian learns to allow himself to be limited by the task, and thus for him the work becomes a remedy against the indolence and sloth of the flesh. . . .But this can happen only where the Christian breaks through the “it” to the “Thou,” which is God, who bids him work and makes that work a liberation from himself. (Life Together)
Those preparing for a vocation and those within their vocation must see their work as having an objective greater than fulfilling the job description. They must come to the tools of their trade seeing their trade as a tool in the hand of the Maker who works to fashion them more into His image. That sort of posture toward work keeps us from indulging the flesh and from putting our confidence in it.
Do you think of your work in that way? How might it change your approach to it if you did?
. . .keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
If the Lost series captured your attention for all 121 episodes over six seasons, you devoted somewhere around 92 hours trying to figure out the meaning of the island.
If you are a devotee of a particular football team and watch every regular season game this fall, you will spend around 48 hours staring at the gridiron. (Though, a recent Wall Street Journal study discovered that for every 3 hour game, the ball is in play for a mere 11 minutes. If only TiVo could make watching that efficient.)
Say you're a literary aficionado and you like to curl up with a good work of fiction. If the average novel runs around 600 pages, and you read at an average rate of 90 seconds per page, it will take you around 15 hours to complete the work
No, this isn't a lead-in to criticism for our love of stories or sport. Both can add richness and excitement to life. They can portray simple truths in unexpectedly resonant ways. But while narratives of whatever sort can provide glimpses of reality, why wouldn't we want to devote at least some of our time focusing our attention on the lives of real believers, in both their brightest and darkest moments?
Mark gave us some very practical wisdom last Sunday in how to run the race of faith. Essential to that race is life in community, inviting others to encourage us and keep us accountable. Community also provides us abundant examples of what faith in practice looks like. That's why Paul encouraged the Philippian church to keep their eyes on those who walk according to his example.
But one other way we can reflect on the exemplars of the faith is by reading their biographies. They enrich the community we keep while clarifying our sense of how faithfulness is refined.
We may know John Calvin's astounding intellect enabled him to compose The Institutes, the seminal tome of the Reformation; but were you aware of his very pastoral work among the "Consistory"—the company of pastors that would meet weekly to resolve disputes between citizens, admonish sin, and exercise godly discipline? Or did you know of his protracted embroilment with Miguel Servetus, a Spanish theologian who outspokenly rejected the Trinitarian view of God? The Genevan Council, a body on which Calvin did not serve but gave counsel to, convicted Servetus of blasphemy and executed him by burning at the stake. Bruce Gordon's recent biography expands our view of the Genevan Reformer and explains his thinking surrounding the severe punishment laid upon the Spanish heretic.
Many are aware that Jonathan Edwards stood at the epicenter of the Great Awakening of the 18th century. But were you aware of the events that led to his firing from his pastorate in Northampton, MA? George Marsden's magisterial treatment of Edwards' life details the unfortunate turn of events. Or how the young student who would later become Edwards' biographer, Samuel Hopkins, suffered from dejection that he wasn't experiencing the same intensity of emotion as others during the Awakening—and how it was Edwards' wife, Sarah, who did the most to encourage him out of his misery? Marsden's shorter treatment of the Edwards' life includes that detail.
John Piper provides brief treatments of some whose names we've come to associate with faithfulness: the author John Bunyan, the poet William Cowper, and the missionary to native Indians David Brainerd. Less known are their respective bouts with affliction—both physical and mental. Cowper, in particular, suffered from seasons of profound depression.
Lest you think faithfulness is confined to the masculine, Justin Holcomb has recently compiled a list of volumes about the notable women of the Reformation. To what extent Luther and Calvin's impact was attributable to the character and support of their wives is beyond measure. But Holcomb identifies many other women whose contribution to the spread of the Gospel is distinguished in its own right.
And while we may know Dietrich Bonhoeffer was hanged for his complicity in an assassination plot against Hitler a mere 23 days before the Nazi surrender, Eric Metaxas has unearthed even more of what shaped the German theologian—including the impact of his time worshipping in the black churches of Harlem.
We read biographies, not just to add color to our understanding, nor to use their inglorious moments to assuage the guilt of our own. Instead, we consider their lives in context to see how they struggled with their moment. We find both the salutary and the cautionary. We see how each applied Paul's admonition to "forget what is behind. . .and press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ." (Phil 3:13-14) Most of all, we read their stories to see God's hand in them—noticing the work of Providence in their situation when perhaps they could not detect it themselves. Taking note of the work of God in their stories becomes especially helpful to us when it seems like God has disappeared from ours.
At year's end, the days grow shorter—the shadows longer—and the holidays afford us a little extra time. If keeping our eyes on living testimonies of faith are critical to our own faithfulness, perhaps we could use some of that time to give our attention to those who have walked by faith (sometimes clumsily) before us.
(Editor's note: The devotional will take a break the week of Thanksgiving and will resume the first week of Advent.)
[Anna] did not depart from the temple, worshiping with fasting and prayer night and day.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Haughty, boorish, and almost completely insufferable. That's what we discern of Eustace Scrubb in the first several pages of C.S. Lewis' The Voyage of the Dawn Treader—the fifth of Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia. He is cousin to the Pevensie children—Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy. While exasperating the younger two Pevensies in the first chapter of the story Eustace was swept (literally) into Narnia and, to his chagrin, into the adventures of his extended family. Edmund, Lucy, and infuriated Eustace are hoisted upon the Dawn Treader, a majestic ship captained by Prince Caspian, whose present task was to sail east and find (or to avenge the deaths of) the friends of his late father. Edmund and Lucy eagerly accept the commission, while Eustace submits a needling protest.
Not far into their journey, the Dawn Treader anchors near an uncharted island, where Eustace goes exploring, partly for curiosity's sake and partly to escape briefly from what he considers to be irritating company. A fog settles in near dusk and Eustace becomes lost. He finds himself in a low valley, and, to his great shock, in the company of an aged dragon, who proceeds to take his last breath. Relieved, Eustace then finds the dragon's lair, which is full to the brim with treasure. Gold, silver, and jewels shimmer in both the darkened cave and Eustace's now greedy eyes. He slips a gold bracelet upon his arm and falls asleep for the night.
Eustace awakens to the rude discovery that he has been transformed into a dragon himself—and the bracelet he took is now pinching his dragon-sized leg. Unable to speak and desperate to find help, the now scaly Eustace flies to the Dawn Treader's camp. When the retinue eventually discovers the true identity of the dragon, Lucy steps forward to see if the healing elixir Aslan had given her could restore Eustace to his former self. Sadly, it could only reduce the swelling of his leg.
For days Eustace lives mournfully as a dragon, which has the intriguing effect of softening his hardened character. Only then does Aslan come to the afflicted child-dragon and lead him to a large bath-like well. There he invites Eustace to wash to ease the pain of his throbbing leg constricted by the bracelet. Before he can wash, though, Aslan tells Eustace to first undress. The boy molts like a lizard but each time finds yet another layer of scales beneath the other. Aslan then says, “You will have to let me undress you.” By the lion's sharp, devastating claws, Eustace is released from his squamous hide in an experience both excruciating and exhilarating. It had taken something more intense to liberate Eustace from what held him—in both body and heart.
This last Sunday we looked at the coming of Jesus through the eyes of Anna, a woman who knew the word of God and who, being a widow for decades, also knew the affliction of loss and uncertainty. But amid her lack and longing for the redemption of God's people, she clung to the Lord by prayer, and, the text says, fasting. She declined the customary and inclined herself to the Exemplary to find faith in the extraordinary. When the extraordinary appeared, her joy intensified.
This Child would grow and eventually speak of the importance of fasting as a means of communing with God—once even suggesting that prayer and fasting were prerequisite for the most entangling spiritual issues. For some afflictions, you see, require particular intensity in our attention to God. We decline the customary to incline to the Exemplary to find faith in challenges that are extraordinary. Like Eustace, we require something akin to Aslan's undressing us Himself before we can walk free of longstanding, deeply entrenched priorities and attitudes. Fasting is one context in which we allow God to rip through our toughened resistance to change.
There was another brilliant but cheeky British lad named John Lennon. Thirty years ago this week, he was gunned down near his apartment in New York City by a manically envious man named Mark Chapman. In an interview with Lennon long after the breakup of the Beatles, he was asked about the recent work of his former songwriting partner, Paul McCartney. His response was at first tongue-in-cheek, but then rather candid: “I think he'll do great work. . . .I wish he wouldn't—I wish nobody would—Dylan or anybody. In my heart of hearts I wish I were the only one in the world.”
We may not be manically envious of another's fame, or deeply desirous to be the pinnacle of what we're known for. But in all of us there's an instinct to establish our own worth independently of the God who made us. We give ourselves to what does not suit us, and more importantly, which cannot satisfy us. Through fasting, He undresses us of our folly as we more intensely ponder the sufficiency of His Son's work on our behalf. What must He undress you of today?
And going into the house they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they fell down and worshiped him.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
We're weeks into Advent and by now you've likely been assaulted somewhere by the quaint but tired Twelve Days of Christmas. But have you ever heard of the twelve levels of humility?
Centuries before Christendom was torn asunder into eastern and western partitions and over a millennia before Rome's indulgences sparked a protest that led to reform, there was a solitary man named Benedict. You may have heard him referred to as St. Benedict.
He was not a priest, but he did compose a guide for the pursuit of God, synthesizing the wisdom of his day to fashion a new pattern for pressing on to the upward call of God in Christ Jesus (Phil 3:14). He called it a "rule," which today is known as the Rule of St. Benedict. It's not a formula for spiritual formation to be slavishly followed, but rather an invitation to structure life in a way that leads us along the narrow path.
Since he writes from within the monastic tradition he assumes that the rule will be undertaken in a community of like-minded believers, and under the guidance of a seasoned believer known as an abbot. For reasons of history and theology—some good and bad—the monastic tradition has been largely expunged from Protestant tradition. Yet many of the principles constitutive of the monastic context remain applicable.
The longest chapter of Benedict's rule is dedicated to the issue of humility, since it is the foundation of all godliness. He likens the pursuit of humility to climbing the rungs of a ladder. Paradoxically, we ascend to God's exaltation of the humble while we descend from the intoxicating heights of pride (Jas 4:10).
The first level of humility is having a right fear of God--remembering He sees both our ways and the motives beneath them. It recognizes the consequences of our estrangement from God and thus restrains us from sin and selfishness. This foundational humility also puts a check upon our wanton desires, warning us of their unprofitability and offensiveness.
The second level entails a preference for the will of God over our own, which is a prerequisite for an unswerving deference to the guidance of one's abbot, the third level of humility (again, Benedict writes in a monastic setting).
The capacity to face "hard and distasteful things" with poise and perseverance characterizes the fourth level; while the fifth enjoins a transparency to share our most secret thoughts, including those we find most embarrassing.
The sixth and seventh levels of humility, Benedict avers, manifest in contentment in all circumstances on the basis of the belief that we are unworthy to receive better. Jesus' parable of the servant who expects no reward in the fulfillment of his duty (Lk 17:7-10) and Paul's acknowledgement of his own unworthiness (1 Tim 1:15, 1 Cor 15:9) demonstrate the resistance to demand better, which is so common to contemporary sensibilities.
The eighth level, like the third, puts the sanction of the believing community as that which guides our choices. We put their will and their good foremost as an expression of trust in the Lordship of God.
The use of our tongue comprises the substance of the ninth, tenth, and eleventh levels of humility. Preferring a judicious economy of words, uttered without ostentation, expresses a humble heart. In a world full of words that esteems self-assertion and thrives on chatter, these instructions may be even more counter-cultural than those dealing with deference to others.
The pinnacle of humility obtains when, like the tax collector in Jesus' parable in Lk 18:9-14, our lives earnestly reflect a recognition of our dependence on the grace of God. Humility prefers anonymity out of regard for God's notoriety alone. Yet humble words, affections, and actions ironically become a spectacle in how they point to the glory of the One to whom we must give account (Heb 4:13). They are the good works that shine His light and give glory to Him (Mt 5:12).
Mark reminded us last Sunday how, like the Magi, we are all on a journey to see Jesus. The fruit of such a journey is the humility Benedict spoke so richly of. We're perhaps too familiar with the episode to understand how staggering that sight would've been: wise, wealthy, reputable men journeying to an obscure town to find an impoverished family who could only cradle their newborn child with the feeding trough reserved for common animals. They came not to coo, not to dote, but to "bow down and worship" this child who was King. Their prostration emblematizes our journey toward humility. We are learning to bow to Him, more and more, in all that we are.
Reading about abbots, rules, monastics, and levels of humility may rankle some as a pernicious throwback to a quaint yet inflexible spirituality. But who of us reflects even a fraction of the humility Benedict outlines in his rule? Benedict did not distill the wisdom of the gospel into his rule to inspire effort toward mere self-mastery. Rather his rule meant to liberate those who submitted unto it. We're freed from the compulsions and fears that both bloat and stifle our souls. Learning the steps toward humility frees you to live, in Benedict's words, no longer from the fear of hell, but from the love of Christ?"
Note:
Every Thought Captive will be standing down for the remainder of the year, but will hold forth again come January. As you close out the year with thoughts of the arrival of Christ, you might take some time to consider an old but foundational writing by a Church Father of the 4th century, Athanasius, on God in flesh appearing: On the Incarnation. His peace to you in the new year.
And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever, even the Spirit of truth, whom the world cannot receive, because it neither sees him nor knows him. You know him, for he dwells with you and will be in you.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
I was six years old when George Lucas released his first installment of the Star Wars trilogy. By middle school I’d amassed a decent collection of action figures, spaceships, and posters. I’d even arranged them all in a sprawling diorama as if it were some icon corner in veneration to the Jedi. (Please keep your snickering to yourself.) My children now delight themselves in all my paraphernalia. My oldest son sleeps on the Star Wars bed-sheets I used; my daughter has taken quite a fancy to Leia. They, too, have been enchanted by the notions of a universe much larger than they imagined—by epic battles fought by unassuming heroes caught up in a galaxy-sized tale of corruption and redemption.
In 1999, just prior to the release of the first prequel to the 1970s films, Bill Moyers sat down with Lucas to discuss the metaphysical and theological overtones of the universe the filmmaker had created. Lucas acknowledged his notion of The Force was a synthesis of the cosmologies from several faith traditions. Though in no way was his trilogy an apologetic for religion per se, Lucas admitted he sought to awaken in his audience a renewed interest in the question of God’s existence. His own tentative conclusion about that question was that God did exist, and that all faiths were legitimate and complementary expressions of trust in a divine presence. His is a popular construal of spirituality, but one that has recently been called into question, and not just by evangelicals.
Perhaps most striking about the interview was Lucas’s response to a couple of comments from Moyers: one, that films in general had displaced religious traditions as the source of our inspiration, and two, that part of the attractiveness of Star Wars was that it provided a kind of religion with “no strings attached.” Lucas expressed concern that entertainment might replace organized religion, and insisted there was a place for religion. To him, the world would be impoverished without it. But whether one trusted in a personal deity (like Judaism, Islam, or Christianity) or an impersonal transcendent force (like Buddhism) made no difference to him. All that mattered was that one had a belief system.
Mark asked and answered the question last Sunday, “Is the Holy Spirit a what or a who?” The witness of the Scripture speaks unambiguously that the Spirit is very much a person, one to whom we relate. Jesus told His disciples that He, the Spirit, “dwells with you and will be in you.”
That the Spirit is a person is clear from the Scripture, but why does that matter? Would it make a difference if He were more like Lucas’s idea of an impersonal force surrounding the universe and binding it together?
Allow me to venture one reason why I think it matters. It comes down to joy.
Joy is heightened when joy is shared between persons. You already know that to be true because you’ve experienced it. You may delight in a story, a joke, or a delicacy. But there’s something more to the delight when it is experienced mutually with another. (This isn’t a idea new; Jonathan Edwards, among others, argues it throughout his works.)
So it matters whether what is transcendent relates to us, (like a person) or merely reacts to us (like an impersonal force). Spirituality, as an act of living congruently with transcendent realities, is heightened when there is a Transcendent One who delights in our delight in Him. Obedience, then, moves beyond mere mastery of ourselves or of other forces to a delight; and the delight is not only in what is true but in the One who is the truth. Joy flows from not only doing what is right, but from delighting in the One who knows us and calls us to righteousness.
Perhaps it’s an unfair comparison, even silly: consider Obi-Won Kenobi and, say, Eric Liddell, the extraordinary runner depicted in Chariots of Fire who later served as a missionary to China. Both demonstrated astounding skill, but only Liddell exulted in his expression of it. While the Jedi exhibited great composure in his trust in the Force, the Scotsman felt the pleasure of God in the manifestation of God’s gift. With all due respect to Lucas, I think Liddell’s may be a clearer picture of what it means to be human than Lucas’s vision of the Jedi ever could.
Many of us might secretly wish we could brandish a light-saber, move objects with our mind, or perform preternatural acrobatics. Whatever our grandest cinematic fantasies, what we really yearn for is having the pleasure of living in concert with the One who not only empowers us, but loves us most. Thank God that He gave us not just a proposition of His love, but a picture of it at the Cross. Thank God he gave us not just a promise of that love, but the person of His Spirit who confirms it to us over and over in our communion with Him.
Have you unwittingly turned the Spirit into The Force by thinking of Him as an It? Do you speak with Him and realize He may be both pleased and grieved? May His Spirit be with you, and, more so, in you.
If you love me, you will keep my commandments. And I will ask the Father, and he will give you another Helper, to be with you forever...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
At around 20 weeks in the pregnancy, Jan Morrison went for a routine sonogram to check her gestating son's progress. This would soon be the second child for her and her husband, Russell. Garrett would be his name, a young brother to their firstborn daughter, Carson. No sooner did the murky images reveal his frail form than the sonographer noticed a shadowy abnormality in young Garrett's chest cavity. Where his incipient left lung should have been, a thick cystic mass now existed, having scavenged its own blood supply to foster its parasitic growth. A further look confirmed the diagnosis of a lung lesion known as a Congenital Cystic Adenomatoid Malformation—CCAM for short.
Most CCAM's resolve without significant intervention. Garrett's however had grown to such a degree that it was impinging upon his heart and subjected him to a condition called hydrops—an accumulation of excess fluid in the body cavities. Unless extreme measures were taken to alleviate the fluid build-up, Garrett's heart would fail.
Until recently, most children in this rare condition would die; Garrett's parents had already begun making funeral arrangements. But recent medical advances in pre-natal care had developed a procedure that barely a decade ago would have been unthinkable. Doctors would access young Garrett by surgically opening his mother's uterus and then opening Garret's chest to remove the CCAM. With the lesion removed, Garrett would be carefully placed back in his mother's womb to continue his development until he reached full-term. As straightforward as the procedure might seem, there was no overstating the perils to which mother and child would be subjected. The womb is a sturdy haven for a nascent life, but breaching its territory risked tragically upsetting the delicate work transpiring within.
Under the direction of Dr. Darrell Cass at Texas Children's Hospital in Houston, a brilliant host of help was marshaled on Garrett's behalf. In the days leading up to the surgery and during its several tense hours, over two-dozen doctors of different specialties plied their expertise. They excised the CCAM and returned Garrett to the safe confines of his mother, who then spent the rest of the pregnancy in the quiet (but oftentimes exasperating) repose of bed-rest.
On Easter Sunday, 2006, Jan went into early labor, creating panic that all their effort would come to naught. That panic soon gave way to joy at the sound of Garrett's lusty cries. He'd survived the largely unprecedented intrusion into his development, his lungs now full of air and life.
But for a slight scar nestled in Garrett's now five-year old chest, there is no evidence of his great struggle for life in his earliest days. At his tender age, he is mostly oblivious to how desperate his need was, how utterly dependent he was in that hour, or how astounding was the help roused to his aid.
That the Son of God sent no less than the Holy Spirit of God to be our helper confirms how desperate and dependent we are spiritually—to the same degree Garrett was physically. But as Mark reminded us last Sunday, rather than remain oblivious to those realities it is to our benefit to be aware of the depth of our plight and the brilliance of His Helper.
Our need stems from something more acute than having learned a few bad lessons or seen some bad examples. It goes deeper than needing to adopt new habits or behaviors. Our need involves a comprehensive renovation of the center of our being—an entirely new ethic born of a new motivation. Our ethic is, as Jesus says, to keep His commandments. Our motivation is to be out of love for Him. Though Jesus Himself leaves us a vivid example of what it means to follow Him, His sending the Spirit means we need more than an example to replicate it. We need an abiding influence that reminds, teaches, and sustains us with both discipline and encouragement in our aspiration to His holiness.
Knowing we require that kind of help should have several effects. It should, as Mark mentioned, both sober us and still us. We cannot expect our waywardness to dissolve by mere force of will. Nor should we assume that our only obstacle to adopting His way is found within us; we are, after all, in a war with forces unseen (Eph 6:12).
And while we are not entirely passive in this work of learning to walk more worthily of Him, our efforts toward holiness are akin to being a patient: though we cannot apply the remedy, we can see to it that we are brought into the Lord's surgical theater. Our attentiveness to His Word (cf. Heb 4:12!) and Spirit, our participation in His sacraments, our immersion in the life of His Body, the Church—none merit His approval or compensate for our corruption, but they, in effect, usher us into the posture that facilitates His work in us.
But for the scars upon the hands and feet of the Son, no evidence remains of the struggle He endured on our behalf. By the Spirit, though, we come to understand the magnitude of His help, and thereby ennoble it as we're enabled to imitate the love that motivated it.
If your need demands the help of the Spirit of God, what are you willing to do to become sensitive to His work?
The earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Phillip Lopate thinks it's unfair. While clean-shaven, he finds himself envying the bearded class as they walk like colossal men, exuding confidence and heartiness. So he grows a beard and basks in collegiality with the hirsute. But then the beard itches, which then festers into a new envy: he sees the clean-shaven among him as vibrant, youthful men of great promise. With no hair to obscure their face they reflect transparency and wholesomeness endearing to women and winsome to all else. In his essay On Shaving a Beard, Lopate untangles his follicular reflections. He heralds the significance of letting one's face become overgrown while also bemoaning the "unfairness" of never feeling at home with one's face—whether clean or covered.
Moving from the light and jovial to the solemn and sacred, it sometimes may seem unfair that God sent His Holy Spirit with the flourish He did at Pentecost only after Jesus had died, was resurrected, and then ascended into heaven. His appearance described in Acts 2 signaled a new era in His relationship to the world.
Now, it's not as though this was totally a surprise. Ezekiel had foretold the day that God would renew His people's heart of stone with a heart of flesh by giving His people a new Spirit (Ezek 36:27). Jeremiah added to the chorus of expectation proclaiming that God would one day establish a new covenant with His people: God's character, articulated in law and emblazoned upon stone, would be implanted afresh on the heart so that it might be ennobled in the world (Jer 31:33).
We see those expectations coming to a head at Pentecost. As a sign of His appearance, the Spirit of God enables some in the church to speak of Jesus in languages they'd not known previously, thereby confirming the acceleration of God's plan to proclaim the Gospel to all nations. But that was only the beginning of His new work. As Jesus had promised, the Spirit was sent in order to teach and remind all the Son had said to those who believe on Him. Paul adds that it is the Spirit who empowers us to manifest the holiness of the Law which neither we nor the Law could engender in us. Furthermore, it is this same Spirit who would confirm to our spirits that we were in fact adopted children of God, eliciting our most tender and plaintive addresses to the Lord as "Abba," the divine daddy.
So if the Spirit of God is so instrumental in enabling us to know and reflect the character of God, why dispatch the Spirit to our aid only after Jesus's earthly mission was completed? Doesn't that mean the deck was stacked, so to speak, against all those who lived before the Holy Spirit was sent with power? Where's the fairness of God in that?
Before our rant becomes too hysterical, consider a couple truths. "God lives in the heavens, He does all he pleases," says Psalm 115:3. God acts according to His will. Whether He reveals His nature or sends His aid progressively—dynamically over time—is His call. All things are at His discretion. "I will have mercy on whom I will have mercy" (Ex 33:19; Rom 9:15).
But as Mark outlined for us last Sunday, for all the Spirit's bountiful new work proceeding after Pentecost, there's a remarkable consistency to His activity throughout redemptive history. The Spirit has always exerted the will of God, always represented the presence of God, and always confirmed the pleasure of God to whom He favors.
It's that last dimension of the Spirit's work that probably has the greatest significance for us. David's contrite prayer in Psalm 51 confirms that the Spirit has always been in the business of persuading us of the favor of God. That should be a real consolation to us. Because that's what we really want to be sure of—that we are His and that He will not forsake us, no matter our frailty or folly.
Philip Lopate wants to be sure of that. Yes, his artful banter about beards is mostly tongue-in-cheek. But beneath the surface of his and our envy—envy of cosmetic or deep-seated differences—are unspoken questions: "Am I okay?" or "Do I matter?" Whether we're shaven or unshaven, reputable or risible, proven or pitiable—we're all asking those fundamental questions. Some are even honest enough to admit it. The Spirit of God—the one who validates the work of God the Son to secure the favor of God the Father—is and always has been responsible for persuading us of God's steadfast commitment to us.
In that light, questions of God's fairness get swallowed up in larger concerns of God's kindness. Were God fair in a mechanical way, none of us would know Him or enjoy Him. But He let His Son suffer the greatest unfairness so that we might know God's kindness—a truth the Spirit continually refreshes our memory of.
Are you scurrying to find your peace, oscillating between options like Lopate did with his beard? Or are you listening for the Spirit who whispers the truth of that peace eternally?
I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. When the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all the truth, for he will not speak on his own authority, but whatever he hears he will speak, and he will declare to you the things that are to come.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
A 30-something male comes to his therapist in a deep despair. A recent breakup—the third in as many years—has sent him into a tailspin. Maybe you know someone like that. Maybe you're that guy. He wonders what creates the profound sadness at the loss of relationship. His therapist invites him to review his past to find any experiences that might be adding emotional weight to his present difficulties. In time, the therapist connects the dots between this moment and the experience of fear he had when his mother went away for cancer treatments when he was four. Disorientation from that fledgling season seems to resurface whenever present intimacy seems at risk of being lost. His therapist helps him understand, in part, what deepens his sadness. But he feels no better.
An affluent man in mid-life bemoans the state of the world, though he himself is mostly insulated from its vicissitudes. While that's his stated reason for melancholy, his therapist helps him to see that what really drives his ennui is connected to how his past shapes his present: the desire to please his father drove him to choose a lucrative yet enervating career. The discovery provides insight into his sadness, but such knowledge fails to deliver him from it; in fact, the realization that he'd allowed himself to cater to his father's whims only exacerbates his depression.
Richard Friedman is a professor of psychiatry at the Weill Cornell Medical College who summarizes these two stories in a recent article in the New York Times. In telling their tales of disappointment in therapy, he wonders openly if a basic premise of most contemporary therapeutic models is essentially flawed. Insight—the modern term for knowledge of the self—has been thought to be, in most cases, the panacea for our mental distresses. Give a person some clarity into the background of their malady, so the premise goes, and the new knowledge will enable them to rise above whatever afflicts them.
But the aforementioned stories are to Friedman more than anecdotal evidence of the inadequacy of insight. Recovering inner stability and wholeness won't be found in that alone, he concludes, because unearthing our motives or mining our past for unconscious memories, while helpful to understanding ourselves, can't quite displace what depletes us. Something more is required. Interestingly, Friedman cites recent studies that corroborate his analysis—studies which also reveal that a trust in the therapist has greater impact on the stabilization of the counselee than even the insight the therapist provides. All to say, we need more than the truth of insight.
Friedman's recent realization is really a longstanding presupposition of the Christian faith. To be sure, there is value to understanding ourselves. Scripture isn't frugal in its commentary about our nature and what drives our choices. "The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately sick," Jeremiah warns (Jer 17:9). The apostle Paul laments his agonizing vacillation between vice and virtue: "For I do not understand my own actions. For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate" (Rom 7:15). These and countless other texts confirm the necessity of seeking to understand ourselves with the same tenacity as those espousing the search for insight. But bare truth, luminous and coveted as it may be, still needs a power to help us embrace it. How many of us "know" the truth but find ourselves incapable of consistently following its lead?
All to say we need more than mere truth. We need, as we heard about last Sunday, the Spirit of truth. That Jesus came to earth confirms our need for truth. But we also needed His Spirit to make us supple to the truth and to enable us to embrace it as truth.
Above all we need to know the truth we hear is truth offered in love. The Spirit of God is singularly suited to that task because He alone is able to convince us of the truth of the Gospel of Jesus. The Spirit authenticates the message of the cross, illuminating the truth that, though we exchanged the truth of God for a lie, Christ died for us in love nonetheless. As that truth takes hold with the help of the Spirit, our losses and laments may stifle us for a season, but they will not diminish us irreparably.
We all need insight into the truth about ourselves and the truth about God. But are you making room in your days to allow the Spirit of God to confirm such truth to your heart? Are you wrestling with God in prayer, asking Him to help you rest in and act upon the truth that He died for you in love?
There is no greater insight.
Who considers the power of your anger, and your wrath according to the fear of you? So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Cairo is aflame over who is best suited to lead Egypt.
Washington D.C. is apoplectic over the alleged irreducible complexity of the recent health-care legislation.
And Dallas sits stranded, now for three days, under a quarter inch of ice. The world would smirk—if it cared to look—at how debilitated we become by something so slight. (I suspect the entourages of the two teams engaged in a little sporting event here this weekend do.)
My family and I have sought to redeem the time with hot cocoa and Lego-building. And by reliving Peter Jackson's retelling of Tolkien's epic trilogy, the Lord of the Rings (skipping through some of the hairier moments for the sake of the tenderer souls of our brood).
I'm heartened by how it's provoked thoughtful questions from my children: Why does the ring tempt everyone it touches? Why must it be destroyed? Why is Sauron so bent on dominating Middle Earth? Though the plot exists in a fanciful world, their questions reveal the relevance of the story to this one. More than merely excite the senses and stimulate our imagination, Tolkien's tale has much to teach. My viewing of it this uncommonly frigid week taught me something about the wisdom the Spirit of God gives, as Pete explored last Sunday.
The Psalmist intones the wisdom of fearing the Lord. To know Him is to fear Him, a notion well attested throughout the Scriptures. Proverbs puts it most succinctly, saying such fear is the foundation of all wisdom (3:5–6).
But we also know that our communion with God entails love for Him. "Love the Lord your God with all your heart and all your soul and all your might," Moses proclaims (Deut 6:5). Jesus calls this the greatest commandment we might ever obey (Mt 22:36–37).
So which is it? Fear the Lord or love Him? How can we do both? Doesn't one preclude the other? Or might wisdom help us to see where those two ostensibly contrasting responses converge? Before we answer the question, let's review the nature of wisdom.
Wisdom is the ability to take multiple strands of truth and apply them to a given circumstance, specifying a response that might be inappropriate in another setting. Proverbs 26 perhaps illustrates best wisdom's supple application of truth: "Answer not the fool according to his folly, lest you be like him yourself. Answer a fool according to his folly, lest he be wise in his own eyes." Some fools are best called to account, some are best left to themselves; and wisdom discerns the difference. Like the concert pianist who places just the right application of tempo, tone, color, and volume to a given passage, so the wise man places just the right emphasis on a particular truth as the moment warrants.
Back to our original question of whether it is fitting to fear the Lord or love Him. Clearly the Scripture admonishes both, so there must be a coherence between them that our initial sense of them misses. But to add to our conundrum, what shall we make of Paul's dismissal of fear for those who are in Christ: "…you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!'" (Rom 8:15)? Or consider John's even more succinct chastisement of fear: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" (1 John 4:18). In these two passages alone, fear and love seem irreconcilably opposed. Is Scripture trying to pass off a contradiction as mere paradox? Here's where Tolkien's Gandalf illustrated for me what the Spirit's wisdom seeks to untangle about loving and fearing God.
The central character of Tolkien's sprawling story is a simple ring with great power, forged by an evil figure, Sauron, who means to dominate the whole world with it. Bilbo, an aged Hobbit who'd found the ring of power in the story preceding the Lord of the Rings trilogy, is planning to depart his homeland, the Shire, and has decided to bestow the ring to his young nephew, Frodo. Both are aloof to the true identity of the ring.
But before Bilbo departs, the ring's ineffable allure leads him to rethink his decision to part from it. At the moment of decision, with Gandalf watching, Bilbo begins to show an obsessive attachment to the ring—so much so that he lashes out, as if demonically-possessed, when Gandalf insists Bilbo keep to his earlier commitment. In a mixture of anger and concern, Gandalf bellows, "Bilbo Baggins, do not take me for a conjurer of cheap tricks. I'm not trying to rob you. I am trying to help you." Bilbo cowers in fear at Gandalf's fury, and then rushes into the wizard's embrace with a confidence in his love. He feared offending Gandalf's love, not losing it. Knowing Gandalf's love was true, he respected Gandalf's discipline all the more. Fear and love were not contradictory but rather complementary dimensions of the same appreciation for someone.
The Spirit makes us wise by helping us see how fear and love for God are inseverable. Neither Paul nor John dismisses fear in itself—only a fear that assumes God's love is rescinded by His chastisements. Obversely, neither would Paul or John uphold a confidence in God's love without also sustaining our reasons for fearing His displeasure of sin.
Have you ever feared the Lord? It's our fear of offending Him that confirms our implicit love for Him.
Have you only feared Him? Unqualified fear bespeaks an ignorance of His love demonstrated in Christ.
The absence of fear or love makes for a cold heart only the Spirit of God can warm.
Jesus answered, "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
It's a testimony to the significance of what's transpiring in Egypt that the world's typically inconstant attention remains transfixed there. Uprisings, like after-school brawls at the bike rack, always draw a crowd of witnesses. But the attraction lies not so much in the chaos in Cairo but in the order yet to come. Egypt, as many have said, is at a crossroads: Will she only replace one oppressiveness with another, or will she enter a new era of greater rights for all her citizenry? Will it be a regime redux or rebirth?
Natan Sharansky puts Egypt in context when he explains the primary reason for her turmoil. It centers on fear. Riffing on thoughts from his 2005 book, The Case for Democracy, the former dissident of the erstwhile Soviet empire argues that Egypt confronts two options for its future—whether it will exist as a "fear society" or a "freedom society." To determine the character of a society, Sharansky applies what he calls the "town-square test": Can anyone stand in a public setting and voice their critique of the government without fear of reprisal. Until recently, Egypt's citizenry had no such confidence their criticisms would be tolerated. But if her present ordeal yields a new kind of freedom to speak, Egypt will have been, in the eyes of many, reborn.
Mark introduced us to the Holy Spirit's work of rebirth in us last Sunday. Rebirth cannot be manipulated or fabricated. It is entirely a gracious act of God to awaken us to the truth of God's Son, to establish us as one of God's children, and to earmark us for God's eternal inheritance. So rebirth entails a transformation in what we believe and in what our future holds. But does it result in anything else—anything more palpable than a change in our doctrine and destiny?
In fact it does, and it centers on fear.
Like the rebirth that might occur in Egypt, rebirth by the Spirit of God through faith in the Son of God transforms our heart (sometimes just as difficult to change as a whole society) from fear to freedom. It changes the very structure of how we view and respond to reality. Rebirth begins at the foundational level, but then filters down into every aspect of our being—slowly and methodically over time, sometimes creating as much productive turmoil as what we've seen in Cairo's Tahrir Square.
What fears does the Spirit's rebirth free us from? To paraphrase John 3:16, the immeasurable love of God led Him to deliver His beloved Son for a sacrificial death on our behalf. If we should look to Jesus in faith that His work was sufficient to forgive our sin and establish us as God's child, not only shall we not taste eternal death, but by the Spirit, we will be unshackled from the very dread of death. Rebirth frees us from our deepest fear—the darkness of death.
But there's another fear from which rebirth delivers us—one associated with death but with us in life. Jesus explains that, "God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." Next to death, our deepest fear in this life is being found unacceptable—scorned, rejected, or deemed worthless—by parents, peers, or some vague standard whose origins we can't quite discern. We may not be conscious of it but in the back of all our minds is the fear of condemnation by some measure we think really matters. Christ frees us from that condemnation in itself. Rebirth by the Spirit frees us from the existential fear of it.
So how do you know if you're living out the reborn life? Is there something like Sharansky's town-square test for the soul? John Newton may have found it in his description of the reborn life (with thanks to Justin Taylor for the find)
I am not what I ought to be.
Ah! how imperfect and deficient.
Not what I might be,
considering my privileges and opportunities.
Not what I wish to be.
God, who knows my heart, knows I wish to be like him.
I am not what I hope to be;
ere long to drop this clay tabernacle, to be like him and see him as He is.
Not what I once was,
a child of sin, and slave of the devil.
Though not all these,
not what I ought to be,
not what I might be,
not what I wish or hope to be, and
not what once was,
I think I can truly say with the apostle,
"By the grace of God I am what I am." (Letters of John Newton)
The reborn life does not deny its remaining corruption, but neither does it despair over it. It acknowledges the ever-present need for maturing in our rebirth, and the ever-present love of God who solicits and enables that maturing. A heart reborn does not try to recast death as something other than sorrowful, but it faces death with courage knowing it is not alone and with hope that the end signals, at last, a truer beginning.
The reborn life, above all, is free—free to see oneself as God sees us in Christ. But the effects of this freedom don't ultimately terminate on oneself. Such freedom compels us to love the Lord our God with our entirety, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. (It may even compel us to render aid to the progress of the Gospel in Egypt!)
Life presents innumerable crossroads for whether we'll live fearfully or freely. Take Newton's "test" to see if the Spirit must remind you of your rebirth. Do you refuse its comfort, or do you rest in the grace that renews your interest in representing Him in the world?
Do not marvel that I said to you, ‘You must be born again.’
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Some call it a refreshing change. Others—a fool’s errand. In the wake of the 2010 national election, representatives from across the political spectrum coalesced into a movement lamenting acrimony erupting from an already bitterly partisan environment. They came together under the banner of the “No Labels” coalition, believing that the only political discourse with any hope of doing good was that led by politicians shorn of their party affiliation. To establish oneself as a Democrat or Republican, as a Green Party member or a Libertarian—even as an Independent—was to invoke all manner of encrusted associations with one’s perspective in the minds of those with whom one sought to build consensus. Since those associations were often misrepresentations of actual beliefs, or which became excuses for others not to engage in a dialogue, deliberative democracy was often derailed before it even left the station.
The No Labelers weren’t asking members to set aside their convictions—only their voiced affiliations. From their perspective, the stereotypes and the caricatures elicited by announcing one’s political affiliation meant those affiliations no longer had any meaning. And if they had no meaning, then they no longer mattered.
The phrase “born again” has experienced a similar overlaying of a number of false associations. Every political cycle, Gallup, Barna, Zogby, and the other pollsters employ the “born again” category to describe some respondents, but they rarely define the term. Consequently, the designation is often clumsily associated with a particular political party, or a particular view on the age of the earth, or a particular form of educating children. The essence of the phrase gets lost in a sea of innuendo and misrepresentation that leads some to wonder if Christians ought to dispense with the term entirely in their own self-description. If the meaning of the term has been obscured, does it really matter anymore?
What does it mean to be born again? And why does it matter? Despite contemporary misrepresentation, there’s a simplicity to its profundity.
The inquiry into the profile and the power of the Spirit continued last Sunday, specifically about His work in our rebirth. Nicodemus and the Prodigal illustrate well what it means to be born again.
To be born again is to be awakened deeply to certain realities by the Spirit of God. Like the Prodigal, it means discovering how the entire orientation of my heart—not just my behaviors—is fundamentally at odds with the One who gave me life. The estrangement from Him is not only deleterious to me but also offensive to Him.
Simultaneous with that discovery is the disconcerting awareness that I am powerless to remedy the situation. My heart wants what it wants, no matter how often or how vehemently I seek to coerce myself into wanting something differently.
In my helpless distress I then learn that the very One from whom I am fundamentally estranged is precisely the same One who wants to intervene on my behalf—both to set aside what keeps us at odds and to renew my very heart that I might live in a true communion with Him.
Finally I come to understand that in order to effect both reconciliation and renewal, there would have to be a gesture of great cost by the One who made it. That costly gesture came in the person of Jesus. His death expunged what kept me from God, while the Spirit reoriented my heart toward God.
The awakening to those realities may occur in an instant like a lightning flash; or it may emerge like watching the sun come over the hill. Whether instant or gradual, the above represents the essence of being born again.
So why would it matter to understand the meaning of rebirth?
For one it gives our obedience a proper scope. To a conflicted Nicodemus Jesus speaks unequivocally when he says that rebirth by the Spirit is necessary to seeing the “kingdom of God” (vv. 3,5). In Christ God refashions the individual human heart, but as we alluded to last week, His reconciling us to Himself is for the purpose of being aligned with His intention to bless the whole earth. The kingdom comes upon us by faith in Jesus, but the authority and influence of God (“kingdom” for short) is meant to spread not just to us but also through us into the world.
Understanding the meaning of rebirth also gives our obedience a proper shape. As Mark mentioned two weeks ago, Jesus deconstructed Nicodemus’ framework for how one entered into the favor of God. Not by any fastidious piety would one enter, but only by acknowledging our utter dependence on the grace of God to receive the “right to become children of God” (Jn 1:12). The protocol for becoming His own must shape our lives as His own. Rather than our obedience compelling His favor, His favor is intended to compel our obedience. Only by seeing clearly into what He has done in our rebirth have we any hope of living obediently to His Law in a right frame. Those deeply aware of their liberation are the ones truly freed to obey without reservation.
It’s not our mandate to rehabilitate the world’s perception of what it means to be born again. Since we will always be misperceived, misrepresented, and maligned, setting aside the label of born again is no solution either. But the more we understand the meaning of rebirth and why it matters, the more this world will come to see the essence of true faith in Christ.
Is this your understanding of rebirth? Does that understanding give the proper scope and shape to your obedience?
When your son asks you in time to come, ‘What is the meaning of the testimonies and the statutes and the rules that the LORD our God has commanded you?’ then you shall say to your son, ‘We were Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt. And the LORD brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Dear Seamus, Savannah, & Jedidiah,
Pastor Mark preached a sermon Sunday from the Old Testament book of Deuteronomy—the part when Moses says to the mommies and daddies in Israel about what to say when their kids ask about God. Moses wanted the parents to be ready to explain why everyone made a big deal about things in the past—about their time in Egypt while they were slaves and about how God had rescued them from Pharaoh’s control. (You know, kind of like Frodo helping rescue all Middle Earth from the power of Sauron.)
Pastor Mark preached from that part in the Bible because he wanted all the mommies and daddies of our church to be ready to explain to their children why we make such a big deal about some things—about who Jesus is and what He’s done for us.
You might sometimes wonder, “What’s the big deal that we get up every Lord’s day, get dressed in clothes we don’t wear most other times of the week, and get together with all those people in the sanctuary—singing songs, praying prayers, hearing sermons, and shouting hallelujahs?” You might also wonder why we ask you to be quiet, to listen, to be respectful of others, and to participate in the parts you can?
Well, I want to tell you.
The mommies and daddies of Israel told their children about being enslaved to Pharaoh. I want to tell you about being enslaved to sin.
Sin is not a person like Pharaoh was. But it is something that makes you do things you know aren’t good or right, and yet you’re still the one doing them. You’ve sometimes caught yourselves doing things you knew were wrong. Like hitting one another, or snatching something rudely out of one another’s hand, or saying something unkind to one another. You may have been sorry you did them, but you still wanted to do them, even though you can’t quite explain why you wanted to.
I know that’s hard to understand, but that’s like what it is to be enslaved to sin. It means wanting to do things that later you wish you never wanted to do, and yet, you don’t know how to stop wanting to do them. You’re stuck wanting to do things you know you shouldn’t.
That’s sad and frustrating in itself, but what’s worse is what happens to us if our hearts are never changed—if they’re never freed from our enslavement to sin. Not only do we continue to do what we know we shouldn’t, we also end up pushing ourselves farther and farther from God. And unless something happens to bring us back to Him we will live forever without Him.
It was sad and fearful for the mommies and daddies of Israel to be enslaved to Pharaoh. It’s even sadder and more fearful for us to be enslaved to sin.
But just as they told their children about being rescued from their slavery to Pharaoh by God’s mighty Hand, I want to tell you about being rescued from our slavery to sin by God’s mighty and merciful Son, Jesus.
God knew we were enslaved to sin. Since God is pure and holy, He also knew He would have to punish sin. So He sent His Son to take our punishment for our sin. Imagine if you did something wrong, but someone else was punished for it. That’s what Jesus did in dying for us.
When He was punished for our sin, He did something about our enslavement to sin, too. He made sure our sin could no longer keep us from being a child of God; His death forgave us of our sin. But He also gave us a gift that would change everything. He gave us His Spirit, and it’s His Spirit that changes not only what we do but also what our hearts want.
Our hearts used to want many things the Lord hates. But now, by the gift of God’s Spirit in Jesus, we now actually want many things the Lord loves. His Spirit changes our heart. We’re no longer stuck always wanting what we know is wrong. Now we’re free to want the things God wants.
Only God can do that. Only God the Father, through God the Son, by God the Spirit did do that. That’s why we believe God is both mighty and merciful. He did for us what only He could do. And He showed us kindness we did not deserve.
So part of the reason we make such a big deal about Jesus is because of what God did through Him to free us from our enslavement to sin.
Last week when most of us were sick and mommy was heroically giving us aid, she found one of you watching a video about tornados. At one moment in the video, someone who’d once been caught near a tornado said, “One day you wake up and you discover you’re not in control.” You heard that comment, thought about it for a minute, and then just quietly said, “God is in control.”
I believe that’s exactly what Mommy and Daddy want you to know—that God is in control. There will be plenty of times when it seems like everything is scary and God is either not there or doesn’t seem to care. But if God can do the hardest thing imaginable, like free us from our enslavement to sin, then we can be sure nothing is outside His control.
One last thing. Maybe you’re wondering why I’m writing all this down. Can’t we just talk about it while we’re eating dinner, or driving in the car, or just before we give our last goodnight kisses (and zerberts)? Yes, we can talk about it, and, I pray, we will talk about it in all those places—in planned and unplanned moments. But I want to write you a letter just to show you that this was important enough to write down—important enough to hear once and maybe to read again later. If it was important enough for Moses to write down, it’s probably important enough for me to write down, too. It’s written down so we would not forget. It’s written down out of love for you. So, I write this to you because I love you. May God keep showing us His love by freeing us to want the things He wants.
Love,
Daddy
For the desires of the flesh are against the Spirit, and the desires of the Spirit are against the flesh, for these are opposed to each other, to keep you from doing the things you want to do.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
An impressionable mind was once thought to be reserved for the young, when fledgling brains began to spread their wings and take in the first gusts of manageable information. Now a not so new theory is gaining new currency, suggesting that our minds retain a malleability throughout life. Even the minds most seasoned by time and trial can discover new patterns no matter how entrenched their ways of thinking.
The theory is called neuroplasticity and it argues the brain is more than an astoundingly complicated computational machine. It is composed of myriad neural pathways—or “maps”—that are shaped by both our genetic and situational circumstances. The inputs we give our minds through our experiences, and the responses to them, cultivate patterns of thought that influence how we interpret and respond to subsequent stimuli.
That our minds remain impressionable is in one sense an encouraging discovery. Those who have suffered traumatic head injuries now have new hope the mind may recover significant function by training it to employ other regions to do the same task.
In another sense, though, our minds’ pliancy has doleful implications. Norman Doidge,1 a doctor and researcher in the field of neuroplasticity, has argued that exposure to pornography, for instance, does more than titillate libidinal centers—it has a lasting effect on the very structure of the brain—effects no one would sign up for if they knew what they were getting into.
1[The piece written by Doidge is taken from a compilation of essays commissioned by the Witherspoon Institute from their research project on the Social Costs of Pornography. Their findings were shared at a conference held at Princeton University in 2008. More information about the project and how to obtain copies of the papers may be found here.]
Doidge found that while pornography stimulated sexual interest in the one exposed to it, but the exposure diminished their own sexual interest for their partner. Objectification of their partner and of women in general typically followed. (Naomi Wolf’s influential piece on this same phenomenon appeared in New York Magazine as recently as 2003.)
As we’ve heard in other studies, Doidge also observed a phenomenon typically associated with narcotic substances: the effects exposure produced in time began tailing off, which then triggered the pursuit of new and more access to the material in order to obtain the same stimulation. The brain wasn’t merely receiving stimuli; it was being rewired to prompt new responses.
But perhaps most paradoxical in Doidge’s research is how pornography can increase the desire for exposure to it without a corresponding increase in the enjoyment of it. He explains how our brains have both an appetitive and satisfaction pleasure system. Pornography actuates the appetitive system, forging new pathways that increased the craving, but not always the satisfaction system that leads to a sense of peace and bliss. The brain’s plasticity means it can be shaped to want something more without at the same time liking it more. It can be seduced, if you will, to seek what does not satisfy.
We are more than brains and bodies; we have souls. Yet souls and bodies while distinct are deeply interrelated. What occurs in the brain is in part, I think, why Paul warns so strenuously of the desires of the flesh. He’s neither besmirching all things material, nor elevating the spiritual over the physical. He’s not even lambasting the things that make schoolchildren titter. Rather, he’s portending how a soul unmoored to the Spirit of God can become entangled in a seductive self-deception that is both offensive to God and toxic to body and soul. And pornography isn’t the only desire of the flesh to which we are susceptible; just see Paul’s litany in 5:19-21.
Mark underscored for us last Sunday how walking by the Spirit would be a battle. That our brains’ plasticity can allow for so much self-inflicted collateral damage is yet more evidence of the challenges associated with putting off those desires. At the same time, neuroplasticity suggests yet another reason why Paul speaks with hope that the Spirit of God can and does bring renewal to even the most poisoned.
I’m neither a neurologist, nor the son of a neurologist (though my wife sometimes affectionately refers to me as a head case). So I can’t fully evaluate the merits of the theory on neuroplasticity. But even if the neurological community provides necessary qualifications to its premises, I think we can all agree it isn’t new wisdom to say what we give ourselves shapes ourselves. Paul elsewhere calls for our minds to be renewed (Rom 12:2), in part by thinking on what is excellent (Phil 4:8), and setting our minds on things above (Col 3:1). And never far from that call to think well is the appeal to the Spirit of God to confirm what is true of Him that we might have sufficient strength to walk in what is true.
What is in need of reshaping in your soul? How might you adjust the outlay of your time and energies in this season of Lent to invite the Spirit of God to do work in what is deep in you? And in the spirit of Mark’s admonition, whom might you need to invite into the battle with you?
I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things will not inherit the kingdom of God.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
If he’d said it only once we might be inclined to give it only passing attention. That Paul conveys the notion on several occasions in many of his epistles forces us to give it greater scrutiny. To the churches in Galatia, Corinth (1 Cor 6:9), and Ephesus (5:5), the apostle makes the sobering comment that those who engage in what he calls the “desires of the flesh” shall have no part in what God is doing in this world to reclaim it for Himself. Not now and not ever. It’s a promise echoed by the author of Hebrews (12:14) and John in his Revelation to the seven churches in Asia (e.g. 21:8). Jesus, Himself, warns similarly that those whose lives are marked by an absence of the character of God can expect nothing but exclusion by God (e.g. Matt 25:41–46). Hebrews 10:31 perhaps summarizes these collective warnings well: “It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of an angry God.”
The unambiguousness of the warnings unsettle, but they may also provoke some just as fearful questions. Much of what Paul condemns ends up on many people’s bucket list these days; the prohibitions, rather than restrain, actually incite indulgence (Romans 7:8). But what of the Christian who upon self-examination finds evidence of enmity, strife, and jealousy within himself? Drunkenness, sorcery, or orgies may not be his struggle. But what if fits of anger and envy pockmark his soul? What do the portentous comments of the New Testament bode for him?
More importantly, how do these warnings square with the other momentous promises of God—in particular, those that speak of an inexhaustible grace that will forgive and cleanse those who confess and repent? If our very salvation is bound up with an eternal decree of God (Eph 1:4); and was predestined prior to our ever making an overture to God (Eph 1:5; 1 Jn 4:10); and nothing can snatch us out of His hand (Jn 10:29)—then why proclaim such dire admonitions if the basis of His favor lies in His, not our, will?
Permit me a crude analogy that may explain. If you’ve ever driven a mountain highway with its rises and falls connected by what seems like an endless set of switchbacks you may have noticed the guardrails on the outer lane. Both common sense and the presence of the guardrails confirm one clear truth: venture beyond their limits and you will almost certainly taste death. (The fall isn’t the problem, but the sudden deceleration).
Barring absolute negligence, the guardrails will be what keeps you safely on the road throughout the journey. But even with the guardrails’ restraining influence, the very sight of of the peril beyond them is its own deterrent from testing the limits of safety. The rails are necessary for our safety but our sense of what they keep us from adds to their efficacy.
So how does that image explain the purpose of God’s portentous warnings to the one predestined to obtain the inheritance (Eph 1:11; Heb 1:14, 10:14)? Though His grace places rails upon our path that ultimately keep us from destruction, His word gives us a view of the destruction “beyond the rails,” which His Spirit then persuades our souls of. And it’s that Spirit-led awareness of what destruction is like that adds a deterrent to our denying Him. The mere thought of life off His path is one means by which He keeps us persevering within His grace and purpose. That His grace will forgive and cleanse does not make His warnings empty threats. Rather they serve as what leads us to the repentance that ensures our finishing well.
His Spirit makes us sing at the goodness of God, but He also makes us shudder at the thought of offending Him. How could we be convinced of the love of God if He did not convict us of our propensity to violate His love?
So what if, in your request for God to search you and try you (Ps 139:23), He reveals the seeds, if not the bloom, of what the New Testament says excludes from His kingdom? At the risk of oversimplifying repentance, it begins with acknowledging the sin—calling it what it is and taking ownership of the choice, notwithstanding the potential host of circumstantial or historical reasons that might’ve helped prompt the sin. But then, an odd sort of accompanying response: give thanks. Give thanks for how the conviction of your sin is an evidence of His love. It is no hyperbole of God to warn of the judgment for those who sin with impunity. But the Spirit of God ensures our entering into the inheritance of God by impressing His warnings heavily upon our souls. It is sometimes an unpleasant disciplining but only more testimony to the love that sent the Son (Heb 12:5–6).
Repentance elicited by the warnings may often be a slow, arduous task, involving more—perhaps far more—than what’s outlined here; but it will never involve less.
So hear the warnings. Invite an inspection of your heart. Confess what is contrary to His heart and kingdom. Give thanks for the kindness that both prompts repentance and will sustain you in working through the godly grief of repentance (2 Cor 7:9).
And then drive on.
If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The sketch in my kids’ scripture memory book is of a young boy running to catch up with a woman whose purse isn’t quite clasped shut. She’s inadvertently left a trail of dollars and coins strewn behind her, and the lad is carefully collecting her accidental generosity that he might return it to her.
The boy could’ve absconded with the unexpected gain, but he doesn’t. He could’ve also expected a reward for his integrity, but he doesn’t. His reward came in the form of the simple satisfaction of having done what he knew pleased God.
In the divine economy, what is the greatest reward we could ever get? It’s not the material blessings God could grant us. It’s not even the eternal enjoyments He might bestow. The greatest reward we could ever have is God Himself—knowing Him, experiencing Him, resting in Him (Jer 9:23–24). He is the greatest reward because He is, by definition, the greatest thing in the universe.
To believe God is our greatest gift has an effect on how we value everything else, including what proceeds from doing His will. The kind of heart that believes God himself is our greatest gift sees nothing else as more appealing or attractive. So the child who gives the money back to the woman without expectation of reward represents the kind of heart God wants us to have: a heart which treasures God most, which is happy to do His will even if it means he will receive nothing else in return. God is His treasure.
But wait. Doesn’t Jesus promise rewards for obedience (Mk 10:23–31)? Doesn’t He encourage the pursuit of treasure in heaven (e.g. Mt 6:19)? That sounds like God means to incentivize us with reward. Yet we also know that Paul warns of misconstruing our salvation as a wage for service rendered (Rom 4:4). Furthermore he seems to embrace an attitude of contentment irrespective of whether God has provided for him materially (Phil 4:11). God is not our lackey; we are His servants. So how can we understand (and seek) His rewards without misconstruing them as wages? How can we bear fruit for God without reducing our obedience to a mere transaction—a favor now for a leg up later?
On Sunday, March 20, 2011, we sought to emphasize the necessity of faith in the freedom Christ fought to furnish as the foundation of all our fruit-bearing (with apologies to those with an aversion to alliteration). We said Christ has freed us from the penalty of sin, from the power of sin, but also from the compulsion to establish our own acceptance with God. Resting in that freedom has several effects, one of which John alludes to when he says, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:18–19). Faith in his love evacuates fear of our approach to God.
But I would add that faith in His freedom does more than remove fear. It also transforms—even rescues—our obedience from a transactional mindset that unwittingly conceives of God as the cosmic concierge. Knowing that my union with God—my enduring communion and fellowship with Him—is entirely grounded in what Christ has done, rather than what I do, obliterates my naïveté that I could oblige Him to reward me. Moreover, knowing the utter graciousness of that union helps me to see the height of His kindness, and impels me to obey Him for His sake alone—not merely for His gifts or even His rewards.
God does, of course, make promises of reward to those who hallow Him with their lives. But the rewards—like all things related to salvation—are bestowed not because God is obliged to compensate us, but because of His grace. We will be compelled to cast any crowns of affirmation for our obedience at His feet because we will know it was because of Him that we obeyed (Rev 4:10–11). The fruit of the Spirit comes from a heart which, like a child who unassumingly returns lost money, knows God in that way—even if it also looks forward to an inheritance still to come.
Would you say your obedience is for God, or for His gifts? Could you obey Him if He promised you nothing in return? If God loves to reward the heart that finds its reward in God alone, what conditions are you placing upon your obedience that God must strip away? What matter calls for child-like faith this morning?
Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid. . . . I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
We are well acquainted with stress. Abiding peace—not so much. That’s in part why Mark spoke of the spiritual fruit of peace last Sunday. We may be so unacquainted with abiding peace that we’ve concluded it is an unrealistic condition.
Driving through Colorado last summer in an attempt to relieve some stress, my curiosity was piqued by an article by Jonah Lehrer in Wired magazine about an experimental vaccine against stress.
Robert Sapolsky, a neurobiologist about whom we’ve written before, first noted the impact of stress on health in his observation of baboon groups in Uganda. Only much later did he find the same phenomenon occurring in humans, a finding which other scientists corroborated—and a finding from which also Lehrer developed a couple noteworthy points.
One, the effect of stress is more calamitous than we might’ve imagined, and in part due to how our bodies respond to it. Heart disease tends to skyrocket in those with prolonged exposure to stressful situations. Neurological degeneration accelerates, too. Even children in utero demonstrate physiological changes in the brain as if they’d experienced the stressful circumstances themselves.
Though the anxieties that proceed from stress have never spawned a disease, they are to diseases what lighter fluid is to fire. Under stress, our endocrine system secretes something called glucocorticoids—a hormone salutary in the short term, but toxic if in the bloodstream for a prolonged period. They amplify production of glucose needed for the energy to defend ourselves in stressful situations. But they also suppress the immune system, impair the production of new neural cells, and contribute to muscle deterioration if left unabated. Stress degrades even if it isn’t the foundational cause.
Secondly, Lehrer argues the more damaging consequences of stress derive from a particular source of stress. One might assume all stress was the same—all equally debilitating. Instead, Sapolsky found that not only was there a correlation between stress and health, but that the most debilitating kind of stress correlated with a sense of one’s status. Baboons low on the pecking order of their group experienced greater tribulation in securing the necessities of life, thus creating more stress for them. Those baboons tended to be sicklier. A British sociologist found similar phenomena in U,K, government employees who were rigidly stratified into “classes” according to complexity of work and the ability to control their situation. Even controlling for other variables that might account for differences in health, those at the bottom of the social scale experienced a higher mortality rate. What you believe about yourself and your condition has a profound effect, not just on your mood, but on your health.
What solution does Lehrer (and the scientists he cites) offer? Since they all submit to the notion that all things have a material cause, their remedy is confined to the material sphere. Though human trials are years away, Sapolsky believes the most promising form of stress-relief comes with a vaccine that would limit the effects of prolonged glucocorticoid production. Others insist the best way to reduce your stress is to improve your station—your occupational or social status; the corresponding increase in respect and control it may afford will, they believe, resolve your anxieties.
We shouldn’t be surprised to find the effects of the fall in our physiology or in our society. Jesus was no stranger to the calamity wrought in both those dimensions of human existence. He relieved physical suffering and overturned entrenched notions about status (cf. The Good Samaritan as one example). But I suspect he would say to the Jonah Lehrers and Robert Sapolskys of the world that we have to go deeper than our social dynamics or our endocrine systems to address the root of our anxieties.
Say my work becomes more aligned with my uniqueness. If I find my ultimate peace in my work, haven’t I set myself up for a profound disillusionment should circumstances require me to resign from that work—whether because of loss of work, health issues, or retirement?
Or what if my glucocorticoid production comes under control such that it no longer suppresses my immune system, or degrades neuron production. Won’t at some point in life medical manipulation no longer be effective, thus forcing me to find a source of stability and peace independent of my physical condition?
Jesus’ peace goes to the heart, because our hearts were made for His peace. They need nothing less and crave nothing less. For His peace speaks to us at a level even more fundamental than our station or our cells. Jesus gives not as the world gives in part because the peace He gives does not depend on what the world provides.
Jesus’ peace derives from His promises. That by His work we shall be eternally loved by the Father (Jn 10:27), and though we die yet shall we live (Jn 11:25) are but two examples. Those promises endure even when our bodies refuse to cooperate with treatment or our circumstances remain intractable. There’s no harm in obtaining aid from those with aptitude in anatomy and pathology—no sin in seeking work more suitable to your design. But unless you dig for the peace that He promises and provides, you will try to satisfy your soul with what is too shallow.
You can’t tell a baboon he’s not second-class. But you can hear from God that you’re the child of a king.
Have you gotten to the root of your anxieties—whatever they may be—or are you digging too shallowly?
The LORD is gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
If you’re a Christian on the campus of a secular university, inevitably you will hear some detractor of the faith use Gandhi as an example of why the classical conception of Christianity might seem unjust. Mahatma, India’s “Great Soul,” demonstrated singular devotion to, among other causes, pacifying Hindu-Muslim strife through the nearly unqualified application of non-violence in both word and political strategy. Even when his movement was met with murderous opposition, Gandhi remained steadfastly committed to restraint, believing it to be the only sufficient means to end strife.
For that commitment, Gandhi has been ennobled throughout the world as an example of true goodness. And that goodness derived from, at most, a respect for Jesus, but not faith in Jesus. How then, in light of his exemplary life, could Gandhi be excluded from the eternal blessings of God? So ask those who find fault with the notion that God’s favor falls on only those whose faith falls on Christ in this life. (Rob Bell is only the most recent purveyor of that line of questioning.)
Now a recent biography by Joseph Lelyveld removes some of the luster from previous characterizations of the diminutive revolutionary. None of what Lelyveld shares is new revelation; everything has been on public record for decades. Nevertheless his work has elicited a firestorm of controversy, leading some to call for an outright ban of the book.
Mine is not to debate the accuracy of Lelyveld’s rendition of Gandhi’s life so much as to consider one element of Gandhi’s pursuit of virtue, which at least one review of Lelyveld’s biography provides a glimpse of. Specifically I want to ask how Gandhi’s pursuit compares with what it means to walk by the “fruit of the Spirit.”
Gandhi saw his political commitments as an expression of his spiritual convictions. He saw the notion of non-violence as having a metaphysical, not merely philosophical or sociological, origin. (In fact, he believed Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount to be almost the pinnacle of discourses on the subject of peace). But it would seem that Gandhi’s pursuit of virtue—including the discipline of restraining the impulses toward violence—was mostly a matter of focusing his attention on the virtue itself and then attempting to master it by force of will. From the accounts of his pursuit of other virtues, placing himself in situations that would test his self-control appears to be his primary mode of moral improvement.
But Gandhi’s approach to virtue begs this question: can you hope to manifest the virtues of God’s character just on the basis of your respect for those virtues in themselves? Is it enough to meditate on perfection in order to become perfect? The cross of Jesus says you can hope and meditate, but you will fail without something more than instruction in virtue. Why the blood of Jesus if we only needed instruction?
Mark preached to us last Sunday the importance of gazing on the greatness of God—which may sound an awful lot like what Gandhi did in letting his attention to perfections be what drew him toward those perfections. And yet, to gaze at the greatness of God as the Psalmist directs is to gaze in part at the perfection of His mercy. Psalm 145 exalts the perfections of God, but also heralds His works, many of which reflect His mercy extended to Israel when she demonstrated something far less than His perfect holiness. The hope of Israel’s holiness lay not merely in her meditation on the perfections of God but also on the steadfastness of His love, often expressed in mercy toward her stubbornness.
Likewise, Jesus said unequivocally you must be perfect as your heavenly father is perfect. But He also stretched out His arms to die for those in whom perfection would be impossible were it not for His perfect life and death. That Jesus had to and was glad to die for us signifies not just our need of His sacrifice to reconcile us to God. It also reveals our need of His merciful love as what compels our aspiration to His perfection.
Consider a familiar literary example. Victor Hugo’s Jean Valjean was not ignorant of kindness before his nineteen years in prison. But Valjean felt no burning compulsion to be kind until a gracious bishop by the name of Bienvenu extended mercy to the former convict in a dire moment and invoked these words: “Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to what is evil but to what is good. I have bought your soul to save it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God.” That is precisely what the Lord Jesus says to us from Calvary and embracing His words with the help of His Spirit is our only hope of walking by the fruit of His Spirit.
Unless you see the fruit of the Spirit as more than just perfections in God—until you see their coming to fruition as a response to His love for you in Christ—your commitment to mastering virtue will achieve at best a distorted version thereof. Lelyveld’s distillation of Gandhi’s life provides at least some evidence for that argument; and you know what, so does my life. That is why I look not only to God’s perfections, but His mercy as my hope of ever growing in His holiness.
Have you presumed upon His mercy as an excuse for carelessness, or have you forgotten His mercy as you’ve sought to be perfect as He is perfect (Mt 5:48)?
The fruit of our meditation on both (Ps 145:3) will be a potent testimony to the all-sufficiency of Jesus—be it on a college campus or wherever you find yourself.
He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but my Father who is in heaven.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Atop the rotunda of the Capitol in Washington, D.C. you’ll find (now that the light bill will be paid through September) a perfectly surreal rendering of George Washington, by Greek-Italian artist, Constantino Brumidi. Entitled The Apotheosis of George Washington, the massive fresco depicts our first president sitting, as if in session among the clouds, surrounded by Roman gods and goddesses who typified features of our national existence—science, mechanics, agriculture, war, and commerce.
As the word apotheosis means the elevation of someone to divine status, Brumidi was successful in according the man Washington with all the supernal glory his nation would gladly ascribe to him. Yet I suspect Washington himself would prefer to be known as only a human who made necessary sacrifices. That’s part of the reason we esteem him. He would’ve likely blanched at having his persona embellished with heavenly regalia.
When I was in college and considering Jesus and His gospel with any scrutiny for the first time, C.S. Lewis’ helpful “tri-lemma” simplified my task. As Paul Settle quoted him last Sunday, “A man who was merely a man and said the sort of things Jesus said would not be a great moral teacher. He would either be a lunatic — on the level with the man who says he is a poached egg — or else he would be the Devil of Hell. You must make your choice. Either this man was, and is, the Son of God, or else a madman or something worse.” Lewis’ logic struck me then, and now, as airtight.
Yet there was one other option for how we understand Jesus that seemed both possible and consequently troubling to me. What if Jesus had undergone the same kind of apotheosis Washington had? That is, could history and admiration for the human Jesus have embellished his persona with such significance that it took on a divine quality? Could the celebration of Jesus’ heroic sacrifices have transformed perceptions of this Jewish son so that he became a He?
In fact, that’s precisely what one of Washington’s esteemed colleagues, Thomas Jefferson, believed. So much so he edited a copy of the New Testament by removing every reference to the supernatural, leaving a purely ethical rendition of Jesus’ life and teaching. Gone were the miraculous signs and wonders, the allusions which, to Jefferson, were impingements on the true value of Jesus. The episodes of exorcism, healing—even resurrection—now littered Jefferson’s floor, excised from his bible and his thought. Jesus was a sage to be reckoned with, Jefferson acknowledged, but not as one of heavenly origin or title.
Jefferson’s logic remains a prevalent view among many. It’s a view derived mainly from the Enlightenment’s uneasiness with the category of the immaterial. But it’s also premised on a particular view of how the New Testament was compiled.
We know that before the gospels were written their content was first transmitted orally; sayings, episodes, dialogues were told and retold within and between church communities until the early church saw the need to put these verbal remembrances into written form. Scholars who, like Jefferson, bracketed the supernatural from their thought concluded that the written accounts of Jesus’ life necessarily underwent such massive reshaping over time that what we have in the gospels is so embellished as to be unreliable.
But in recent decades, scholars like that of Richard Bauckham have revised the conventional view of how the gospels were compiled. His most recent book, Jesus and the Eyewitnesses, argues that numerous features of the events recorded in the gospels reveal language consistent with a particular category of ancient historiography aptly called “testimony.” The presence of names, vivid details, and often embarrassing inclusions in the accounts indicate that what we have in the gospels is more likely attributable to eyewitness testimony (or associates of the eyewitnesses) than to the product of communities reshaping oral memories of Jesus for their own purposes. Both the content of the accounts and their style establish testimony as their most plausible source.
To illustrate with a modern equivalent, Bauckham draws a delicate analogy between the testimonies of Holocaust survivors and the gospel accounts. The “exceptionality” of what transpired at Auschwitz or Buchenwald ensured a far more accurate transmission of its record due to the effect it had on those who lived to disclose it. Similarly, the unexpected and unprecedented nature of what occurred in the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus adds to the credibility of their vivid description of events because those who compiled the accounts would be just as interested in preserving and promulgating their exceptional content. They had seen or heard what had happened and couldn’t be silent about it, while those who compiled the accounts would be scrupulous about including only what could be considered trustworthy testimony (cf. Lk 1:1–4).
So the portrayal of Jesus’ glory in the gospels is no work of artifice. They are interpretations of His life and words, to be sure, but not an apotheosis of a mere—albeit influential—man.
Believers in the full divinity of Jesus may balk at Jefferson’s radical recasting. They may find efforts like Bauckham’s just a rehash of established doctrine. But we shall always run the risk of making a subtle Jeffersonian shift in the way we think of Jesus, in at least two interrelated ways.
One, we stop praying. We may respect His sagacity and wisdom, but we can insensibly begin to ignore that He sits at the right hand of the Father, interceding for us (Rom 8:34) and inviting us to commune with Him in prayer. Jesus knows we may sometimes find it a struggle to pray (cf. Mk 14:36–38), but God is one with whom we share our heart, not just an idea upon which we reflect.
We also shift Jefferson’s way when we start seeking to embody Jesus’ virtue without appealing to His supernatural help. Jefferson relied upon his own aptitude and fortitude to manifest Christ’s rectitude. But if the transformation Jesus sought to bring us could be found within us why would He have to die for us? Because what we most need is not of this world. Denuding Jesus of His divinity makes your hope of holiness as realistic as Brumidi’s fresco.
You might never have thought of Jesus as anything less than divine, but have you unwittingly undergone a Jeffersonian shift?
Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Editor’s note: This week we are publishing the meditation that will be offered in Good Friday’s noontime service.
Then Jesus, calling out with a loud voice, said, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit!” And having said this he breathed his last. (Luke 23:46)
By now you may have heard of Mohammed Bouazizi: an unmarried twenty-six-year-old man from Tunisia who cared for his mother and eight siblings left behind by their now deceased father.
He sold vegetables as a street vendor, pushing a dilapidated cart up and down the streets of Sidi Bouzid, and making about $7 a day.
On December 17th a policewoman harassed Mohammed, claiming his cart was unlicensed. When he tried to pay the fine on the spot, she accosted him, spit on him, overturned his cart and cursed his dead father.
Dejected at the mistreatment, Bouazizi walked to the equivalent of city hall and demanded an audience with the provincial governor to protest the injustice done to him by public officials. The governor refused to see him. Having no one else to appeal to and no advocate, Bouazizi left demoralized.
One hour later he returned to city hall with two cans of gasoline. He doused his body with the fuel and set himself aflame.
For 18 days he languished in hospital, even garnering a visit from the President of Tunisia.
On January 4th of this year Mohammed died.
As you may also know, his death literally incited a wave of protest in the country under dictatorial rule, leading to the Tunisian President’s eventual resignation—which then sparked protests in more than a few other Middle-Eastern countries. Those protests—many of them violent—continue at this very hour.
Mohammed Bouazizi died a heinous death by his own choice. His death has touched off incalculable tumult. Yes, his single act of sacrificial defiance has provoked both outcry and action about revolution and reform. But his act, I think, catalyzed something even more basic—something having to do with the should questions of life.
Bear with me, but dictators in that region are all asking: “What should we have done, either to prevent the outcry or quell it before it erupted?” “What reforms should we have implemented, or what measures should we have taken to diffuse the tension?” The word “should” is much in their minds, and not just theirs.
People in those nations in revolt are also asking: “Now that the autocrats are listening, now that the people are awakened, what should we do next? What reforms should be enacted? What should our nation look like going forward?”
Should is a word as much on their minds as those they seek to overthrow.
One man’s act of horrific self-sacrifice confronts everyone’s thinking about what should’ve been in the past and what should be in the present and future.
I submit to you that the Lord Jesus, whose horrific death is detailed in this text does precisely the same thing, but on a grander and deeper scale. Everything about this passage shows the righteous living and dying of Jesus provoking something unexpected—something different from what should’ve otherwise occurred.
That even applies to the weather that day.
It was the height of the day—the sixth hour, 12 noon—in the fullness of spring. The sun should’ve been shining brightly. And yet, Luke tells us, a darkness was over the land. The sun’s light was failing.
Luke’s not being purely meteorological and journalistic in mentioning that. He doesn’t mean for us to think it’s a sheer coincidence that they crucified Jesus on a forebodingly dark day. On what might’ve been just another dusty day in Judea, Jesus’ crucifixion provokes an ominous response from the creation itself.
Consider also the curtain of the temple—it should have been hanging securely in the temple courts. We’re not precisely sure if Luke meant the curtain that separated the temple from the outer court, or the one that led into the Holy of Holies. But whichever it might’ve been, it was no slipshod, threadbare hanging. It would’ve been woven in thick layers of blue, scarlet, and purple cloth, hung on hooks of pure gold.
That it would tear at all was one thing—Matthew and Mark say it was torn from top to bottom. That it would’ve been torn at the time when Jesus hung upon the cross is quite another.
Jesus provokes something unexpected from what should’ve happened, not only in the setting, but in those who watched him die.
The centurion shouldn’t have given Jesus a second thought. This was just one more crucified criminal. The centurion should have just carried out his orders, maintained civility among the rabble, and looked upon Jesus with an admixture of derision and indifference.
And yet, this officer in the Roman army saw something different—something that struck him. He was moved enough to not only render but actually express an evaluation of these proceedings—an assessment contrary to the doctrinal zeal and political calculations that had given this centurion a job to do that day.
Jesus prompts something different from how things should’ve played out.
That’s true for the centurion; that’s also true for the crowd. Luke says they’d assembled to witness a spectacle, a bit of macabre entertainment to spice up their otherwise drab existence. Seeing another purported religious insurgent executed should have brought them at least a little delight—a little satisfaction at watching one who spoke with such commanding authority now reviled and humiliated for all the world to see.
They should’ve gone home happy, but instead the text says they returned home remorseful. Whether they felt complicit in Jesus’ death or just sorrowful at the apparent death of an innocent is unclear. But of this we can be sure: whatever disdainful things they’d come to believe about Jesus were confronted by the image of how He faced both his accusers and His death. His poise, His love, His confidence before His Father didn’t fit with how a true criminal should’ve responded. So Jesus provoked a reevaluation from those who should’ve found pleasure in His destruction.
Jesus alters what should’ve been in the crowd—and also in those who knew him best. His acquaintances and the women who’d followed him from Galilee, Luke says, stood at a distance.
At the very least they should’ve been sitting at His feet listening to Him teach as He had before. But by a providence they could not understand, he’d been taken from them and annihilated before their eyes, while they watched at a remove so as not to be seen, not to be associated with Him or implicated in the same crimes for which he was being crucified.
And in their minds, they should’ve been following a conquering king into the city limits of Jerusalem. Instead they were staring dumbfounded at a suffering servant. What should’ve been just wasn’t materializing.
Jesus provoked respect from the Centurion, remorse from the crowds, and now reflection from His acquaintances. In every case, Jesus alters what should’ve happened. Which is fitting. For the most glaring example of Jesus altering what should’ve been centers on Him being on the cross at all.
He should not have been there, but He was. We should have suffered the punishment He received, but we did not.
Jesus upends—he overturns—what should’ve been through His righteous living and dying. He did that in this moment. But He does that for us too, here and now. Middle-Eastern despots and peoples aren’t the only ones who face the should questions. We do all the time, and Jesus transforms our experience with the shoulds of life in two fundamental ways.
One, He transforms how we think about what we should have done in the past.
I’m talking about how He transforms our regrets. We all have them. Say the word regret, and it’s likely something or someone shoots into your brain effortlessly—something we should or should not have done.
Regrets follow us in this life. But by bearing the cross we should have borne, by paying the penalty we should have paid, by suffering the estrangement from God we should have suffered, He forgives where we have failed—Him and others.
Into His Father’s hands he committed His Spirit so that we might live as fully forgiven men, women, and children. By His death, He swallows up in His love all that we regret so that our regret will not swallow us up in despair.
Now, by dying to bring us forgiveness, Jesus does not deny the sinfulness of our sin; His grace doesn’t minimize our guilt.
Nor does He relieve us of the responsibility of acknowledging our sin to those we’ve offended; in fact, it’s His mercy that both compels and enables us to seek reconciliation where we can with whom we’ve wronged.
But His righteous self-sacrifice was enough to cover all the grievous things about our past; all the errors that haunt us; all that we should or should not have done.
How can I make such an audacious claim?
Zaccheus was an embezzler. The woman who anointed Jesus’ feet was a whore. Peter was a bigot. And Paul was an accomplice to murder.
They all saw with searing clarity what in their past they should or should not have done. They all ran to Jesus for forgiveness, but also for Him to transform how they thought about all the shoulds of their past.
If you’re a sinner, you’re in good company. If you’re in Christ, you’re in the care of a greater Savior. In the face of past regrets, Jesus shouts in a loud voice, “trust in my blood.” He transforms the shoulds of our past.
Our experience with should isn’t limited to the past though.
There’s as much unsettling about the present and future as our regrets foist upon us about the past. We can become paralyzed by having innumerable options, or exasperated by having precious few. As circumstances can change so quickly we can be derailed by forces outside our control in the blink of an eye. Or we can begin to think that our present trajectory increasingly seems like it’s either bound for nowhere or for catastrophe.
And so the questions emerge, “what should I do?” “how should I choose, change or live?” “How should I face a present or a future I cannot control?” Those are anxiety-riddled questions.
What is Jesus’ answer to that anxiety? What do His righteous living and dying say to what we should do about now and henceforth?
To our anxieties He simply says, “live for Him.” Implicit within His final words of trust to His Father on the cross is an invitation to trust Him in the midst of whatever your circumstances and to let that trust shape our life.
Let His Fatherhood shape our parenting; His work in us shape our work in the world; His investment in us shape our investment in others; His sacrifices for we who were His enemies shape our sacrifices for those who may still be our enemies.
And why does living for Him transform our anxieties about how we should live now and forever? If Jesus’ honor is without equal, then there is joy in knowing He is worthy of our labor. If His promise is sure, then there is confidence that no effort for Him is a waste. If His love is everlasting, then there is peace knowing that whatever we might lose in this world is nothing compared to what we have, and will have forever, in Him.
In His horrific death, Jesus transforms our every encounter with the shoulds of life.
Mohammed Bouazizi, no matter how incalculable and noble his self-sacrifice, did not die an innocent man.
None of us, no matter how laudable our lives, shall ever die an innocent death—whether untimely or timely, violently or quietly.
That is why our only hope of dying with any confidence that we shall enter our rest with God’s favor is to trust in the One who really was innocent in both life and in death.
And our only hope of having the regrets of our past and the anxieties of our future transformed is to trust in the One who altered—and alters—everyone’s experience with should.
Jesus said to [Thomas], “Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Quick—What do these all have in common: a potato chip, an iron, a block of plywood, a tortilla, a frying pan, a rotting banana, and a Cheeto? Each have been found sporting an unexpected, uncontrived image of Jesus, or so some have claimed. To be sure, most of these alleged apparitions seem more like fortuitous smudges than divine signs. Score one for Rohrshach’s theory of how the mind interprets random phenomena? You decide, though coloring yourself incredulous would not make you a cynic.
We can all relate to the disciple Thomas’s incredulity when he hears of the resurrection, and yet disbelieves the account. Claims of unprecedented occurrences naturally provoke skepticism, particularly if the claim calls for us to risk something important in response.
What the other disciples who had seen the risen Jesus were asking Thomas to believe entailed more than mental assent—nothing so inconsequential as believing that in fact Jesus’ face had miraculously appeared on a tortilla. This belief would compel Thomas to make good on an earlier demonstration of apparent faith: “Let us also go, that we may die with him,” said Thomas in response to Jesus’ willingness to risk confrontation back in Judea (Jn 11:16). Now, something more than bravado would have to compel his commitment.
If Jesus had indeed risen, then the world had indeed changed. Sin had been forgiven. Now death had been overturned. A new era had begun. Former allegiances would now have to become subservient to submission to the only One who had followed through on His promise to rise from the dead. One doesn’t conceal the report of resurrection, and especially if belief in the One who rose afforded new, true, and eternal life in communion with the God who authored life. Belief in His resurrection would compel Thomas (and us!) to give testimony to its truth and imitate the life of the One who was raised.
Still, John includes Thomas’s disbelief in the account for a reason, and not primarily to throw Thomas under the bus. For Jesus isn’t against validation of extraordinary claims. If He were, why appear at all after His resurrection to the women, the disciples, the pair on the Emmaus road, the nearly 500 Paul mentions? Why voluntarily show the disciples His hands and His side—the very thing Thomas insisted upon later—if He were entirely opposed to substantiating claims with evidence?
Jesus isn’t against evidence, but He’s also for belief on the basis of what we cannot entirely see or verify. In fact, He says we’re blessed if we do not see and yet believe. There’s the nub: why are we blessed who have not seen, yet believe? We understand that we must believe without seeing to have life in His name (John 20:31), but why is it profitable to do so?
Chrysostom argued the reward for faith is inversely proportional to the amount of evidence provided. Augustine seconded that notion, saying that confidence in God may be just as powerfully wrought in those who have not seen as in those who had. Calvin suggested that belief by faith demonstrated a better form of trust in certain matters because it bases its confidence, not on one’s own frail faculties, but on the very Word of God. (Eve’s fundamental error was in trusting her own senses more than God’s instruction.)
All these reflections posit the profitability of faith. I’d like to posit another reason for faith’s goodness—a reason derived from our earthy world of Cheetos and frying pans, potato chips and rotting bananas.
You will never walk down a nuptial aisle, nor cradle a newborn child, nor befriend a quirky neighbor, nor pull off to aid a stranded driver, nor send a son or daughter off into the big, wide world unless you believe in what you cannot see, unless you trust that doing so isn’t worthless. Each of those moments requires love because each demands risk. You cannot see the outcome of your actions. So waiting for complete knowledge before you participate precludes participation. It precludes love. Such is the nature of love—normal, everyday expressions of love.
So what Jesus asks of us is not as foreign to normal life as you might think. Blessed are they who have not seen and yet believe, because only then may they engage in love—what love requires and what love can, so to speak, deliver. If God is love (1 Jn 4:8) and for love God sent His Son (Jn 3:16), then only by the faith that love demands can you begin to understand God. Only then can you begin to know what it means to commune with Him. You can never love if you make perfect insight your criteria for expressing love. You can never know God if you make perfect insight your criteria for life (Heb 11:1,6).
What must you believe Him for at this hour? What struggle, what choice, what lingering thought calls for you to believe God has done magnificently for you and whose love is enough for you? You cannot now see Him as He sees you, but it is not unreasonable—not abnormal—to trust in His love which is believed by faith.
We reasonably smirk at the attempts to see Jesus in a tortilla. But dare we dismiss the idea of believing Jesus by faith in light of what we know of love?
But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
On at least one count, Rob Bell is spot on.
Pause.
Back up.
Who’s Rob Bell?
In case you missed the excitement, he’s the pastor in Grand Rapids, MI whose latest book, Love Wins, has provoked prodigious controversy within the church and attracted wide interest outside her. Time Magazine even devoted its annual Eastertide cover to explore one possible implication of Bell’s musings—namely that Hell may merely be a religious contrivance designed to restrain our more destructive impulses.
Though we won’t review his book here, Bell’s dominant argument is that the view of Hell held by the vast majority of believers for the vast majority of church history is “misguided and toxic.” Many Christians, he insists, are so preoccupied with Hell that they effectively reduce the Christian life to avoiding divine punishment. In his imitable style, Bell frames his criticisms most often in the form of provocative questions: if God is so irreducibly merciful, how can we say He is willing to consign souls to an infinite misery for arguably finite offenses? And if God is as eminently sovereign as we claim, how can the end of our physical life bar God from restoring our eternal souls to Himself?
Bell’s arguments, even if couched innovatively in the interrogative, are not new. Nor have they required novel, unprecedented responses. He is clearly thoughtful in his formulations, and he vocalizes what many perhaps wonder from time to time about the justice and mercy of the Lord. But of those who have thoughtfully considered Bell’s book, one dominant complaint is that he argues too tendentiously from the Scriptures.
For instance, yes, the Old Testament intones abundant anticipations of Israel’s restoration following her apostasy. But it’s an excessive inference to conclude that God will similarly restore individual unrepentant persons to Himself even after their death. It is also true that God takes no pleasure in the destruction of the wicked (Ezek 33:11), and that He desires all men to be saved (1 Tim 2:4). But to extrapolate from His loving interest in redeeming souls that He extends His offer of mercy following death is, as one reviewer put it, a bridge too far.
We perhaps ought not besmirch Bell’s interest in providing what for many is a more palatable answer to the question about the fate of the countless who enter a Christless eternity. Unfortunately, the case he makes rests too much on hopeful conjecture, while at the same time unintentionally diminishing the very quality of God it seeks to elevate—namely, His love. That is, while Bell believes extending God’s redemptive reach into death’s realm glorifies His love in how it expands the population of heaven with those who turn to Him after death, the Scriptures would seem to argue that the pinnacle of God’s love is seen not so much in the number of those who are saved, but in the fact that He saves anyone at all. God was not bound by anything but His own promise to redeem a people for His own possession (1 Pet 2:9); any complaint that God has been too frugal in extending His mercy assumes an obligation on God’s part of which the Scriptures do not speak. His is a love so amazing, but as God, He may do as He pleases (Ps 115:3).
Still, Bell has one criticism of how the traditional doctrine of Hell tends to be handled that is well played. There are many who call themselves believers who seem to warn others of Hell without the slightest bit of anguish in their voices. The 20th century French philosopher Michel Foucault argued that truth claims are, at their core, attempts to exert power. While Foucault’s truth-claim would seem to be guilty of its own indictment, those who brandish the fires of Hell like a cudgel often seem to betray a greater interest in exercising control than humbly pleading for repentance. They lack the very contrition and compassion that issues from a godly boldness in witness, of which Mark spoke last Sunday. For all their vehemence at apostasy, Jeremiah and Jesus wept over those whose intransigence would condemn them. Can anyone rightly understand Hell, much less warn of it, unless they share the same anguish of spirit over those who pay it no thought?
The attempt to coerce is but one example of fatally flawed forms of witness. Evangelism motivated by guilt or mere social conformity, while perhaps not as hypocritical as manipulation, lacks as much integrity in how it is absent of love. And though indifference to the entire evangelistic enterprise avoids the disingenuousness of those other efforts, it betrays, as Mark soberly reflected, the deepest of disconnects in our soul: how can something ostensibly so central to our identity and hope never find its way to our lips that it might be shared—even awkwardly?
In view of all that can go wrong in the attempt to fulfill the Great Commission, the significance of the promise of the Spirit’s power in witness rings loud and clear. We really do need help that is not inherent to us in order to speak clearly, relevantly, and credibly of Christ and His gospel. There’s too much riding on the dissemination of this message to go without sufficient help. There’s too much of us that can get in the way of the dissemination to look to our own lights and strength.
So what can we do if we find lurking beneath our impulses to bear witness manipulation or mere conformity? What if we find no impulse at all? It has to begin with praying, if only that prayer might become henceforth what guides and sustains us in the privilege of pointing people to the Cross. These will be prayers first of repentance, acknowledging the absence of truth or love in our telling (or timidity). Then they will be prayers of request that we would see God as He is and souls as they are.
There may be much misleading in Pastor Bell’s most recent work. But if he ends up sending us to prayer that we might speak and act with the right balance of love and admonition, in the end, God wins.
...and he will be the stability of your times, abundance of salvation, wisdom, and knowledge; the fear of the LORD is Zion’s treasure.
On another glorious Monday morning in May, taking all my thoughts captive is no easy accomplishment. Cool sunny weather restores my gardening passion, and this passion prompts me to prune, weed, transplant, and invest in new plants. Yet, I have other responsibilities, chores, and other cares, not to mention listening to the news of wars, natural disasters, and the prognostication that the world will end May 21.
It may be time to do a little preaching of the gospel to myself?
If Christ were actually sitting at my kitchen table, waiting to chat, I might not have gotten myself in such an emotional state this morning—swinging from excited to overwhelmed. Yet, He was (Col. 1:27). And so was my Bible (Ps.119).
Rereading the text for Sunday’s sermon, Acts 2:29–47, remembering Pastor Mark’s exhortation to see how deep my faith in Christ is, and reviewing my notes, I see how easily I put aside the power God has for me through His Holy Spirit and His Word, especially when I feel I can handle what’s coming. After all, I have been following Christ over three decades.
No! That is not what the pastor said! He urged me to check for disconnects!
How can I become disconnected from God, who promised never to leave or forsake me? Circumstances and self-centeredness can shake me, weakening my grip.
Last night the lights on the walkway up to the house were off. My husband Doug checked the connection and discovered it had been knocked loose; he firmly reconnected it. Remembering Sunday’s sermon, worship, communion, and fellowship felt like God’s hand reconnecting my wobbly connection to Him.
My twenty-first century circumstances are not harder than those faced by first century Christians. Corruption, conflict, and catastrophes threatened them as they do me; personal peace and affluence tempted them as surely as they entice me. And their humble and compassionate witness confronted the Roman Empire’s debauchery (Rom. 1:18–32). But my ancestors in the faith lived in sure connection to the power of the Holy Spirit and with each other (Acts 2:42–49). That connection was as surely the stability of their times as He is the stability of my times—happy and sad, a wealth of wisdom, salvation and knowledge; the fear of the Lord is His treasure (Isa. 33:6).
And now to enjoy this good day, praying:
God grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time;
Enjoying one moment at a time;
Accepting hardships as the pathway to peace;
Taking, as He did, this sinful world
as it is, not as I would have it;
Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His Will;
That I may be reasonably happy in this life
and supremely happy with Him
Forever in the next.
Amen.
—Reinhold Niebuhr
Trust in the LORD with all your heart
and lean not on your own understanding;
in all your ways acknowledge him,
and he will direct your paths.
Proverbs 3:5–6
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
Editor's note: While Patrick Lafferty is on vacation, Every Thought Captive is being written by PCPC member Barbara Smith.
The Christians in Corinth were quarreling, creating divisions over matters of religious preference. In his first letter to them, Paul wrote admonishing them that their conflicts compromised their calling (1 Cor. 1:11; Acts 1:8). Christians who quarrel still confuse the world and themselves. Some of our conflicts are worthwhile debates about doctrine, as Pastor Mark Davis reminded us on Sunday. Others are destructive and have lead to division. Too often we quarrel over what we prefer, instead of God’s principles.
Quarrels amongst believers hurt; and they should hurt for they reveal a breach in a relationship established by God for His glory and our good (Gal. 3:26–29; Jn. 13:34–35). The pain can be a useful goad, however, forcing us to reexamine our own hearts (Jas. 4:1–4; Ps. 139:23–24). But too often we speak our minds, or hit the send button, making the best speeches we ever come to regret, paraphrasing Ambrose Bierce. Or, we may stop talking to our opponents, freezing out a fellow believer for whom Christ died. I gather from Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians that there were too many speeches and scant reconciliation going on (1 Cor. 6:7, 12:3).
How we handle conflict—everyday conflict—shows what we believe about God, Who is our peace.
Conflict happens when [we] are at odds with another person over what [we] think, want, or do. Conflict happens when [we] don’t get what [we] want . . . And it isn’t always bad . . . [They can] come from God-given diversity, [or] simple misunderstandings, . . . [or] are the result of sinful attitudes and desires that lead to sinful words and actions (Ken Sande, Resolving Everyday Conflict, pages 9, 11, 12) . . .
We need to line up our responses with our words if we hope to reconcile conflicts.
Conflicts with other people—believers or skeptics—can be God-given moments to bring glory to Him and healing to hurting hearts. Yet, I flinch at confronting conflict, having been through a few tough conflicts, including some in the body of Christ. Through them, I have seen how all of us can be both shallow and condescending. We can be a mess—often worse than kids in a crowded sandbox on a hot day. I think that is what Paul saw in Corinth (1 Cor. 1:10–13).
Conflict is inevitable, and often fruitful. Professor John Lederach writes, “Conflict is normal in human relationships, and conflict is the motor of change.” Conflict is part of life—it shouldn’t surprise me (Jn. 16:33). And it need not escalate into fights that confuse or harm. Remembering and practicing a few simple principles might dampen the embers of resentment. I follow Christ—that means He did not die and leave me in charge of His world (Mt. 6:25–34). Because He leads, I can give up the right to control others, and having the last word. Being willing to let go and let God act, listening before I speak or write might fireproof a few of our more combustible relationships.
When Christ taught His disciples, He gave them and us a great promise: "You're blessed when you can show people how to cooperate instead of compete or fight. That's when you discover who you really are, and your place in God's family (Mt. 5:9 from The Message).
How can we be peacemakers in a generation that is like the ancient Corinthians—cosmopolitan, prosperous, and wrestling with unbiblical practices? Pastor Mark suggested using the closing hymn, “For the Gift of God the Spirit,” as pattern for prayer:
If you don't know what you're doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You'll get His help, and won't be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who "worry their prayers" are like wind-whipped waves. Don't think you're going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open (Jas. 1:5–8 from The Message).
Worthwhile resources for your summer reading:
Let everything that has breath Praise the LORD. Praise the LORD!
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Russell Melancon has lived for years in Butte La Rose, LA, which happens to sit smack dab in the middle of a flood plain of the Mississippi River. With the Mississippi swollen by torrential rains, as you've heard the last few weeks, the Army Corps of Engineers finally agreed to open some of Louisiana's spillways to relieve the pressure on the mighty river. As a result, flood plains like the one Melancon lives on would become inundated, swamping everything in the vicinity.
Asked why he chose to live, of all places, in a flood plain knowing it would likely one day suffer this fate, Melancon offered an almost oracular reply: "Why you are here is something you never even think about. You are this place." To him the question was irrelevant, no matter its logic. He'd been so long in those backwater climes—been so shaped by that place—he just didn't muse about his reasons or purposes for living there. He just was there, and he could not think of himself as anything but a resident of Butte La Rose, LA—flood plain or no flood plain. He so identified with the place, he simply was this place.
Russell Melancon is perhaps representative of us all. You could substitute the word "place" with any number of examples of human experience and the sentiment would be equally applicable. If you've been married for long, you could easily say "you are this spouse." Raise a child for years and it wouldn't be odd to say "you are this parent." You are this occupation or office, this neighborhood or precinct, this status, name, or reputation. Melancon's unpremeditated comment resonates with us. Why you are any of those roles—why you are part of the circumstances—is something you may never even think about. They're just part of you, maybe so much so that you can't think of yourself as anything but what they represent.
Those roles, relationships, experiences shape you, define you—help you make sense of yourself and your world. They ground you, stabilize you. In a word, they center you. They're at the center of your existence.
It's inevitable that anything you become accustomed to, anything you invest yourself in, will become important to you. It's impossible not to be shaped, stabilized, and, yes, centered by them.
And there's nothing wrong necessarily with being affected in those ways by such things. They're gifts of God—opportunities to engage life, to find pleasure, even to be matured by them.
But what's true of all of them is that they can be washed away overnight like a clapboard home on a Louisiana flood plain.
That's why Psalm 150 insists that of all the things that might shape and center you, one thing must shape and center you most—your praise of God. Praise must be at the center of your existence, the one thing that remains should all else be washed away.
That this Psalm calls for praise 13 times in six verses means praise is neither optional nor marginal. Nor is it reserved for the clerical class. "Let everything that has breath praise the LORD" (v. 6). Praise is central to our existence in how it figures so prominently here in this Psalm and throughout the scriptures.
But you also see the centrality of praise through the Psalmist's use of three little prepositions: in, for, and with.
"Praise Him in His sanctuary. Praise Him in his mighty heavens." God has called for praise where His people are gathered but also where His heavenly host dwells. There's no place off limits to praise. So the kind of heart in whom the praise of God is central finds reason to praise Him in all places at all times. Sundays and Thursdays. Mornings brimming with opportunity and evenings encumbered with weariness. Praise is fitting in seasons of celebration and in tides of sorrow. Praise is central to our existence in where it's called for.
It's also central in why it's called for. "Praise Him for His mighty deeds. Praise Him according to His excellent greatness." Praise is commanded here, but not for no good reason. We praise God for who he is and for what He has done. We dwell on His nature and meditate on His acts—in the past, in our moment, and in what is yet to come—so that we find reason to give Him praise.
Perhaps you can identify when I lament how many times I find myself in a sullen, petulant, or aggravated frame. Praise of God is furthest from my lips because it couldn't be further from my heart.
But if praise is central to my existence then it behooves me to pause, to remember and reflect upon the goodness of God so that praise might swallow up my pride, or whatever else might be impeding my praise. No matter how aggravating or devastating my circumstances, God is still bigger, grander—still worthy of my praise—that my only logical, natural response is to give Him such. The heart in whom praise is central is the one that finds reasons for praising Him.
Lastly we learn praise is central to our existence in the Psalmist's use of with. He calls for praise with trumpets, harps and lutes—with strings, pipes, and loud clashing cymbals. He's not reserving praise for the musically-inclined, nor exempting those who are tone deaf or rhythmically-challenged. He's saying that anyone might praise God by using whatever they have to give expression to their appreciation of Him. Now all those roles, relationships, circumstances, and experiences we spoke of earlier have an even grander import. They may all be employed in such a way as to give praise to God—whether it's our career or our cancer, our triumphs or our tragedies. All things have a capacity to be used as instruments of praise by those whose hearts have His praise central to their existence.
We may be many things, shaped by several and centered by a few. But we are our praise. That is, the sincerity of our praise is what defines us and stabilizes us and centers us most.
But how often is praise pushed to the margins of our existence? How often do we listen to the words of the Psalmist and find them so foreign to our experience?
That praise rises so infrequently from our hearts bears testimony to our greatest need: a divine Help, One in whom the praise of God never abated. One who showed us why our God is worthy of praise for supplying us Himself in order to reconcile us to Himself. One who revealed that a life of praise is often sacrificing yourself for another's good.
If you find yourself inundated with everything else in this life and you've forgotten you were made and meant to praise Him, you are bidden to hear His word, receive His sacrament, and pray by and with His Spirit.
Our instinct is to let other things—even good things—center us so that we think we become them. The Lord Jesus proclaims with the same intensity of the Psalmist that we are first and foremost His. And for that we shall praise Him all the days of our life.
Now there are a varieties of gifts, but the same Spirit; and there are varieties of service, but the same Lord; and there are varieties of activities, but it is the same God who empowers them all in everyone.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Bishop Desmond Tutu might be rightly esteemed just for the fact that he has refused to become a cynic. He lived entrapped, but not muzzled, under decades of oppression during South Africa's apartheid regime. He's witnessed brutality few live to tell of, much less speak redemptively of.
He's also seen factions, marked by hatred and often drenched in blood, employ the language of religion to make their case and incite passionate resolve. No faith tradition has been exempt from the practice. Christians, Muslims, Jews, Hindus, and Buddhists have all invoked religious viewpoints to justify violent actions, all finding an infinite wellspring of motivation in their belief that they have divine sanction.
It's therefore understandable why Bishop Tutu would offer the provocative comment—provocation being what ties the thoughts of his latest book together—that "God is not a Christian." He's leery (and weary) of entertaining the very notion of a single faith tradition claiming supremacy with respect to its understanding of the divine because he's seen so much horror proceeding from religiously-charged conflict.
Pastor Mark heralded Paul's words last Sunday that there is one Body of Christ with many members whose God is the Lord because there is one God. Bishop Tutu offers a counterpoint that there is one God with many faiths, none of which he argues, embody the nature of God to a degree that makes other embodiments superfluous or substandard.
In the excerpt of his book, he makes two arguments for this more expansive view. One, he attributes the disparate belief systems and faiths to accidents of history and geography. One's faith allegiances often correspond to where they were born. Since Muslim belief tends to be concentrated in where that belief has already existed—the same phenomenon borne out in other faith communities—it seems to Tutu that religious belief is more a function of social situation than divine revelation. Therefore he concludes the sooner we dispense with the idea that our particular faith tradition stands above others, the sooner we'll jettison the impulse to act imperiously or viciously on the basis of allegedly divine directive.
However, while few would argue with the notion that innumerable wars and conflicts have been circumscribed by religious sensibilities, it does not necessarily follow that religious ideas ought be reduced to merely local viewpoints. There's a latin phrase, abusus usum non tollit, which means "abuse does not take away proper use" (HT: Jack Collins). That many have recklessly employed religious categories as the basis for unconscionably vicious action does not invalidate certain truth claims simply because they derive from a religious outlook. To apply consistently the principle Tutu outlines would mean we should dispense with an appeal to pure reason as a source of authority on the basis that committed nihilists and atheists consigned more people to death in the last century than in any previous century. That men have acted outrageously armed with allegedly rational arguments, stripped of all religious pretensions, does not mean we discard all future appeals to reason to guide our choices. Abusus usum non tollit.
Bishop Tutu's other argument for refusing to ascribe to Jesus supreme insight into God (cf. Heb 1:3) is that in his view too many Christians have dismissed the religious sensibilities of others out of hand. They've hastily disregarded others' viewpoint—whether religious or irreligious—and sought only to proclaim the supremacy of their own. On this count Tutu makes a helpful point. Our pastor has sprinkled a simple directive in many of his sermons on what true evangelism entails: truth and trust. We do not compromise our commitment to the truth simply to prevent offense. Though many faith traditions provide wisdom and yield composure and solace to those who hold to them, if our greatest need is reconciliation with a holy God then their benefit is only like that of giving an aspirin to someone suffering a headache from a brain tumor; its palliative, not curative. That said, until we've sought to genuinely understand another's beliefs we've created no real trust, the necessary context for truth-telling. How can we say we bring them a message of an eternal love if we're not willing to love them enough to understand their perspective?
So while the venerable bishop is right to chastise a whole spectrum of responses by Christians across the centuries—from insensitivity to indiscriminate use of force—Tutu concedes too much for the sake of preserving peace.
Now perhaps you agree that Bishop Tutu takes a far too expansive view. His is not a new argument and the above responses to them aren't original with me. But before you nod your head in agreement, ask yourself: Is your life in the church—the character of your investment in her—indicative of a belief that there is one church for many, or that the church is just one of many? That is, do you see her mission and your place in her mission as directed toward bringing the goodness of God to all peoples, or just to keep the faithful safe and at peace?
Let me put it a bit more concretely. Is the Body of Christ for your marriage, or is it for your marriage for the sake of the world? Does the church exist to nurture your children, or does she exist to nurture your children for the sake of the world? Is the church for the good of your business, or is she for the good of your business for the good of the world? Psalm 67 begins, "May God be gracious to us and bless us, and make his face to shine upon us, that your way may be known on earth, your saving power along all nations" [emphasis mine]. The wisdom found in other traditions notwithstanding, this one Body of Christ with all her varieties of gifts, services, and activities exists for the sake of the whole world. She is not one of many sources of the Good News, but the one body with the greatest news.
Yet, if we're not careful we may unwittingly embrace a vision of the church more akin to Bishop Tutu's than the Apostle Paul's, contenting ourselves with creating a little safe haven whose ultimate purpose is to protect itself whether anyone else ever becomes part of it or not. That is the church with only local relevance—a church in its most cynical version.
What does your participation in the life of the church reveal about your belief about her mission?
And they were amazed and astonished, saying, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language?”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Randy Newman (not the songwriter whose Toy Story repertoire my children sing on cue) was born into a liberal Jewish family, yet came to faith in Jesus during his sophomore year of college. When he called his parents to inform them of his new found trust in the long awaited Messiah, the response was civil but shot through with, as he puts it, all the “Jewish-mother guilt” she could muster. Her reply of “I'm happy”—a token nod to her principled liberalism—sounded to Randy more like, “You've made me miserable.” While his father remained silent throughout the ensuing conversation, his mother expressed two requests and three wishes:
“Don't tell grandma and grandpa.”
“Stay away from your younger brother.”
“We hope you won't join some commune in Colorado.”
“We hope you won't try to change the world.”
“We hope you won't shave your head.”
Newman, a staff member with Campus Crusade for 30 years, and author of such books as Corner Conversations and Questioning Evangelism, tells this personal story in his latest work, Bringing the Gospel Home, a frank discussion of the pitfalls and privileges of sharing Christ with family. But the story of his evangelistic efforts with his mother doesn't end with her choked acceptance of his faith.
Newman carefully but consistently brought their conversations over the years back to the topic of Jesus, to which his parents responded with rebuff after rebuff. No matter how many pamphlets, books, and videos he sent, no affirmation of Jesus seemed to make a dent in their indifference.
It wasn't until an unpremeditated comment in a phone conversation that Randy got any traction with his mother. One of Randy's childhood teachers had died and Randy's mother sought to console the man's adult children with the conventional comment, “He's in a better place now.” Rather than receive the well-intentioned comment with courtesy, they responded with derision at what they considered to be trite pablum for a grieving heart. Shocked by their response, Randy's mother related the episode to her son. Randy knew his mother offered the comment in love and based it on an uncritical acceptance that all people go to heaven. But rather than let the moment pass, Randy asked a straightforward question, “How do you know that?” “How do I know what?” she asked. “How do you know he's in a better place.” Pregnant silence, then this, “I guess I don't know that.” With gentleness and respect, Randy had challenged a core tenet of his mother's belief system. Marshaling just a simple question, he'd succeeded in provoking his mother to reevaluate her own entrenched presuppositions.
You should read his book to hear the full story of how he engaged her in years of patient conversation, but at the age of seventy-five, his mother was baptized as a Messianic Jew—and by, of all people, Randy's younger brother who'd since become a pastor in the Netherlands!
Pastor Julian walked us through one of the seminal events of the New Testament church last Sunday, recounting how the Spirit of God had been poured out in an unprecedented but not unexpected fashion. The Spirit dramatically enabled many who believed in Christ to proclaim the works of God among diverse peoples whose languages the disciples had had no previous training in. In so doing, the Lord God affirmed both His power and His intention for the gospel to never be a local belief system, held by a provincial few of Palestinian descent.
The moment provoked astonishment and incredulity, but also confirmation that God would keep His promise to make His name known through people not typically associated with prophetic utterances. As the prophet Joel anticipated, God would disclose Himself through sons and daughters, young men and old men, male and female servants.
To be sure, the phenomenon of people speaking the claims of the gospel in languages they'd never before studied was a singular event. But Randy Newman's story of proclaiming the works of God in Christ to his mother does more to confirm the continuity of God's mode of witness throughout the ages than setting Pentecost apart as an extraordinary event. How so?
For one, proclaiming the works of God still requires adopting the “language” of the audience. It's not that Randy and his mother couldn't communicate, but it wasn't until they found a common point of reference—namely, that a claim of one's eternal destiny should have a basis in something other than one's wishful thinking—that the two of them could finally have a discourse about the person of Jesus. A careful, rational, and patient dialogue could emerge now that the two of them had established a shared understanding and belief in the necessity of substantiating one's beliefs. In that sense, they were finally speaking one another's language. Now she could listen to the words of Jesus and consider his claims.
Secondly, proclaiming the works of God still provokes incredulity from those who listen as to how those speaking can claim such authority on such a fundamental issue. There may be a subtle dig coming from the Jews in the words, “Are these not Galileans,” when they heard disciples speak in myriad languages. Their question insinuates their shock that the commonly unlearned stock originating from Galilee would be least likely to have any authoritative knowledge of the works of God. When Randy's mother heard he'd become a Christian, she did not immediately defer to his wisdom, but rather dismissed it as something between a passing fancy of his or an unnerving repudiation of all they stood for. Only after decades of compassionate but persistent dialogue did she yield, not to Randy, but to the Jesus to which he'd pointed her.
Lastly, though the Spirit of God won't be threatening the makers of Rosetta Stone anytime soon in His efforts to enable believers to spread the gospel in languages and dialects where it is not yet known, the Spirit's work is no less needed to persuade men of the authority of Jesus. Our triune God has worked many signs and wonders to persuade men of their need of redemption, but one stands out as His most profound and consistent miracle: the conversion of a human heart to believe in the holiness and mercy of the Lord God Almighty. This the Spirit of God wrought at Pentecost. This He did in the conversion of Randy Newman's mother. This He continues to do throughout this world, on this day, in places you've never heard of, and some you have.
And this He will do through you and me, whether gifted at proclaiming the works of God or not, if only we'll seek to find our unbelieving acquaintance’s “language,” not recoil at their incredulity, and respect the power of the Spirit of God—through us and in them—to make His name known. If you really believed that, how would it change your attitude and approach to proclaiming the works of God in Christ?
When the LORD first spoke through Hosea, the LORD said to Hosea, “Go, take to yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the LORD.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
We’re not sure who first uttered the scandalous comment. Some think it was the revered Church Father, St Augustine. The transparency found in his Confessions on subjects of the utmost intimacy render him a viable candidate for the comment’s source.
Others though tend to attribute the comment to Luther, the even less restrained theologian of the 16th century. His preference for the indelicate in making analogies between doctrines and bodily functions would seem to resonate with the ribald nature of this quip.
What allegedly shocking statement do I refer to?
“The Church is a whore, but she is my Mother.”
Since we’re not sure who said it, we can’t be sure of the precise context in which it was spoken. We can only speculate as to possible nuances of its meaning. Whatever Augustine or Luther (or whoever let this sentence fly) intended, we can reasonably deduce the juxtaposition of unqualified honesty and affection. For all that we might be embarrassed by in the church, if we are in Christ, we can never think ourselves as distinct from her. We owe our existence and our destiny to her in the sense that she bestows to all who are part of her the many gifts with which Christ showered her—in dying for her and in giving her His Holy Spirit. Though the church has often misused those gifts—and that’s putting it as mildly as possible—to repudiate her would be like denying something fundamental in yourself. Scandalized by the comment or not, we can all resonate with its claim.
But that sentiment far predates Luther or Augustine. Long before there were clerics, a prophet declared God’s people to be nothing short of a prostitute. As we heard Sunday from Pastor Mark, God Himself called Hosea to marry a prostitute to act as a scandalous object-lesson about Israel’s true posture toward her God.
The people chosen by God to be ambassadors of His name had returned the favor by choosing just about any alternative to His authority they laid eyes on. But their apostasy wasn’t so tame that it should be likened to a shopper selecting a variety of goods. God compared their disobedience to a prostitute because they had, as it were, sold themselves out and opened themselves up to anyone who would offer them affection. Israel submitted to the whims of her various loves and thereby compromised her dignity for what she thought would give her stability.
That the people of God—Israel, the Church (cf. Gal 6:16)—has been referred to as a whore may shock some, while others snicker. But once we get past being startled by the thought what does it intend to confront in us? Here’s three ideas.
Though we in Christ have been loved with an everlasting love (Ps 103:17; Jer 31:3), we are far too promiscuous with our affections. God has called us to be indiscriminate in giving love, but far more selective in where we find our love, and how. There are many destructive things we might take refuge in—things which on the surface seem beneficial but in time prove corrosive. But there are far more wholesome things that we can unwittingly submit too much to, compromise too much for. Careers, children, achievements, aspirations—we may rightly rejoice in them all but we shall rue the day when we find ourselves so enmeshed in what they provide that at their loss we fall into despair. We who compose the church can be like whores in how we submit to what cannot ultimately satisfy.
We fall into that trap because we can be far too unimpressed with the jealous love of our Lord. The only thing that can explain the people of God acting like prostitutes is their wholesale rejection of His steadfast love. And the rejection boils down to a failure to remember how that love had manifested in the past—particularly during times when Israel deserved anything but His love. Eventually humbled by their sin, Israel couldn’t fathom God ever receiving them back—a thought we most certainly can identify with. The idea of someone loving us amid our rebellion sounds so unnatural that we think that such love coming from God to us is impossible. Yet, that is precisely what He has shown, time after time—none more poignant than at Calvary. Has the habitualness of your sin led you to think His love has been exhausted? If so, you’ve lost sight of the depth of love from a God who was willing to unite Himself to a whoring people (cf. Rom 5:8).
Finally, these scandalous words call us to consider how we are far too inclined to disparage the haplessly promiscuous people for whom God poured out His jealous love. Acrimonious criticism is a cottage industry in the modern world. Schadenfreude, the enjoyment we might derive from another’s misfortune, is just as prevalent—and, to be sure, just as ungodly in how it represents the obverse of envy (cf. 1 Pet 2:1). Most criticism of the church from without the church is understandable because it’s offered not to edify, but to defame. But how much criticism from within her is offered more to prove oneself right than provide constructive evaluation? Not only does backbiting of a brother diminish the church, it employs sanctimony that masks a condition genuinely in need of forthright, but loving, correction. As many have said, if we spoke of our spouses like we often speak of the church, would not our words condemn us?
Neither Hosea nor whoever uttered the introductory quote had shock as their ultimate purpose. Instead they sought to appall for the sake of eliciting repentance. Which of these issues raised by disturbing, but true, words must you repent of?
My people are destroyed for lack of knowledge. (Hosea 4:6)
How long, O LORD? Will you forget me forever? (Psalm 13:1)
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
If memory serves, he was a composite character—a personage representing a type of student C.S. Lewis encountered as an Oxford Don of literature. In the 1993 film version of Shadowlands, the character goes by the name of Mr. Whistler—a bright, but aloof budding scholar who is sometimes caught napping during Lewis’ heady class discussions.
Whistler’s apparent disinterest in exploring the deep themes of modern and ancient masterpieces strikes his professor as disrespect. But only when Lewis pays a visit to his student’s dorm does he find his melancholy visage to be the product of great personal burdens rather than sophomoric ennui. In fact, Lewis hears for the first time true passion to learn in the voice of this troubled young man. Whistler confides in his somewhat awkward professor how deeply he loves to read, and explains that desire in a very personal way: “I read to know I’m not alone.”
If you know how Shadowlands unfolds, you remember that Lewis has his paralysis in intimacy broken by, at first, accommodating a personal need of one Joy Gresham, and then, in time, falling in love with the feisty American poet. You may also remember that near the end of the film, after he loses this most unexpected love to cancer, Lewis adapts Mr. Whistler’s earlier sentiment, saying, “We love to know we’re not alone.”
Mark made a case from Hosea 4 last Sunday for feeding on the Word of God—lest we become literally bedeviled by sin. Whistler and Lewis provide us a thought that explains another reason for making the pursuit of the meaning and implications of God’s Word central to our existence: to know we’re not alone. At first glance, it’s an unlikely place to find solace that we’re not alone, but Psalm 13 does just that. Have a look at this brief psalm, full of both lament and hope.
We don’t know the psalmist’s precise predicament there, but we can relate to his palpable feeling that God has forgotten him—even turned Himself away—amid a protracted plight. Four times in two verses, he asks the reasonable question, “How long?” How long will this unceasing difficulty persist? When can he expect some relief? Cannot the God who set the planets in motion not intervene and deliver (vv.1–2)? The life of faith is often fraught with distress, and the temptation arises to assume a stoic frame. But it is some comfort to know that faithful people are free to express their anguish before a God whose work sometimes feels awfully hidden. And so, we read the Word—and particularly texts like Psalm 13—to know we’re not alone in our afflictions.
His cry is more than a lament though, more than mere woe. It is a plaintive entreaty for deliverance. He has endured much, wondered much about God’s rationale for allowing the pain to continue. But his weariness has not siphoned away his faith so much as to quench his beseeching. He even makes a kind of case for God to strike at what afflicts, appealing to what God values as a justification for the Almighty’s intervention: as God would take no pleasure in the death of his saints, or injustice prevailing, it would only seem fitting for Him to set right what’s run afoul (vv. 3–4). Amid whatever our suffering may be we may resign ourselves to asking nothing of our Father who loves to give good gifts (cf. Lk 11:13). But this psalm reminds us that since we are not alone in our petitions, we may freely and effusively ask for His help, whether for deliverance itself or for the daily strength to face it with faith.
We read the Word of God for yet one more reason, a reason represented by how the psalmist concludes his prayer. Though his affliction has been unremitting, his importunity commensurately impassioned, his confidence in God has not flagged. Circumstantial evidence might justify jettisoning hope, or at least seeking it elsewhere. Instead, the psalmist retains his hope on the basis of what he knows is true of God—the one who is full of steadfast love. Before Job had his misfortunes overturned he was content simply to know that God was there. Hope in God, and not just His gifts, (or even His deliverance) was sufficient to sustain the suffering saint in his uncertain future. Few would dispute that the scriptures often require intense attentiveness to ascertain their meaning and implication (cf. WCF, I.7), but one thing is clear why we labor to understand them: to know we’re not alone in our hope.
Has your feeding on the Word of God become a peripheral matter, squeezed to the margins for the sake of managing all manner of perfectly respectable responsibilities? Have you allowed what is imponderable or inscrutable in His Word to alleviate you of the responsibility to immerse yourself in it? Or have you simply forgotten why we submit the story of our lives to the story the scriptures tell? I don’t think it’s morose to say that at some point Psalm 13 has been, is, or will be part of the story of our lives. If our greatest need in the middle of that kind of moment is to know we are not alone, why would we come to the pages of the Word of God with any less ardor as Whistler did to books?
For I desire steadfast love and not sacrifice,
the knowledge of God rather than burnt offerings.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Entropy. The term hails from the physical sciences. In its more technical usage it refers to how energy tends to disperse from greater to lesser concentrations over time, as in the case of warm water being cooled by the presence of ice. When first coined, though, the term described the measure of disorder in a given setting.
Its scientific provenance notwithstanding, it is my hypothesis that the true inspiration for the term came not from a laboratory but from a home with children in it. Yes, the energy unleashed from the Big Bang may be dispersing into that faint concentration of matter we now call the background radiation. But all it would take for someone to notice how order tends toward disorder would be to spend a morning watching my children, with great facility and efficiency, transform a home into something just short of a hovel. No, they’re not slobs. But if the world were their canvas, even Jackson Pollack might reach for a paper towel.
Perhaps you can identify. And like me, you’ve probably also felt the corresponding impulse—surely just as worthy of a scientific term—to work against nature itself: to exert a precise force upon said entropic life forms to restore the room to its original state. Or when all else fails, sequester the sources of entropy in their beds for night-night and take it upon yourself to, as I like to put it, “reset the machine” for the next day.
Kidding aside, I think we all like some semblance of order and do our darndest to restore order from the chaos we or others naturally tend to wreak. For me though, my preference for order can sometimes color my mood and my judgment. Order is nice but kids are kids. They are wondrous balls of energy—bouncing off everything in their way, imagining new possibilities. Protect them from the dulling effects of some media and they can come up with some of the most outlandish ideas and creations.
But to allow them the freedom to live out their nature, you have to expect some messes—the manifestation of entropy. For me that’s been a lesson difficult to learn. On more occasions than I care to remember, I’ve found myself in a sullen mood, brooding on the disorder. Sometimes that inner cantankerousness spills over into something a bit insidious (if anything can be just a “bit” insidious): a concerted—dare I say, inspired—effort to restore order, coupled with a correspondingly begrudging spirit about the lack thereof. In those moments, all perspective is lost: who my kids are; what lengths my wife goes to daily in order to keep them fed and their hearts tender to the Lord; how in a few precious years they will be out the door taking their story to places I’ve never been. All that tends to fade to black in my moments of hysteria about domestic entropy, such that one time, my perceptive wife caught me in just such a moment.
Without the slightest hint of abrasiveness, she said calmly and coolly, “I sometimes wish you were more thankful than helpful.”
I was dead to rights before she finished her sentence. I’d been justifying thanklessness by my “longsuffering” efforts to tidy up.
That kind of moment, I think, typifies what Hosea warned of (and Mark preached on last Sunday). A formalism lacking all conviction. A compliance without love. An ostensible interest in restoring respectability from a heart wholly unrespectable. It’s not just a disconnect; it’s self-deceit. Worse, it is to no good purpose. “If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, and have not love, I am a noisy gong . . . . if I give up my body to be burned, but have not love, I gain nothing” (1 Cor 13:1, 3). If I return every Lego to the toy-box—even the tiny pieces that get stuck in the carpet—but have not love, I am nothing.
Was I embarrassed by my wife’s assessment? Of course. But the truth of it was at the same time deeply liberating—if only to see the disconnect between heart and actions. I think repentance is like that: jarring at first, then freeing—especially when it’s elicited by one who loves you. Let the record show, the God who calls us to repentance of our vapid formalism and self-immolating self-sacrifice is the same God whose love cannot be estimated. Though His discipline is painful at the time it is profitable for all time because it derives from His love (cf. Heb 12:5–6).
I’d end this by asking you what offerings you might be bringing that belie a lovelessness—what sacrifices you might be making that conceal something less noble than appearances might suggest. But since we usually need someone to notice those disconnects in us, I’ll ask you to ask the Lord instead. For our love, like order, is prone to entropy.
When the LORD first spoke through Hosea, the LORD said to Hosea, "Go, take to yourself a wife of whoredom and have children of whoredom, for the land commits great whoredom by forsaking the LORD." So he went and took Gomer, the daughter of Diblaim, and she conceived and bore him a son.
Shannon received a Masters of Divinity, with a counseling emphasis, from Westminster Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Josh, have four children and are church planting in the Dallas Latino community. Life experience, studying God’s Word, and counseling training contribute to the couseling she does with individuals and married couples on a variety of issues including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, parenting, marriage, abuse, and addictions.
Editor's note: PCPC member Shannon Geiger is the author of this Every Thought Captive.
I don’t know about you, but it still boggles my mind that God does what He does. When I first heard the story of Hosea as a little girl, I was confused and mostly snickered. “Why in the world would God name some woman ‘Gomer’?” The only other time I’d heard the name was when goofy Jim Nabors regularly introduced himself on The Andy Griffith Show reruns, and that association didn’t help much. When I got a little older and understood that God commanded Hosea to marry this Gomer precisely because she was a harlot, which sounded worse than being a prostitute (Don’t ask me why), I thought, “Whoa—that’s scary.”
It was all so foreign. Foreign names. Foreign ways. Prophets that are told by God to marry prostitutes as some type of living triptych of who God is and what is going to happen to His people. Hosea was bizarre, and what a relief to know that God doesn’t ask us to do anything like that today.
But as I’ve gotten older, what becomes more and more foreign to me is how God loves us. No, actually, what’s most foreign to me is how God loves me and then enables us to do the same: love like He does. We are joined together to be Christ’s body on earth, loving those who horrifically betray because we once betrayed Him and oftentimes haven’t stopped.
I think this may be part of the mystery of the crafting of our faith in this life. Do you? If you remember the old illustration: a man or woman would take out a chair, set it in front of the audience and explain Christian faith. “It’s not our faith that saves us. It’s the object of our faith that saves us.” Then they’d rest their hand on the back of the chair. “I can have all the faith in the world that this chair will hold me up. But it’s a faith that is exercised that saves us. I not only believe that this is a chair—and it is a sturdy chair that will hold me up. I have to sit and rest in this chair, proving I have faith in the chair.”
Then they would walk over and sit in the chair, lift their legs up, and the discussion could turn to how Christ is like the chair, the only one able to save. He is the only chair who can stand the test of God’s wrath. He is the only one whose blood can cleanse us from sin, etc. Buddhism is a faulty chair. Secularism is a faulty chair, Mormonism, and on it goes. And while all this is true and clarifying on many levels, what is hardest, I think, is coming to see who this Jesus is, in whose arms I truly rest. For most of the sad, boring, or lonely parts of my Christian life, I’ve let Christ’s love feel more like a wooden school chair—sturdy, real, and effectual but predictable. I know what wooden chairs look like, and I know what wooden chairs do. They’re part of the invisible furniture of my daily life.
What continues to shock me is when I look down and see that instead of whatever chair-image I’ve made Christ out to be—I rest in the arms of the living Christ, and the hands on His arms that hold me are nail-pierced. They are nail-pierced because He was betrayed. Like Hosea, Christ was gravely betrayed.
When we gather as Christians, we are to repeat this to ourselves when we take communion. Betrayal is part of our identity for Christ’s sake. “…the Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “‘This is my body, broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me’” (I Cor 11:23). Pick any major Bible figure or any story in the history of literature and betrayal is a major part of the plot. It’s woven into the very fabric of the universe, and we cannot escape it. If we take Christ seriously in what He says in Matthew 10:17–22, we are meant to walk straight into betrayal as His followers.
As a counselor starting out, I didn’t sit in my office for long before I was called to walk with people who agonize over the cruel realities of this. And I don’t think that calling will ever change, nor is it unique to counselors or counselees. It’s the call of all God’s children, and it will always wound. You don’t have to sit very long even here—reading this—before the pain of someone who has betrayed you creeps from your chest to your throat like a noxious cloud or you shrink back in your chair as you silently groan in the shame over those you’ve hurt and can’t offer any true repair.
Lying voices will try to tell us we don’t deserve to be betrayed—that others who’ve betrayed us don’t deserve to be forgiven. To forgive would be a sign of weakness, maybe co-dependence because we wrongly want their love back. It’s an injustice to what’s deserved, an insult to vengeance. Or maybe our wrestling isn’t, “How can I forgive them?” but it’s more, “How can they ever forgive me?”
It was the German pastor-martyr Dietrich Bonhoeffer who said grace is never cheap, and forgiveness is what cost God the most, His Son, and we are never to forget it. For Christ, betrayal was never easy nor avoided. And it wasn’t easy or cheap for Hosea, nor will it be for us.
In his Cost of Discipleship, Bonhoeffer famously said, “When Christ calls a man, [H]e bids him, ‘Come and Die.’” After reading Hosea, might Bonhoeffer say to us, “When God calls a person, He bids him, ‘Come and Be Betrayed’”?
But we can’t kid ourselves. There is no way we can answer this call on our own, absolutely none, without Christ and His Word, His people, and His sacraments. The scriptures have always painted a graphic but clear picture for us: one way or another, we will be called to intimately love those who betray us. And it will wound. And foreigners like Hosea and Bonhoeffer become pricelessly familiar and needed friends.
"Yet even now," declares the LORD,
"return to me with all your heart,
with fasting, with weeping, and with mourning;
and rend your hearts and not your garments."
Return to the LORD your God,
for he is gracious and merciful,
slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love;
and he relents over disaster."
Shannon received a Masters of Divinity, with a counseling emphasis, from Westminster Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Josh, have four children and are church planting in the Dallas Latino community. Life experience, studying God’s Word, and counseling training contribute to the couseling she does with individuals and married couples on a variety of issues including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, parenting, marriage, abuse, and addictions.
Editor's note: PCPC member Shannon Geiger is the author of this Every Thought Captive.
In my Christian life thus far, I don’t think I’ve ever been to a prayer service where the pastor or leader commanded everyone to start crying. Nor have I seen a prayer service put on the church calendar with announcements in the bulletin and a slick video clip saying, “Special Prayer this Friday night, 6:00 pm, a Concert of Praise—right after the Great Chorus of Weeping. Come one, come all.”
Sounds like it could end up like a Flannery O’ Connor short story that I might have missed or a bad Young Life skit. Picture a drill Sergeant coming onstage and spit-screaming at the crowd, “All right, you bunch a ladies, get down and give me FIFTY—ON YOUR KNUCKLES. After that we’ll all start crying right here before Jesus, PRONTO. Let’s Go! Weep! Weep! Weep! Come on you stoic cowards, REPENT! Start your wailing NOW!”
Commanded repentance? Scheduling a time of weeping together? How does that honestly work? Many of God’s commands don’t come with instructions for how they’re supposed to look in our lives, but there they sit like mountain rock: “Love your neighbor.” “Confess.” “Forgive.” “Repent.” “Believe.” And we’re supposed to scale each of these in our life of faith, our journey home. But if you’re like me, a lot of the time you just stand there craning your neck looking at the top going, “Huh?”
So, here is our rock of “mourning over sin with loud tears,” in the book of Joel along with God’s command that the priests and prophets lead the way (Joel 1:13). Like all of God’s direction, this is a great gift to us, but we question it. “Can’t I just be quiet and sorry for my sin? What would I need to publicly cry for? And why are our pastors, elders, deacons, Sunday school teachers, small group leaders, and counselors being told by God to lead us in weeping over our sin? How is that going to help? Is God just trying to humiliate us?”
The answer is an emphatic no. No, God is not trying to humiliate us. In fact, He punishes those who humiliate his loved ones (for one among many instances, see Zephaniah 2:10-11). But one of the purposes for God’s call to pray and weep is not humiliation but humility.
Humility.
What a hard word to grasp, don’t you think? And what God commands here is not just a private, inner state but a public humility with cries and weeping that are not sentimentalism or show, but tears that can’t be quieted or helped. They’re to come with haunting sounds that no one, especially you, expected, and if it weren’t for the bone-deep rightness of this response, we would all be embarrassed. But it is the truest response there is, and we all can sense the nearness of God by His Spirit and His pleasure in the moment, and with these tears of repentance we are—for the first time in a long time—starting to see, and we are being freed.
“Draw near to God,” James, the brother of Jesus tells us, “and He will draw near to you.” But watch how James connects this intimacy of the Father’s love for us to repentance and tears. “Cleanse your hands, you sinners and purify your hearts, you double-minded. Be wretched and mourn and weep….Humble yourselves before the Lord and He will exalt you” (James 4:8-10).
Though sometimes everything in us fights against crying, the welcome of scripture here tells us we will be loved, embraced, not shunned or shamed. And what we are weeping over is sin’s ruin that we now see and understand in a whole new light.
Just like the people of Joel, we have to wake up and see the devastation around us. We have to ask the Lord to humble us and help us see how our sin contributes to the spiritual famine of Dallas, then ask Him to act both in and through us to humbly bring life to the city around us.
What could our sin be contributing to? We’ve got plenty of things to choose from, from Oak Cliff to Allen, but what could the Lord be calling you to see in your neighborhood and your work relationships? We’ve got strip clubs on I-35, inner city public schools where high school kids can’t read, neighborhoods divided by race, homosexual churches, prices in shopping malls that would make Solomon blush, rancor and fraud in city and county government, immigration woes. We live, shop, eat, drive, work, worship in all these places. What might the Lord be calling us to see? To weep over and ask for life and worship to replace our death and enslavement?
Lastly, and less conceptually, has anyone ever asked you, “How do I draw near to God? How can I feel close to Him?” Has your answer ever been, “Start crying”? Maybe if it hasn’t, I’ll bet many of you have offered something to the effect of, “Start praying—just lay your heart before God—talk to Him like you’d talk with a friend, and He hears you and loves you.”
Praying involves not only speaking to God, but listening in return. And when you tell your friend to pray to God, you also can encourage them to stop and listen to Him, to His word, and then see how He might bring them to tears. Offer to weep with them, too, and watch how the Lord will draw you both closer to Him and eventually dry your tears.
All of God’s children are supposed to cry, and our tears get dried by Him personally. Can you imagine? But tears of repentance must come in this life or else we will weep eternally with no one to deliver. Jesus tells us six times in the gospel of Matthew that those who do not repent are thrown into a place, far apart from Him, where the weeping and gnashing of teeth goes on forever.
It is God’s gift and grace to us to have this boulder set before us, this Jesus, who is our rock of stumbling and offense, this mountain of James’ and Joel’s command to weep and mourn over our sin together. Let’s come to Him now, humble ourselves and open our hearts to his command to weep. The time for tears is this life not the next. “Lord, Son of David, have mercy on us” (Matthew 20:31)!
The Book of Amos proclaims that God’s supreme concern is righteousness, and that His essential demand of man is to establish justice.
—Abraham Joshua Heschel, The Prophets
Editor's note: PCPC member Kenny Marchetti is the author of this Every Thought Captive.
During this year's National Poetry Month, the American Academy of Poets promoted "Poem in Your Pocket" Day. The idea is to carry a favorite poem in your pocket, reading it throughout the day, so that you eventually carry it in your mind, in your heart—indeed, in your very soul. So on April 14, I pocketed Gerard Manley Hopkins' "As Kingfishers Catch Fire":
As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim in roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell's
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves – goes its self; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me: for that I came.
I say more: the just man justices;
Keeps grace: that keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is –
Christ. For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men's faces.
I read and re-read this marvelous poem, but more importantly, it read and re-read me, as all strong poetry does. One particularly descriptive phrase seized my imagination, captivating my memory: "the just man justices." We owe much to Hopkins' literary wisdom, since he had the poetic wonder to transmute the noun "justice" into the verb "justices." When was the last time we verbed, so to say, justice? Do we understand justice as more dynamic action or mere static virtue?
"The just man justices." Perhaps Hopkins' poetic invention serves as a most telling theological summary of Amos' prophecy. Certainly, Amos the poet-prophet would agree with Hopkins the poet-priest: justice is a verb. More than something you say – even more than something you believe, justice is something you do. I have a feeling Amos would have enjoyed Hopkins' verse, maybe employing my celebrated line as a rousing illustration in one of his thundering sermons.
Of course, it should go without saying that the unjust man injustices, but Amos says it anyways, because God's people must hear it. At the height—or better, the depth— of our hypocrisy, we often lie to ourselves, pretending that we can somehow be just, yet all the while we act unjustly. Yahweh will not stand such pretension, however, and so Amos' prophetic conceit stands against any and all of our sinful deceit.
The human evil of our individual and communal "injusticing" (to follow Hopkins' poetic lead) provokes the exasperation of Divine judgment. "Unjust" is usually a criticism we level at others; rarely do we appropriate its stricture upon ourselves. So God does this for us through His prophets. Thus, God's warnings motivate the problem of our unjust living. Through His prophet Amos, Yahweh is saying to His covenant people something like: "Be just as I am just. Don't merely say you're just, as important as it is to say such a thing. Instead, act justly. Only in this way will you be just."
So, when is the last time someone described us as just? Even more, when is the last time we prayed to be more of a just people, who better act in just ways? Before we answer these two questions, it seems we must ask two more: What does it mean to be a just people? How do we act as a just people?
In the biblical economy, we become a just people, because we act justly; we do not act justly, because we are somehow just in and of ourselves. In other words, further just actions only flow from just(ified) character after first ones have formed it. Crucial to our gospel understanding, then, we must live out in just ways the alien righteousness of Christ imputed to us in our justification by Him. How do we do this? By yielding to and living by the Holy Spirit's guiding power, as we respond in faith-obedience to God's Word (Galatians 5:16-25; Ephesians 5:1-21). The conforming of our life and living to the gracious gift of Jesus' perfect righteousness is our progressive sanctification by which we are transformed more and more into God's just people (Philippians 2:12-16). Simply put, we participate by faith-obedience in the salvific "justicing" God has done and is doing in and through us. Or in the more eloquent expression of Hopkins' verse: "Acts in God's eye what in God's eye he is – / Christ."
Obviously, then, to be as Christ (just) is to act as Christ (justly). Justice has as much to do with morality (good versus bad) as it does ethics (right versus wrong). Therefore, the two axioms by which we may measure the justness of an action are its goodness and rightness, asking "Is this action good? Is it right(teous)?" Instead of these two questions, however, we too often ask, "Is this action fair?" But beware our democratic age's flattening definition of justice into so-called "fairness." Sometimes the good and right thing to do is not "fair" at all. After all, was God's judgment of our sin upon His Christ fair?
In his masterful Poetics, Aristotle provocatively asserts that action is what is most believable, because it is, so to say, the most livable. In his prophetic book, Amos agrees. According to biblical wisdom, the blessing is in the doing (compare John 13 and James 1). When it comes to being just, the most important thing is to act justly.
But what if we don't feel like "justicing"? C. S. Lewis' practical wisdom in Mere Christianity may help us. "Don't feel like acting justly?" Lewis might ask. No doubt he'd answer, "Then act justly anyways!" For Lewis knew that if we wait until we feel like acting justly, we likely never will. But the more we act justly out of faith-obedience, the more we will feel like doing so now and again.
Are we a people who "justice"? As Frederick Buechner would counsel, "Listen to your life." Do we hear echoes of goodness and righteousness sounding from our acts of justice? We must listen to our prayers. We must listen to the wise counsel of the godly. We must listen to the sovereign ordering of Divine Providence. Above all, we must listen to the Voice of God, speaking to us through His Word and Spirit. Then and only then may we look for a unifying pattern of our faith-obedience that points in the encompassing direction of just living.
During my seminary days, Howard "Prof" Hendricks repeatedly warned, "Our problem is not knowledge; it's obedience." So true. But the good news is that all the beauty and power of the gospel motivates our ability to act justly. And when we don't, God's warnings come—and perhaps His judgment, too, when those warnings go unheeded. Still, God's warnings are gracious reminders—relational gestures, so to say—
that are the verbal consequences of being in covenant with Him. Moreover, we must remember that even God's punishing judgments against us prove to be His redeeming mercies, as He disciplines His own for His glory and our good (Hebrews 12).
Thus, God's promises should warm our hearts, and His warnings should make our blood run cold. "Be just" is Yahweh's inviting command unto blessing. "Be judged" is His terrible warning of judgment to all of us, who know how to be just but do not do what is just. "The just man justices," indeed. So likewise does a just God.
One final thought: justice begins with the individual but ends with the community. Our Triune God is relationally just; so must we be. Therefore, let us be attentive to stories of relational justice—God's, others, and ours, taking the time to listen to them, as well as tell a few of our own.
“’Behold, the days are coming,’ declares the Lord...”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Cholangiocarcinoma is a cancer of the bile ducts which drain bile from the liver into the small intestine. It is nearly always incurable and rapidly lethal.
Kanika Mokchai, wife of Achan Sumran Mokchai (the pastor of the Gennesaret Church in Nong Khai, Thailand which PCPC supports), was given that diagnosis this week. Her prognosis is of course as grave as they come, but the church here and there remains prayerful for her well-being and for the hope of those who love Kanika.
If you’ve been following along in our summer sermon series on the Minor Prophets, you’ve likely noticed a common thematic arc. Each speaks fiercely of Israel’s habitual and corporate sins—binding lament to outrage—followed by an equally vehement portent of comprehensive judgment.
But then, in the wake of His wrath, provoked only by Israel’s persistent intransigence, the Lord sounds a note of hope. Though the nation crumbles before their very eyes; though Israel’s sin has elicited a righteous reckoning executed by bloodthirsty armies in Hosea and Amos, and an infestation of locusts in Joel—this righteous God, justified in His judgment, promises to restore. Not merely Israel’s fortunes, but moreover her intimacy with the only God she really knows—the only God who really is.
So goes the “plot” of many of the Minor Prophets’ words, meant to sober God’s people to their sin as well uplift them in their despair. We know Amos’s prophecy, as Pete preached last Sunday, had both a local relevance to Israel’s immediate condition and a more far-reaching relevance for Israel’s ultimate future—a future inextricably bound to what unfolded in the person and work of Jesus, the Christ, the Son of God. But what else might ancient words like Amos’s have for the believer today?
Amos’s condemnation of Israel’s neglect of the poor among them certainly reproves us for our tendency to limit our concern to our own kind and class. His blistering rebuke of Israel’s duplicity and arrogance chastises any presumption on our part that God turns a blind eye to our flagrant sin because we are already His possession. (As Kevin DeYoung has recently put it, our God is sometimes “wondrously angry” at His children’s perversity.)
But might I suggest another important implication from Amos’s both strident and sanguine language, particularly from the latter? I think his words, coupled with what we know of how Jesus both fulfills and amplifies what Amos anticipated, speak to how we face our griefs.
John Flavel was a prolific Puritan author in the mid 17th century. He lost both his parents while in his 30s. Two years into his first marriage, his wife died in childbirth, the baby also succumbing. He later buried two more wives and died in 1691. Like His Savior, Flavel was a man acquainted with grief. So acquainted that he penned a work entitled A Token for Mourners, recently published again under a new title, Facing Grief.
Flavel draws a distinction between “moderate” and “immoderate” grief. He does not besmirch those who weep though their faith in God’s goodness be strong—no more than Paul chides the Thessalonians for their true and reasonable mourning (cf. 1 Thess 4:13-18). But he does argue that our grieving can unwittingly reach a kind of critical mass, if you will, when we begin to live entirely without hope, as the Pauline text just cited mentions.
When we lose all sympathy for the variety of evils that afflict the church and the people of God, we may be drifting into immoderate grief. Should we subject our bodies to unreasonable neglect or harm we dabble in immoderate grief. If after a long while we still chafe at others’ compassionate efforts to smooth a salve of godly clarity upon our condition, we have wandered beyond the boundaries of grief meet and right.
Anyone who has grieved knows how flashes of this immoderation may erupt in even the most humble heart. Flavel takes no issue with those momentary outbursts but instead applies his warning to those who demonstrate protracted refusals to take heart in even more glorious realities (cf. Romans 8:18ff). Surely finding His hope in our grief is both a matter of our work and His mercy—a process mainly hammered out in prayer—but to say the scars of our losses necessarily render us incapable of ever rejoicing in God again is to deny the thematic arc of the minor prophets, and moreover the oft-repeated hopeful words of our Lord, “Behold, the days are coming...“
Space doesn’t permit full treatment of Flavel’s explanation of how to move from immoderate to moderate grief. (I therefore commend his brief work to you.) Key to his case of course is a look to the One whose death was not final—a death signaling the beginning of the death of death. That blessed day gives clarity and hope for that coming day.
How must the words of the “coming days” fall upon Kanika’s ears? Upon her husband, Sumran’s, ears? How must those words and Flavel’s elaborations upon grief fall upon your ears—whether your suffering is greater or worse than our sister’s in Thailand? Even in our weakest hours we may still sit quietly with what they promise, and ask the Lord to commend them to our souls.
It is said that no one can adequately prepare himself for the suffering he will inevitably face. But can we ever linger too long in consideration of the coming One whose death was the harbinger of eternal life?
For the day of the LORD is near upon all the nations.
As you have done, it shall be done to you;
your deeds shall return on your own head.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The Diagnostic Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders calls it Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID). You likely know of it under its previous description—multiple personality disorder. DID is defined as the presence in a single individual of two or more distinct identities, each with its own temperament, consciousness, and memory. In many cases one identity starkly contrasts with another, sometimes even denying knowledge of the existence of the other(s).
Nearly 2000 people per year are diagnosed with DID in America. But some observers of the biblical text down through the ages have ascribed the same kind of dissociative behavior to God. In fact one of the first doctrines considered heretical by the early church issued from a bishop named Marcion who considered the portrayal of God in the Old Testament to be incompatible with that found in the New. On what basis would Marcion and others consider the God of the Bible to represent two distinct “personalities”?
As we’ve noted recently, the Minor Prophets spare no passion in articulating God’s announcement of justice—either upon Israel herself or, as in the case of Obadiah, upon Israel’s enemies. Edom—the nation descended from Esau—stood in God’s crosshairs in Obadiah’s vision for both her cruelty and callousness toward Israel. The prophet describes in no uncertain terms the judgment to follow, as pastor Julian unpacked last week. But Psalm 137’s elaboration of that judgment upon Edom stretches the limits of our sense of propriety:
Remember, O LORD, against the Edomites
the day of Jerusalem,
how they said, “Lay it bare, lay it bare,
down to its foundations!”
O daughter of Babylon, doomed to be destroyed,
blessed shall he be who repays you
with what you have done to us!
Blessed shall he be who takes your little ones
and dashes them against the rock!
The call for retributive justice is unequivocal. But how does it square with what we see elsewhere in scripture about the treatment of enemies, particularly in the New Testament. “Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you,” Jesus says (Mt 5:44). “If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he is thirsty, give him something to drink; for by so doing you will heap burning coals on his head,” the apostle Paul admonishes (Rom 12:20). Actually, Paul’s is a quote from Proverbs 25:21 which certainly challenges the simplistic notion that the Old Testament reveals a surly God. Yet none would deny the far more abundant examples of wrath fiercely expressed in the time before Christ came to earth.
So have we two different Gods here described in the two Testaments—one angry and the other loving? In terms more specific to His ethic of retribution, has God, so to speak, reinvented Himself in Jesus by discarding the preference for doing unto others as they had done (Obad 17) and instead choosing to forbear and forgive (Jn 3:16)?
The Old Testament theologian, Derek Kidner (HT: TK in Praying the Psalter), explains that the distinction between what we find in Obadiah and what we find in the New Testament is to be understood, not in terms of different personas for God, but in terms of different moments in God’s unfolding plan of redemption (Psalms, Tyndale Commentary on the Old Testament).
Without putting a spin on the severity of the OT language, Kidner coolly and carefully explains that at the core of such vehemence is a basic and legitimate call for justice. Legitimate because God is Himself perfectly just; an absence of an interest in justice would perhaps be more astonishing than violent demands for it.
Furthermore, though we may blanch at the graphic nature of texts like Obadiah and the Psalms, Kidner reminds us that, for one, any such language was in response to equally heinous brutality—this was no unprovoked animus; and secondly, in view of what had been done to Israel to elicit this strong language, who of us would not at least translate our outrage at unspeakable harm done to us into commensurately strident words?
Still, even if we can understand—perhaps even sympathize—with the retributive language of the Old Testament, how does it comport with the New Testament’s vision of justice and mercy?
First of all justice is perfectly at home in the vision of the New Testament’s interest in God’s coming kingdom. It anticipates a new heavens and new earth perfectly awash in justice. And that new reality will be inaugurated through an ultimate rendering of justice on the righteous and the wicked alike.
But to those of who see with New Testament eyes, the Old Testament language of retribution has the most to say in terms of how God has chosen to exercise judgment with respect to us. As Kidner writes:
This raw wound, thrust before us, forbids us to give smooth answers to the fact of cruelty. To cut this witness out of the Old Testament would be to impair its value as revelation, both of what is in man and of what the cross was required to achieve for our salvation. . . . [It] is an impassioned protest, beyond all ignoring or toning down, not only against a particular act of cruelty but against all comfortable views of human wickedness. . .not least in relation to the cost, to God and man, of laying its enmity and bitterness to rest. (emphasis mine)
The cathartic cries for justice in the Old Testament were true, if arguably unbridled. They anticipated an even fuller judgment to come. Their only limitation was in their sense of what it would cost God to render that fuller judgment and particularly for the very sake of those who would be His children.
They saw the need for judgment aright. What they still needed to see was all that was needed to be made right with God—namely at the expense of God’s only Son. Jews would need more than pedigree—Gentiles more than wisdom. They both would need Grace for the judgment upon them to be satisfied by Another’s work. The would need the Cross—as surely as we need the Cross.
And living on this side of the Cross, we recognize what it cost God to satisfy the judgment due us. Which explains the humble pivot toward loving our enemies, rather than only beseeching God for His retribution upon their wickedness. Justice must be done, but now it must be seen through the lens of how justice was rendered in our case.
So, the alleged incongruity between the portrayals of God’s personality across the Testaments is, to be sure, overdrawn. But how should the unity of God’s program for the world, progressively revealed and manifested, come to bear on our souls?
We should be as fierce in our denunciation of injustice and just as impassioned to overturn it. Jesus, far from merely toning down our passions, awakens us to the preciousness of justice and thereby galvanizes our interest in and for it.
But in the same moments we are outraged by injustice, we must give more than a passing thought to what it cost God to let the justice due us pass to His Son. Only then will we be properly positioned to call for justice.
The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Blessed be the just and merciful name of the Lord.
“. . .far be it from me that I should sin against the LORD by ceasing to pray for you, and I will instruct you in the good and the right way.” (1 Sam 12:23)
“Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock.” (Mt 7:24)
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Modern ears have a special sensitivity to false dichotomies and oversimplifications. There are usually far more than two sides to every story. And though Occam offered some salutary insight into how the simplest explanations of events tend to be the most likely, history (and our own experience) reveals myriad examples of events attributable to astoundingly complicated antecedent causes.
That’s why Jesus’ stark picture of the distinction between wise and foolish living strikes modern sensibilities as well beyond the pale—as our pastor commented in his sermon on Jesus’ summary of His most famous sermon. Sure, Jesus may have sage advice worth applying. But to make alignment with His teaching determinative of our destiny sounds like the sort of binary thinking from which humanity has long sought to escape. Surely, it can’t be that simple.
But let’s set aside for a moment how modern ears grapple with Jesus’ dichotomy. For there may be something even more disturbing about what He declares than the counter-cultural notion of there being but two options in one’s approach to life. It has to do with the complex interplay between how life unfolds and how we tend to respond to its unfolding. Only a few would quibble over whether there is a wise and foolish way to live—though many would over what is wise and foolish. But few would deny that we tend not to see our own (or others’) folly until we feel its consequences most profoundly. We notice too late, or perhaps choose not to notice until it’s too late. Consider a few examples.
The slab beneath our home rarely cracks on the day we take possession, but later when the homebuilder has filed for Chapter 11, or vanished behind a cloak of corporate rebrandings. We don’t detect the degradation beneath our feet until it dearly costs us.
Our financial investments can fail so quickly and profoundly that we don’t have the time to compensate for the loss. Ask the lion-share of most former Enron employees.
Some of the most lasting effects of our parenting don’t emerge until long after we’ve lost the ability to influence our children like we could when they were younger.
And as you’ve heard many times, marriages rarely die overnight, but over time. Like the proverb of the frog in the pot of hot water, death slowly but surely overtakes a marriage as the heat is subtly but consistently increased—while husband and wife remain insensible to the danger.
In each of these scenarios, folly isn’t seen as folly until we feel it as folly. Sadly, the delayed recognition tends to be more the rule than the exception.
So let your modern sensibilities bristle all they want at the dichotomy Jesus paints at the end of His Sermon on the Mount. But what shall we do with the fact that our folly too often wreaks such havoc that it seems no amount of wisdom can salvage our sorry lot?
Consider an episode of Israel’s history when their folly became suddenly clear: Israel once clamored for a king (1 Sam. 8). But their importunity stemmed not primarily from a desire for a leader to represent them to God, but as a replacement for God. In calling for a human king they were implicitly rejecting their Eternal King. That’s why Samuel, priest and judge over Israel, warns the people of what their motive for a king reveals, and what it will lead to (1 Sam. 8:10-18).
After Saul is installed as king but before he demonstrates his unsuitableness to reign, Samuel again confronts Israel for her misshapen motive for a king. This time though Israel realizes her folly. To Samuel the people cry out, “Pray for your servants to the LORD your God, that we may not die, for we have added to all our sins this evil, to ask for ourselves a king” (1 Sam. 12:19). Samuel responds with a wonderful juxtaposition of phrase, “Do not be afraid; you have done all this evil.” At the same time he assures them that hope is not yet lost, he reaffirms how much a mess they’ve made of things. They repent in hope as they survey the carnage of their choices.
Caught red-handed with folly we, too, need neither the cynical nor the saccharine; we need hope and honesty. But then we need something more than just an awareness of our madness. We need to know what to do next. Hear Samuel’s ensuing guidance:
Yet do not turn aside from following the LORD, but serve the LORD with all your heart. And do not turn aside after empty things that cannot profit or deliver, for they are empty. For the LORD will not forsake his people, for his great name’s sake, because it has pleased the LORD to make you a people for himself. Moreover, as for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the LORD by ceasing to pray for you, and I will instruct you in the good and the right way. Only fear the LORD and serve him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you. But if you still do wickedly, you shall be swept away, both you and your king (1 Sam. 12:20-25).
The magnitude of our mistakes and the toll they’ve taken notwithstanding, it’s neither too little nor too late to follow the Lord’s directives. Though their list of regrets be sizable—though much may have already been lost—it befits even those most embarrassed by their own folly to find their way in God again. To evacuate the premises of their former insanity and take refuge in the God who will not forsake those who remember He is their King.
Though folly was not the cause of their plight, residents of Japan and Joplin, MO have had no choice recently but to begin again—to sift through the devastation, recover what can be used, and lay a new foundation, brick by brick. But what if yours or others’ folly has decimated more than the tangible? What if your self-inflicted losses can’t be replaced?
You have to turn to the One who sets our folly and its losses in a wider perspective. You have to circle back to the promises of deeper significance than even our most cherished dreams and most profound failures.
Samuel pointed Israel to her king but he was also a foreshadowing of their future king. Samuel anticipates Jesus in how he reminds them of God’s promises, warns them of their folly, and prays for their renewed obedience. But Jesus far exceeds what even Samuel does in how He expends His own blood to ensure His own will never be forsaken. He died for their folly, and was raised to confirm that nothing can separate us—not even our folly—from the love of God in Christ (Rom. 8:39).
Should our folly seem to have taken everything from us, it’s never a waste to turn and follow Him afresh.
No two ways about it.
Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things. . . .
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Project Reason styles itself as an organization “devoted to spreading scientific knowledge and secular values in society.” It has that irreligious mandate because it believes the foundations of a flourishing culture—the scientific and artistic enterprises for instance—are grounded in a “vigorous self-criticism” that, from their perspective, religious discourse does not permit as a matter of principle. Since religious thought still pervades, “dogmatism,” they argue, reigns on the earth, “dividing humanity from itself, inflaming conflict, preventing wise public policy, and diverting scarce resources.” Therefore, overturning the influence of religious thought in the public sphere represents the Project’s Great, if not Greatest, Commission.
You may have caught wind of its most headline-grabbing effort several months ago when it published an admittedly eye-catching chart alleging 439 distinct contradictions within the Bible. Number two on the list cites Romans 4:2 and James 2:21 as ostensibly disparate answers to the question “Was Abraham justified by faith or by works?” The former, argues Paul, insists Abraham was a model of faith alone as the basis of his favor with God. While James points to Abraham’s works—his willingness to sacrifice his one and only son, Isaac—as the linchpin of God’s affirmation.
Project Reason isn’t the first entity to make a claim of biblical inconsistency on this doctrine so central to the Christian faith. And surely on its face, the respective testimonies of Paul and James appear irreconcilable. So what can be adduced to break the impasse—either to concede the contradiction or reaffirm the complementarity of the testimonies?
Let’s consider what we heard of Martha and Mary in the sermon last Sunday. Mark walked us through the clear distinction Jesus made between the two women. One worked frenetically while the other sat quietly. Martha preferred activity to Mary’s ostensible passivity.
On one level you might infer that Jesus is exalting faith over works. Here’s Mary, literally having her quiet time with Jesus, believing there’s nothing she can do—no kindness she can perform—to obtain His favor. Her faith in Him leads her to do nothing but sit at His feet—a choice the Lord wholeheartedly affirms. Sounds like simple faith that simply pleases.
But listen carefully to what Jesus lightly but lovingly upbraids in Martha. He does not scorn her choice to serve, but only that she has become “distracted”—overwhelmed, undone, unhinged—in the serving. Mary sits to learn in peace while Martha rises to serve with anxiety. Each had a different focus in that moment. Yet what distinguished them most was as much the motive behind their focus (and its result) as it was the object of their focus.
As Martha prepared a meal—itself a diligent work—she missed the greater meal of His word (cf. Deut. 8:3; Lk. 4:4)—the “portion” Mary would not lose. To prefer feeding one’s body to the exclusion of feeding one’s soul signals a deep misunderstanding of what ultimately fortifies.
But we dare not infer that following Jesus means never serving—even sacrificially. (The Cross! The Cross!) For it was another woman later in Luke’s account (Lk. 7:36f) that diligently sought to lavish Jesus with costly perfume. She, too, approached him at his feet—not to listen, but to regale him with an aromatic love. And Jesus’ only rebuke in that moment was directed toward those who rebuked her work of love.
So we cannot reduce life before Jesus as only hearing from Jesus. Nor can we marginalize the attention to Jesus if ever we wish to serve Jesus in the manner and for the reasons He prescribed (and displayed).
Mary sat that she might rise. The sitting was the foundation of her future serving. Her faith would lead her to good works (cf. Eph. 2:10).
And Martha would only become unburdened in her serving by finding strength from Him to serve. A strength derived from a confidence in His steadfast love, a confidence cultivated by taking a posture of earnest and frequent inquiry. Her serving was to be what flowed from her sitting. So any good works would have to be grounded in simple, pure faith that Christ’s work is enough to make us—and sustain us as—God’s child (cf. Jn. 1:12).
In this short scene—its remarkableness amplified by the fact that it showcases women in a then counter-cultural posture of learning—we see the synthesis of faith and works subtly but clearly displayed. They do not stand in opposition to one another any more than Martha truly opposed Mary. Rather we see the intimate dance of invisible and visible belief—just as we see in Abraham, the father of faith whose simple belief translated into humble works.
In his wistful short story, A Father’s Story, Andre Dubus’ protagonist, Luke Ripley, recollects his failed marriage and what the intervening time has taught him:
“. . . I wish I had known then what I know now, and we had performed certain acts together every day, no matter how we felt, and perhaps then we could have subordinated feeling to action, for surely that is the essence of love. I know this from my distractions during Mass, and during everything else I do, so that my actions and feelings are seldom one. [Such a coincidence] does happen every day, but in proportion to everything else in a day, it is rare, like joy.” (emphasis mine)
Our affections—our deepest desires and loyalties—drive our every choice. And the God who made us cognitive and affective (among other things) means to redeem as much what we desire as what we do. But the life of faith to which He calls us is at its core a life of love—a fact our debates about salvation and faith and works sometimes miss. (A fact those at Project Reason—tendentiously?—exclude from their assessment.) For we are saved by love for love—saved through love to love—even if our love sometimes—most times?—must subordinate feeling to action.
Was Abraham saved by faith or by works, then? The answer is yes. As our forbears have taught us, we are saved by faith alone but saving faith is never alone; faith acts in love because it trusts in Love—His Love.
It’s the only reasonable conclusion.
. . .but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work. . . . For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested on the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Though our budgets may have tightened in recent years, it’s a good bet that one line item remains, even if its corresponding expenditures have had to be curtailed: entertainment. We may be spending less on amusements and recreations, but there’s still no shortage of them. Access to such, in fact, may never have been greater—proportional to the creative means we employ to get access to them for less money.
But author Richard Winter notes a startling irony of an entertainment-saturated context: even with the glut of opportunity to escape into nearly anything that tickles your fancy, the experience of boredom seems not to have slackened at all. So goes the thesis of his book, Still Bored in a Culture of Entertainment. Though those in the entertainment industry find new ways to dazzle our senses with each passing year, the very fact that they must find fresh ways is indicative of how easily—and inevitably, it would seem—our enthusiasm for things deteriorates over time, provoking an unending cycle of malaise and craving for new stimulation.
That experience of boredom and the corresponding hunger for new amusements may explain why the entertainment industry is as likely to fail as the oil industry. It may also explain why the place of the Sabbath has become so marginal to the thinking of most Christians. Whether we’re busier than previous generations is a matter of reasonable debate, but the sheer volume of responsibilities—the fragmented lives we lead—lead us to crave anything that can whisk us away from our troubles. In turn we may have come to draw the relationship between pure recreation and true rest too tightly and too reductively.
Pastor Mark refreshed our memory last Sunday about the place of the Sabbath in the life of the Spirit. Too often we’ve let our thoughts about the day of rest become too narrowly focused on mere abstention—all that we’re not to do. While the command to observe the Sabbath entails abstention it is far more than abstention. For abstention, like opportunity costs in economic terms, represents refraining for the purpose of redirecting our focus and our energies. In suspending our attention to some things we give our attention to other things—things which are intended (and promised) to refresh, replenish, rejuvenate.
Winter reminds us that while real leisure can be found in a myriad of forms, an even more substantial leisure is to be found in what the Sabbath seeks to provide. For, as Jesus reminds, the Sabbath was made for man (Mark 2:27). Our recreations often reflect an unconscious attempt to escape, for a while, what we cannot and should not avoid. “Often we are afraid to ‘be still,’” Winter argues, “because the endless distractions of busyness and entertainment keep us from having to face fundamental questions about our existence and about our deeper anxieties, insecurities, and fears.” So how does the Sabbath refresh our souls as it reframes our perspective on what so relentlessly unnerves us?
It bids us to cordon off our attention, to stare, as it were, at the goodness and beauty around us—the simple things wondrously appointed for us to sample with all our senses. But the Sabbath also asks us to consider the Author of the beauty, the Sustainer of what does refresh us even in a world fraught with frustration, tragedy, and sorrow (Romans 8:20).
Connecting in our minds what to us is beautiful to Him that makes it beautiful does not come without humbling ourselves enough to pause and wonder. And that is why our attention has to fall—unhurriedly, like following the contours of a river from high atop a mountain—on the greatest reason for our consolation in God. The Sabbath renews our vision of His limitless kindness in Christ—a kindness that makes some amusements pale, and others that actually lead us to praise Him.
Scripture gives no slight to the place of merriment in life. There are feasts aplenty finding their way not only into the narrative of the Bible but into God’s directives as well. How many times do we find Jesus letting banquets become the setting for His insights? (And don’t forget where the first miracle occurred—a wedding feast!). Yet while God is no festal killjoy He has stipulated another kind of feasting—another kind of refreshment—that requires a specified object of attention and an attentiveness pure spectating does not oblige.
Has mere amusement become a substitute for amazement at The Substitute? It will not come with the same immediacy, nor is it as manipulable, as other forms of refreshment. But the attention urged by the Sabbath offers a more lasting rest because it heralds that more enduring rest (Hebrews 4:1-11) other amusements whisper too faintly of.
Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Of the many memorable moments in When Harry met Sally, one struck me as poignant as it was funny. Harry finds Sally in a cathartic cry over a recent breakup. She wails, “I drove him away and I’m going to be FORTY!” “When?” Harry asks. She replies tragically, “Someday.” Concealing a half-smirk, Harry seeks to offer perspective, “That’s in eight years.” Sally, not to be easily consoled, paints the bleakest of pictures. “But it’s out there waiting for me,” she laments, “it’s sitting there like some big dead end.” And we all laugh at her fresh but tame confrontation with her own mortality.
Though on the cusp of my twenties then, what seemed like such a distant milestone becomes for me this week a reality. I’m turning forty. What was once “out there” is now staring me in the face. I know that because now the fatigue sets in a little sooner—the aches hang on a little longer. But contrary to popular convention, I’m more stoked by a solid minivan than a Maserati—whether to my credit or my shame I’ll let you decide.
That we make special note of turning forty is mostly arbitrary. What we are at that age may not be appreciably different from what we were at 38 ½, or what we might be at 41 ¾. Still, listening to our pastor introduce Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount this week, I was led to wonder what, if any, special significance might there be about His first couple beatitudes for someone about to reach proverbial middle age? (And for those of you for whom forty still lies far away or now sits as a distant memory, I think these reflections still apply.)
Even at forty, the designation of being spiritually impoverished still applies to me. Preoccupation with self emerges too often. Words and choices steeped in sheer pride or abject fear are more prevalent than I figured would be the case, now decades into my pilgrimage following Jesus. The examples of lovelessness and joylessness are too many to count and too fresh to simply forget.
Lest I take some sort of refuge in melancholy like Eeyore, it is necessary to note the progress of soul. Strides have been made, at least in awareness of the contours of my heart and of the pervasiveness of my folly. Such realizations I take no credit for. But whatever maturing has come my way, just alongside remains a disparity between professed and lived belief I cannot deny. No matter how clearly or cleverly I might articulate that, it remains a mournful thing.
I mourn forsaken chances and wasted efforts. Errant words and foolish actions aggrieve. There are choices whose consequences I cannot overturn; opportunities I cannot recover; sins for which I cannot (and could never) atone. Even as one who runs—more like slouches—to the Cross for perspective, for me to simply ignore what is genuinely mournful is to deny what C. S. Lewis calls the prodigious gift of causality God has conferred to us. Amid the encompassing sovereignty of God our movements still matter.
So as the years pass and the bell of our mortality continues to toll—each year a little louder—what, if any, encouraging thought can we glean from Jesus’ words about poverty of spirit and the consequent mourning? Or are we only left with the nervous laughter Sally’s somber reflection elicits from us—a little jocularity belying a growing and unstated gloom?
Jesus promises true blessing for those in that recognition of mournful impoverishment. How can He make such a promise?
If the spiritually impoverished may be blessed it’s because of knowing how they are seen. Jesus juxtaposes blessing and poverty of spirit because the former cannot proceed without a recognition of the latter. Until we see how deep is our corruption and how profound our estrangement can we finally stop looking to our own designs and power to close the chasm between what we are and what we long to be. Once we swallow that bitter pill, and then see God’s willingness nevertheless to make us His own in Christ, then we at last see how we are seen. Righteous, beautiful, accepted—and by the only One whose opinion really matters. Whether you’re nearing nineteen or ninety knowing how you are seen by Him is nothing short of blessed.
And if the mournful may still encounter His joy, it must be because of knowing what they have gained. To be a Christian is not to deny our losses or our sorrows. Mourning is both natural and necessary since it stems from a loss of what we loved. If loss ends love, then not to mourn is not to have loved. Yet whatever our losses, inflicted on us or instigated by us, they must be seen against the backdrop of what God has given us through Christ. A newness of life now (Romans 6:4). A life, largely indescribable except for the word full, later (cf. 1 Corinthians 13:12). Though our dreams may fade, our projects gather dust—though our bodies crumble before our very eyes—what we have gained through Christ can neither be shaken nor taken. In that recognition is blessing found.
But as our pastor reminded us, grasping how we are seen and what we have gained doesn’t come through introspection—though reflection upon ourselves has its place. Rather it comes through meditation upon Him. For what is most true about us and most bound to us is grounded ultimately in Him.
Milestones naturally invite us to reflect on matters other ordinary days might obscure. But you don’t have to wait for the birthday candles to consider His kindness.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Some virtues on their face readily inspire emulation just by hearing them. Love, courage, fortitude—stories and images of their expression immediately spring to mind, stoking our souls to stand against all that impedes their expression in us. It’s like those virtues come with a built-in soundtrack—something John Williams might compose—whose rises, falls, and flourishes ignite passion and establish the intrinsic majesty of hallowed character.
But as for meekness—I’d bet our first thoughts about the word are far less impressive. If we associate it with a song at all, it’s likely a muted song. We tend to associate it with jittery church mice or the decrepit. Our truncated view of meekness, encrusted with decades if not centuries of misunderstanding, relegates the idea to some second-tier (or lower) status.
Yet, Jesus makes meekness no less a virtue. It is a mark of character firmly laid in the path to maturity in God paved by each of His Beatitudes. That path begins with the contrite awareness of how far we are from it, and how convinced we’ve been in the path we’d chosen. That’s the poverty of spirit. In the awareness of how misled we’ve been by our own path comes the mournfulness.
But as we’ve said last week, blessedness abounds to those with a mournful awareness of their spiritual impoverishment because only then do they know how much they’re loved and what all they’ve gained. As our pastor explained this last Sunday, meekness is merely the natural consequence of being raised from the ashes of our own spiritual self-immolation. Now we see ourselves and the world differently because of what we see in Him who both made us, and now remakes us, because of and for His love. Now we are, as Martyn Lloyd Jones puts it, “amazed that God and man can think of him as well as they do and treat him as well as they do.” From that amazement comes meekness.
So meekness, far from an insipidness or flaccidity of soul, might be summarized as an inner contentment that manifests in unpretentious, self-effacing gentleness. Meekness sees no need to continually claw for new attention, respect, or material possession. It does not react to slights with scorn. Deferring to others is more a rule of its nature than an exception. It eschews vengeance, and doesn’t even demand justice, credit, or fulfillment of all that one might receive. How can all that emerge from meekness? Because one who sees so well into his heart of darkness only to find it then beautified by the light of God’s kindness in Christ—to him comes an unshakableness that squelches the insecurity fueling self-assertion and takes pleasure in yielding to the requirements of others.
How then do we aspire to this often undervalued virtue? The same way we’ll be conformed more into every feature of the image of Christ. By considering Him—His word and way; letting the context of prayer be the canvas upon which He brushes understanding, appreciation, and grace into us; and then practicing the dance of meekness until its steps become more instinctual and graceful.
Some of the most profound music is found in the most muted melodies. Through our meekness God works mightily in our understated grace notes.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be satisfied.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Whatever your prejudices toward that nebulous category called Christian chick-lit, Ann Voskamp’s book, One Thousand Gifts, will have you from hello. She may contribute to the Christian subsidiary of Hallmark, but this is anything but trite, packaged, campy, platitudinous prose. She speaks transparently of the path from life on the borders of faith into its messy, but glorious center. She asks the questions life foists upon you—questions our faith seeks to answer and whose answers require faith (and grace) to take refuge in.
Early in the book, Voskamp tells the story of being fearfully awakened from a nightmare—cancer, her sleeping imagination hauntingly intoned, had come for her. As mortified by the thought as she was relieved to find it but issuing from her subconscious, the dreadful vision left behind an abiding question all people, if only unconsciously, pose to themselves: “How do we live fully so we are fully ready to die?” The quotidian contours of her life—wife to a farmer, mother and teacher to six children, paragon of domesticity—led her to question anxiously if her station would supply that fullness this world promises but which never takes the time to define.
Must your passport be full of stamps, she wonders? Must your palate reach the rank of connoisseur before you’ve found the full life we all long for, secretly if not openly?
Last week our pastor spoke of the righteousness we’re to hunger and thirst for, in all its legal, moral, and social dimensions. He warned of counterfeit objects of our appetites and of the even greater self-deception that this appetite is cultivated apart from God’s grace in Christ.
What does this hunger and thirst for righteousness look like? How shall we know our appetites are rightly directed? As it relates to the question her nightmare provoked, Voskamp might say the righteous life, the full life, and the joyful life are but synonyms for each other. But she was led to discover that common to them all is how each is dependent on and evidenced by gratitude. Gratitude for the enduring realities that ground us, and the fleeting incursions of laughter and wonder that buoy us—for things seen with our eyes, and things seen only with the heart illumined by the grace of the Lord. Abiding joy—itself a mark of real righteousness and true fullness—depends mightily upon abundant thanks.
Don’t think—just respond: is gratitude more a chore for you than a natural occurrence? What might its absence—or at least its infrequent presence—reveal? What gifts beneath your nose, between your toes, and above your head have your circumstances eclipsed from the eyes of your heart? What cherished memories or anticipated bounties have your present challenges obscured? Voskamp does not mean to tamp down our sorrows, to pretend the havoc life often wreaks is something less than it is. Rather she would simply have us, just as our Lord would have us, widen our gaze to gain eternal perspective, and slow our pace that we might not miss the unexpected graces in our very midst.
Mostly she beckons us to notice the integral relationship between thanksgiving and our salvation. Can we say we’ve accepted His grace if thanksgiving has never risen to the surface from the core of our souls? Does not thanksgiving pervade our Lord’s very soul—even at the precipice of His darkest hour: “on the night when [Jesus] was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it" (1 Corinthians 11:23–24). How can the Lord bring to completion the good work He began in us unless gratitude becomes an increasingly pervasive quality in us? Does not, then, the essentiality of thanksgiving for the fullness of life confirm our need to make the abundance of God’s kindness the center of our attention? “We only enter into the full life if our faith gives thanks,” Voskamp concludes.
How practically might one begin to cultivate the thankfulness that leads to a righteous fullness? Voskamp found help from Erasmus: “A nail is driven out by another nail; a habit is overcome by a habit.” Our habit of ingratitude—perhaps as firmly fixed in us as a nail in wood—can only be dislodged by another habit. For Voskamp that new habit has been to record in short phrases any good thing that comes her way—things like the stillness of the morning, the piquancy of coffee, the short note from a friend that speaks well of God’s love. O, how we fret, and thus forget our reasons to be thankful. O, the possibilities for change in us by taking time to remember His goodness to us.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness until their satisfaction manifests in thanksgiving.
What might begin your list of gifts this morning?
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
I will admit I found myself a bit emotional upon hearing of the death of Steve Jobs—the news of which I became aware as I stared at the humming, glowing iMac he was the brain trust of. Though I never met him, I can’t quantify how I’ve benefitted from his intellect and passion for risk.
If I still had the Apple IIe my father purchased me, I suppose I’d look with the same sort of nostalgia he does when he sees a ’57 Chevy. Or hold an “ancient” 5 ¼ floppy disk with the fascination of an Egyptologist who’d unearthed another of Pharaoh’s artifacts.
Jobs’s work has been part of my life, for so long and in so many ways—many of which I’m sure I’m not even conscious of—that I shouldn’t be surprised that I felt at least a fraction of the sentimentality that those at the address of One Infinite Loop do this morning.
But I am pensive at his passing not just because of his shaping of my existence—in the ways only technology can (for good or for ill)—but also because of his philosophy of life that undergirded the entire approach to his work at Apple. We all instinctually portray ourselves in ways we prefer to be perceived. But even if Jobs were embellishing or refashioning his story, it was his perhaps his most famous address at a Stanford Commencement ceremony in 2005 that let us all into, I think authentically, his inner CPU.
In that address, he gave the boilerplate you expect to hear at the sendoff of students about to emerge from their academic cocoon: dictums about following your dreams, the serendipitous benefits of failure, and the necessity of diligence (“stay hungry, stay foolish,” he ended his address that day with).
But then his words turned more poignant, due to the poignant context from which they came. (As we all know, a rare form of pancreatic cancer took hold of him a little more than 7 years ago. Even more rare than this variant of cancer was its treatability, as almost all sufferers of a cancer of the pancreas succumb within months of diagnosis.)
Nursing the wounds of failure upon being fired from Apple in the early 90s led him to conclude that the only defense against despair was to do the work you loved to do. Now reeling from an ostensibly terminal diagnosis, the possible acceleration of his demise foisted upon his conscience the realization that all those fears of rejection and failure—all those subtle pursuits of self-aggrandizing pride—were so much drivel in the context of our mortality.
Yet, perhaps his most arresting words—those most likely to be quoted, copied and pasted, liked, and tweeted in the days to come—came near the end of his address:
Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life. Don't be trapped by dogma — which is living with the results of other people's thinking. Don't let the noise of others' opinions drown out your own inner voice. And most important, have the courage to follow your heart and intuition. They somehow already know what you truly want to become. Everything else is secondary.
Those words are as potent as they are poignant. I may reflect a provincial arrogance in saying so, but those words are a verse of a quintessentially American anthem: cast off external restraints, submit to nothing but your intuition, determine your own destiny.
Those ideas are compelling if only because following them gave rise to a company and its CEO which arguably only a very (and shrinking) few are ignorant of. Whether it’s the ideas themselves or a whole complex of other historical, sociological, economic, and industrial factors that facilitated Jobs’s meteoric rise is debatable. But none of that complexity detracts from the simple observation that Jobs moved mountains.
But if you are a Christian, while Jobs’s transparent reflections resonate deeply with elements of our core convictions, you have to exercise a modicum of discernment in how you hear those ideas. And so I have mused—years ago when I first read his address, and this morning reading it again—if God were on that dais at Stanford on the day Jobs delivered his gripping remarks, what might He say in both affirmation and amendment?
I recognize the audacity of suggesting what God might’ve said, so I bid all those who read these words of mine to test them as Paul and John enjoin the church (1 Thessalonians 5:21; I John 4:1, respectively). I’m sure further reflection and conversation might amend these remarks.
Though it’s certainly a forgivable statement, Jobs’s warning of being “trapped by dogma” is, any way you slice it, a dogmatic statement, and unwittingly belies an allegiance to a gaggle of inherited wisdom that oriented his way—even if “industry pioneer” was an appropriate appellation.
As for “finding what you love to do,” there’s certainly no harm in finding work, when and where possible, that expresses something essential to you. Dorothy Sayers said as much in a famous essay entitled Vocation in Work. We’re made to work, she argues, but also made to work in a way that derives from our being made in the image of God. When you work, not primarily for its remuneration or reputation, but for the work itself, you’ve found part of what it means to be like the God who works.
But finding what you love to do is never, and never shall be, as important as finding Who loves you. For only a confidence in His love will ever keep us from loving our work so much that we end up failing to love those we’ve been entrusted to love.
Jobs could not have been more spot on to warn of letting pride be your guide or fear of rejection and failure hem you in. And while our mortality certainly clarifies the futility of those choices, to know a “love as strong as death” (Song of Solomon 8:6), a love no longer in submission to death (Romans 6:9), is to have a studier hedge against pride and fear than what the knowledge of our demise can create.
On the days when our intuition fails us—and it will—we’ll need to turn to a love that endures. When efforts tank and failures mount, we’ll need to turn to a love than endures. When diagnoses come from which we will not escape, we will need a love that endures. Then comes the courage to face our moment—even our death. Such is the pure heart of which Jesus spoke and our pastor unpacked for us last Sunday because confidence in that love is no less than the work of God.
Steve Jobs’s place in modern history is quite secure—his impact appropriately laudable. But just as he encouraged us to do so, the Gospel—the message which speaks most profoundly to our pursuits, successes, failures, and our death—calls us, in contrast to proverbial wisdom, to Think Different.
Unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and the Pharisees, you cannot enter the kingdom of heaven.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Each year at the Cannes Film Festival, one work is selected to receive the festival’s highest accolade, the Palme D’ Or (the “Golden Palm”). Previous winners of the top honor include Apocalypse Now, Paris, Texas, The Mission, and Barton Fink.
As Cannes gathers artists and journalists from the highest echelons of their respective trades, it is typical for producers and directors to move from behind the cameras into the limelight by sharing interviews alongside the actors who bring their artistic vision to life. The elaboration on their creative powers serves both to remove the mystery behind directors’ impulses and to promote their work in the channels that will make or break the success of the film.
The winner of this year’s Palme was The Tree of Life, directed by Terence Malick, known for his capable handling of transcendent themes in previous works like The New World and The Thin Red Line. The awarding of this year’s Palme was atypical on two counts. For one, Tree of Life was almost panned as much as it was championed, its themes provoking as much disgust as delight. Then on the day the media came forth to interview the film’s cast and crew, Malick refused to appear. It was a move true-to-form for the reclusive director, but with his provocative work on the verge of receiving illustrious commendation, his absence nearly tempted fate to pass him by. Context came from one of the film’s stars, Brad Pitt, ”It is an odd thing for an artist to sculpt something and then be salesman.”
The Tree of Life, to many (myself included), defies categorization. It is as much art piece as story, the plot nearly obscured by the richness of the visual and aural elements. It traffics in some of the same, almost infuriatingly, cryptic imagery of Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, but it retains a clear idea at its core: any goodness to be found in this both glorious and hazardous world requires a choice as to how one faces what the world offers. I promise not to spoil your viewing, but early in the film, one character breathily voices the story’s moral framework:
. . .there were two ways through life - the way of nature and the way of grace. Grace doesn't try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries. . . .Nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it. And love is smiling through all things.
Those two ways collide within a single family as the film tries to find a way out of the carnage wrought by both the collision and the vicissitudes of life in general.
As Malick portrays the way of grace in all its shimmering brilliance and roaring wonder, I believe we receive yet another image of the righteousness we heard unpacked last Sunday—the righteousness that exceeded that of scribes and Pharisees, and without which none will ever see or exult in God.
How does this way of grace resonate with this righteousness Jesus embodies and, in a sense, requires? As Jesus commends an internal piety over an external formalism, so this way of grace is only possible if there is a deeply internal contentment. A merely outward saintliness could never remain cheerful amid an onslaught of derision.
Similarly, the righteousness Jesus speaks of cares not a whit about being seen or respected. Its satisfaction comes simply from knowing it pleases God, that God is the greatest treasure. The way of grace—vividly portrayed in the film and maybe even subtly insinuated by Malick’s no-show—rests on a confidence that though the earth may shake, causing our treasures and dreams to crumble, there remains a truth unshakeable that sustains a wellness of soul.
The Tree of Life, though not the light, points, I believe, to the Light. It envisions a kind of living we all dream of—one that sees a shining world in which love smiles through all of it, even in our sorrows. At the same time Malick’s film implicitly asks us where we might find those eyes that enable us to see the world’s brilliance, in both its dark and gleaming moments. Those eyes we find—we can only find—in Jesus and what He has done to bring us this righteousness.
You will accept being slighted, injured, or worse if only you know you’ve been accepted for reasons unrelated to any skill or accomplishment—and for reasons no failure can invalidate. You will see no need to incessantly stimulate your pleasure centers, if only you recognize your greatest pleasure is found in pleasing God. And you will find your reasons for happiness if only you know God is and shall be eternally happy with you. All those if only’s rest on what Christ has done. He demonstrates that righteousness for you, reckons it to you, and thereby makes it true in you. The way of grace is then opened to you.
What does your life in this season tend to reflect more: the way of nature—or grace? As another character is brought to his knees in contrition, so must we all—fundamentally and repeatedly:
I wanted to be loved because I was great; A big man. I'm nothing. Look at the glory around us; trees, birds. I lived in shame. I dishonored it all, and didn't notice the glory. I'm a foolish man.
Who but the God-man can convince us of our folly? What but His righteousness can restore to us, and sustain in us, our sense of this world’s brilliance? “And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace” (John 1:16).
. . .everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire. . . .Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Recently our pastor shared with the Session a new wrinkle to his own spiritual practice—an approach to his time with God that had yielded a sweetness unlike previous efforts at stillness, study, and prayer. Opening Psalm 119 each day, he’d begun focusing his attention on just one of the 22 eight-verse strophes (each beginning with a successive letter of the Hebrew alphabet). As he filled his mind with those eight verses he’d then narrow his focus further to but one verse within the strophe and meditate on its meaning and implications.
So I followed his lead. Two days in, my eyes fell on verse 14:
In the way of your testimonies I delight as much as in all riches.
There I camped—and then wondered: how does one delight in God’s testimonies—one of many synonyms the Psalmist employs to refer to God’s law? Law demarcates between what is good and evil. Warning and woe issue from it unto those who consider breaching it. It reverberates with either commendation or condemnation. You can’t dispute the salutary nature of those attributes of the law. But to take a joy in them as the word delight denotes—isn’t that a little strange? How many of us have perused the Dallas City Code to find the slightest bit of pleasure in its expectations and strictures?
And with respect to what we heard last Sunday, how is it even possible to find delight in precepts that issue severe warnings to those who let anger fester (5:21-24) or delay necessary restitution (vv. 25, 26)? Where’s the potential for reverie in that?
Fortunately, the Psalmist gives us an image in riches to illustrate his meaning. We know riches have inherent limitations and can provoke flagrant idolatry (cf. Jeremiah 9:23, Ecclesiastes 5:13, 1 Timothy 6:10, 17). But those resources can also afford us great good. They allow us to taste and see what is good on the earth, granting access to the earth’s fruit and beauty. Riches may also supply some protection from the world’s instabilities and misfortunes.
Such resources therefore provide a measure and a kind of satisfaction. For as Paul explains to Timothy, “. . .everything created by God is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it is received with thanksgiving, for it is made holy by the word of God and prayer” (1 Timothy 4:4,5). Our hearts’ propensity to make too much of those resources necessitates a vigilant attentiveness to their effects upon us. But if true thanksgiving for God’s bounty to us only compounds our praise of Him, abstention for abstention’s sake is no virtue.
So if the pleasure we derive from what resources afford us is akin to the delight we may find in the precepts God gives us, what in Jesus’ stark and sobering words about anger and restitution can offer us any satisfaction?
The next time you’re at a national park and you peer over some deep chasm toward a seemingly limitless horizon, for just a moment, place your hand upon the railing that keeps you from slipping off into the abyss below—and give thanks. From behind its well-anchored and unassuming posture, you stand protected from peril. Its simple construction sends a clear message: wander beyond its boundary and you risk an unimaginable loss.
When Jesus ups the ante, as it were, about the dangers of unbridled and unrighteous anger, He places a boundary between calamity and us that, if respected, provides a priceless protection. Seeing the damage done by unrighteous anger—whether in others or ourselves—the truth of that necessary hedge around our hearts resonates again. From that we derive a real, if shuddering, gratitude for His warning. And in that gratitude is found a kind of delight.
And what of the alleged delight to be found in the command to make urgent restitution for wrong? When you have a few moments, read the account of Tim Goeglein, former Deputy Director of the Office of Public Liaison during the Bush (43) Administration. Caught plagiarizing news columns in a hometown paper in 2008, Goeglein immediately resigned his position. He felt deeply the weight of his hypocrisy and how it brought shame upon himself, his office, and that of the Administration he served. But he also discovered the freedom in coming clean, owning up, and making amends, rather than keeping up the ruse, and running up the tab on his errors. The command to “come to terms quickly” with those he’d deceived proved itself both true and liberating. It even yielded a quite unexpected kindness. Grace we call it. It was a painful road that led to the delight of seeing the wisdom of God’s Word. But the freedom he found in submission to this enduring precept still led Goeglein to praise. Even in a humbled praise, there is delight.
What of His Word have you stared at in stillness until you delighted in its design?
But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The official dedication last month of the newly finished Martin Luther King, Jr. memorial in Washington opened to understandably great fanfare and adulation, both for the massive granite work and the man who inspired it. Rendering King as if stepping out from the rock itself, the monument incarnates the famed civil rights leader’s words that most typified his crusade for justice, “out of the mountain of despair, a stone of hope.” Both those who walked alongside him in the darkest days of the effort, and those who ultimately benefitted from his sacrifice, gathered upon the National Mall to celebrate his legacy now immortalized in stone.
But amid the celebration came some unvarnished criticism of the monument, and from those you’d least expect to cast a pale upon the festivities. The celebrated author and poet, Maya Angelou, thought the inscription, “I was a drum major for justice, peace and righteousness,”—another of King’s memorable sayings—cast him in a regrettably arrogant light. Some wondered why white granite was chosen to portray a black man, while others expressed dismay that the stone came from Communist China, a nation whose human rights record is at best pockmarked. Even one New York Times cultural critic distilled his disappointment in the lamentful questions, “Is this [monument] the Dr. King of the “I Have a Dream” speech? Or the writer of the 1964 Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech?” The thread running through the criticism: the nobility of the effort notwithstanding, the monument simply fails to capture the essence of the subject.
The phenomenon isn’t confined to the making of monuments either.
Scott Manetsch is a professor of church history at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. He’s recently written an article renewing the question a book co-authored by Mark Noll asked several years ago, Is the Reformation Over? Both article and book ask whether what the reformers sought to accomplish in their reforms has adequately permeated the church, in both its teaching and practice. More narrowly, Manetsch, Noll, and others ask if a central feature of the Reformation, the doctrine of justification—what forms the basis of our salvation—has genuinely made inroads into the Roman Catholic church, the ecclesiastical structure upon which the likes of Luther, Calvin, and countless others sought to bring change?
Since the question they raise has led them to article- and book-length treatments, I won’t dare to summarize their respective answers. But I will note a resonance between the 500 year-old Protestant-Catholic dispute and what’s transpired not even a month ago regarding the new monument upon the Mall.
To the outsider, the doctrinal differences between Protestants and Catholics on justification may seem like a pedantic intramural squabble over, at best, semantic differences or theological minutiae. But Manetsch notes that Calvin understood the discrepancies over what secured man’s salvation ultimately centered on competing visions of the very nature of God. Just as some pilloried the composition of King’s monument for its obscuring of his essence, so Calvin argued that to portray salvation as, in part, a work of man—as the Roman church had done at the time of the Reformation—is to rob God of His proper glory. Unless you understand salvation to be entirely a gratuitous act of God you fail to capture God’s essence.
But failing to capture God’s essence does more than misrepresent Him, Calvin contended. For to place any measure of the burden of salvation upon the backs of men is to
“. . .rob all consciences of calm and placid confidence [in divine grace]. . . . Any part of this righteousness, however small, if placed in works will totter, as resting on an insecure foundation . . . . It is a plain matter, that we cannot come boldly before the tribunal of God, unless we are certainly persuaded that he is our Father: and this cannot be without our being regarded as righteous in his sight.”
Calvin in no way sought to diminish the importance of real holiness growing in the believer—only that God’s great grace should be highly and fittingly esteemed for how He made His favor to us in no way contingent upon us. Otherwise, the teaching on salvation fails to ennoble the full honor of God.
And that, brothers and sisters, despite the appearance of mere theological gymnastics, has everything to do with how you handle your anger, and deal both urgently and diligently with matters requiring reconciliation—as Mark has explored the last two weeks in Jesus’ teaching on the subject.
The capacity to tread lightly in matters of anger and pursue reconciliation with all haste finds it most complete compulsion in the utter kindness of God—a kindness so full and immeasurable that it made you His eternally—at only His cost. His unadulterated, unmitigated love in Christ must be what most compels us to honor Him, and what most horrifies us at the thought of offending Him. Our hope for obedience rests on the fact of Christ’s complete obedience, in love, for us.
Moreover, when our hearts fail and we succumb to anger or neglect the hard work of reconciliation, it will be the inestimable grace of God that compels us to see our failures to obey in light of His perfections. Then we find the strength to acknowledge the guilt and danger of ongoing sin. Then we find the motivation to confess and seek the aid of His Spirit—and particularly His Spirit’s work through the Church—for a heart that can set aside whatever pride or fear that fuels our anger or sustains our estrangement.
It matters how well you capture and how highly you esteem the grace of God. For then, from the mountain of despair over sin comes a stone of hope for redemption—through Him Who is the cornerstone (Matthew 21:42).
Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
It sounds more like an unfortunate condition of the lower intestine, but the McGurk Effect has everything to do with our brains. The effect refers to a phenomenon in our sensory experience during which one sense actually overrides our interpretation of the information provided by another sense. So for instance, what our ears hear can actually be influenced by what our eyes see, even if the latter misrepresents the information the former receives. In the battle between visual and aural perception, our eyes, if you will, whisper an ostensibly persuasive message conflicting with what we’ve plainly heard. In other words, the eyes have it.
Last Sunday Pastor Scruggs reacquainted us with Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan. We can’t know for sure what precisely led both priest and Levite to forsake the “half-dead” traveler on the Jericho road. Some posit the twosome were motivated by concerns of ritual purity. Others speculate they were more concerned for their own safety than the well being of the victim. Jesus doesn’t seem to be interested in their reasons for failing to render aid—only that they had, in effect, abdicated their calling to love their God by loving their neighbor, a calling particularly underscored by their respective offices.
We can be more certain though that each responded in the way they did because they saw what they wanted to see. Their expectations or their interests overrode their observations and, more importantly, their consciences. The priest made conclusions from a distance, allowing only scant consideration to shape his opinion. And while the text gives subtle hints that the Levite at least made a closer inspection, he, too, failed to see the full moment. For his view of himself obscured the rest of what the traveler’s need and the character of God may have intoned in the recesses of his heart. Their omissions form a perfect foil for the one to come whose ethnicity is as central to the impact of the parable as his ethics.
The Samaritan chooses to let all senses—both physical and spiritual—shape his response. He is far more probing into the man’s true condition and far less concerned with his own welfare. He is neither blind to the risk he takes, nor naively optimistic about the outcome of his sacrifices. He simply acts and so incarnates the simplicity of the synthesis of love for God and man. In turn, he embodies the kind of life in which eternal life has come to rest, thus compelling sacrificial obedience.
Jesus’ parable served to instruct the lawyer in the essence of life in God. But it also succeeded in foreshadowing Jesus’ own reasons for coming to earth. For you and I weren’t simply half-dead. We were “dead in trespasses and sins” (Eph 2:1). Conventional wisdom would have written us off, consigned us to the eternal trash heap of history. Yet, Christ did not pass us by. He did not let hasty, misleading information override his understanding of what had to be done for our sake. Moreover, He laid aside His own interests—those He’d have been fully justified in protecting—to attend not just to our afflictions, but also to our corruptions and, yes, our guilt.
Whether it’s Paul’s former life of persecution, C.S. Lewis’ or G.K Chesterton’s accounts of an erstwhile atheism, or your own story of resisting God in small or large matters, Jesus was not fooled by the incorrigibility he saw. Instead He heard the voice of His Father who sent Him, with whom all things are possible. What He saw in us did not dissuade Him from acting for us. He saw all things clearly and chose to love us anyway. In so doing, He calls us to imitate Him.
And let’s be just as careful to see what we should in that call to imitate. To imitate Him is not to compensate Him for His kindness. Rather it is to recognize His worthiness to be imitated, and the corresponding satisfaction to be had in the imitation of One so worthy. Furthermore, those upon whom eternal life has come to rest will also see how some investments are worth the risk even should they not reap the reward they intend. For there are other windfalls in the Christian economy. Such is a more complete picture of the character of imitation.
McGurk and the clueless clerics of the parable all imply how easily we can make determinations on the basis of senses that can be skewed more by expectations than exhaustive observations. So what matter or relationship in your purview have you essentially—and perhaps too hastily—left for dead? Which of them require not just a second and closer look, but a look unto what He did to undo your plight? You may find there’s more—and more compelling—information than you first observed.
If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Jesus' comments about Hell naturally make us shuffle our feet and shift our glances. When He associates Hell with particular sins though—like we've heard in weeks past about anger, and now more recently about lust—we perhaps feel even uneasier. Does Jesus really mean that even the incipient forms of flagrant sins pave the way to Hell? Can anger as the seed for murder and lust the seed of adultery really be morally equivalent to their respective blossoms which carry the fragrance of death?
Permit me an unsophisticated syllogism—you know, one of those statements that goes like "if a is to b, as b is to c, then there may well be some correlation between a and c." I think it may help us move toward the heart of our Lord's severe words.
C.S. Lewis wrote in his 1960 work, The Four Loves, this famous comment:
To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal . . . .The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside of Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.
His argument is clear. Love, its splendors well documented, is intrinsically a gamble because it always and everywhere risks being unrequited. No one who's sought to love can ever be guaranteed it will return in kind. And that is as it should be, for only if one is willing to risk loss can they ever hope to be admired and, in turn, loved. Making themselves vulnerable to rejection accords them a dignity and honor those who eschew such risks forsake. Hell, where no love finds purchase, is therefore the only place where one is, so to speak, insulated from the risks associated with love. So Lewis provides the first premise of my syllogism: in Hell alone are you entirely insulated from love.
As for the second premise, consider Roger Scruton. He contributed an essay entitled "The Abuse of Sex" to the Witherspoon Institute's 2008 research project, The Social Costs of Pornography, (a project we've referenced before). While others tallied the damage done by pornography to marriages, families, and workplaces, Scruton narrowed his focus to its effects upon the selves who allow its ubiquitous fuel inflame the fires of lust. Pornography, he argues, is:
a form of sexual pleasure from which the interpersonal intentionality has been surgically excised. [It] takes hold of sexual desire and cuts away the desire. There is no real object, but only a fantasy, and no real subject, since there is nothing ventured of the self. To say this is an abuse of self is to express a literal truth.
The abuse of sex, he argues, is, among other things, an abuse of self. And though Scruton makes no explicit theological connection to those correlating forms of abuse, such abuse is ultimately an affront to the God who gave us the pleasure of sex and the dignity of self as good gifts to enjoy and by which to honor Him.
Part of that effrontery toward God centers on the fact that the lust pornography feeds literally de-personalizes sex. Lust denudes the desired person of their fullness and turns them into something less than a person in the mind of the person who desires them for their sexuality only. But lust also removes all risk of rejection for the person who's doing the desiring, thereby shriveling their very capacity to love. So the second plank of my syllogism goes something like this: lust is the practice of seeking a pleasure divorced from the requirements of love and therefore also the presence of love itself.
Which leads to the conclusion—the punch line, if you will—of these two premises.
If Hell is the place stripped of all love;
and lust be the practice of stripping love from desire;
then if lust isn't a direct path to Hell it's at least a preparation for it.
I think the conclusion holds on the premises alone, but we could easily make that case on other counts.
If the path to Hell is paved with deceits innumerable; and the lust incited by pornography is itself a self-deceit. Then lust is a preparation for Hell.
If Hell is that existence in which we are entirely enslaved to what diminishes and savages; and lust enslaves us to desires that deplete and devastate, then lust, as it titillates, actually familiarizes us with the climes of Hell.
But you might infer something ironic from these syllogisms about the pornography-lust connection.
It may be its own kind of proof for the existence of God.
For in light of how pervasive it has become, of the commensurate destructiveness it has wrought, and of how ineradicable our propensity for it seems—then only Christ is sufficient, not just to restrain our instincts toward lust, but actually renew our hearts toward true love! Jesus' stringent command, as one theologian put it, sends us back to the introduction to His Sermon: blessed are the poor in spirit—those who recognize their corruption and impoverishment. . .for theirs is the kingdom of God—in their humbled repose they may finally discover new life!
We may certainly take immediate and decisive steps now to stem the tide of lust's destruction: as Luther quoted one church father, "I cannot keep a bird from flying over my head. But I can certainly keep it from nesting in my hair or from biting off my nose." Yet, only by looking to Him whose example clarifies what purity is and whose cross confirms His love for us can we ever hope to turn from lust and embrace true love.
May God help us see the lust we think all too human to be entirely inhuman.
For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
I confess: it's a premeditated prayer. Whenever I have the privilege of conducting a wedding rehearsal, it's been my practice at the conclusion of the brief run-through that I have the bride and groom gather at the front. There I ask their family and friends to encircle them, lay hands on them, and pray for them and their marriage.
When the prayers by others taper off, I conclude with my own prayer, asking each and every time that God would do something for this couple some 50 or 60 years from now, after a long life of marriage: that He would give them tears of thanksgiving. That, as they make it a point to reflect upon their decades-long sojourn as a married couple, He would help them see His fingerprints upon their common life, in both the triumphant and tumultuous moments. And as a consequence they would look back with immeasurable gratitude—for each other, of course, but more so for their recognition He made each of them more like Him as a consequence of their life with each other. It's my version of a christening prayer for their marriage.
Now that I've revealed my practice, I hope those whom I've married won't think less of what may have seemed to them the product of sheer spiritual spontaneity! But the invitation to remembrance, whether prompted or planned, is always valid and always profitable. Lest we forget, the Lord invited us to a meal with remembrance as the dominant effort in our eating of His body and blood.
Zaccheus, with whom Mark reacquainted us last Sunday, passes out of the New Testament storyline as quickly as he enters. But his cameo appearance serves to reveal another reason why Jesus came to earth—as He explains, "to seek and save the lost." We don't know what became of Zaccheus, but it's a reasonable inference to think that his encounter with Jesus would have made for an indelible and formative memory. Zaccheus would've remembered what Jesus did to seek him out, and what His very person and presence had done to save him.
To seek the diminutive publican, Jesus would've had to notice him and draw near to him. To look past both the corruption of the tax collector's own heart and the revulsion of those who knew his fraudulent ways. Seeking Zaccheus would have demanded setting aside all internal and external prejudices.
Saving Zaccheus would have entailed exposing the folly of his former way and awakening him to the beauty of Jesus' good way. Salvation would mean the transformation of an ethic, to be sure. But the transformation would rest upon an even more fundamental change in how Zaccheus understood the holiness and love of God. Fear of the consequences would never be enough to dissuade this little man from continuing to defraud others with impunity. A new principled and disciplined life could only be sustained by a deeply implanted sense of the justice and mercy of God—demonstrated in and accomplished by this itinerant teacher who either incensed or captivated those who encountered Him. Salvation for Zaccheus would've meant not just a change in status but a change in stature—and not of the physical kind. Zaccheus would've remembered this watershed moment. He would have wanted to and needed to.
Which leads me to ask you—and myself for that matter: Have you ever sought to remember how Christ sought you out? By what words, in whose faces, through which experiences did Jesus come to be part of your pilgrimage toward that elusive search for what is good and worthy of this precious thing called life? What in you did He have to look past to make you part of His plan? There may not have been any epiphanic moments that bound you to Him, like a man or woman plucked from a burning building reveres the fireman who risked himself to rescue. But there are bound to be a litany of either whispers or sirens, hailing from those you love or those you'd never met before, that signaled a beckoning. A beckoning not unlike what a defiled man received from One who asked to dine with him and then offered him living water.
And while you're wracking your brain to remember how He sought you, I ask the complementary question: From what has He saved you? That is, what impurities, as a mark of having been forgiven all your sin, has He labored to distill out of you? How has His work of salvation for you managed to work the life of salvation in you?
Your first thought is likely "Let's talk first about all that He must still rescue me from." Doubtless the list of incongruities of soul fills our minds and overwhelms us with the same angst Paul bemoans: "who shall deliver me from this body of death?" (Romans 7:24) But as surely as there is work left to do (Philippians 3:12), there has been work already done in us and for us. What folly and futility to which you've been prone has He unmasked? What affections for the fleetingly unsatisfying has He redirected toward what is more substantial, enlivening, and holy? And most importantly, in what ways has Christ the redeemer redeemed your view of His love? Yes, the remembrance inevitably reveals vast terrain to cover in our pilgrimage toward maturity. Catching but a glimpse of that ground already covered reminds us of the even greater truth that He is with us in this, and will not let us go no matter how slow or plodding the pace (Romans 8:39).
Giving time to these questions has a purpose beyond mere recollecting. It's our memory of how He has sought us and from what He has saved us that galvanizes our hope and encourages us for our remaining days (Psalm 90:12). Gratitude is its own satisfaction, but does it not also have the dual effect of keeping our hearts both soft to what is good and steeled for what afflicts?
For those about to marry, I pray for a future moment that they would look backward, and find gratitude. For you, this day, I pray you would look backward to find a gratitude that yields a hopeful future.
Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In 1492, while Columbus was sailing the ocean blue, two families in Ireland—both the beneficiaries of the peerage system of land and title—were embroiled in a violent conflict over power. The Butlers, of the Earldom of Ormond, and the FitzGeralds, of the Earldom of Kildare, had let their longstanding feud give way to a smaller, Irish version of the War of the Roses.
At the height of the murderous feud, Jack Butler, a nephew of the Earl of Ormond, took refuge in the chapter house of St. Patrick's Cathedral in Dublin. He and his men were then surrounded by a contingent of FitzGerald soldiers. So much blood had been spilled already that Gerald FitzGerald, the premier earl of the clan, came to the cathedral overwrought by the madness of the conflict. He came not to smoke Butler out, but to press for peace.
FitzGerald called through the door of the chapter house for Butler to come out to discuss a truce. Sensing a ploy, Butler refused. There in the sacred space among bloodthirsty men, an impasse–until FitzGerald made a most astounding move.
He called for one of his men to chop a hole in the door dividing the two contingents. But rather than launch an assault he instead thrust his own arm—unprotected and unarmed—through the splintered opening. He extended his open hand, exposing his very body to whatever defensive or opportunistic measures Butler's men might inflict, in order to underscore his desire for peace and to validate the integrity of his offer. He knew what he might lose in offering his arm but the peace he sought was worth the risk.
The English have a saying about taking a risk for an unlikely outcome: "chancing one's arm." Ascribing the inspiration for the phrase to this dramatic moment in Irish history is more forced than found, but what happened at that door—now preserved in all its ruined glory in St. Patrick's Cathedral—could not illustrate the adage more vividly.
That Jesus understands Himself in part as a physician means that what we suffer from is something akin to an affliction—an inward, chronic, and festering condition, just as Mark reminded us last Sunday. But while the affliction has manifold consequences for life, the affliction's ultimate etiology—physicians' preferred word for cause—is found in an estrangement from God.
The sickness of those with whom Jesus reclined and who ate at table—bedside manner of the highest caliber—manifested in all sorts of mendacity, indulgence, and illicitness—the kind of behavior that got you labeled as sinner. But while each sinner played their unique riff on sin, they all riffed on a common theme: God was not to be trusted. Their sins were simply a symptom of their estrangement. A sickness, as Jesus characterizes it, that could only be remedied through a reconciliation.
And so, if you will, Jesus chanced His arm. To those who had defiantly shut the door of their hearts to God, Jesus, in His seeking and sitting with sinners—in His dining with and dying for sinners—hacked a hole through their intractable efforts to insulate them from God. And with a hand outstretched on a cross He thrust forward His promise of reconciliation, validating His desire and will for peace. He risked all to bring peace on earth, good will toward men with whom God is pleased.
He came to heal sinners by first and foremost healing what existed between them and God. But as the passage emphasizes, Jesus came to reveal the sickness of those who think they're well so that they might find a true wellness—a true righteousness—that loves those who are sinfully sick. His reconciliation is His remedy, a reconciliation between ourselves and God that then finds an almost genetic disposition toward longing to see that same reconciliation occur among others.
The extent to which we share the inclination of the scribes—the inclination that would prefer to wall up or burn down the door behind which those estranged from God hide—is the extent to which we have become insensible to our own versions of estrangement. Our anxieties and fits of anger, our failures to love and be thankful, our callous disregard for the needs right under our nose—they all point to our original malady to which Jesus applied the balm of reconciliation. That Jesus' chanced arm refuses to recoil when our hearts fail—He sympathizes with our weaknesses! (Hebrews 4:15)—is supreme evidence of steadfast love. On what basis can we withhold such?
What of you remains hidden behind a door, suspicious of the offer of reconciliation and peace? And notwithstanding the sinfulness of sin (Romans 7:13), from whom have you withheld love thinking their sinfulness warrants it?
He chanced His arm to bring us peace that we might chance ourselves in kind.
And he said to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking.
(Mark 10 :36b-38a)
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
It’s as if there’s a run for the exits from this mortal coil here at year’s end. In the last two weeks, the world has seen the passing of such notable figures as Christopher Hitchens and Kim Jong Il. Perhaps lost in the shuffle of headlines covering the deaths of the outspoken atheist and the muted dictator was the loss of the playwright and former President of the Czech Republic, Václav Havel.
Born into an influential family with a flair for the aesthetic, Havel became a prolific writer whose notoriety skyrocketed as he began to compose works either lampooning or outright attacking the Communist regime that had overtaken Czechoslovakia during the Cold War. His efforts provoked as much persecution from within the former Soviet satellite as it did acclaim from without. When the Velvet Revolution of 1989 ushered the Soviets out and freedom in, Havel’s name came to the fore as a natural pick for leading Czechoslovakia into its new, liberated era.
In an address at the University of Copenhagen shortly after being elected President of his reborn country, Havel spoke with candor, perhaps never before expressed by someone in political office, about the privileges and perils of holding power. (HT: “You have no power”)
It’s always tempting to inject, anachronistically, all sorts of psychology into a biblical text. But it’s not hard to see some of Havel’s modern concerns about power playing out in the very text Mark led us through last Sunday. You remember how James and John petitioned Jesus to see if they might share in His authority and glory by becoming part of kingly retinue whenever His reign came into its own. At least part of their motivation for asking resonates with some of Havel’s comments in Copenhagen.
Havel acknowledged how many come to power inspired by their own desire to enact real measures that lead to human flourishing. A polity hears the vision and values of the one seeking authority and the resonance between the constituency and the candidate ushers him into it. We’d expect anyone willing to make themselves accountable to the people to be passionate about improving the societies they come to lead.
At one level then, James and John (and all the disciples for that matter) had become convinced that the “platform” Jesus embodied was both true and worth promoting. So they sought to be appointed to service to see the kingdom ushered in. They sought power to enact goodness. On its face, their request appears both sensible and laudable. But we know from the passage that the Dynamic Duo’s request had something else mixed in with their motivations for seeking authority--something to which Havel also pointed in his address.
The more candid of Havel’s comments centered on an intuitive, but rarely conceded, motivation for pursuing power. The truth is, he argued, we like power because it represents a self-affirmation. Being invested with authority validates the bearer of it; it substantiates their own meaning and significance. Havel didn’t consider this impulse for power-seeking necessarily suspect, but naturally acknowledged that the desire for self- affirmation could become so dominant that the one in power is tempted to compromise the virtues that may have initially inspired the pursuit of power. Preserving power for the sake of propping up one’s sense of importance can become more important than using power for the sake of enriching those who entrusted it.
So Havel notes what Jesus knew long before: rulers tend to “lord [power] over” those they rule--they instinctually “exercise authority” over their subjects because the interest in power can quite easily and insidiously derive from a quest for importance. That is why Havel concedes that his newly bestowed power forced him to become “permanently suspicious of [himself].” And that is also why Jesus had to gently upbraid His young upstarts, whom He loved, by first of all warning them of the perils of power. But then also how the path to power for the follower of Jesus would be a path of service through suffering.
It’s a political season. We wish there were a way to see beneath the surface of all those who seek power to see if they are as equally suspicious of themselves as Havel was of himself. But Havel’s comments about power, which only reiterate far more ancient notions we find on Jesus’ lips, perhaps ask us all to ask ourselves in whichever venues we both hold and exercise authority: is the use of the power I have--as a parent, a professor, a president, or a pastor, to name a few--an inordinate attempt to validate myself or serve those entrusted to me?
I give thanks often that Jesus allowed those with mixed motives to keep His company and participate in His work. He refined their motives amid the work. But refine them He did, lest their authority become guilty of neglect or idolatry.
Who is more served by whatever authority you have--you or those you serve?
The fear of the Lord is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and instruction.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Over the break my oldest son and I resumed our former engagement with the game of chess. I'd never played chess until I was an adult and it had been years since I played with my son. So it wasn't long into the game before I realized how out of my depth I was–how my capacity for strategy was probably no more developed than my eight-year-old son's. To call me a neophyte would be an insult to neophytes. Sure the objective is simple: corner your opponent's king until he can make no legal moves. But what's required to arrive at a checkmate entails a highly sophisticated perceptiveness and forethought.
So I needed a kind of insight that helped me see the whole chessboard—an acumen for how to make the right move at the right time. I came to understand why IBM spent millions developing a computer named Deep Blue to outmatch the world's leading chess player, Garry Kasparov (which it did). The game's complexity was worthy of the effort to fashion a machine to outwit a human mind.
Life in many ways is like chess. It's constantly calling for us to make the right moves at the right time. It demands an abiding sense of the big picture lest our focus become too narrow. Life entails both action and reaction. As you would expect though, life is far more complicated than chess. There's so much more to plan for—so much you can't. While chess calls for right moves at right moments, life adds right motives and right manner to the list of entailments. Above all, the moves we make in life are far more consequential than what we'll ever make in a game. If chess requires astuteness for a favorable outcome, how much more does life!
Pastor Tommy reminded us last Sunday of the Lord's power, how it is more than what we typically assume and how it works in us, through us, and sometimes quite in spite of us. The Lord exercises some of that power in His bestowing wisdom to us, wisdom like that found throughout the scripture but outlined most succinctly in the Proverbs. What the Proverbs provide, what they require, and what they presuppose point us to the power we so desperately need to navigate this life that is anything but a game (cf Proverbs 1:1–7).
In providing us wisdom, the Proverbs do more than utter pithy bits of sage advice, worthy of embroidery or a screen saver. They offer guidance for what constitutes a life well lived. A life that, among other things, finds goodness, avoids peril, sees through deceit, and makes the most of all that's available. All such constitutes wisdom.
But wisdom is more than making optimal choices, it's inextricably tied to virtuous choices, to "righteousness, justice, and equity" (1:3). As the Proverbs often deal with human interactions, they underscore the need not just for perceptiveness, but also conviction as to what is good, true, and beautiful.
And where wisdom and virtue meet, maturity follows—where the simple find prudence, the young discover discretion (1:4). This is neither a gnostic nor an elitist maturity; it does not require special, hidden knowledge, nor does it depend on the intellectual capacity of the hearer. God gives wisdom lavishly to all who ask (James 1:5).
That the Proverbs exist at all testifies to how their wisdom is not self-evident. That there is such thing as a fool (Prov 1:7)—one who repudiates wisdom—means exposure to wisdom is no guarantee of its embrace. So how do we get it?
The power derived from the wisdom that comes from the Proverbs requires a search: "let the wise hear" (v. 5). Intentionality and devoted attentiveness to a great degree determine the benefit of the Proverbs, for in such is a true seeking. And why should the "wise" hear unless wisdom-seeking were a lifelong endeavor?
But the search also entails an appropriation of what's found—not just listening, but thinking and ascertaining the internal logic. Then it's putting it into practice with the expectation that the experience will refine our understanding. That's what the Proverbs require of us.
But the linchpin of their benefit is an understanding of what the Proverbs presuppose. For one, God is their source. Yes, what's recorded in them is the product of lived experience but it is a divinely circumscribed experience. Yes, much of what we find in the Proverbs was not written on a stone before it was known but God is their ultimate author since He Himself is the standard of wisdom.
And since He is their author the Proverbs also presuppose this: humility before God is the key to reaping their benefit. "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" (v. 7). Fear here isn't mere fright. It's a respect that God exists, that our relationship to Him is neither optional nor incidental, that we live in view of Him and to Him we must give an account (Hebrews 4:13), and that my existence, identity, dignity, and meaning all derive from Him. Only with that kind of fear can we ever come to know the wisdom He means to impart.
If humility is key to their reaping their benefit, what can better provide a basis for humility than what the wisdom of God revealed at the cross? The cross intones that there is a wisdom, virtue, and maturity we do not possess and never will apart from divine help. With sobering clarity it shouts that there is also a motive for pursuing wisdom we would never embrace even if God spelled it all out for us in a book. And the cross arrests us with the idea that there is a God who, despite our obtuseness, our folly, and our repudiation of wisdom, will not corner us like a checkmated king and grind us into the court of the vanquished for our failures at wisdom. Rather we learn from the cross that God ground His own Son into the chess table of ultimate justice for our inherent folly so that He might cradle us. Then—and only then—will He instruct us in wisdom—we the cornered, the conquered, the damnable beloved.
His power will manifest in ways quite unrelated to our movements, but also in the exercise of the wisdom He bestows us.
To bring wisdom to us, to create the capacity for wisdom in us, to reveal His wisdom through us, the King moved first—to everyone's astonishment.
Now it's your move.
His mother said to the servants, "Do whatever he tells you."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The moment may be as comic as it is profound. The mother of Jesus, who's known from before He was even conceived that she would give birth to the "son of the Most High," displays the essence of discipleship: she ascribes to Him a majesty and power by asking Him to do what needs to be done and trusting that He will. "They have no wine."
But then Jesus adds a bit of tension to the moment, a little family squabble on its face. Addressing the one who bore Him as "woman" might seem lacking in warmth to us, but only because the English translation lacks the nuance of respect He intends; it will be the same word He employs in His final words to her from the cross.
What follows His direct address of her, though, bears a sharpness we should not diminish. In saying to her, "what does this have to do with me," Jesus isn't flouting her interest, but He is clarifying His loyalties, as off-puttingly as that might've resonated. To her Jesus owes an immeasurable respect, but not greater than that due His heavenly Father. She deserves unhesitating deference, but not at the expense of His primary purpose. The "hour" awaiting Him entails both urgency and prudence. His commission means some reasonable requests are at best distractions, while other ostensibly ancillary matters become primary. Ensuring an adequate supply of vintage wine for the wedding reception tests the bounds of His priorities, but Jesus ends up using the moment to profitable effect.
Mary's response on one level, at least to me, borders on the comic. We don't know her facial expression. We don't hear her offer any direct response to His clear but careful rebuke. Perhaps it's too anachronistic to hear the unruffled, quasi-yiddish, "meh," insinuated by the absence of either apology or defense. But unperturbed and unabated she recapitulates both her request and the respect of His power it implies: "His mother said to the servants, 'Do whatever he tells you.'"
Her simple demonstration of true discipleship I think asks three questions of our own.
Whom do you know who knows Him well, and what are you doing to be with them? Mary makes a request of the servants to do whatever Jesus says, to trust in an authority they know little to nothing of. Yet implicit within the request is an understanding that she knows of Whom she speaks and therefore He is worthy to be followed, no matter how counter-intuitive it might seem. True, the servants know her no more (or less) than they know Him, but her familiarity with Him adds to His credibility; it makes a faith in Him more plausible.
God has given us His Word to guide us, His Spirit to persuade and enable us to follow. He's also given us His church—His people—to lay before us authentic and poignant pictures of discipleship. With whom do you spend time, what biographies do you read of those who know Christ like a mother knows her son? How might that frequent encounter with those familiar with Him add vibrancy and authenticity to your idea of what it means to follow Jesus?
Secondly, whatever responsibilities you oversee and whatever influence you wield, how do you ensure you understand your authority as one who is a servant? You know the episode in both Matthew's and Luke's gospel of the centurion who appealed to Jesus to heal his servant (Matthew 8:5f, Luke 7:1f). This senior official wielded great power in the Roman army but recognized that both he and Jesus were men "under authority"—in command but in submission to something greater. Jesus can only commend the officer for an unassuming expression of faith. We may not command anyone or anything but we all bear both responsibility and authority over something. How does our identity as a servant of the Most High shape our use of the power we possess?
Finally, what might He be telling you to do that you've as yet left undone? There are moments when the time for data-collection and analysis has passed. Obedience is both prudent and necessary. If Mary's request to the servants identifies a category for obedience simply because it is Jesus who calls for it, what simple act of discipleship does this moment call for? We do not follow Him to cover our guilt or compensate for His kindness—His cross makes both meaningless—but we do follow to express our thanks and find our joy in doing what we know pleases Him. What subtle or dramatic changes might be in order as an act of doing "whatever He tells you"?
But I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of sexual immorality, makes her commit adultery, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You probably know enough about trees to know there's as much beneath the surface as above it. The root system girding the tree in place and serving as its conduit for nourishment reaches as expansively downward as the trees branches stretch upward and outward.
There are some trees, many, I'm told, in the oak species, that have something more than just the fibrous root system of other trees. They have what's called a taproot. It's a thicker, meatier root that shoots almost straight down, protruding deeper than the rest of the system. It serves to anchor the tree more firmly, while also acting like a kind of water-conservation system that preserves the tree during arid seasons. It provides what the diffusely splayed root system nearer the surface cannot.
We bring to a marriage certain attributes and assets that facilitate its maintenance—just like the fibrous root system of a tree. Our attention to detail, our sense of humor, a knack for problem-solving—any number of aptitudes and experiences work complementarily within a couple for its ongoing nurture. Those individual attributes help hold us in place and find nourishment for our preservation.
But they're not enough.
It matters not how quick you are with a joke, how clear you can be in communication, or how fearless you are in a pinch. That divorces ensue in marriages that seemed to have the most intrinsic integrity and solidity is at least indicative, if not probative, of how what you bring to a marriage is insufficient to sustain that marriage. For just as a poison can infiltrate a fibrous root system of a tree until it depletes the tree of life, so there is a poison that may subtly but deftly seep into a marriage and kill it slowly but surely.
Except the poison doesn't always have to be administered from without, for it lies within every human heart. We carry within us a toxin that easily breeds rivalry and conceit (cf. Philippians 2:3). Upon reaching a critical mass, it culminates in a contempt—that insidiously slanderous emanation of the heart—which consumes both its source and its object simultaneously. And no degree hanging on a wall, no membership in any organization of influence—neither esteemed pedigree nor hallowed progeny—can, by itself, hinder the havoc the human heart can wreak in and against a marriage.
If, as Mark reminded us Sunday, Moses' instruction on divorce was but a concession to a situation spinning out of control—a provisional tourniquet to stanch the flow of more marital disintegration; and if Jesus cast a soberingly narrow set of valid circumstances for the pursuit of divorce; then it follows we need more than just what we bring to a marriage—more than what we have in ourselves, or even what our spouse can motivate in us—to stymie the wiles that threaten our union.
We need something like a taproot, that which reaches deeper into the soil beneath it, anchors it against what the world whips up above the surface, and sustains it when the inherent attributes of the marriage are compromised by what is poisonous, (or even become the very source of the poison!). An enduring marriage requires a bond with what is deepest and least affected by the vicissitudes around us. Something that puts all tensions in perspective and confronts us with enduring reasons for gratitude. Something that shakes the pride from us, but by lifting us in love rather than just covering us with shame. We need something external to us yet which acts like something internal in us to warn us of our unconscious drift into lovelessness.
What can supply all that? An unrelenting rootedness in the love of God in Christ (cf. Ephesians 3:14–19). And how shall that rootedness occur? From Dennis Okholm's mild chiding, consider one aspect of its cultivation:
"It is strange that we take the advice of our dentist and floss regularly to maintain healthy gums or follow doctor's orders to exercise on schedule to enhance our physical well-being, while we often spurn the counsel of spiritual physicians and trainers to develop habits that will maintain and enhance our spiritual life. It's not a bad thing to wake up every morning reciting the Psalmist's words "Open my lips, O Lord" as if it were second nature, any more than it is a bad thing to go through a morning ritual of showering, shaving, and brushing teeth." (Monk Habits for Everyday People)
Okholm reiterates what we've heard before from those like Ann Voskamp. Our spiritual lives rest on "rhythm, routine, and regularity," which, she explains is applicable to all dimensions of life: "If set times are the necessary catalysts for spiritual growth, so are set times critically compelling elements for life growth."
Might not the same be said, then, for marital growth? With the diligence of a farmer we nurture our soul's soil as God's grace forms a taproot to eternity.
A taproot that will not let man tear asunder what God has joined together.
O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer, and by night, but I find no rest. Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Part of what makes civilization civilized is its abiding interest in limiting human suffering. We fight against disease and restrain the unjust. We seek to check aggression and root out oppression. We seek both to deter and end violence. All these are an attempt to alleviate unnecessary suffering, an attempt predicated on the notion that human flourishing entails a curtailment of pain.
So when we consider the sufferings of Jesus and the call to follow in His steps in 1 Peter 2:21—Dr. Oh’s most poignant and pregnant theme this last weekend—we recognize at the outset how counterintuitive and countercultural is this central feature of the mission of both the church and her Lord. And in its contrariness to the trajectory of civilization we might conclude—at some unspoken level—how patently absurd or counterproductive the enterprise of purposeful suffering seems. If the point of progress is reducing suffering, why then would any reasonable person willingly enter into it?
For that matter, why would God, whose power has no limit according to the scriptures He saw fit to inspire, ordain suffering as a primary means of accomplishing His will? Wouldn’t it be more congruent with His majesty, more expedient to His purposes, and less agonizing for those He loves to exert His potent power against whatever impedes His plan? Why must suffering be the foundation upon which He builds—and prefigures—a new and lasting civilization? Has Christianity, as Nietzsche vehemently argued, gotten it backwards in how it exalts self-denial over self-assertion? Is what Jesus typified, and what Dr. Oh underscored, on the wrong side of reality and history?
Or does it have to do with the very nature of love, itself a central feature of the nature of God?
By definition love defers. It forgets itself for the sake of another. Love sets aside a claim to its own interests so that the interests of others might be upheld (Phil 2:4ff). And each act of loving deferral exposes one to the possibility, if not the inevitability, of pain. Loving, rather than protecting oneself, makes one vulnerable to rejection, revulsion, or persecution. Love doesn’t suffer for suffering’s sake, but accepts suffering for the sake of limiting another’s. So, part of what explains the call to suffering is what we know of the essence of love.
By revelation God is love (1 Jn 4). His steadfast love endures forever (Ps 136). His self-attested mercy and slowness to anger (Ex 34:6) bespeak love in extending of kindness through forbearance. And it was an immeasurable forbearance demonstrated in the Son that forms the pinnacle of God’s expressions of love. That He died for those who would seek to kill Him—or simply consider Him dead by denying His glory and authority—can only be explained by love. The place of suffering is housed in the nature of love, as the nature of love is housed in the nature of God.
That is why suffering is not antithetical to the idea of civilization. While civilization exists in part to enhance human flourishing, it depends on those willing to forget themselves, expose themselves, sacrifice themselves—to suffer—to see a new, lasting city wrought. Not for the city’s own sake, but for the sake of God who births a people to find their greatest joy in His singular glory.
The sun doesn’t need the earth, but when the earth considers the sun it recognizes its dependence upon it; the earth’s luminosity comes entirely from that light and life giver. Likewise, God does not need us (Acts 17:25) but in seeing His glory we recognize our greatest need is in Him. We need to witness His glory in order to benefit from it. And His glory now goes forth most mightily and enduringly through expressions of God-centered self-forgetfulness.
It is therefore never pointless to ask, from pulpits and prayer closets, why we are hesitant to forsake what is comfortable in order to assure the divine comfort of those who do not yet know Him. Our answers typically follow from a forgetfulness of the abiding comfort His suffering secured us. Meditating upon His comfort transforms our hesitancy into expectancy as we then ask ourselves: Where might we go, what might we give, whom might we send with resources adequate for the task?
And what might we suffer in order to see an imperishable civilization coalesce around rejoicing in the loving, suffering God?
No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the Kingdom of God.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
For the counselor, getting to the core of a person’s deepest motivations is perhaps a more formidable task than offering the guidance that leads to deep and lasting change. That’s why a counselor I know will sometimes ask the question “What text of scripture most haunts you?” That is, what biblical notion provokes the most negative visceral response? The answer—even if it betrays a thin understanding of the scripture—reveals what you most believe about God, yourself, and your relation to Him.
To be quite candid, it’s how Jesus rounds out His sermonette on the cost of discipleship here in Luke 9 that has most consistently arrested me. He speaks in His typical uncompromising fashion. A cursory read of this pithy instruction seems to indict anything but an undivided devotion to His program—summarized in His frequent use of the word Kingdom. Tentativeness, distraction, second-guessing—these are apparently grounds for disqualification from Jesus’s Kingdom program.
So why does my soul shudder at the sound of verse 62? I suppose it’s because I can be tentative by temperament. Tentativeness has served me when impulsive decisions would’ve done more harm than good. But it can also paralyze: The instinct to wait for more and more information, to consider varied and different angles, can reach a point when the data-mining is no longer helpful but harmful.
Jesus’s words seem to say here, “Stay with it, and if you can’t, stand aside.” When you default to the mode that implicitly asks, “Can we pause to consider?”, you can’t but wonder if you’ll always just be like the kid who gets picked last for the kickball team. Except here the stakes are higher, since Jesus ties His vision for discipleship to one’s “fitness” for the Kingdom.
Hearing Mark preach from this text last week, I’ve had to ask myself if I’ve ever really understood what Jesus meant by these stark words. I’ve done what I hope God enjoins us all to do: sat with His Word, considered its meaning from what else He has disclosed, asked in prayer for His own elucidation of the text, and then consulted the community of believers for insight.
The metaphor Jesus couches His words in does the most (imagine that) to elucidate His meaning. First we must set aside our modern view of tilling the earth—a matter of stepping into the John Deere, setting the air conditioner to the right temperature, and popping in the Tammy Wynette music. Just keep the wheel straight and you can probably even text message.
But to plow the soil in the first century was a matter of strapping a thick rope around your back and navigating both an unruly beast and a heavy, iron blade in some semblance of a straight line. In other words, one did not multitask while plowing the field. The task meant your survival. Look back—or left or right for that matter—and you simply could not cultivate the land with the care it required.
So what does Jesus mean? Jesus speaks of fitness in two senses. In one sense, none of us is fit for the Kingdom—else why would He come to die and then invite us into His yoke to learn? But the other sense of fitness—the sense He means in this text—pertains to our suitability for His work. Kingdom work entails recognizing the unsurpassable glory of the Kingdom itself. It also requires an awareness of the world’s innumerable bidding distractions. Most difficult of all, it means holding all other loyalties loosely, including those most noble, long-standing, and life-giving.
But here’s the rub: there is no quick and dirty formula for discerning whether I am living suitably for the Kingdom. I likely can’t integrate my myriad present obligations with His call to discipleship in one, swift measure. But I can enter into my prayer closet and ask, “Is my attention to x, y, and z a reflection of doing all things as unto the Lord (Col 3:17), or an expression of looking back?”
Bills must be paid, diapers must be changed, deals must be closed, and papers must be written. So, too, must prayers be offered, lest we forget that our most significant effort ought to be for what is imperishable.
No need to be haunted by what He asks here. Just know He will hound us until we are motivated most by His love (2 Cor 5:14).
Let what you say be simply "Yes" or "No"; anything more than this comes from evil.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Twenty-five years ago my mother succumbed to cancer. A diagnosis was followed by a mastectomy, which was followed by chemotherapy and all its side effects. Five years of remission—then a resurgence. A final fight, then she slipped away.
Cancer, as we all know, is the uncontrolled replication of destructive cells that consume vital organs if left unchecked. But as it was for my mother and everyone who contracts the disease, cancer begins with a single cell run amok.
We might find Jesus’s injunctions about oath-taking not only arcane but downright persnickety. We’re not really an oath-taking kind of people any more, save the occasional participations in jury duty or obtaining a passport. And even when we do have to raise our right hand, it’s unlikely we give a second thought to the words that assert our integrity.
But as we heard Sunday, far from being overly fastidious about our word choice, Jesus is warning about what is as subtle and dangerous as cancer: establishing a pattern of insincerity.
Oaths themselves are not the issue. The Old Testament is replete with them. They find their way into the words and works of God, Himself—perhaps most vividly in His covenant with Abraham when He parades a flaming torch between sacrificial animals cloven in two. His unspoken oath was to honor His covenant lest He become like these sacrifices. Paul, too, employs the vocabulary of oaths to demonstrate his own veracity (Rom 1:9, 2 Cor 1:23, Phil 1:8).
Why is Jesus so serious about oaths? He was decrying a shift in the kinds of oaths the people of His day were making. By invoking Jerusalem, or the earth, or one’s own head, the oaths implied earnestness. But at the same time those oaths avoided accountability, since each of those hallowed entities represented an authority less than God. Their invocations were the equivalent of crossing your fingers behind your back.
Jesus was saying the duplicity could not stand. Anything less than straightforward language is an affront to God and corrosive to the soul. There’s no limit to how such insincerity can metastasize into a stage 4 lie.
So what’s Jesus’s driving at?
Whatever you say, say it in faith. I do not mean a name-it, claim-it mentality that makes your faith-filled words determinative of hoped-for outcomes. I believe Jesus means that what we say must always be a conscious reflection of what we believe about God. Unless we are honest before the Lord in speech, our insincerity will eat us alive from the inside.
Think of God’s regard for the truth as a father’s regard for his son. Affirm or offend the son and you affirm or offend the father. Likewise, if God is truth (Is 65:16, Jn 3:33), then your regard for the truth parallels your regard for God. There can be no simultaneous love for God and disdain of the truth.
Second, remember that God is never misled by your equivocations. All things are naked and exposed to Him (Heb 4:13). False words are futile to conceal what cannot be ultimately concealed.
Both those aspects of our faith in God motivate us to speak with sincerity. But there is one greater still—that there was a time when God didn’t take our no for an answer.
We once were convinced that we were best suited to find our own good life. Estranged from His heart and His purposes, our hearts spewed, “I will not trust you, nor follow you, nor love you.”
Yet at the cross while we were still sinners—still flouting and offending Him—God did not take our defiance as decisive for our destiny. To our “No, we won’t,” God said, “Yes, (and yet) I will.” In Christ, by the Spirit, God the Father spoke about the depth of our sin and of His even deeper love.
There’s nothing you can obtain by insincerity that’s greater than what you already have in His love. There’s nothing you can lose in telling the plain truth that’s greater than what you’ve gained in His love.
What tempts you to dissemble? How might you apply the gospel to your heart so that you can give up this futile, cancerous ruse?
Who can discern his errors? Declare me innocent from hidden faults. Keep back your servant from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
My wife considers it a bitter irony that I am an Eagle Scout whose attraction to camping has diminished with time. How, she wonders, can someone who spent years tying knots, cooking meals, and earning merit badges with names like “orienteering,” “wilderness survival,” and, yes, “camping” now hesitate to escape the clamor of civilization?
In my defense, it’s not the experience of camping per se. Slipping into a slower gear, being spellbound by a cracking fire, letting the sounds of the backcountry cancel out the anxious noises rumbling in my brain—it all has allure. But, as mealy-mouthed as this will sound, it’s the packing part that turns my stomach—especially when you’re packing for small children. With sippy cups and snack bins, diapers and dolls, and goops galore to repel everything from mosquitos to large mammals (oh, and don’t forget the sunscreen)—for all our efforts to take a respite from modernity, it feels like we’re just trying to relocate it.
Dr Nielson reminded us last Sunday how creation’s innate adornments have much to reveal about the God who saw fit to fashion them. It’s an exhortation that successfully confronts my preference for the comfortable. In fact, his sermon and another quote I came across this week from Danish philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (hat tip: Justin Taylor), caused me, like a bird on a branch, to dart my head in a different direction:
When the prosperous man on a dark but starlit night drives comfortably in his carriage and has the lanterns lighted, aye, then he is safe, he fears no difficulty, he carries his light with him, and it is not dark close around him. But precisely because he has the lanterns lighted, and has a strong light close to him, precisely for this reason, he cannot see the stars. For his lights obscure the stars, which the poor peasant, driving without lights, can see gloriously in the dark but starry night. So those deceived ones live in the temporal existence: either, occupied with the necessities of life, they are too busy to avail themselves of the view, or in their prosperity and good days they have, as it were, lanterns lighted, and close about them everything is so satisfactory, so pleasant, so comfortable—but the view is lacking, the prospect, the view of the stars.
Kierkegaard envisions two ways of living in this parable. One man finds light from a nearer source; the other’s light is supplied by the night sky. Both find their light, but the former’s choice blinds him to the vaster expanse above him.
People who find their contentment in what they can easily control deprive themselves of the deeper contentment to be found beyond it. They are satisfied in their manipulable circumstances and spend much of their lives clawing and scratching to preserve them. But without a sense of what is above, they are oblivious to a greater glory, even though that glory requires a greater effort to notice.
I need the view of the stars on occasion, not merely to luxuriate in a serenity only the heavens can supply, but to (re-)embrace the wider significance of life which my push-button, on-demand existence tends to obscure. There is truth my iPhone cannot tell me, glory my remote-controlled garage door will never yield. An eye cast toward what is more enduring exposes my finitude and my dependence—two notions my modern context prefers to conceal.
Must I buy a tent to take in His wonders and remember His graces? Not necessarily. But if the heavens declare in part what two timbers on a desolate hill revealed in full, how can I eschew the climes furnished to provoke praise? Would not even the stones gladly stand in for me? (Lk 19:40).
“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Doubtless you remember the scene. A fearsome visage, cloaked in billowing smoke and flames as if from perdition itself, thunders portentous words demanding greater obeisance from a dimwitted scarecrow, a lion threatening no menace, a metallic man numb to all emotion, and a little red-haired girl wistful for familiar places. Then, suddenly, Dorothy’s diminutive dog follows his canine instincts toward a curious emerald curtain until what stands behind said drapery is unveiled in all his shamefaced glory. A ruse has been literally sniffed out.
A thesis has gained some traction in recent years concerning the phenomenon of religious belief. Why, the scientific community (and particularly its neurobiological guild) wonders, has the conception of the divine pervaded human cultures and persisted so relentlessly within them? Their most recent and increasingly popular answer: Our minds have played an unwitting trick upon us much as Oz perpetrated an illusion upon the motley foursome. And why would our minds do such a thing? Because the threats to humanity’s survival over time led to the development of particular brain functions that were small cognitive steps away from religious thinking.
I know—complicated. So, for instance, one putative example is the highly developed human sensitivity to other presences—what cognitive scientists call the Hypersensitive Agency Detection Device, or HADD. In our earlier days, the sensitivity would help us know if we were the object of predation (read: on the menu). Today, we associate the sensitivity to our tendency to think someone or something is there in a darkened room when we are all alone.
The theorists argue, quite plausibly, that such sensitivity preserved us. Insouciance to the presence of a hungry lion would most likely decrease your chances of seeing your grandkids. But theorists then infer from that asset a tendency to perceive nonexistences—like a spirit, a ghost, or a god. Nothing external conspires to persuade our hapless brains of the existence of immortal, invisible, and only wise entities. But like Oz, our minds, conditioned by external circumstances, convince us of a transcendent domain to which we become self-deceptively obeisant. (In which case advocates of the thesis are cast in the role of Toto, who liberates us from our error.)
Neither space nor my understanding permits a sufficient analysis of the thesis. Others are far better equipped. (If you’re interested in hearing their responses, you might look here, here, here, and here.) But if one underlying premise of the thesis is that religious belief is the offshoot of a brain function with adaptive value—that is, it helped us to survive—then at least one feature of a particular belief in God would seem to challenge, if not undercut, the thesis: namely, Jesus’ counterintuitive instruction to turn the other cheek when suffering ill treatment, the text of which Mark spoke briefly last Sunday and will speak at length this week.
Jesus enjoins an ethic here which risks loss, even loss of life. His more comprehensive ethic entails finding your life by losing it. That’s not exactly an adaptive strategy.
I do not deploy Jesus’s instruction as a slam-dunk repudiation of the cognitive thesis. But one must do the proverbial squeezing of the square peg into a round hole to argue that this particular religious ethic expresses any innate drive to self-preservation. Jesus either protests the premise or identifies true life as being liberated from that premise. Either way, dismissing religious belief as a mental misfire doesn’t follow.
I doubt you awoke this morning wondering if your prayers were only a synaptic function equivalent to a loose wire. So I’ll leave you to the implications of this ambitious attempt at bringing every thought captive to your stillness in the Spirit.
But perhaps one offshoot application: Are you as interested in understanding the position of others as you are in making the gospel understood to them? Think about the “gentleness and respect” called for in the defense of our hope to others (1 Pet 3:15ff). You must leave your Kansas and enter their Oz if you ever want to explain how there’s no place like home with Him.
Do not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumbles, lest the Lord see it and be displeased, and turn away His anger from him.
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
He’d been suffering a splitting headache of late. The remedies of his day—bathing the feet in hot water, applying a mustard seed poultice to the wrists and nape of the neck—proved ineffective. Receiving a single communiqué on the morning of April 9 changed everything. The message, from General Robert E. Lee, commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, acknowledged his willingness to meet and work out the terms of the surrender of his forces. The note alleviated the throbbing in General Ulysses S. Grant’s head almost immediately.
The two generals met in the house of a Mr. McLean near Appomattox Court House, Virginia. Grant arrived looking somewhat disheveled, while Lee came dressed in full and new military dress. Lee concealed his true emotions at having to concede defeat. Grant remembered himself being less than jubilant, despite the victory of his union forces:
I felt like anything rather than rejoicing at the downfall of a foe who had fought so long and valiantly, and had suffered so much for a cause, though that cause was, I believe, one of the worst for which a people ever fought, and one for which there was the least excuse. I do not question, however, the sincerity of the great mass of those who were opposed to us. (Personal Memoirs of U.S. Grant)
Though these two had, for years, sought to outmaneuver one another’s movements and outmatch one another’s strength, the muted gathering that day proceeded with equal sobriety between them.
Last week we were introduced to a recent attempt by some scientists at explaining the existence of religious belief. Some cognitive scientists liken the religious impulse to what our minds have done with the heavens: arrange the random distribution of stars into constellations that conform to familiar entities—fish, bears, dippers, and twins. Though human existence is rife with apparent disorder, our minds prefer order. So religion is one offshoot of this ingrained mental proclivity—all to preserve ourselves, to facilitate our survival by bringing mental harmony to a cognitively dissonant existence.
Yet as Mark elaborated this week, Jesus declares a righteousness that does not make survival its highest virtue. If anything, His ethic increases one’s chances for being vanquished. Here a so-called religious idea cuts against the grain of what is assumed to be the underlying impulse for all religious ideas.
And the challenge to this new thesis isn’t unique to Jesus’s explicit teaching. For though He parted company with the teaching of His day, Jesus wasn’t being innovative with God’s previous revelation. Proverbs 24:17–18 envisions a supremely humble (and counterintuitive) response to the downfall of an enemy: Do not rejoice in his defeat, else God may take pity upon him and revive his antagonism.
Again, the command not to rejoice in an enemy’s ruin stands in contradistinction to the assumption that all religious faith has self-preservation as its foundational motivation. For if nature aims to save itself, and nature is “red in tooth and claw,” then our natural instincts should lead us not to respect our enemies (nor to suffer more of their blows) but to eradicate them forthwith.
Some men follow nature’s instincts, delighting in downfall. But Jesus does not. And neither did General Grant. For when he heard his men’s exuberance at the news of Lee’s surrender, he ordered the celebration to cease, saying, “The Confederates were now our prisoners, and our countrymen, and we did not want to exult over their downfall.”
What can enable us to rise above nature? The dignity of our adversaries is not itself enough motive to suffer their indignities or to restrain the impulse to rejoice in their suffering. We must instead appeal to the One who suffered the gravest indignity to preserve us from the greatest suffering imaginable.
Against whom are you poised to retaliate for their injuring?
Over whose injuries are you tempted to gloat?
Behold, I am the Lord.... Is anything too hard for me?
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
That he’s eleven years old may be the only reason he’s not on the litigious hit list of multinational food corporations.
Birke Baehr represents a rising generation giving greater thought to the food we eat, to how and where it’s cultivated. An article on mercury’s presence in the ubiquitous additive of high-fructose corn syrup planted a seed of unrest in his then eight-year-old mind. The seed grew into a twofold passion: expose the food industry’s harmful products and practices, and encourage a resurgence of sustainable and more equitable forms of farming that fared well in an earlier era.
The young upstart has turned heads and amplified the chorus of voices championing local, organic, environmentally conscious agriculture. His knowledge and passion landed him an invitation to give his endearing spiel at a recent TED Next Generation Talk. (TED stands for Technology, Entertainment, and Design—a nonprofit organization dedicated to sharing ideas on an array of issues from leading thinkers and dreamers).
In that 11-minute talk, seen now by over half a million people, Birke summarized his thesis in one bold and memorable epigram: We can pay the farmer or we can pay the hospital. That is, to adopt these minority practices is more expensive in up front. (My family’s bill from Whole Foods proves it!) But the higher cost of food pales compared to the price of continuing present consumption practices. Is our current health-care nightmare not influenced by the small choices we make at every meal? Pay the farmer or pay the hospital—either way, you pay.
Dr. Ryken reacquainted us with an unfamiliar but resonant episode in Jeremiah’s prophetic ministry. We have all had moments when our investment of faith and obedience appears to be a lost cause.
Jeremiah had only the promise of God to justify the purchase of land about to be annexed by Babylon. To buy the field would cost him on multiple levels, the financial outlay being of least concern. He would have to pay in terms of cognitive dissonance: What reasonable person would make that kind of investment when every indicator insisted on cutting your losses? Add to that the public nature of the transaction. Jeremiah had to sacrifice his credibility in his peers and people’s eyes—to say nothing of the surrender of his freedom as he sat incarcerated by his very own king. It cost Jeremiah in manifold dimensions to exercise faith and obedience.
We hear his story, sigh at what faith cost him, and remember that obedience in faith will often cost us. But do we ever consider what acting without faith costs us?
It costs us joy.
To make our guiding principle the minimal risk of faith and love is to deprive us of the joy of seeing God work in and through us. Loving only those who love us, expending ourselves in the expectation of reciprocity, giving only to the degree that it doesn’t impact how we live—these require no faith, reveal no obedience, and therefore yield no lasting, faith-building joy. As we deny Him purchase in and through our choices we also deny ourselves the joy of esteeming the One who multiplies faith the size of a mustard seed.
Some—even many—Kingdom-centered investments do not pan out. We may even take more losses of a kind than gains. And yet, adapting a line from Tennyson might be appropriate again: Better to have trusted God and not seen the vision come to fruition than never to have trusted Him at all.
Not all bold impulses are of the Lord. But neither are all hesitations born of prudence. Our conventional thinking serves us. But even convention—no matter how helpful—must be in submission to the Lord. For He ordains what abides by convention and what defies it. He does His will by ordinary means but also retains the right to transcend those means. He invites us sometimes to set convention aside and act on the basis of faith in His promise.
To synthesize Jeremiah’s lesson with Birke Baehr’s insight: You can pay with faith, love, and obedience or without. Either way, you pay. What prospective investment of faith, love, and obedience now presents itself? As you wrestle with trepidation about the cost, have you given as much consideration to the cost of setting faith aside?
Beware of practicing your righteousness before men in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Some estimate one hundred thousand species of them. Their names could be right out of central casting for a Godzilla flick—Aspergillus, Stachybotrys, Cladosporium.
Some types have been harnessed for medicine, others for food production. But the lion’s share of these infinitesimal organisms has a spectrum of noxious effects, from making you sneeze to making you bleed to death.
Mold is everywhere. It doesn’t have to be imported and it can’t be eradicated. It’s in the air we breathe. All it needs to flourish are a surface, some moisture, and a little uninterrupted time.
I believe mold has an analogue in the spiritual life. Jesus names hypocrisy as His greatest concern in one’s piety, a fact Mark pointed us to last Sunday. The Lord’s words in Matthew 6:1–18 reveal our propensity to let outward piety mask an inward bankruptcy. In fact His whole sermon evidences the ubiquity of hypocrisy. Our tendency is to condemn murder while countenancing misplaced anger (5:21ff); to denounce adultery while winking at lust (5:25ff), to lament injustice while encouraging retaliation (5:38-48). Jesus sees nothing but hypocrisy in our instinct to minimize the scope and severity of sin. Like mold, hypocrisy is in the air we breathe, needing the alignment of only a few variables for it to begin its work of degradation.
While Jesus makes it clear how hypocrisy can come to rest on both our communion with God and with each other, it is perhaps more insidious when it settles upon the former. We can enjoy the acceptance of our neighbor by smiling at him even while we slander him behind our back. We incur no harm because of his blissful ignorance. Whereas professing faith in God and giving perfunctory obedience to Him—what He considers most vile (Rev. 3:15ff)—can provide a false sense of divine acceptance even though He is neither fooled by nor indifferent to our hypocrisy. This hypocrisy is worse because it deceives us more effectively, with greater consequences.
That’s why Jesus begins chapter 6 with the imperative “beware.” If we only hear the command not to do what comes after the imperative we miss the force of it. Jesus prohibits a false piety, to be sure, but His nuance is one of preemptive warning. To beware is to be on the lookout for, to anticipate the presence of something. Cain was warned that sin was crouching at his door (Gen 4:7). Sin was that close and that dangerous. Since hypocrisy may colonize even our noblest efforts, Jesus’s warning underscores its danger by alluding to its universal presence.
Mold may be everywhere, but it poses little threat so long as certain conditions don’t exist. Can we say the same for hypocrisy? Can the news God has brought us in Christ keep hypocrisy’s multifarious manifestations from decomposing our souls? For that matter, can it be remediated should we find its blackness already beneath the surface of our actions? It can.
As light and fresh air retard the growth of mold, so hypocrisy shrivels when the gospel exposes its self-deception. The cross intones both how misled we are and how well we mislead others and ourselves. Jesus awakens us to its deception—how hypocrisy delivers little while depriving us of much. We may gratify ourselves by preserving a pretense, but what good is it to fool others when you’re not even fooling God? Honesty in our impiety and in our weaknesses sprouts (and signals) the growth of a true righteousness that putting on airs never could.
Next week we’ll consider how prayer is central to warding off hypocrisy’s encroachment (something about a barber—just wait). For now we remember that He who was the Light came to shine light upon what is dark in us. He in whom there was no guile died to free us from our bent to live by guile.
What hypocrisy will cost you is nothing to sneeze at. Where might it be lurking in the crevices of your heart?
“And when you pray, do not heap up empty phrases... Pray then like this...”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
His name was Peter Beskendorf and he was a barber. He’d applied razor to many a head in his day, including the once-tonsured monk Martin Luther, who happened to be the barber’s pastor.
Trimming Luther’s mop one day, Beskendorf confided to his pastor his own difficulties in prayer. Praying without ceasing had proved too burdensome, the promise of rich communion with God in prayer too elusive. With his spiritual shepherd now a captive audience, Peter made the most of the opportunity by asking Luther how he himself prayed. In response, Luther composed a 20-page letter on prayer. (I wonder if Peter was sorry he asked?)
Two Sundays ago Mark took us to Jesus’s stern warnings about spiritual hypocrisy, a sin, as we commented last week, whose ubiquity is part of its danger. Mercy and fasting, as two of Jesus’s examples, can devolve into something unrecognizable when ostentation overtakes them. No act of piety is immune to the parasitic presence of hypocrisy. That includes prayer.
Yet, in providing Beskendorf structure and simplicity for prayer, Luther showed how prayer itself supplies robust resistance to an outbreak of hypocrisy. Rather than suggesting he sit and wait for the impulse to address the Almighty, Luther sent him back to the scriptures as grist for prayer, with a four-fold meditative process later termed “Strand Prayer”:
Far from a wooden way to prayer, this framework focuses a straying mind and frees the heart to speak. Luther’s comment to Beskendorf is as pertinent to our day as it was to his: “He who thinks of many things thinks of nothing and accomplishes no good.”
Luther applied this meditative process to any brief text, even to the historic creeds of the church. As an introduction to the exercise, Luther encouraged Beskendorf to begin with meditation on the Psalms, the Ten Commandments, and, in particular, the Lord’s Prayer (Mt 6:7ff). When meditating on the latter, Luther would give focused attention to each word or phrase—as Mark outlined last Sunday—until the consideration elicited words of gratitude, confession, and supplication.
I, too, recently meditated on just the word Father from verse 9. I wondered why Jesus would have us use that moniker for God. Why not “sovereign master” or “immortal, invisible one”—equally descriptive and honorific terms? Could it be that Jesus wanted us to know God as, of course, one with authority, but also one who provides and protects, who chastens and disciplines, and who loves and delights in those who are His?
The mere thinking on God as Father prompted questions in me that were really confessions: “Why am I ever anxious?” “Why should unexpected circumstances ever cause me to chafe?” If God is my Father, those responses betray a failure to believe that. Now I was beginning to see anew the meaning of the text, its implications, my heart’s own deficits, and what I need from Him to become more like His Son. The meditation doesn’t accomplish the change but lights the path for it.
It’s this kind of approach (but not the only one!) that keeps the hypocrisy Jesus warned of from infiltrating prayer. Why? For one, it can’t be done publicly. Yes, there is strong rationale for group prayer, but this kind of meditation requires the hiddenness Jesus urges. The absence of a crowd diminishes the propensity for pomp.
Second, it forestalls hypocrisy because the patient attention required can’t help but humble us. Consider how immersed we are in a culture of speed, stimulation, and multitasking. If this kind of meditation is new to you, the very effort to focus your attention will likely unnerve you at first—the idea of it will be more appealing than the actual experience.
Last, once the boat gets moving, patient consideration of His teaching will reveal how far we are from the heart He intends—and how much we need the gospel’s hope to persevere.
Lent is over half past us, but the opportunity to train our souls for godliness remains. Might you and I consider making Luther’s plan for prayer ours for the remainder of this season? Our souls could probably use a trim.
For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You can never say it all in a single sermon, though I suppose anyone familiar with my sermons would think I try (and too hard). Fortunately, there’s always another Sunday, or another forum like this one, when the preacher can include what time didn’t allow.
We tried to make the case last Sunday that Jesus’s admonition to lay up treasures in heaven, rather than on earth, represented an ax laid at the root of conventional investment strategies—an unqualified challenge to our instinct to live as if this world were all there is.
To be sure, letting heavenly priorities shape all earthly investments demands as much dedication to a long-term view as any portfolio manager might ask of a client seeking to feather their bed. But Jesus’s strategy promises a confidence, coherence, and contentment that other strategies cannot, and it entails faith of a different kind. This faith is bound up with a love for One whom we cannot see, yet who is able to provide us joy amid circumstances that make us second-guess our outlays (1 Pet 1:8). This faith is tied to a bloody cross that convinces us we cannot procure our greatest need or our greatest joy, but only receive them. And what we receive is meant to keep us from trying to look for our salvation where it can’t be found. Such was our argument.
But since no argument is perfect, all arguments invite rebuttal, which then provides an opportunity to refine the original.
For example, our summary of Jesus’s teaching might be construed as an unqualified call to cast off all extraneous resources. But doesn’t the availability of personal resources free us to serve in ways unavailable to those with limited resources? Wasn’t the progress of Martin Luther’s advocacy for reform, for instance, providentially underwritten by a whole network of well-connected, well-funded elites? We might say Jesus’s teaching to be wary of wealth’s hold doesn’t indict wealth itself—it’s the love of money He and the New Testament condemn. But since the heart’s propensity for making wealth its god is a timeless phenomenon (cf. Deut 8:11ff, 1 Tim 6:9–10), only those attuned to that propensity are capable of using abundance without being beguiled by it (cf. 1 Tim 6:17–19).
As another counterpoint to our argument, consider how we said Jesus’s investment strategy provided a greater confidence in how we spent our lives. But what of those Kingdom-centered investments that are now but a shadow of their former selves? As one example, consider the multitude of educational institutions established in America’s earliest days for the explicit purpose of enriching the church by preparing future pastors. Now most do more to repudiate faith than mature it. How can there be confidence in purposeful sacrifice that gets derailed? One answer: though a fruitful season may give way to barrenness, what time and men forget God does not; our confidence rests on His pleasure in our faithfulness more than in the perseverance of its outcomes.
Finally, we said the Lord’s strategy gave us contentment not found in worldly investments. Jason Russell’s foundation, Invisible Children, (whose Kony 2012 video we referenced) has rocketed the name of Joseph Kony to global notoriety, but for the purpose of bringing the infamous Ugandan warlord to international justice. In the last week you’ve probably heard of Mr. Russell’s psychological breakdown in the wake of global acclaim and outrage at his efforts. Russell attributes his passion for justice to his faith in Christ—so how can this Kingdom-centered strategy promise contentment when it seems to have blunted Russell’s capacity to reflect the Kingdom’s character? This is no dogpile upon a brother for whom you and I should pray. But unless we cling more tightly to Him who sustains the Kingdom vision than to the hallowed vision itself, we risk allowing the status of the vision to become our sustenance; and public approval and apparent progress are too fickle to keep one fed.
Any argument worth its salt deserves scrutiny, that its soundness might be proved. Jesus’s investment strategy differs so radically from how a consumption economy functions that it provokes challenge from us—perhaps in a visceral way before we can even articulate our objections. What arguments do you instinctively put forth that might so qualify His words that they no longer ask anything of you? How might what Jesus’s cross procures and promises you answer back?
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Editor’s note: This week we are publishing the meditation that will be offered in Good Friday’s noontime service.
I am neither political pundit nor prognosticator, but I am certain that you will never hear any political candidate give this speech:
“My fellow Americans, I want to thank you for your encouragement and support thus far in my campaign—especially the moneyed interests without whose support I’d be giving this speech on the back of a pickup truck. Your large, quiet financial contributions, your smile as you intimated expectations of political reciprocity later. Thanks also to your legal teams for keeping your association with me out of the media whenever you commit anything untoward.
I’d like to thank you all for your passion for the issues I’ve campaigned for—issues I really don’t know too much about, nor have much conviction for. Issues, which the focus groups say, are great for getting attention and currying favor. Issues with statistics—statistics I can rattle off readily because my handlers drill me on them before I take the platform. Statistics that sound legitimate, but can’t be verified—not that anyone wants to.
I’d also like to thank my wife for her unflinching willingness to maintain the charade that I am as wonderful as my haircut and smile suggest. All I had to do was keep you well-dressed, coiffed, and delight you with the prospect of hobnobbing with exotic, influential people—you’ve really kept up appearances! Love you, babe!
Most of all I’d like to thank you, for your personal support of me, because while I have some interest in you, and in making this a better place, I realize that most of what fuels me and my campaign is that I need this. I need to win. I need to feel needed, and winning will help me feel good about myself. That’s my greatest good. And I’m in good company since most of you are the same: your greatest good is no higher than your own good. So we’re made for each other.
So let me conclude with words I don’t really mean: God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”
If anyone gives that speech, the crowd goes silent, the men spit the olives back into their martini glasses, and the campaign manager suddenly needs smelling salts. It’s a cynical vision of politics, I know, but I’m not alone. One commentator put it this way this week: “November 2012 will be the most important auction in our nation's history.” Sadly there’s probably more truth to this cynical view than we’d like to admit.
The Lord Jesus was no politician. He did not tell people what they wanted to hear in order to curry their favor and increase His following. He greased no palms and took no kickbacks. Yet, in this moment of his deepest agony, Jesus gave perhaps his most transparent speech—one that seems, on one level, an embarrassment. Scandalous to Him and all He’d stood for considering what all He’d said about the goodness of God, His Father. But by His transparency and what follows it, Jesus teaches us two things that go to the very heart of our being.
He teaches us something about fear and something about glory.
Jesus understands fear—He gets it. He’d spoken with foreboding for much of His ministry, alluding to but not elaborating upon His anticipation of being delivered up to the Jewish elites and executed for unsubstantiated crimes.
As the moment approached, the foreboding turned to complex of emotions: sorrowful as He invited some of His disciples to tarry with Him in the Garden of Gethsemane; wistful for some other way to accomplish His father’s will; so anguished that his tears were like drops of blood. And doesn’t drinking the cup of those emotions have an undertone of fear accompanying them?
In a matter of hours, Jesus endures almost everything we might fear: betrayal, ridicule, savagery, intense, unrelenting pain, and the sense of being swallowed up by death. All that He experienced—all that tempted Him with fear. But in His dying words, His transparent anguish does this for us: He teaches us what most to fear. By His outcry, He taught us to fear the abandonment of God most.
All else he suffered provided ample reason for inward terror. Anything fearful in our condition, short of God’s turning Himself away from us, is anything but illusory. But for Jesus to summarize His agony in terms of God’s absence means there can be no greater horror than to know you the rejection of God.
To learn what most to fear has its own merit. It’s always better to know the greater of two dangers. I hit a pop fly to my son in our front yard. He takes off backward, tensing up, trying to track the arc of the ball, straining to position an outstretched glove—and all for fear of dropping the earthbound object. If his path to the ball takes him into the middle of the street, and I do not warn him of the oncoming car driven by the man distracted by his cell phone, then my son will devote disproportionate attention to the lesser of two fears. It does him no good and only harm not to respect the greater threat.
From the cross, Jesus specifies the greater danger, echoing what he said to his disciples in a quieter moment in Matthew 10: “...do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell” (v.28). Men and circumstances may terrorize you, but they are nothing compared to falling into the hands of the living, and angry, God. (Heb 10:31).
Yet in teaching us what most to fear, Jesus is not inviting us to live in fear. For in what follows His transparent speech, we learn what He did about that greatest fear. Here we come to what He teaches us about glory.
Jesus breathes his last, and in its wake, glorious things happen—things only feebly imagined but now finally realized. The temple curtain is torn in two, signifying both an end to a kind of separation between God and men, and the beginning of a new era of access to the living God. The world literally shakes at the shift. And men and women rise from their graves, signifying an end to death’s stranglehold on all humanity. Even the pervasiveness of cynicism is placed in check, exemplified in the humble concession by a hardened soldier who realized he’d witnessed the death of more than a mere man.
Amid the dark horror of Jesus’ death, the glory of God shines forth, and not just to impress us that God’s power and plan were at work. Glories now bursting forth in living color are meant to teach us where to find our greatest glory—that is, upon what to rest our deepest sense of satisfaction and gratification.
What is, and must become, our most gladdening truth? What idea must we continually circle back to in order to live and die well? The glory that followed His agony reveals that that our greatest satisfaction is to be found in a restored favor with God, and a corresponding freedom from the fear of death.
Jesus celebrates new health and new insight. He hails fresh faith and raw repentance. But the curtain-tearing, rock-splitting, grave-opening tumult points us to where we have to plant our ultimate hopes and seek our ultimate joys. All other delights and pleasures have their own merit, but none like knowing that He knows and loves us and that we will never be apart from Him.
That is what He meant to teach us by His transparency—what most to fear and where to find our glory. But He does more than teach; he means to transform our fears and our glories—from all-consuming to God-endearing.
We all fear. Some of us walked into this room today already rattled. Others of us sit here with this undercurrent of anxiety we can’t quite explain but can’t deny. Left to themselves, those fears become all-consuming. And our natural instinct is to turn from God and appeal to some other truth or remedy, going in a thousand irrational, maniacal directions just to console our soul. I know this, because I do this. So do you.
Jesus identifies with our fears on the cross so that we might identify with His trust in His Father. But He transforms our fears when He invites us to, if you will, filter our fears through the cross: to place our fears against what should be our greatest fear—to see them in the context of being utterly abandoned by God, and then realize Christ Himself has utterly obliterated that reason for fear. Viewing our fears in the shadow of what His cross did convicts us as it consoles us: convicted that our fears betray our failure to believe He’s solved our greatest fear; consoled that, if He can resolve our ultimate fear, he is more than willing and able to help us face our other fears with peace.
He transforms our glories in similar fashion.
We glory in many things—derive great satisfaction from them. In that there’s no harm.
But almost instinctually we find ourselves trying to replicate the successes to preserve the feelings that come with those glories—or we just try to sustain the feelings themselves. In time, one of two things will happen: we let those glories lure us away from God, such that we think we no longer have need of Him. Or we let those glories so define us—tell us who we are and what we’re worth—that when the glories fade, we fade with them. Life devolves into delusion or nostalgia; either way, we’re lost.
Jesus’ transparent speech and death transform our glories by inviting us to filter our glories through the glory His cross purchased us. When simple pleasures or monumental achievements gratify us, we take them to God by reminding ourselves of what constitutes our greatest gratification.
Jesus doesn’t chide us for the satisfaction we find, for instance in achievements, or our talents, or our children. He’s not interested in stealing joy from these lesser glories. Rather, He means to remind us that all the glories of this life are themselves gifts—gifts that point us to a Giver to whom we are then endeared all the more. Viewing our glories in the light of our greatest glory keeps us from forgetting the God from whom all blessings—and glories—flow.
Do you see how fear and glory are inseparably linked? Unless Jesus’ transparent speech transforms our fears from all-consuming to God-endearing, fear will often fuel our pursuit of some glories. And frustration or loss of our glories will create fear. This is a good Friday because Jesus’ death gives us the hope and the power to have rightly ordered fears and glories.
So to those of you in this room who don’t know exactly why you’ve come, save for some indefinable urge to consider Jesus again, His speech to you is His Gospel: trust in what His death did for you and He will rescue you from all-consuming fears and intoxicating, yet unsatisfying, glories.
And to those who have yielded to Him, but who find themselves beset with lingering fears, or dulled to the glory of God by your own lesser glories, humble yourselves in the sight of God by taking your abiding fears and distracting glories to the foot of this cross. That is your spiritual formation.
We may never get a wholly transparent politician but we shall always have a transparent Lord, who sees through you and died for you anyway.
Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Writing in the New Yorker in 2002, Malcolm Gladwell tells the story of Dr. Paul Ekman, a Harvard psychologist who likes to look at people’s faces. After years of studying facial affect among a variety of cultures, Ekman began noticing certain universal muscle movements that corresponded to common human emotions. He documented forty-three distinct movements our faces can make, which can yield no less than three thousand unique combinations of expression.
Eventually Ekman and his colleagues compiled the database of expressions into what came to be known as the Facial Action Coding System (FACS). This system has found manifold applications, from training law-enforcement in counter-terrorism to rendering computer-generated images of an aged Brad Pitt in the film, The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. The face is truly a treasure trove of information.
Mark provoked our biblical imaginations last Sunday by asking us to envisage the visages of those who witnessed the tomb firsthand. Though the New Testament is spare (but not silent) in describing the emotional states of its personages—including the Lord Jesus, Himself—we do well to picture their faces accompanying their words and deeds, even if our visualizations are, speaking contemporarily, of the lowest resolution. The cursory mentions of Joseph of Arimathea convey his actions, but we can easily imagine what his face exhibited as fear followed him while retrieving the body of Jesus. The text says the women “stood at a distance” when the tomb was sealed, but it takes little imagination to see in one’s mind the sorrow upon their disillusioned faces.
Conceptualizing the faces of our Lord when He wept, of Saul on a Damascus road about to have his name changed, of Martha missing the point as she scurried to prepare a meal for Jesus enriches our study. Unforeseen benefits accrue from meditating upon the larger, if implicit, emotional dimension of a given moment by imagining faces. Yet thinking about faces may have an even larger significance for our spiritual formation.
What Ekman and Gladwell argue is that our faces don’t lie, try as we might to get the smiling muscles of our zygomaticus major to cover for us. Since our faces unmask our mood, we can say, by extension, they also betray our theology—or, to the superficial observer, belie it. They image our hearts, bearing witness to our raw, unalloyed beliefs about the Lord and ourselves.
If, for example, we see God as only a stern taskmaster, demanding and exacting swift compliance to all He has said, would not such a belief register upon our faces at least subtly? Or in contrast, wouldn’t an abiding peace on the face signal an abiding trust in the majesty and mercy of God? We could only make said deductions based on extensive observation in public and private settings, the latter verifying the authenticity of the former. But we learn much truth from seeing the face well.
Imagine our own little experiment with the Facial Action Coding System, this time with a spiritual application. If somehow we could compile your facial expressions over the last six months into a database and generate a composite picture of your most common expression, what would the analysis reveal? Would the dominant muscle combinations correspond to sorrow or to delight? Would your levator palpebrae superioris and depressor glabellae (the muscles exhibiting anger) score high? Would the analysis show fear—the most sophisticated and demanding of the combinations–portending your face was bound for breakdown?
A single snapshot in time yields evidence pertaining to the moment. But this imaginary composite picture would help us understand how you see all your moments. For how we see God seeing us shapes how we see ourselves and all else.
The imaginary experiment may be more feasible than you think. A little reflection—perhaps just asking those who see your face most often—could provide the composite picture that reveals your heart’s truest belief. Then with that image in mind, you might ask what your face’s dominant orientation discloses about your perception of God’s perception of you. Does your rendering of His face include a look of enduring love and firm insistence on following? Are the nuances of sin-hating and sinner-loving both present in the picture you envision?
Resurrection day may have passed, but a resurrection life—the one awaiting the day when we shall see Him face to face (1Cor 13:12)—demands we let the Cross sketch the full holiness and mercy of God’s now hidden face.
"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
They might have been the nicest pair of shoes I’d ever worn—a hand-me-down pair from a friend, but with no evidence of wear and freshly resoled.
Problem was—they were about two sizes too small.
At first I would not be deterred. I muscled my feet into their incommodious space, hoping the struggle would loosen the seams just enough to make them more hospitable.
It was not to be. My metatarsals soon became claustrophobic. There in my office, as the premarital couple I was counseling perhaps wondered what distracted me, I mustered enough grace to ask if I might remove my shoes for the remainder of our time. My only consolation as I sat there unshod: the future wife of the couple was Japanese, who found my request entirely proper!
Affluence can expand what we experience in this world, and allow us to exercise our wills in ways deprivation cannot. But in dissuading us from laying up treasures on earth, Jesus is not just warning us of being entranced by the ephemeral; He’s admonishing us against adopting a cramped existence, like walking in a beautiful pair of shoes two sizes too small.
Cramped in what sense, though?
In C.S. Lewis’ final novel, Till We Have Faces, Orual, is the homely daughter of a hubristic king and narrator of the story. She has a tutor whom she affectionately refers to as “Grandfather,” a slave her father purchased so he wouldn’t be troubled with child-raising.
For dark, convoluted reasons, Orual’s younger half-sister, Psyche, (whom Orual loves like a daughter) is sacrificed to appease the god, Ungit, in hopes of restoring order to the kingdom beset with successive calamities. When Orual journeys to gather Psyche’s remains, she finds her quite alive, well, and convinced of the presence of divine and splendid realities around them that Orual, alas, cannot see—save one glimpse of something like a palace, which Psyche alludes to in her ecstasy. Conflicted, Orual briefly departs Psyche: is her sister mad or is she simply blind to what sounds so real and resplendent to Psyche?
Orual shares her dissonance with Grandfather, provoking this exchange:
“You don’t think,” Orual asks, “there might be things that are real though we can’t see them?”
“Certainly I do,” her tutor responds, “such things as Justice, Equality, the Soul, or musical notes.”
“Oh, Grandfather, I don’t mean things like that. If there are souls, could there not be soul-houses?”
(Orual here challenges her tutor’s Stoic conception of the soul as that which is deep and real in a person, but which does not persist beyond life.)
“After all these years, you have never begun to understand what the soul means,” he laments.
“I know well enough what you mean by it,” she retorts, “But do you, even you, know all? Are there no things—I mean things—but what we see?”
Lewis’ novel explores the struggle to believe in the soul and its corresponding unseen realities, but his characters mean for us, in the end, to embrace the truth of them, albeit by faith. It’s not a blind faith he recommends—for there are reasons for such—but the reasons aren’t enough to obviate the need for faith. Now what has this to do with Jesus’ words about treasures?
None would deny the affluent life presents astounding opportunity to benefit others. But it presents equivalent temptation to give no thought to the reality of those things that are, but are not seen—like the soul (Mt 10:28), the powers and principalities (Eph 6:12), and the coming Kingdom (Jn 3:3). Succumbing to that temptation means stepping into a cramped existence. Consider two examples.
For one, without the context of what is unseen we tend to make idols of what we do see. We can turn our children, as one example, into trophies of our own efforts rather than preparing them to become servants of the living God. For if they are only minds with bodies, and if they’re greatest joy is in this age only, then we shall (mis)shape them accordingly.
Furthermore, when calamity comes we corner ourselves in a suffocating space of despair if we only seek refuge in what is visible. For, as Paul says, “our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. Therefore we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen.” (2 Cor 4:17–18)
How would renewed belief in the reality of what is unseen adjust your investments today?
If the shoe cannot fit. . .
Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing?
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Everyone’s looking for an answer to anxiety. Some of late have sought to spin it as more salubrious than we might have imagined.
Mark’s answer to anxiety last Sunday from Jesus’ sermon on the subject was meditation—the patient, reflective musing upon the greatness and goodness of God. But why meditation? Why not just reading? It has something to do with the nature of knowledge.
God’s nature, character, and instruction are all conveyed in propositional terms in scripture, even when those propositions come to us in narrative form. Yet God is not known in a purely—that is, exclusively—propositional way. We may read statements about Him and pray those statements to remind ourselves of what is true of Him. Yet while the words are containers that “bring” Him to us, the words themselves, or the thoughts they express, do not fully contain Him.
Time for an illustration to rescue this from hopeless abstraction.
The statement: “my wife loves me” is a propositional statement that can be explained and verified. I know it to be true because she has chosen to abide after 12 years of learning the craggy contours of my soul. I can speak the statement, give evidence to substantiate it, but it cannot encompass the fullness of what it conveys. To say my wife loves me and to know she loves me are therefore two different things. I know her love in ways no words can convey, and in terms for which there are no sufficient comprehensive propositions.
My point: I can know a truth in a way and to a degree that I cannot express in mere propositional form. That I cannot put it in words doesn’t diminish the validity of the truth; if anything, its ineffableness adds to its authenticity. And while it might behoove me to spend more time finding a few words to characterize that love, I am content to know that part of what that love is defies description.
So it is with knowing God. He is known by His words, but He is known in ways not bound by, or contained in, words. Scripture rightly ascribes to God words such as awe, majesty, inscrutability, but to believe God is known exclusively in the mode by which words mediate truth, is to deny the analogical nature of the words we use of God.
To be clear, this kind of knowledge of God neither refutes, nor is refuted by, what His words disclose. We praise Him for revealing Himself through a linguistic medium common to humanity. But we praise Him all the more that He is known—that we commune with Him—in a way beyond the limits of propositional truth. As another example, it’s one thing to say Jean Valjean longed for Marius to return from the fighting at the Barricade; it’s quite another to hear him sing “Bring Him Home” as testimony to that longing. There is a qualitative difference between the character of knowledge those two mediums provide. Since God is God, is He not able to strengthen our confidence in Him beyond what arguments and assertions can?
What has this to do with our anxieties? Mark could spend a whole sermon intoning 1 Peter 5:6–7, “humble yourself, therefore, under the mighty hand of God...casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you.” They convey a familiar truth that can be explained and corroborated by other words found in scripture, but the God behind the words is bigger than the words themselves—even on days when it seems the words of the text rise no further than the opaque linen paper on which they are printed.
So as we come to the texts that explain why we can, and must, cast off anxiety, it’s both good and necessary to know that the proposition, “He cares for you,” has behind it a God who will persuade us of its truth in a way straightforward declaration cannot. Since “His Spirit bears witness with our spirit,” we read God’s words in order to receive from God what words cannot alone deliver.
That is precisely why Mark would exhort us to meditation, for only by it are we respecting the nature of God as One who works through words, yet beyond them.
C.S. Lewis’ imaginary demon, Screwtape, warns his junior demon, Wormwood, that efforts to dissuade faith in God fail when the person directs his prayers, “Not to what I think thou art, but to what thou knowest thyself to be.” Anxiety dissipates when thoughts of God strive to accommodate His greatness, and the striving begins with meditation. By it can we glean from the field that mere reading takes note of, but only passes by.
You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Like a once brilliant sign faded by the unremitting blaze of a searing sun, our marriage, five years in, had lost its luster amid the heat of life’s vicissitudes. As is common to every marriage under the sun, a series of circumstances coalesced and found us unprepared to face them with faith, hope, and love. Misspoken words inflicted hurt feelings that in time festered into unresolved differences. We both knew something needed to change but found only the fog of our own hearts between us and the next step.
So we invited an elder and his wife for dinner to have a candid conversation.
Today, years later, neither of us can remember what precisely they shared that evening. Their counsel was clear and uncomplicated; it embodied Solomon’s appreciation for an “apt word fitly spoken, like apples of gold in a setting of silver” (Prov 25:11). Though the work of restoration only began then, their several compassionate but firm words rescued us from marital paralysis.
If you were in worship with us last Sunday, you witnessed dozens of individuals and families experience formal recognition of new membership into our church. Your elders had the privilege of sitting with each of them, hearing their own stories of rescue and acquainting them with the warp and woof of PCPC.
They made the same vows as you when you joined—vows with significance inversely proportional to the time we (can) give them on New Member Recognition Sunday. They are vows that affirm the singular glory and mercy of God in Christ, and our utter dependence on His grace for communion with our Triune God—and vows to uphold the church in her work of manifesting the Kingdom of God in the world.
The last vow you heard these new members utter entailed a submission “to the government and discipline of the church.” It’s a promise to yield to the wisdom, guidance, and, when necessary, reproof from those in church authority with respect to one’s spiritual welfare. Just as parents, who at times exert a firm pressure upon the children they love to keep them from acts that threaten themselves and the family they belong to, so Christ has established both a mandate and a protocol for the church to exercise comparable restraint upon those who have become part of the family of God.
The phrase “church discipline” may evoke images of Hester Prynne or knickered men in colonial stocks and pillories. But in truth, it represents a careful and prayerful, persistent and consistent application of rehabilitative—not punitive—correction. In fact, it is only the development of the humble, patient process of correction Jesus outlined in Matthew 7, with which Mark helped us grapple last Sunday.
But while the practice of church discipline is essential to the integrity and vitality of the church, it is meant to be means of last resort. You might even say that while the church should never flinch at having to exercise it, there is a preferable way to ensure her wholeness—a way I believe God intends and which occurs long before anyone even voices the word discipline. You might call that way “holy nosiness.”
This nosiness, like its more familiar denotation, has a distinct interest in what’s beneath the surface, both positive and negative. But in contrast to its typical purpose of finding fodder for gossip, this nosiness has only good intention in mind. It asks the deeper questions that seek to unmask the “idealized” version of ourselves we like to project—an instinct we’re all familiar with and one well attested (HT: Jim Denison). This nosiness has no interest in simply cataloguing other’s innermost struggles or in gratifying one’s own interests for hidden information. Yet the inquiry proceeds to provide a sacred space for unvarnished sharing—confessing even—so that both the grace and truth of God might span the wide gulf between two souls which our preference for privacy and devotion to decorum tend to create.
And that is why I opened with my transparent episode from early in our marriage. It is our instinct to nurture an insulation that facilitates a long, slow, and often insensible demise. We knew that instinct and feared it enough to lean against it by asking someone humble and wise enough to butt in and be nosy–both then and thereafter.
Does anyone really know you here? Is there anyone whom you’ve invited to be holily nosy with you?
Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened.
Shannon received a Masters of Divinity, with a counseling emphasis, from Westminster Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Josh, have four children and are church planting in the Dallas Latino community. Life experience, studying God’s Word, and counseling training contribute to the couseling she does with individuals and married couples on a variety of issues including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, parenting, marriage, abuse, and addictions.
Whether someone follows Christ or not, the words above may be one of Jesus’ most famous sayings. “Do unto others,” is another top slogan of His tossed around by school teachers and Presidents, but given our country’s prosperity and consumerism one might think, “Ask and ye shall receive” are the white print on America’s black T-shirt. But what Jesus offers to us all is something far different than a proof text for the prosperity gospel. It’s the vehicle of transformation to make us like Him.
The World Bank lists the United States with the highest GDP in the world, more than three times the next countries listed, Japan and China. Within the U.S., the average white household has fifteen times the wealth of the average Latino or African-American household, according to a 2007 Survey from the Federal Reserve Board. Exclude home equity and tabulate only financial wealth, and white households have one hundred times that of their Latin or African-American neighbors.
But Jesus isn’t American or white, despite what my children’s Bible of the 1970s depicted, nor is He telling listeners to ask for more “stuff.” What He is telling us to ask for, according to Luke 11, is a gift far different than earthly riches or manufactured power. It is the Holy Spirit given to us so that we can make the lowly of this world raised up:
“And I tell you, ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!" (Lk 11:9-13)
Would it be fair to say that Jesus’ radical announcement of this gift is often lost on most of us? If you were handed a wrapped box and lifted the lid to find a coupon that said, “redeemable for the Holy Spirit,” what would you expect to happen once you got Him?
If you’ve been a post-Enlightenment Presbyterian for more than ten minutes, would it be a stretch to think this Spirit makes you look and act like Jesus—miracles and all? Or are these types of “signs of the Spirit” something the apostles did in Acts but only sweaty Pentecostals and TV evangelist shysters do today for show? As twenty-first century Christians in the U.S., might we all have to knock more the Holy Spirit’s door for a greater understanding?
When Jesus speaks in Matthew and Luke, the Holy Spirit was a rare bird, no pun intended. Previously, the Spirit was given only to judges, prophets, priests, and kings. So, think predominantly male and Jewish. There were exceptions, as the Spirit was given to 70 elders with Moses, along with artisans for the tabernacle and temple. King David’s military warriors were uniquely gifted with the Spirit, plus the few female prophetesses and judges mentioned in the Old Testament.
But here, Jesus is saying that our heavenly Father (also a rare concept for Jesus’ listeners) is so mind-blowingly generous, He gives the Holy Spirit to anyone who seeks Him. And this Spirit makes you new, forgiven, God’s child, loved, loving, and helps you understand and obey His word. He enlightens you to know how to judge, proclaim Jesus’ resurrection, be scorned. He also teaches you to share all you have with the poor, stop sinning, and abound in hope. He makes you a healer, wise, humble, born again, and gives eternal life.
You can be old or young, male or female. You can be Jewish. You can be Gentile. You can be rich or poor.
But before receiving this gift, Jesus’ listeners had to wait for one thing – His coming death, His shed blood, and resurrection – then the Spirit was theirs for the asking. But the question isn’t, “Can I have the Holy Spirit?” The question is, “Father, will you forgive me?” And for anyone who asks, he or she receives.
Some of you may have already asked for God’s forgiveness, but you may not know what the Holy Spirit is empowering you to do. Knock on His door. Pray with others to see what you’ve already received, and let us know what you find.
So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets.
Even the most secular among us would embrace this teaching, right? Almost everyone desires to live in a benevolent society marked by the reality of this simple biblical principle. Yet this teaching is at complete odds with how the world operates and how believers often behave.
I live with my family in northern Italy. Trying to live out this Royal Law definitely puts us at odds with Italian culture. Here, the rule is return “good for good” and “evil for evil.” Now there are positive ways in which this plays out in Italian society—hospitality, for example. It is a social obligation to reciprocate hospitable kindness. It is not just appropriate, it is expected. It is a conviction that runs in their blood, and we benefit by experiencing some wonderful meals as a result.
However, if you have read anything about Italy in recent months, you have seen that the country is paralyzed politically, economically, and socially. Why? It is my observation that one of the biggest contributors to Italy’s problems is the conviction that you do not have to do your part until another does his part. This is returning “evil for evil.” I am justified in not following the rules until “they” start following the rules. One business refuses to pay another business until they are paid by yet another, meanwhile that business is waiting to be paid by another—and on and on. Everyone sees that the system doesn’t work, but they refuse to change their own behavior to fix it.
Considerably less than 1% of Northern Italians profess faith in Christ as the Son of God and as the only way to know God. As a result, there are few people who care about living according to biblical standards. They are convinced—and not without reason—that if they do what is right, they will become victims. Obviously, as followers of Christ, we are trying to avoid adopting this standard of returning “evil for evil” and using other people’s irresponsibility as an excuse to be irresponsible. One would think that this type of behavior would be respected. However, I was recently told that I was a fool because I paid a bill that I rightfully needed to pay. The person who called me a fool wanted me to use nonpayment as a weapon to wield power over the other party. I was told that I didn’t understand how Italy worked. Ironically, I believe this is why Italy does not work.
As believers we understand the idea that we are not supposed to return “evil for evil.” However, I fear that we often behave as if we are only obligated to do good to those that deserve it, or who have shown goodness to us. It seems that we do not understand that our doing good to others is not conditional. Why are we supposed to treat someone else in a way that we want to be treated? This passage does not say treat others that agree with you the way you want to be treated. It does not say treat those deserving of goodness the way you would like to be treated. It does not say treat the godly the way you would like to be treated. We are simply supposed to treat others the way we ourselves would like to be treated. Think about the ungodly around you. How did Christ treat the prostitutes—with disdain? Harsh words? Stronger legislation? If followers of Christ would put this principle into practice, while the world may think we are fools, they will not think we are unloving, ungracious, or ungodly. Putting this principle into practice will put you at odds with the world—even against Christian culture at times. Living this out will mean you have entered in that narrow gate and are traveling on that difficult path. There will be times when it will be hard to know how to show love to someone who is full of hate. It will be challenging to know how to show grace to someone who is embracing sin. Often the challenge will be simply to have the desire to do these things. However, the benefit of traveling that path will lead you to life as Matthew 7:14 promises, and maybe inspire others to follow.
Thus you will recognize them by their fruits.
Bio here.
This is a bio.
In this discourse, preached on a hillside near the Sea of Galilee, Jesus contrasts two types of people—the religious and the righteous. Jesus makes clear that they are very different groups of people. In Matthew 7, Jesus discusses the difference between the religious and the righteous when it comes to judging. The chapter is full of surface level contradictions, one sure to confuse and confound many readers, and too often believers.
In the first short section, verses 1–5, Jesus tells us not to judge—but only in a certain way. Then verse 6, which reads, “do not give dogs (i.e. Gentiles) what is holy and do not throw your pearls before pigs…” requires making a judgment, as does knowing what to ask for (vv. 7–11), choosing which gate and path to take (vv. 12–14), and the section on false prophets (vv. 15–20). If we are to distinguish between a false prophet and a true prophet, we must make judgments. So Jesus begins this chapter by telling us not to judge, and then proceeds to tell his followers they must make many kinds of judgments over the course of their Christian lives. Avoiding the egregious cultural sin of judging in order to be politically correct or to be “nice” won’t cut it for the righteous as Jesus describes them.
The fruit of a purported prophet’s life, Jesus says, reveals what type of prophet has come to us. But miracles and power aren’t the fruit or the evidence Jesus is looking for. The ability to perform miracles does not reveal the provenance of the prophet. Jesus tells some of these types of prophets that he “never knew” them.
In 1 John, a lot of space is given to figuring out how to judge people for who they really are; and it is there we find a clue to the kind of fruit that reveals the provenance of a true prophet—love for others (1 John 4:7). John focuses in on Jesus’ injunctions from the Upper Room Discourse and says repeatedly in this short letter that the best “test of life” (or in Matthew’s terminology, the revealing fruit) is that a true believer loves others in practical, tangible ways, and this love is the evidence that they belong to Christ. (1 John 1:1–3 has yet another test of life.)
These days, religious people avoid any and all judgments about others—at least they say they do. But Jesus calls his own, the righteous, to make many types of judgments, but to do so humbly, with a deep awareness that our righteousness is a gift and not earned.
"Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock."
"The extreme of the known in the presence of the extreme of the unknown." —Wallace Stevens
Whenever I plan a trip to a new destination, I enjoy discovering what has happened on its literary scene. So as I plan my trip to New Orleans this summer, I am delighted to find out that Mark Twain moved here with his brother for a few years, taking in the city’s charms. One aspect of New Orleans’ southern culture that fascinated Twain was the hospitality of its colloquial speech:
We picked up one excellent word — a word worth traveling to New Orleans to get; a nice limber, expressive, handy, word — “Lagniappe.” They pronounce it lanny-yap. It is Spanish — so they said. We discovered it at the head of a column of odds and ends in the Picayune, the first day; heard twenty people use it the second; inquired what it meant the third; adopted it and got facility in swinging it the fourth. It has a restricted meaning, but I think the people spread it out a little when they choose. It is the equivalent of the thirteenth roll in a “baker’s dozen.” It is something thrown in, gratis, for good measure (Life on the Mississippi).
Twain was enamored by the pervasive use of Lagniappe in their urbane way of living. From the household servant to the state governor, all the people seasoned their conversations with its flavor. It’s no wonder. When we use such a gracious expectation in our social relations, it goes a long way in smoothing out humane pleasantries. But we in the “Christ-haunted South” (to borrow Flannery O’Connor’s memorable description) are tempted to go beyond Lagniappe’s restricted meaning, spreading it out a little too far. If we dare to apply a Lagniappe approach to our spiritual relation with Christ, it will devastate our intimacy with the Divine.
In Matthew 7:24–29, Jesus tells a parable that resists our vain attempt at culturally accommodating His authoritative teaching as “something thrown in, gratis, for good measure.” Rather than being something extra, a little decorative grace sprinkled on top, Jesus asserts that His words are a necessary foundation that must be laid at the bottom of our life, so that we may stand secure. In this way, He makes a totalizing claim upon us, commanding our complete faith-obedience, even while charming us with His promise of blessing when we respond accordingly.
Of course, we can hear Jesus’ parable with as much intention to order our lives by its wisdom as we do while listening to a nursery rhyme like “The Three Little Pigs.” Perhaps the authority of His words does not astonish us when the weather of our present living seems clear with sunny skies. And yet, we know that the storms of life surely will come and that the proverbial wolf inevitably will threaten to blow our lifehouse down. Do not such storms test and prove the foundation upon which we build our life? Jesus warns us: foundations matter.
So in His parable, Jesus contrasts two possible life foundations. We may hear and obey His words as figured by the wise builder, who securely sets his house upon the solid rock. Or we may hear and disobey His words, which is as foolish as building a house upon shifting sand. Even so, our cunning strategy often is to try to negotiate a third way of hearing with qualified obedience. By this standard of cultural Christianity, we do not wholly disclaim Jesus’ teaching nor do we completely submit to its totalizing claim upon us; instead, we carefully select its aspects that we want to hear and obey. Rather than laying Jesus’ words as the foundation of our life, we prefer them more as a sprinkling of grace on the top of certain kinds of living. But time and time again, this illusory third way manifests itself as a sinful storm that destroys our life’s frail construction.
In the end, Jesus’ parable is an invitation for us to hear and obey His teaching, not as an afterthought, but more as a kind of planning beforehand. After all, an essential aspect of wisdom is a vicarious learning that applies both the knowledge of a warning against disaster and a promise of flourishing. The blessing Jesus offers, then, is in our doing — not merely our hearing — of His words. For it is precisely our obedience that shows that we have heard Him aright in faith.
"Go up to the hills and bring wood and build the house, that I may take pleasure in it and that I may be glorified."
Shannon received a Masters of Divinity, with a counseling emphasis, from Westminster Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Josh, have four children and are church planting in the Dallas Latino community. Life experience, studying God’s Word, and counseling training contribute to the couseling she does with individuals and married couples on a variety of issues including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, parenting, marriage, abuse, and addictions.
On Sunday, Patrick Lafferty preached on Haggai 1 and so helpfully emphasized the difference between believing in God as an idea versus experiencing the impact of God’s holy presence. If someone has “presence” like a famous actress or powerful politician, the moment they enter a room, the air becomes electric. Their “presence” affects those around them, and the Lord’s presence does the same to us, even more so.
So, how do we truly meet with God and experience His presence?
In Haggai, the prophet says Israel will find Him in the temple. And once they build it, God will manifest His presence not only to them but also to the world. “My Spirit remains in your midst,” God says in 2:8, so build the temple and the nations will visibly see God’s glory. Again, the people are to work — to build a second temple — and once they get their priorities straight, meaning repent and make God’s house the priority and work hard, He will be in their midst.
When Jesus comes to earth more than 500 years later, he says something new. Instead of commanding the disciples to build Him a house, which is basically what Peter offers on the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus says His Father is building their house (John 15). After the cross, Jesus returns to His Father to prepare a place for us, so anyone who believes in Him will be in their house forever.
As there’s a house being built in heaven, back on earth the glory of God’s presence is manifested to the world in a new way. God is not housed in a building made with wood and stones. He’s in you, me, and all the saints who have gone before, plus those who will come after as we make disciples of all nations. “You yourselves like living stones are being built up as a spiritual house, to be a holy priesthood, to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ” (1 Peter 2:3).
When we hunger for God, one of the things we’re doing is hungering for His presence—hungering for home. And God has given us the church, His people, to be a home away from home. We get to seek Him and experience Him as we come together to hear His Word, worship, gather for communion, as we individually and corporately meditate on His Word, and as we pray.
In one sense, seeking God is no longer hard work. We don’t have to travel up to Jerusalem carrying animals to sacrifice or buy them once we get there. We also don’t have to find a way to reach heaven and bring God down. Jesus came from heaven, descended into hell, and rose again. Now that we have His Word, He is near, “in your mouth and in your heart,” (Romans 10:7-8). Preparing to experience God’s presence is not tangible work like building a temple. It’s faith — believing in the One whom He has sent (John 6:29). Faith and union with Christ is His gift laid on our very doorstep and is a portal to heaven’s throne room, where we are in God’s presence with just a breath of prayer or a word of scripture.
But even with this new “age of ease” — the age of Christ’s resurrected Spirit — doing the work for us, it is still a night that ravages the soul when we can’t sense the presence of God. We do all the right things, read all the right scripture, repent, work hard and get our priorities straight, and still God’s nearness does not seem good. It doesn’t even seem like He is there.
And faith becomes very hard work.
This is something Jesus knows. It was His cry on the cross — forsakenness and the abandonment of His Father’s presence — and He gives us His very life to see us through. He sends us His resurrected Spirit as a deposit, guaranteeing that He’ll get us home.
Abram Kuyper, Dutch journalist, theologian, and statesman from the nineteenth century, knew what it was like to be a person with “presence.” But he also knew that being in God’s presence is what every heart cries for. “Not after a Creed regarding God, not after an idea of God, not after a remembrance of God…but after God Himself, after God in His holy outpouring of strength and grace, Who…in holy exhibition of love reveals Himself to you and in you as the living God. It is not your idea, not your understanding, not your thinking, not your reasoning, not even your profession of faith, that here can quench the thirst. The homesickness goes out after God Himself. It is not the Name of God but God Himself Whom your soul desires and cannot live without,” (To Be Near Unto God, 671–675).
If you are homesick, maybe you could pray even now, “Father, bring me to you.”
“Whoever is not with Me is against Me.”
“The one who is not against Us is for Us.”
In the film Fiddler on the Roof, an important scene has Tevye, a Jewish father, debating with himself about whether to bless the marriage desires of his daughter, Chava. He asks himself a question, then says, “On the other hand...” and asks himself an opposing question. He continues. “On the other hand...” and again, “On the other hand...” and right then, he pulls up short. “No! There is no other hand!” He has made his decision, and from it he will not be swayed.
What about when God says, "On the other hand...?" Rewind to a much earlier time when Moses gives this word from the Lord concerning the Ammonites and Moabites: “You shall not seek their peace or their prosperity all your days forever” (Deut. 23:6). On the other hand, Jeremiah later sends this word from the Lord to the exiles in Babylon: “Seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf ” (Jer. 29:7). On the other hand, after a remnant of exiles returns to Jerusalem, the scribe Ezra remembers God’s earlier words and its back to “never seek their peace or their prosperity” (Ezra 9:12). Why the turnabout? Is it good or not to seek the peace and prosperity of those around us who hold beliefs different from our own, perhaps even abominable beliefs?
As we lean into this knot, seeking treasure there in the heart of God, what light might we find in the context of these verses? As we pick up the remnant’s story, Ezra is concerned that the people are intermarrying with their old provocateurs, the Ammonites and Moabites, and six other tribes. All around them, it seems, the people find fascinating and attractive young women and men who, I imagine, seem to be having a good time and living full lives. Or, maybe they are well-to-do which, for some, amounts to the same thing. Whatever the reason, they ignore God’s warning that these intermarriage partners “will turn your sons away from following Me to serve other gods” (Deut. 7:4).
Marriage, or at least the richest of life-giving marriage, entails welcoming another intimately into one's heart. In the same way that Christ’s bride takes His ways to heart, love and fascination compels us to seek and share our spouses’ ways and passions. What brings them joy? Where will their dreams take them? When are they afraid? Why do they get up in the morning? What is it about them that so draws us in? How can we draw even closer together? In our desire for commonness of heart and soul, we seek abiding peace and prosperity for our spouses’ residence in the deepest places of our hearts.
But there’s a catch. No spouse perfectly embodies God’s heart, so any spouse, Christian or not, might turn your heart from God, even if only in small and insidious ways. However, when what most draws you to your spouse is a shared passion for the greatest commandment (i.e., to love God, Matt. 22:37), at least you two seek and stumble together toward God. By contrast, when you are drawn to one whose main passion runs another way, seeking your spouse's peace and prosperity in the intimate reaches of your heart tends to leave the greatest commandment behind; you risk blindness to the beauty of God’s ways. And we wed our hearts to more than spouses.
On the other hand, the second greatest commandment points outward (i.e., love others as yourself, Matt. 22:39). It’s not a marriage. Our heart’s intimate treasure in God is the foundation of, not the residence for, our love. We are “patient and kind” with everyone. We don’t “insist on [our] own way” but rather we “bear. . .endure all things” they might throw at us (1 Cor. 13). Even now, we Christians are exiles, living in a foreign land with people who rail against God and throw cultural darts at us. Or, they cut us off in traffic. Impatience comes easily. We insist that they behave like Christians. We can’t bear the things they do. Then we seem surprised that they don’t seek our peace and prosperity.
As exiles we will find all around us people who need love—rebellious, messy, messed-up, broken people. Just like us. And it is beautiful when we love them, when we are glad for, even seek, their welfare. Jeremiah 29:7 ends with “for in [the city’s] welfare you will find your welfare.” And I wonder: Could it be that, when the exiles sought Babylonian welfare, Babylonians returned the favor? What might our “captors” do?
“Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it.”
All right, show of hands—Who likes being put to the test?
Why is your hand not up? Why is my hand not up? Whether it’s a college entrance exam or a pop quiz about last night’s assignment, we don’t like tests.
Here’s another kind of test. In the eighteenth century, American businessman Timothy Dexter wondered about his wife’s love. At his wake, having faked his own death, he surprised the crowd by being very much alive and directing a tirade at his wife, who shed no tears at losing him. He left her.
We get anxious over the regular sort of test, but I’d venture to say we might get livid about Dexter’s sort of test. It’s not fair. It’s a trick. There’s no warning that the test is coming, like a photo-enforced sign at a stop light.
Is God’s test of Abraham a Dexter kind of test? God knew what He was up to. He gave Abraham no warning. Like Julian Russell said in Sunday’s sermon, it seems heartless.
God had been talking to Abraham for years about giving the land of Canaan to his offspring, even though he was childless. At one point, Abraham started to wonder, and he finally questioned God directly, saying, “You have given me no offspring” (Gen. 15:3). God’s reply is a wonderful promise—that his offspring would number as the stars. It prompts the famous verse, “[Abraham] believed the LORD, and [God] counted it to him as righteousness” (Gen. 15:6).
We like promises people make to give us things, especially when it’s God making the promises. At christianbook.com, a book search for “God’s promises” returns 1,180 results, including God’s Promises for Your Every Need. In Psalms, “He promises peace to his people” (Ps. 85:8). It is indeed a great Christian comfort to have and to remember God’s promises in times of need.
Day by day, we pray for our troubles and turmoil to be resolved and removed so that we might have peace. We pray for our finances. We pray for our children’s safety and health. When we have such things, we have peace and contentment. When our requests are granted, our anxiousness is relieved, and we say aloud that God is good. We hold on tightly to God’s promises.
Perhaps too tightly. Holding tightly to a blanket, a child is comforted. The blanket is a truly good thing, yet the mother who gave the blanket—and may one day take it away—is the truer and deeper comfort.
God tested Abraham by telling him to actively and literally kill the promise. It’s like something Jesus said: “Whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it” (Matt. 16:25). Abraham chose to lose God’s promise. He “reached out his hand and took the knife to slaughter his son” (Genesis 22:10). Just before he did so, God stopped him and reaffirmed the promise: “Because you have done this. . .I will surely multiply your offspring” (Gen. 22:16-17). Had he held tightly to Isaac, choosing to “save” the promise, it sounds like Abraham would have lost the promise.
What do we do when our earnest prayers go unanswered? It feels like a test. How do we see His promises when, despite our prayers, the circumstances of life continue to turn against us?
When Paul says, “with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God,” he says nothing about God granting our requests. He simply says that we will be guarded by “the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding” (Phil. 4:6-7). Somehow, gratitude factors into this mysterious peace. I think it has something to do with Paul saying, “If we have food and clothing, with these we will be content” (1 Tim. 6:8). When we choose to lose a view of peace that requires comfortable circumstances, and instead we begin to view everything as a gift for which to thank God, we gain back His promise of peace on a much deeper level. Having lost our life, we find it.
Was it heartless of God to test Abraham this way? Is it heartless of Him to make promises that turn out to be true, but in a different way than we want to believe? We’re dense and stiff-necked. It takes a lot to get us to understand how to live and love. I’m glad that He’s patient and kind to soften us, teach us, and guide us however He chooses. Even if it feels like a test.
Thus Joseph, who was also called by the apostles Barnabas (which means son of encouragement), a Levite, a native of Cyprus, sold a field that belonged to him and brought the money and laid it at the apostles' feet.
Have you ever had one of those days? Those days when you feel like you should have just stayed in bed. A day when everything goes the wrong way, and nothing seems to work out.
On those days, we wake up 30 minutes late to find that we set the alarm on PM instead of AM. Rushing to get ready you spill your breakfast on your shirt and have to change. Something forgotten, something lost, and bad news seems to follow you all day long.
The question isn’t if we are going to have days like these, it is what we do on these days.
This week we listened to Pastor Ron Williams tell us about the Gospel according to Barnabas. Who was Barnabas? We know he was a mentor and companion to Paul, and he was a missionary. The very first thing the Bible tells us about Barnabas is that his name means “Son of Encouragement.”
What a great name. Barnabas was an encourager. He wasn’t the kind of guy who would remind you about your faults in an issue. He was the kind of guy who would say things in such a way that you would work all the harder to make it right in the end.
What does it mean to encourage? A quick search on Amazon reveals about 2,000 books on the issue of encouragement. The Merriam–Webster’s dictionary tells us that to encourage means, “to inspire with courage, spirit, or hope; or to stimulate.” We are taught that encouraging is lifting someone’s spirits when they are down, but what does the scripture tells us about Christian encouragement?
“And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.” Hebrews 10:24-25
The true encourager is the one who meets with his brothers and sisters in Christ and stirs them up to love and good works. Not just someone who makes you feel better, but someone who helps you to do the right thing. This is Christian encouragement. There isn’t anything wrong with helping someone feel better, but the goal of our Christian lives is that men and women would reflect Christ more and more each day.
There is no better example of an encourager in the scriptures than Barnabas. He and Paul were so effective together that, because of their work in Antioch, the word Christian was invented to describe the believers there. The very word we use to describe ourselves as followers and disciples of Christ began because of the encouragement of the church by Paul and Barnabas. Talk about spurring on others to love and good deeds.
The church needs more people like Barnabas—people who say what needs to be said, in such a way, that others do what is right. In hard times during the early church in Jerusalem, Barnabas sold his land and gave the money to the Apostles. The money was used not just to make the Apostles feel better, but rather to enable and help them fulfill the word of God.
We all need men and women in our lives to encourage us. Telling us not just what we want to hear, but what we need to hear—speaking the right words at the right times so that we desire to know Christ more and to reflect Him more in our lives. These people teach us what it means to be a Christian and how to reflect the love of Christ.
What are we going to do the next time we are having one of those days, or encounter another brother or sister in Christ having one of those days? Are we going to let the day get the better of us, or are we going to choose to be an encourager and be encouraged into doing the right thing?
Let us make it our goal this next week to proclaim the Gospel in the same way Barnabas would have proclaimed it. Let us proclaim the gospel in a way that spurs others to live for Christ more each day.
And we sent Timothy, our brother and God's coworker in the gospel of Christ, to establish and exhort you in your faith, that no one be moved by these afflictions. For you yourselves know that we are destined for this.
Shannon received a Masters of Divinity, with a counseling emphasis, from Westminster Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Josh, have four children and are church planting in the Dallas Latino community. Life experience, studying God’s Word, and counseling training contribute to the couseling she does with individuals and married couples on a variety of issues including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, parenting, marriage, abuse, and addictions.
– Patrick Lafferty, “The Gospel according to Timothy”
Last Sunday, Patrick Lafferty spoke about fears Christian have—not the universal fears of all human beings—but the unique fears that come only to believers. The Bible repeatedly says that we, as His dear ones, are sent to testify to who Jesus is and the repentance He requires that leads to unsurpassed joy. This specific “sending” causes fears, and while these fears don’t surprise us, or God, and therefore need not be shunned, they must be uprooted by Christ in His word and in the hearts of His believers.
Believers who look like Him and talk like Him will suffer as He did. And it is they who will provide the encouragement to displace fear. When you are comforted from a Bible passage, do you realize that it is Jesus Himself comforting you—with a solace He speaks from in His own knowing heart? And when you read from the Apostle Paul or Peter and also from Corrie Ten Boom, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, or Helen Roseveare, do you realize you are indirectly hearing from Jesus when they pass on His intimate comfort and power that they received from Him in their suffering?
It is a pattern God set in place when He sent His Son to die for our sins. Jesus continues this pattern for His disciples as He sends them to suffer and die. Today God continues the pattern with us as He sends all Christians into a world that will have two responses: receive Him or reject Him, and therefore, receive us, and our message in His name, or reject us.
If you didn’t catch it in the sermon text, 2 Timothy can be summarized like this:
Paul: “Timothy, I love you. I am praying for you all the time. I have given you a great gift from God, the Holy Spirit. Your calling is going to be shaming. It is going to hurt. But my joy and vindication comes in Jesus and His resurrection. So will yours!”
Paul learned this pattern from Jesus, who spoke this way to His disciples (see Matthew 10, Mark 8, and John 14-16):
Jesus: “Guys, I love you. I pray for you all the time and will never stop. I give you a great Helper and power, the Holy Spirit. Your calling is going to be shaming. It is going to hurt. Take heart, you stand loved and will one day be raised with Me before the Father.”
It’s also what God said to Jesus at His baptism, death, and resurrection:
God: “I love, love, love you, my Son. Here is an anointing by the Holy Spirit to give You power. Don’t stop praying. Your mission will hurt. You will be tested by Satan, mocked and rejected by men, then ultimately by Me. I will forsake You for the sins of the world, which You will bear. But after three days in the tomb, I will raise You to life and crown You with glory and honor, putting everything in subjection to You under Your feet. I love You and all my children You bring to me.”
For those who are in Christ, God continues this pattern:
God: “I love you. Jesus lives to intercede for you. I have poured my powerful Holy Spirit into your hearts. He brings you power and joy. I send you to make my Son known. It will hurt. It will shame. But like my Son, you are beautiful as you bring Good News to those who receive Him and are hated by those who don’t receive Him. I will love you always. Comfort one another with these truths.”
Sadly and profoundly, many today deny that God sends His children into suffering, so the idea that a Christians suffer from a unique fear is misunderstood if not lost. In Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers, sociologist Christian Smith writes that one of the five religious beliefs of most teens and adults is that God’s purpose for us is to be fulfilled and happy. Smith quotes a young Catholic teen who says, “God is a Spirit that grants you anything you want, not anything bad.”
Smith reports that today’s “Christianity” has no holiness, divinely inspired Torah, no cross, no literal ascension from the dead, nor giving of the Holy Spirit to bring about God’s righteousness and loving justice. “Christianity in the United States is actually only tenuously connected to actual historical Christian tradition…and it isn’t being secularized but is degenerating into a pathetic version of itself or it is actively being colonized and displaced by quite a different religious faith.”
It is sobering to realize that few people who call themselves Christians understand that God sends Christians into Christ’s same suffering. More sobering still is that the more this truth is lost, the more Christ’s suffering will be made manifest in us who believe. May God have mercy on us all, and may we joyfully encourage one another with the encouragement Christ passionately gives.
Now Thomas, one of the Twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, “We have seen the Lord.” But he said to them, “Unless I see in his hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into his side, I will never believe.” Eight days later, his disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, “Peace be with you.” Then he said to Thomas, “Put your finger here, and see my hands; and put out your hand, and place it in my side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.” Thomas answered him, “My Lord and my God!”
Melissa Hill serves alongside her husband, Trey, and their four children, in inner-city ministry in Dallas, Texas. Their lives are full to overflowing with beautiful stories of rescue, redemption, and roaring laughter. When she can sneak in some spare time, she writes about it all on her blog, A Long Way From the Theta House.
Trey found his way to the Sanctuary before me on Sunday, so he had already opened the bulletin and read, not only the topic of the sermon, but who would be preaching as well. When I sat down, he was laughing because, of course, it was on Thomas and, of course, it was Lafferty. After 17 years, there are two things my husband knows about me. One is that I, like so many of us, sincerely struggle with faith—with believing what I cannot see. Trey often reminds me that skepticism is not a spiritual gift. And two, my vocabulary can be lacking as can my knowledge of obscure current events. So with Lafferty at the helm, I had my work cut out for me.
Yet as I listened to the Word of God being unpacked from the pulpit, I was again moved by the ever compassionate, knowing love of Christ, who, in His infinite mercy, patience, and kindness, does not shame His children for their doubt or fear. At the same time, He does not excuse our doubts as a simple by-product of our humanity. Instead, He draws near through locked doors, stands before those whom he has called unto salvation through faith as Faith itself—not an argument, but a person. He is indeed “that which changes everything.”
Our faith in Christ is an ongoing work of Christ and the story of Thomas is one for all who believe in the Lord Jesus Christ yet still echo the prayer, “I believe. Help me in my unbelief” (Mk 9:24). In fact, Paul in Ephesians 2 calls even our ability to believe—that is, our faith in Christ—a gift of God. However, gifts are not always given all at once. As we see with Thomas, the gift of faith is unfolding, ongoing, and increasing throughout our lives.
Thomas and the disciples had already seen much to fortify their understanding that Jesus was indeed who He said He was. They had lived in community for three years, sleeping under the stars or in borrowed rooms, being fed from baskets brimming over with miracle-bread-and-fish, and following and being taught by the Creator of the world. They had seen the blind healed, the lame walk, and the dead rise. Thomas was not the new kid on the block, but at the same time he held the Lord somewhat at arm’s length. It was Thomas who asked, “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” Jesus answered directly revealing more of Himself, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me” (Jn 14:6). Then foreshadowing, Jesus continued, “If you had known me, you would have known my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him” (Jn 14:7). Yet even after seeing so much, Thomas was insistent that he would not believe Jesus had been raised from the dead without actually seeing and touching His crucifixion wounds. It was in that declaration of unbelief that this disciple earned the nickname, “Doubting Thomas.”
The paradox is that Thomas did not always doubt as he has been historically characterized. At times, he even spoke of his willingness to die with Christ—to be stoned to death by those who opposed the message of the Gospel. But life had taken an unwelcome turn, and the object of his zeal had been tortured to death on a lonely hill outside of town. Although Jesus spoke of His death and His resurrection to the Twelve multiple times, it was beyond Thomas sensibilities. I totally get it. Suffering and heartbreak can do a number on our faith. Perhaps we don’t necessarily stop believing in the Lord, but instead, we put parameters on our trust. We determine what we need to believe, to follow, and to obey in terms of proof. We believe less on the Word of God and more on evidences we create.
We run the God of the Universe through the gauntlet of human reasoning.
The beauty—the absolute astounding beauty—is that the Lord knows His people doubt, falter, and experience weakness in their faith. Our frailty doesn’t cause the Lord to withdraw or shrink away or wait until we get our act together and believe. In fact, as seen in this passage, it’s quite the opposite. Can you see His handiwork? In both John 14 and John 20, the Lord presses in to Thomas. This time, He walks into a room full of rejoicing disciples who know the Lord has been raised from the dead and singles out His one floundering sheep. He stands before His faithless child and calls him out of his unbelief. He literally shows him the fulfillment of all scripture, the Hope of the world, the redemption of sinners, and life everlasting in the flesh. It is then that Thomas worships, “My Lord, and my God!” Thomas’ skepticism didn’t change who Christ was. Christ changed who Thomas was, and then recorded it as a means to strengthen the faith of believers to come—even us, millennia later.
Patrick closed his sermon Sunday with a beautiful proclamation,
“To follow Him is somehow to be carried by Him.”
It’s unfathomable. Just as Christ met Thomas in his doubting, He will meet us in ours. He may not stand before us in the flesh as He did then, but Christ in us will affirm our sure footing in the Savior. Let us, together, not be afraid of what we cannot comprehend. May we instead go before our Lord and confess our unbelief, our skepticism, our own frailty, and our doubts and learn to trust the One who bids us, “Believe.”
"Great indeed, we confess, is the mystery of godliness."
Peter—Petros—The Rock. That’s the name Jesus gave to this impetuous, uneducated fisherman, saying “on this rock I will build My church” (Matt 16:18). I wonder what Peter thought when Jesus said that. Whatever he thought, he still had a lot to learn—like five verses later, when Jesus called him “Satan” and a hindrance.
In the Gospels, although Peter is outspoken, he’s not much of a rock. Walking to Jesus on the water, he sinks when scared by the wind. In Jesus’ great hour of need, he falls asleep. Despite the “Satan” episode, he again hinders Jesus by slicing the ear off the high priest’s servant. Having boasted of his unfailing loyalty, he denies knowing Jesus. Perhaps such unsteadiness is why Jesus continues calling him by his given name, Simon.
Only after Jesus’ ascension does Simon (“one who hears”) indeed become Peter, the rock. He is confident and articulate at Pentecost. He stands up to the authorities, who are surprised that an uneducated man carries himself so boldly. He is glad, if necessary, to be flogged for telling about Jesus. Upon Peter’s leading, thousands come to faith.
In Sunday’s sermon, Tommy Overton told how this ordinary man’s transformation gives great encouragement for our journey in this life. Though we are Simon, we might yet become Peter.
In the “Satan” incident, Simon heard Jesus tell plainly, not in an obscure parable, that He would suffer and be killed. But never mind Jesus’ perplexing words, Simon was certain of something else. He was stuck on our simple human insistence that God’s ways banish suffering. Jesus’ rebuke made it clear that God’s ways aren’t that simple. Simon kept listening, and later, Peter tells of beauty in the midst of suffering: “If when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God” (1 Pet 2:20).
Across the windy waves, Simon heard Jesus tell him, “Come” (Matt 14:22–32). But Simon was focused on the miracle of water-walking rather than on his approach to the Lord, and he sank. Since Jesus wasn’t one to turn faith into a question of parlor tricks, I believe his rebuke—“O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”—was not about the water-walking. Rather, Simon wavered by giving attention and priority to the miracle, rather than simply following Jesus, whether by miracle or not. Simon kept listening, and though Peter happens to be a conduit for many miracles, he is somewhat taken by surprise when he himself is miraculously saved (Acts 12:6–17).
At the Transfiguration, Simon heard Jesus talking with Elijah and Moses. Not knowing what to say, he spouted out something that sounded pious: “Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah” (Mark 9:2–8). In reply, God speaks from the cloud: “This is my beloved Son; listen to him.” Simon did keep listening, and later, when Peter is perplexed by a vision about relaxing Jewish dietary laws, he doesn’t rush to an answer. He stays in the discomfort of mystery until the vision’s meaning comes clear (Acts 10:9–48).
Like Simon, I get stuck thinking that faith banishes suffering, and I turn away from danger. I seek first safety and comfort, forgetting that He walks with me through the valley of the shadow of death. I wonder what else I’m stuck on for which Jesus would call me “Satan” and a hindrance.
Like Simon, I get stuck thinking faith means I’ll miraculously walk above the storm, and so I keep looking for miracles and sink. Thank the Lord He’s there to catch me, but I wonder how often I cry out to Him only because I’m depending on a miracle rather than simply walking toward Him, knowing that He is always good and He is always working, no matter what happens around me.
And like Simon, I get stuck thinking that satisfied confidence in pious-sounding ideas means my faith is strong, when I’d be better off simply listening to Jesus. I wonder how often my satisfied confidence is actually me trying to live by proud certainty instead of by humble faith.
Peter, in his final letter, retains his given name, greeting us as Simon Peter (2 Pet 1:1). It’s as if to remind us there’s good news because, if I keep listening like a Simon, allowing the perplexing things of God to realign my confidence, I might indeed reach the joy of being a small rock in God’s landscape of salvation.
"If your enemy is hungry, give him bread to eat,
and if he is thirsty, give him water to drink...
and the LORD will reward you."
Twenty-nine US states have filial responsibility laws, which make it a legal duty to financially support one’s indigent parents, potentially including extensive healthcare and nursing home costs. You don’t have to like coughing up the money, but if the hospital or the nursing home—or dear ole mom herself—takes you to court, you may go to jail if you don’t.
Jesus was on the issue, too, in one of His many times of harshly criticizing the people who thought they were the best at following God: “You say, ‘If anyone tells his father or his mother, “What you would have gained from me is given to God,” he need not honor his father.’ So for the sake of your tradition you have made void the Word of God” (Matt 15:5–6). God set forth a duty in the fifth commandment, and those crafty Pharisees made a way around it.
Jonah had a certain, shall we say, sibling responsibility—a “legal duty” by God’s command to care spiritually for his human brothers and sisters in Nineveh. Jonah didn’t like it. As Paul Goebel explained in Sunday’s sermon, the Jews saw the Ninevites as mortal enemies. Jonah would rather have died than live to see Nineveh’s salvation. So knowing that God would “[relent] from disaster” if Nineveh repented, he ran away (Jonah 4:2).
From our vantage point, where we’ve heard Jesus say, “Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you” (Luke 6:27), it’s easy to see that, beyond having a duty to the Ninevites, Jonah could have loved them and willingly and sacrificially done good for them. This is true and good, yet there’s something curious in the story where God pushes it one further—beyond duty and beyond sacrificial love.
God tries to help Jonah catch a new vision about the Ninevites by drawing a parallel between the Ninevites, the plant that protected Jonah, and God’s and Jonah’s heart for each (Jonah 4:5–11). But it’s odd because the parallel isn’t really parallel.
Let me set this up: God loves the Ninevites and wants them to be well and to do well. He takes action by sending Jonah, and His active care is of great benefit to the Ninevites. By contrast, Jonah’s relation to the plant is passive. His own attempt at a shelter is rather feeble and flimsy—commentaries say Jonah’s “booth” was made of sticks, like one of Eeyore’s houses in the old Winnie the Pooh TV specials. God shields him with a substantial plant, and it is of great benefit to Jonah.
Here’s the difficulty: God makes a parallel between Jonah’s heart, which cares for something that benefits and comforts Jonah himself (the plant), and His own heart, which cares for, benefits, and comforts someone else (the Ninevites—and the cattle). It’s not the same.
As a writer and part-time artist, I’ve come to appreciate God’s amazing skill at constructing biblical metaphors, so when a parallel doesn’t seem to work, I figure I'm the one who doesn't get it, not God who picked a weak metaphor. So what’s up?
If you go with the parallel, God is saying that He cares for Ninevites the way that Jonah cared for the plant. In other words, Ninevites are a comfort and joy to God, the way the plant was a comfort to Jonah. Run it the other way and God is inviting Jonah to find comfort and joy in the Ninevites, the way that God Himself does. Beyond duty, beyond sacrificial love, caring for Ninevites—his mortal enemies—can be much more than something Jonah has to do, it can be something he gets to do. We might say that the Ninevites could be one of Jonah’s favorite things.
It’s the kind of transformation that God speaks of in Jeremiah 31:33, where He writes His laws on our hearts. As we pursue Jesus’ vision of God’s Kingdom, our deepest desires—our favorite things—become formed by His ways and His passions. As this happens, we move beyond doing things merely because they are His ways; we do them because His ways have become our ways. It’s no longer a sacrifice to care for Ninevites but rather a joy, because their welfare is a true comfort to us personally.
Now that’s very good news: As apprentices to Jesus in the ways of love, we’re growing toward a vision where even our own personal Ninevites are a comfort to us. If we can find comfort even there, this is quite a wonderful life indeed.
The LORD God said to the serpent,...
I will put enmity between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
and you shall bruise his heel.”
Will cannot run very far ahead of knowledge, and attention is our daily bread. – Iris Murdoch
Perhaps the best way to experience a story is to attend closely to its dominant mode of action. Paying attention to who-does-what affords the highest return for investing in a close reading of a text. In a dramatically compressed story such as the Fall of humankind in Genesis 3, many are doing much in very little literary space, heightening the emotional tension and deepening the volitional impact. The serpent tempts. Eve eats. Adam hides. Yahweh banishes. In just one short chapter, our original ancestors move from paradisal bliss to harsh exile. The narrative pace moves so quickly that by the story’s end, we have to catch our proverbial breath.
Yet in the midst of this memorable flurry of actions (Who can forget the improvised sewing together of fig leaves and the appointing of a guardian cherubim complete with flaming sword?), it is easy to miss the story’s dominant mode of action: speaking. By my count, the narrator stylizes the biblical account of the Fall with twenty-one verbs of speech in just twenty-four verses. Interestingly, the narrative keeps both truth and falsity in play, providing meaningful illuminations by their rapid juxtapositions. All manner of things are being said amiss: Satan’s deceit; Eve’s distortion; and Adam’s accusation. Only Yahweh consistently speaks the truth as demonstrated by His leading questions and just verdicts.
In this story, who-says-what is of paramount importance, revealing each speaker’s interior motives. The satanic serpent lures Eve into temptation by his cunning deceit. Eve yields to temptation by her doubting distortion of Yahweh’s commandment. Adam masks his disobedience by shifting blame upon Yahweh and Eve. All three abandon the truth in favor of a deliberate falsehood that shows their perverted intentions.
In contrast, Yahweh speaks. Truth. Always. Beginning with the serpent and ending with Adam, He declares punishments befitting all three of their crimes. Though His verdicts are righteous, the consequences are so severe that they threaten to overwhelm our lingering consideration of this story, leaving us with the impression of a just but unmerciful God. And yet, we will discover that this is not true of Him, if we attend more carefully to everything He says. Tucked within His first pronouncement against the serpent is His proclamation of lasting grace:
“I will put enmity between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
and you shall bruise his heel.”
Christian theologians rightly describe Yahweh’s proclamation here as the proto-evangelium or “first Gospel,” since it foreshadows Jesus Christ’s ultimate victory over His conflict against Satan, whereby He wins His peoples’ salvation.
No doubt it is a risky move (literarily speaking) to give away the ending of a story in its beginning, no matter how subtle the foreshadowing may be. After all, we tend to resist knowing too early how things will turn out. As a case in point, a friend from my college days recently posted on Facebook, “Don’t say anything to me about the new Batman movie. I haven’t seen it yet!” Usually we like a story to stretch out before us in an open horizon sight unseen. But God knows such is not the case here. After just three chapters into the Bible, we need to hear Yahweh’s promise of blessing amidst His pronouncement of cursing. Why is this so? On the one hand, the bad news is so bad — that is, the Fall of humanity into sin and death is so catastrophic — that we would be overwhelmed by despair, wishing to read no further. On the other hand, the Good News is so good that it cannot wait and must be proclaimed at once. In other words, there is an urgency that accompanies the Gospel’s importance that manifests in our need to hear it from the beginning of God’s revelation, inspiring our hope — and our continued reading to the end of the biblical story.
No wonder, then, that speaking is the dominant action of the account of the Fall. From the beginning of the Creation story in Genesis 1, Yahweh accomplishes His creative will by what He says. His Word alone determines the ultimate course of His peoples’ destiny. It is a Word of promise, and that promise is Jesus Christ. All in all, the Gospel of our Lord is a message that God gives away from the beginning with the intent that we, too, give it away “to the end of the age” (Matt 28:18–20). As the Church proclaims the Good News of Jesus Christ, together we break the bread of our daily attention, knowing this Gospel with our mind and obeying it with our will, while loving it with all our heart.
Go ahead. Give the Gospel away to those who have not yet heard, perhaps even to that longtime friend on Facebook.
He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.
Melissa Hill serves alongside her husband, Trey, and their four children, in inner-city ministry in Dallas, Texas. Their lives are full to overflowing with beautiful stories of rescue, redemption, and roaring laughter. When she can sneak in some spare time, she writes about it all on her blog, A Long Way From the Theta House.
A few years ago, CNN published a list of quotes that were attributed to scripture but not actually found anywhere in the Bible. Here are a few:
“God works in mysterious ways.”
“Cleanliness is next to godliness.”
And my children’s personal favorite, “God helps those who help themselves.” Seriously.
But no matter how much authority with which they are spoken, they do not carry the authority of the Word of God because they are simply Bible-sounding sound bites created by slightly more creative versions of you and me.
One, though, stood out to me because I’ve heard it so, so many times and, in all honesty, I assumed it was biblical. It’s been quoted throughout generations of cancer survivors and presidents, and attributed to King Solomon, the author of Ecclesiastes, the subject of this week’s sermon.
“This too shall pass.”
After listening to Pete’s message Sunday and reading the passages Solomon wrote, such as, “I have seen everything that is done under the sun, and behold, all is vanity and a striving after wind,” and, “There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God,” it sure sounded like something King Solomon might have said, so I did a little digging. The quote, in fact, comes from a Sufi parable that goes like this:
One day a king decided to humble Benaiah Ben Yehoyada, his most trusted minister. He said to him, “Benaiah, there is a certain ring that I want you to bring to me. I wish to wear it for Sukkot, which gives you six months to find it.”
“If it exists anywhere on earth, your majesty,” replied Benaiah, “I will find it and bring it to you, but what makes the ring so special?”
“It has magic powers,” answered the king. “If a happy man looks at it, he becomes sad, and if a sad man looks at it, he becomes happy.” The king knew that no such ring existed in the world, but he wished to give his minister a little taste of humility. Spring passed and then summer, and still Benaiah had no idea where he could find the ring. On the night before Sukkot, he decided to take a walk in one of the poorest quarters of Jerusalem. He passed by a merchant who had begun to set out the day’s wares on a shabby carpet.
“Have you by any chance heard of a magic ring that makes the happy wearer forget his joy and the brokenhearted wearer forget his sorrows?” asked Benaiah. He watched the grandfather take a plain gold ring from his carpet and engrave something on it. When Benaiah read the words on the ring, his face broke out in a wide smile.
That night the entire city welcomed in the holiday of Sukkot with great festivity. “Well, my friend,” said the king, “Have you found what I sent you after?” All the ministers laughed and the king himself smiled.
To everyone’s surprise, Benaiah held up a small gold ring and declared, “Here it is, your majesty!” As soon as the king read the inscription, the smile vanished from his face. The jeweler had written three Hebrew letters on the gold band: gimel, zayin, yud, which began the words “Gam zeh ya’avor”—“This too shall pass.” At that moment the king realized that all his wisdom and fabulous wealth and tremendous power were but fleeting things, for one day he would be nothing but dust.
“This too shall pass” is not a slogan of great optimism like it’s often used; it’s actually one of resignation. Both good and bad, all shall pass away.
Interesting. Although not King Solomon’s words, the fable demonstrates a similar state of mind. When Solomon uses the word vanity in the book of Ecclesiastes, it is not translated to mean a kind of narcissism like counting wrinkles in the bathroom mirror (Who does that?). Here, according to Bible scholars, it means, “vapor" and conjures up a picture of something fleeting, ephemeral, and elusive. Solomon was feeling just that. Given all the wisdom, riches, and pleasures to do as he pleased, he found none satisfying to his thirsty soul and realized they were but vapors. Good circumstances or bad, they were all passing away.
The more years that pass between my birth and present day—which is a long way of saying, “as I age”—I understand more about what he’s writing. I’ve been told countless times, “You’re either in the middle of a trial, just come through one, or about to begin one.” I often wonder who invites those people to my parties. But they’re right. The Christian life is not for the faint of heart—and looking at circumstances alone—joy and pain seem fairly equally matched in most of our lives.
Yet reading Solomon’s words, he saw beyond his present circumstances. He was not resigned without hope. Solomon knew, “He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end” (Eccl 3:11). He knew everything came from a hand greater and more powerful than anything on earth, and it was in that hand that he ultimately found his hope—his chief end. “Fear God and keep His commandments, for this is the whole duty of man” (Eccl 12:13). It was as if, after all his vexing, he simply bowed his knee in humility and heeded an exhortation the Apostle Paul would make centuries later to his brothers and sisters in Corinth to “fix his eyes not on what is seen but which is unseen for that which is seen in passing away, but that which is unseen is eternal” (2 Cor 4:18).
Oh, that this would be our posture as summer passes away and a new season begins—"The Lord is my portion, says my soul, therefore I will hope in Him" (Lam 3:24).
And He said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper."
1 Kings 19 gives us some insight into what ancient death threats must have sounded like: “So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life as the life of one of them by this time tomorrow!” That was Queen Jezebel’s blood-curdling message to Elijah after the prophet had led the killing of 450 prophets of Baal. Fairly to-the-point; wouldn’t you say?
Why is it then that I find myself so quick to give Elijah a hard time for his actions on the heels of receiving such a message? After all, his life was being threatened and Jezebel was hardly a woman to be taken lightly. Shouldn’t we cut the prophet some slack? Isn’t it somewhat justified that he ran away, mourned his solitude as one faithful to the Lord, even vocalized thoughts of ending it all?
Isn’t it somewhat justifiable then for us to live moments of our lives losing touch with God’s provision and faithfulness?
Thankfully, no it is never justified. Thankfully, the Lord loved Elijah so patiently and so thoroughly that even when it seemed that the circumstances warranted his actions, God would not let Elijah settle for failing to trust Him. So in the midst of Elijah’s despair, God meets him with provision (1 Kings 19:5–8). In the midst of fear, God meets him with the gentleness of a still quiet voice (1 Kings 19:12).
It’s probably fair to say that most of us will never face anything close to the stressful circumstances Elijah faced throughout much of his life. Being a prophet in Israel was a thankless, dangerous job. Yet all too often, we, just like Elijah, fail to trust the Lord. As Pete Deison so aptly summed up in his sermon, we fail to listen well to the quiet whisper of God and let His voice inform our attitudes and actions in life’s often-tumultuous times.
Sadly, many Christians live much of their Christian lives just this way—never appropriating all the blessings of deeper communion with our Lord. Rarely do we recognize the hard work necessary, and the growth that is possible, in being molded into Christians of great faith, who walk closely with our Lord and who listen well to His voice.
Francis Schaeffer made this point using an analogy of two chairs. He said that every human being at any one moment in his or her life is sitting in one of two chairs. Those who sit in the first chair see only the naturalism of the universe. They only believe in what they can touch, taste, see, and hear—and so they live their lives entirely for themselves, as though they are their own god. He calls this the “chair of unfaith.” The second chair is the chair of the Christian. The person who sits in this chair sees both the natural and the supernatural of the universe and constantly interprets what he or she experiences in life against the background of the truth of God’s Word. The person who sits in this chair lives their life for God. Surprisingly, he says it is entirely possible for a Christian to live most of his or her life while seated in the chair of unfaith!
Now we should probably be careful and not get too technical with an analogy like this, but the point Schaeffer is making is a good reminder to us. God loves His children more than we will ever fathom. And He longs for us to know Him intimately. He created us for this! In His grace, He makes such communion possible through the finished work of Jesus’ death and resurrection. And as we await His return, He has given us His Word. Listening well to the voice of the Lord means abiding in the Word of God. It means devoting ourselves to His revelation to us in the scriptures. It’s not in some mechanical sense of “we must have our devotions every morning for thirty minutes.” Rather, the Lord gives us His Word that we might read it and dwell upon it, that as we listen to His voice we may grow to learn the very heart of the living God. Then, more and more, we will learn to love what God loves and hate what He hates. Then, more and more, we will learn trust and peace and joy even in the most difficult times.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.
The story of the loss and regaining of identity is, I think, the framework of all literature. —Northrop Frye, The Educated Imagination
Wearing name tags can be awkward at times. I’m not talking about the adhesive kind with the “HELLO My Name Is” that we use for social gatherings. I mean the more subtle descriptions that we often tag onto a name. Think about the associative tags we use to describe many of the twelve disciples. When referring to the two disciples who both share the same name “James,” it is common to speak of the son of Zebedee as “James the Greater” and of the son of Alpheus as “James the Less.” Certainly, it would be flattering to be regarded as “the Greater,” but who wants to be known as “the Less”? Or take the infamous “Doubting Thomas,” for example. What kind of tag is “Doubting,” and how does it influence our understanding of this disciple? I argue that this tag is dubious, distorting our perception of the Gospel story’s lasting impact upon him. After all, Thomas is the first disciple to confess Jesus’ true divinity when he exclaims, “My Lord, even my God!” (John 20:28). Should we not better speak of him as, say, “Believing Thomas”—or perhaps even better as “Thomas the Confessor”—remembering and celebrating his Gospel transformation from despair-ridden doubt to hope-filled faith?
How we describe a character says a lot about how we understand a story. Rahab, of course, is another case in point. For most of us, if we were to fill in the blank for “Rahab the _____,” we no doubt would think, “prostitute.” Yet another unfortunate modifier, is it not? To be fair, it is helpful to know that the preacher of Hebrews does say, “By faith Rahab the prostitute did not perish with those who were disobedient, because she had given a friendly welcome to the spies” (11:31). But notice the stress of his description accentuates her lasting faith, not her former prostitution. Marvelously, the preacher juxtaposes the priority of her righteous obedience over her previously sinful lifestyle to call our attention to her Gospel transformation. So why are we still inclined to tag her name with “prostitute,” perpetuating her association with sin, rather than with righteousness? Does commonly speaking of “Rahab the prostitute” reveal our understanding of the Gospel’s remarkable transformation of her identity? I think not. I suggest we follow Matthew’s example, who made no mention of Rahab as “the prostitute,” when he named her in his gospel’s genealogy of Jesus (1:5).
Implicitly, we remember someone’s character by reference to his or her name. A name like Adolf Hitler justly resonates in our memories in the infamy of his evil. Blessedly, though, we remember the apostle to the Gentiles as Paul and not Saul. In His wisdom and grace, our Lord saw to this by changing this apostle’s name upon his conversion. Formerly, Saul of Tarsus persecuted Christians, but following his Gospel transformation, he proclaimed Christ. Jesus so pervasively changed Paul’s identity that He christened him with this new name to mark the lasting difference (Acts 13:9). Our Lord did the same for another apostle, renaming Simon as Peter to designate his faithful obedience in following Jesus as the Christ (John 1:42). Appropriately, the Church now speaks of Peter and Paul as two of her holy apostles, no longer calling them by their former names, because they are not the persons those names once represented. By remembering their new names, then, we celebrate our understanding of the Gospel story—of how they became “new creations in Christ.”
In Peter Jackson’s film adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Two Towers from his Lord of the Rings trilogy, there is a profound moment when the hero-hobbit Frodo confers a descriptive tag upon his faithful companion that is worthy of Sam’s transformed character:
Sam: “I wonder if we’ll ever be put into songs or tales.”
Frodo: “What?”
Sam: “I wonder if people will ever say, ‘Let’s hear about Frodo and the Ring.’ And they’ll say, ‘Yes, that’s one of my favorite stories. Frodo was really courageous, wasn’t he, dad?’ ‘Yes, my boy, the most famousest of hobbits. And that’s saying a lot.’”
Frodo: “You’ve left out one of the chief characters—Samwise the Brave. I want to hear more about Sam. Frodo wouldn’t have got far without Sam.”
Sam: “Now, Mr. Frodo, you shouldn’t make fun; I was being serious.”
Frodo: “So was I.”
Sam: “Samwise the Brave...”
By calling his friend “Samwise the Brave,” Frodo reveals his understanding of Sam’s character, as it has been forged by the story of the Ring. So when we follow Frodo’s lead by remembering Samwise the Brave, we show that we understand Tolkien’s fantastical retelling of the Gospel story.
What, then, do we do with a name like Rahab? How might we tag her name in a way that would show that we understand the Spirit’s telling of the Gospel story? Come to think of it, “Rahab the Brave” may be a good start. After all, the spies wouldn’t have got far without her.
But Ruth said, “Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God."
When I speak of home, I speak of the place where in default of a better—those I love are gathered together; and if that place where a gypsy’s tent, or a barn, I should call it by the same good name notwithstanding. —Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby
According to Jewish numerology, ten is the number of completion. So when the narrator of the book of Ruth introduces Naomi’s family, who lived in Moab for “about ten years,” he subtly signals a significant point (1:4). Naomi’s sojourn in Moab is complete; it is time to return home to Israel.
Depending on who you are and where you are, a return and a turn back may not be the same thing. Having fled famine-stricken Israel, Naomi, along with her husband and two sons, headed east to find desperate refuge in the enemy land of Moab. Now, it is important to know for this story that in the Hebrew worldview a movement towards the east is a movement towards evil. The calamity of Naomi’s circumstances seems to prove this perspective. Having cultivated a new familial life in Moab, Naomi’s husband and her two sons unexpectedly died, leaving her a widower with two Moabite daughters-in-law, Orpah and Ruth. Once she receives word that the famine in Israel is over, Naomi sets out with her daughters-in-law to return home. But on the way, she has a change of heart, urging Orpah and Ruth to turn back towards Moab, so that they may go home to their mother’s household in order to find another Moabite husband. Orpah acquiesces and departs, turning back “to her people and to her gods” (1:15). But Ruth does not. She clings to Naomi, uttering her memorable confession of devoted faith: “For where you go I will go, and where you lodge I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God my God” (1:16). Ruth knows that for Naomi going home is a return to Yahweh’s covenant community, where she belongs. She also knows that turning back to her mother’s household in Moab would be a movement away from the flourishing life of Yahweh’s blessing. So she obediently chooses to return home with Naomi—a westward movement into a covenant relationship with Yahweh among the Israelites.
In his tale Nicholas Nickleby, Charles Dickens tells a similar story of a young man’s courageous journey to save his family from destitution in nineteenth century London. Despairing over his financial debts, Nicholas’ father dies an unexpected death. In order to protect his mother and younger sister from starvation, Nicholas accepts a teaching position at a rural boarding school. Once there, he witnesses the vicious headmaster’s vile treatment of the children. The headmaster is particularly abusive towards his servant Smike, a teenage orphan who suffers the crippling of one leg. While witnessing the headmaster’s threat to thrash Smike, Nicholas intervenes, taking the switch against the headmaster’s own backside. As the two flee in the night, they find refuge in a barn. As they lay upon the hay, Smike asks Nicholas where he will go. Nicholas tells him that he will return home to his family in London. Knowing that he cannot turn back to the school, Smike begs Nicholas to allow him to return to his London home, too. Not knowing that Smike is an orphan, Nicholas urges him to go back to his own home. “You are my home,” Smike confesses.
“You are my home.” Let these words settle into your soul. For this sentiment—or something like it—expresses Ruth’s Gospel understanding of her relation to Naomi. For Ruth, home is less of a geographical place and more of a relational presence. Through her loving devotion to Naomi, Ruth enters into covenant relationship with Israel, extending her faithful obedience to Yahweh. By so doing, she echoes Yahweh’s promise in the Abrahamic Covenant—“I will be your God, and you will be My people”—with her “your people shall be my people, and your God my God.”
Charles Dickens reminds us, “Every traveler has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the more from his wandering.” All of us wander from our true home, moving eastward, so to say, into evil. Once there, we try to make a new home of it, forgetting that we are living in enemy territory. Will we stay? We may try to return home, but we are tempted to turn back towards Satan’s household. As the great hymn says, “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it, prone to leave the God I love.” The good news of the Gospel is that God comes to us in the grace of Jesus Christ, returning us home. After all, God Himself is our home. His warning command, then, to us His people is that our wandering sojourn in the Enemy’s land is complete. And His inviting promise is—as another grand hymn similarly says it—that “grace will lead us home.”
[Jesus] said to them, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” And they were filled with great fear...
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Comic book characters resonate with children almost instinctively, offering bold illustrations of heroism that inspire emulation. But why do these projections of our noblest, strongest selves continue to captivate us long into our adulthood? We could venture several guesses but it probably has something to do with how those who’ve preserved the genre allow the heroes to struggle with their own humanity (or at least their human-like qualities) in ways we all can identify with: the use of power; the value of life; and the battle with fear. Take for instance Christopher Nolan’s most recent and last installment of the Dark Knight trilogy.
Bruce Wayne, the true identity of the Batman, has been vanquished by Bane, the most recent and menacing threat to him and his beloved Gotham City. Rather than simply kill him, Bane incarcerates Wayne in a deep, cavernous prison, one without bars at the top and even a series of widely-spaced footholds jutting out from the cavern walls that brave prisoners are almost dared to scale that they might gain their freedom.
Wayne watches several prisoners tie a rope to their waists and venture the climb, each falling and failing. Healed from his Bane-inflicted injuries, Wayne, too, makes his ascent, his comrades below holding his belay line should he fall. Fall he does. Several times, each failure compounding his anguish at being so close to freedom. One brief exchange with another prisoner identifies Wayne’s problem.
Prisoner: You do not fear death. You think this makes you strong. It makes you weak.
Wayne: Why?
Prisoner: How can you move faster than possible, fight longer than possible without the most powerful impulse of the spirit: the fear of death.
Wayne: I do fear death. I fear dying in here, while my city burns, and there's no one there to save it.
Prisoner: Then make the climb.
Wayne: How?
Prisoner: Without the rope. Then fear will find you again.
Wayne’s grizzled but sage cellmate ties Wayne’s failures to his choice to be tethered. The safety the rope afforded naturally mitigated some of Wayne’s fear of falling to his death. But without the full effect of fear, the oracular inmate explains, Wayne could not muster all he needed to make the final treacherous leap to freedom. If only he forsook the rope and put his very life in jeopardy would he find the strength and power to escape the dungeon.
Mark has bid us consider afresh the miracles of Jesus, this last Sunday opening with Jesus’ miracle of stilling the storm, which ends with a curious outcome. We might assume Jesus’ point was only to assuage the disciples’ fear. Instead we find Him redirecting their fear to Himself. He does not temper the tumult to insinuate they have nothing to fear, but rather that He is to be feared most of all.
Without context, we might conclude Jesus a tyrant. But as the Gospels unfold Him we come to understand what it means to fear Him as He intends. His sternness with the arrogant, His kindness to the wayward, His patience with the obtuse—all culminating in His grace to us all upon a cross. By the end of the Gospels we grasp that to fear Him is really to trust that His love is as enduring as His power is great. If He is strong enough to still the wind, can His love be scarcely blown back by our failures at love?
Like Bruce Wayne, we all tether ourselves to that which keeps us from having to fear (read: trust) Jesus most. We wrap around our soul’s waist the approval of our peers or parents, the pursuit of control over our circumstances or others’ perceptions. And somewhere deep in our hearts is a knot tied to some overarching aspiration that we assume will validate our existence. We tie ourselves to such and refuse to let what we have in Him be what most motivates all we do.
Christopher Nolan is dead on when he dramatizes how facing our ultimate demise can cure us of using our time so poorly, or failing to persevere in what we do because we think we’ll always have tomorrow—even though death declares quite the opposite. But in casting a vision of a world without God, Nolan only uses our fear of death to tether us to some other principle, person, or pursuit we think will give us freedom. In a God-breathed world, that is the stuff of comic books.
To what are you tethered today that keeps you from having to “fear” Jesus most? Until we cut the rope, we’ll never escape the prison of all else we fear.
"Everyone who is of the truth listens to My voice."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Note: Due to unforeseen circumstances, there is no new ETC this week. So we're reaching back into the archives to revisit an article posted on December 2, 2011.
Sunday we spoke of cynicism. In an age of half-truths and unrealistic promises, the effort to unmask insincerity and lower our expectations has become fashionable, if increasingly justifiable. Yet cynicism can have such a corrosive effect in those who treat it like a virtue, as it creeps, in an almost sinister fashion, into many of our daily decisions.
We also considered how Jesus confronts our drift toward cynicism. His authority as a king challenges our tendency to deny there is any authority. His integrity as one who exerted His rule—and died—for the sake of truth repudiates our cynical assumption that acting on pure motives is but a fantasy. And His offer of intimacy—of communion with Him—takes issue with our incredulity that His truth can ever penetrate or transform us.
So we asked how Jesus' confrontation with cynicism might reach from heaven to earth, how hope in what is not of this world might make its way into our world. And we suggested that though the Lord God Almighty often does profound work in the unexpected, unscripted—and often unsolicited—providences of life, there is something to be said for a more plodding approach to spirituality—a liturgy of life. By that we meant adopting a patterned existence in which we cultivate new habits of attention that frame our days and reinforce those ultimate truths that, among other things, displace cynicism with hope.
Time didn't permit a lengthy exploration about what a new liturgy of life might look like, or how it might be cultivated, though we mentioned two sources—drops in a sea of writing on the subject—that introduce both the rationale for such a liturgy and detail into the practice of it (James K. A. Smith's Desiring the Kingdom, and Eric Metaxas' eponymous biography of Dietrich Bonhoeffer).
So what of this new liturgy? What would it include? None of its elements would be unfamiliar to you, for you practice them each Sunday you gather for worship, but let's camp on at least two aspects: study and confession.
The liturgy would of course entail a study of God's truth, but one that only begins with asking questions of the text. In fact it would not be a true study until the questions were turned around upon you the student, until the text, as others have put it, begins to ask questions of you. Now, the time required to even formulate those questions and then reflect upon the answers to those text-sourced questions means you don't get as far in a book as fast. A slower, plodding pursuit of the text's meaning and significance honors the Spirit of God's interest in confronting us at our core. But the quantitative reduction in biblical ground you cover may mean qualitatively greater depth to the effect such study has. This is no indictment of those who wish to cover the Bible in a year (or less!), but as it allows for more patient reflection upon a given text it also militates against the satisfaction some of us take (mea culpa) in just having run our eyes upon the pages of the text. A liturgy of life might let His Word frame our days in how we make them our first and last consideration of each day, and how we ask God to investigate us. "Search me, O God, and know my heart" (Psalm 139:23).
Confession in a liturgy of life might become a more frequent occurrence, in turn enabling us to feel more deeply the depth of both sin and grace. Rather than wait for sin to reach such a boiling point that only confession can keep us from its scalding, rather than unwittingly think of sin as so banal that we can wait until Sunday to think of confession, a liturgy of life would make confession a daily occurrence and to someone whom you know understands sin's scathe and the balm of grace. As Bonhoeffer wrote elsewhere in his famous work, Life Together, "In confession we break through to true fellowship in the Cross of Jesus Christ, in confession we affirm and accept our cross. In the deep mental and physical pain of humiliation before a brother—which means, before God—we experience the Cross of Jesus as our rescue and salvation." Confession acknowledges the existence of what ought not, while also expressing the desire for what must be. Confession before a brother or sister, a spouse or friend, forces us to make a searing recognition of our folly while at the same time affords us a proper word, fitly spoken about the truth of grace. How can we wait until Sunday for the grace to be found through confession? A liturgy of life takes hold of grace more readily through a life of repentance beginning with confession.
Study and confession are but two aspects of a liturgical life. Likely you see how even our prayers change in this liturgy as our meditations and confessions elicit far more than requests. Fortunately, there's nothing constricting about such a liturgy. Far from adopting a script, composing this liturgy is more like a jazz improvisation. Miles Davis, John Coltrane, Duke Ellington—they knew the basics of chord progression and then simply filled the melodic space with innumerable musical possibilities. As long as you're mindful of the basics of communion with God—praise, prayer, confession, meditation (and don't forget lament)—there is no limit to how you might fill the liturgical space.
Every day is different, each with its own demands and difficulties. But we nonetheless adopt some patterns of which we might be mostly unaware. What patterns for living have you adopted, consciously or unconsciously? How might these patterns be reconfigured so that grace sinks into your recesses and rises to the surface of your being?
Peter answered Him, “Lord, if it is You, command me to come to You on the water.” He said, “Come.” So Peter got out of the boat and walked on the water and came to Jesus. But when he saw the wind, he was afraid, and beginning to sink he cried out, “Lord, save me.” Jesus immediately reached out His hand and took hold of him, saying to him, “O you of little faith, why did you doubt?”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
I consider it subtle testimony to the decline of civilization that our litigious ways have nearly eradicated that once hallowed fixture of neighborhood pools: the high-dive. The dangling plank twelve feet in the air. The invitation to momentarily defy gravity, and then to feel what Icarus felt but without the fear. How many summer nights did my friends and I climb the aquamarine ladder and put unrelenting strain on the fiberglass board with the peeling grip tape abrading our already swollen, wrinkled toes!
It was more than recreation. It was liberation. We may have been a more tentative type affixed to terra firma, but give us the freedom to hurl ourselves into the ether without worry of what lie beneath and something between heroic and maniacal would surface in us.
So the high-dive made its own small contribution to our maturing: we who at first clung tightly to the side of the pool, fearing the deeper water, began to imagine what flight might feel like—until we at last ventured tentative steps skyward, having to take it on faith that, though we would fall and be swallowed by the blue abyss, we would rise again—alive and forever changed.
We might be tempted to psychologize Peter’s willingness to step from the boat, concluding his faith was a function of fearless temperament, like those who willingly batter there bodies with belly-flops from the high-dive. Yet Matthew records the episode, not to highlight a particular disposition, but to surface something universal about following Jesus. Namely, we ought not find it odd to find God calling us on occasion to step from the friendly confines of familiarity to trust Him for what only He can accomplish through faith. To release the grip from the side of the pool and allow the current of His Providence to take us into a new depth.
Acquiescing to His unconventional command may involve a radical change, a choice to forge a new path or clear an old one overgrown by doubt or cynicism. But it might be no more extensive (and yet no less monumental) than speaking a needed word long since trapped by fear in the back of your throat. Or venturing a tentative step toward someone common sense would deem wholly irrational. His command may not always entail relocation but it will disrupt, if only your way of thinking of how He will work.
But to step into what will feel like a more exposed place is to invite disconcerting words the surrounding winds of uncertainty will inevitably whisper. Peter’s moment bears that out, as does our own experience with taking God only at His word. Any change is soon met with impediments that challenge our initial optimism. To leap with love is to risk the sting of being spurned.
That is why it is heartening to know that should we succumb to the voices that compete with His command, the One who beckons us to discover divine enablement is the same who will rescue us from the abyss to which our fears lead. To be sure, Jesus chided Peter for failing to trust that His command was sure. But love was no less present in His disappointment with Peter’s doubt than it was in the call to step from the boat. For the love whose endurance we may take confidence in—even when our faith fails and we sink like a rock—is the same love that sent Jesus to His cross for our ingrained refusal to trust. That His love did not falter under that moment of greatest strain proves its resilience against our Petrine moments of frail faith.
In what venture or relationship might He be calling you to depart from the customary so that you know more profoundly He is God? To us Christ says, “Come on in, the water’s Mine.”
But when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The world loves a conspiracy and it got one last week from a four-inch fragment of papyrus. By now you’ve heard of the Harvard professor of antiquity who came into possession of a remarkably preserved swatch of Egyptian writing, purportedly from the fourth century, which spoke of Jesus and His mother, Mary. That someone had unearthed another piece of ancient hagiography would be no story amid the torrent of other more pressing news. What made this find newsworthy was that the text reports Jesus saying, “My wife...”
Were the fragment to be found genuine and its translation from the Coptic plausible, the content would serve to challenge the Bible’s and the church’s consistent teaching that Jesus had been single and celibate for the entirety of His earthly ministry.
The conspiratorial impulse kicked into high gear when some from the scholarly community used this week’s discovery to insinuate there are only two reasons that could explain why the church has always taught that Jesus had been unmarried: either it’s just a matter of “happenstance,” as one scholar put it, that our earliest existing texts about Jesus portray Him as single, or it’s because the church’s early exaltation of celibacy as a mark of true holiness justified suppression of alternative perspectives on Jesus’ marital status.
Ross Douthat of the New York Times wondered out loud why the scholarly community wouldn’t consider a third, and to him, more plausible explanation—namely, that Jesus was in fact celibate. We need not entertain a Dan Brown-esque form of historiographical sleight of hand masquerading as scholarship when a simple review of the existing data will do.
We’re drawn to conspiratorial theories that undermine earlier explanations, probably for many reasons. We ought not disparage the impulse out of hand given the number of salutary discoveries that arose from intuitive dissatisfactions with long-standing theories. But we should admit that the more we can complicate our picture of an issue, the less claim we feel it has upon us. In this case, the more controversy we inject into the identity of Jesus, the less inclined we are to see Him as an authority.
So the consequence of every misapprehension of Jesus is to treat Him as less than He deserves. For the world can think of Him as, at best, a historical enigma and in turn relegate Him to the status of eccentric sage. The disciples can think of Him as a ghost, as He approached them walking on the water, and reduce Jesus to something only to fear. Judas can try to force Jesus’ hand as if He were a revolutionary gone soft, while Peter can try to preserve Him from harm as One unworthy to suffer.
In each case, misapprehending Jesus is a distortion not only of His identity but also of what is due Him. Recall your own experience with being misunderstood and you remember how unbefitting the response you received. Shouldn’t we be all the more concerned with viewing Him properly that we might treat Him rightly?
Oh, but does He ask too much? Aren’t His ways inscrutable (Rom 11:39)? Don’t we see Him through a glass darkly, waiting for a day of greater clarity (1 Cor 13:12)? Aren’t we commended for loving Him though we do not see Him (1 Pet 1:8)?
Until we see Him as He is (1 Jn 3:2), we will never comprehend Him fully. But despite His incomprehensibility, we still gain sufficient understanding of Him from even His most succinct statements.
For Jesus is the One who said, “Take heart.” With Him comes good reason to pull ourselves together no matter how our moment pulls us apart.
He is the One who said, “It is I.” Jesus is no ghost, but the very Son of God whose taking away the sins of the world amply proves His love and His ability to confirm the rationale for hope.
Christ is the One who said, “Do not be afraid.” Whatever our thoughts or preliminary conclusions that would induce in us a panic, His pardon, presence, and promise are all sufficient to render such panic not just premature but pointless.
Your life may be as tattered as that fourth-century fragment, your moment as indecipherable as some of its ancient inscription. But whatever may be conspiring against you—it meets its match in Him who came—and died—for His bride.
"Let us offer to God acceptable worship..."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
We knew this day would come—just not when she was six.
A little context: From the moment we saw the first trailer, our family has been waiting with bated breath for the Christmas Day release of a new cinematic version of Victor Hugo’s celebrated epic, Les Misérables. We’ve replayed so many times that two-minute taste of director Tim Hooper’s (The King’s Speech) film adaptation of the acclaimed Broadway musical that our everyday humming has been overtaken with the arresting melodies of Boublil and Schönberg.
My wife and I took pleasure in the fact that our children had so quickly found an appreciation for this enduring tale. But our pride turned pale when my wife found our six-year-old daughter replaying the trailer repeatedly, only so she could freeze frame on the images of Marius—the robust, yet melancholy soul caught between competing impulses of romance and revolution. My wife didn’t know whether to chuckle or choke when Little Miss Precocious, upon being discovered, turned to her mother and said unapologetically, “I think I’m in love with him.”
As they say: "Parent a son and you have to worry about one boy, but parent a daughter and you have to worry about every boy."
It’s meager consolation, but our (prematurely?) budding romantic is only doing what the young tend to do. Research shows how young brains have a built-in propensity to become almost hysterically stimulated by demonstrations of beauty, grace, and prowess. The grainy films of shrieking girls swooning at the sight of John, Paul, George, and Ringo picture less a new wave in pop-culture than a prodigious biochemical reaction.
So there’s a biological construct to explain, at least in part, this awakening of powerful, if passing, affections for other ostensibly larger-than-life personalities. The phenomenon has other names like infatuation or crush, but it certainly has resonances with what we know as worship.
And that begs some questions: Is the kind of unbridled affection for celebrities we see in the young what we’re meant to experience in our worship of God?
Conversely, if we are never moved to tears by the majesty of God, or the supreme kindness of His salvation in Christ, to the same degree that adoring fans of the latest pop icon are, have we unwittingly adopted a cynical edge or simply failed to cultivate an emotional pliancy to His glory?
In short, is worship not worship until a pleasure-inducing mélange of neurotransmitters is being secreted?
On Sunday Mark led us to consider what is the essence of Christ-centered worship, how knowing God as He is and by what He’s done will naturally and necessarily lead to admiration, affection, and yes, exultation of God.
At the core of our affliction—the one from which Christ came to rescue us—is distorted and misplaced affections—drawn too much to the trivial and insensible to the profound. We are reborn when the “love of Christ compels us...so that we no longer live for [ourselves] but for Him who for our sake died and was raised” (2 Cor 5:14-15). Here in Paul’s briefest summary of the Christian life, we see the fusion of love and worship. And while the two ideas are not, strictly speaking, synonyms, they bear a kindredness between them that, I would argue, provides insight into what true worship is.
Like love, worship basks in the sweet light of the one esteemed. It takes delight in communing with and in serving the object of its affection. For both love and worship presupposes gratitude unto whom they are devoted; and gratitude by nature elicits joy.
But as it is with love, worship does not depend on delight to express its regard for the one esteemed. That is, it doesn’t demand a palpable exultation at every given moment in order to fulfill the exaltation that worship purposes. For just as love must sometimes do what love does before it feels what love enjoys, so worship may often proceed with its characteristic humility, attentiveness, and submission without overwhelming emotion.
To put it more succinctly, worship takes strong delight in God but doesn’t make delight its god. So we dare not satisfy ourselves with an emotionless spirituality—we are made to feel, and so as part of our redemption we are remade to feel rightly, and passionately for God. But we likewise must not place the palpable upon a pedestal that stands above our submission to His holiness.
So what are the implications of a worship that may well involve dopamine but which has purposes far deeper than what dopamine can effect?
Have you withheld from God the submission He deserves citing as your justification a lack of palpable delight in who He is? Worship the Lord by doing His will, deferring to His honor more than demanding gratification.
Or have you reduced communion with God to be all work and no pleasure? Worship the Lord with gladness that through Christ’s work He takes pleasure in you—and only by trusting in that work first can we ever do work that pleases Him.
My daughter’s affections for Marius will fade in time; her brain isn’t meant to sustain that kind of devotion. But we’ve been fashioned to find an enduring appreciation of God that provides satisfaction and sustains commitment. For since He was raised we glory in the hope that “even the darkest nights will end and the sun will rise.”
"Create in me a clean heart, O God."
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
In the four years I’ve been privileged to contribute to this column I’ve had multiple opportunities to share anecdotes of how family life has contributed to my maturation in the faith. My children have dazzled me with insights beyond their years. My wife has spoken truth in love with astonishing courage and compassion. The very storyline of our family has imprinted truth upon my heart like no book or sermon could.
But of my sins—at least the ones that I’m either most aware of or most burdened by—the lion-share are committed within the friendly confines of home, among and, more distressingly, against those I most love. Those for whom I’m most responsible.
And if I had to summarize what I’ve had to repent of most in my little community of faith, it might be typified by the question I find my children having to ask on occasion, “why is daddy so grumpy today?”
Recently I turned to Jonathan Edwards for help. His book, Charity and its Fruits, represents a series of lectures given on Paul’s profile of love in 1 Corinthians 13. In the chapter exploring what Paul meant when he said that love is “not easily provoked” (v. 5) one section near its end cut me to the quick:
Families are societies the most closely united of all; and their members are in the nearest relation, and under the greatest obligations to peace, and harmony, and love. And yet what has been your spirit in the family? Many a time have you not been fretful, and angry, and impatient, and peevish, and unkind to those whom God has made in so great a measure dependent on you, and who are so easily made happy or unhappy by what you do or say—by kindness or unkindness? And what kind of anger have you indulged in the family? Has it not often been unreasonable and sinful, not only in its nature, but in its occasions, where those with whom you were angry were not in fault, or when the fault was trifling or unintended, or where, perhaps, you were yourself part to blame for it? And even where there might have been just cause, has not your wrath been continued, and led you to be sullen, or severe, to an extent that your own conscience disapproved?
Edwards wrote nearly 300 years ago, but he speaks with enduring insight into the human condition—into my condition. Anger’s outburst demands reflection upon its cause, the premises upon which it justifies its presence. It demands imagination, too: what effects its likely to have—better, inflict—the more it proceeds unabated.
Mostly it demands a constitutional change—a reformation of the heart.
My sin of anger may not be the same as that which King David made his repentant plea of in Psalm 51. But my heart is no less in need of recreation as his was.
This is why I need the Gospel.
Only by that news Jesus came to spread may I discover the depth of my darkness. Anger may have behind it as much unconscious impetus as conscious; but that excuses nothing, mitigates nothing, even if the hidden causes make it more explicable. Until I recognize, as Edwards explains, that most anger grows from a root of love-displacing pride, it will continue to seduce while it works its degrading power. Yes, Jesus speaks—and dies—to persuade of anger’s darkness.
But His news of portent is accompanied by an equally fierce announcement of loving patience. How else can King David trust that God would delight in truth’s reinstatement in David’s heart? It has to be because he, by the Holy Spirit, trusted this God would not depart from Him. How else can we explain the purpose of the cross, given the agonizingly slow process by which we become conformed to its glory? It has to be because the love of God is not soon to abandon those for whom it exerts itself.
What do those who know and love you most see in you (or feel from you) that is most in need of transformation? What pattern has led even you to be “sullen or severe, to an extent that your own conscience disapproved?” Consider it grace to have been awakened.
Take heed as to its contrariness to the heart of one so loved. Then take heart that since His love will not countenance its continuance God will carry to completion what He began in you.
Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Note: Due to Patrick Lafferty's itineration, there is no new ETC this week. So we're reaching back into the archives to revisit an article posted one year ago on October 14, 2011.
As a soldier in the French army near the beginning of World War II, he would ask his commanding officer for the morning guard duty shifts. The flight of birds at sunrise was his interest, though ornithology was for him only an avocation. As his part of the world awoke, the stillness may have afforded the objects of his attention a greater freedom to swoop and chirp, to glide and preen, unhindered by the din of the day. It was his observations of their unfettered movements that he translated into music. For this soldier and student of the feathered species was foremost a composer. His name was Olivier Messiaen.
The score he composed from his meditations on the flight of birds later became part of a much larger work. But the setting in which he completed that entire eight-movement composition was far from the pastoral milieu of his native France. It was from within the barracks of a German POW camp near Gorlitz following his capture in 1940. While Messiaen was confined to Stalag VIII-A his captors came to learn of his musical reputation and granted him the freedom to practice his craft.
And on the night of January 15, 1941, the camp guards escorted nearly 500 prisoners, many on stretchers recovering from wounds, into an icy meeting hall to hear Messiaen’s finished work entitled, “A Quartet for the End of Time.” There prisoner and captor, friend and foe alike, sat attentively and listened to a little bit of serenity surrounded by the awful carnage of war.
The episode is remarkable for any number of reasons: beauty and horror juxtaposed; one of the most murderous regimes in history permitting no small act of humanity; a man imprisoned nevertheless inspired to create loveliness amid brutality. And then this: Messiaen’s Quartet took its primary inspiration from dreams the composer had about visions from the Book of Revelation. These are only a few of the reasons Rebecca Rischin chose to document the debut of Messiaen’s work (to a literally captive audience) in her book, For the End of Time: The Story of the Messiaen Quartet.
But I tell this short summary of that moment because I think it resonates in part with what we heard from Pastor Bill last Sunday concerning Jesus’ beatitude about persecution. Our Lord says in so many words that he is no fool who labors for the sake of God’s glory though he is met in return with anything from derision to destruction.
Messiaen’s moment in Stalag VIII-A isn’t a perfect analogy. He wasn’t being persecuted for his music; in fact they invited him to put his talents on full display. Yet for a few reasons the concert could not be a more apt illustration for Jesus’ call to joy in persecution.
Though he was constrained for reasons quite unrelated to his music, Messiaen refused to let his subjugation squelch the interest in bringing forth what bore testimony to the greatness of God. While persecution of any sort might threaten our interest in making Him known, the composer embodies an inward compulsion to stand against the tyranny by voicing what gives Life.
Messiaen also demonstrates what it means to answer to what is Higher. He did not succumb to the cynicism seeping from a world enshrouded by injustice. To be reviled or persecuted because of our faith tempts us to heed those antagonistic voices—to see them as authoritative. But like an operatic voice summoning us to wonder at a beauty we cannot describe, so the news that our incalculable corruption and guilt has been overturned by an even greater Love heralds a deeper Truth that compels a walk upon a higher Way.
Finally, this humble and talented Frenchman reminds us that there is an intrinsic satisfaction to bringing attention to what is good even if it would not result in immediate liberation. Jesus grounds the joy to be found in persecution in past, present, and future dimensions. We may take pride that we keep company with an admirable list of forbears. The courage to persevere presently comes from knowing the ground upon which you find the footing to make a stand for His honor could not be more holy—nor could it be more secure. And that no matter how great the losses incurred for following in His footsteps—from ridicule, revulsion, or retaliation—they will never exceed what we will gain when face to face we see Him. In those past, present, and future reasons for resilience in persecution we find an intrinsic satisfaction in doing His will, even if our circumstances don’t change—either immediately or ever in this life.
What might Messiaen’s lofty moment mean for you and me here, far from any war or POW camp? How would these few devotional words translate into a larger composition of life?
For one, less calculation and more risk with love. Jesus does not bid us throw caution to the wind, but He does exhort us to risk more of ourselves for the sake of His honor and Grace without constantly (neurotically) worrying about how such will be received. And also, less fear and more thanks. Anxiety about being misunderstood or misrepresented, about being harassed or harangued, pitied or pilloried—all these more self-centered fears would be overshadowed by gratitude for being thusly treated as a result of Gospel-centered acts.
“Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? And not one of them will fall to the ground apart from your Father...Fear not, therefore; you are of more value than many sparrows” (Matthew 10:29, 31). As the birds inspired Messiaen, may they continue to teach us: even should we fall to the ground—and for the sake of His name—His love will enable us to stand in the war and one day liberate us from its persecution.
Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Legion,” for many demons had entered him. And they begged Him not to command them to depart into the abyss.
In last Sunday’s sermon on Luke 8:26–39, we discussed the miracle Jesus accomplished for the sad man on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee who was bound by demons that tormented him and made him a fright to his family and friends. We noted that there was a "legion" of demons (6,000) with which he had to contend. And there were many more demons in the gospel accounts particularly in Matthew, Mark, and Luke.
I asked the question why there appeared to be so many more demons in the New Testament than there are driving along Central Expressway (although some would way there are plenty of demonic forces on Central!) I didn’t answer that question and said we’d take a crack at it in this column. There may be more than one answer, but I believe we are on safe ground to say that the following is the most important.
With the coming of Jesus, and particularly the beginning of His ministry, the Kingdom of God decisively came. The Kingdom is the rule and reign of God. It is a central theme to Jesus ministry that, in Himself, the rule and reign of God was dramatically revealed. Certainly the Kingdom had been forecast in the history of Israel’s kingdom, but as of the baptism of Christ by John the Baptist, the Kingdom of God was decisively on the move.
Yet the Kingdom did not fully come in Jesus ministry. There is yet to be the fulfillment, sometimes called the consummation of the Kingdom that will happen when Jesus returns. We now labor for and with the Lord for the advancement of that Kingdom, knowing that He will complete the church’s work on that great day. Sometimes it is said that we live “between the times” or in “the already and the not yet,” as ways to explain this tension between the Kingdom’s coming and its yet future realization.
Now we can say more about the huge number of demons that accompanied Jesus in His ministry in Judea (the south of what we now call Israel) and Galilee (the north of what we now call Israel). The demons not only hated Jesus, they hated the Kingdom He was bringing. They knew that it meant the beginning of the end of their power. So they resisted the Kingdom and sought, by every means they could (sickness, temptation, politics, death, even religion—and yes—demonic possession) to stop it. From our vantage point in history, we know that Jesus was victorious, but that was not a foregone conclusion when He was countering the demons’ wickedness. From the demons’ point of view, they could possibly defeat Jesus and the Kingdom before it could get started. We must take seriously that a real battle was on for the heads, hearts, and souls of humankind. It was a real war, with real attempts to deter Jesus (like at His temptation in the wilderness) and with real blood (even Jesus’ blood).
So the battle was on—the real battle between the Kingdom of Light and the kingdom of darkness. With the Incarnation of Christ where the second person of the Trinity became a true man, the evil forces did two things.
First, they stepped up their level of activity so that, at no other time in history, including today, have they been so determined, so intensely at work, in order to undermine the coming of the Kingdom. This is why we see more demonic activity in the New Testament than the Old, and more in the gospels than we do in Acts or the epistles. And this is why we see far less the direct work of present demons today: the success of the first coming of the Kingdom in Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection means they are now quieter, biding their time. It must be said, however, that we do see demonic activity today, usually in places where the Gospel of the Kingdom is breaking in for the first time, such as in remote tribal cultures.
Second, since God had incarnated Himself as a man, the demons’ particular strategy was to incarnate themselves in men, so that they might seek to oppose Christ, The Man, and His work of redemption, which necessarily had to be worked out in the flesh (Jesus could not die for our sins unless He became flesh, because only flesh can die). So the demons sought to demonstrate to Jesus that they could deface the image of God in so many humans that His rescue efforts would be in vain and that they could thereby prevent the coming of the rule and reign of God over mankind.
When Jesus ordered the legion of demons out of the man and into the pigs, and then over the cliff into the abyss (darkness, chaos, death), He was demonstrating what He would accomplish by the death of His own flesh and the triumph of the resurrection of His own flesh. And in this way, the demons and the kingdom of darkness are vanquished, and the Kingdom of God comes to men and women.
I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself, if only I may finish my course and the ministry that I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify to the Gospel of the grace of God.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
On the tombstone of Sir Winston Churchill the inscription reads,
I am ready to meet my Maker.
Whether my Maker is prepared
for the great ordeal of meeting me
is another matter.
Churchill posthumously speaks to visitors to his grave in the idiom of epitaph. Originally coined in the Greek to refer to a funeral oration, the word came to be associated with a succinct—though sometimes lengthy—encapsulation of the deceased’s life.
Like Sir Winston’s, some epitaphs appeal to humor. The British comedian and poet, Spike Milligan, has upon his grave, “I told you I was ill.” While Stan Laurel, of Laurel and Hardy fame, had inscribed, “If anyone at my funeral has a long face, I'll never speak to him again.”
Others prefer a more sober tone, offering a pithy reminder to the living of this life’s ephemerality. One anonymous Scottish epitaph reads, “Consider, friend, as you pass by: As you are now, so once was I. As I am now, you too shall be. Prepare, therefore, to follow me.”
Epitaphs honor the dead as they serve to comfort the living. But I suppose the Apostle Paul would’ve demurred at the offer of an epitaph upon his burial spot. His life had spoken enough. That death would be gain, and the Gospel strong enough to save in the mouths of the living, made a final word inscribed in stone unnecessary.
Yet if we were to encapsulate Paul’s life in an epitaphic fashion, his words above to the Ephesian elders during their ostensibly final meeting would suffice. Paul had much more to say in those parting words in Acts 20. But no other utterance summarized as aptly his purpose.
This will be my last contribution to the Every Thought Captive column as a pastor at PCPC. As many of you may have already heard, I’m transitioning in the coming weeks to be the organizing pastor for a young church in southwest Dallas named Christ the King. A new iteration of this column will emerge soon, but for now, I bid you farewell.
Words prove elusive to express my gratitude to my friend and pastor, Mark Davis, for his vision and encouragement for this weekly offering. The intensity of gratitude parallels my sense of privilege at having been given the opportunity to speak into your lives—though I suppose what most motivated me to write was the need to preach into my own life.
So as I navigated these bittersweet waters of transition, my mind went to Paul’s epitaph-like words. They enunciate perhaps the two hardest things to believe deeply, and therefore they represent the two greatest burdens for this column to communicate: that we do not belong to ourselves, and that this life can only be lived well by grace.
Until we see Him face-to-face, we shall wrestle with the seductive voice that says we are the masters of our fate. Every sin is premised upon that notion. Until we see Him face-to-face we shall be tempted to think our most animating and sustaining glory shall be found by our own effort (more on that this Sunday). Our deepest and most abiding fears find their source there.
But if the Gospel, which Paul spoke and incarnated, teaches us anything, it is that we shall never be most defined by our parentage, our peers, or our practice. For as Paul elsewhere says, “if we live, we live to the Lord, and if we die, we die to the Lord. So then, whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s.”
And since He is our greatest authority, the depth of our sins and the feebleness of our aptitudes leave us no alternative to find abiding hope and life apart from the One who spilled eternal blood for us.
Every Thought Captive may have said nothing more than that, over and over, each and every week. But I, and all those who contributed to this column, could insert no greater comment into your week. If that is our collective epitaph we will not be ashamed.
So from this man of Irish descent I commend you to God with an Indian blessing known as the Christaraksha (HT: Alan Jacobs):
May the cross of the Son of God,
which is mightier than all the hosts of Satan
and more glorious than all the hosts of heaven,
abide with you in your going out and your coming in.
By day and night, at morning and at evening,
at all times and in all places,
may it protect and defend you.
From the wrath of evildoers,
from the assaults of evil spirits,
from foes visible and invisible,
from the snares of the devil,
from all passions that beguile the soul and body:
may it guard, protect and deliver you.
Amen.
I am the Lord; that is My name;
My glory I give to no other,
nor My praise to carved idols.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
This Every Thought Captive reflects on Patrick Lafferty’s final sermon as a pastor at PCPC.
Last week when the PCPC staff gathered to celebrate Patrick Lafferty’s ministry among us, Mark Davis asked Patrick to share what he had learned in the process of discerning God’s call to Christ the King in Duncanville. Patrick opened by saying that he had learned that the Lord will not give His glory to another. I was ready for a wise word about finding God’s will or taking risks for the Kingdom. The reminder that the Lord is jealous for His glory caught me off guard. Patrick’s comment and his subsequent sermon forced me to reconsider the centrality of God’s glory in my life. If God will not give His glory to another, is this good news?
We humans are naturally glory seekers. Look around. You’ll find glory language popping up everywhere. Songwriters never run out of verses to describe the glory of love. Historians marvel at the glory of Rome. A nation watches eagerly to see which political candidate will win a glorious victory. Search “food glorious food” on YouTube and you’ll find a musical tribute to culinary delight. In business we crave the glory of success. In school we salute the glory of achievement. In sports we yearn for the glory of a championship. Just yesterday I caught myself saying, “This weather is glorious.” Even the rare taste of autumn in Texas gets us thinking about glory.
We can’t help being glory seekers. As Christians we believe that God made us for His glory. Our children can recite the answer to the first question of the Westminster Shorter Catechism: “The chief end of man is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.” Deep down, we know that God’s glory is supreme, but we also know that our glory seeking has gone astray. Adam and Eve exchanged the glory of God for a bite of forbidden fruit (Gen 3:6). Esau traded the glory of his inheritance for a bowl of stew (Gen 25:29–34). David exchanged the glory of being God’s anointed for a moment of passion (2 Sam 11). Judas traded the glory of Jesus for a few pieces of silver (Matt 26:15).
As sinners we are glory seekers turned glory thieves. Few people have died falling off a footstool, but many have died in an attempt to scale the highest mountains. The depth of our fall only makes sense when we see the futility of trying to scale the summit of God’s glory and plant our own flag there. When we trade the glory of God for anything else—no matter how good the replacement—we set ourselves up against the King of Glory. Our offense can be measured only by the glory of the One we offend. For sinners, God’s promise in Isaiah 42:8 would appear to be bad news. If He will not give His glory to another, and we have tried to steal it, how can there be any hope for us?
The depth of our glory problem is only surpassed by the wonder of God’s solution. Though the Lord will not give His glory to another, He did sacrifice it to redeem His people when He sent Jesus to the world.
Why? Near the end of His life, staring down the reality of the cross, Jesus referenced glory eight different times in prayers to His Father (John 17). It shouldn’t surprise us that the Son of God is consumed with the glory of God. Jesus Christ came, lived, died, and rose in order to bring glory to His Father and joy to those who would find their glory in Him. God’s commitment to His own glory is wonderfully good news. Jesus sacrificed His own glory to pay our penalty for “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Rom 3:23–24).
Why do so many of us long to change, but still find ourselves trading God’s glory for lesser things?
In his sermon, Patrick quoted the English Reformer Hugh Latimer, who said, “The rain maketh the hole in the stone, not by violence, but by oft falling.” The image reminds us that our growth in Christ is not an event, but a process. A stone hit by one violent shower will remain the same, but even gentle rain will transform it when that rain falls again and again for months and years and decades.
Could it be that the Gospel works on our hard hearts in much the same way? Could it be that our frustration says less about the power of the Gospel and more about our reluctance to yield our hearts to its relentless drip…drip…drip? In the midst of our failures, our suffering, and our challenges, the Gospel of grace continues to fall upon our stony hearts. As we stay under the drip of the Gospel, we are reshaped by it. Drip…drip…drip, and more and more we feel the weight of our rebellion in seeking glory apart from God. Drip…drip…drip, more and more we feel the greater weight of God’s love for us in Christ.
May the Lord give us all a passion for His glory and a desire to surrender to the drip of the Gospel. Patrick, thank you for shepherding us so well and exhorting us to walk on in the power of the risen Christ.
“Let us know; let us press on to know the Lord;
His going out is sure as the dawn;
He will come to us as the showers,
as the spring rains that water the earth.”
—Hosea 6:3
Drip…drip…drip.
Do not present your members to sin as instruments for unrighteousness, but present yourselves to God as those who have been brought from death to life, and your members to God as instruments for righteousness.
Back in the early 80s I went with a group to Uganda, a dark and difficult country at that time. The reign of the despot Idi Amin had just ended, but all of the chaos that he had caused was still there. Oppression, hate, and economic anguish pervaded the lives of its citizens. It was hard to preach the Gospel there.
We were stopped at gunpoint more than once by drunken soldiers, who, for a candy bar they saw on the dashboard of the car, could just as easily have shot us and gotten away with it. It was a reign of terror. After two weeks there we boarded a 747 jet at Entebbe Airport, bound for New York. But, as one last way the reigning authorities sought to taunt us as ministers of the Gospel, they made us sit on that tarmac for three hours in the hot, central African sun with no air conditioning. They teased us as to whether or not they were going to give us permission to actually leave. Finally we were cleared for takeoff. As the jet’s wheels left the runway, cheers went up from everybody on the airplane, because at that moment we were no longer under the reign and rule of the despots of Uganda. We had a wonderful sense of freedom as the plane sped its way home.
Early the next morning as the plane approached New York City, the sun came up behind us from the east and shone in all its glory on the city’s skyline and the Statue of Liberty. Someone began singing softly, “America, America, God shed His grace on thee.” And we all started singing. What an amazing sense of freedom! No longer under the power and the tyranny in Uganda!
What if we had gotten a call from that government authority at that airport that we must return to Uganda? Would we have gone back? No!
We think we would say that, but we don’t. Returning to our old authority, sin, is common for Christians. It’s like the slaves freed in 1863 by the Emancipation Proclamation. Many of them left the plantations, but as they got only a few miles away, they turned around and went back to the plantation because they didn’t know where to go. Insanely, they went back to their old slave masters.
We belong to that which we obey. The tremendous irony is that Christians made free of the reign of sin and its rule can insanely submit again to that old master from whom they have been freed. C. S. Lewis, called sin “temporary insanity.” Sin is a contradiction of our identity.
What is the solution? The apostle Paul says to “present yourselves to God as those alive from the dead, and your members as instruments of righteousness to God.” Present is a soldiering term meaning literally “to place one at another’s disposal.” A soldier who enlists or is drafted puts himself at the disposal of his commanding officer. Paul also says, “Present the members of your body.” Present the physical side of your life, but first your mind, your affections, and your will. From them your actions flow.
It is strenuous and practical activity you must enter to avoid sin’s control. Some people advise “just let go and let God.” Let me warn you: do not let go! It will not be God who rushes in to take over. This mortal flesh is so strong, it will overwhelm you if you let go. No, instead, take hold, take hold of yourself and present yourself as an instrument, as a weapon of righteousness before your King. He will employ you with joy in His work—the extension of His Kingdom deep into your heart and then wide into the world.
There are only two possibilities for you and me, just as every man and woman who has ever lived has had citizenship in one of two kingdoms. We live either under the reign of sin or the reign of grace. The moment we are justified we are taken immediately out of the realm of sin, and we are put into the Kingdom of God’s Son. That is what has happened to you, believer in the Lord Jesus Christ. You have been removed from the dominion of Satan and put into the Kingdom of God’s Son. You are no longer a citizen of the realm where sin dominates. You are new. You are alive from the dead.
Now go and live that way. Become who you are. Live according to the citizenship that you have been given. Don’t go back. Live this day in the freedom that is yours in Christ.
"The Word became flesh and dwelt among us."
Since the regular author of Every Thought Captive, Pastor Patrick Lafferty, has accepted a call to another church in the Dallas area, these devotionals will continue but be authored by a number of writers who are pastors, teachers, and ministry leaders in the Presbyterian Church in America. We pray they will continue to minister to your hearts and lives as Jesus Christ and His Word are lifted up.
—PCPC Communications Team
Now that Black Friday is behind us, The Season has begun in earnest. So many things are said in columns like this about the Christmas frenzy, about shopping and parties and decorating… all of them to the effect of: why do we do this to ourselves every year? Good question, but I’d rather tell you about something about Christmas that makes me glad.
INCARNATION: In-carne (as in carnivore, meat eater) Carne means flesh; Incarnation means the in-fleshment of God. God came down in flesh. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).
In the last several years I keep coming back to the most familiar parts of our faith, but I’m trying to see them in more personal, more “affective” ways, that is, in ways that light up my affections, not just my thoughts.
There is nothing like the Incarnation in any other world religion. I think I heard Tim Keller say once that Christianity is the only religion where God comes in flesh. In the great Eastern religions, Hinduism and Buddhism, the Incarnation is unnecessary: God is already here; He is present in everything. We call this pantheism: pan meaning all or everywhere; theism meaning pertaining to God.
In the great Western religions other than Christianity, that is Judaism and Islam (yes, Islam is Western; it is mono-theist like Christianity and Judaism) the Incarnation is impossible: God would never do this; He would never humiliate Himself by in-fleshment, coming down for us. In Islam, the Incarnation is rank heresy; it’s blasphemous to suggest that God in His greatness would appear as a man.
It’s important to note the exact wording of John 1:14. It doesn’t say that the Word changed into flesh, but that the Word became flesh. The Word didn’t stop being God in order to become man; there was no diminishing of His deity, but rather the acquiring of manhood. Jesus is 100% God and 100% man. But when you do the math, it doesn’t add up: How can 100% and 100% equal 100%?
It took the Church 450 years to begin to figure the Incarnation out. In 451 AD, the Chalcedon Creed, speaking of Jesus said, “The distinction of His natures (i.e. His divine and human natures) is by no means taken away by the union (of them), but rather the property of each nature [is] preserved.” Here’s what that means: the second person of the Trinity is distinctly God, distinctly man, united in one Person, the man, the God, Jesus Christ. Whoa… that’s a mouthful. There’s more: the Son of God remains the infinite and unchangeable Word of God, and yet the infinite enters the finite. The Word became flesh. He did not take on a human body, putting on flesh like a coat over His divinity. His became a human being, without ceasing to be God.
Okay, enough theology. But it’s worth reading over the last paragraph a couple times. To understand the Incarnation, words like these are important. But they can only take you so far. If we only say the words correctly, we’ll never enter into the meaning of them. At some point we have to know, not just think about, this truth. We have to know that which we cannot understand, to know beyond knowing. I think it’s fair to call that “mystery.” Biblically, mystery is that which we can never know until God reveals it, but even then, His revealing will mean we enter into the mystery, not figure it out.
So, this is the stuff of poets. Many have tried to express something of the amazement of the Incarnation. G.K. Chesterton, as he thought of the infant Jesus lying in a barn or a cave with farm animals, said:
The child that was (before) the worlds begun,
The child that played with moon and sun,
Is playing with a little hay.
Or this: “May He who flung the moon and the stars in their place and then plunged into our humanity, bewilder us once again, each and all.”
Jesus, the second Person of the Holy Trinity, plunged into our humanity. God came down. That’s something to think about… No, that’s something to know beyond knowing.
There are many implications of this bewildering truth, each of which is worth an article like this. Here are just a few:
1) Jesus understands, sympathizes with, and helps us in our weaknesses; He was even tempted in all human ways as we are, yet He didn’t succumb. (Heb 4:15-16)
2) Only flesh can die. And only God in-flesh, who never sinned, can shed blood for the sins of others. (Heb 2:17)
3) The Lord’s Supper is very important because it is a way we plunge into the mysterious, but nonetheless real, participation in the broken body and shed blood of Jesus, God and man. (I Cor 10:16)
4) In the Incarnation, God comes down in Jesus to bless the earth and the good endeavors humans do when we plant a tree or paint a portrait or conduct commerce or take a walk in the mountains or sing a happy song. The coming down of God in Jesus is redeeming all the earth.
Please, this Season, think again on these things, but don’t try to figure them out too much. Instead, plunge in by faith.
"Then Mordecai told them to reply to Esther, 'Do not think to yourself that in the king's palace you will escape any more than all the other Jews. For if you keep silent at this time, relief and deliverance will rise for the Jews from another place, but you and your father's house will perish. And who knows whether you have not come to the kingdom for such a time as this?' Then Esther told them to reply to Mordecai, 'Go, gather all the Jews to be found in Susa, and hold a fast on my behalf, and do not eat or drink for three days, night or day. I and my young women will also fast as you do. Then I will go to the king, though it is against the law, and if I perish, I perish.'"
A native of Rock Hill, South Carolina, J. Marty expressed an early interest in music and was encouraged to explore it. He completed his undergraduate studies in music at St. Olaf College in Minnesota and gained a masters degree from Indiana University. Several years later, he returned to school for the Master of Music in Choral Studies degree at Cambridge University (UK). Currently, he serves on the music staff at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas as Choir Director and Associate Organist. He lives in Dallas with his wife Marissa.
Notice the “if.” “If I perish.” Esther didn’t know. She didn’t have a guarantee about the story’s ending. It’s hard to enter into the anxiousness and uncertainty she faced in that moment. Mordecai laid out the framework: “who knows whether you have not come…for such a time as this?” Exactly: “who knows?”
We know because we can read the end of the story. We see the macro; looking from above. We can take the end for granted, for we know it’s good: “Esther, relax, all will be well.”
In that moment, she faced the possibility of terror on both sides. Destruction would meet her people if she did nothing, and death could be her verdict if the king didn’t accept her approach to the throne. She moved in faith—in the direction laid out before her, even though she didn’t know the end of the story.
A similar story: Nehemiah served King Artaxerxes as cupbearer in the Persian court. Upon hearing the news of Jerusalem’s broken down wall and the condition of his fellow Jews living in “great trouble and shame,” he wept and mourned and continued in fasting and prayer. God placed in his heart the vision: return and rebuild.
Then I said to [those in Jerusalem], “You see the trouble we are in, how Jerusalem lies in ruins with its gates burned. Come, let us build the wall of Jerusalem, that we may no longer suffer derision.” And I told them of the hand of my God that had been upon me for good, and also of the words that the king had spoken to me. And they said, “Let us rise up and build.” So they strengthened their hands for the good work. But when Sanballat the Horonite and Tobiah the Ammonite servant and Geshem the Arab heard of it, they jeered at us and despised us and said, “What is this thing that you are doing? Are you rebelling against the king?” Then I replied to them, “The God of heaven will make us prosper, and we His servants will arise and build, but you have no portion or right or claim in Jerusalem.” (Nehemiah 2:17–20)
Before they even began the work, the opposition plotted. Later as the wall began, Sanballat, Tobiah, and several groups of people wanted to prevent its construction, even to the point of planning to kill the Jews.
Nehemiah’s challenges were many. The people in Jerusalem felt overwhelmed by the project, and felt they couldn’t accomplish it on their own; all while the enemies were moving to attack them in secret. The vision of rebuilding was hardly a guarantee. If we entered the story from this vantage point, how would we have responded?
God sent Jews from outside the city to warn Nehemiah about the proposed attacks. After learning of this, Nehemiah led the people toward Divine confidence. “Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight…” Then he began the necessary but difficult task of working while armed, prepared to fight.
Between these stories and today stands the climactic story of history. When, to the cross, Christ nailed our sins, He took the rulers of darkness and “put them to open shame.” This display must have been quite impressive, for it caught the attention of the commanding centurion and those that were with him. So much so that he and they, who had no cause to utter words as members of the faithful, proclaimed, “Truly this was the Son of God.” “Truly.” There was no doubt in his mind.
Today, it’s now our turn to stand in the story, and we are unable to see where our life and surrounding historical times might lead. But we have the advantage of the centurion’s testimony. We have the perspective of the historical road, lined with markers of a faithful God. We have the knowledge that in His ascension, Christ reigns and rules with God the Father—now.
God looks at our story here and now—with the most full perspective—knowing that He intends to work for our good and ultimately, bring us home. For the world around us, He wants us to seek mercy and move in the same hope that propelled believers in all generations to take care of the less fortunate, free the oppressed, and seek the good of all.
From Hippocrates forward, many have studied human personality, and in so doing, provided categories and explanations for optimism. I am tempted to think of optimism as a gift to the sanguine among us—a supernatural almost other-worldly, cheery disposition. Do optimists live down in the earthy existence I see and experience? I pride myself, while trying to stay “reasonably” positive, on being a full-on citizen of “Realville.” I don’t want to waste my time with thoughts that don’t fully find root in reality.
But isn’t that the point? What if reality isn’t what I see in my base human grounding? What if the great reality, like the one Esther, Nehemiah, and the centurion observed, is the norm? If so, then by no other means than simple fact, we become, by earthly standards, the most incurable of optimists. I suppose ultimately our perspective, like Peter’s when he exited the boat to meet Jesus, is determined by our gaze: up or down.
So where are we in the story? He knows because in His victory He has written the Story and the smaller ones within it. He reminds us now and always to “be still, and know that I am God.”
"Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. 'Honor your father and mother' (this is the first commandment with a promise), 'that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land.'"
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
It is easy to read this verse and quickly apply it to children, particularly your own if you have them. “Of course they need to honor me! Have you seen the disrespect children show to their parents these days?” Every parent wants the youth minister to create a six-week sermon series from this Pauline sermonette.
But what about you adults? Though you might be “of age” and quite independent physically and financially from your parents, you are still spiritually (and physically) dependent on your Heavenly Father as much today as the day of your spiritual birth. Now, it is true, we are indeed admonished by Paul not to be childish in our speaking, thinking, and doing, but central to many of Paul’s letters is the reminder that childhood is fundamental to the Gospel and our identity as Christians. We never graduate from being a son or daughter of God. Almost paradoxically, in the Christian life we put away childish ways and thinking only as we grow more like a child in our relationship with our Father. Though we graduate from thinking and acting like children, we never graduate from being children of the Father.
Thus, when Paul addresses this sermonette to children, indirectly he is also speaking to us and asking: “Are we obeying and honoring our heavenly Father?”
The earthly relationship reflects the status of the eternal.
Our God has paternal instincts. In the landscape of scripture, we see God describing Israel, and then the Church—us, not just as His people, but also as His children. He is our Father, and we, His children. Therefore, our disobedience, is not exclusively a breach of contract with the one true God, but also a breach of relationship with our Father. And this is why the fifth commandment is what it is—to break the first four is an affront to the one, true God, but He is also our Father. The fifth commandment is directly related to the first. How we honor our earthly parents reflects how we esteem our heavenly One. If we cannot obey and honor our parents who are seen, how will we possibly obey and honor our Father who is unseen? So test your allegiance and honor to the earthly as a thermometer for the heavenly. But what if you have dishonorable, deficient, flawed parents this side of heaven? The command to honor remains. However, amidst their pitfalls and shortcomings, be reminded of the Father who is for you what they never could be, who flawlessly loves and never fails. Your earthly parents may fall short, but the heavenly stands flawless.
Honor begins with remembrance.
The first command Paul offers the church in Ephesus is “Remember!” (2:11). It is the only direct imperative in the first three chapters of the letter. Why only this one command? Paul knows God wants our love and our life, but our love first. To get our love we must be reminded of His. The blood flows out from the heart and affects the entire man. So the heart is the primary target, and the chink in its armor is love. Paul shoots an arrow to that exact location when he states, “In love He predestined us for adoption as sons through Jesus Christ” who has given us “access in one Spirit to the Father” (1:4ff; 2:11ff). Remembering Him is the pathway to be motivated to honor Him, because by remembering we remind our hearts of the immeasurable, preexistent, incomprehensible love of the Father for His children. He made us His children by making Jesus, His firstborn Son a stranger to His Father. Through His estrangement we are no longer strangers, but sons.
How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory.
Honor culminates in resemblance.
Paul continues to admonish us to “Walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which you have been called” and, “be imitators of God as dear children.” As a child, I delighted in being just like my dad. Did I already resemble him by birth? Yes. But I desired to be more than a static image of him; I wanted to actually image him in word and deed. When he mowed, I grabbed my Little Tikes mower to do the same. When he played baseball, I wanted to hit and throw like him. He also spent early mornings on his knees in prayer in our living room, and I wanted to do the same. I was so proud to be his resemblance that I wanted to resemble him. So also this is how we honor our heavenly Father. We are not simply imitations. We are imitators.
Pause today and ask, “Am I honoring my Father?” Begin with your feet on earth but do not stop until you set your heart in heaven. Honor Him by remembering and resembling. Graduate from being childish, but never graduate from being His child.
And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the quarreling of the people of Israel, and because they tested the LORD by saying, “Is the LORD among us or not?”
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
Due to the Christmas holiday, there will be no Every Thought Captive devotional next week. We will resume January 4, 2013. Merry Christmas!
—PCPC Communications Team
There is nothing more basic to the Christian experience than faith and doubt. It is a dichotomy that informs our Christian understanding and piety, and it can drive us to a deeper posture of worship or a greater sense of despair. John Calvin wrote of faith and doubt,
When we inculcate that faith ought to be certain and secure, we conceive not of a certainty attended with no doubt, or of a security interrupted by no anxiety; but we rather affirm that believers have a perpetual conflict with their own diffidence, and are far from placing their consciences in a placid calm, never disturbed by any storms. (The Institutes of the Christian Religion, Vol 1. III:II:17)
What does Calvin mean by this? Simply put, that the normal Christian life is filled with little doubts that accompany our faith. The frequent storms of this life—our circumstances, our mistakes, and our sins—give us pause. But sometimes this momentary doubt lingers beyond a simple pause. Doubt gives rise to panic; panic gives rise to bitterness; and bitterness gives rise to complete and utter faithlessness. At the center of this kind of faithlessness is the ultimate fear that God is no longer present in our lives. On this side of heaven our lives are accustomed with great tragedy. And while some tragedies affect us directly and others affect us indirectly, all tragedies affect us personally. When I learned of the recent shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, my heart was filled with a mix of numbness, anger, sadness, and fear. And like so many people, these emotions led me to ask a question that is wrapped up in both faith and doubt: God where are you? The people of God have asked this question throughout biblical history.
Where is God? This is the question of doubt posed by the wandering people of Israel in Exodus 17:7: “Is the LORD among us or not?” Is God present? Is God still with us? In Exodus 17, the Bible records that the Israelites were camped in the middle of the wilderness with no water. They were tired. They were thirsty. They were filled with doubt. Their concern over their thirst caused them to question God’s provision and to ultimately question God’s presence. So they grumbled and they questioned God Himself. Their momentary doubts had become indefinite faithlessness. The final question posed at the end of verse 7 is the main theme of their story: “Is the LORD among us or not?” This question reveals the Israelites’ underlying doubt about the presence of God—a doubt that would eventually metastasize into the idolatry of the golden calf in Exodus 32. In this way, Exodus 17 is one passage in a grander narrative detailing a rebellion born of doubt in the face of the faithful presence of God. Moreover, Exodus 17 explains our own story of rebellion and it echoes our own questions of doubt. Is it not true that when faced with our own fears and doubts, we so often ask, “Is the Lord among us?”
This Christmas, we must remember that God has provided the answer to our questions of doubt. His answer is Jesus Christ. William Propp wrote that, “the question posed in Exodus 17:7 is answered by the Incarnation: Jesus is Emmanuel, ‘God-is-with-us’” (Exodus 1–18, p. 606). “Is the Lord among us or not?” This faithless question of the Israelites has been faithfully answered in the Person of Jesus Christ. Jesus is God incarnate. His name is Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” In Exodus 17:6, God commanded Moses to strike the rock with his staff and streams of water flowed in the desert. Ultimately, this is not a story about the faithlessness of God’s people, but a story about the faithfulness of God as it points to the greater Moses, Jesus Christ. In 1 Corinthians 10:1-4, Paul writes:
For I want you to know, brothers, that our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ.
Paul identified the rock that Moses struck as Christ, and urged the Corinthians neither to grumble nor put Christ to the test as the Israelites did when they doubted God in the wilderness. Jesus Christ is the Rock from which the waters of rescue flow. This revelation that Jesus is the Rock from Exodus 17 is seen by His own words in John 7:37–38: “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’” In this way Jesus, who is God with us, is both our rescue and our provision. The Rock was Christ in that He was struck for our iniquities and bore the rod of judgment for our rebellion. The Rock was Christ in that He conquered death and rose again so that all who believe in Him would be given living water. In the person and work of Jesus Christ, God is for us what He was for the people in the wilderness—a faithfully present Savior for a faithless and rebellious people. He has answered our questions of doubt once and for all. Where is God? God is with us. For He sent His only Son Jesus Christ to take on flesh, to know our pain, and to die that we might live.
O LORD of hosts,
blessed is the one who trusts in You!
Rev. Paul G. Settle
Paul, a native of St. Albans, WV, attended WV University, and graduated from Bob Jones University and Columbia Theological Seminary. Ordained to the gospel ministry in 1959, he has served churches in West Virginia, Alabama, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, and South Carolina. He served also as the first Coordinator of the Committee for Christian Education and Publications of the PCA, and as the Director of Ministries at the Ridge Haven Conference Center, near Brevard, NC.
He was the only full-time executive employed by the Steering Committee for a Continuing Presbyterian Church, whose efforts culminated in the establishment of the Presbyterian Church in America. He has served on many denominational committees, contributed articles to a number of periodicals and authored several books, including The Memory Work Notebook, Changeless Truth in a Changing World -- Meditations on the Westminster Confession of Faith, and To God Be the Glory, a popular history of the PCA, celebrating the denomination's 25th. Anniversary. Paul served as Moderator of the PCA General Assembly in 1980. North Texas Presbytery granted him honorable retirement in February, 2007.
Board memberships have included Westminster Theological Seminary, Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, The Presbyterian Journal, The Presbyterian Guardian, WORLD Magazine, and Women To the World.
He was married to Georgia for 54 years. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in 2002 and was taken home by the Lord in September, 2010. Georgia was the first Consultant for the Women In the Church of the PCA, wrote two WIC study guides, Seasons of Change, Seasons of Grace, and Women of the Bible, and was a founding member of the Board of Directors of Women To the World, a mission organization that ministers to women the world over.
He has two children and three grandchildren.
His hobbies include photography, reading, music and hiking.
Each of us who confess Christ as Lord and Savior should be characterized by what we might call a holy homesickness—a heart for God and His house.
Each of us, if our hearts are right with God, cry out for intimate fellowship with Him and all those whom He has lovingly gathered to Himself. Our souls long—even faint—for that fellowship found in the LORD’s courts. There we will raise our voices in songs of joy and praise to the LORD of hosts, the living God who dwells in our midst. That place of worship is precious to us because of the Person who dwells there: the holy God Himself, our King and our God. He is discovered there in His Word preached, the prayers offered before His throne, the sacramental signs of cleansing, sacrifice, and continuing nurture.
The Christian life could be characterized as a holy pilgrimage to that distant home where God is. Each pilgrim has discovered that those who yearn for Him with holy homesickness as they make their way to God, will certainly find holy happiness.
For holy happiness is found near the altar of God Almighty; the altar where the blood of the Lamb their Lord was spilled as a propitiatory sacrifice for the sins of those who, by grace, walk the way to God. Yes, even for our Lord—no, as for our Lord above all others—the way of the will of God was and is the way of sacrifice—the way of self-sacrifice. And those who would follow Him learn, like the pilgrims of old, that for them, as for their Lord, it is the way of the cross that leads home. This is the way to happiness, for this is the way to God.
And this marvelous discovery—this holy happiness—is possessed only in and by the strength God gives to those who set their hearts on Him. The highway to God is not an easy way—it is narrow, and curves sharply through many switchbacks as it leads steeply upward through a high valley of weeping. The trail crosses waterless, gloomy wastelands, crisscrossed with gullies that hide bandits and wild beasts. But each pilgrim perseveres, making his or her way upward by faith, discovering rich blessings of grace in the hardships experienced on the way to Zion. The high valley of Baca ("weeping") is transformed by faith into a place of springs, and early rains cover it with pools. Weeping is turned into wondrous praise, and weakness into wonderful power. The traveler goes from strength to strength, faith and deep yearning for God growing with every exhausting step along every rocky path. Though the plaudits, pleasures and promises of the world, the flesh, and the devil would tempt the faithful to turn aside, those in whose hearts are the highways to Zion lay hold ever more firmly on Him who is a sun (light, joy, heat, energy) and a shield (protection, courage, victory). The LORD God has promised to bestow favor and honor upon His own, and to withhold no good thing from them.
With self-denying trust in God each pilgrim embraces the ultimate holy happiness—the ultimate blessing of all those who live to glorify and enjoy God, who have not seen but believed—the inexpressible joy that is the destination for every Christian pilgrim: the Beatific Vision: Jesus, face to face.
Beloved, we are going home to our Father God. We are on the way. We walk together to Zion. By the good pleasure of God, who enables all true pilgrims to walk the walk so beautifully portrayed in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ, we shall gaze, one glorious Day, upon His face, the face of Jesus, who has gone to prepare a place for us, the dwelling place of the LORD of hosts, the house of our King and our God. The pilgrimage will be over. We will be home.
And we will never be homesick again.
"O LORD of hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you!"
"God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." —I Corinthians 1:9
"Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus." —Revelation 22:20c
Doug has lived in Oklahoma for all but four years since 1993. He loves the state, its traditions, and being an Oklahoman. He graduated from the University of Missouri with a journalism degree and also received a Master’s of Professional Writing from the University of Oklahoma.
After graduating from Covenant Seminary, Doug moved to Norman, Oklahoma, in 2001 to begin ordained pastoral campus work at OU for ten years with Reformed University Fellowship. This latest adventure is to start City Presbyterian in Oklahoma City. See more at citypresokc.com.
Doug enjoys racquetball, running, reading, the St. Louis Cardinals and Oklahoma City Thunder, long and complicated board games, brewing beer, Patty Griffin, Lyle Lovett, Bob Dylan, Johnny Cash, U2, and dance party music. He and his wife, Julie, have four children.
Start a conversation with Doug at doug@citypresokc.com.
Have you seen the movie musical Les Mis? You should. And if you have a soul, you will weep several times.
This isn’t a movie review, so I won’t tire you with a plot line analysis. It’s also not a performance review—everyone was stunning. Why is Les Mis so powerful?
I think it touches the fall so profoundly. It paints a picture of death and destruction, desire and hell. Jean Valjean was imprisoned for a crime that he did commit, though for commendable reasons—his sister and her son were starving. He was caught and spent nineteen years in prison. The movie allows for the impossibility of this overwhelming burden to be fully realized—there is doom all around for those who have to pay the price.
Paris in the early 1800s is not a beautiful place. The poverty and stench are all around. Shalom was gone. Everyone is trying to get ahead in the filth and grime of life. The world is dark and broken, and it is every man for himself.
After Fantine’s husband runs off, she and her daughter Cossette must live with a slimy innkeeper and his wife. Fantine is a good woman in a bad circumstance, but others don’t want her around because they’re looking out for their own heads and beds. In quick order, she loses her job and then is forced to sell her hair and then her body in the pits of despair. Would you have done it differently? How far would you go to save your daughter?
[An aside: I was reading the Christmas story this week from The Message, Eugene Peterson’s readable translation. I was struck by how much emphasis is put on Mary’s virginity. It keeps coming up over and over again. We sing about it; it’s in our creeds and confessions. Yet somehow “the Virgin Mary” just glances off as a phrase that doesn’t seem to mean much. But it is a big deal. As The Message says in Luke 1:34, “I’ve never slept with a man.” Even that is a euphemism. Mary conceived a child without having had sex with anyone, and that remarkable and yet incredibly “mundane” fact is an essential tenant of Christianity if it is to be believed. This faith rests—at least in part—on the sexual facts of a Jewish girl and her fiancé.]
Yet Fantine dreams. There is something she longs for. It’s a time and a place where men are good and noble. Where she is loved and cared for. Where things are right and good. She longs for a new creation. She longs for a world that is not the one of death, pain, and shame in which she lives. Why? How does she even know about it? Why does this stir in her heart?
It’s a theme that runs throughout the story—in the midst of suffering and cruelty, love might triumph. Epinone gives up her desires so love can be found in someone else. Jean Valjean continues to do this through his own hurt and pain.
This is redemption and restoration. Love isn’t some schmaltzy idea. Though it’s sung of in the rain, it comes at a great cost and blood. For love to succeed, justice still has to be true and the price has to be paid. Jean gives himself up again and again. Epinone dies on the barricade. And Javier finally cannot bear it any longer—he cannot stand up under such a remarkable grace so he plunges to his own death.
Jean is a saint after all, because he gives his life away and thereby pictures the salvation Christ alone brings as the Savior—of creation, fall, and redemption. Jean saves so many with such a costly love. He seeks redemption from guilt and shame, and he finds it, setting to rights his whole life, giving it for the benefit of an adopted daughter. He saves Marius and gives him to Cossette. He saves Fantine. He even saves Javier, his tormentor.
It’s a sweeping tale that touches our hearts because it honestly portrays the sweep and scope of our longing for what was meant to be, the reality of where we find ourselves, and the joy in seeing things set right again through the deep, deep love of a Redeemer.
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when He came up out of the water, immediately He saw the heavens opening and the Spirit descending on Him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are My beloved Son; with You I am well pleased.”
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
I once tried to read John Milton’s Paradise Lost. I lost the thread somewhere in the process, alarmingly early I might add, and ended confused. You may have been similarly vexed, or perhaps more likely, you’ve just looked it up on Wikipedia and read some of these choice old style English words: thereupon of Paradise wherein he was plac't or fitliest call'd Chaos. Let us just say, it takes a minute to get through all that.
If you persevere, you soon find Milton asking for the muse (he later calls this muse the Spirit) to aid him in turning the story of the Fall into epic poetry. He certainly needed supernatural help. Paradise Lost contains over ten thousand lines of poetry with the bulk of the work done after Milton had gone blind. As they said in the old style, “thereupon I was plac’t at rapture with his efforts, and thought him fitliest call’d Amazing.”
If an invocation for heavenly aid seems odd to you, it wasn’t for Milton. Nearly all the classic epic poems (Iliad, Dante’s Comedy) begin this way. The authors all sought assistance for that moment of epiphany when an image or idea illuminated a deeper truth and brought unity and direction to their work.
Still odd? Enroll yourself into a creative writing class. Our modern sensibilities don’t allow talk about the supernatural anymore (We’ve renamed it the subconscious. It’s easier. Since it was inside of us all along, there are fewer people to thank), but the search for epiphany remains. Most of the syllabus contains exercises to unleash the right side of your brain, find your voice, express yourself, find inner truth, and other such existential quests—in other words, gain a realization of the truth you had been seeking. The fact that this modern process for epiphany assumes the deeper truths are just slinking around in the dank basement of our souls betrays much about our culture. Milton and his predecessors thought in exactly the opposite direction. They looked up into the heavens, expecting the great truths to come from above, to be bright and brilliant realities to our shadowed and corrupted truths. For you see, on earth the brightness of the sun only shines half the day. But in heaven, the light is never occluded.
The Christian calendar marks the time after Christmas and before Lent as Epiphany. The church historically celebrates during this time the revelation of Christ’s divine character. Pause a moment: Christ, the Light of the world and the Truth, arrives from heaven, and then the church celebrates the revelations of His bright and true nature and calls it Epiphany. How classic. How very un-modern. But more, how delightful. This is not some isolated truth dropped into the imagination of a writer. This is the entirety of Truth—God Himself revealed unto the whole world. The scope of this epiphany must overwhelm us. God, through Christ, has peeled back the sky and let all who wish lift up their head and see into the center of heaven. In Epiphany we find Magi bowing down before a baby, Jesus transfigured into His heavenly glory, and Jesus’ baptism with all persons of the Trinity present and euphoric. All three episodes direct us to a deep truth outside of ourselves that gives order and direction.
This is of course a wonderful way to begin the New Year. We like to dig down inside ourselves and resolve toward more discipline, and greater weight loss, and more effort. We know that there is something wrong inside of us and if we can just sharpen our spades and go a little deeper we might unearth a little light. But the light we are seeking comes down from above. How we might change by gazing on Him!
All those who were coming out to John the Baptist to be baptized were much like us at the New Year. They realized that something wasn’t adding up. They came to John to have their souls cleaned and begin again. So it is surprising that Jesus would come for this baptism. He had no need to be cleansed from sin. But behold His humility. He associates with us in a process that He does not need, in a river that He has made, and beneath a lesser man. And quite suddenly, the heavens open. The Spirit descends like a dove and The Father announces His pleasure with the Son.
And we see, for the first time, the Trinity and its eternal self-giving love. The Son shows the humility and love that brought Him to earth. The Father announces His deep love and pleasure in the Son. The Spirit encourages and conveys the love between Them. Also, the wonder of God’s redemption is revealed. The last time that a dove and water came together, God was cleansing the world with a wrathful flood. Then He protected His people with a boat. But now He Himself goes beneath the sin-filled water. He takes the wrathful flood onto Himself, so that the Spirit might descend on our hearts and we might hear from God His good pleasure in us.
It is a truth so bright, that even while staring at it, it’s hard to comprehend. The love of the Godhead bursts from its heavenly confines and deigns to incorporate us. It is an epiphany that might well order your year and bring a new orientation.
Then Moses cried out to the Lord, “What am I to do with these people? They are almost ready to stone me.” The Lord answered Moses, “Go out in front of the people. Take with you some of the elders of Israel and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. I will stand there before you by the rock at Horeb. Strike the rock, and water will come out of it for the people to drink.” So Moses did this in the sight of the elders of Israel. And he called the place Massah and Meribah because the Israelites quarreled and because they tested the Lord saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
I love the book of Exodus. One reason is the way it captures the reality that, just like Israel, the Christian life is lived in the wilderness, where we wander this world as “aliens and strangers” waiting for our true home. So if Israel’s story is our story, we learn at least two things from their time in the wilderness. First, Israel’s time in the wilderness was hard, and second, because the wilderness was so hard, Israel’s greatest struggle was believing that God’s presence was with them every step of the way.
If we are honest, this is one of our greatest struggles as well. When things don’t go our way, we question God’s presence. When families are torn apart by divorce, when tragedy strikes, or illness hits, don’t we cry out, “God where are you? Do you even care what I’m going through?” We conclude that either God isn’t willing to help or He lacks the power to help. Either way, when life in the wilderness gets hard, we thirst to know whether God is really with us or not. We are no different than Israel. In Exodus 17 God lead Israel to a region where there was no water. And the people didn’t just complain (like they had been doing), they actually put God on trial and tested Him by saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?” (v. 7). Without water, Israel concluded that God had broken His promise to deliver them and left them in the wilderness to die. But they took it farther—they actually convicted God and found Him guilty of covenant unfaithfulness, and as a result were ready to stone Moses. Knowing that his life was in danger, Moses cried out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are about to stone me” (v. 4).
What happened next was one of the most dramatic scenes in Exodus. Moses cried out to the Lord and the scene drastically changed as God said to Moses, “Pass on before the people, taking with you some of the elders of Israel, and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go” (v. 5). Israel was judging God and Moses by putting them on trial, but then Moses acted as judge and made it look as if Israel was on trial! The staff that God told Moses to take was none other than the staff that Moses used to strike Egypt with God’s judgment, and the elders with him were to serve as witnesses and the prosecution. Someone was going to be judged, but whom? Then God said, “‘Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb, and you shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, and the people will drink.’ And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel” (v. 6).
Two amazing things happened. First, God condescended to give the people what they wanted! The phrase, “I will stand before you” is used in the Old Testament only in places where an inferior stands before a superior in the posture of a servant. Instead of punishing Israel, God assumed the posture of a servant and served them by giving them an outpouring and overflow of His grace to satisfy their thirst. The second amazing thing about verse 6 was what Moses’ staff of judgment struck. Where did God stand in the posture of a servant before Moses and all the people? On the rock! And what did Moses’ staff strike? The rock! When the rock was struck, God was saying to Moses, “Bring the absolute judgment on Me. I will receive the blow of justice that My people deserve, so that My people can be refreshed and drink deeply from the waters of My grace.”
Do you see what this means for us? The outpouring and overflow of God’s grace while we are in the wilderness flows out of the Rock that was struck with judgment. That Rock, Paul says in 1 Corinthians 10 was Christ! The one who in Mark 10:45 humbly stands before you in the posture of a servant and says, “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve and give His life away as a ransom for many.” Jesus serves us by paying the ransom for what our sins deserve. This is why, when Jesus hung on the cross paying that ransom, He cried out, “I thirst.” Jesus died of thirst in His wilderness experience so that we would have an outpouring and overflow of grace to drink from in ours. The waters of God’s grace flow from the cross—the place where John tells us that a Roman soldier’s spear struck Jesus’ side and immediately blood and water poured out.
Do you see how God quenches our thirst and proves that His presence is with us? Jesus was struck with God’s judgment for you. On the cross, God abandoned Jesus so that those who trust in His Son would never be abandoned. This is a God who is worthy of our trust and worship as we wait for our true home.
God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.
Rev. Paul G. Settle
Paul, a native of St. Albans, WV, attended WV University, and graduated from Bob Jones University and Columbia Theological Seminary. Ordained to the gospel ministry in 1959, he has served churches in West Virginia, Alabama, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, and South Carolina. He served also as the first Coordinator of the Committee for Christian Education and Publications of the PCA, and as the Director of Ministries at the Ridge Haven Conference Center, near Brevard, NC.
He was the only full-time executive employed by the Steering Committee for a Continuing Presbyterian Church, whose efforts culminated in the establishment of the Presbyterian Church in America. He has served on many denominational committees, contributed articles to a number of periodicals and authored several books, including The Memory Work Notebook, Changeless Truth in a Changing World -- Meditations on the Westminster Confession of Faith, and To God Be the Glory, a popular history of the PCA, celebrating the denomination's 25th. Anniversary. Paul served as Moderator of the PCA General Assembly in 1980. North Texas Presbytery granted him honorable retirement in February, 2007.
Board memberships have included Westminster Theological Seminary, Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, The Presbyterian Journal, The Presbyterian Guardian, WORLD Magazine, and Women To the World.
He was married to Georgia for 54 years. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in 2002 and was taken home by the Lord in September, 2010. Georgia was the first Consultant for the Women In the Church of the PCA, wrote two WIC study guides, Seasons of Change, Seasons of Grace, and Women of the Bible, and was a founding member of the Board of Directors of Women To the World, a mission organization that ministers to women the world over.
He has two children and three grandchildren.
His hobbies include photography, reading, music and hiking.
The Christian church at Corinth was plagued by all kinds of problems. The members were contentious, quarreling, and divided into factions (1:11–12). They refused to discipline a member guilty of the unmentionable sin of incest (5:1–2), they took disputes between themselves before secular courts (6:1), they practiced sexual immorality (6:12–20), and more.
Yet Paul, notwithstanding the serious problems among the believers at Corinth, rejoiced in the gracious gifts the Spirit had imparted to them. They have, he said, received grace (1:2, 4), the riches of the Word of God (1:5), an abundance of the blessings of the Spirit (1:7), an eager anticipation of the Second Coming (1:7), and a strong assurance of their ultimate participation in the bliss of heaven where they will be pronounced "guiltless" in the presence of the Lord Jesus Christ (1:8). Wow! Would that we all might have their problems.
How could the Apostle gush so over this sinful congregation? This is an important question, for we are as sinful as the Corinthian church was—perhaps even more so. Is it possible for sinning Christians like us to be forgiven, to be declared guiltless, and to enter into holy fellowship with Christ? On what grounds could we base such a blessed assurance?
God is Faithful
Our God is faithful, true, and constant. He keeps His promises. Our perseverance is not based on strength of purpose or on indestructible faith, but on the faithfulness of God. He has pledged His Word to the eternal salvation of those who rest in Christ for salvation. His promise is sure. If He has promised to give certain persons to His Son, deliver them from the guilt and corruption of their sins, their deserved condemnation, and then make them partakers of eternal life, it is certain He will not allow them to perish!
God is faithful, so the bow remains a sign of the covenant, the seed of Abraham blesses the nations, the Son of David sits upon His eternal throne, and His elect are called—selected and brought out—from a doomed world. God's faithfulness, which has already called His elect to a state of grace, will promote them to the state of glory. But how do we know we are in the number of those given to Christ?
God Calls
How do we know we are numbered among the elect? We know that God has chosen us because we have been called. "Moreover whom He did predestinate, them He also called; and whom He called, them He also justified; and whom He justified, them He also glorified" (Rom 8:30).
"Calling" refers to the election of God by which we are appointed to salvation. This is the effectual call of the Spirit, by which the soul has been “delivered from the domain of darkness and transferred to the kingdom of God's dear Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins” (Col 1:13). Praise God for this actual, inward, effectual call, by means of the Word and Spirit, which brings the sinner out of his sin and death into grace and salvation, by the Lord Jesus. The “call” includes the enlightening of our minds spiritually and savingly to understand and receive the truth of God, the removal of our heart of stone, and the gift of a heart of flesh. By the call our wills are renewed, and by God's power we are determined and enabled to experience and embrace Jesus Christ (Eze 11:19; 36:27; Deut 30:6; Phil 2:13). Has this happened to you? Have you been “called”—enabled to see Christ, renewed, changed, given faith and repentance by which you have embraced Him as your Savior and Lord?
Ah—we know that we are numbered among the elect because we have been called. But how do we know we are called?
God Calls Us into Holiness
We know we are called by the change that comes over us in our doing, saying, and thinking. We are becoming holy in heart and life. We are becoming like the Lord Jesus. We have been called into union with Him, and are being changed into His image. Having been freed from the dominion of sin and Satan, we are now called and increasingly enabled to participate with Christ in His feelings and views, His trials and sufferings, His heirship to the inheritance and glory which awaits Him, in His triumph in resurrection and future glory. Our desires are now to glorify Jesus Christ, our sovereign Lord; our devotion is to Him. As members of His body, we partake of His character, sufferings, and glory. Having been intimately united to the Son of God, we can never perish!
So we ask, how can persons apostatize and perish who stand in this relationship to the Son of God? They cannot. They are saved once and for all. Praise God, He has given His people new hearts, fixed on the one thing needful—the Christian's greatest desire: Christ! This in turn leads to Christ-likeness—living life in obedience to the Word and Spirit. Such an emphasis on the godly life is indispensable to true Christianity. In the words of Matthew Henry, “The devout and pious soul ‘thirsts for God, for the living God as a thirsty land.’ It ‘longs, yea, even faints for the courts of the Lord,’ and for communion with God in them."
Indeed, beloved, our faithful God has called us unto holiness, and that holiness is not a dry, scholastic, perfunctory exercise, but a fervent and earnest seeking of the face of Christ through His Word. "God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of HIs Son, Jesus Christ our Lord" (I Cor 1:9).
Colin Howland, a native of Huntingdon Valley, Pennsylvania, currently serves as Director of Music and Arts of the Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas, where he plays the organ for services and concerts, and oversees a comprehensive music program. Former church positions include the Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church in Fort Lauderdale, Florida where he was the Organist from 1992 to early 1998. While at Coral Ridge, Colin could be seen on the church's weekly television broadcast, The Coral Ridge Hour.
Colin Howland has been active as an organ recitalist for over 20 years, playing concerts throughout the United States. He has appeared as soloist with the Florida Symphonic Pops Orchestra and the Irving Symphony Orchestra in such works as Joseph Jongen's Symphonie Concertante, Camille Saint-Saens' Symphony No. 3, and Francis Poulenc's Organ Concerto. Colin's recital career has also taken him as far away as England and China. As a soloist and accompanist Colin has worked with several distinguished conductors including Sir David Willcocks, Anton Armstrong, Paul Salamunovich and Constantina Tsolainou. Colin is also a founding member of the Philadelphia Organ Quartet, a unique ensemble which arranges and performs music for four organs and organists!
Even if you did not pay attention to the Super Bowl, you probably couldn’t completely escape the dizzying amount of media hype surrounding this icon of American culture. Like it or not, it does afford the opportunity to see into the soul of our country as players from both sides use the spotlight to champion causes both related and far afield from the game of football while the public tweets along. This year’s controversies featured melees on the issues of homosexuality and gay marriage, including the so-called “homophobic remarks” and subsequent apology of 49ers cornerback Chris Culliver. While the purpose of this article will not be to discuss these issues or judge Culliver’s actions, one thing which was particularly impacting about the coverage of this story was the obvious fact that while Americans hold dear the concept of free speech, the perception of the ethics of speech is deeply colored by a social etiquette influenced by the laws of this country. Simply put, the laws of our country often provide a moral high ground to stand upon, and violations are not only clearly perceived, but swiftly proclaimed heretical. When confronted with the combined weight of his team’s public image, the NFL’s interests, and the media’s relentless interviews, Culliver’s voice was effectively silenced. Repentance was his only choice. “Free speech” had become his undoing; perhaps he now wishes he had said nothing at all.
If human laws and customs, which are fallible and sometimes even corrupt, can have this kind of affect on a man, how much more an encounter with the Living God! Scripture is full of scenes where man is brought to silence before God. Mark Davis alluded to the great Divine interview from Job 38 a few weeks ago. Following 36 chapters of free-flowing conversation with his friends arguing his innocence before God in the face of his circumstances and his friends’ accusations, Job was confronted by God in the whirlwind: “Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge? Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to Me” (Job 38:2-3). The revelation of the Divine wisdom put Job’s perception of his own in perspective. We find out Job’s reaction a few chapters later: “I had heard of You by the hearing of the ear, but now my eye sees You; therefore I despise myself, and repent in dust and ashes” (Job 42:5–6).
On first hearing, the content of Culliver’s apology seemed almost silly to me: “The derogatory comments I made yesterday were a reflection of thoughts in my head, but they are not how I feel…It has taken me seeing them in print to realize that they are hurtful and ugly.” Upon subsequent thought, they seemed disquietingly close to home. He had to be confronted with the reality of what he said before he believed he had done wrong. The Bible teaches that God’s law accomplishes this: “Now we know that whatever the law says it speaks to those who are under the law, so that every mouth may be stopped, and the whole world may be held accountable to God. For by works of the law no human being will be justified in His sight, since through the law comes knowledge of sin” (Rom 3:19–20). God’s Law shows us our lives in full HD color, and the results are painful and breathtaking. We begin to see that not even the most heartfelt repentance can cover over what we have said and done; the effects of our sin permanently stain our lives, and as smoke infiltrates a garment, we and those around us cannot escape its odor. Under the Law of God, our freedom to speak only results in our condemnation. Can we ever speak anything else in His presence?
What is the solution? God Himself must grant us the freedom to speak, and He breaks our silence by giving us not merely words, but a new song to sing! Again, David says, “I waited patiently for the LORD; He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God” (Ps 40:1–3). How does God bring praise out of the silence of our sin? For this to be possible, One had to come to release the death grip that sin has upon us. Jesus came, the Word made flesh, and entered into the silence of condemnation for us. Isaiah vividly portrayed what happens for us in the Gospel: “He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet He opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so He opened not His mouth” (Isa 53:5–7). Therefore we can join in singing to God songs like this one by Chris Tomlin:
I’m forgiven because You were forsaken
I’m accepted, You were condemned
I’m alive and well, Your Spirit is within me
Because You died and rose again.
Amazing love! How can it be
That You, my King, would die for me?
Amazing love! I know it’s true
Now it’s my joy to honor You
May all I do be all for You.
My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is.
Barbara Ryan was born in the Washington D.C. area. She came to Christ as a freshmen at Bucknell University and was nurtured in her faith by InterVarsity and Fourth Presbyterian Church, where she worked for one year as a youth intern before matriculating to the University of Virginia Law School.
While in law school, Barbara met and married her pastor, Skip Ryan, founding minister of Trinity Presbyterian Church, Charlottesville. Barbara worked full-time in the practice of law until their first child, Christopher, was born in l983. Thereafter Barbara worked part-time and welcomed daughters, Carey Elizabeth in l985 and Rebekah Claire in l987. Parenting Bekah has been a poignant journey, as she is a severely developmentally delayed young lady on the autistic spectrum.
In 1992, the Ryans came to Dallas, and they remain Texans to this day. In Dallas, Barbara has worked part-time as a speaker, writer, educator, and in support and recovery ministry. Her passion is creative expression, both verbal and written, for the spiritual encouragement of people.
Depression is a chronic feeling of sorrow in one’s soul, an air of melancholy, and a battle with omnipresent tears. One’s days are characterized by sighs; one’s nights are characterized by tormented or interrupted sleep. One’s soul agrees with Jeremiah who wrote in Lamentations 3:17, “My soul is bereft of peace; I have forgotten what happiness is.”
Depression can cascade upon you, as it did on me one fateful day in January of 1997, or it can sneak up on you, as it did with me in l989. Either way, one finds oneself being carried downstream, away from the familiar feeling of “God is in His Heaven and all is right with the world” to another frightening, unfamiliar place of feeling “Can hell be worse than this? Must I go on living in the midst of this overwhelming psychic pain?”
When depression comes to visit, one must immediately do several things. First, one must rule out organic causes for depression, such as anemia, hyperthyroidism, etc. Second, one must immediately begin a regimen of healthier self-care, providing better nutrition, exercise, and patterns for rest, even if rest is not easy. Third, one must streamline one’s life, jettisoning those extraneous things that drain energy, and conserving those things that maintain energy, because one needs energy/soul strength to address those things that brought on the depression. Fourth, one must carve out time for quiet and reflection, in order to begin the journey to depression’s source. And fifth, one must find one or two mature, faithful prayer partners to come alongside and to lift you up to Jesus for healing as is depicted in Mark 2:1–4; friends who will figuratively hold you up before the throne while the battle wages in your soul (as is depicted in Ex. 17:8-13). Sixth, be patient. Antecedents to depression are usually long; resolution from depression is often commensurately long. Seventh, do not fight against the current of depression. Go where the Lord would have you go, but go in faith, knowing that He who brought you into darkness is with you in the darkness and will lead you to the Light.
My experience with depression tells me that as I stayed Godward in my pain, He brought to light those things outside of me and in me that caused my soul to plummet into despair. Once I identified those things outside of me (the difficult circumstances), I was able to constructively engage and change some of them (my external circumstances). For those externalities that do not or cannot change, once and for all letting go of my vain hope that they would change and accepting what is brought great healing. Thus, my external changes in circumstances were not as significant as my internal changes, where I replaced old, defeating thought patterns with new, Christ-honoring thought patterns.
I am persuaded, with Paul, that neither death nor life, nor depression nor tears, can separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord. I am persuaded that He will deliver ours souls in safety from the battles that do rage in our souls from time to time. I am persuaded that we can be kept in the love and gentleness of Christ, even as we walk through the valley of depression, which is a painful gift, because it leads to a sweet brokeness of self—reliance and strength which is ultimately very pleasing to God. When we are weak, then He is strong. Nevertheless, dear friend, I pray that your days of darkness will be few.
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Shannon received a Masters of Divinity, with a counseling emphasis, from Westminster Theological Seminary. She and her husband, Josh, have four children and are church planting in the Dallas Latino community. Life experience, studying God’s Word, and counseling training contribute to the couseling she does with individuals and married couples on a variety of issues including depression, anxiety, eating disorders, parenting, marriage, abuse, and addictions.
“And even in our sleep, pain that cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, against our will, comes wisdom to us, by the awful grace of God.”
—Aeschylus
When it comes to wisdom and depression, Abraham Lincoln was no stranger. What you may not know is how the scriptures, like the book of Job, buoyed him. Recent focus on his life in film and literature highlight how he suffered as president during the Civil War. While living in the White House, his wife was emotionally and mentally unstable, and their young son died of dysentery from feces-tainted drinking water drawn from the Potomac. Union Army troops had been called to defend Washington D.C. and unfortunately made camp alongside its river. And need one mention the almost 600,000 soldiers whose blood was shed during his tenure? It was a body count no one estimated; everyone loathed, and was ultimately seen by Lincoln as a judgment of the Lord, “just and righteous altogether.”
For those unfamiliar with his early life, Lincoln’s sorrows started long before his time in office. He grew up with a mother he described as, “intellectual, sensitive, and somewhat sad.” His moody father had “strange spells,” and his cousins and uncle were mentally ill, some of whom were committed to the state hospital. His only brother died in infancy when Lincoln was eight. When he was nine, his mother, aunt, and uncle died from “milk sick,” a disease traced to a poisonous root eaten by cows and passed into the milk. After his mother’s death, he and his sister, Sarah, were left alone for months with a neglectful cousin while his father traveled hundreds of miles to court another bride and bring her home. Sarah grew and left the house to marry, but quickly became pregnant, gave birth to a stillborn, and died soon afterward. A neighbor described Lincoln after he heard the news, “He sat down in the door of the smoke house and buried his face in his hands. The tears slowly trickled from between his bony fingers and his gaunt frame shook with sobs.”
In Lincoln’s Melancholy: How depression challenged a President and fueled his greatness, biographer Joshua Wolf Shenk puts Lincoln’s experience into historical context. In the early nineteenth century, one out of four infants died before their first birthday, and close to one-fourth of all children lost a parent before the age of fifteen. “Of the eighteen American presidents in the nineteenth century, nine lost their mother, father, or both while they were children,” Shenk writes.
The first record of Lincoln feeling suicidal was when he was twenty-six, and typhoid spread through the community. It took the life of a young woman he liked to visit, Anna Mayes Rutledge, and many commented on his fragile state. One friend recorded that he, “told me that he felt like committing suicide often.” Lincoln was watched and often locked up by friends to prevent derangement and suicide. Throughout his life, Lincoln didn’t manifest swings into mania, but he did have bouts of deep depression. At the time, the treatment was bloodletting along with ingesting mercury and strychnine. Lincoln also struggled with anxiety. At the time of his late twenties, about half of all men had some kind of sexually transmitted disease, and Lincoln feared he had syphilis. Side effects of syphilis include hypochondriasis or being a hypochondriac.
When Lincoln’s young son Willie died in February of 1862, the Reverend Phineas D. Gurley, a Presbyterian minister from the church the family attended, delivered the eulogy. “Gurley preached that ‘in this hour of trial’ one must look to ‘Him who sees the end from the beginning and doeth all things well. Our sorrows will be sanctified and made a blessing to our souls, and by and by we shall have occasion to say with blended gratitude and rejoicing, “It is good for us that we have been afflicted”.’ Lincoln asked Gurley to write out a copy of the eulogy. In the trials ahead, he would hold to this idea as if it were a life raft.”
Back when Lincoln was only thirty-two he wrote, “I am now the most miserable man living.” At times he believed he was born with a temperament that would cause life-long suffering, but also believed he was born with deep purpose and had periods of great joy. According to Shenk, he “learned how to articulate his suffering, find succor, endure, and adapt. Finally he forged meaning from his affliction so that it became not merely an obstacle to overcome, but a factor in his good life.”
Jesus said something similar about affliction in the Sermon on the Mount: “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth” (Matt 5:5). The word translated from Greek as “meek” confuses many today. Perhaps it helps to know that in Hebrew, the word translated as “meek” also is translated as “afflicted,” which was Jesus’ condition—and now is ours as well.
And maybe with Lincoln, Job, and Christ, we can all say, “Blessed are the afflicted, for they shall inherit the earth.”
Fear not, for I am with you;
be not dismayed, for I am your God;
I will strengthen you, I will help you,
I will uphold you with My righteous right hand.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
There was always that moment between the shuffle and the splash. The shimmering surface down there looked impossibly far, much farther than it had seemed while seated on the cool cement with my feet in the water. Going back was unthinkable and going on was worse. It’s the first memory I have of being really afraid, of being frozen with fear.
In the many, many years since those summer tests of high dive bravery, there have been many, many more moments of fear. Sometimes they’ve been remarkably clear and easy to name. But others have been subtler and more sinister—the long frightening shadow of uncertainty cast by parents’ divorce. Or the pernicious fear that somehow I just don’t quite measure up; don’t really quite cut it after all. And even now there seems to be a new haunting. With more of life’s road behind than in front, is the rest of the journey merely coasting to a stop?
Surely you know your own history. Your story may not be exactly like anyone else’s, but it probably is stained with similar fears. “Will my children ever call when they’re grown and gone?” “Will my cancer return?” “Is this job going to last?” “How can I even pray, knowing what I’ve done?” The questions haunt us. They tumble and turn and give us no rest. And in the hiding of our fears from every onlooker, we’re exhausted by the very fear of discovery of those things that shame us.
The scripture has much to say about being afraid and about fear. And if you’ve hung around churches for much time at all, you’ve probably heard sermons or teaching on the “right kind” of fear, and the physiology of fear, and the protective nature of fear. Those truths are worthy to recall, and worthy of prayer to better understand. But for just a moment, consider these few thoughts on the results of fear, and then let’s remember together the scriptural antithesis of living in fear.
Fear leads us to disobedience. Remember Eve? Wasn’t it really fear—a worry that Satan insinuated into her thoughts? It’s the leading questions that whispered the lies. The serpent was taunting, “You won’t get enough, Eve. You won’t get what you really want.” And you? What if it’s really your fear of not quite having enough that causes you to slander a colleague, or fudge on your resumé, or pander to a boss so the raise surely comes to you? Fear of discovery more often leads us to lie than to confess. Fear of not getting our way leads to manipulation and mistrust of others. Jonah turned and ran, blatantly disobeying God, fearing that God would save his enemies.
Fear freezes us. Oh, the reasons are entirely rational—at least in our own minds. We just don’t have time for our lives to be invaded by the messy lives of others. So we do nothing, because we’re afraid of losing control. “What if the whole office thinks I’m some kind of religious freak?” So we say nothing because we’re afraid of others’ perceptions. “I won’t have enough if I tithe.” So out of fear, we rob God and blame it on the economy.
Fear drains away our joy and replaces it with the unbearable burden of pretense. Like the painted sets on a brightly lit stage, we lead shallow lives that are built more around “seeming to be” rather than “really being.” And this is most painfully seen in the pews and pulpits of the church. We are too afraid to be known, fearing that if we are truly known we will never be loved. And so we pretend, and we grow weary, and the “mounting up like eagles” seems like a cynically laughable idea for someone else.
But the truth of the Gospel is that, in Christ, you have been loved with a perfect, eternal, unchanging love. And that love, says the Word of God, “casts out fear.” Psalm 56:3 says, “What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee.” Therefore, in this trust, as you consider the fearful parts of your own heart, shape your prayers around three notions.
1. Ask the Lord for the wisdom to see where in your life you are burdened by an unholy, disobedient fear. Where are you frozen, living in pretense? The Holy Spirit does His work as we bring the light of the Gospel to the dark and frightening corners of our own hearts. Ask Him to show you.
2. Pray specifically and boldly about those very fears that the Spirit reveals to you. Scripture says to cast all your anxiety on Him (1 Pet 5:7). So cast all your anxiety on Him. Name them out loud and confess them. Find a trusted brother or sister in the Lord and pray about those fears for and with each other.
3. Take heart and remember that on the night in which He was betrayed, our Lord said to His disciples, “I have said these things to you that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart, I have overcome the world” (John 16:33). Peace and tribulation are not mutually exclusive. But in the face of fear and in the moment of tribulation, we share in the very peace of Christ—His peace, given to us.
What would you do if you weren’t afraid?
Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
Marissa manages media strategy and placement of Heroic Media messages to reach women facing unexpected pregnancies. She directs media buys for television, outdoor, and internet campaigns. Adopted at birth, Marissa has a passion for building a culture of life and offering help and hope to women facing unexpected pregnancies.
Before joining Heroic Media in 2010, Marissa worked for five years in media and public relations in the nonprofit sector with the Better Business Bureau and a bi-national organization specializing in U.S.-Mexico relations. Fluent in Spanish, Marissa also served as a missionary in Cusco, Peru, with Mission to the World. She is a graduate of Baylor University with a degree in political science.
I attended an event in Austin last weekend where a notable Christian thinker presented his thoughts on how we, as Christians, ought to navigate the political rapids. He presented abstract and sophisticated systems for addressing tough issues of the day, and gave some examples. When there was an opportunity for the audience to ask questions, the speaker was peppered with specific, issue-oriented questions on how we should confront topics like gay marriage, the budget crisis, and embryonic stem cell research.
We all wanted to know the rules of conduct, and how they applied to the issues we face. That is the first thing that comes to people’s minds when they are thinking about ethics: its rules and how they apply in the complex circumstances of life.
Christ enables us to face complexity without shrinking back. Complexity doesn’t necessitate compromise. It does necessitate love. “And it is my prayer that your love may abound more and more, with knowledge and all discernment, so that you may approve what is excellent, and so be pure and blameless for the day of Christ, filled with the fruit of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ, to the glory and praise of God” (Phil 1:9–11).
So we start with love—abounding love. And from there, come knowledge and discernment. “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect” (Rom 12:2).
We continue by deferring everything to the will of God. The Rev. Dr. David C. Jones, Professor of Theology and Christian Ethics at Covenant Theological Seminary, tells us that we may reasonably define Christian ethics as “the study of the way of life that conforms to the will of God as revealed in Christ and the holy scriptures.”
Jones goes on to say, “Ethics is not just about issues of right and wrong; it is also about the kind of persons we ought to be. We ought to be the kind of persons who, for one, think issues of right and wrong really matter, who love the right and hate the wrong, and who can be counted on to do the right thing under pressure.”
So what does pressure look like? And what are we to do with it?
I work in a pro-life organization connecting women in crisis pregnancies with life-affirming resource centers across the country. I recently had occasion to speak with a college friend who is a medical resident in the rural South. We were comparing notes from our professional lives and she shared her frustration at seeing women come in and give birth to babies for whom they had little intention or ability to nurture. She wondered what I thought about promoting life, all the time, no matter what, when we know that every day there are children born into lives characterized by poverty, neglect, addiction, and other abuses.
So there’s complexity—the facts of life slap us the face and threaten our direct understanding of rules and how they apply. How do we recognize complexity, and adapt to it, without compromising the good, acceptable, and perfect will of God?
Similarly, when the National Association of Evangelicals was seeking opportunities to reduce abortion in our culture, partnering with a teen-pregnancy prevention group seemed like a no-brainer. But there was a strong response to how the issue would be addressed. One possibility was promoting contraceptive use among unmarried Christians.
Leith Anderson, NAE President commented, “Evangelicals are conflicted about contraceptives outside of marriage because we never want to promote or condone sexual immorality. But we are told that contraceptives can reduce abortions and we want to stop abortions…The Church is understandably reluctant to recommend contraception for unmarried sexual partners, given that it cannot condone extramarital sex. However, it is even more tragic when unmarried individuals compound one sin by conceiving and then destroying the precious gift of life…Evangelicals must continue to stand against abortion on demand but also face the sexual behavior and abortions in our midst.” (Marvin Olasky, “Conflicted,” World Magazine, June 22, 2012.)
Looking back to Philippians 1:9, we start with love as the foundation for our knowledge and discernment. Paul says in 1 Corinthians 13, “If I bestow my goods to feed the poor and have not love, it profits me nothing.”
From there, in both cases—in all cases—we are to reason biblically.
We may soften our approach, not our stance. In the case of babies born into poverty, abuse or neglect, I can’t ignore that reality. But biblical reasoning doesn’t allow us to settle for the “lesser of two evils.” It leads us to the fact that there is much more for all of us to do to address the entire spectrum of root causes and the real pain surrounding many unplanned pregnancies. Not only do we continue the fight to end abortion; we must also get busy supporting efforts to better the lives of all families who face poverty and trials.
And when we hear that unmarried Christians are having premarital sex at nearly the same rate as their non-Christian peers, we don’t abandon the ideal of abstinence before marriage; we step back and think about how we can better communicate the lavish gift of God that sex inside Christian marriage is.
Like all of the Christian life, bold humility is not easy. But it is possible. Shining light into darkness is a bold move, but we do it in love. Tim Keller says, “Because we see the law and love of God fulfilled, we become both humble and bold because we know we are His by grace. This is unique. Without the Gospel, humility and boldness can only increase at each other’s expense.”
I lift my eyes up to the hills. From where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; He who keeps you will not slumber.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
I found a few mosquitoes outside the front door of my home last week. I am no entomologist, but it seemed too soon to greet those unwanted guests from their winter rest. I despise those little creatures. When I look at them I question the very purpose of their existence, and when they look at me all they see is a Thanksgiving feast. And perhaps the most disconcerting thought of all is this fact: when you see one mosquito, you are certain droves are soon to follow. Mosquitoes do not dwell in isolation—where there is one there is sure to be another and another and another.
Doesn’t it feel like bad news comes in droves, too? Some periods of life seem this way. For many in my area the last few months have felt this way. One initial piece of bad news opened the door for another and another and another. And though we might intellectualize it and remind ourselves that we know all of this is a result of the Fall—that with sin came the curse of death and all ugly things conjoined with it—if we are honest with ourselves it feels overwhelming and drains our bodies of energy, of perspective, and possibly even of hope.
Psalm 121 speaks to this sort of situation. It is a pilgrim psalm of hope. As the people/pilgrims traveled on their journey, often they had to pass through dangerous and remote desert regions and sometimes through unfriendly territory. There would be general unrest and fear of enemies, of starvation, of desolation, or at the least, of uncertainty. That being the case, the pilgrim bands would post sentries on the hills around their encampment when they rested for the night. The people needing comfort would look up to the hills toward the posted guards and be reassured that all was presently okay. Though their circumstances were dreary or uncertain, they were currently being guarded. But ultimately this wasn’t enough. They needed more than armed watchmen. They needed a sure defense to find true comfort and rest. So they recalled and rehearsed their true source of help—the God who never sleeps guarded their tents.
This psalm of hope prompts those in distress to do the following:
Remember to look up. When times grow dreary, our situation can quickly become the sole focus of our thoughts, our hearts, and our eyes. Resultantly, hopelessness saturates our lives. But if we remember to look up, we can find our Source of help. The direction of our eyes will help determine the direction of our hearts. Lift your eyes to the hills until your heart joins in tandem.
Rehearse your Source of help. I love the question posed in this psalm: “Where does my help come from?” Have you ever voiced that question amidst a desperate situation? It’s a great and necessary question. Our “help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” We need to remember to look up, but we also need to rehearse to whom we are looking. It is not a simple sentry or watchman, but the Creator God who made heaven and earth. None is greater than He.
Recall the sovereignty and attentiveness of our God. This psalm not only points to God’s power but also to the promise of His presence. He gives personal attention to His people. He is the powerful Helper who made all the heavens and all the earth, and He is the God of Israel who will not let your foot be moved. His attentiveness is unfailing for His people. I think we often feel that God is ignoring us—as if He might be asleep on the job. This verse promotes the opposite. He does not slumber. He is ceaselessly attentive. He is personal. He is “my help” according to the psalmist.
If you are in the middle of a string of difficult events, look up, rehearse your Source of help, and recall the sovereignty and attentiveness of our God. He who keeps you will not slumber. Lift up your eyes heavenward and leave them there until your heart joins and you find comfort and rest in the God who never sleeps.
"He has sent Me to proclaim liberty to the captives."
Marshall was raised in Dallas, Texas. He studied history at Vanderbilt University. After graduation, Marshall worked as a stock broker, a middle school teacher, and a coach. He earned an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary and served for six years as a college pastor before moving to Los Angeles. He loves riding his bike to work, playing golf, and engaging in a good conversation.
“Every saint has a past and every sinner has a future.” —Oscar Wilde
Recently I had the privilege of preaching at one of the L.A. county jails. The men were in what is called the MERIT program. It is designed for men who have good conduct records and who want to get out of jail. Surprisingly, getting out is not something every prisoner wants—many prefer the daily routine and three healthy meals.
Upon arriving, I entered a waiting area where I turned in my cell phone and all of my valuables. In exchange for my driver’s license, I was handed a visitor’s badge and then escorted by an armed guard through a series of gates that locked behind us. Before I knew it I was in the Yard. Despite the armed guard at my side and the good conduct of these men, I was nervous. Even though I knew I was safe, there was something about being on the “inside” with 190 men who have a reason for being there that quickened my heart rate. Yet more than for my physical safety, I feared that I had nothing to say to these men. Why should they listen to me—a preppy looking preacher from West L.A. who had life given to him on a silver platter? I had no tales for them from some dark past that would help me relate.
I have preached and taught enough to learn that when you are unsure of yourself, talk about something you love. And so I did. I told the story of the adulterous woman in Luke 7 who anointed Jesus’ feet with her tears and dried them with her hair. The inmates loved the story. In the Q&A afterwards, one inmate had the courage to admit that he “identified with the woman in the story.” Indeed this is no small admission in a cell block of hardened men.
Yet it was when I discussed Jesus redeeming the past, present, and future of this woman that these men started tracking with me intently. I spoke of how Jesus redeemed her by accepting as an act of worship her offering of perfume, which she had purchased with her earnings as a prostitute. Then I quoted Oscar Wilde—“Every saint has a past and ever sinner has a future”—without telling them it was Oscar Wilde. I talked about how God loves stories of redemption—to strike straight blows with crooked sticks. They loved it, because stories of redemption are, at their core, good, true, and beautiful. In fact, redemption is our only hope.
As I reflected on their reaction later in the week, I read in 2 Peter 3:13 of the new heavens and new earth (not exactly new, but renewed). God has no plans to scrap the universe, this world, or even an individual life. God doesn’t want to destroy our lives and start over. He wants to take what we have, however meager it is, and renew it. That is the business of our God—renewing the brokenness and death all around us. He wants to do this work of renewal in and through us because He is a God who raises the dead. As God raised Jesus from the dead, so will He resurrect all things and make them new.
Deep down in their bones, those inmates wanted the same thing, as attested by their amens and their clapping. For some of us, it takes being in a jail cell to see life clearly. I hope it doesn’t come to that for me, but one thing I do know—I want to desire redemption like those men did.
Of course, the beautiful and redemptive irony in all of this was that I feared the inability to break through and minister to them, and in the end, it was they who ministered to me.
Jesus began His ministry by “preaching liberty to the captives” (Luke 4:18) and I’m beginning to realize He was onto something. So when the deputy invited me back to speak you better believe I was overjoyed.
For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Editor’s note: This week we are publishing the devotion from April 1, 2010 by Patrick Lafferty.
Twenty years ago this week, Kevin Costner strode to the podium in the Shrine Civic Auditorium in Los Angeles to accept the Best Picture award for Dances With Wolves. Before he finished, he said in an almost defiant tone, “I just want to say that it’s very easy for people to trivialize what we do sometimes. And they do it in ways of saying, ‘Well, if it’s such a big deal, how come nobody remembers who last year won the Oscar?’ And I’ve got a real flash for you. I will never forget what happened here tonight.”
In 1997, James Cameron came forward to receive the same award for his work on Titanic. In his concluding remarks he said, “Mom, Dad, there is no way that I can express to you what I’m feeling right now—my heart is full to bursting—except to say, “I’m the king of the world!”
And if you were alive in 1984, you likely know that when Sally Field accepted the award for Best Actress in Places in the Heart, she said, in a clearly unrehearsed moment, “I haven’t had an orthodox career and I’ve wanted more than anything to have your respect....I can’t deny the fact that you like me. Right now, you like me!”
In each case, what they said indicated that, to them, this was more than just an acceptance speech for a theatrical work. You might say that what each of them was celebrating, down deep, is that they thought they’d really found true life—the sweetness and lightness of being that translates into seemingly endless vitality and stability. Their words revealed their belief that life was found in being remembered, in being on top, in being respected.
Some of us might smirk at their triumphalism. Others of us might secretly envy them. In truth, we’re just like them, but often on a much different stage. We find ourselves hoping for and seeking the same things they have, albeit through different avenues. We think, deep down, that these things are where true life is found.
What you’ve heard from every man who’s stood in this pulpit—what you’ve heard in every text so far and in the text you’re about to hear—is that true life isn’t found there. There’s nothing wrong with desiring to be remembered, or pursuing excellence, or being admired. But what the Apostle Paul says to us today, on this Good Friday, is that life is found in a quite counterintuitive place, in a highly countercultural manner.
Listen to what Paul says in Galatians 2:17–21:
But if, in our endeavor to be justified in Christ, we too were found to be sinners, is Christ then a servant of sin? Certainly not! For if I rebuild what I tore down, I prove myself to be a transgressor. For through the law I died to the law, so that I might live to God. I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me. I do not nullify the grace of God, for if righteousness were through the law, then Christ died for no purpose.
We encounter Paul here in the midst of an intramural debate of enormous significance. His compatriot in the faith, Peter—the one who had accompanied Jesus for all His ministry, who had seen Him die and yet raised again—this Peter had lost sight of something fundamental about the Good News Jesus spoke, for which He died and was raised. Peter had come to understand that it was by faith alone in the word and work of Jesus that anyone would have the favor of God. But in time he’d been led to believe by others that it took more than faith in Jesus to be included in the people of God. It took subscription to all that Moses had spoken of in the Law. And that included having table fellowship only with those who had been circumcised.
And so Paul, aggrieved at the subtle way an ostensibly moral teaching had begun to obscure the Good News of Jesus, confronts Peter publicly. Peter was being hypocritical. He was insisting that Gentiles be circumcised, while he himself was not in full compliance with the Law. How could he demand compliance with part of the Law when he too was failing to comply with all the Law? But worse, Peter was giving Jewish and Gentile believers a deeply flawed impression that the way to God’s favor was through one’s own demonstration of moral rectitude; that acceptance from God would be found through doing what was acceptable to Him.
Aghast, Paul rebukes Peter and gives the entire church in Galatia a remedial course in what makes us acceptable to God. It’s not in one’s compliance with the moral standards of God found in His Law. Six times just in chapter two, Paul makes it plain: no one is accepted in God’s sight because of their adherence to His law. For a man’s every obedience to the law there are untold other examples of blatant disobedience, blatant disregard for the holiness of God.
Right now, it may seem that what Kevin Costner, James Cameron, and Sally Field were tittering over and what Peter and Paul were fighting over couldn’t be further apart. Yet I say their respective subjects couldn’t be more alike. As I said, those actors weren’t just discussing awards and accolades; they were talking about where life is found. Peter and Paul—they weren’t just talking about laws, righteousness, and favor with God. They were talking about the life that is to be found in a right standing with God. Both the 21st-century artists and the 1st–century theologians had their sights set on life and were asserting where it would be found.
You and I have our sights set on where life is found, and too often they are set on where it can’t be found. When’s the last time you’ve been so frustrated by not obtaining something that it sent you into a prideful outrage? The outrage signaled that you were looking for life where it would not be found. When’s the last time you’ve been so frightened by what you lost or could not have that it sent you into a panic? Or when you’ve been so disappointed that you teetered on despair? Panic and despair reveal a search for life where it will not be found.
So where is life found? Will it be found by displaying virtue until God is impressed? Or will it be found in our efforts to achieve or dazzle the masses, to amass power, influence, or prestige? Or in getting our hands on all the thrills, delicacies, and extravagances we can? The Good News of Good Friday tells us the security and stability sought in those efforts won’t be found in those ways. Paul explains it will be found in this way only: by faith in a death born of love.
True life rests, paradoxically, upon a death. Christ’s death. When Paul says “for through the Law I died to the Law, that I might live to God,” he means the one thing that kept us from the life of sweet communion with the God responsible for all things was our alienation from the heart of God, expressed most clearly in His Law. That was our condition, and we were powerless to reverse it. Paul also means that the only thing that could restore me to communion with God was One who had the means to satisfy what the law required of me. It had to be the One who would submit to all the Law demanded in a righteousness life, and who would submit to its death penalty for sin. Only by His submission to the Law could I become totally and finally unassailable by the Law. It can no longer accuse or condemn me because Jesus bore its accusation and condemnation on my behalf. Life for us begins and rests on a death in Him, because no other kind of effort can overcome my primary hindrance to life in God.
But further, the life found in His death is ultimately born of love. Paul understands full well that Jesus’ willing sacrifice was no stoic, perfunctory offering. He knows Christ’s love for us is the only thing that can explain His willingness to give Himself for us in death. And though it might seem like Jesus’ death is an effort to appease a tyrannical God, the love that led Jesus to go to His cross is the same love with which our Father who is in heaven sent Him there. The violence done unto Jesus was full of hatred, not toward us but toward our sin. The blood He shed does not dispute but rather confirms that God is both holy and merciful. And God’s mercy is born of love.
Why must we know that this death was born of love to find our life? When you know Jesus isn’t trying to sell you a ticket, so to speak, or compensate for His insecurities, or manipulate us out of fear of others’ approval, it compounds the trustworthiness of His act. Which leads us to the last aspect of what brings us true life.
The life found in death born of love comes by faith. Paul says, “I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live but Christ who lives in me. The life I live in the flesh, I live by faith in the Son of God.” Paul’s true life—brimming with hope, strength, and stability—rests on his belief that Jesus’ death is in a sense his own death. In other words, what Jesus’ death accomplished is now his. Sin is forgiven, righteous wrath turned away, relationship reconciled; a whole new kind of life is inaugurated and an entirely different destiny sealed. Paul identifies himself with Christ, because Christ identified Himself with him. It’s by faith that Paul identified with Christ, and it’s by faith that we identify with Christ.
As Christ identified Himself with us in becoming what we are, so must we identify ourselves with Him by faith in what He did. Win every award. Astonish every soul. Accomplish every goal. Obtain every luxury. The life you seek from those efforts will not endure and therefore will not satisfy. Jesus has to become your acceptance speech, or you will become consumed by your own pursuit of it. In Christ you have the acceptance of God. His love meant your acceptance. His work. His accomplishment. And because He is my acceptance, it’s by faith in Him that I discover life that is strong and true.
Do you know the life in which that sort of faith translates?
It doesn’t mean you stop trying to earn a living, or pursue excellence, or raise honorable children. It doesn’t mean you stop trying to find a mate or nurture the one you have. It doesn’t mean you stop enjoying the opportunities that give gladness to others, and it doesn’t even mean refusing to do things that lead others to think well of you.
Faith in His death born of love translates into a life of profound relief—the greatest relief imaginable. Relief that your greatest need has already been met. That you no longer have to strive in fear for the acceptance He has already obtained for you. Relief that your successes and failures are not tied to the approval of the only One in this universe whose approval matters. Looking in faith to the Son of God, you can’t deny the fact that He does love you, and not because of what you’ve done or not done. That’s relief.
It translates into relief, and then it translates into a life uniquely catalyzed. Fear of what you might not become or what you might not obtain is a powerful motivator, but one that will ultimately destroy you. However, a confidence in His love for you compels you much differently. Being remembered, or being on top, or being respected become so much less important than a life of faith working through love. That’s a life worth living, and in truth, the only sustainable life.
On that Good Friday, Jesus came to his own podium at Calvary and stretched out His arms in triumph, and by His death and resurrection confirmed He is the king of the world.
If your presence in this sanctuary today is the equivalent of you taking an old dusty picture off the shelf you haven’t considered in years, it’s likely you’ve been trying to find true life in the ways those actors, directors, and even Peter in his funk had been: through every means possible to obtain or preserve your acceptance. This cross behind me invites you to find your true life in Christ.
If you’re here because you know Christ to be Lord but have found yourself tempted to find your peace in something other than the acceptance of God in Christ, I invite you to remember why they call it a Good Friday. In Christ, there is no greater acceptance to be had, and no greater life to be found.
The steps of a man are established by the Lord, when he delights in His way.
Marshall was raised in Dallas, Texas. He studied history at Vanderbilt University. After graduation, Marshall worked as a stock broker, a middle school teacher, and a coach. He earned an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary and served for six years as a college pastor before moving to Los Angeles. He loves riding his bike to work, playing golf, and engaging in a good conversation.
One of the more difficult lessons for me in following Jesus is learning to trust that God has me right where He wants me. Whether it is circumstantial, relational, life stage, or even geographic, I easily forget the profound and comforting truth that God knows where I am, and not only does He know, He placed me there.
Our church recently moved into a new office space. Despite the increased distance from my home, I love the new office. It is a larger and more aesthetically pleasing space. The exposed flashing is stylish and the new carpet is refreshing. I especially like our new knee-high filing cabinets. They have wheels in order to roll them around and padded tops that double as seats. They are cute (In the way R2D2 of Star Wars fame is cute).
You should come visit—perhaps when we pray together as a staff in the morning.
One of my favorite aspects about our new office is the location. Our new spot is a short walk from LACMA and a long walk from the Grove. Those who frequent TMZ (admit it!) may know that “TMZ” refers to the historic “studio zone” or “thirty-mile zone,” the area within a 30-mile radius surrounding the intersection of West Beverly Boulevard and North La Cienega Boulevard in Los Angeles. That intersection is just up the street. It is fun to think that our church offices are near the epicenter of influence for the entertainment industry.
And right around the corner is the Flynt Productions Building—as in Larry Flynt, creator of the (explicit content) magazine, Hustler. I don't plan to drop by their offices, but I am praying to meet one of their employees at a coffee shop or lunch spot. In light of Rankin Wilbourne's recent sermon on sex, I am more convinced now than ever how confused and lost we all are on the issue of sex. And that includes workers in the sex industry.
As a pastor who loves cities and a person who likes energetic places, it is great having our office near the Miracle Mile.
But as vogue as all that is, what excites me most is the chance to meet new neighbors. A few weeks ago on Valentine’s Day our office hosted a drop-in party for anyone in our building. Earlier that day, I overheard a couple of people in the building café talking about the invitations we had passed out. They were intrigued but a little uneasy. You can imagine their questions: “A church meets in our office building? Aren’t churches big brick buildings with stained glass and pews? Does something happen here on Sunday? I wonder what they believe? And why are they inviting us over on Valentine’s Day?”
Over the course of two hours, a hundred or so people dropped in for coffee and dessert. It was great. Most people didn’t stay long. They wanted to see what we were all about, get their sugar fix, and move on, and that’s okay. A few did linger—some obviously avoiding work. Some passed out business cards. One woman described her work in the sleep clinic upstairs. Another described her two-hour commute—each way! One or two even began to open up and tell the story of their lives.
As the party wound down, I thought about each person who came and how each person has a story—and they were here—near me. I know that should be self-evident. But I sometimes forget that when I am waiting in line for my coffee at the building café, the person in front of me seems more like an obstacle to my caffeine fix than a person with a fascinating story. But every person I met that day—or any day—has a story. They have all laughed, cried, loved, and have been afraid. Each one of them has a favorite color. They have a favorite movie. Most imperative, each of them needs Jesus at the center of his or her story. And here we all are, under the same roof, sharing a building together. At least for now, we are neighbors.
Only God knows where these relationships will go. One man has started coming to our morning prayer time. And it seems as if people are recognizing one another around the building more often. As for me, I know a few more names and I’m hoping to play basketball with one of the guys in the building who rides his bike to work with a basketball strapped on the back (Anyone who likes bikes and hoops is a friend of mine!).
But this much I do know—from God’s point of view, our neighbors (and their stories) are never an accident. God puts us next to people—at home, at work, wherever. He has given us His story and made it our story with the hope that our stories and His stories will intersect with the people around us—our neighbors. I pray you have eyes to see this: God has you right where He wants you.
He will cover you with His pinions,
and under His wings you will find refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and buckler.
Melissa Hill serves alongside her husband, Trey, and their four children, in inner-city ministry in Dallas, Texas. Their lives are full to overflowing with beautiful stories of rescue, redemption, and roaring laughter. When she can sneak in some spare time, she writes about it all on her blog, A Long Way From the Theta House.
We’ve had some sketchy weather this Texas spring. My boots and jackets have stayed in the forefront of my closet much longer than usual, and April is only half-done. Umbrellas stand by my front door ready to be grabbed. I feel like spring has barely sprung.
Truth be told, I’d rather not grab an umbrella. I’d like to be more of a I-can-run-really-fast-and-probably-get-only-a-little-damp kind of girl, but I’m not. My strategy rarely works out well for me. I’m slow, uncoordinated, and more likely to trip and fall into a puddle than avoid one, and this unfortunate willfulness does not stop with thunderstorms or torrential downpours.
When Trey and I were praying through and throwing around the idea of moving to West Dallas to be residents of the inner-city community where Mercy Street was being established, we were not exactly on the same page. In fact, one of us was throwing around the idea and one of us was possibly throwing things—metaphorically speaking, of course.
I had a decent idea of what a good, sensible decision looked like—and this did not look like one—to me. I was afraid Trey was making a mistake in the direction he believed the Lord was calling our family, so I took it upon myself to assert my role as the “helper” in an attempt to explain how the Lord couldn’t possibly be calling us to something so crazy.
You see, I loved my husband, but even after six (good) years into our marriage, I hadn’t learned submission. I hadn’t learned to put myself underneath what the Rev. Paul Settle referred to as “his umbrella.” In my husband, the Lord has given me a covering and a protection. And guess what I found out? He was right. Although I may not always see what the Lord is doing clearly, He has ordained for me a shield, and I am far safer under it than outside of it. So I have learned over the years to place myself and my family under the leadership of my husband. Not perfectly, not without sometimes dragging my heels or gritting my teeth or asking the Lord if He’s “real sure,” but that one experience showed me that my husband is a reflection of Christ, who scripture calls our Head, our Covering, our Robe, our Shield, our Armor, our Rampart, and our ever-present Help. Indeed He calls us all to come under the shelter of His mighty embrace.
Our kids have heard that story more than a few times, because until they are launched into the world on their own, they have been given an umbrella of protection in their dad and me. As adolescence tempts them to rebellion and general snarky-ness, we’ve reminded them that they, too, are far safer under our authority than outside of it.
And somewhere behind the eye rolls, I trust the Lord is showing Himself faithful.
By design, we are all given different umbrellas at different stages of our lives. The Lord, in His generous grace, gives us parents, spouses, or simply Himself. He provides a covering we can tuck under when the winds rage, the rain falls, and even when the sun shines so brightly we need the shade. And seeking, resting, and delighting in this covering is not weakness—in it is the power of God.
The anniversary of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s death was a few days ago. Bonhoeffer, who, as he was martyred, was described by a prison doctor as “entirely submissive to the will of God,” understood the covering he had been given in Christ. So as I write with chilly storms casting another shadow over our spring day, I pray that we will learn to love the umbrellas the Lord has ordained for us. Dear friends, take shelter and live boldly in that gifted space.
Lord, now You are letting your servant depart in peace, according to Your word; for my eyes have seen Your salvation that You have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to Your people Israel.
Benjie and Natalie Slaton first discovered a love for Chattanooga as undergraduates working at camps on Lookout Mountain and have been returning ever since. They married after college and have served Jesus’ church in various places. Benjie has served as the RUF Campus Minister at the University of Texas, and as a pastor in two churches in Austin and San Antonio. Both churches were recent church plants and sent out church plants. Seeing new churches born is something the Slatons love and have a passion to see happen here in Chattanooga.
The Slaton family brings a love for Chattanooga born out of years of traveling to the area for camp and friendships. So, Chattanooga has always felt like a home away from home. They have three children, two dogs and an unhealthy love for good tacos. The entire family is excited to live here and be a part of the work God is already doing in Chattanooga.
The recent events in Boston and in West, Texas remind us once again that we live in a world longing for something—longing for God to bring relief, security, peace, and justice. We are neither the first people nor the last to wait expectantly for God to do something. This week’s events drew my heart and mind to old Simeon in Luke’s account of the Gospel.
Nestled right at the end of Jesus’ birth narrative, Luke introduced us to Simeon. He was old. He was holy and devout. He was present at the temple, and he was waiting. Simeon waited for God’s redemption to appear, and you will recall that Mary and Joseph arrived at the Jerusalem temple to celebrate ritual ceremonies after Jesus’ birth. There they were greeted by Simeon, who was longing and waiting because he had been given a promise.
The Holy Spirit had revealed to Simeon that he would not die before seeing the Messiah, and this promise shaped Simeon’s life. He was watching, waiting, expectant, and hopeful. Indeed we share that same longing and desire. We rightly long for peace in the face of senseless cruelty and comfort in our tragic losses.
At long last, the promised One arrived. All of Simeon’s longings were answered. He held Him, he blessed Him, he prophesied, and he sang. We call this song from Luke 2 the Nunc Dimitis, meaning, “now dismiss.”
“Lord, now You are letting your servant depart in peace, according to Your Word; for my eyes have seen Your salvation that You have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to Your people Israel.” —Luke 2:29–32
In this infant, God was not only answering the longings of Simeon, but of everyone who longs for salvation. God Himself was working the defeat of sin, evil, and death in order to bring forth life, peace, and salvation. Do you see the amazing contrast? There was (and is) powerful redemption in the Person of this infant.
I wonder at Simeon’s reaction at seeing the infant Jesus. Did he think the Messiah would be a fierce warrior or a regal King? All we know is that he received the child and sang, “Lord, let Your servant go in peace.” For Simeon, God had kept His Word and that was enough. Even though Simeon would not see the end of the story, it was a day of great rejoicing. It was a day of completion.
Simeon knew that the salvation story beginning with this tiny infant would expand beyond him to many people. He was the dawn of a new day, scattering the shadows and darkness in His radiance. He would be a beacon of hope, but also of judgment. In the illuminating light of Jesus’ salvation, it should not surprise us that we see evil more clearly. A key part of Jesus’ ministry would be to illuminate wickedness in the world—every intention, every secret sin, every horrendous evil would be laid bare and judged.
After the Newtown shooting, People Magazine ran a cover story featuring pictures of 26 smiling little faces with the caption, “Unbearable Loss, Enduring Love.” The pain and brokenness of our world is not far off in some other place. It is here. Regardless of whether or not we know anyone in Newtown or in Boston, we see the brokenness in our families, in our neighborhoods, and at our workplaces. Simeon saw it, too, but he placed his hope in God’s perfect redemption. His hope was that God would repair the exposed brokenness.
Think on Mary and Joseph for a moment. They heard this old man’s lullaby and they “marveled” (Luke 2:33). And also remember that they had talked with the angel Gabriel. I find that to be comforting. Even they marveled that this helpless Child would accomplish all that was foretold of Him.
Sadly, we often do not continue reading Luke’s passage further. After Simeon sang, he blessed the holy family and spoke specifically to Mary. The blessing might surprise you.
“Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed.” —Luke 2:34
I’m not sure what Mary thought of that blessing—it sounds more like a curse. Mary would have to watch Jesus’ rejection, betrayal, and death. Her soul would be crushed as His was crushed. Jesus would walk into opposition and suffering, and so would Mary.
One of the mysteries of the Gospel is that real peace comes through conflict. We rarely discover the beauty and power of the Gospel when all our longings are fully met—when our family stops being dysfunctional, when our work fully satisfies us, or when we receive everything we want. Rather, we find God in the midst of our longing. In our sorrow we find His peace. In our weakness we find His power. In our fear we find His strength. Paul told us, “For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” (2 Cor 5:21). Because of this, Christians are best equipped to step into the brokenness of this world and shine forth as light. In the midst of this broken world, we too are longing, but with hope. Like old Simeon, we wait, longing for Jesus’ arrival, and with Him the full and final redemption of all things. Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
“If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.”
Jeff is a licensed marriage and family therapist and supervisor in Texas. He earned his master's dregree and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, MS). He also holds a PhD from Drexel University (Philadelphia). Jeff is married to Susan. They live near White Rock Lake and enjoy spending time with their three daughters.
When I was in college, my usual routine was to stay up late at night and watch sports. Even after all those games had ended, I would stay up even later and watch all of the replays and highlights of the games that I didn’t watch. But one night while surfing the channels, I stopped to watch something I had not previously watched on television—church. It wasn’t just any church, but a megachurch with a lively and winsome preacher. I had a weak theological framework in my youth, so I was uncertain how I should assess what I was hearing. Nevertheless, I was drawn to the preacher’s style. It was lively and engaging, and I really enjoyed his voice.
After a few weeks of watching, I realized that there were multiple references to the same verse in Matthew 21 where Jesus was in need of a donkey. The repeated application of that verse was similar from week to week and strongly suggested the following principle: God needs you. Unfortunately, this would become an operating principle for my ministry over the next few years and remained true for me until I experienced failure in a particular ministry role. I was asked to do something in which I had no experience, and I failed. And then I noticed that the Kingdom and the ministry therein continued. For the first time I had to entertain the thought that perhaps God didn’t need me in the way I had previously thought. I began to wonder if God needed me at all. As a result, that period of my life was a very sad time because I grieved the loss of a belief around which I had mistakenly built my life and ministry.
However, it was also a time when God showed me the immense beauty of the Gospel and, though God does not need me, He, in fact, wants me. What was so amazing about His wanting me was that His desire was based on His love and not on His weakness. He didn’t want me because I completed Him, but because He knew that He completed me. He made me in His image with specific gifts that will bear witness to His power, His grace, and His glory. He did not need me because there was something insufficient about Himself, but He wants me because He designed me to bear witness to His power, His grace, and His glory.
In Matthew 21, Jesus was taking the twelve through a discipleship intensive. All of Jesus’ teaching was about to come to fruition and He wanted them to know that there were two types of people: those who believe God needs them and therefore feel free to develop their own version of faithfulness; and those who believe God wants them and seek to follow God’s version of faithfulness. He called His disciples to the latter. The same calling is true for us.
Consider the ways you might be living your life based on this untruth that God needs you. Examine your life for compulsions. Analyze your list of ministry responsibilities to find those items for which you deem yourself irreplaceable. Instead, build your life and ministry around the fact that God wants you. Examine your life for the many opportunities He has given you to reflect His glory, and be thankful for His pursuit and capture of you.
Behold, how good and pleasant it is
when brothers dwell in unity!
It is like the precious oil on the head,
running down on the beard,
on the beard of Aaron,
running down on the collar of his robes!
It is like the dew of Hermon,
which falls on the mountains of Zion!
For there the Lord has commanded the blessing,
life forevermore.
Marshall was raised in Dallas, Texas. He studied history at Vanderbilt University. After graduation, Marshall worked as a stock broker, a middle school teacher, and a coach. He earned an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary and served for six years as a college pastor before moving to Los Angeles. He loves riding his bike to work, playing golf, and engaging in a good conversation.
Our first newcomers’ brunch at our church’s new Westside location was held this past Sunday. The people I meet at these events always encourage me. I often ask, “How is it that God keeps bringing such amazing people to our church?” One of the great privileges of being a pastor is meeting newcomers and hearing their stories.
However, it seems as if this time of year also brings a plethora of goodbyes. In the last two months, I have had to say goodbye too many times—off they go to Portland, Chicago, Chattanooga, Paris, the Bay area, Honolulu, Cambodia—the list continues. What is it about summer that takes the people we love away from us? It’s that time of year, I guess, when we say hello as often as we say goodbye.
This past week our men’s Bible study examined Psalm 133. It’s short and worth quoting in it’s entirety here:
Psalm 133
Behold, how good and pleasant it is
when brothers dwell in unity!
It is like the precious oil on the head,
running down on the beard,
on the beard of Aaron,
running down on the collar of his robes!
It is like the dew of Hermon,
which falls on the mountains of Zion!
For there the Lord has commanded the blessing,
life forevermore.
Though the metaphors are as foreign as they are evocative, we instantly feel the allure of this Psalm. Who of us does not desire to dwell in unity with others? Who of us does not long for flourishing with others? Such unity is both the will of God and the object of our desires.
For many, the question we ask of this Psalm is: “How do we get such unity?” Yet in Los Angeles, the harder question is, “How do we hold onto this unity in a place where, for many of us, our community changes every 18 months?”
For my money, one of the most moving portrayals of unity among friends in recent years is the HBO mini-series Band of Brothers. It is a fictionalized account of Easy Company, which was part of the 2nd Battalion assigned to the 101st Airborne Division of the United States Army during World War II. Over the course of ten episodes, the series details the company’s real life exploits throughout the war from jump camp in Georgia to the airborne landings in Normandy, the taking of the Eagle's Nest, and the capitulation of Japan. The series focuses on the soldiers’ relationships and their efforts to keep one another safe, together, and on mission. Nothing that they did was easy, thus in this cauldron of war a band of brothers was forged.
But alas, the war ended, the mission was accomplished, and they returned to their homes spread out over the U.S.—only to come together again at the occasional reunion. Yet it was in those two years of war in which they gave their all to one another, that they were forever changed. Indeed the power of short-term relationships has a biblical precedent: Jonathan’s early death meant his relationship with David was relatively brief, and Jesus, famously, only spent three years with His disciples.
Please do not misunderstand me. I am not suggesting that Los Angeles is a battlefield, nor am I pretending that our relationships can have the intensity and shared life of a combat company. And I am certainly not against long-term relationships.
What I am suggesting is that with the time we have, we should give our lives to one another, because we do not know how long it will be until we say goodbye. And as we do, we will realize the goodness and pleasantness of dwelling together in unity, even when we have to say goodbye.
In my story, the two hardest goodbyes this summer were our pastoral staff losses: Albert Shim and Dave Masoner. The pain of their leaving is so great because our time together was so rich. In the movie Shadowlands, C.S. Lewis put it memorably: “Why love, if losing hurts so much? I have no answers anymore: only the life I have lived. Twice in that life I've been given the choice: as a boy and as a man. The boy chose safety, the man chooses suffering. The pain now is part of the happiness then. That's the deal.” How good and pleasant it is when we dwell together in unity, even if only for a season.
In A Severe Mercy, author Sheldon Vanauken recounts what he said to his friend, C. S. Lewis:
On that last day I met C. S. Lewis at the Eastgate for lunch. We talked, I recall, about death or, rather, awakening after death…. “At all events,” he said with a cheerful grin, “we’ll certainly meet again, here—or there.” Then it was time to go, and we drained our mugs. When we emerged onto the busy High with the traffic streaming past, we shook hands, and he said: “I shan’t say goodbye. We’ll meet again.” Then he plunged into the traffic. I stood there watching him. When he reached the pavement on the other side, he turned around as though he knew somehow that I would still be standing there in front of the Eastgate. Then he raised his voice in a great roar that easily overcame the noise of the cars and buses. Heads turned and at least one car swerved, “Besides,” he bellowed with a great grin, “Christians NEVER say goodbye!” (A Severe Mercy, p. 123)
"He who comes from above is above all. He who is of the earth belongs to the earth and speaks in an earthly way. He who comes from heaven is above all."
Ben lives in College Station, TX, with his wife and their two children. He is starting his sixth year with RUF at Texas A&M. Prior to serving at A&M, Ben served with RUF for four years at Hinds Community College near Jackson, MS. He earned his undergraduate degree from Delta State University and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson). He enjoys reading, playing golf, and watching Johnny Football win Heisman trophies.
In my formative years, Christian influence was hit or miss. My parents divorced when I was five years old, and I spent most of my childhood in and out of churches hearing little about Jesus. I was schooled in life by the world and the prevailing cultural ideals around me. Coupled by the fact that I am an only child, I learned quite early how to navigate this world in self-protective, self-promoting ways, most of the time with a simple nod towards God. “Here I Go Again” by Whitesnake was the theme song for my life. It was “the only road I’ve ever known,” and indeed, living life apart from God is earthly living.
In John 3, a dispute arose between John the Baptist’s disciples and Jesus’ disciples. Both were baptizing, but John’s disciples inquired as to whose baptism was really purifying people. Jesus’ baptism was the correct answer because He came from above; He is the only one who can purify us from earthly ways.
We need this purification because things are askew on this earth—death, pain, heartache, injury, suffering, separation from God, manipulation, greed, sin, anger, and adultery. All of these grievances cause us to respond to life in earthly ways—taking our own path, navigating life without God, Whitesnake kind of living, projecting, hiding, scheming, plotting, running, escaping, and being numb.
John the Baptist recognized the need to be purified by Jesus’ baptism, so he pointed us to Jesus. John never forgot his place as the one who pointed to Jesus because Jesus was from above and therefore can purify us and “seal” us (v. 33) in God’s Word. These horizontal conditions in which we now live are ripe for sealing in earthly ways, but Jesus came from above to purify us from these earthly ways. It must be this way; nothing on earth will do. Everything here is tainted, stained, and ruined by sin.
Yet this purifying from earthly ways is a process. God began this process for me when I was 20 when, much like the woman at the well, He showed me all the cisterns from which I had been drinking left me forever thirsty. He gave me true water and quenched my thirst. But much purification is still needed, therefore I drink more of Jesus day by day, not out of emptiness, but out of a fullness that I already have in Him. So now His water is at work inside of me, purifying me from earthly ways, and this process will continue until He returns.
Remember the occasion when Peter brandished a sword and severed a soldier’s ear? “Put up the sword, Peter. We’re not going to do it this way. Those are earthly ways. Instead of taking life, we’re going to give it away,” Jesus implied. Earthly ways push, shove, manipulate, drive, run, push harder, and drive harder. Heavenly ways cultivate, love, serve, walk, rest, and give.
I like to achieve and strive. There’s nothing necessarily wrong with those attributes, but I know my heart’s tendency to achieve and strive is a mechanism to cover my deficiencies, shortcomings, and also the shame of my past and present injuries and sins—again, earthly ways, Whitesnake ways. Jesus wants to give me life in order to promote Him and His ways of life and joy, living alert to His great truth, His saving power, and the promise that the “above” will be here soon. One day, earthly ways will be swallowed up by heavenly ways, and by virtue of Jesus’ resurrection, that process has already begun. So I ask: to which way do you submit? Which way has sway over you?
“What father among you, if his son asks for a fish, will instead of a fish give him a serpent; or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!”
Mike lives in Chattanooga, TN with his wife, Mary, and their five children. He has served as the Middle School Ministry Leader at PCPC. He earned his undergraduate degree from Kansas State University and earned a ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary. He is now serving as the Pastor of Discipleship, Children, and Youth at First Presbyterian Church in Chattanooga, TN.
As a new father, I quickly learned that when my son, Jack, cries there must be something wrong. Normally a quiet and content baby, Jack uses his sad little cries to let me know when he is hungry, tired of “tummy time,” or ready to get up from his crib. At three and a half months, crying is his only way to communicate his needs to me. A few nights ago, I was feeding him a bottle late at night. Typically, when he is halfway through with his bottle, I attempt to burp him to prevent an undesirable spit up. When I took the bottle away, Jack immediately made the most pitifully sad face I have every seen—lips pouty, skin beet red, little baby tears rolling down his cheeks—and then his distraught cry began. Astutely, I abandoned my attempts to burp him and returned the bottle.
In Luke 11, Jesus instructed His disciples to pray. In His model prayer, Jesus emphasized their utter dependence on God and their desire for the will of the Father to be accomplished. Jesus then told a parable to illustrate the boldness with which they should approach God in prayer. Though a neighbor will not wake up late at night and give you bread for your guest because he is your friend, he will give you what you need because of your boldness. If your sleepy-eyed and grumpy neighbor will answer your requests, how much more so will your heavenly Father be willing to answer your bold requests. Jesus concludes with an exhortation to ask, seek, and knock because we can be confident of the Father’s response.
But what has stuck in my mind about this passage is the comparison Jesus makes between earthly fathers and our heavenly Father in vv. 11–13. Jesus asks rhetorically what father would give his son a serpent when he had asked for a fish, or would give his son a scorpion when he had asked for an egg. It is obvious. No proper, earthly father would ever do such a thing! It is unimaginable! As parents, it is part of our instinct to care for, provide, and protect our children. We are willing to give our children what they need. What is more, no parent would think to give a dangerous creature to a child who had asked for such an essential need as food.
Jesus’ conclusion is pointed. If we who are evil, sinful, and selfish do not refuse our children what they need, neither will our perfect heavenly Father. How true! If I willingly shake the sleepiness out of my eyes to feed my son, even though I am tired, grumpy, and a little annoyed, how much more will our heavenly Father, who neither slumbers nor sleeps, who did not even spare His own Son, care for us and graciously give us all things we need. We only need to ask as His child, with faith and expectation. He certainly will not deny us our essential needs. The good that He promises is the essential need that the Father will give us the Holy Spirit. God will provide His presence, guidance, and intimacy—all that we truly need.
The reason that Jack cries is that he has not learned to trust me as his father. When I put down his bottle, he feared that his greatest, immediate need would not be met. But as he grows, he will learn of my love for him, how much I care for him, how I would give him anything he needs. But my greatest feelings of love, devotion, and care for my son are but poor, dim reflections of the love of our heavenly Father for us. God is more gracious, more tender, more loving than we can begin to know.
"But if anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him?"
In his sermon last Sunday, Mark pressed upon us the clear Word from the Lord through the Apostle John that we learn to love those who are very different from us, those who “do not have the world’s goods” as the sign, the proof, you might say, that we are Christians (1 John 3:17).
I'm realizing that, if I'm working on my heart's openness to the mystery of my union with Christ, then I will begin to see with His eyes those who are essentially outcasts from the places of privilege where having the world’s goods is taken for granted. The truth is, I hardly see these people at all! I don’t often go to the places where they are. When I stop at a traffic light and a person holds up a sign relating his or her sad story, I actually avoid looking into this person’s eyes. It feels very awkward, this intrusion of a person who doesn’t belong in this neighborhood. In John’s words, “I close my heart to him.” For several months, I've been convicted that this attitude reveals, not only my disobedience, but that I fail to understand that the Lord’s heart is never closed to me.
In a recent interview, Rich Stearns, the president of World Vision spoke about how Christians in our neighborhoods see the poor.
“How should Christians respond? Are we relevant by having short, peppy sermons and coffee bars in church? By offering advice on living nice, comfortable lives? A better response is to call the church back to Jesus' mission. We are to bring the whole Gospel into the world, demonstrating a new, revolutionary way to live under God's rule—living out the Kingdom values of compassion, mercy, and justice. We don't need to worry about so-called 'Christian issues' at the polls when we are confidently following Christ's call in every area of our lives and inviting others to join us."
One of the questions I'm starting to ask myself and others is, "What are you doing this week for the benefit of the poor, the disenfranchised, those we would usually pass by or rarely think about, and the outcasts from our neighborhoods and our lives?" I'm beginning to realize that we can be about many good Christian works, but without some part of our living being directed toward those who are in material, physical need, we may find ourselves one day hearing the Lord ask, "You believed in Me, but did you obey Me?" (Matt 7:21). (Stearns’ recent book is entitled, Unfinished: Why Believing Is Only the Beginning.)
"What goes deepest to the heart goes widest to the world." This phrase is on a banner hanging in the halls of PCPC. I've known it and used it for so long, I can't remember where I first heard it. It is compelling. Those of us who want to "push out into the deep" (Luke 5) in our living with, in, and through Jesus cannot fail to notice the hungry, the sick, the prisoner, the lonely... or else we may, despite our warm hearts, fail to be recognized by Jesus when He comes to us.
We often speak of the need for Christians to change our poor, sick culture that is in the prison of secular values. Surely we should see that the poor, the sick, the prisoners at the periphery of society are the products, and therefore the "test cases” for our willingness to move into the culture itself. I'm not advocating that we spend all our spare time on the outcasts, though some will and should, but what does it means that many of us spend no time with them?
I help lead a theological seminary where we train men and women for Kingdom ministry. I've long thought that we do a woefully inadequate job if we do not help future ministers move what they know intellectually (seminary is a very heady place) to their hearts, so that they are gripped with passion for their own union with Christ. I am realizing that we must also train future Christian leaders to move from their heads and hearts to their hands, which they put to the plough of cultivating the soil for those who are too poor, weak, or sick to do it for themselves.
The key to even beginning to want to do this is to understand that we are all outcasts. None of us belongs in the neighborhoods of God’s Kingdom. We are too poor spiritually to prove our worth to the Lord; we are too weak to stand with courage for Him; we are too much imprisoned by our own desires to be of much use to Him.
The only way we get invited in is because Jesus was the Outcast. He was crucified outside the city to show that He didn’t really belong to all it represented, but that He did belong to those in all nations who are at the periphery of power and wealth. He was the poor One, the sick One, the Prisoner of Caiaphas and Pilate and, yes, the Prisoner of my sin.
We reformed people believe we’re sinners, but the notion that we’re outcasts can be a stretch. The church should disabuse us of the notion that we fit in because of who we are. The church should teach us that in ourselves we are outcasts, we don’t fit in, but when we walk with Christ, no one asks if we belong in that neighborhood.
“Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.”
I flipped to the National Geographic Channel the other night, thankfully interrupting the Good Luck Charlie marathon that was happening in our house, and I saw a segment on this curious little fish called the mudskipper.
The mudskipper is an amphibious fish that has adapted to its environment in order to move on land and breathe by holding water in its gill sacks. Now this odd looking creature, like other gobies (the family of fish in which the mudskipper is a part) was made to live in water. However, over time, it has evolved so that now it lives most of its life out of water. And though this is impressive, it is fatally dangerous too, because if the mudskipper strays too far from the water it will eventually die. So here is my point: I am a mudskipper, and I suspect you are too.
Jesus said, “Whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:14). But I don’t believe it—too often I don’t live like I believe it. I try to fill my gills with just enough Jesus to get through the day, week, and month. I try not to stray too far from the Living Water—you know, just in case. But this is not how man was designed to live.
We were made to live dependently on God. God uses all kinds of metaphors to impress our dependence on Him. He says we are to “abide in the vine” (John 15:5), “eat of the bread of life” (John 6:35), and here to drink from springs of living water so that we “will never be thirsty again.” God made man to be completely dependent on Him for everything.
His intention, His design, His command is that we would rely on Him moment by moment for the life-giving sap that only comes from Him; that we would feast on Him for our daily nourishment and drink deeply of His grace and be satisfied.
But like the mudskipper (and all mankind), I try to adapt from my original design. Instead of drinking deeply from the Spring of Living Water to sustain me, I try to get just enough to hold me over until my next sip. I like to stray from the place I am meant to be. “I’ve been a Christian a long time; I already know the Bible. I don’t have time to pray today; I run an important ministry. I’ve been to seminary; I don’t need to go to Bible study. I am saved by grace; spiritual disciplines are just ‘works.’”
Sometimes I start drinking from other wells hoping they will give me life. I drink from the well of performance, desperately wanting people to be impressed with me. I drink from the well of materialism, thinking that somehow something will make me happy. I drink from the well of self-pity when I don’t get what I think I deserve. I drink hoping these wells will give me life, but they never do. In fact, when I drink from any source but Christ, I find myself frustrated, empty, depressed, and even thirstier.
I’m guilty of the same sin for which God charged Israel: “For My people have committed two evils; they have forsaken Me the fountain of living waters, and hewed them out cisterns, broken cisterns, that can hold no water” (Jer 2:13).
Another danger for the mudskipper is that it is slow-moving on land—so slow that it becomes easy prey for its predators.
As I stray from the living water and the life-giving power of the Spirit, I too become easy prey for my enemies—the flesh, the devil, and the world. The false promises they offer seem more real, tastier, and more pleasurable than the promises of Scripture. “Maybe a different career, one not spent trying to help others, would be better,” I sometimes surmise. “Earning more money would surely make me happier,” I think. “Beautiful surroundings would certainly satisfy my soul,” I daydream. But they won’t, because they can’t. At 45 years old, and as the founder of an inner-city ministry, one would think that I would have learned this by now. But I haven’t. I’m still learning, I guess.
If you are like me—a slow learner—and find yourself thirsty today; Jesus bids you to come to Him, the Fountain of Living Water, and dive in until you lose yourself in blissful, self-forgetfulness, overwhelmed by the immensity of His love for you to the point that, “If His grace were an ocean, we’re all sinking” (David Crowder, How He Loves Us). Finally, unlike the water from which the mudskipper came, the ocean of God’s grace is where we are meant to be and where we breathe most fully.
Not to us, O LORD, not to us, but to Your name give glory, for the sake of Your steadfast love and Your faithfulness! Why should the nations say, "Where is their God?" Our God is in the heavens; He does all that He pleases. Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands. They have mouths, but do not speak; eyes, but do not see. They have ears, but do not hear; noses, but do not smell. They have hands, but do not feel; feet, but do not walk; and they do not make a sound in their throat. Those who make them become like them; so do all who trust in them. O Israel, trust in the LORD! He is their help and their shield. O house of Aaron, trust in the LORD! He is their help and their shield. You who fear the LORD, trust in the LORD! He is their help and their shield. The LORD has remembered us; He will bless us; He will bless the house of Israel; He will bless the house of Aaron; He will bless those who fear the LORD, both the small and the great. May the LORD give you increase, you and your children! May you be blessed by the LORD, who made heaven and earth! The heavens are the LORD's heavens, but the earth He has given to the children of man. The dead do not praise the LORD, nor do any who go down into silence. But we will bless the LORD from this time forth and forevermore. Praise the LORD!
Jeff is a licensed marriage and family therapist and supervisor in Texas. He earned his master's dregree and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, MS). He also holds a PhD from Drexel University (Philadelphia). Jeff is married to Susan. They live near White Rock Lake and enjoy spending time with their three daughters.
A few years ago ago, I was asked by a fellow local pastor for my perspective on the structure of Scripture. Thinking back to my seminary days, I quickly responded that covenants provided the primary structure of Scripture. In return, I asked him the same question, but his answer was that kingdoms provided the structure. I explained my reasons and he explained his. Throughout the day I continued to think about his question and my response. Imagine my surprise when later that evening I providentially happened upon an article written by Tim Keller that begins with the following words:
“When I first began reading through the Bible I looked for some unifying themes. I concluded that there are many, and that if we make just one theme the theme (such as ‘covenant’ or ‘kingdom’) we run the danger of reductionism. However, one of the main ways to read the Bible is as the ages-long struggle between true faith and idolatry.”
I immediately became concerned because of my lack of conversations with other pastors (or anybody else, for that matter) about my struggles with faith and idolatry. I knew that human beings were made to worship. I also knew that Paul understood humanity’s original sin as an act of idolatry: “They exchanged the glory of the immortal God...and worshipped and served created things rather than the Creator” (Rom 1:21–25). I knew it, but I didn’t talk about it much.
Psalm 115 talks about it specifically, making the following points:
As He enables us to worship Him and not the idols in our lives, we become more and more conformed to the image of Christ. However, it is not only the behavior of our bodies that will change, but what we put into our bodies that should change as well. Eugene Peterson says in Eat This Book: “Christians feed on Scripture. Holy Scripture nurtures the holy community as food nurtures the human body. Christians do not simply learn or study or use Scripture; we assimilate it, take it into our lives in such a way that it gets metabolized into acts of love, cups of cold water, missions into all the world, healing and evangelism and justice in Jesus’ name, hands raised in adoration of the Father.”
The study of Scripture is important, but the metabolization and assimilation of it is critical to our growth. Why? Because when Scripture becomes a part of us, we become more aware of the subtle differences between our idols and the things of our God. In sum, we become wiser in distinguishing truth from lies.
"But I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin.”
Justin grew up in Sherwood, Arkansas, and attended college at Southern Methodist University. Post-college, he served two years as a youth minister at a PCA church in Knoxville, TN where he met his wife, Meredith. Justin graduated from Reformed Theological Seminary in Charlotte, NC.
If you asked a shark to describe water, it would likely reply, “What is water?”
It’s not that sharks are unintelligent; it is that water is such an assumed reality of any fish’s existence that it surrounds it and supports its life. Water is a shark’s existence. What is your water? What is so essential to your life that you’d be perplexed if anyone pointed it out or embarrassed that you didn’t see and understand it.
In the world of sin and misery, each of us swims in spiritual slavery, where we live and move and have our being. We don’t even realize that the fish bowl in which we swim as humans in this world is filled with spiritual slavery.
In his first sermon, recorded in Luke 4:16–30, Jesus reads from a scroll and quotes portions of Isaiah 61 and 58 with the central point being that He is the One anointed by God’s Spirit to set at liberty those who are oppressed, poor, and captive. In other words, the central Good News is Jesus will bring freedom to the enslaved.
Do you find yourself constantly frustrated by a lack of interest in Jesus, or have difficulty following and loving Him? I think we all could honestly use some help. This is why God ordained that we spend an entire day devoted to resting and communing with Him. This is why we join small groups. This is why we are presently reading Every Thought Captive. We do all these things because we know we need help, and more freedom. But from what do we need freedom? Many of us have never lived in a context where we are jailed or enslaved by a foreign power like the original hearers of Jesus in Nazareth. We live relatively free lives.
Have you ever seen or heard art that expressed the yearning to feel free? But how do you feel freedom? After all, aren’t we all technically free people? Why do we struggle to feel it? As young children, we dream that when we get a car, or when we go to college, or become adults and start our own careers and families, we will feel free. As adults, we dream that the next trip to the mountains or the beach will help us to feel free. We have to always and forever keep up this quest to feel free. We believe we will feel free when we have the most worldly and family success. Perhaps the way we believe we will feel free is not being bound by morality, tradition, or religion. Though we are all legally free, we simultaneously are desperately chasing this elusive feeling of freedom.
The Bible alone explains why we are obsessed with this roar within us, even when we have little self-awareness that this chase for the feeling is what drives our behavior. Paul wrote in Romans 7:14, “But I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin.” Paul was an apostle, a very spiritual man, and the writer of many books in the New Testament. Did you know that he devoted his life to sailing around the world and starting churches, even when that meant extreme rejection and physical harm? You might say, “There are bad people in Dallas, but they don’t go to church. Those people are enslaved by their addictions.” But the writers of Scripture counted themselves as slaves to sin. Are you a slave?
Hypothetically, what if at the next PCPC world missions conference, the session brought in Jesus to preach? And suppose Jesus, being busy, decides not to write a fresh sermon, but instead recycles His old sermon from Isaiah 58 and 61 that He preached in Nazareth. How would PCPC respond to hearing Jesus preach? I believe we are so enslaved that we might respond the same way that Jesus’ audience responded in Nazareth, with emotions ranging from disappointment all the way to rage. We are so enslaved and unaware that Jesus’ message wouldn’t scratch our itch. We would reject Him. (The people of Nazareth actually sought to throw Him off a 50-foot cliff and drop rocks on His head.) Jesus would promise that He would give us freedom. And we would say, “Okay, but what else?” I need power. I need approval. I need more love, wealth, health, sex, and money. We are enslaved to “Jesus plus.” We look for something added to Jesus to set us free, and it never delivers.
We are enslaved to sin, which means we disbelieve God and redefine what freedom is. We define freedom as getting as far away from God as possible. But here is the Good News: Jesus goes to those who seek to feel freedom by running away from Him, but He runs to us, even though we would reject and murder Him. Jesus escaped the mob in Luke 4, but a day came in which He laid His life down to set us free. Have you really considered today that your slavery is your problem? Have you considered that Jesus is fully aware of that? Have you considered that the Bible shows His willingness to get so close to you and your destructive hatred toward Him that He will be consumed in order to set you free? If you refuse to meditate on these things, the Good News will not be good to you, and you will not find freedom. We live in a need of Good News, a need of freedom, but like a shark in water, we don’t know our water. Consider today where you need Jesus to set you free.
“Those who trust in the Lord are as secure as Mount Zion; they will not be defeated but will endure forever. Just as the mountains surround Jerusalem, so the Lord surrounds His people, both now and forever.”
Melissa Hill serves alongside her husband, Trey, and their four children, in inner-city ministry in Dallas, Texas. Their lives are full to overflowing with beautiful stories of rescue, redemption, and roaring laughter. When she can sneak in some spare time, she writes about it all on her blog, A Long Way From the Theta House.
Our family just got back from spending a beautiful week at Wind River Ranch in Colorado, thanks to the umbrella organization to which Mercy Street belongs that takes the executive directors of its partner ministries and their families for a week every summer of encouragement, fellowship, and rest.
We've become a ragamuffin family of sorts. Even our kids look forward all year to being around one another this one short week. We climb mountains, play games, and scale climbing walls. We laugh and cry together—even at the same time on occasion.
For instance, there might have been laughter brought on by the fact that someone was crying on the climbing wall because she's petrified of heights, but her children made her go anyway and she was pleading with the Lord to get her down before she actually died.
Hypothetically speaking.
And there's a sincere love we have for one another that can only be the work of the Holy Spirit. Each family there has been called into a ministry that is a holy mess, so getting to lock arms once a year in solidarity is a beautiful gift to our souls.
So many things about our week encouraged me this year, but one common thread stood out more than anything else. Last summer, it seemed most of the families arrived literally limping through the gates. It had been a hard fought, exhausting year, and trials abounded. Hearts had been broken, marriages were hurting, and all were weary with the pain in our neighborhoods and burdened with the call to minister in hard places.
So we got to work.
We wept together. We prayed together. We sat silent together, letting the quiet of that place wash away the noise of the past year. We listened to the still small voice of the Father.
We asked hard questions, prayed more, spoke God's truths over one another again and again, and finally said goodbye, having been on our knees before our God together.
And honestly, a lot was left unfixed. Life wasn't neatly tied with a beautiful bow in those short six days. The road ahead for some was long and rocky and would require the blind faith we seldom like to exercise.
But we serve a faithful, persistent God who doesn't shrink away at long roads or stubborn wills. He, in His ever-present-ness, helps, heals, restores the years the locusts have eaten, and turns ashes into beauty.
And so another year went by until we were all together again. When we found each other in the lobby this June, we could literally see the transformative work of the Father in one another's faces. It's amazing to see the difference a year can make—better said, the difference the Lord can make in a year. The wounded were mending, marriages were being slowly, thoroughly restored, and the Lord of Creation's fingerprints were all over each of us.
It was like the friends who seldom see your kids and then remark how much they've grown. When we see people every day, we don't notice the changes, the inches, the squaring of the jaw. We don't get the perspective of time.
But with this group, we do.
I struggle with faith. My bent toward common sense, toward the obvious, logical explanation or solution often rubs against being certain of Hope and sure of what I cannot see. But perspective of time is a fortifier of faith, isn't it? It is an on-the-other-side glance back toward what seemed impossible, irreconcilable, gone too far awry.
So when the trials of today seem impassable, remember, beloved, you are a child of the Most High King. You are His workmanship, and He is in the business of restoration. For our sake and for His glory, He is deeply enmeshed with the heart poured out on the mountaintops and your days that feel mundane in-between.
The gift of our time with these families each year goes far beyond the six days we spend. The ways I've seen the Lord work over the years have become Ebenezer stones reminding me that His timing is not always swift, or logical to our limited minds, but our God is alive and His Word is living and active, and there is hope for the limping soul.
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be his people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
In the old days, when the stars outshone non-existent street lamps, space was an inviting prospect. Verdant and vibrant, it teemed with life. Planets danced through the sky, exerting their influence over the affairs of man. The moon and the sun rode through the heavens. People explained the behavior of the universe with personal and emotional words like: inclining, striving, or desiring. Like children imitating their parents, different earthly elements belonged to and behaved like their planetary superiors. Of course, no one had seen space. No one had touched the galaxy. But the mind, thankfully, is unfettered. It can float to the farthest reaches of the universe, where the tiniest molecule leans outward into the unknown. It can know things that the senses cannot.
We know better now. After taking a closer look at the heavens and finding appalling distances between the stars and planets, it was quickly renamed space. Naturally enough, the more space, the more the relationship suffered. Soon the planets stopped dancing and influencing and started dryly obeying. The luminary bodies became simply the collected debris of space drawn together by uncaring gravity. Then we went into space and found nothing particularly to touch.
In J.J. Abram’s Star Trek remake, an explosion rips through the side of a spaceship and an unfortunate member of Starfleet gets sucked into space, where immediately all noise ceases. Why? Sound is transmitted through the air by vibrating molecules. No molecules? No noise. The unnamed interplanetary traveler dies in total deafening silence. Space is not bubbling with life. It is the vast unknowing nothingness, a cold impersonal and terrible void—which just so happens to be, according to the laws of science, the seedbed for all life.
What an enchanting world! But it fascinates me on this account: Space has become in our collective imaginations what the sea used to be. For ancient people the oldest stories explaining where things came from and how they became the way they are originated in the sea. Generally, a powerful god defeated an evil sea monster, and then the sea’s body became the basis for life. But the sea remained a strange and unpredictable void. It brewed up storms without notice or cause and threw them nonchalantly at the shore. Venturing onto its undulating surface meant only chaos. It held no predictable features and nothing to grab onto for safety. You either floated or died. You were at the mercy of the element. For an ancient person, standing on the shore must have been much like looking out a spaceship’s portside window: a brief glimpses of beauty, but on the whole an episode of agoraphobia.
Which explains the opening two sentences of the Bible: First God creates the heavens and the earth, not from the dead body of an evil sea monster (Yikes!), but from nothing and by His Word. Next God floats over the chaotic void and begins to change it. He creates boundaries over it. He restrains it. He shines light upon it. In other words, God displays His power over the chaotic evil void and begins a new story—a story full of green grass and flowering trees and frolicking animals and human beings who communicate and have relationship with the King in the highest heavens. It also makes sense out of Revelation 21. I used to balk at “the sea was no more,” mainly because I thought Seaside was grand and who in their right mind would want to get rid of that? But inside the greater story, God is finally accomplishing the complete relational ordering of all things. No more chaos. No more unexplained evil and pain. The void hasn’t been restrained. It has been eradicated.
Space tells a different story, but runs on the same worn out lines. No more pre-existing evil sea monster, here we come from a pre-existing carbonic element hitching a ride aboard an unsuspecting comet—the dark, unstable void replaced by a dark, empty void. Originating out of an evil sea monster enables excuses, so too does being determined by biological processes.
But the change does create its own problems. Cynicism certainly is one, for a cynic loves nothing more than the dull ugly truths that he suspected all along behind the beauty of the sunset. But it’s a tired lie—that despite the apparent goodness of God in creating a beautiful world for you and Him to dwell in—He’s actually holding out on you—to which God, who proved His determination to love us at the cross, responds, “I will dwell with you again, and even space will be no more.”
"Then the eyes of both were opened, and they knew that they were naked. And they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loincloths. And they heard the sound of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day, and the man and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God.. And the Lord God made for Adam and for his wife garments of skins and clothed them."
—Genesis 3:7-8, 21
"I will greatly rejoice in the Lord; my soul shall exult in my God, for He has clothed me with the garments of salvation; He has covered me with the robe of righteousness."
—Isaiah 61:10
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
Some time ago at Southern Methodist University, I met with a thoughtful young student who wanted to talk about a bad night with alcohol. She went out with friends never intending to drink (she was underage), but the desire to fit in drove her to have one, and then another, and so on—a familiar campus script. The night ended in sickness and shame.
In our meeting, the young lady was determined for me to know that everything about that night was an anomaly. Though her guilt was heavy, she clung to the conviction that she genuinely was a good person. By good, she meant that she generally did the right thing, honored her parents, worked hard in school, was well-mannered, and had never sold a kidney on the black market. I inquired about her motivation to be exceptionally good all the time. She fumbled around for an answer, and eventually settled on her insatiable quest to make her family and friends proud. Her good-person-construct was her ticket to love and acceptance. At that moment, she heard herself struggle for an explanation and the light came on. She saw herself, for the first time, from a strange new angle. The motive that drove her to make straight A's in class was the same motive that caused her courage to fail at a party. She saw that her problem was more than a few bad decisions; it was a disordered heart. She had lived to please everyone around her, to try to cover up her flaws and feelings of inadequacy with report cards, religious duties, résumés, and an active social life. Though she knew the language of grace, the security and vitality of grace felt very distant to her.
The acclaimed Southern author Flannery O'Connor wrote a short story called, "The Turkey." In this story, a boy becomes enamored with catching a turkey in order to make his dad proud of him. Catching the turkey becomes the young boy's world. At one point during the chase, the boy tears his shirt, and O'Connor writes, "If he came in with a turkey, they wouldn't pay any attention to his shirt." When I first read this line, I was undone. In only a few words, the hidden mentality of many achievers like myself had been laid bare: "If I can only 'catch' this significant thing in my life, then everyone will be impressed, and no one will pay attention to how torn up I really am."
Like Adam and Eve clumsily fitting together fig leaves in the Garden, we all long for something to cover us, something that will distance us from our inadequacy and cause us to regain a sense of human wholeness. We all long for something to assure us that we can be both known and loved at the same time and this longing may lead us into a night we'd like to forget. Or, it may lead us to record a new line on our résumés for everyone to remember. Either way, the blood of our first parents still courses strongly through our veins.
On more than one occasion Jesus stressed that His people need eyes to see, but what exactly are we supposed to see? Many things, I think. We need eyes to see the distortions in us and around us that are allowed to pass as normal. We need eyes to see below the surface of our behaviors, below the shallowness of our "good-person constructs," and into the poverty of our hearts. As O'Connor wrote in another place, "Redemption is meaningless unless there is cause for it in the actual life we live." But most importantly, we need eyes to see Jesus. The good news of the Gospel is that God has provided a better covering than fig leaves or turkeys, alcohol, or achievement. He has provided Jesus, the One who has won for us the eternal satisfaction of the Father and put an end to all our shame. He is the Love we have been invited to live in and cultivate. He is the grace given to free us and form us. May we have eyes to see Him, and never look away.
“O LORD, in the morning You hear my voice; in the morning I prepare a sacrifice (or prayer) for You and watch.”
Anyone who has tried to pray knows it isn’t easy. We can all offer an obligatory blessing before meals or fire off a panicked SOS petition in a moment of crisis. But who among us has a practice of prayer that becomes habituated into a rhythm of life with all the personal qualities of communication experienced in relationships of actual intimacy? I usually wake in the morning more concerned about what I have to accomplish in the day ahead rather than what type of person I’m becoming. And I’m not alone. Most of us, I think, conceive of prayer in terms of getting what we want or think we need rather than communing with the God who is intent upon shaping our souls and lives into beautiful reflections of Himself and His designs for this world. We need help to pray—the disciples knew this (Luke 11:1), so too does the Holy Spirit, whom the Apostle Paul says prays for us with “groanings too deep for words” because “we do not know what to pray for as we ought” (Rom 8:26).
So how does the Spirit help us pray? For centuries the Church has given one primary answer to this question: the Psalms.
“Prayers are tools that God uses to work His will in our bodies and souls. Prayers are tools that we use to collaborate in His work with us… The Psalms are the best tools available for working the faith—one hundred and fifty carefully crafted prayers that deal with the great variety of operations that God carries on in us and attend to all the parts of our lives.” (Eugene Peterson, Answering God)
In God’s hands the Psalms shape and mold us, just as they formed Jesus. It’s remarkable to notice not only how often, but when Jesus quoted the Psalms. When He realized His death was imminent, Jesus spoke Psalm 42: “Now My soul is troubled…” (John 12:27); then at the Last Supper, before Judas’ betrayal, Psalm 41: “My friend in whom I trusted, who ate My bread, has raised his heel against Me…” (John 13:18); after that, in the final moments before His arrest, Psalm 35: “They hated me without cause…” (John 15:25). Jesus used the Psalms to make sense of His life; through them He interpreted what was happening to Him and how His Heavenly Father was at work.
And Jesus isn’t alone in this type of personal appropriation of the Psalms. In the Old Testament, the capricious prophet Jonah set this pattern of praying that Jesus eventually followed. When Jonah prayed from the belly of the fish, he didn’t author a completely original prayer, but instead the words of Psalm 18 came bubbling over his lips as he sank further beneath “the waves of this troublesome world” inside his strange ark: “I called out to the LORD, out of my distress, and He answered me…” (Jonah 2:2, echoing Ps 18:6); “The waters closed in over me to take my life…” (Jonah 2:5, echoing Ps 18:16); “My prayer came to You, into Your holy temple…” (Jonah 2:7, echoing Ps 18:6). Jonah applied Psalm 18 to his life when his circumstances mirrored the story and message of the psalmist. He prayed Psalm 18 while he was beneath the waves because it explained to him his own depths and assured him that the Lord listened no matter how low he sank.
Centuries later Jesus followed Jonah when He was cast beneath the waters of our sin and death: “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” (Matt 27:46; Ps 22:2), and “Into your hands I commit my spirit!” (Luke 23:46; Ps 31:6). When Jesus needed to pray, more than any other time in His life, the Psalms flowed from His lips. Why? Why does God’s Son repeat the words of the Psalms while suffering His Father’s punishment for our sin? Did He know the Psalms speak of Him and His death? Yes. But more simply and essentially, Jesus repeated the psalmists’ words because these are the words that had shaped His life and taught Him to pray.
I don’t think I go too far in saying that the Psalms enabled Jesus to endure His passion. Or stated another way, the Psalms were what God used to administer the grace necessary for Jesus to bear the sins of the world.
Why wouldn’t we join the Savior, as well as Jonah and countless other Christians throughout history, and pray the Psalms, also? Many lectionaries (e.g. the Revised Common Lectionary and the Book of Common Prayer) organize the Psalms into morning and evening prayers, so that the entire Psalter is read and prayed regularly. This is my practice and also my challenge to you—to take six weeks and pray through the morning and evening psalm every day. Then, at the end of those six weeks, ask yourself if and how the Psalms are shaping you. I did this four years ago and I’ve been praying the Psalms daily ever since.
To begin you may simply want to read the Psalms and offer them to God as your prayer. If that is all the time, energy, or understanding you have, great. That is enough! Let their words wash over you as you speak them and trust that the Lord is hearing them as your prayer and using them to shape you spiritually as you pray. At other times read the Psalms and then use them as launching pads for your own prayers. Follow Jonah’s lead—personalize the words of the psalmist; take the Psalm’s ideas, themes, emotions, and words and let them guide your thoughts and prayers for yourself and others.
As you begin, know that there will times when it seems as if the psalm you’re reading was written just for you and your life as it’s unfolding on that very day. At other times the psalms will seem irrelevant to your life and needs. That is part of the point in praying them—we need to be drawn out of our myopic, self-absorbed orientation to life and prayer and speak to God on His terms, with His words, and on behalf of others. Even though we can’t identify with each psalm on every day, we certainly know of someone whose current circumstances are reflected in what we’re reading. Pray for them.
The Church now stands in the place of Jesus’ disciples, asking: “Lord, teach us to pray.” When need to realize that He already has. Open your Bible, read the Psalms. Meditate on them. Take their words to God as your own and wait. “O LORD, in the morning You hear my voice; in the morning I prepare a sacrifice (or prayer) for You and watch” (Ps 5:3). Read, pray, and watch.
Therefore remember that at one time you Gentiles in the flesh, called “the uncircumcision” by what is called the circumcision, which is made in the flesh by hands—remember that you were at that time separated from Christ, alienated from the commonwealth of Israel and strangers to the covenants of promise, having no hope and without God in the world. But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far off have been brought near by the blood of Christ.
Phillip grew up in Dallas and, after graduating from Highland Park High School, attended Ole Miss in Oxford, Miss. Upon graduation, he returned home as a youth intern with Park Cities Presbyterian Church. Phillip served PCPC's Youth Ministry for three years before taking a full-time position, coordinator of youth missions, in fall 2013.
Phillip married his new bride Mary Love in July 2013. Mary Love is an intern with SMU's RUF program.
Today I simply want to call each reader, and myself, to a sweet time of remembering the truths of the Gospel. Whether you have been a believer for most of your life or for just a short time, we need to return daily to mediate on the truths of the Gospel. Indeed this is also the one who is reading and has yet to profess Jesus as Lord and Savior. I pray that this may be the glorious day when the hardened scales of your heart and eyes are peeled back, allowing your first glance at the bitterness of sin and sweetness of the Gospel. So I pray the Lord would use His Spirit to cast our eyes heavenward, silence the noise and distractions around, suppress the constant noise from within, and allow us to hear His voice.
First, I call us to remember our hopelessness apart from the saving blood of Jesus Christ. It has been said that we must taste the bitterness of sin in order to fully grasp the sweetness of the Gospel. We remember with Paul that we were once far off and have been brought into His warm embrace. We, too, were dead in our trespasses and our sin, but the Spirit of God has illuminated our eyes to see our need for the Savior. May we therefore remember our once ignorant state before a righteous God, and may we give Him glory this day as we remember the Hope promised in His Word. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him” (John 3:16–17).
Secondly, I urge us to remember the importance of prayer. The Christian is called to walk in a prayerful manner because that is exactly where we can experience the peace that surpasses all understanding. A prayerful life produces peace for many reasons. For one, it places us in a posture of humble submission before the One who brings all things come to pass. We experience peace because we are in constant communion with the Creator, Sustainer, and Protector of all things. The peace promised in Scripture is Christ unconditional, not driven by the temporal circumstances we face throughout each day. We have peace because God saw our helpless circumstance and sent Jesus Christ to overcome and conquer our utter depravity. We have unconditional peace in Christ because He cried, “It is finished!” and is currently interceding on our behalf. We have peace because our hope lies in eternal promises, not temporary circumstances. So if you are in Christ, remember today has already been won by our Champion. The good and bad circumstances of this day cannot thwart His plan, but are working together for His glory and our good. “For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known” (1 Cor 13:12).
Lastly, He isn’t done. Each of us carries sin, brokenness, insecurities, and blemishes for which we are not proud. Some of these are recent habits and others seem to be consistent thorns in our side. So I encourage us to remember that in Christ we are no longer slaves to sin, for we have a Redeemer who sets us free from the power of sin and death. However, we must also remember that we have entered into a battle. The war is won and Christ stands victorious, but we are called to put on the full armor of God because He knew we would be sojourners in a foreign land. The evil one lies in wait, seeking to devour those who claim Christ or further entrench those who are already lost. So let us run this race with endurance, not on our own strength but with constant reliance on the perfect work of Christ and His promise to bring this work to completion. “And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ” (Phil 1:6).
Whether you are reading this in the early morning hours, on your lunch break, or as an evening devotion, I want to encourage us all to set out minds on Gospel truths. The love of God, shown through Jesus Christ, is bigger than any circumstance, trial, temptation, or disaster we may encounter this day. May we run to the warm embrace of our loving and gracious Father and never forget our position as His children and heirs of the promise. And if you find yourself in a season of doubt or unbelief, I urge you to beg the Lord for eyes to see, a heart to love, and a mind to understand the overwhelming goodness of our God and Savior.
“O my God, incline Your ear and hear. Open Your eyes and see our desolations, and the city that is called by Your name. For we do not present our pleas before You because of our righteousness, but because of Your great mercy. O Lord, hear; O Lord, forgive. O Lord, pay attention and act. Delay not, for Your own sake, O my God, because Your city and Your people are called by Your name.”
Stewart is beginning his fourth year working for RUF, both at Wake Forest and SMU. He currently is studying at Redeemer Seminary.
Prayer is everywhere. It is universal, even in Hollywood. Perhaps you have seen the movie Talladega Nights starring actor Will Ferrell playing the ridiculous NASCAR driver Ricky Bobby. In this heavily comedic movie, there is an interesting and irreverent prayer scene. Ricky prays to “baby Jesus, tiny Jesus in His golden fleece diaper.” And his wife Carly responds by saying, “I want you to do this grace good so that God will let us win tomorrow!” In like manner, perhaps you have seen Meet the Parents, where Ben Stiller, playing the role of Greg, is forced to pray in front of his new family. His prayer includes this gem: “And we thank You, O sweet Lord of Hosts, for the smorgasbord You have so aptly lain at our table this day and each day, by day, day by day, by day.” Maybe you are a fan of older movies, like the 1965 Jimmy Stewart classic Shenandoah. Jimmy prays, “Lord, we cleared this land. We plowed it, sowed it, and harvest it. We cook the harvest. It wouldn’t be here and we wouldn’t be eating it if we hadn’t done it all ourselves. We worked dog-bone hard for every crumb and morsel, but we thank You Lord just the same for the food we’re about to eat, amen.” Interestingly, these three prayers have something in common: a lack of honest vulnerability and blatant inauthenticity.
It is clear that as humans, we are fixated on the idea of prayer—the idea of calling out our thoughts, desires, and praises to something or someone that is not us. In today’s passage, we find ourselves in the midst of another prayer—Daniel’s prayer to God.
Daniel was a person like you and me—someone trying to follow God in a society, country, and culture that either had long forgotten Him or had never known Him. Sure, they had known the idea of God. Babylon would have been considered a religious culture, a culture full of many co-existing gods. But they were powerless because they did not know the one true God. This covenant-keeping Lord is the Lord of Daniel’s people, the God of Israel. The problem is that Israel had forgotten their God. They had transgressed His covenant time and time again, forsaking their relationship with their Lord and Maker, forsaking protection, forsaking life. And so God justly poured out His anger on His people and let the mighty nation of Babylon rule over Israel. However, God was also pouring out His mercy on at least one Israelite—Daniel. God would use Daniel to be a prophet, one who would speak God’s words in this time of exile and judgment. Left in a circumstance of utter desperation, seeking for Jerusalem to be spared, Daniel cried out to the one and only true recipient of prayer. The prayer is only fifteen verses, but Daniel referenced God an astonishing 56 times. Praying to God is Daniel’s foundation and should be ours as well, but like Daniel, we also need to be honest with Him, “for we do not present our pleas before (God) because of our righteousness, but because of (God’s) great mercy” (Dan 9:18b).
This brings us to our main point: Are we praying vulnerably? Daniel's prayer is not only God-directed, but also honest, petitioning the raw reality of his heart. He is specific: crying out that God would show mercy to Jerusalem, that He would cut short her desolation. If we know God like Daniel, we know that God cares. We know that God especially cares for His people, and because God cares we can be honest. God is not manipulative. He can be trusted. He does not have a religious formula for our prayers, but instead He wants us to be relationally sincere. Like a little kid eagerly running to Santa's lap, we too can run to our heavenly Father and sit on His lap, praying our lives. Daniel knew one way in which God would answer his prayer (in regard to Jerusalem), but he may not have realized how God would ultimately answer his prayer.
You see, several hundred years later another Jewish man, Jesus Christ, was in a time of exile and judgment. Just before His death, Jesus went to the garden of Gethsemane and cried out to God with the raw reality of His heart, “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will” (Matt 26:39). Jesus is the greater Daniel, whereas Daniel prayed that Israel would be spared, Jesus is submitting to be crushed. Just a few days after the garden, we read of Jesus in the greatest moment of exile and judgment this side of hell—the cross at Calvary. And He prayed to God, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” That prayer was from God to God, and for you and me. You may have never thought about it before, but Jesus was praying for you. You and I are the ones who know not what we do. You and I are the ones who pray imperfectly and selfishly. God used Daniel to spare His people from destruction, but God used Jesus to be destroyed so that you and I could be spared. This is the Gospel and this is the good news indeed. You see, we are in deep trouble if our relationship with God is founded on our prayers to God, on our ability to talk to God. Jesus is telling us that because our sin is so great, in order to know God we must accept His prayers for us. His perfect life, His death, all of it is a prayer for us. Jesus became vulnerable for us. Jesus prays for us, so let us receive His prayers, and present our pleas vulnerably and humbly before our God of great mercy.
The Parable of the Hidden Treasure
The kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and covered up. Then in his joy he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.
The Parable of the Pearl of Great Value
Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant in search of fine pearls, who, on finding one pearl of great value, went and sold all that he had and bought it.
Leslie is originally from Atlanta and graduated from Furman University. She earned her Master's in Counseling from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and is entering her eighth year in college ministry, currently serving with RUF at Southern Methodist University.
My parents moved out of the house that I grew up in right before I went to college. The process was arduous and sad, a whole mix of emotions. But a bright spot came when I was packing and found money I had hidden between the pages of my books. In an effort to resemble the sleuth-like heroines of favorite mystery series, I had tucked away money in my books in hopes of discovering my own buried treasure one day. The largest bill I found was $10, but the joy and anticipation of discovering something unexpected, especially in an unexpected place, was a memorable experience.
Jesus compares the Kingdom of God to discovering a treasure here in Matthew 13, and although money wasn’t a commodity back then, it was a medium of exchange and often hidden to keep safe. Jesus tells us the stories of two men who liquidate all they have to get a treasure. Both men, the hired worker and the pearl merchant, are illumined; they find something of value that other people miss, and they sacrifice in joy, selling everything they have in order to get it.
No one tells the men to sell all they have; they do it of their own volition. Why? Where does the motivation come from? Out of joy of obtaining this treasure and from the overwhelming beauty of what they will get. It is certainly a sacrifice, but it doesn’t feel like one because what they are getting is so much greater than what they are giving up.
Many of the college students I counsel week-to-week struggle with a range of issues from depression to promiscuity to drug and alcohol addiction to disordered eating, and on and on. I’m often preoccupied with wanting to see some behavioral change in their lives, tangible evidence that God is at work in them. Fruitfulness would indicate some measure of life at work underneath the brokenness of their sin, but it comes at a cost, doesn’t it?
One student recently described her struggle in this way: “I really understand this. I am a Christian. I have put my faith and trust in Christ, I have a guaranteed place in heaven, and I am delighted in by my Father in Heaven. But what good is it when guys don’t give me a second look?”
Her question echoes a sentiment deep within all of our own hearts. Oftentimes, the truth of what we know doesn’t match the reality of what we want and how we live. We’ve all set our sights on where life is found, and too often they are set on where it can’t be found. You may wonder like me, “I’m a Christian… but what does it matter if I don’t have _________?”
According to Jesus, sacrifice is a part of discipleship and part of belonging to the Kingdom of God. Paul understood this and in Romans 8:19 says, “For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worth comparing with the glory that is to be revealed to us.” The glory and riches that come from knowing Christ compelled Paul to give his life to Him. But how can we have joy when we watch things being sold off? We must be moved into sacrifice, and we find in Jesus the power to do so. Hebrews 12:2 says, “For the joy that was set before Him He endured the cross.” Like the hired worker who “in joy” sells all he has for the treasure he finds, so too Jesus gives His life for the joy, for the treasure before Him, which is us! This is the beauty of Jesus that motivates us to surrender our lives, our ambitions, even our longings to be noticed to Him, so that we may partake of His Kingdom of heaven and experience exceedingly more joy than we could imagine.
C.S. Lewis puts it this way in Mere Christianity:
“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of …You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”
May we give ourselves to the beauty of Christ and discover treasures beyond what we could ever ask or imagine.
“Though you have not seen Him, you love Him. Though you do not now see Him, you believe in Him and rejoice with joy that is inexpressible and filled with glory, obtaining the outcome of your faith, the salvation of your souls.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Maybe it’s because the whole idea has been captured by the world of retail marketing. The images of frosty lanes and manger scenes are now inextricably linked to sentimental snippets like, “May the joy of the season be yours throughout the year.” And sadly, the cards and the sentiments are usually long gone before Groundhog Day. “Joy to the world” is overwhelmed by “Back to the world,” and our notion of a deep, abiding joy is relegated more to wishful thinking than reality. The Joy of the Lord seems an idea just as out of place in our everyday lives as receiving a Christmas card in the baking midsummer heat.
But in the pages of Scripture, the Joy of the Lord runs like a deep, constant river that carries God’s people along through history. The remarkably broken heroes of the Bible know of this joy in all manner of life’s victories and defeats. And on the night in which He was betrayed, our Lord Himself said plainly to the disciples, “These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.”
Is it? Is the very joy of Jesus in you? Is your joy full? Or do you too often pursue and settle for circumstantial happiness instead of the eternal, promised joy of God’s salvation? In the ordinariness of our lives, we would probably all confess, “I just don’t really see it, this joy the Bible talks about.”
The joy of the Christian is many things, but three deserve particular focus. First, the Joy of the Lord is just that—joy that grows out of knowing God. As we meditate on His character, as we learn of His attributes, as we pray for our scaly eyes to be opened, we begin to say with the catechism that truly the chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever. “But let all who take refuge in You rejoice; let them ever sing for joy, and spread Your protection over them, that those who love Your name may exult in you” (Ps 4:11).
Secondly, joy is also a growing reality as we experience forgiveness in salvation. When we ponder the amazing, breathtaking truth that the God of the universe has made a way for us to be restored, to be truly alive and unencumbered by fear and shame, we rejoice in thankfulness and praise. David longed for that forgiveness and expressed it very poignantly, “Return to me the joy of Your salvation.” We have been rescued from the bondage to sin, and in that we rejoice.
Finally, and most importantly, joy is a byproduct. Think of it this way. In the dim light of dusk you always see something clearer with your peripheral vision. It’s the way our eyes are made. If you look straight at the object in the road, it seems to disappear. But focus off to the side, and what you thought was a cat is really a clump of grass. It’s the same with the Joy of the Lord. We will know joy not because we stare and chase after it like windblown notes just out of reach, but we know the joy of the Lord in the presence of Jesus. As we abide in Christ, as we learn to love Him more, as we “look full in his wonderful face,” our anger and hurt and sin-stained lives begin to heal in the Joy that comes from knowing Christ Jesus and abiding in His presence. The joy comes from Him as we draw nearer to Him.
Christian, the eternal joy of your salvation is dwelling in the presence of the Lord. And that eternal reality has begun already. The same Spirit that Jesus promised His disciples that night in the upper room has been poured out into your heart. That spirit bears witness to Christ, and it is in abiding in Jesus that we are filled with joy.
I will greatly rejoice in the Lord;
my soul shall exult in my God,
for He has clothed me with the garments of salvation;
He has covered me with the robe of righteousness,
as a bridegroom decks himself like a priest with a beautiful headdress,
and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels.
For as the earth brings forth its sprouts,
and as a garden causes what is sown in it to sprout up,
so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise
to sprout up before all the nations.
Justin grew up in Sherwood, Arkansas, and attended college at Southern Methodist University. Post-college, he served two years as a youth minister at a PCA church in Knoxville, TN where he met his wife, Meredith. Justin graduated from Reformed Theological Seminary in Charlotte, NC.
In the beginning of my third year leading Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Oklahoma, I was asked to speak to freshmen girls in the middle of recruitment for one of the major events of their college lives, Rush. In the two days leading up to hearing me speak, these students had moved into their dorm rooms and attended party after party—filled with meeting and greeting, evaluating and being evaluated. Two days after hearing me speak, they would receive bids, descend one of our freshmen towers, be greeted by friends and family, and trek over to their new home away from home—a mansion in a college town where a party awaited them. New friendships (from real, enduring ones to strictly facebook friends) would begin to form. These girls would put on Greek letters and soon be initiated into this or that sorority.
I love OU students’ enthusiasm for life. I love the leadership and giftedness of these students, but as I stood before the hundreds of girls to preach from Isaiah 61:10-11, I paused for a brief moment—which feels like an eternity when you are standing in front of people holding a microphone. I paused because I wanted to look into the girls’ hearts, so I looked at their faces. I paused and I listened. I listened and heard a beating. The beating was loud from all over that room. It was deafening, like a giant cacophony of “pick me… pick me… pick me… pick me” coming from everywhere. These girls’ insecurities (even in their apparent security) were beating forth loudly—their simple desire to be picked, to be desirable, and to be beautiful. I do not know how many of you are trained to use a stethoscope (not me), but as an RUF campus minister with eight years of experience, I can tell you that every college student’s heart, both believer and skeptic, sounds the exact same. It sounds, “Pick me… pick me… pick me.”
It was 54 hours from judgment day, ahem, bid day, for these girls. Not only did I hear that beating from all around me, but what profoundly surprised me was that I heard a beating sound also from within me. This beating was also the beating of a heart. It was my heart, and the surprising thing is that it also sounded like a voice. If I slowed the voice down and listened carefully, I could hear it saying almost audibly, “Pick me… pick me… pick me.” My heart is identical to those to whom I sought to minister. Maybe the reality that my heart sounds exactly the same as a room full of 18-year-old girls bodes well for my longevity in campus ministry, but it is important for more than just comic relief. I do not need a bid day to feel the pressure.
Bid day at OU is merely an exaggerated manifestation of the shadows in which we live. It is not often that we live in the light of the cross, but we live in the shadows of always feeling like we are being judged. At my best, I wanted each and every freshman girl to be converted and always feel secure in the love which Jesus has for her. I wanted them to know that He would dress them all in the robes of righteousness and garments of salvation. At my worst, I wanted them to like me and tell me that they had no idea how they managed to make it through 18 years of life without hearing my preaching. Somewhere in the middle but closer to the worse end of the spectrum, I desperately wanted each of them to, as my heart said, pick me! I wanted to be liked.
Before I am to cook up the Gospel and feed Christ to others and teach others to cook up the Gospel and feed Christ to others, I need to taste the cake. I need to experience the sauce, but how can I do that if I am not listening to the same sin in my heart that I seek to remedy with Christ? So I had a choice to make. I had to either let the droning of their hearts go on and let my heart add to that chorus of pick me’s, or I could listen to something else. Only then, like a good friend who has discovered a wonderful new song on Pandora, could I share it.
So as my heart kept beating insecurely and sweat was beading up and my mouth was getting dry, I meditated on Isaiah 61:10-11 where God promises to clothe His people with the garments of salvation just like a couple on their wedding day would be dressed with jewels and fancy headdresses. In the text, I heard something you can only hear from the pages of scripture. My mind instantaneously traveled forward a few hundred pages to the cross. I heard the agony of Jesus being unclothed and judged for my sins so that I could be rescued from my rebellion, and I heard the heartbeat of God Almighty. It sounded very irregular. It sounded exactly like this, “I picked you… I picked you… I picked you.” And so I listened to this heartbeat, and I shared it.
About 54 hours later, I saw girls running papers that read, “I picked you,” and I could not help but smile. Wow! What a day it will be when all of our 54 hours are spent and we open our bid, and God’s heartbeat for us is open and before our eyes. Faith will become sight: “I picked you… I picked you… I picked you.” And we all will sincerely and thankfully say back to Jesus, “I pick you!”
Two days ago marked the 50th anniversary of Dr. Martin Luther King’s “I Have a Dream” speech.
Almost five years later, in 1968, as Dr. King preached at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC, he uttered these now-famous words, “We must face the sad fact that 11 o’clock on Sunday morning… is the most segregated hour in America.”
So here were are some 45 years later, and though great progress has been made regarding racial equality, the church remains a racially and economically divided institution. Dr. King’s statement rings as true today as when he said it.
The question is, does it really matter? I mean, what is wrong with a segregated church? Isn’t that really just a “social” issue?
Here are a few verses from John 17, Jesus’ High Priestly Prayer, that I think begin to give answer to that question.
“I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom You have given me, for they are yours. All Mine are Yours, and Yours are Mine, and I am glorified in them. And I am no longer in the world, but they are in the world, and I am coming to You. Holy Father, keep them in Your name, which You have given Me that they may be one, even as We are one (John 17:9-11)”
“I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word, that they may all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe that You have sent Me. The glory that You have given Me I have given to them, that they may be one even as We are one, I in them and You in Me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that You sent Me and loved them even as You loved Me” (John 17:20-23).
This prayer is part of a larger block of the book of John where Jesus is preparing His disciples for His death and departure. Here Christ prays that His people (that is, you and I and all Christians today), would be one like He and the Father are one. The result of that oneness provides both proof to the world that Jesus is who He said He was and glory to God.
However, it seems like the contemporary church has pursued a path of sameness rather than oneness. Sameness seeks out only those who look like them and those who like the same things. Oneness pursues and celebrates unity in diversity.
The model of that kind of oneness is rooted in the Godhead. The beautiful mystery of the Trinity is in view here as Jesus prays that God’s people would be perfectly unified, like Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, even though there are distinctions in the Persons of the Trinity. (We are not Modalists who believe God just “appears” in different forms.) It is that kind of unity that we are called to display to the world, in all our differences, in order for God to be most magnified.
Unfortunately, too often we put our preference in the place of preeminence. We argue for a particular worship style or dress code rather than allowing Christ to be the head of the Church and creating a place that folks from “every tribe tongue and nation” feel loved and welcomed.
It is only by having the mind of Christ and the power of the Spirit that one can “do nothing from selfish ambition or vain conceit but rather in humility consider others more important than yourself.” (Phil. 2:3) If we are considering others interests as more significant than our own, then the things that tend to divide us no longer will because we are setting aside our preferences for something far greater—the unity God calls us to. When we do this, Christ is being made preeminent in all things (Col. 1:18).
This type of unity is a visual testimony to the reality of God’s love. Unity, according to Jesus, has a powerful apologetic impact on the world—an impact far beyond words. When the world sees God’s people operating in unity, then they “may know that You sent Me and loved them even as You loved Me.” (v. 23)
We know upon Christ’s return that we will be joined in worship with a throng of people who reflect the beautiful tapestry of color and culture that God has created. Perhaps we should begin practicing now so that our witness to the world is authenticated by what they see—a church united across racial and economic lines—and not just what they hear.
The “Jim Crow” laws were struck down by the Supreme Court in 1954. “Separate but equal” was untenable in the eyes of the law. A separate but equal church is surely untenable in the eyes of God. Not only is it a sad fact that the church remains divided, it is contrary to God’s design. As long as the church remains divided along racial and economic lines our prophetic witness to the world is weakened and the apologetic nature the church is supposed to pronounce is muted.
Dr. King wrote in Letter from Birmingham Jail:
So often the contemporary church is a weak, ineffectual voice with an uncertain sound. So often it is an archdefender of the status quo. Far from being disturbed by the presence of the church, the power structure of the average community is consoled by the church's silent—and often even vocal—sanction of things as they are.
In light of recent events in the news highlighting the racial divide in our country, the world desperately needs the church to recapture her prophetic voice by “breaking down the walls of hostility” (Eph. 2:14) that divide us so that the average community is not consoled by the church’s silence but startled by her Spirit-led, God-glorifying unity.
It is time for us to speak boldly—in word and deed.
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
This command is very difficult. I know because it presented itself to me in my own kitchen not too long ago. I made it home early one day and thought to myself, “I’m going to clean the entire kitchen and even wipe down the countertops for my wife,” (emphasis important). She had a late meeting and would not be home for a couple hours, so I got to work. I started by properly placing everything on the countertops in its appropriate cabinet location. I then moved to the dirty dishes in the sink only to realize I first had to remove all the clean dishes from inside the dishwasher so the dirty ones might find proper vacancy for a bubble bath. At this point, the kitchen by all outwards appearances looked very clean—but I knew this was my chance to shine so I went above-and-beyond and swept the floor and, with towel and cleaner in hand, wiped down all the countertops. I even shined the sink. Boy, did it sparkle. It was complete. I stood back and surveyed my spotless masterpiece and knew that she would be so pleased to find I had cleaned the entire kitchen for her (emphasis still important). I triumphantly awaited her arrival so I could hear pleasant surprise and jubilation at the service I had done… for her. (I could probably stop here. You could certainly attempt a guess at what happened.)
She arrived home after a long day’s work, walked through the door into the kitchen, and placed her purse and workbag on the freshly cleaned countertop. No comment was made. She then went to the cupboard to retrieve a clean cup (which I had placed there) so that she could draw a glass of water from our refrigerator door. Still no comment. I sat patiently, holding my words in the back of my throat, waiting for her to detox from the day and finally survey the Brent-abulous scene. She finally made a comment but not the one I expected, “Brent, is there a reason you forgot to bring the trash can in? I don’t want to sound mean, but it’s been a really long day and I almost hit it with my car when I pulled in the driveway.” WHAT?! Not the comment I was expecting! How dare she! Was she so blind that she could not see I expended 10-times the effort on the kitchen that it would have taken to simply wheel the trash can down the driveway?! Could she not take a few steps, turn around, and see that Mr. Clean made a visit to her favorite room in our house… her kitchen?!
Those words that once stuck in the back of my throat came out. I asked her to survey the scene. In a spew of wounded self-pity I recounted the blood, sweat, and toil it took for me to do that for her after a long day’s work of my own. I asked why she couldn’t just be grateful I had taken the time to try and to serve her. I told her I was happy to get the trash can even now but not until she would at least recognize that I tried to do something valiantly nice for her. And she very smoothly and gently spoke words to me that pierced my insides like a knife through hot butter: “Did you clean the kitchen for me or for you?”
Like a gong, Paul’s words reverberated in my spirit: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit…” She was right. I cleaned the kitchen for me. Not for her. I did my good deed in hopes to receive praise, reward, and accolade for me. In other words, I served myself by serving her. But that’s not love. Love serves the other simply for the sake of the other. Love is humble, self-forgetful. Too often I do things out of selfish ambition (look at me!) and conceit (praise me!). It takes the humility of sincere love to not only perform good for another but also to want good for another. This is the bedrock of love, a genuine self-forgetfulness for the good of another.
Why are you doing what you are doing for others? Survey your heart. God looks at the heart-motive before he considers the performance. And in case we forget or grow discouraged in our efforts, the next several verses of this chapter in Paul’s letter outline for us the supreme example of self-forgetfulness for the sake of love: the Lord Jesus Christ. He let go of self for the sake of love. He took the form of a servant for you and me. So, as Paul says, “Have His mind in you…” and love someone self-forgetfully because you have been self-forgetfully loved. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
“Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”
“Then Jesus said to His host, ‘When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid.’”
“In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be My disciples.”
For many the beginning of fall marks the beginning of a new social calendar. School functions, children’s activities, football games, concerts, office parties, fundraisers, Halloween, Thanksgiving… I could go on, but you get the point. The fall schedule can be a very full social slate, and as such it can also be a great opportunity for Christians to exercise the ancient, biblical practice of hospitality. But will we? Will we, as Christians, be truly hospitable this fall? What do we need to embrace this Christian practice?
Two themes intertwine throughout chapters 12-14 of the Gospel of Luke—money and hospitality. In that portion of scripture Jesus says, “Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will never fail, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.” (12:33-34). “Then Jesus said to His host, ‘When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid.’” (14:12). “In the same way, those of you who do not give up everything you have cannot be My disciples.” (14:33). Money and hospitality weave in and out of one another in Luke, but what is their connection? And what do we as Christians think we need to offer guests in order to be hospitable to them? What must we give?
I am willing to wager that most of us think we need to have something “positive” to offer when we host. A delicious meal, opulent furnishings, lively conversation, spotless floors, professionally manicured lawns, perfectly mannered children, and more quickly come to mind when I recall some of my most memorable visits to other homes. Do they not for you as well? Certain positive offerings always leave significant impressions upon us. Many of us are consequently deterred from becoming hosts ourselves, because we know that our positive offerings cannot compare with those who have hosted us in the past. Thus, our hospitality is quenched by a fear that our positive offerings will not be enough. In other words, our hospitality is deterred by what we do not have.
But is that where the power of Christian hospitality lies—in the positive offerings hosts extend to their guests? Consider the following words from Karl Barth and his commentary on the book of Romans:
“A man may be of value to another man, not because he wishes to be important, not because he possesses some inner wealth of soul, not because of something he is, but because of what he is—not. His importance consists in his poverty, in his hopes and fears, in his waiting and hurrying, in the direction of his whole being towards what lies beyond his power. The importance of (a Christian) is negative rather than positive. In him a void becomes visible. And for this reason he is something to others: he is able to share grace with them, to focus their attention, and to establish them in waiting and in adoration.”
What Barth is saying is simple but counterintuitive, especially to us with our consumer-conditioned mentalities about worth. As Christians our greatest offerings to others are not positive—they are not out of the reservoir of what we are or have in ourselves. What we uniquely have to offer is the “void” of which Barth speaks—the brokenness and emptiness with which sin has left us, but which God in Christ is healing and filling. Our greatest offerings to others, our most hospitable offerings, are negative—they are what we are not. We are not holier than they—our houses and our lives are not in spotless order—our children are not the beautiful little pixies that our pictures posted on social media display. We just are not... what most people think us to be. And that is a good thing! If we invite others into our homes, serve them “negative” offerings, and they see what we are not, maybe then (and only then!) they will see who Christ is.
Why? Because it is our negative offerings in hospitality that most clearly share grace with others. When others see that fallen people like us, who were once enslaved to the insatiable egotism of sin, are now those who seek to serve others out of our reservoir of weakness, we will certainly leave a unique impression. Christian hospitality is ultimately not an offering of our food, our home, our wit, our house cleaning, our horticulture, our parenting, or anything else that the world can also offer; but rather it is an offering of our Lord Jesus, who has graciously filled the void between us and God through His life, death, and resurrection. It is Him we offer in our hospitality.
What then shall we say to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
I would like to think that years of youth ministry have made me pretty savvy with teenage girls and the lingo that is uniquely theirs. However, last fall as I sat amongst a group of chatty 16-year-olds, I was exposed for the out-of-touch, 31-year-old that I am. My exposure went something like this:
One girl was describing, with great enthusiasm, her upcoming weekend plans. And as she did so, an obviously disheartened girl next to me responded with a phrase I had literally never heard before, “Wow, major FOMO!”
“FOMO?!?” I responded, obviously in the dark.
“Um, yeah,” the girls replied, almost in unison. “Fear of missing out!”
Well, I guess I was the one who had been missing out… But not anymore. The acronym, the phrase it signifies, and my conversation with those girls last fall has weighed heavily upon me. Not because it exposed me as an ancient relic. And not because it exposed all the acronyms I was familiar with to be “so 1997.” It has weighed upon me because it exposed my experience. It has weighed upon me because it exposed my heart.
This fear of missing out has been true of me for as long as I can remember. As a child it manifested itself in harmless and innocent ways—like falling asleep on the floor by my bedroom door anytime my parents had friends over because I did not want to miss a second of the action. As I got older, the manifestations looked like three-way calling, never missing a slumber party, and not studying abroad in college for fear I would miss out on memories made at football games, sorority crush parties, and many late night runs to Taco Cabana back in College Station, Texas. As I am faced with the manifestations in my grown-up heart, they are not so harmless and not so naive.
In my grown-up heart, this fear of missing out manifests itself by constantly saying “yes” even at the expense of my family. It manifests itself in preoccupation with and jealousy over other people’s lives—envious of their jobs, vacations, social lives, marriages, and kids. It manifests itself in hard-heartedness toward people whose lives I often see only at a distance because they have something I so desperately think I want. It manifests itself in discontentment in life as I experience it right now. It manifests itself in an insatiable longing for “the next thing”—the next job, the next move, the next paycheck, and the next stage in my child’s life. And it manifests itself in anger. I want to say at my circumstances, but truthfully it is anger at the Lord. And that is when I see my fear of missing out is more deeply rooted and much messier than I originally thought. Only on the surface is it about how I see and think about my experiences. Underneath, it is about how I see and think about God Himself. It is not so much a fear of missing out, but a fear and a belief that God is holding out. He is withholding from me something or many things that I think are good for me, that I need, that I am entitled to, or that I deserve.
If you are anything like me, we find that when we look in the Scriptures that we are not alone in this story, this struggle, this mess. Was this not Adam and Eve’s story, too? God had given them everything He had made and said that it was good. And yet, they set their eyes on the one tree not given to them for food, listened to the voice of the serpent, and believed the lie, “God is holding out on you.” And so they ate.
Was this not the Israelites story in the desert? God had heard their cries in Egypt. He delivered them from Pharaoh. He had led them out of slavery. He Himself was dwelling in their midst. And yet in all this, they believed God was still holding out on them. They wearied of His provision in the desert and yearned for all they had had in Egypt.
Was this not their story in Canaan? God had fulfilled all His promises. He had brought them into the land flowing with milk and honey. He had given them victory over their enemies. He ruled over them and among them as a shepherd and a king. And yet they believed He was holding out on them. They looked with envy at the other nations and demanded a king.
Was this not David’s story? He was the king. He was a man after God’s own heart. There was nothing that was not his—except the beautiful Bathsheba. She was another man’s wife. He believed God has holding out on him. He brought her to himself, killed her husband, and made her his own.
The stories could go on and on. It is the story of God’s people. It is the story of the human heart. And yet it is a story God speaks into, that God steps into in the person of Jesus Christ.
In Romans 8, Paul depicts how God enters into this story as an argument from greater to lesser: God has met our very deepest need at the most personal and most costly expense—His very own Son in our place on the cross. Why would He then withhold from us anything else that was good for us, anything else that we needed far less, and anything else that would be much easier and far less costly for Him to give? Puritan John Flavel describes it this way:
Surely if He would not spare His own Son one stroke, one tear, one groan, one sigh, one circumstance of misery, it can never be imagined that ever He should, after this, deny or withhold from His people, for whose sake all this was suffered, any mercies, any comforts, any privilege, spiritual or temporal which is good for them.
These truths call us in the midst of present circumstances to remember Jesus and to set our gaze upon Him. In Jesus, God speaks mightily to our hearts, though often discouraged, discontent, and doubting they may be. In Jesus, God shows us that though there are things He may withhold, He is never holding out. In Jesus, we are reminded that He is good, always good, supremely good. And in Jesus, the way has been opened to come to the Father, the One who is all we need, in whose presence is “fullness of joy and at whose right hand are pleasures forevermore.” (Psalm 16:11)
But when the kindness and love of God our Savior appeared, He saved us, not because of righteous things we had done, but because of His mercy. He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by His grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life. This is a trustworthy saying. And I want you to stress these things, so that those who have trusted in God may be careful to devote themselves to doing what is good. These things are excellent and profitable for everyone.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
Join me on a little jaunt across the pond—If you are ever at pains to identify a true Anglophile, begin by talking about the Atlantic Ocean. Inevitably they will call it “the pond.” They, rather I, mean no harm. It is comforting to think that crossing an ocean to England takes but some light stretching, a brief warm-up, and the patient thirty minutes that all digestive tracks demand. So please indulge me and offending clichés—It is Wednesday in Liverpool. The sky drizzles threateningly. We are walking through the streets to Anfield, that great historic stadium of Liverpool Football Club (the peculiar kind of football inseparable with the word foot). It looms ahead as we approach, and the sound of singing from the stadium buzzes straight through us to the hairs on the backs of our necks. We grasp our tickets tight and resist the urge to run the remaining way.
For you see, the opponents today are not really opponents. They are the old enemy. Today Liverpool battles Manchester United. It is no normal game. In fact, it is not a game at all. It is life and death rolled into 90 minutes. We sigh at each errant pass by the home side. We mock each miscue by the away side. We bellow with delight and expectation at every attack; applaud each thunderous tackle. We complain at the slightest hint of injustice by the referee. And O! The players! They surge with adrenaline and reckless abandon. Winning means nothing. Defeating the enemy is all. Was there a time when this was but a game? No one can remember now. Imaginations have run beyond reality. They have told us something we cannot now remember but cannot seem to forget.
Some say the rivalry began when Manchester built a canal to bypass Liverpool. It does not much matter now. What matters are the stories kids have heard from parents and grandparents and great grandparents.
Such is the way with stories. They have power like a Colorado flashflood. It always begins in the usual places, then suddenly banks are escaped and the world begins to be reshaped. Of course, you know this. You must. Consider the cloud of fear billowing in your mind about something you must do. Each passing day you write the story of the fear and say, “This will end me. I am finished.” And the fear grows larger and more monstrous until you consider it the height of prudence to avoid your fear, and thus without so much as looking you in the eye, your fear has ended you.
Consider also the great care God has taken to shepherd you with stories. Does the Bible not burst with stories and songs and proverbs and parables? Moments that arrest you and fill you with wonder and awe. Stories that make you wonder what God must be doing. Songs shouting of God’s beauty. Phrases erupting with all the life of the Holy Spirit. Does it swell your heart?
These few verses in Titus locate us not just at the fulcrum of the Bible, but into the infinite deepness of God himself. Here is God—Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. The work of salvation determined by His mercy. And how he pours Himself away in mercy. What humiliation did Christ endure to appear before us! What cost He paid to pour the Spirit upon us. What grace flows from the Spirit in condescending to clean our filth and renew our hate filled lives! And how do we find ourselves? Quietly ushered through the back door, cleaned as well as could be managed considering the slime? No, but brought down the center aisle. Delighted. Sung over. Given riches and life and love so far beyond deserving it almost begs to be called a farce. But it is not. It cannot be for this is the very essence of our self-giving glorious and radiant Three-in-One. He created the world not because He needs love, but so that He can give love. He creates a people, not because He needs help, but that they too might give love and good works.
This statement is trustworthy. How often do you repeat these words? The church repeats them every week. The sacraments nearly burn with the potency of these words. Is this a story that you repeat to your children and their children and to others till it so fills their minds and imaginations that they sing it and obey without intending but with desire and delight? Let this story be the theme of your life.
“In everything, therefore, treat people the same way you want them to treat you, for this is the Law and the Prophets."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The memory is probably emblazoned most vividly onto the collective consciousness of baby boomers. Hollywood westerns filled imaginations and fueled endless renditions of cattle rustlers, horse chases, and men who apparently never missed with a Colt .45 revolver. Even today, the theme song from Bonanza sparks nostalgia among the middling bunch who count themselves not yet old but emphatically no longer young.
In almost every television series of that genre—and in no small number of movies—some nefarious villain in what we might call a counterfeit scam would dupe the good guys. After the requisite horse chase and gun battle, the punch line would be delivered. Cello music and a close-up would signal the impending denouement. “Why Marshal, that there is fool’s gold! It’s worthless.” They’d been had. All the effort was for something that looked valuable but really was only a bag of shiny rocks.
Near the end of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus makes a remarkable statement. It is so often referenced and so well known that even non-believers can quote The Golden Rule. And while it makes for a memorable sound bite, we often substitute a different idea entirely for what the Lord really meant. And we, like the hapless marshal, have struggled to gain value from the wrong gold—from the fool’s gold of selfishness masquerading as biblical truth.
If we are honest, do we not often apply this profound summary of scriptural teaching as though what it really says is, “Do unto others so that they will do unto you?” We read the text and behave as though the Lord is pointing to some divinely ordained quid pro quo, and so our motives become self-serving and self-seeking. When the “others” do not come through on the bargain, we puff up with pride or anger. Both are worthless to grow in righteousness.
Well, how do we unlock the treasure chest of Matthew 7:12? What is the real gold of the Golden Rule? What is the key?
Notice how the verse begins. The Lord says, “So…” That means the Golden Rule is a conclusion. It is the finish to what has just been said. And what is that?
Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him! Matthew 7: 7-11
The gold of the rule is that those who abide in Christ have all they need from their Heavenly Father. And because of that, we are free to love those around us with a love that has no hidden agenda and no fear. We love because we have first been loved, and it is in the very “doing unto others” part that the Gospel in us shines out from us.
So indeed, whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them because you have received the treasure of God’s love in Christ. The true gold is already yours.
"For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost."
Luke 19:10
"Then Jesus came to them and said, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age.”
Matthew 28:18-20
Jesus' Great Commission to the church to carry out the work He began is a direct, clear, and major theme of the New Testament. Of all the callings in scripture, it seems that most Christians in our culture would point to this as the greatest weakness in all of their spiritual disciplines. My tendency in evangelism has been to either employ a narrow systematic approach that emphasizes boldness at the expense of discernment or to ignore the call altogether while appeasing my negligence with the doctrine of God's sovereign election. It is common to fall off the horse on both of these sides.
A close study of the New Testament will teach us that, far from a rigid system, evangelism has many forms and expressions. Consider the approaches Jesus modeled in seeking the lost. With the Samaritan woman at the well (John 4), He saw the need to break down cultural barriers and build rapport before bringing the Gospel. In reaching Nicodemus (John 3), He discerned the ripeness of his heart and aggressively answered a question that Nicodemus never asked. With the rich young ruler (Matt. 19), Jesus sensed the need to blow up a false system of righteousness before the man could see his need for a savior.
In looking at presentations from other New Testament accounts, consider Peter's sermon at Pentecost (Acts 2), where, when speaking to a group of Jews, he was given the wisdom to use Old Testament prophecy to create credibility and a platform from which to share the gospel that Jesus was the Christ. Full of the Spirit, Stephen (Acts 7), after preaching a sermon that skillfully traced Old Testament history, was led to directly confront the wickedness of the Jewish ruling council who had crucified their Messiah. Philip was sensitive to the voice of the Holy Spirit (Acts 8), who directed him to preach the Gospel to the Ethiopian eunuch. While in Athens (Acts 17), Paul connected with a group of Gentile philosophers by tying a presentation of the Gospel to a statue in their city that had the inscription “to an unknown god.” While defending himself before Felix and his Jewish wife (Acts 24), Paul inserted a clear presentation of the Gospel in the context of his defense.
Andrew simply brought his brother Peter to Jesus (John 2)—think about Andrew's spiritual family tree!
All of these people were sovereignly brought into the lives of these New Testament believers. Who does the Lord have in your life? Who is on your mind and in your prayers? Are they ripe for a Gospel conversation like Nicodemus was? Do you sense the need to build a better relational platform like Jesus did with the Samaritan woman? Does someone who is blind in his sin need a bold and direct presentation of his need for a savior like Stephen gave? Like with Philip, is the Holy Spirit laying someone on your heart with whom He is calling you to share Christ? Is there the opportunity, like Paul, to insert the Gospel into the context of a speech or event that carries an entirely different purpose? Maybe you are not so confident in articulating your faith—how about bringing people before those that are? Who should you invite to go to church or hear a speaker with you like Andrew did? Are you intentional with the relationships God has brought into your life?
For most of us who do not possess the gift of evangelism, consider that your spiritual gift can be employed in the sharing of your faith. If you have the gift of service, how can you serve the needs of an unbeliever and win the right to be heard? If you have the gift of giving, how can that giving be directed toward a need that might open an opportunity for a Gospel conversation? If it is encouragement, who in your life needs encouragement that does not yet know Christ, and could that encouragement lead to an open door for a spiritual conversation?
Evangelism can be intimidating, but when we consider that Jesus left the bliss and community of heaven to seek and save His lost creation, the charge of Matthew 28 begins to make more sense. With the power of the Holy Spirit promised in Acts 1:8, we are equipped and filled to be His witnesses, to get outside our Christian community to seek and save His lost creation. Who has He sovereignly brought into your life?
Stop. Pray. Listen. Go.
But Moses said to the Lord, “Oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent, either in the past or since you have spoken to your servant, but I am slow of speech and of tongue.” Then the Lord said to him, “Who has made man's mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.” But he said, “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.”
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
It was January 1993 and the weather in Wichita Falls, Texas, was blizzard-esque. The temperature had dropped below freezing, the sleet and snow were falling, and the wind was blowing strong enough to sweep away anything under 100 pounds frozen wet. Game time for the Toy Bowl (the Superbowl of the Pop Warner football league) was 2:00 pm sharp that Saturday, and the gloomy weather carried with it a weight that only the game could surpass. The Benjamin Franklin Lions were taking on the Washington Jackson Leopards in what was touted as the “game of the year” for all football lovers age 11 and under. The Leopards were highly favored as the returning champs, but the Lions were a well-coached, disciplined team trying to oust this “football Pharaoh” from its throne. This game was certainly a game that would be talked about at lunch tables for the remainder of the 1993-1994 school year. I happened to play wide receiver for the Ben Franklin Lions as well as kickoff returner and punt returner. All that really means is I was halfway coordinated, could catch a football, and was really fast. My frame was less-than-intimidating, but my feet would make a grown man’s knees shake.
I remember waking up that Toy Bowl Saturday morning to my alarm clock, and instead of experiencing excitement, I had an overwhelming sense of fear. The weather was terrible! My hands would be frozen, and I would not be able to catch! I could not bear the idea of failing my team and my coach and my dad by dropping a pass or fumbling a punt or…even worse…getting tackled by guys twice my size when my whole body felt like an icicle! The thought of the possibility of failure and the certainty of pain was enough to inwardly paralyze me and strip any joy or excitement I had to play in what I decided should be deemed the Blizzard Bowl of Death. I was certain to fail and certain to hurt and certain to lose. The fear was paralyzing. As game time approached, I informed my coach that I would not be able to play that day. He looked shocked and perplexed but responded calmly, “Baker, give me one good reason why you can’t go?” I told him my feet hurt. I told him I couldn’t feel my hands. I told him we needed to run the ball a lot because it was going to be impossible for the quarterback to pass and impossible for me to catch a pass, punt, or kick. I told him I felt sickly. I told him I couldn’t do it. And to my surprise, after voicing brief disappointment, he conceded. I began the game on the sideline paralyzed by my own fear and consumed with my perceived weaknesses.
In the second quarter with the game close my coach grabbed my facemask and asked if I would simply go in for the next offensive series. He gave me a Churchill-ian pep talk about his confidence in me and his call of me and his desire to have me lead our Lions. He reminded me that I was equipped to play a special role and special part on this team and that’s why he had made me a captain at the beginning of the season. I initially responded with a refrain of excuses and reminded him of my weakness and inability, concluding with, “No thanks.” But he would not take “no” for an answer. He put me in. On the second play of the series, our quarterback called a hitch pass to me out wide on the left side of the field. I lined up shaking (but who wasn’t in this Blizzard Bowl of Death). I stared across the line and saw Pharaoh’s minions staring across at me. Uniformed in purple and black they looked like man-sized bruises, and I feared they wished to inflict the same on me. Every synapse of my brain informed me I should be on the sidelines, because the next few moments would result in certain failure, fumble, or pain, but to coach’s call I went against my judgment and stepped to the line. Our quarterback hiked the ball and threw it in my direction before I could gather my thoughts. Then my world changed that day. I caught it. I CAUGHT IT! Without a passing thought my feet took over, and 55 yards later I was celebrating in the end zone with my teammates—I evaded two tacklers and scored a touchdown! New warmth coursed through my body as I lined up for the kickoff. I saw Pharaoh and his Leopards in a completely different light. There was victory to be had, and I was going to be part of this 11-year-old army having it.
From that point forward I listened to my coach’s call and let my feet fly. No more excuses. No more paralysis or fear. Just the mission at hand. Three quarters later the Ben Franklin Lions triumphed victoriously with a snowball fight celebration at mid-field, having dethroned Pharaoh and defeated the unbeatable Leopards by 30 points as Toy Bowl Champs.
What is God calling you to do, and are you standing on the sidelines? If your immediate response is defensive or a list of excuses, fears, or weaknesses, you sound like Toy Bowl Brent or our forefather Moses in Exodus 4 (re-read the passage). And you’re missing out. There is nothing more fulfilling or joyful than the call of God on your life. There is a joy in surrender and participation that will never be reached in self-preservation and bench-warming. Get on the field!
What is your response to God’s call on your life? Some of you have been wrestling with God for months, maybe years with His invitation to you. What have you been saying to Him? Informing Him of your weakness or lack of giftedness? Justifying your fears? Brent told Coach he was too small and too cold and too afraid. Moses told God he was ineloquent and had a speech impediment. What are you saying? “I’m too ill-equipped.” “I don’t know enough to make any head way for the Kingdom.” “I could never live there, Lord!” “What will other people think if I really do that?” “I am not an eloquent person, so I can’t really teach.” “If only I were gifted like so-and-so.” All these echo our forefather Moses: “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.”
Be not afraid of the blizzard or the Leopards. Listen to the call of your Coach. Shakingly move forward to the line, catch the ball, and then let your feet fly. He calls you, for His glory, your joy, and the victory of His people. There is good news: God gladly employs and empowers stutterers to speak, the ineloquent to teach, excuse-makers to lead, and scaredy-cats to push back the darkness of Pharaoh and set His people free. Catch His call for your life and let your feet fly!
And when Jesus was baptized, immediately He went up from the water, and behold, the heavens were opened to Him, and He saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and coming to rest on Him; and behold, a voice from heaven said, “This is My beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.”
Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. And after fasting 40 days and 40 nights, He was hungry. And the tempter came and said to Him, “If You are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread.” But He answered, “It is written,
‘Man shall not live by bread alone,
but by every word that comes from the mouth of God.’”
Ben lives in College Station, TX, with his wife and their two children. He is starting his sixth year with RUF at Texas A&M. Prior to serving at A&M, Ben served with RUF for four years at Hinds Community College near Jackson, MS. He earned his undergraduate degree from Delta State University and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson). He enjoys reading, playing golf, and watching Johnny Football win Heisman trophies.
My seven-year-old son Nathan is in full superhero mode. We’ve been tracking this development for some time now. At first, it was simply a matter of wearing his Incredible Hulk suit to Wal-Mart while Beth shopped. First grade makes things more socially complicated, so now he’s ditched the suit and advanced to auditing superhero classes (Netflix), studying their ways, examining their moves, practicing on the couch cushions. We all resonate with superheroes as they save the world time and time again, tapping into our innate desire to be saved. But this desire can quickly morph into the desire to be the hero of our own story and save ourselves. We all know we can’t do that and we need Jesus.
That’s what makes this text so tricky. Isn’t Jesus just like another superhero? Well I mean, not exactly like another superhero, because of course, He is Jesus—there’s no on like Him. But really? What’s the big deal? Why not turn the stones into bread? Would that have hurt anything? But this text teaches us that it is enough to be a child of God, walking obediently by faith in His Word. This is exactly what it means to be human, and it is precisely enough. If Jesus had turned those stones into loaves of bread, it would have been disastrous for humanity. God just declared to the entire world, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” and Satan’s temptation is a direct threat to that declaration from God. Satan essentially says, “Son of God? NBD [no big deal]. You’re not that special. Jesus, why don’t You do something really spectacular, really sensational, something that will prove that You are big time—that will prove that You are worthy of the status You have.”
Why not tap into that divinity Jesus has tucked away? Why not borrow a little bit of deity to silence Satan’s smack talk? Because Jesus was not a mixture of human and divine—that’s superhuman. He’s fully human and fully divine. In this text, He represents humanity. In other texts, we see His fully divinity on display (the transfiguration). But we need Jesus to be simply human on this one, and Jesus already knew that.
In other words, Jesus’ victory here is ironically and profoundly human. You see, we need not only Jesus’ victory, but we also need the way He achieves this victory. We need both because we face this temptation every day. Is it enough for you to be a child of God? Is it enough that the God of the Universe, your Father in Heaven says to you, “This is Ben, My son, in whom I am well pleased?” Because of the Person and work of Jesus, that is exactly what He says of you. Jesus’ victory is your victory. The Bible teaches this unabashedly.
But we also need the way Jesus achieves this victory—“No” to Satan; “Yes” to God. Nothing superhero-ish about it. Difficult to be sure, but no special powers needed—simply a renewed humanity achieved in us day-by-day by the work of the Holy Spirit. Every day I’m tempted to put on the Hulk suit because I don’t believe I’m enough. Every day I am tempted to put on a sensational show—Satan tempts me, the world demands it, and my flesh craves it. Every day I want to demonstrate something spectacular, and often I fall prey to that temptation.
Jesus’ actions in this text show us what it truly means to be human. Being human means complete and utter dependence upon God. We were designed this way. Adam and Eve, our spiritual parents, decided being human was not enough. We prove we are the children of Adam and Eve in our frequent quests to be spectacular. All of us make this same decision every day in a myriad of ways. Jesus shows us the vanity of that nonsense. Jesus shows us that we don’t save the world with flash, pop, or zing but through day-by-day dependence and obedience to our Heavenly Father. That’s the way He saved the world.
Jesus helps us see God’s expectations entail daily dependence and trust in what He has declared about us. It is enough to be a child of God, humbly walking, resting, serving, and obeying Him. Besides, the superhero costume does not fit me that well. The shoes are too big to fill.
But be doers of the Word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the Word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing.
Leslie is originally from Atlanta and graduated from Furman University. She earned her Master's in Counseling from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and is entering her eighth year in college ministry, currently serving with RUF at Southern Methodist University.
I spoke recently to over 100 sorority girls at their weekly chapter meeting on the subject of body image and beauty. As I looked around the room at the perfectly put-together students, I wondered, “Where is the motivation for these girls to change how they see themselves, to change how they understand and practice body, beauty, and eating? They look in the mirror, and whatever they don’t like they change, even if it’s drastic or costly or unhealthy.”
Surveys show that most women have upwards of 50 negative body thoughts daily, ranging from comparing size of arms and thighs to lamenting the shape of their hips or nose. It’s addicting, and these thoughts are so common that women are dulled to their impact. We don’t even realize we’re doing it!
One counselor put our obsession with our image this way:
“[Telling a weight-obsessed woman to stop obsessing] is like telling a drug dealer, who makes $5,000 a week selling crack and heroin, to stop for the betterment of the community. He drives a Porsche, buys anything he wants, and has money to spare. As long as he perceives status as a direct result of his efforts, he has little reason to quit. In the same manner, women get attention for looking good and wearing hip-hugger jeans to showcase their thin, flat, sunken-in stomachs….The problem is that what seems like a good thing and appears to be mere self-discipline is actually a ritual that begins to deny life and crush our spirits. Instead of being healthy, we are an object that retains value from being perfect or without a mark. Our preciousness is no longer defined by the beauty of our soul or the standing of our spirit. We are the looks we draw.”
Why do we use mirrors? We use mirrors to perceive ourselves and then make the necessary adjustments. James says we use the Word of God in a similar way. Scripture is like a mirror to our souls—It discloses our sin, need for repentance, and promise of grace. So we need to remember what we see long enough to consider what is amiss.
Sometimes we gaze at ourselves all too carelessly. We peer into the mirror momentarily each morning and investigate the image. Is our hair turning gray? Receding? Are wrinkles developing? Is everything buttoned? But time rushes on, and we leave quickly forgetting our appearance and moving on with our day.
As a mirror shows physical flaws, so the Word is a mirror for the soul. Doers of the Word are active, and if we fail to connect creed and conduct according to James, we deceive ourselves. We deceive ourselves if we say we hear the Word but don’t follow it like the one man who observes his face in the mirror, goes away, and forgets what he looks like. Another, in contrast, observes the perfect law, perseveres, remembers, and acts upon it. The first man deceives himself. The second man is blessed.
Just as we can obsess in front of the mirror to assess the image in front of us, we can avoid mirrors for the exact same reason. We don’t want to see what is before us, as we avoid the Word of God. We don’t want to see the reflection of our souls or what we ought to be. One college student said to me recently, “I’ve always believed in God, but it’s always safer if He’s out there.”
James says that the Word deserves our attention because it is perfect and it gives liberty. We think of this “law of perfect freedom” as binding, restraining, or anything but free. But James can describe it this way because the law is a rich description of God’s interaction with His people as He let them know throughout the ages what it means to be fully human. Inquiring into the Word of God leads us to become a person in a community who bears the family likeness, someone who bears the image of God.
And an enduring faith is a faith that becomes visible in doing. As Jesus said, “Blessed rather are those who hear the Word of God and obey it” (Luke 11:28). Sociologists have long known that there is a limited value in questions that ask people about their beliefs. Because in order to really know what people believe, you need more than a word on it…You need their life and what they do day in and day out. Author Leslie Newbigin echoes this sentiment saying, “It is less important to ask a Christian what he or she believes about the Bible than it is to inquire what he or she does with it.”
God’s truth is meant to be seen and not just heard. And that’s what the incarnation displays to us. The Word became flesh to show us who we are in Christ so that we might live His Word out. And of course in Christ, God destroys the enslavement of our outward appearance, not only by covering our sense of unworthiness, but by conquering death so that we can wear the beauty of His character forever. Let us hear this call to receive the Word, to heed to it, and to live in the freedom it provides.
Then they sailed to the country of the Gerasenes, which is opposite Galilee. When Jesus had stepped out on land, there met Him a man from the city who had demons. For a long time he had worn no clothes, and he had not lived in a house but among the tombs. When he saw Jesus, he cried out and fell down before Him and said with a loud voice, “What have you to do with me, Jesus, Son of the Most High God? I beg you, do not torment me.” For He had commanded the unclean spirit to come out of the man. (For many a time it had seized him. He was kept under guard and bound with chains and shackles, but he would break the bonds and be driven by the demon into the desert.) Jesus then asked him, “What is your name?” And he said, “Legion,” for many demons had entered him. And they begged Him not to command them to depart into the abyss. Now a large herd of pigs was feeding there on the hillside, and they begged Him to let them enter these. So He gave them permission. Then the demons came out of the man and entered the pigs, and the herd rushed down the steep bank into the lake and drowned.
When the herdsmen saw what had happened, they fled and told it in the city and in the country. Then people went out to see what had happened, and they came to Jesus and found the man from whom the demons had gone, sitting at the feet of Jesus, clothed and in his right mind, and they were afraid. And those who had seen it told them how the demon-possessed man had been healed. Then all the people of the surrounding country of the Gerasenes asked Him to depart from them, for they were seized with great fear. So He got into the boat and returned. The man from whom the demons had gone begged that he might be with Him, but Jesus sent him away, saying, “Return to your home, and declare how much God has done for you.” And he went away, proclaiming throughout the whole city how much Jesus had done for him.
Phillip is originally from Atlanta, Ga., and moved to Texas to attend SMU. Upon graduation, he served as a campus intern for RUF at Mercer University. Phillip married his wife Christina in 2012, and they moved back to Dallas.
Phillip is currently in his second year at Redeemer Seminary pursuing an MDiv and is the small groups coordinator for PCPC.
Ugh. Permission. What makes us shrink at the idea of having to ask to do something? Does having to ask for permission have a way of quelling the glamour of an opportunity, of burgling its appeal?
When I was five years old, I looked up to my older brother Andrew for everything. Anything Andrew did, I wanted to do; anything he had, I wanted to have. He had so many cool “big boy” toys that I desperately desired to play with, but Andrew didn’t like my touching anything of his and demanded that I ask before I touched and possibly ruined his precious possessions. So I would wait until he was out of the house and sneak into his room to marvel at his things. On one such trip, I climbed up the bookcase to the top shelf, grabbed his toy safe from its sacred hiding spot, and spun the dial to enter the combination (I had watched him enter it many times). As I lifted the lid to the safe, my eyes glowed as I gazed upon my treasure–a brilliantly red Swiss Army knife. Two blades. Fifty functions. I lifted the knife from the safe and flicked open the big blade. Suddenly, from the crimson handle flowed little crimson spots onto the carpet, which I then trailed into my parents’ bedroom to show my mother what I’d done. After the horror left her face, she explained that it was wrong for me to just take the knife; I should’ve asked permission first. I knew that was the rule—but asking permission somehow made me feel small, like I wasn’t “big boy” enough to make the call on my own. I still recoil at the thought. Permission equals submission, and sometimes it just makes me feel inferior.
In this passage in Luke, it is plain to see Legion lived a truly miserable existence: he was homeless, living in an arid graveyard without family or friends, shunned by society for his insanity, and even a danger to himself, thus bound in chains. He must have been desperate. Indwelling demons were torturing him—they called the shots and made all of his decisions for him. But then these evil spirits encounter Jesus and instantly submit to Him. They know no other response. Jesus speaks a word commanding the spirits to leave the man, and His words cause the man to fall to his knees. These supposedly all-powerful spirits actually have a pathetically low status when confronted by the powerful Word of God. Once condemning a man to a life of torture, they now beg Jesus to let them die a contemptible death by being allowed to enter the filthiest animal of their time (or ours) and be drowned in the sea. After the man’s evil spirits are expelled, he is content to sit at the feet of Jesus.
Why, then, do we live like the demon-filled man? How often do our circumstances and challenges rule over us like a drove of 1,000 evil spirits, tormenting us and laying waste our hope of peace? We don’t like submission. We go about our prideful, “autonomous” lives living as if we answer to no one. And in our ignorance, we submit to sin. We submit our thinking, our emotions, our desires, and our actions to the idols and false gods we worship.
We live, in fact, on the far side of Jesus’ definitive victory in the battle against evil, yet we operate as if we are completely uncertain of its outcome. Too often we are content to think in terms of what Martin Luther dubbed the “bondage of the will,” namely that we are powerless to find deliverance from the sin that rules us. We don’t want to consider that we belong to a God who has committed Himself to this world, despite all of its shortcomings, misgivings, failures, and septicity, even to the point of giving what He holds most dear. Instead we deny the expulsive power of Jesus and continue submitting to our desire for pride and the recognition of others that rules us—only to find that it leaves us with an even deeper craving for a master in whom we can find acceptance.
Jesus has broken into our lives bound up by sin and destroyed our shackles so that sin may rule us no more. Every day I am tempted to live a life that looks much more like the demon-possessed man than the clothed, sane, and contented man. I am pursued by my sin in hopes that I will seek “freedom” in submitting to the rule of others’ approval or the public recognition of my accomplishments.
King Jesus, though, suffered the condemnation of man and judgment of God Himself that we might truly live. He submitted perfectly to the Father’s will and died the death we should have died to pay for the sins He didn’t commit. He continues to graciously and mercifully deliver us, causing evil in the world and inside our own hearts to submit to Him so that we may experience the freedom and gratitude of the man in our story. For through His submission to death, Jesus brought life, and through our submission to Him, we too, have life.
"They spoke against God, saying,
'Can God spread a table in the wilderness?'"
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
On the surface, the question seems innocent. The people of Israel had followed God out of Egyptian bondage into an arid wasteland. They were hungry. They were exposed. They were exhausted. Though they bore in themselves the promise of a new creation, the meat pots of captivity were now being remembered as the pleasure-filled, good old days. And so the question might have genuinely hung in their hearts as a poor man’s prayer: “Can God spread a table for us in the wilderness? Can Yahweh sustain us in such a place of unforgiving emptiness?” Surely such a cry, the cry of a broken heart voiced as an earnest question before God, is no act of rebellion. How could it be? It is a cry that God Himself raised publicly in the moment of his own forsakenness (Matthew 27:45-56). God is often honored by our questions—and perhaps never more than when our questions arise as veiled pleas for mercy.
But this was no such question, as the psalmist makes clear. They spoke against God. This line was Israel’s taunt. God was on trial, the evidence of His goodness spread before the court of the people who had appointed themselves to decide His fate. Sure, He “divided the sea and let them pass through it, and made the waters to stand like a heap” (v. 13). Of course, “in the daytime He led them with a cloud, and all the night with a fiery light” (v. 14). And yes, He had even “split rocks in the wilderness and [given] them drink abundantly as from the deep” (v. 15). But it was not enough. He owed them more. He owed them a feast worthy of their suffering. He owed them a banquet that would serve as a sacramental reassurance that they deserved more than their circumstances. They were better than this! They were entitled to a table in the wilderness! And if God could not provide the table, then maybe he should be stripped of His rank altogether.
Isn’t it interesting how the exact same question can have two very different lineages—humility or arrogance? And wouldn’t you think that this, the disposition of the questioner’s heart, would make all the difference in the sort of objective answer that God provides?
But, consider God’s response:
Therefore, when the Lord heard, He was full of wrath;
a fire was kindled against Jacob;
His anger rose against Israel,
because they did not believe in God
and did not trust His saving power.
Yet He commanded the skies above
and opened the doors of heaven,
and He rained down on them manna to eat
and gave them the grain of heaven.
Man ate of the bread of the angels;
He sent them food in abundance. (Psalm 78:21-25)
Be sure, God did not soften Israel’s offense. He became enraged with their rebellion, and He named it what it was—unbelief. Israel’s heart was not right before God.
Yet God provided the feast. Yet God opened the doors of heaven. Yet God sent food in abundance. Israel was not required to possess the heart of angels in order to receive the bread of angels. All she had to do was eat what God had given.
And the same is true for us, though the table has been extended and the food richened. “Can God spread a table in the wilderness?” No matter how you ask the question, no matter the quality of your heart in the inquiry, or no matter the progress of your sanctification, God has provided His answer. In your wandering and wanting, He has commanded the skies above, and opened the doors of heaven, and spread before you and His creation the table of His grace in the broken body and spilled blood of Jesus. “For My flesh is true food and My blood true drink” (John 6:55). This table is not one that will soften your sin, but one that will overcome it. And more, it is a table that will outlast the wilderness and carry you, often in spite of yourself, into the land of promise. God has given you His very Self upon which to feast. You need no other preparation today. Come and eat.
"But the Lord said to Ananias, “Go! This man is My chosen instrument to proclaim My name to the Gentiles and their kings and to the people of Israel. I will show him how much he must suffer for My name.”
Carey Beth grew up in Dallas before going to the University of Virginia. She thought she'd be back to Dallas by now, but she fell in love with her husband whose pursuit of a medical degree has kept them happily in Washington, D.C. Carey Beth works at a cancer non-profit, The American Society of Clinical Oncology, and chronicles her life adventures on her blog: graceanddaisychains.blogspot.com. Carey Beth and Michael are active members of Grace DC Presbyterian Church in Washington, D.C.
Please note that we will not publish an Every Thought Captive devotional next week.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Um.
Why? Why do I do it? Why do I make promises and then have to follow through with them?
“They say yes with their mouths, but their hearts are not with Me.” Doesn't Jesus say something like that? I think so. Well, I promised my blog readers that I would write about Acts 9, so I had to follow through and write about Acts 9, even though my heart was not there. I would have so much preferred writing about something else, something more "fun."
So I said yes with my mouth without my heart being in it, but I also had a prediction that came true—by the time I finished writing about it, my heart was all in. Here’s the gist of what I wrote:
Acts is the New Testament parallel to the Old Testament Judges. In Judges, the cycle of turning away from the Lord is repeated over and over, and Israel's oppression and idolatry gets worse and worse. Bottom line? It's a low point in Israel's history. The phrase "and they again did what was evil in the sight of the Lord" is on repeat the whole time. But thankfully there is the New Testament and there is Acts! And Acts tells of the total opposite—people turning away from idolatry and sin and coming to know Christ in crazy numbers despite trials and persecution and stoning and prison and shipwrecks—it's totally glorious! And Acts 9 tells the story of Saul's conversion.
I don't know of a better example of a life transformed than Saul—a man who "breathed threats and murder." A man who was on a mission of imprisonment. If Jesus can change Saul, Jesus can change anyone. I mean anyone.
Have you noticed how much sight, seeing, vision, and eyes had to do with Saul's conversion? Now I know what you are thinking, "No duh... Saul goes blind for a few days... we know the story." Moving on. Well, to that I say, "Slow it down. Breathe it in." There is much to be discovered in a passage that you think you know well. There was for me, at least. Take note (italics mine):
The physicality of Saul losing his sight was humbling. He had to be led by the hand. He was physically unable to do anything without assistance. He didn't eat or drink.
But what about the metaphorical loss of vision? Saul was already blind, but now his outer physical blindness matched his inner spiritual blindness. He was literally blind to the Lord and His lovingkindness. He was blind to the Lord's call, despite his knowing that it was the Lord who called him that day on the road to Damascus. And aren't we all that way, too? Without the Lord opening our eyes, aren't we all blind, groping about aimlessly, trying to figure out how to live without sight?
But how can we live without sight?
Open my eyes, Lord, that I may see, like it says in the Psalms. Open my eyes to the simple joys of this life, to the beauty of creation, to the suffering in my city, to see my deep-rooted character flaws, to see how much I am loved by my King. There are thousands of ways that my eyes need opening. Just like Saul.
In verse 16 God says, "For I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of My name." We know two things about Paul (formerly Saul) from other places in the Bible: that he had really large handwriting (Gal 6:11) and that he suffered from some form of physical problem (2 Cor 12:7).
I'm pretty sure (and most people agree) that Paul's thorn in his flesh was his impaired vision. And I'm thinking that his impaired vision was likely from the light from heaven that flashed around him on that fateful day, and it would keep him humble for his whole life. It would always bring him back to the Damascus road. Every time someone asked Paul about his poor eyesight, he probably told his conversion story, how he "breathed threats and murder" against the very God he now served, how he once denied the very cross that he now preached to the world, and how his eyes had been opened—literally and figuratively—by the Holy Spirit.
Are you trying to live without sight or with seriously impaired vision, or can you say, like the blind man healed by Jesus, “One thing I know, that though I was blind, now I see” (John 9:25)?
For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking. It has been testified somewhere,
“What is man, that You are mindful of him,
or the son of man, that You care for him?
You made him for a little while lower than the angels;
You have crowned him with glory and honor,
putting everything in subjection under his feet.”
Now in putting everything in subjection to Him, He left nothing outside His control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to Him. But we see Him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God He might taste death for everyone.
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
I heart NYC. I have the t-shirt, and the sentiment rings true. I love New York. I love the lights, the busyness, the “pulse” of the city. I love how riding the subway or a crazy New York taxi cab brings a whole new thrill to getting somewhere. A walk through the park feels a lot different when it’s Central Park or when that park is several stories above the ground. A cupcake from Magnolia Bakery or pizza from a street vendor somehow just tastes better. And you’d better believe I’d trade a night at the movies for a night out on Broadway any day. Luckily for me, though I have never been cool nor adventurous enough to live in the Big Apple, my sister lives there, giving me the excuse to visit as often as I can.
One of my favorite aspects of traveling to New York is the view you get of Manhattan as you fly in. It’s exciting to pick out Central Park and Yankee Stadium, and it’s impressive the see the order of all the city blocks. But I think the most awe-inspiring is seeing the Empire State Building standing tall above the rest. The view from above the ground is quite different than the view you get on the streets where nearly every building looks the same. Without looking up, it is impossible to tell the Empire State Building from a normal corporate office—that is except for the long line of people who are obviously not locals wearing foam Empire State Building hats, holding cameras, and turning their maps of the city every which way. The street level can be busy, noisy, and messy. For us tourists, the street level can be confusing, and for many residents of this great city, life at the street level can be hard. Not so from a few hundred feet above the ground. The view from there has order, beauty, and is pretty glorious.
The author of Hebrews is giving us a view from above the ground in Chapter 2. This view was intended to impart hope to a group of struggling Christians who were on the verge of giving up hope and abandoning their faith. This view likewise has the power to impart hope to us, who, even in a season often characterized by merriment and joy, may find ourselves weary, faithless, and struggling to hope. It is a view from above the place where things are messy, painful, and hard. It is a view from the throne of Christ—where He sits, crowned with glory and honor, where everything is in His control and under His authority. This is the view intended to bring us hope!
Our hope is to be grounded in the authority possessed by our now reigning Savior. Four times in these short verses we see some form of the word subjected, thus driving home the theme of the power, authority, and control of Jesus Christ. Three times it is written that everything is in subjection to Him. This word is so familiar to us that we can easily miss the vastness of its scope. It is all-encompassing. The Greek word here for “everything” is ta panta, and nearly every time it is used throughout the New Testament, it has the entire universe in view. Consider its use in Colossians 1, “For by Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through Him and for Him. And He is before all things, and in Him, all things hold together.” All things have been subjected to Jesus, and He rules over them all with authority and power. The surety of this subjection and the absoluteness of His authority are intended to bring us hope.
The view from above the ground is glorious, but the reality is that we are living life here on the ground at the street level. Often as we hear these words, these glorious truths, we wonder how all the pain and difficulties of our lives are under His control and authority: The loneliness and isolation we have often felt in the places where we are supposed to be most known—in our marriages, families, and churches. The struggles to find work, and the continual uncertainty of what the future holds. The children and friends for whom we have prayed but have yet to walk with Jesus. The sickness in seasons of life that seems far too early. The unrealized dreams and the seemingly unanswered prayers.
The author of Hebrews knows he is writing to people on the ground level where life is messy and hard. He does not to urge us to disregard all of the difficult things in our lives with a flippant answer that God is in control; rather, he writes to give us hope in the midst of what is real, what is human, and what is hard. He anticipates our questions. He writes, “At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to Him…” The reality of Christ’s authority does not make light of our trials, our struggles, our pain, but rather it gives weight to it and hope in the midst of it. How? In what he writes next…
…But we see Him…
If I remember anything my dad preached as I was growing up, it was that but is the most beautiful word in all the Scriptures. But signals God, in some gracious and glorious way, entering into our reality. And this is what we see here: “But we see Him.” We see One who knows our experience, who was made lower than the angels, who was made human, who suffered, and who tasted death for us. We celebrate this Christmas season—that Christ chose to take on human likeness and live life here on the ground level—with us, as one of us, and for us. But this is just the beginning of the story—now He is crowned with glory and honor and is in control of all things. What awaited the other side of the suffering and death for Christ foreshadows what waits on the other side for those of us whose faith is in Him.
As we live life on the ground, our hope must look up—fixed upon Him who has walked where we walk and is now crowned with glory and honor. He has promised to come again to where we are—on that glorious day, when heaven comes to earth, and the view from above the ground becomes the view from where we stand!
Of how much worse punishment, do you suppose, will he be thought worthy who has trampled the Son of God underfoot, counted the blood of the covenant by which He was sanctified a common thing, and insulted the Spirit of grace?
Kit Case manages investments for a family in Dallas. He is also an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church where he serves as a moderator for the Youth Department.
Kit and his wife, Carri, have three daughters; Katy, Ellen, and Michelle.
Veterans Day always brings stories of bravery and sacrifice that make me consider, at least for a day, what has been done for me and allows me to live the life I live today. This year, The Doolittle Raid seemed to grab my attention. This is the account of 80 airmen who volunteered for an unknown mission that carried with it the likelihood of death. That mission was to bomb Japan by launching 16 B-25 bombers off of the carrier USS Hornet. Launching a bomber off of a carrier? Never been done, and that was the lowest hurdle to get over. How were these bombers going to make it all the way to Japan, carrying a sufficient number of bombs, and have enough fuel to crash land in free parts of China? This was April, 1942, only four months after Pearl Harbor, and the Pacific front was not going well. While there was not much meaningful damage inflicted on Japanese assets, this surprise raid significantly raised the morale of the American forces and caused Japan to move valuable resources closer to home to defend its small island. This raid became the turning point in the Pacific and gave the U.S. the opportunity to recover and win the war—much like the severe sacrifices of D-Day in June two years later. These events dramatically influenced the life we live today in America. Thank you, Doolittle Raiders.
Do we really appreciate the Greatest Generation and the sacrifices they made for us? Yes, we do for a day or two each year, but we don’t generate daily gratitude for what they did for our sake, despite its impact on how we live daily. We forget. However, the writer of Hebrews considers the Greatest War and does not allow us to forget the sacrifice that turned the battle against sin in our favor.
Hebrews tells us, “Counting the blood of the covenant by which He was sanctified as a common thing.” The blood of Jesus a common thing? I don’t know about you, but I live a fairly comfortable life with friends and family and attend to my daily duties with a carefree attitude of safety. Have I forgotten what life (and death) would be like without Jesus’ rescue mission? Do I really understand what the consequences of losing this sin battle will mean? Do I really grasp the grace of God—receiving a gift that I didn’t deserve? Do I count the blood of Jesus as a common thing? The writer of Hebrews equates this attitude with trampling the Son of God underfoot. That’s not good. Knowing my earthly and cultural condition, I think I need to check under the hood and see if I’m guilty of such an attitude.
In Revelation 3:17 John describes the Laodiceans as having this attitude: “I am rich, have become wealthy, and have need of nothing,” but they don’t know “that they are wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked.” Ouch. That’s a pretty bad job of due diligence on the heart. The Laodiceans’ culture looks very familiar—they were relying on themselves and not on the blood of Christ. Do I feel like I have much to offer my God and that His blood sacrifice has diminished in value? Am I increasing in value while my Savior is decreasing?
I Peter reminds us of what the rescue mission does and doesn’t look like: “And if you call on the Father, who without partiality judges according to each one’s work, conduct yourselves throughout the time of your stay here in fear; knowing that you were not redeemed with corruptible things, like silver or gold, from your aimless conduct received by tradition from your fathers, but with the precious blood of Christ, as of a lamb without blemish and without spot” (I Peter 1:17-19).
The blood of Christ is precious. It’s uncommon, of value, in high demand, cherished. It is not like my earthly, corruptible efforts to be good enough. It’s not living up to the traditions of my fathers: “I go to church every week”; “I am an elder”; “I give money”; “I am a loving parent.” It’s the blood of Jesus…period. My life was worth it to Him to offer such a valuable price. Even though I am “wretched, miserable, poor, blind, and naked,” He has put a price on my heart that is beyond the true market value I have here on earth. I want to celebrate that knowledge more than one “Veterans Day” a year.
In Saving Private Ryan, Captain John H. Miller leads his regiment to find and save the last surviving Ryan brother. With the ultimate “blood” sacrifices taking place, Captain Miller tells Private Ryan to “earn it,” and Private Ryan lives his long life with this gratitude and debt in his heart. I would like to live my life with this gratitude for the sacrifice given for me; however, my God didn’t tell me to earn it—He said to enjoy it.
His love for me makes me want to cherish this gift every day like Jesus’ parable in Mathew 13, “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like treasure hidden in a field, which a man found and hid; and for joy over it he goes and sells all that he has and buys that field” (Matthew 13:44). Isn’t that great? OK, I don’t celebrate this every day; in fact, I don’t celebrate it very much. But the grace of God hits me sometimes, and I am drawn to a deep place of gratitude for His picking me out of the depths of hell and saving me. Until I see Him face-to-face on the other side of heaven, I will have this up and down battle.
Are you in this battle as well? Look under the hood. It didn’t take our generals long to figure out that conditions were desperate after Pearl Harbor, and the Lord will reveal our desperate condition when we pursue Him honestly. Consider if you have counted the blood of Jesus as a common thing. He doesn’t count you as common.
Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until it receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient. Establish your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is at hand.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
Sunday will be the fourth Sunday of Advent. The fourth Sunday of what must be for modern Christians who follow the historic Church calendar a season of strange frustration. Nothing in our hi-speed Wi-Fi, drive-thru, Insta[nt] gram, tweeting, expedited shipping world is as completely onerous as waiting. We do not tolerate waiting well, if we tolerate it at all. Certainly when we have things to do, waiting seems much like labor, a grueling arduous task that drains endurance and prevents us from accomplishing all that demands to be done. All that has at different times been labeled without celebration as busyness.
A considerable temptation exists (to me, who works with the youthful perpetually texting generation, at least) to lambast the expedient and helpful technology which enables so little waiting and so much accomplishing. Or perhaps turn on the inner cultural eye and perceive the weaknesses within our culture that love progress, practicality, and efficiency and have for so long despised the patient plan, the slow reveal, and the doctor’s waiting room. The tempted lie is that man has at some time been a happy waiter. But alas, as the Bible makes very clear, it has always been “when?” and “how long?”
For illustration, consider the story of Abraham for a mere moment. God makes several grandiose promises to him, the simplest being a son. It only takes 25 years for God to fulfill this promise. The question that Abraham and Sarah continue to ask and even try to answer with Hagar is “when?” But of course Sarah had already been waiting to become pregnant before God’s promise. The Bible describes Sarah firstly as barren. Twenty-five years was but a quarter of her waiting, since she didn’t actually have Isaac till she was in her nineties.
We like to chide Sarah for laughing at God’s promise to her at 90 that she’d become pregnant. Yet God’s promise is laughably ludicrous. Why would Sarah still be waiting?
Yet this is the entire laughable, ludicrous plot of the Bible. God makes promises—fabulous, grandiose, impossibly good promises. The simplest being He will come and dwell with us. And we ask, when? How long, O Lord? But if 90 years of barrenness makes God’s work seem laughable, certainly the whole of human history up to the recently departed nanosecond pushes right past laughter to utter despair. When will you come again, Lord? You came once. You said You would return. So how long?
And here is that strange season called Advent. We await His coming, which has already happened and still hasn’t happened. We’ve seen the day of God’s salvation and tasted joy but seen it darkly and tasted briefly. Still waiting to find our full salvation and our full joy. And trying as James admonishes us, to wait with patience.
But patience is the rub. In a desperately impatient world, patient waiting is odd and suspicious. For patient waiting surfaces the deep problems, and who wants to bring those up? The hidden doubts and fears so well beaten to the back corners of our mind by busyness begin to interrupt. Here in waiting, the true desperation gnaws. In all our accomplishing, we’ve accomplished little, and worse, we’ve done much wrong. Perhaps in being busy and impatient we had imagined our hearts less dark then they are. Now in waiting we realize our need for the light. We see all the places unfit for a King. All that will not please Him. A King who is as surely coming as He has already come. Yes. Waiting seems like much hard labor. One would be desperate to keep busy. But it is this waiting that is the Christian life. The Psalmists and the Prophets constant refrain – wait on the Lord – reminds us not so much that God is coming but that we need Him to come. We must wait, because in the end waiting upon God is all we have.
One of the last of T.S. Eliot’s great poems, “East Coker,” has always struck me as an Advent poem, especially these lines:
“I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope
For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love
For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith
But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.”
In Advent, we wait because in the waiting these three remain: faith, hope and love. We wait for Christmas because without it, all is darkness. We wait for His return because without it, it is only dawn and never the full day. We wait in patience because in the waiting the dark makes us know our need for the light. And soon, the darkness shall be light for the light will be the Lamb. And those who have waited will rejoice.
"Be still, and know that I am God."
Stewart is beginning his fourth year working for RUF, both at Wake Forest and SMU. He currently is studying at Redeemer Seminary.
As the New Year begins, where have you turned your attention? Perhaps, if you are like me, you are hoping to have a year full of fly fishing, only 75 degree days, and endless filet mignons. Although these things may be the products of a dream, let me instead invite you to something far more dreamy and enjoyable: to know and live in the truth that God pays attention to you! Let me encourage you to this simple biblical truth—we were created to pay attention to God. Maybe you find yourself like this man: “I know God is trying to get my attention. I just haven’t figured out yet for what why He wants my attention. He must want me to do something.” What does God want for you this New Year? In North Texas, there are thousands of churches, thousands of ministries, all providing endless opportunities to serve God, “to do things for God.”
Let’s pause for a moment and Consider our verse from Psalm 46: “Be still, and know that I am God.” No matter how many times you have heard this verse, if you are anything like me, it is still nearly impossible to embody this concept of stillness, If you are anything like me, you have having relegated true stillness to those few annual days at the beach, in the mountains, or wherever else you may find your happy place. Being still and being on Highway I-75 have no place in the same sentence! However, if you are anything like me, you have also found this verse as a tremendous comfort in the midst of tiresome, anxious, and restless moments. If your zip code is busyness and stress (which is all of us if we are honest), then you have probably been at the receiving end of your family and friends’ loving attempts to call you back to our Sovereign God through this powerful verse. I am going to take a leap of faith and say that you are like me; you find yourself occupied with doing things, with being busy. One look at our 21st-century American culture seems to indicate this truth: we are a busy people.
Wayne Muller, in his book Sabbath: Restoring the Sacred Rhythm of Rest, writes, “Whether they are Hispanic or Native American, Caucasian or Black, the more their lives speed up, the more they feel hurt, frightened, and isolated. Despite their good hearts and equally good intentions, their work in the world rarely feels light, pleasant, or healing. Instead, as it all piles endlessly upon itself, the whole experience of being alive begins to melt into one enormous obligation. It becomes the standard greeting everywhere: I am so busy.” Do you find this to be true in your own life? Do you feel bogged down, stressed out, overwhelmed? Our busyness is not just an inconvenience—it is killing us, and as a result, it is killing our families and friends around us.
Instead of covering up these truths with better efforts, let me suggest and invite you to consider a new way of admitting, stopping, and being still before God. As Mark Buchanan says to the man quoted in our first paragraph, “Maybe that’s the problem: you think He wants your attention in order for you to do something. Maybe he just wants your attention. Maybe that’s what God requires most from us: our attention.” Buchanan nails the point of our verse and our God: we have a God who wants our attention.
The whole of Psalm 46 shows us the incredible faithfulness of God. You see, Psalm 46 is not just about meditation; it is about God. As the rest of Psalm 46:10 says, “I (God) will be exalted among the nations, I (God) will be exalted in the earth!” These verses seem to be addressed to the nations. The nations will know as they tumble before God that Yahweh is the true God, the true King. God wants the attention of His people and the gentile nations alike, for they all are subject to Him. How do the still nations ultimately know that He is God? Or asked a different way: How does God get our attention? As humans, our attention spans are repulsively thin and short; so thin and short that in order to get our attention, God had to become a man. God loves us so much that He sent Jesus! We can be still because God was not and still is not. He actively decided to send His Son into the world to live and die for inattentive people, people consumed by doing.
Let us enter into the New Year pursuing the greatest vision of success and joy we could ever obtain—by restfully “being” in our hearts before the Lord. No matter how hard it may be “to be,” we have a God who decided to send His Son before the most hostile chaos of judgment, torture, and death, in order to not be so that we could be with Him forever. If you know Jesus, Christ has taken thought of you, Christ pays attention to you!
God’s grace never stops at us however; it must be extended! To the degree that God has paid attention to us is the degree in which we are called to pay attention to all that God puts in our path, including our families and friends that who are dying for us not to do something for them, but instead just to be with them! As Skip Ryan says, “We are so oriented on a vision of success…always moving on to the next thing. But maybe the next thing is the next minute?” So this New Year, through the transformative work of Jesus, in the power of the Holy Spirit may we encourage each other to struggle to pay attention in each moment, to live a lifestyle of God-centered stillness in our hearts so that we and others may know God!
Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride of life—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Surely it was a momentary madness. The Saturday before Christmas, we needed to “run” an errand to the mall! Our strike was planned with military precision. I was to leap from the truck and enter through a side door. My accomplice wife would continue in the parking parade while I made for the escalator. Ascend to the second floor, straight through, and out onto the mall. Then, just a few paces off to the left, in an eddy, the merchant would be waiting. Our package could be retrieved and escape made good by backtracking quickly. Communicate with the transport to rendezvous, hoist in, and be gone.
But as is always true, the shock of the mission was unsettling, no matter the rehearsal, no matter the plan. On the escalator, not quite to the top, the view was breathtaking, in a stunning, sad sort of way. There was Christmas. As far as I could see in every direction, people and posters lured shoppers like the ancient Lorelei. At the foot of the escalator, a churchman fondled bangles for his bride. There was a frantic, frenetic feel, with more frowns than smiles, and all of it soaked in the ubiquitous, agonizingly sticky “rum, pum, pum pum” oozing from the sound system. Christmas? Really? But don’t stop to think! Hurry on! We’ve more to do, we’ve more to do!
The apostle John is an old man when he writes to his churches. He was the “Son of Thunder,” who wanted to call down destruction on an entire town. His scheming mother spoke to Jesus on behalf of her boys, proposing their prestige in the coming kingdom. Then John had leaned against the Lord on the night in which He was betrayed, had stood at the foot of the cross, had taken Mary home. John saw the empty tomb, peering in at the dank blackness that once held the Lord. Jesus was alive, and John was now a changed man—a man of prayer, a humble servant of his King.
John writes of love. He speaks of it more than all the other New Testament writers combined. He writes of love because he knows of love. And he tells his churches that there is no middle ground, no neutral zone, no halfway. The value structure of the Kingdom of God is completely, unalterably, eternally different from everything the world had taught him to value.
John will soon meet his Savior again in glory, so he pleads with the people of God to recognize the radical transformation that the Gospel brings. John says that to love the world is to be on the side of decay. But to love God because He loved you first leads to living from the value system of the Forever Kingdom.
So in the embers of Christmas just past, John’s words are not merely a ranting cliché against materialism, or Santa Claus, or fake Christmas trees. He calls us to ask, “What really do I value? What really do I love?” John calls us to remember that in the Kingdom we claim as ours, the last shall be first; we must lose in order to gain; the other cheek is turned; the tunic is given also; the meek inherit the earth.
Truly, if you are in Christ, you are not of this world. You have been re-made by the power and the love of an incarnate, itinerate, homeless King. Will you obey His call,—to live His life, based on His values, for His glory? As the new year dawns, pray for the wisdom to see the places where the world’s stains still cling. Pray for the Lord’s strength to live out the character of the new creation that you are in Christ.
Happy New Year. Soli Deo Gloria!
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
There’s a lot of talk these days about Christian community. Here are some valuable insights from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together on the subject.
1. Christian community is a gift, not a guarantee.
“It is by the grace of God that a congregation is permitted to gather visibly in this world to share God’s Word and sacrament. Not all Christians receive this blessing. The imprisoned, the sick, the scattered lonely, the proclaimers of the Gospel in heathen lands stand alone…Therefore, let him who until now has had the privilege of living a common Christian life with other Christians praise God’s grace from the bottom of his heart. Let him thank God on his knees and declare: It is grace, nothing but grace, that we are allowed to live in community with Christian brethren.” (18, 20)
God does not owe us the experience of community. May gratitude rather than entitlement be the tone of our fellowship.
2. Our romantic hopes for community are often deep hindrances to reality.
“When the morning mists of dreams vanish, then dawns the bright day of Christian fellowship.” (28-29)
This line is challenging. It begs the question: What did we dream a community would be for us? A busy place where our needs would be met? A safe place where we could retreat from the hazards of the world? An easy place where relationships happen organically? According to Bonhoeffer, our dreams need to be chastened and perhaps even mortified. Genuine Christian community rises to life from the ashes of our misguided romances.
3. Faith is more vital than experience.
“There is probably no Christian to whom God has not given the uplifting experience of genuine Christian community at least once in his life. But in this world such experiences can be no more than a gracious extra beyond the daily break of Christian community life. We have no claim upon such experiences, and we do not live with other Christians for the sake of acquiring them…We are bound together by faith, not by experience.” (39)
In other words, how we feel is not always a reliable indicator of what God is doing. Sometimes faith leads us into the relational experiences we want in a community. Other times, faith leaves us wanting something else entirely. But we are called to live out a profession, not a feeling, and so we must trust that God is at work in spite of the contradictions we feel within us.
4. Jesus must be at the center.
“Christianity means community through Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ. No Christian community is more or less than this.” (21)
It’s important to state the obvious here. Every community has a center—something that binds it together. That binding agent could be anything, from a social cause to a football team. At the center of Christian community should be Jesus Christ. In practice, His priorities always trump our personal preferences and cultural biases. We live together as perpetual listeners, open to His correction and renewal.
5. Sinners are welcome.
“The final break-through to fellowship does not occur, because, though they have fellowship with one another as believers and as devout people, they do not have fellowship as the undevout, as sinners. The pious fellowship permits no one to be a sinner. So everybody must conceal his sin from himself and from the fellowship. We dare not be sinners. Many Christians are unthinkably horrified when a real sinner is suddenly discovered among the righteous. So we remain alone with our sin, living in lies and hypocrisy. The fact is that we are sinners!” (110)
“But it is the grace of the Gospel, which is so hard for the pious to understand, that it confronts us with the truth and says: You are a sinner, a great, desperate sinner; now come, as the sinner that you are, to God who loves you. He wants you as you are; He does not want anything from you, a sacrifice, a work; He wants you alone.” (110-111)
This insight follows from the last point. If Jesus welcomed sinners, then the social reality gathered in His name must bear that welcome as well. What makes Christian community unique is also what makes it hard—anyone can come. We must dare to expose ourselves as sinners alongside one another, trusting that God’s love is for us as we are, not as we should be.
6. Community takes practice.
“Just as the Christian should not be constantly feeling his spiritual pulse, so, too, the Christian community has not been given to us by God for us to be constantly taking its temperature. The more thankfully we daily receive what is given to us, the more surely and steadily will fellowship increase and grow from day to day as God pleases.” (30)
Community takes more than talk. It takes practice and enduring commitment. May God increase His patience in us as we live out His life together.
For by a single offering, He has perfected for all time those who are being sanctified.
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
I recently read the book What the Best College Teachers Do by Ken Bain. It is a fascinating study of what separates the most effective college professors from all the rest in their field. Results of this study are myriad and include a whole list of what separates the great teachers from the good ones, but the author concludes that it all boils down to one thing—the best teachers are the ones who truly believe their students can change. Bain writes,
People can change, and those changes—not just the accumulation of information—represent true learning. More than anything else this central set of beliefs distinguishes the most effective teachers from many of their colleagues.
Imagine! Many of us don’t have to imagine because we have been there—sitting in a classroom day after day where the professor did not believe people had the ability to change or that anything he taught would actually initiate any growth or change in someone’s life. But imagine he expected you to show up every day and do all the reading and all the work anyway. What a poor teacher and a miserable class that would be!
Unfortunately, many of us approach our spiritual lives that way. We go through the motions of reading our Bibles, going to church on Sundays, and being involved in any number of Christian activities throughout the week. We do what we think is expected of us—but we don’t really believe we can actually change. We don’t believe we will ever have victory over the besetting sin in our lives. We don’t ever think we will be able to get away from the snares of addiction to image, and performance, and self. We don’t really think we will ever grow to love God or our spouses or our children more. We are defeated before we start.
The author of Hebrews packs this verse with hope for our struggle and discouragement. Christ’s sacrifice of Himself has the power to change us—because He is changing us. His sacrifice proves to our struggling hearts that our Savior has both the power and the will to change us, to sanctify us, to make us more like Himself.
In His sacrifice, He has perfected His people for all time. This truth does not mean that God’s people are perfect in this life and will not struggle with sin, but that Christ has accomplished for His people a perfect standing in the sight of God. This perfect standing is permanent. It cannot be changed or taken away. Old Testament sacrifices never had the power of permanence—they had the power to make one clean for a time, but one had to come back to the altar again and again and again. Ultimately, those sacrifices pointed to something greater that was to come—the sacrifice of Christ, who has the power to make one perfect for all time! The power of the sacrifice to come to make them perfect was the hope of the Old Testament saints, and the power of the sacrifice that definitively came to make us perfect is our sure hope today.
At the end of this verse, we read that Christ has perfected those who are being sanctified. Not only have we been made perfect in the sight of God once and for all, we are also being made perfect right now. His sacrifice has power not only to affect the past and the future, but the present. Christ’s sacrifice has freed us from the slavery of sin and replaced our hearts of stone with hearts of flesh. Christ’s sacrifice has made it possible to love God and others instead of loving ourselves. Christ’s sacrifice has made it possible to change. What great news this is—we are not hopeless in our struggle with sin. Christ’s sacrifice has power—the power to make us what we already are before Him. We can change! He is changing us! It is His very will to change us, to conform us more and more into the image of Himself.
Knowing this, we are encouraged and empowered to work hard in the battle against sin in our own lives. We can fight hard against our besetting sins. We can seek accountability for the way we spend our money and our time. We can move away from relationships that are not good for us. We can seek help for the patterns that entrap us again and again and again. We can make time for the spiritual disciplines in our life! We can fight for holiness and fight for change because we know that it is possible. Christ, in His sacrifice for us, has made it possible. There is hope for us! We can change!
Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight, O Lord, my Rock and my Redeemer.
Phillip grew up in Dallas and, after graduating from Highland Park High School, attended Ole Miss in Oxford, Miss. Upon graduation, he returned home as a youth intern with Park Cities Presbyterian Church. Phillip served PCPC's Youth Ministry for three years before taking a full-time position, coordinator of youth missions, in fall 2013.
Phillip married his new bride Mary Love in July 2013. Mary Love is an intern with SMU's RUF program.
For the past several months I have written this portion of Psalm 19 at the beginning of my daily journal entries. Oh, that the Lord would grant each of us the ability to walk true to this text and that He would allow us the grace to grow in our knowledge, love, and obedience to Him.
“Let the words of my mouth…be acceptable in Your sight”
Has the Gospel really changed the way I use my tongue? How do I speak to my co-workers? How do I address the stranger serving me a meal? Do my words reflect Jesus when I speak with my wife and family? How about the words that are left unsaid—do they also reflect Jesus’ love, compassion, and mercy? Do I love people with my words as Jesus calls me to? If you are experiencing the conviction I feel even as I type, join with me as I beg the Lord to tame my tongue and use it to further His Kingdom today. May the mouth that praises Him be the same mouth that graciously affirms and admonishes those around me. By His grace, may our words, which are inches away from sin, be used by the Spirit to draw lost souls to His feet. Like Moses, may we trust the Spirit to use our tongues to express His message of Grace that people may be delivered from a life of sin and separation from God.
“Let the…meditation of my heart be acceptable in Your sight”
Where does your heart lean in meditation today? Have life’s trials, or blessings, drawn your meditation from gazing heavenward? Has the pressure of performance or anxiousness of failure made you forget the finished work of Christ? Does the presence of temptation cloud your ability to remember that all the power of heaven dwells within you? Romans 6 reminds us that we have died to sin and are raised with Jesus that we may walk in a newness of life (v 1-4). By His grace, may our hearts meditate on heaven. For when the day throws us curveballs, may we pause to remember that Jesus sits on the throne interceding on our behalf. May we remember that Jesus has trod the depths that we may be ultimately raised with Him. Lord, tether our hearts to your Word that we may walk in a newness of life. Give us a heart after Your own.
“O Lord, my Rock...”
On what surface have you built your life this day? What is the one thing that must go well for you to count today as a success? What is the one thing that if you had more of, you would feel secure? What is the one thing that would make your anxiety, fear, and unbelief disappear? If we are honest, money, power, success, and health jump to our minds way before growing in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ does. Is the Lord truly where you put your stock and rest? Do we actually lean on the eternal, omnipotent, and omniscient Rock, or do we find temporary and fading surfaces to build our lives? The only way we can truly walk through this life with Jesus as our Rock is if He grants us the grace to do so. Therefore, let us go to the throne of grace today and beg the Lord to expose and crucify our false securities, then replace them with Himself. Bind our steps to Your will, Father.
“O Lord…my Redeemer...”
I pray that those words are where the whole of our encouragement comes from today. Jesus cried, “It is finished!” (John 19:30) that we could be reconciled and redeemed. As we struggle to glorify God with our tongue and heart, may we always remember the One who perfectly walked in obedience to the Father. Jesus lived the life we should have lived, only to die the death we deserved to die, all to give us a life we could never have earned! As a believer, it is my hope and prayer that we are all united in being consumed with the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. By His grace, may we set our minds on that gospel truth. For if this truth grows in our hearts and minds, the temporary burdens of this life do not carry near as much weight. Lord, give us gospel vision this day.
If you are reading this and you have not submitted your life to the Lord Jesus, I pray even now that the Holy Spirit draws your tongue to cry out to the One, Jesus Christ, as your personal Savior, and I pray that your heart is drawn heavenward and sealed by the blood of Jesus. May today be the day the Lord ordained for you to be brought into His eternal family and to receive the promises only He can faithfully and fully give.
Psalm 18:1-3
I love you, O Lord, my strength.
The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.
I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation.
Back in 2005, my college-age children were showing me, their technologically challenged dad, how to take pictures of them with my camera phone. It was a lot of fun. We laughed and laughed and took several pictures until I finally got one I liked. That picture was the wallpaper on my cell phone for a long time. It was a great snapshot of them. But it was just a snapshot—a 2”x 2”, flat photo taken by a low megapixel camera. In the days and weeks that followed, it often made “sweet sadness” of separations that come when our kids go off to college.
Our cell phones now take not just great pictures, but panoramas and videos, and they offer apps to edit and improve these images. But no matter how technologically refined such images are, they are an inadequate analogy of what happened when Jesus Christ became the image of the invisible God. We do not get a snapshot of Jesus—we get the full, complete image—well beyond 3-D. Hebrews describes His image as, “the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of His nature” (Hebrews 1:3a). St. John describes Him as the Word who, “became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth” (John 1:14).
St. Paul bluntly says that people are blind until the Gospel of the glory of Christ, who is the image of God, dawns upon them. Even those who have been Christians a long time will, in a season of extreme need or tragic loss, realize how little they have seen of the true image of God in Jesus. Our eyes can grow dim over time, and we don’t notice. You thought you knew who God is and what He is like. But then something happened, something perhaps unwelcome or extraordinarily difficult, and Jesus is revealed in your heart once again as the Savior who died. People cannot see God until they look at Jesus with eyes that are readied to gaze at the cross. It is seeing the Lord on the cross that brings to our eyes and our hearts the lived reality of union with Him.
Do you want to know what God is like? Do you want to know Him in all His glory and splendor? Do you need to know God because the bottom has dropped out, and you don’t know where to go or what to do? If your answers are yes, yes, and yes, then don’t read modern-day versions of the old Gnostic portrayals of Jesus like we saw in the popular novel by Dan Brown, The DaVinci Code. Think critically when you see a film or play about Jesus. The poet and author W.H. Auden believed that no human being should ever portray Jesus Christ on a stage. He did not consider it blasphemy as much as absurd. “It’s impossible to represent Christ,” Auden said, “who is so infinitely more interesting and infinitely more compassionate and infinitely more beautiful than any portrayal we humans could ever make of Him.”
So where do we look for a trustworthy, compelling portrait of Jesus? St. Paul said that the light shines in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in that face of Jesus. Look at the face of Jesus through His Word. See the Word in the Word. And see Him particularly in the Word at that place where He knew all the difficulty, all the hurt, all the loss that we know…and much more. See Jesus looking at you with eyes of love from the cross as He dies for you. Yes, make it present tense, as if you are there. But then of course, you were there, for you were united to Jesus in His death (Romans 6:5). At the cross, you get so much more than a snapshot or a .jpg file. You get the lived reality of living your life with, in, and through Him to the glory of God the Father.
Again and last, St. Paul, “Now I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of His sufferings.” (Philippians 3:10)
...so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith—that you, being rooted and grounded in love, may have strength to comprehend with all the saints what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, that you may be filled with all the fullness of God.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Several months ago my teenage nieces were in town visiting and asked about some of my favorite eateries in Dallas. When I described my favorite cookie shop, they begged me to take them. I pulled up to the shop, went inside, stepped up to the line, ordered cookies, heard the words “cash only,” reached into my pocket, found my wallet, and realized I was completely out of cash. In utter defeat I left the cookies on the counter and slowly walked away. I could not give to the cashier what I did not have.
A month ago I pulled into a gas station parking lot and was approached by a man in need of a bus ticket. After introductions and a short conversation, I found out who he was, where he was going, and why he could not get there. I decided to help, reached into my pocket, pulled out my wallet, and realized I was completely out of cash. For five long seconds I determined my only response was to offer him a ride. He politely declined. I could not give to this man what I did not have.
A week ago a student in our church asked me if he could borrow a dollar to buy a Coke before Sunday School. I replied affirmatively with a high five, reached into my pocket, grabbed my wallet, realized I was completely out of cash, disappointed the young man, and watched his sugar-high hope turn into a disheartened adolescent frown. Why would a grown man not have at least a dollar on him? I could not give to this student what I did not have.
You would think I would learn my lesson! The issue was not the actual supply of dollar bills I owned and needed to be successful in any of these situations. The supply was plentiful. The problem was that I had not taken the time to stop by the bank and refill what was lacking. I had not gone to the source. I had not been filled up. I assumed I could help without being helped; I could give without being given to.
The lesson? I cannot give what I do not have. This also is true for you. Were someone to ask my advice on this Valentine’s Day, I think I would offer this. As a matter of fact, I might offer this to someone who asks my advice on April 16 or September 2. You cannot give what you do not have! We—being united with, grounded in, and rooted into Christ by faith (v.17)—have a Source, a Supply, a Bank from which we can be incomprehensibly filled with the fullness of the glory of God’s love. The supply is plentiful and available through the power and work of the Spirit in our inner being (v.16)! The Spirit of God dwells within and lives to outpour, to overflow, to fill up, and to empower His people with this all-surpassing divine love (Romans 5:5). It is indescribably long, high, deep, and wide—the four perfect measurements found most profoundly in the dimensions of the cross of the One who secured this love for us. It is unlimited in supply and continuous in its invitation! Full and free!
Paul’s prayer in Ephesians intimates there is nothing more important than this for the people of God. If we want to give the love of Christ, we must first receive it. The outpouring is preceded by the inpouring. We must consider it, appropriate it, meditate upon it, and abide in it. Otherwise we know of the supply without actually being supplied. We have a bank account but no active cash. We speak of riches far away instead of riches residing with us, as if in our pockets. We speak of a far-off country full of blessing instead of calling it “home.”
Are you regularly receiving from the Source or declining to fill up while trying to give out? Go to the bank. The supply is plentiful. Don’t be caught empty-handed. You cannot give what you do not have. I challenge you on this Valentine’s Day to commemorate and commune with the hyper-excessive and hyper-abundant love of God for you in Christ Jesus. It’s full and free. Be rooted and grounded in this love. Then pour out, especially to loved ones this day.
“When you come to appear before Me,
who has required of you
this trampling of My courts?
Bring no more vain offerings;
incense is an abomination to Me.
New moon and Sabbath and the calling of convocations—
I cannot endure iniquity and solemn assembly.
Your new moons and your appointed feasts
My soul hates;
they have become a burden to Me;
I am weary of bearing them.
When you spread out your hands,
I will hide My eyes from you;
even though you make many prayers,
I will not listen;
your hands are full of blood.
Wash yourselves; make yourselves clean;
remove the evil of your deeds from before My eyes;
cease to do evil,
learn to do good;
seek justice,
correct oppression;
bring justice to the fatherless,
plead the widow's cause.
Come now, let us reason together, says the LORD:
though your sins are like scarlet,
they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red like crimson,
they shall become like wool.
If you are willing and obedient,
you shall eat the good of the land;
but if you refuse and rebel,
you shall be eaten by the sword;
for the mouth of the LORD has spoken.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Having been “encouraged” to play outside, there I stood in a stare-down. He looked like a cat and must have come from the woods at the back of our yard. Through my three-year-old eyes, he certainly seemed interested in my caress. So forward I went to meet the new friend. In an instant, he turned, raised his tail, and, with precision aim, blasted me in the chest. It didn’t hurt, my face wasn’t hit, but my feelings were deeply bruised. I had been attacked, and I began to wail. In what seemed precisely the same moment, the skunk retreated to the woods, I lept back onto the porch, and my mother arrived at the door.
Then came the therapy. Still unsure of what had happened, I was stripped to the skin, deposited into the bathtub with a box of laundry detergent, and my clothes burned on the spot where they lay in the yard. Being sprayed didn’t really hurt but being enthusiastically scrubbed really did. Yet when my father came home a few hours later, no amount of “squeaky-clean-ness” could disguise the events of the day. The stench lingered, a pungent reminder that being clean meant more than washing off and changing clothes.
Scripture often reminds us of the same truth, but the prophet Isaiah calls us to recognize an even more breathtaking reality. Isaiah teaches the people of Israel that their very acts of righteousness—the sacrifices and the incense—are a stench before the Lord. Religiosity did not cover the stink of their sinful hearts and callous actions.
Jesus echoed these very same thoughts in describing the Pharisees as “white-washed tombs.” They were outwardly clean, playing by the rules, righteous in their own eyes, but inside, where the Lord sees, there was the lingering stench of death.
It is a sobering truth that our worship, service, and sacrifice may be the very things of which we must repent. When we begin to believe that it is those things that obligate God to love us, we are like the toe-headed boy demanding a father’s embrace yet smelling decidedly un-clean.
Isaiah calls God’s people to put aside their rituals of self-righteousness, their deeds of evil, and bear God’s image as the protectors of the fatherless, the guardians of the widows, and the seekers of justice. God, in Christ, makes us white as snow and turns us from crimson-stained, self-righteous sinners playing church into His adopted, worshiping children. In Christ, we are not washed off; we are re-made. Then, says Isaiah, we live out the new reality of willing obedience to God, reflecting His character in His world.
May we, as God’s people, be a fragrant aroma before the Lord, righteous in Christ alone.
And He said to them, “Take care, and be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” And He told them a parable, saying, “The land of a rich man produced plentifully, and he thought to himself, ‘What shall I do, for I have nowhere to store my crops?’ And he said, ‘I will do this: I will tear down my barns and build larger ones, and there I will store all my grain and my goods. And I will say to my soul, “Soul, you have ample goods laid up for many years; relax, eat, drink, be merry.”’ But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you, and the things you have prepared, whose will they be?’ So is the one who lays up treasure for himself and is not rich toward God.”
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
When my doctor first called me into his office to explain I had cancer, my honest, first reaction was, “Good.” I didn’t say it out loud, but I remember feeling a sense of relief that a master plan for my family’s provision was suddenly coming together. Our retirement nest egg could always be larger and, at age 55, here was a shot for “total security” by actually dying before my life insurance policy expired. In a flash, I pieced together the lifestyle benefits for my wife and three daughters. I actually felt financially successful.
I’ve shared this story several times and, in most cases, men related to my sentiments. But women, without exception, remained horrified by my rationale. The women were right. My thinking, though common to men, was twisted and had all the markings of idol worship and reliance on false gods to meet some of the deepest needs in my life. I gave my doctor a “spiritually mature” response to the cancer news by explaining how I wasn’t tied to this world. My doctor, also a friend, answered by saying, “Well, I was thinking about Beth and your kids.”
Exactly. I certainly wasn’t thinking about the trauma and heartbreak that would mark their lives forever if I died. I later told Beth about the clean symmetry of dying while the insurance policy was still in force. It didn’t go well.
Beth: “Do you really think a pile of insurance money could replace you?”
Me: “Well…kinda…yes. I know it would be tough at first, but you and the kids would get over it—and then you’d be set for life!”
Beth: “I would never get over it. You are minimizing your value to us—and the impact of living without you.”
This exchange became a pivot point from which God began changing my mind and heart. I really believed a major payout of dollars would be a better provision for my family than the alternative: us living under God’s provision.
“…be on your guard against all covetousness, for one's life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.” (v.15)
I had to dismantle the common lies:
But God said to him, ‘Fool! This night your soul is required of you…” (v.20)
I heard that same voice one night in a hospital room while hanging on the edge of life and death. I had to decide to live (with God’s provision) or die (with a wad of cash).
I rehearsed the truth:
The last two-and-a-half years have brought me more losses than I could have imagined that day I decided to live. But it’s been the greatest season of my life. How good? I would do it again for the blessings and intimacy I gained. God crushed that smooth-talking, socially acceptable idol of money with Himself. I always wanted to know what Jesus meant when He told the Apostle Paul that His grace was sufficient for the suffering. I experience that grace now. It’s a strong and generous flow—no stingy trickle. But it began when Christ rescued me from the grip of trying to provide for myself. I would follow Him anywhere now—even into the future with a smaller nest egg—as long as He is leading. Now that’s abundant living!
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making His appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.
John Paul's primary roles at PCPC are to shepherd the single young adults of PCPC and to serve PCPC in reaching unchurched single young adults in Dallas. John Paul is a gifted leader who loves people and has a passion for evangelism.
John Paul is married to Katie, and they have three children.
The truth that God has reconciled us back to Himself through the perfect work of His Son on the cross has been profound for me. By the Spirit, He has motivated me to be the agent of change in my daily relationships in the hope that it pleases God and points people from their temporary tent to their true home. Before the foundation of the world, every Christian received a work prepared especially for him/her to pursue. God has called me His ambassador, but do I know what that means? How are my actions and decisions pointing people to see the ministry of reconciliation that He has given us? How am I His representative when I feel like I am more devoted to this kingdom than THE Kingdom? In verse 17, Paul says, “Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come.” That verse marks a believer’s call to a metamorphic motivation to be a living example of the reconciliation provided by and through the Gospel to a world that is not reconciled to God. The Greek translation stresses to the reader more emphasis on this reality than the English version. The Greek says, “if anyone in Christ, new creation.” This immediate identity change carries the weight Apostle Paul originally conveyed.
When you see the word therefore in a passage, always ask, “What is the ‘therefore’ there for?” To answer this question in regard to verse 17, we must look at the first 16 verses to understand our new life in Christ. In 2 Corinthians 5:1-5, Paul is reminding the people of God that our bodies and this world are not our home. He compares our bodies to tents or tabernacles that are but temporary shelters for us.
I don’t like to go camping, but a few years ago, I found myself camping and trying—and failing—to sleep in a tent. By its nature, a tent is not the best place to get some R&R. It is not meant to house a person for an extended period of time. Its existence is predicated on temporary use. The tent was not my home, but I knew I needed to make the best use out of the temporary discomfort. Yet, I was always thinking how great it would feel to return home.
We struggle by becoming convinced that the temporary tent, with all its discomforts, is all we have in this life. We forget that it is temporary and that the discomforts may be used for a purpose. Before Paul begins chapter 5, he ends chapter 4 saying, “For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison” (2 Corinthians 4:17). The comparison is the weight of the glory of Jesus Christ. Fixing your eyes on Him in the midst of discomfort in this world not only keeps you from losing heart, but also points the world to a comfort that truly satisfies.
Do you feel too comfortable in this tent? Have possessions, power, passions, and pursuits become comfortable places to rest? Or do you feel unsettled in these tents? God’s Word is clear—comfortable Christianity is an oxymoron. We should feel uncomfortable on this side of eternity because of the fall. Paul writes to the Philippians, “Our citizenship is in heaven, and from it we await a Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ, who will transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body, by the power that enables Him even to subject all things to Himself” (Philippians 3:20-21). Our bodies should be uncomfortable. We wait for Jesus to restore and renew our bodies, but while we wait, we make it our aim to please Him (v.9) because we are controlled by the love of Christ (v.14). His death became our death, and therefore, we must live for Him and not for ourselves. For through His sacrifice, we received life, identity, and a singular purpose.
This is the backdrop for Paul’s incredible identity transformation from old to new creation. When one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed, “and we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit” (2 Corinthians 3:18). And this Spirit has been given to us as the guarantee that this body is not complete. There is a future glory awaiting us. So, let us be men and women who see our lives as uncomfortable and consider it joy. Let us remember that we are already citizens of a Kingdom, though not yet home. One day we will have resurrected bodies, but until then, may we represent our King by loving people in our work places, homes, restaurants, and churches in the hope God calls them to be reconciled back to Himself through the promise He has freely given us.
"Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made Himself nothing…"
Elizabeth Cunningham grew up in Dallas worshipping as a member at PCPC. After completing her studies in linguistics and education at Baylor and Texas A&M, she returned to Dallas and served as PCPC's ESL program and international student outreach.
My heart rebels; I can hardly comprehend it…made Himself nothing. I despise nothing. I fight it. I rail and rage against it. Don’t treat me like I’m nothing. I’ll show you! I am something! I am valuable, smart, capable—something! I don’t just grasp at equality; I grasp at supremacy! My whole world—the whole world—is all about being something, not becoming nothing. Jesus, this is upside down!
Isn’t it funny how stories are so powerful? A command, the phrase, “have this mind among yourselves,” is so hard to wrap my mind around, but it was a story that really got me thinking and meditating. It’s the story in 1 Samuel 24.
David, already anointed to be the next king, mighty in battle, beloved by the people, is hiding in a cave. Jealous King Saul hates David and is hunting him for the kill. Saul makes a “rest stop” in David’s cave. “The Lord has given him into your hand, David,” his men whisper. Now’s your chance! Kill him and become king! David sneaks up and—Do you remember?—cuts off the corner of Saul’s robe. But even this small act of rebellion strikes David’s conscience! How dare he disrespect the Lord’s anointed king? Following Saul out of the cave and bowing to the dirt, David honors Saul and calls himself a dead dog, worse—a flea. Saul sees the corner of his robe in David’s hands and takes his army home.
It’s shocking, right? David, the anointed king, mighty in battle, beloved by the people, did not consider the kingship something to be grasped. He waited. He trusted the Lord. He cried out with many, “How long, O Lord!” but he did not grasp, not even when it seemed that God had given him opportunity. He humbled himself. He served Saul. He became nothing. How totally opposite! How upside down!
Do you see Jesus? He is shocking! Jesus, the anointed king, “who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but made Himself nothing, taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.”
That is our God. That is He on whom we are to fix our eyes. A totally upside down king. A nothing king. Our whole world may be about being something, but our God is He who became nothing. The world’s economy woos, “become something, disdain and pity nothings!” Jesus calls us, “become like Me.” To become like Jesus—that would be shocking, upside down. To be like Him is to be nothing like the world. It is to be nothing to the world.
Oh Jesus, let me love You! Give me Your mind! Fix my eyes on You. Make me nothing.
"For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God."
"Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God."
Pat Hobin was born and raised in Dallas and has a Bachelors degree from University of Texas as well as a Masters in Counseling degree from Colorado Christian University. Pat served on the staff at Park Cities Presbyterian Church as the Single Adult Pastor in the early 90s and is currently serving as the Director of Counseling & Care. He is also an adjunct professor at Redeemer Seminary.
Pat has three grown daughters: Katherine (27), Sarah (25), and Grace (22).
It is absolutely staggering to think that through the work of Jesus, I become the righteousness of God. How can that be? The Greek word for righteousness actually means “in a broad sense: state of him who is as he ought to be, righteousness, the condition acceptable to God.” What an amazing reality to embrace! What gratitude wells up within my heart, for without the work of Jesus, my “condition” is completely unacceptable to God. So I now live with this reality at play in my life:
May we live in that truth and reality.
James often sparked some degree of controversy over the topic of “faith and works.” In James 2:18, he makes his point very clear: “But someone will say, ‘You have faith and I have works.’ Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.” His message is that our “faith” will so move within us that we will do “works.” The works are not to bring about acceptability or salvation but instead come because we have such an understanding from where our acceptability comes.
The emphasis that James brings provides a great mirror for us to look at ourselves. His emphasis causes us to reevaluate life and how we live it. When we become the righteousness of God, as Paul said in his letter to the Corinthians, it would seem that we would then desire to live righteous lives. James is presenting the same point to us, and he admittedly does it in a direct manner. He talks about bridling the tongue, visiting orphans and widows in their affliction, keeping oneself unstained from the world, not showing partiality to people of wealth. If we interpret that doing these things gains us our righteousness, we are in serious error and completely miss James’s point. He is telling people who are the righteousness of God to live like people who are the righteousness of God.
If we are indeed up for living this way, then it is important for us to take a more serious look at James 1:20. He states clearly “the anger of man does not produce (achieve) the righteousness of God.” The verse is not a contradiction but instead an emphasis that there is a behavior that is consistent with the righteousness of God. Anger is not. We need that brought to our attention so that a righteous behavior can replace it.
As previously noted, James shared many other behaviors that should be evident if we are living out of the righteousness of God and if “faith and works” are at play. But is there any significance to the fact that anger is really the first behavior he addresses? Granted, in a way, they are all connected, but we have a great tendency to either dismiss or justify our anger; it is important for us to be clearly and directly reminded that “the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” If that is true, and if you want to live out the righteousness of God, are you willing to take a look at anger?
James gives us a prescription for dealing with anger in our lives. Undoubtedly, we need the Holy Spirit to help us with that, but James says we are to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” How is that an antidote for anger? It may seem overly simple, but in actuality, it is not. Being quick to hear is more than just listening. It often requires setting aside your agenda and preconceived thoughts to actually hear, which can lead to understanding. Instead, most of us are quick to speak and slow to hear, if we hear at all. The thought of being slow to anger never even shows up on our radar. What makes this even more difficult is that we are typically very successful in justifying our anger. Once justification is in place, we abdicate responsibility for our actions and behavior. We do not see it as detracting from the righteousness of God. Unfortunately, we see it as an appropriate response to the circumstances before us.
As we live out the wonderful reality of 2 Corinthians 5:21, may we also live out the reality of James 1:19-20. May we see the connection between the two passages. The righteous of God is our basis for “acceptability;” we want to live doing the things that “produce the righteousness of God.” Though there is definitely a righteous anger that even Christ displayed, the kind of anger James addresses does not produce the righteousness of God, no matter how we justify it. Instead, may we confess our tired and worn out justifications, and may we be “quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger.” That behavior, dear friends, is evidence of the righteousness of the God. Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.
If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The sketch in my kids’ scripture memory book is of a young boy running to catch up with a woman whose purse isn’t quite clasped shut. She’s inadvertently left a trail of dollars and coins strewn behind her, and the lad is carefully collecting her accidental generosity that he might return it to her.
The boy could’ve absconded with the unexpected gain, but he doesn’t. He could’ve also expected a reward for his integrity, but he doesn’t. His reward came in the form of the simple satisfaction of having done what he knew pleased God.
In the divine economy, what is the greatest reward we could ever get? It’s not the material blessings God could grant us. It’s not even the eternal enjoyments He might bestow. The greatest reward we could ever have is God Himself—knowing Him, experiencing Him, resting in Him (Jer 9:23–24). He is the greatest reward because He is, by definition, the greatest thing in the universe.
To believe God is our greatest gift has an effect on how we value everything else, including what proceeds from doing His will. The kind of heart that believes God himself is our greatest gift sees nothing else as more appealing or attractive. So the child who gives the money back to the woman without expectation of reward represents the kind of heart God wants us to have: a heart which treasures God most, which is happy to do His will even if it means he will receive nothing else in return. God is His treasure.
But wait. Doesn’t Jesus promise rewards for obedience (Mk 10:23–31)? Doesn’t He encourage the pursuit of treasure in heaven (e.g. Mt 6:19)? That sounds like God means to incentivize us with reward. Yet we also know that Paul warns of misconstruing our salvation as a wage for service rendered (Rom 4:4). Furthermore he seems to embrace an attitude of contentment irrespective of whether God has provided for him materially (Phil 4:11). God is not our lackey; we are His servants. So how can we understand (and seek) His rewards without misconstruing them as wages? How can we bear fruit for God without reducing our obedience to a mere transaction—a favor now for a leg up later?
Let's emphasize the necessity of faith in the freedom Christ fought to furnish as the foundation of all our fruit-bearing (with apologies to those with an aversion to alliteration). Christ has freed us from the penalty of sin, from the power of sin, but also from the compulsion to establish our own acceptance with God. Resting in that freedom has several effects, one of which John alludes to when he says, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us” (I Jn 4:18–19). Faith in his love evacuates fear of our approach to God.
But I would add that faith in His freedom does more than remove fear. It also transforms—even rescues—our obedience from a transactional mindset that unwittingly conceives of God as the cosmic concierge. Knowing that my union with God—my enduring communion and fellowship with Him—is entirely grounded in what Christ has done, rather than what I do, obliterates my naïveté that I could oblige Him to reward me. Moreover, knowing the utter graciousness of that union helps me to see the height of His kindness, and impels me to obey Him for His sake alone—not merely for His gifts or even His rewards.
God does, of course, make promises of reward to those who hallow Him with their lives. But the rewards—like all things related to salvation—are bestowed not because God is obliged to compensate us, but because of His grace. We will be compelled to cast any crowns of affirmation for our obedience at His feet because we will know it was because of Him that we obeyed (Rev 4:10–11). The fruit of the Spirit comes from a heart which, like a child who unassumingly returns lost money, knows God in that way—even if it also looks forward to an inheritance still to come.
Would you say your obedience is for God, or for His gifts? Could you obey Him if He promised you nothing in return? If God loves to reward the heart that finds its reward in God alone, what conditions are you placing upon your obedience that God must strip away? What matter calls for child-like faith this morning?
Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.
James Madden grew up in Dallas at PCPC. He attended Washington and Lee University and later worked with Reformed University Fellowship (RUF) at Wake Forest University. James was recently ordained on March 22, 2015, and currently serves as the RUF Campus Minister at SMU.
We are a church in a hurried and harried age. High speed and high volume characterize every facet of our lives. In 2014, to live in Dallas is to live in the most mobile moment in the history of civilization. Many of you will travel farther, faster, and more frequently in the next 24 hours than the majority of humanity has ever traveled. Many others will communicate with more people from more places simultaneously than the majority of humanity has ever communicated.
Is this impressive? Of course. Is it astonishing? Absolutely. Does it have unintended consequences? Most certainly. An economist would call it an externality. A surgeon would say that there are complications and side effects if it involved medication. And so on.
So then what are the side effects of being a church in a hurried and harried age? I would say there are two things at minimum: stress and fracture. These terms carry different meanings in different fields, but the essence is the same because it always involves pressure. It is the pressure embedded within the word more in every area of our lives. Pressure for more travel and more communication means greater stress. With greater stress comes fracture. Greater fracture means we are a church body of individuals rather than one.
Is there hope? Here we rest on Paul’s word to the Romans: “Therefore, since we have been justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ.”
First, we have hope in this moment because Christ tells us we are okay in this present moment. Like, right now, we are okay. Everything is okay with the One who made us. We do not have to be ecstatic; we do not have to be forlorn. There is a peace for the one who is justified in Jesus Christ, a peace that says, “Because it is finished, it is enough.”
Practically, we are ready to be a loving presence that helps each parishioner answer the question, "Am I okay?" with a loving answer, "Yes, we are okay." We live this out in our consistency from week to week coming together in worship, able to smile and greet one another because we are at peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. The pressure behind the more loosens its grip as we sit in this present reality.
Second, because we are okay, we have the freedom to be honest about where we are not okay this side of heaven. We can say where the pressure has caused stress and fracture. We can acknowledge when we are burned out, that we have barely survived the daily gauntlet of e-mails and errands. If leading a group is difficult, we can admit it without tacitly confessing our inability or unworthiness to lead. We can even speak openly to our ministry leaders when they have fallen short (except for the Elementary Children’s Ministry, whose leadership has been unparalleled and beyond question. And yes, I may or may not be the Elementary Coordinator…)
Third, because we are okay, we cannot only admit where we are not okay, but we are free to dream about when all of creation will be okay. Because we have been justified by faith and are at peace with God from here to eternity, we are not running out of time. We are running into time. The hurried and harried life will not be so in eternity. Indeed, this is one of the benefits of eternity, where we can expectantly say, “What’s the rush?”
If we are to live as Paul tells us in 2 Corinthians 5, as new creations, there must be sufficient time and space to ask the question, “Can it be?” We are empowered to look to the future with what has been called a "redemptive creativity.” There is room for imagination within New Creation, both within ourselves and in the world around us. This peace moves us from fretting to flourishing in a harried and hurried time. We must take time to dream what type of church we want. Where do we want to be in five years? Ten years? Can it be?
These are questions that can only be asked if we will stop, listen, and follow our Lord Jesus Christ. The impetus for abiding in Christ is to recognize how the world is pushing in on us and to move in a direction where we know we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. Stopping does not mean apathy but rather surrendering autonomy to Christ’s lordship. Listening does not mean inferiority but rather humility to take direction while sitting at another’s feet. And following does not mean we are never called to lead but rather that leadership looks like stewardship, that we are placeholders rather than power brokers in the realm in which we are called to responsibility. May the peace we enjoy through justification by faith push against the harried spirit and towards the One who calls us to stop, listen, and follow Him from today to eternity.
"Let everything that has breath praise the LORD. Praise the LORD!"
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
Russell Melancon lives in Butte La Rose, La., which happens to sit smack dab in the middle of a flood plain of the Mississippi River. When the Mississippi wells from torrential rains, some of Louisiana's spillways are opened to relieve the pressure on the mighty river. As a result, flood plains like the one Melancon lives on become inundated, swamping everything in the vicinity.
Asked why he chose to live, of all places, in a flood plain knowing it would likely one day suffer this fate, Melancon offered an almost oracular reply: "Why you are here is something you never even think about. You are this place." To him the question was irrelevant, no matter its logic. He'd been so long in those backwater climes—been so shaped by that place—he just didn't muse about his reasons or purposes for living there. He just was there, and he could not think of himself as anything but a resident of Butte La Rose, LA—flood plain or no flood plain. He so identified with the place, he simply was this place.
Russell Melancon is perhaps representative of us all. You could substitute the word "place" with any number of examples of human experience and the sentiment would be equally applicable. If you've been married for long, you could easily say "you are this spouse." Raise a child for years and it wouldn't be odd to say "you are this parent." You are this occupation or office, this neighborhood or precinct, this status, name, or reputation. Melancon's unpremeditated comment resonates with us. Why you are any of those roles—why you are part of the circumstances—is something you may never even think about. They're just part of you, maybe so much so that you can't think of yourself as anything but what they represent.
Those roles, relationships, experiences shape you, define you—help you make sense of yourself and your world. They ground you, stabilize you. In a word, they center you. They're at the center of your existence.
It's inevitable that anything you become accustomed to, anything you invest yourself in, will become important to you. It's impossible not to be shaped, stabilized, and, yes, centered by them.
And there's nothing wrong necessarily with being affected in those ways by such things. They're gifts of God—opportunities to engage life, to find pleasure, even to be matured by them.
But what's true of all of them is that they can be washed away overnight like a clapboard home on a Louisiana flood plain.
That's why Psalm 150 insists that of all the things that might shape and center you, one thing must shape and center you most—your praise of God. Praise must be at the center of your existence, the one thing that remains should all else be washed away.
That this Psalm calls for praise 13 times in six verses means praise is neither optional nor marginal. Nor is it reserved for the clerical class. "Let everything that has breath praise the LORD" (v. 6). Praise is central to our existence in how it figures so prominently here in this Psalm and throughout the scriptures.
But you also see the centrality of praise through the Psalmist's use of three little prepositions: in, for, and with.
"Praise Him in His sanctuary. Praise Him in his mighty heavens." God has called for praise where His people are gathered but also where His heavenly host dwells. There's no place off limits to praise. So the kind of heart in whom the praise of God is central finds reason to praise Him in all places at all times. Sundays and Thursdays. Mornings brimming with opportunity and evenings encumbered with weariness. Praise is fitting in seasons of celebration and in tides of sorrow. Praise is central to our existence in where it's called for.
It's also central in why it's called for. "Praise Him for His mighty deeds. Praise Him according to His excellent greatness." Praise is commanded here, but not for no good reason. We praise God for who He is and for what He has done. We dwell on His nature and meditate on His acts—in the past, in our moment, and in what is yet to come—so that we find reason to give Him praise.
Perhaps you can identify when I lament how many times I find myself in a sullen, petulant, or aggravated frame. Praise of God is furthest from my lips because it couldn't be further from my heart.
But if praise is central to my existence then it behooves me to pause, to remember and reflect upon the goodness of God so that praise might swallow up my pride, or whatever else might be impeding my praise. No matter how aggravating or devastating my circumstances, God is still bigger, grander—still worthy of my praise—that my only logical, natural response is to give Him such. The heart in whom praise is central is the one that finds reasons for praising Him.
Lastly we learn praise is central to our existence in the Psalmist's use of with. He calls for praise with trumpets, harps and lutes—with strings, pipes, and loud clashing cymbals. He's not reserving praise for the musically-inclined, nor exempting those who are tone deaf or rhythmically-challenged. He's saying that anyone might praise God by using whatever they have to give expression to their appreciation of Him. Now all those roles, relationships, circumstances, and experiences we spoke of earlier have an even grander import. They may all be employed in such a way as to give praise to God—whether it's our career or our cancer, our triumphs or our tragedies. All things have a capacity to be used as instruments of praise by those whose hearts have His praise central to their existence.
We may be many things, shaped by several and centered by a few. But we are our praise. That is, the sincerity of our praise is what defines us and stabilizes us and centers us most.
But how often is praise pushed to the margins of our existence? How often do we listen to the words of the Psalmist and find them so foreign to our experience?
That praise rises so infrequently from our hearts bears testimony to our greatest need: a divine Help, One in whom the praise of God never abated. One who showed us why our God is worthy of praise for supplying us Himself in order to reconcile us to Himself. One who revealed that a life of praise is often sacrificing yourself for another's good.
If you find yourself inundated with everything else in this life and you've forgotten you were made and meant to praise Him, you are bidden to hear His word, receive His sacrament, and pray by and with His Spirit.
Our instinct is to let other things—even good things—center us so that we think we become them. The Lord Jesus proclaims with the same intensity of the Psalmist that we are first and foremost His. And for that we shall praise Him all the days of our life.
And they compelled a passerby, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry His cross. And they brought Him to the place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull). And they offered Him wine mixed with myrrh, but He did not take it. And they crucified Him and divided His garments among them, casting lots for them, to decide what each should take. And it was the third hour when they crucified Him. And the inscription of the charge against Him read, “The King of the Jews.” And with Him they crucified two robbers, one on His right and one on His left. And those who passed by derided Him, wagging their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” So also the chief priests with the scribes mocked Him to one another, saying, “He saved others; He cannot save Himself. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross that we may see and believe.” Those who were crucified with Him also reviled him.
And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” And some of the bystanders hearing it said, “Behold, He is calling Elijah.” And someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a reed and gave it to Him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take Him down.” And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood facing Him, saw that in this way He breathed His last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Today's entry is from a series of Holy Week devotionals published this year by Park Cities Presbyterian Church. You may find the entire series at www.pcpc.org.
The city had exploded. Filled to overflowing with Passover pilgrims, twitchy Roman soldiers and no small number of hucksters and hangers-on, Jerusalem was tight and tense. The smells and sounds were overwhelming. Foreign foods hawked by street vendors mixed and mingled with the soon-to-be-sacrificed sheep and goats and doves. Dust of the desert hung in the air with the din of Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic and Latin. And in the whispered exchanges of families and friends, there was talk of revolution. Maybe this would be the year!
He had arrived at the beginning of the week. Everyone knew who He was, and most had hopes of who He would become. The miracle working healer from Galilee had ridden into town. But He wasn't on a steed or a camel-He rode in on a donkey, and a small one at that. And the crowd had gone crazy. He was here! At last! "Hosanna!" they shouted. "Hail to the King of the Jews!" they cried. And in the super-charged atmosphere of the Holy City of Zion, it was as if heat- lighting had struck the stubble of desiccated dreams and burst into flame.
Rome was ready. Rome was practiced. More than a century before in the same region of the world, Rome had snuffed out the Maccabeans and their foolish notions of independence. The Sanhedrin and priests were ready. There would be no backwater, no-name Messiah from the wrong part of the land. They were in no mood for another pretender, another "peoples' choice" priest. And mostly, there would be no disruption of the status quo. The whole idea was preposterous. This itinerant, homeless hack with no training or pedigree would not be allowed to undermine the autonomy that Rome had finally granted. Passover would see a sacrifice all right; but it would be a sacrifice to the idols of Pax Romana and the illusion of power.
So the deal was struck. It was expensive, maybe even over-priced, but worth thirty pieces to guarantee they got the right man. An inside job from a sensible traitor who could be bought, it proved to be just as easy as it was costly. And the plan was perfect. With some help from the garrison, away from the crowds, surrounded only by his rag-tag band of idiot fishermen, the would-be Messiah would be grabbed. If Herod needed peace and the priests needed quiet, if the crowd wanted spectacle and the Passover called for blood, when darkness fell, so would He.
The plan worked like a charm. Or more truthfully, like a charmer was behind the plan. Soon He would feel the lashes and the spittle, the thorns and the spikes. Soon He would hang, stripped and bloodied, lifted up for all to see. Soon He would look into his mother's eyes for the last time. There was no escape now for this brazen pretender.
Then the once adoring crowd mocked Him. Will you? When the pressure to conform presses you to deny?
Then the soldiers of Rome mocked Him. Will you? When you can get a laugh or advance a career?
Then the passers-by mocked Him. Will you? When your demands of God are thwarted and unmet?
Then the religious leaders mocked Him. Will you? When your self-righteousness is shown to be rags?
Then the dying criminal mocked Him. Will you? When the pretense of your life is at last stripped away?
He cried out to God, this God-forsaken King. And then He said clearly, with strength and resolve, "It is finished." Then He bowed his head and died.
Who has believed what he has heard from us? And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed? For He grew up before Him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; He had no form or majesty that we should look at Him, and no beauty that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces. He was despised, and we esteemed Him not. Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned-every one-to his own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so He opened not his mouth. By oppression and judgment He was taken away; and as for His generation, who considered that He was cut off out of the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people? And they made His grave with the wicked and with a rich man in His death, although He had done no violence, and there was no deceit in His mouth.
-Isaiah 53: 1-9
Solus Christus. Amen.
What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man.
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
Work is frustrating.
“What gain has the worker from his toil?”
The word for “toil” in the Hebrew here covers more than simply work. It suggests intensive labor, trouble, and even suffering. In other words, the assumption imbedded in this introductory question is that our work is fundamentally broken.
Experientially, this probably comes as no surprise. We know that work is frustrating. Even when our work is going well, we never quite feel at rest in it. The Bible tells us that our work is frustrating because it’s cursed. It tells us that because of our rebellion at the dawn of time, God declared, “Through painful toil you will eat…all the days of your life” (Gen. 3:17).
In other words, no matter your task list this morning, or what new job offers soon come your way, or what profession you ultimately choose, you will not like all your work some days or some of your work all days. It is not true, as the old saying goes, that if you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.
According to the Bible, even the best job, the best career, the most compatible work is inherently frustrating and painful. And there’s no easy answer for it. We cannot dodge the frustration.
We are part of the problem.
“I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end.”
This is a confusing section, but here is a basic paraphrase:
It seems that most of what God has given us to do is busywork. Much of our work seems dull, trivial, and perhaps even pointless. But God is beautifying it all—yes, even spreadsheets, e-mail exchanges, and loads of laundry. All of our work belongs to Him and lives on connected to the glory of His eternal purposes. However, God has left us in the dark. Limited by time and yet longing for eternity, we cannot see how the two dimensions are joined. God has hidden the details of how our daily work connects to enduring beauty and significance.
The implicit moral imperative, then, is that we must work in faith, trusting God with what we cannot see. We must do all of our work in light of God’s promise to make it beautiful, resisting the urge to move through life as though our work and worship are unrelated. Just because the connection is hidden does not mean that it’s absent.
God is at work in our work.
God takes broken work and broken workers and sanctifies them both, making them beautiful in time. What does this mean for us?
1. Enjoy your work as a gift, not as a god.
“I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil – this is God’s gift to man.”
Your work is God’s grace to you. It is not a distraction from what you’re really supposed to be doing, nor is it simply a means for increased wealth or leisure.
But consider what often happens to the gifts God gives us. Instead of receiving them as gifts, we idolize them as gods. For example, we end up belonging to our work instead of our work belonging to us.
Only the good news of Jesus has the power to change this relationship significantly. In Christ, we are no longer the summary of our own work. Instead, we become the summary of Jesus’ work. In Christ, we are no longer defined by our performance but by His performance. The Bible tells us that we are either defined by our work or by God’s grace, and it is only by God’s grace that we can actually enjoy our work as a gift and not a measuring stick of our self-worth.
We are called to enjoy our work, but we can only begin to do so if the work of Christ is the place of deepest identity for us. Our worth must be rooted in His love for us, not in our own performance, even for Him.
2. Do your work well. Take care of the gift.
“…be joyful and do good.”
Doing good means that there is a moral component to your work. You are responsible, not for knowing how your work connects to God’s purposes, but for doing your work well— faithfully, lovingly, and competently.
The next time you are tempted to complain about your work, thank God for it instead. Treat it as a gift. Do it as well as you can.
3. Trust that God will make your work beautiful in its time.
Once again, this is the message from our passage. God takes the glorious ruins of our hearts and our hands, the tedium of our lives, and He forms it into beauty.
If you don’t think this is possible for you and your work, then consider the cross. The cross was the climax of Jesus’ work. It was His purpose, what He came to do. And yet, the cross is nothing less than an instrument of failure and death.
But God turns it into something beautiful.
If God can turn an instrument of failure and death into a piece of jewelry now, and into the center of His Kingdom for all eternity, then He can do something significant for your ordinary work today. He can make your work beautiful in its time. Enjoy it. Do it well. Do it in faith. Do it with thanksgiving.
"But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
Mary Love is from Jackson, Miss., and graduated from Ole Miss in Oxford, Miss. Shortly after graduation, Mary Love married Phillip Koons and moved to Dallas. After being involved with RUF during her time at Ole Miss, she started work for RUF at SMU in the fall of 2013.
Although this is a commonly quoted verse, I am not sure we fully understand the implications that it brings into our lives. The thought of weakness is so counterintuitive to a culture that covets the mark of perfection. While this verse does not directly define grace, it points our attention to the necessity of a right view of grace so that we may have a right view of self. From the moment that our alarm sounds in the morning to the minute we lay our heads down at night, we race through a day on the treadmill of performance and pretending. Through our performance, we minimize the holiness of God, allowing it to be something that we believe we can grasp. Through our pretending, we minimize our own sin, convincing ourselves and others that we are something we are not. These idols cause us to shrink our view of the cross and base our righteousness on our own ability. This verse begs us to revisit the meaning and the truths of grace. In his book, One Way Love, Tullian Tchividjian gives Paul Zahl’s definition of grace:
Grace is love that seeks you out when you have nothing to give in return. Grace is love coming at you that has nothing to do with you. Grace is being loved when you are unlovable…The cliché definition of grace is “unconditional love.” It is a true cliché, for it is a good description of the thing…
Let’s go a little further, though. Grace is a love that has nothing to do with you, the beloved. It has everything and only to do with the lover. Grace is irrational in the sense that it has nothing to do with weights and measures. It has nothing to do with my intrinsic qualities or so-called “gifts.” It reflects a decision on the part of the giver, the one who loves, in relation to the receiver, the one who is loved, that negates any qualifications the receiver may personally hold…Grace is one-way love.
If this definition is true, and I believe it is, then we have nothing to prove. We have no qualifications to meet and no expectations to supersede. The treadmill on which we are running is self-inflicted. It is our innate desire to be worthy, to be good enough, to meet the mark. As Tchividjian says in his book,
Grace doesn’t make demands. It just gives. And from our vantage point, it always gives to the wrong person. We see this over and over again in the Gospels: Jesus is always giving to the wrong people—prostitutes, tax collectors, half-breeds. The most extravagant sinners of Jesus’ day receive [H]is most compassionate welcome. Grace is unconditional acceptance given to an undeserving person by an unobligated giver. It is one-way love.
We no longer have to suffer under the weight of conditionality. We are free to be weak, we are free to not be good enough, and we are free to rest in the grace of our Father. We can surrender our desires for perfection to the One who is perfect. We can stand in awe that we have received an undeserving grace. Our Father is not asking us to run on the same treadmill that our culture is. We find our call in the words of the hymn, “Come ye sinners poor and wretched, weak and wounded, sick and sore. If you tarry till you’re better, you will never come at all.”
As we go throughout today, I invite you to step off of the treadmill and stand in awe of this one-way love, to stand with a thankful heart that through our conflicts, hardships, and weariness, we have a Father who is giving us strength in our weakness. As Tchividjian writes, we must preach these truths to ourselves each morning:
The Gospel of Jesus Christ announces that because Jesus was strong for you, you’re free to be weak. Because Jesus won for you, you’re free to lose. Because Jesus was Someone, you’re free to be no one. Because Jesus was extraordinary, you’re free to be ordinary. Because Jesus succeeded for you, you’re free to fail.
We are free from the pressure of having it all together. These truths allow us to partake in real Christian fellowship as we bear the burdens of others and share in our own weakness rather than painting false pictures of perfection. These truths allow glory to God and not us. These truths allow the Gospel to be a leveling factor and to break down the walls we build between each other. If we truly understand a grace that negates our merit, then we will be able to move into each other’s lives and love with the love that we have been given. I hope today that we can stand in awe of the gift of one-way love.
"Love is patient and kind"
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
“Keep your eye on the ball.” If you ever had a baseball coach, you heard those words. They are the type of words that have a self-contained demeaning, condescending essence. Of course I’m trying to keep my eye on the ball. I’ve been doing that over and over and over again and not making solid contact. (Insert slightly sarcastic tone) What now, Coach? My eyes aren’t closed and haven’t been the whole time. I’m still looking at the ball. That’s the immediate gut response to coaching advice like “keep your eye on the ball.” Coach might as well have said, “Stand on your feet.” But he was right.
Some things are easy to say but difficult to do. Paul’s first words here are such an example. The church in Corinth had as many problematic issues as gumbo has ingredients. In the context of this passage, Paul is gently rebuking them because they weren’t treating each other very well and had their eyes off the ball, so to speak (thanks Coach). Or, as Paul puts it, they were neglecting the most excellent of gifts…love. They were exercising their gifts among each other but not exercising love to each other. But what is love? Paul paints a picture with words, and he begins with:
“Love is patient and kind.”
Of course love is patient and kind, Paul. It obviously is not hurried and mean. Thanks for the advice. But he is right. Patient and kind are easy to say but difficult to do. Instead of digging deep to the inedible core of the etymological apple (i.e. where did the words patience and kindness come from, and what do they mean?) that we disregard the juicy fruit itself, let’s simply consider these two with regards to our own current condition (heart) and ethic (life).
“Are you patient and kind?”
Don’t just think about last week or yesterday—think about right now. Are you hurriedly reading through this as quickly as you can? (Insert slightly sarcastic tone) If you are, do you sense in your own spirit a long-suffering kindness you know will be shown today to your children, your spouse, your coworkers, your subordinates, your superiors, and anonymous others? To the driver to your right or left? To the waiter or waitress who might require 10 minutes before taking your lunch order? To the cashier at Starbucks as you persevere through a line longer than the Great Wall? Or do you sense in your own spirit a hurriedness, a pressure like a gentle clamp that has somehow enclosed itself around your central cardiovascular region, not suffocating you altogether but definitely making you feel scrunched, squeezed, tightened, coiled, maybe even slightly wrenched? If you do not sense patience and kindness within, you will not offer it out.
Let me encourage you to take off the clamp. It will require a small amount of patience because you have to slow down for a minute to listen to a different voice than the busyness and responsibility of the day. That voice comes from the cardio-clamp. Take it off and simply listen:
The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display His perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in Him for eternal life. –1 Timothy 1:15-16
But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. –Ephesians 2:4-7
Love is patient, love is kind. You are to be patient and kind, not simply to imitate He who is patient and kind, but because He is patient and kind towards you. That’s right, towards you. You are not too different from the Corinthians, a jumbled mess in need of help or too hurried to recognize it. When will His love run out on you? When will He be short-tempered in His response to your flailings and failings? When will He finally say, “Enough!” and respond with spiritual road rage? Never. He is slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love to His own. He offers perfect patience, even to the foremost of sinners who believe. He shows immeasurable riches of grace in kindness to those He has raised from death to life. If that’s you, sense His patience and kindness towards you in Christ Jesus within. And if you don’t sense it, reread the two aforementioned passages. Then give patience and kindness today.
If you’re like me, you might need to hurry up and read this again in a couple hours.
On one occasion, while the crowd was pressing in on Him to hear the word of God, He was standing by the lake of Gennesaret, and He saw two boats by the lake, but the fishermen had gone out of them and were washing their nets. Getting into one of the boats, which was Simon's, He asked him to put out a little from the land. And He sat down and taught the people from the boat. And when He had finished speaking, He said to Simon, “Put out into the deep and let down your nets for a catch.” And Simon answered, “Master, we toiled all night and took nothing! But at Your word I will let down the nets.” And when they had done this, they enclosed a large number of fish, and their nets were breaking. They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come and help them. And they came and filled both the boats, so that they began to sink. But when Simon Peter saw it, he fell down at Jesus' knees, saying, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” For he and all who were with him were astonished at the catch of fish that they had taken, and so also were James and John, sons of Zebedee, who were partners with Simon. And Jesus said to Simon, “Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.” And when they had brought their boats to land, they left everything and followed Him.
Rev. Paul G. Settle
Paul, a native of St. Albans, WV, attended WV University, and graduated from Bob Jones University and Columbia Theological Seminary. Ordained to the gospel ministry in 1959, he has served churches in West Virginia, Alabama, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, and South Carolina. He served also as the first Coordinator of the Committee for Christian Education and Publications of the PCA, and as the Director of Ministries at the Ridge Haven Conference Center, near Brevard, NC.
He was the only full-time executive employed by the Steering Committee for a Continuing Presbyterian Church, whose efforts culminated in the establishment of the Presbyterian Church in America. He has served on many denominational committees, contributed articles to a number of periodicals and authored several books, including The Memory Work Notebook, Changeless Truth in a Changing World -- Meditations on the Westminster Confession of Faith, and To God Be the Glory, a popular history of the PCA, celebrating the denomination's 25th. Anniversary. Paul served as Moderator of the PCA General Assembly in 1980. North Texas Presbytery granted him honorable retirement in February, 2007.
Board memberships have included Westminster Theological Seminary, Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, The Presbyterian Journal, The Presbyterian Guardian, WORLD Magazine, and Women To the World.
He was married to Georgia for 54 years. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in 2002 and was taken home by the Lord in September, 2010. Georgia was the first Consultant for the Women In the Church of the PCA, wrote two WIC study guides, Seasons of Change, Seasons of Grace, and Women of the Bible, and was a founding member of the Board of Directors of Women To the World, a mission organization that ministers to women the world over.
He has two children and three grandchildren.
His hobbies include photography, reading, music and hiking.
Just four little words, but they introduce us to the force that created and controls the universe. Of course, it's not that these words possess in themselves such creative powers. After all, for untold millennia harried parents all over the world have bent low to hiss, "Because I say so!" into the ears of recalcitrant offspring. But though "because I say so!" may be universally the words of choice to impress upon headstrong children the solemn truth that what the parent says goes or else, and though they are spoken with grim sincerity and physical punishment may follow if they are unheeded, the words alone cannot really control for long even a small child, much to the chagrin of parents everywhere.
However, these words did—and they do—control the entire universe when God uttered them. When He, in the beginning, spoke into nothingness, somethingness happened. At His Word, space, time, and matter came into being. When God spoke His will, all creation obeyed instantly—without talking back! For example, He said, "Let there be light," and there was light, and if the light had asked "Why?" God would have answered, "Because I said so."
Because the Lord says so, living creatures fill the land, the seas, and the air. Because the Lord says so, Monarch butterflies flutter across entire continents; roses are red, and violets are blue; kudzu covers Dixie like the dew; ants and buzzards clean up the debris of death and decay; civilizations develop and perish; kingdoms rise, flourish, and fall; dynasties come and go.
God’s Word is the rule for all Christians for all of their lives. God’s Word is the universal password into the blessings of God. We can possess no faith, repentance, spiritual growth, joy, satisfaction, love, hope, or peace if the Word of God does not shape our lives. Indeed, we can know nothing of the fullness of the power of the Holy Spirit unless we are yielded to the simple yet profound truth: "Because the Lord says so."
Once, early in a morning, a large crowd pressed in on Jesus because the people wanted "to hear the word of God." They apparently were seekers, hoping to find salvation, and in God’s good providence, they had come to the right place at the right time. Enthralled with our Lord’s teaching, they crept close, pressing Him to the water’s edge. He noticed two fishing boats pulled up on the sand, one of which He knew was Peter’s. The fishermen, having fished all night, had gone ashore to wash their nets. Jesus stepped into Peter’s boat, sat down, and taught the people from the boat. He assured His audience that the way of salvation is open to all who come, that “whoever comes to Him He will never drive away” (John 6:37b).
Perhaps this applies to you. Perhaps you are a professing Christian but are not sure that you have ever really “come” to Jesus. Perhaps you are seeking more of Him but are waiting for the right time or circumstances. Or maybe you have tried really hard but failed. Whatever the reason for your delay, don’t wait. There is no reason to wait. Let down your net once more; ask God to fill it with the riches of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Ask Him to open your heart to His Word. Breathe a prayer right now, believing that you will be accepted and blessed, because the Lord says so. He says, “Come unto Me, all you who labor and are heavy laden and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28-30). In fact, waiting is sinful, an affront to the God of grace who lovingly bids you to come. Quit trying to save yourself. Submit to Him, beseech Him to be your Lord and Master. He will not disappoint you.
But Saul, still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord... as he went on his way, he approached Damascus, and suddenly a light from heaven shone around him. And falling to the ground he heard a voice saying to him, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me?” And he said, “Who are You, Lord?” And He said, “I am Jesus, whom you are persecuting. But rise and enter the city, and you will be told what you are to do.”
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
Now, if you want to impress people with your erudition, employ Flannery O’Connor as illustration (well, that, and use the word erudition). O’Connor, a Catholic Southern fiction writer, may give you the gold star of competent intellectual Christianity, but she can do much more. She will pepper your thoughts with quirky Southern characters and an overwhelming sense of God’s presence and supernatural intervention in what she called the sacrament of life. In her world, God always interrupts unexpectedly through strange means. The redeeming figures are not, shall we say, the sanitized creatures of Christian romance novels.
Take Manly Pointer from Good Country People. Manly intrudes into the lives of two women—Mrs. Hopewell, who lives life through clichéd optimistic phrases, and her daughter Joy, who lost her leg in a hunting accident. Joy earned a Ph.D. in philosophy and eradicated transcendence, meaning, and God from her life. Joy renamed herself Hulga to spite her mother. Hulga exists to stomp around her mother’s house on her prosthetic limb and comfort herself with her superior intellect.
Manly, a Bible salesman, is mistaken by both women as a “good country person.” That is to say: sincere, simple, and religious. Being a “good country person,” Hulga and Mrs. Hopewell know what to expect from him and how to get what they want from him. And Manly, like all good con men, lets these women turn him into the confirmation of their vain suspicions about themselves.
As you read the story, you can’t help but wonder if we do this with God. We tie together some worn out phrases about God, “God is my co-pilot” and “God never gives you anything you can’t handle,” into little straw men to toss into a box we’ve created—for that’s safe. If He’s in the box, then we know what to expect. As an added benefit, when God doesn’t behave, we have cause to be angry with Him, for getting out of the box is a violation of His nature. It’s an unnerving God who doesn’t fit in our box or confirm our vain thoughts about ourselves.
Here, Saul’s conversion falls. We often forget what actually happens in this story. We know that Saul becomes a Christian hero but tend to ignore that God in this passage blows up Saul’s life. Saul is not some godless bloodthirsty persecutor. He loves God and God’s law, and he knows the Old Testament. From Paul’s perspective, his actions aren’t evil. They are holy. He was zealously proud and proving his righteousness. Then Christ bursts out from behind a cloud and blinds him, and everything changes. Saul must repent of his wrong view of God and also of his very wrong view of himself. What once was a source of pride is now only shame and guilt. Also, Saul’s community, friends, and career path are opposed to Christ. That’s all gone now. God is not at all what Saul expected Him to be. Indeed, it is the reverse. Saul had placed God into a box where Saul came out the winner, but Christ reveals Himself. And the box is a tad tiny for an unfathomable, eternal God.
Back to Manly and Hulga. Hulga decides to seduce Manly because her intellect demands it. She anticipates dealing with his good country morals by telling herself, “True genius can get an idea across even to an inferior mind.” Paradoxically, he seduces her. Manly lures her up a ladder into a hayloft and steals her prosthetic limb. Hulga watches him carry her leg away in his suitcase nestled between two Bibles.
You see, Hulga’s truest self was that leg. It was the symbol for her atheism and hard-won intelligence. It was literally the thing her life stood on. So Saul, breathing threats and murder, found his life and was animated by persecuting Christians. But God breaks in unannounced and unexpected. This wayward charlatan steals Hulga’s leg—that is her life—so that she can become “Joy” again. God’s unexpected grace to her is the offer of new life. Saul is also offered new life. Christ says to him, “Rise,” which is the Greek word for resurrection. Christ steals Saul’s sight so that he can finally see, be raised to new life, and become Paul.
Perhaps God is breaking out of your box right now? Are you finding Him not what you expected? He loves you and knows that He doesn’t fit into your tidy box. Even more, He knows that a god who fits could never satisfy you or offer you life. He comes unexpectedly to let the charlatan in your box, the one who checks off on your agenda and sanctions your desires and opinions, be exposed, so that you can come and meet the true and living God.
When C.S. Lewis was (re)converted to Christianity, he wrestled with the question of whether or not he would join and participate in the worship and life of a local church. He writes:
I thought that I could do it on my own, by retiring to my rooms and reading theology, and I wouldn’t go to the churches… But as I went on I saw the great merit of it. I came up against different people of quite different outlooks and different education, and then gradually my conceit just began peeling off. I realized that the hymns (which were sixth-rate music) were, nevertheless, being sung with devotion and benefit by an old saint in elastic-side boots in the opposite pew, and then you realize that you aren’t fit to clean those boots. It gets you out of your solitary conceit.
We all know of the conceit of which Lewis speaks—the tempting impulse to individualize the Christian faith: “I can do it on my own” or “I can do it with just my family” or “I can have the deep Christian community I need with just my friends; it doesn’t matter if I go to church all that much.”
Thoughts like these are simply the hubris of our broken, self-loving hearts being applied to a relationship with Christ. The problem—better yet, one of the many problems—is that, according to the Scriptures and the teaching of the Church from its founding, to be in a relationship with Jesus is also to be in a relationship with the rest of His followers. There is no “either/or” when it comes to Christ and the Church; there is only “both/and.” I can only worship God as He fully desires and deserves, and I can only be transformed into someone who bears His image along with others…others of His choosing, not mine.
That, according to Lewis, is the “great merit” of being a part of a church—true worship and real transformation. God delights in “different people of quite different outlooks and different educations” all gathering together to ascribe worth to the one singular and primary reality that connects them all, namely Himself. It is in the midst of God’s delight and our devotion (or we could say God’s devotion and our delight) experienced especially during worship that our “solitary conceit” begins to slough off, like a snake shedding its skin…or, as it was for the apostle Paul, like scales falling from our eyes. And we can see—see God in ways we couldn’t before and see other Christians as God sees them…as those whose elastic-side boots we aren’t fit to clean.
The Greatness of God
Go on up to a high mountain,
O Zion, herald of good news;
lift up your voice with strength,
O Jerusalem, herald of good news;
lift it up, fear not;
say to the cities of Judah,
“Behold your God!”
Behold, the Lord God comes with might,
and His arm rules for Him;
behold, His reward is with Him,
and His recompense before Him.
He will tend His flock like a shepherd;
He will gather the lambs in His arms;
He will carry them in his bosom,
and gently lead those that are with young.
Who has measured the waters in the hollow of His hand
and marked off the heavens with a span,
enclosed the dust of the earth in a measure
and weighed the mountains in scales
and the hills in a balance?
Who has measured the Spirit of the Lord,
or what man shows him his counsel?
Whom did He consult,
and who made Him understand?
Who taught Him the path of justice,
and taught Him knowledge,
and showed him the way of understanding?
Behold, the nations are like a drop from a bucket,
and are accounted as the dust on the scales;
behold, he takes up the coastlands like fine dust.
Lebanon would not suffice for fuel,
nor are its beasts enough for a burnt offering.
All the nations are as nothing before him,
they are accounted by him as less than nothing and emptiness.
To whom then will you liken God,
or what likeness compare with him?
An idol! A craftsman casts it,
and a goldsmith overlays it with gold
and casts for it silver chains.
He who is too impoverished for an offering
chooses wood that will not rot;
he seeks out a skillful craftsman
to set up an idol that will not move.
Do you not know? Do you not hear?
Has it not been told you from the beginning?
Have you not understood from the foundations of the earth?
It is he who sits above the circle of the earth,
and its inhabitants are like grasshoppers;
who stretches out the heavens like a curtain,
and spreads them like a tent to dwell in;
who brings princes to nothing,
and makes the rulers of the earth as emptiness.
Scarcely are they planted, scarcely sown,
scarcely has their stem taken root in the earth,
when he blows on them, and they wither,
and the tempest carries them off like stubble.
To whom then will you compare Me,
that I should be like him? says the Holy One.
Lift up your eyes on high and see:
who created these?
He who brings out their host by number,
calling them all by name,
by the greatness of his might,
and because he is strong in power
not one is missing.
Why do you say, O Jacob,
and speak, O Israel,
“My way is hidden from the Lord,
and my right is disregarded by my God”?
Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The Lord is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
His understanding is unsearchable.
He gives power to the faint,
and to him who has no might he increases strength.
Even youths shall faint and be weary,
and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.
Rev. Paul G. Settle
Paul, a native of St. Albans, WV, attended WV University, and graduated from Bob Jones University and Columbia Theological Seminary. Ordained to the gospel ministry in 1959, he has served churches in West Virginia, Alabama, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, and South Carolina. He served also as the first Coordinator of the Committee for Christian Education and Publications of the PCA, and as the Director of Ministries at the Ridge Haven Conference Center, near Brevard, NC.
He was the only full-time executive employed by the Steering Committee for a Continuing Presbyterian Church, whose efforts culminated in the establishment of the Presbyterian Church in America. He has served on many denominational committees, contributed articles to a number of periodicals and authored several books, including The Memory Work Notebook, Changeless Truth in a Changing World -- Meditations on the Westminster Confession of Faith, and To God Be the Glory, a popular history of the PCA, celebrating the denomination's 25th. Anniversary. Paul served as Moderator of the PCA General Assembly in 1980. North Texas Presbytery granted him honorable retirement in February, 2007.
Board memberships have included Westminster Theological Seminary, Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, The Presbyterian Journal, The Presbyterian Guardian, WORLD Magazine, and Women To the World.
He was married to Georgia for 54 years. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in 2002 and was taken home by the Lord in September, 2010. Georgia was the first Consultant for the Women In the Church of the PCA, wrote two WIC study guides, Seasons of Change, Seasons of Grace, and Women of the Bible, and was a founding member of the Board of Directors of Women To the World, a mission organization that ministers to women the world over.
He has two children and three grandchildren.
His hobbies include photography, reading, music and hiking.
God is great, God is good,
And we thank Him for our food.
Surely, Him we need not dread
For by His hand we all are fed.
GOD IS GREAT
"Behold our God is great!" (Isaiah 40:9, 13-17) Behold, the Sovereign Lord comes with infinite power wielded by His right arm of might and majesty. Has He not measured the waters of the earth in the hollow of His hand and the heavens within the span of His hand? Does He not hold the whole earth as in a basket and weigh the mountains and hills like the small dust on a grocer's scale? How great are His works!
"Behold our God is great!" (Isaiah 40:15-17) The Lord God comes with infinite wisdom. Who taught Him? Who has directed His Spirit or given Him advice and counsel? Who imparted infinite knowledge to Him or showed Him the way of understanding? The nations, you say? Why, the combined knowledge and strength of the nations are like a drop in a bucket. Their so-called powers are nothing before God; indeed, He counts them as "nothing and emptiness.”
"Behold our God is great!" (Isaiah 40:12-31) To whom, then, will you compare our God? Face it—there is no other being like Him. The God of the Bible is the only true God. There is none other. He created all things, holds all things together, and works out His infinite, eternal, and unchangeable will with and upon all things. There is no comparison between the living God and finite, temporal, and changeable human beings.
GOD IS GOOD (Isaiah 40:18-20)
"Behold Our God is Good!" It would seem reasonable to think that we should fear the great and powerful God Isaiah describes. Isn't this true of the gods men create? Are not the idols people fashion from their depraved imaginations usually depicted as grotesque, evil-looking, and evil-doing creatures? Idolaters offer food, drink, precious stones, and silken garments to their idols in vain attempts to appease the wrath (no love here!) of the most loathsome evil spirits.
But, "Behold, Our God is Good!" He need not be feared by those who love and adore Him. No, our God "tends His flock like a shepherd; He gathers the lambs in His arms, and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those that have young” (Isaiah 40:11). We must not compare our good God with demon idols. There is no equal to our Lord, the Holy One (v. 25). He is incomparable. He is. He lives. He knows, He cares, He comes, He comforts. So...why do you think, when times are tough, that your “way is hidden from the LORD, and your cause is disregarded by God? Have you not known? Have you not heard? The LORD is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He does not faint or grow weary; His understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might He increases strength. Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted; but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint” (Isaiah 40:27-31).
The Apostle Paul said it like this, “And we know that for those who love God, all things work together for good for those who are called according to His purpose. For those whom He foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of His Son” (Romans 8:28-30b).
Beloved, God is great. God is good. Worship Him with thankful hearts.
1 Clap your hands, all peoples!
Shout to God with loud songs of joy!
2 For the Lord, the Most High, is to be feared,
a great King over all the earth.
8 God reigns over the nations;
God sits on His holy throne.
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
Empty hands clap better!
1 Clap your hands, all peoples! Shout to God with loud songs of joy!
The Psalmist calls the people together to clap their hands and shout joyous praise to God. It is a corporate call. This is one of the wonderful things about Sunday worship. The praise of the Lord is magnified when we praise Him together, as one Church and one body with one voice.
But often our praise is fettered due to selfish preoccupation. Even on Sunday, do we feel freedom to sing with a loud voice, or is our song subdued as we are concerned about what we sound like, or distracted by the person next to us, or mentally overwhelmed, rehearsing all the days' worries rather than rehearsing the goodness and steadfast love of the Lord?
If our hands are full of burden and our fists are clenched with that which we seek to control, how then are we to clap our hands? And how do we shout to God with loud songs of joy when our mouths are full of anxious words that stem from anxious thoughts (or proud, angry, insecure, etc)?
We gain freedom when we empty our hands of cares, control and future concerns before His throne. Our thoughts can be trained so that our mouths sing praise. God is with us; He loves us. We have limitless reason to praise Him. We not only have His faithfulness in our lives that invites praise, but we have all of Scripture as a hymnbook, meant to inform our thoughts and instruct our hearts in worship.
Fear of God begets praise.
2 For the LORD, the Most High, is to be feared, a great King over all the earth.
We praise God because we fear Him. Biblical fear produces holy terror and awe-inspiring love in us, if we rightly view God as He has revealed Himself.
However we often wrongly conceive God's character. We see Him not as He is—glorious and commanding, steadfast, and loving—but in small and powerless terms. A.W. Tozer observes:
"…Left to ourselves we tend immediately to reduce God to manageable terms...we want a God we can in some measure control...We need the feeling of security that comes from knowing what God is like, and what He is like is of course a composite of all the religious pictures we have seen, all the best people we have known or heard about, and all the sublime ideas we have entertained."
But is that how God is revealed Himself to us in Scripture? A low concept of God does little to stir up worship; instead, it breeds a casual indifference to Him and His commands, entitlement to our wants and desires, and enforces a stubborn pride.
To fear God is to behold His glory. The face of Jesus shines such that the brightest of days is shamed. When the beloved disciple saw Christ, he fell down as though dead in awe at the sight of Jesus' holiness (Revelation 1:17). This is our God. Scripture declares that God is not within our control, but a mighty God, ruling over all creation, whose majesty causes us to bow before Him as He is "high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy, [who says] I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit" (Isaiah 57:15).
In the midst of a culture of wealth, status, self-sufficiency, and cushion on every side, do we feel our neediness against the backdrop of His holiness? Or is the very barrenness of our souls deceptively imperceptible due to the many layers of insulation we keep around us as we try to control our lives? When was the last time you sat still before Him in awe?
He is seated. It is finished. His holy throne is over all.
8 God reigns over the nations; God sits on His holy throne.
As we behold Him, He transforms us (2 Corinthians 3:18). We see Jesus seated on the throne. His seat reminds us that His finished work on the cross and His resurrection completely paid for sin and gives saving life to all who call on Jesus in faith (Hebrews 1:3, Romans 10:13). His throne endures forever and is over all nations and all things. It is a holy throne, a throne of grace. And all that is ordered from His throne for us is good as He is trustworthy and true.
We can worship Him because we know Him and His great saving, rescuing, enduring love. The love of God frees us from self-love and cultural comfort to praise and obey Him. We can say, in conformity to Christ's example, “not my will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42).
As we lay down our agenda and plans before His throne, we gain the gift of empty hands so that we may more freely and fully praise His holy name. We can follow Him where ever He leads us, singing along the way in joyful refrain, “Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be; Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me” (Bonar). We surrender our lives to the risen, reigning King, Jesus Christ, the conquering One who loved us and gave Himself for us (Galatians 2:20).
He is on the Throne. We are not. Amen!
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation.
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
For two millennia, the Christian Church has wrestled with its place in culture. Over the years, many Christians have held to a sectarian view of the Church. Sectarians believe that culture is hostile to the purity of the Church and should be avoided. This type of Christianity is marked by the strict boundaries often seen in fundamentalism. Others have understood the relationship between Church and culture to be quite the opposite. Syncretists believe that the Church should be accommodating to culture. In their view, there is no separation between the sacred and the secular. The Emergent church movement has most recently exhibited this kind of thinking. Emergent or fundamentalist, syncretist or sectarian, it is clear that the tense relationship between the Church and culture remains just as relevant now as was 2,000 years ago.
I have found 1 Peter tremendously helpful in my own life as I struggle to live as a Christian in a changing culture. Vital to Peter’s understanding of Christian living in the midst of culture is the notion that the Church is a people. Peter writes in verse 9 of chapter 2, “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of His own possession.” Peter’s description of the Church is astounding. Drawing from a host of Old Testament references, Peter ascribes terminology to the Church that was once reserved for Israel, God’s chosen people.
In 1 Peter 2:9, Peter first describes the Church as “a chosen race.” Taken from Isaiah 43:20, the word “race” refers to a people of common ancestry. Within the context of Isaiah, that ancestry is the line of Abraham, the people of Israel. But, within the context of 1 Peter 2:9, that ancestry is attributed to Jesus Christ. To be a Christian is to be a part of a new race, a new people of God.
Peter then goes on to describe the Church as “a royal priesthood” and a “holy nation.” These phrases are taken from Exodus 19:6. The phrase “royal priesthood” identifies the Church as a community of priests who now devote their lives and their service to the true King, Jesus Christ. The phrase “holy nation” describes the Church as a community that has been set apart to live differently in the way they conduct themselves. This distinction is rooted in Peter’s earlier command in 1 Peter 1:14-18, “As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as He who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct.”
The last phrase Peter uses to describe the Church in verse 9 is “a people of His own possession.” While similar wording can be found in both Exodus 19:5 (a proper people) and Isaiah 43:21 (My people whom I have acquired), this phrase is most intimately linked with Peter’s words in verse 10, “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” Verse 10 is the capstone in Peter’s description of the Church of Jesus Christ. In verse 9, Peter ascribes the attributes of Israel to the Church. In verse 10, Peter implies that the Church is a fulfillment of the ancient prophecy found in Hosea 2:23, “And I will have mercy on No Mercy, and I will say to Not My People, ‘You are My people’; and he shall say, ‘You are my God.’” This is what is so amazing about the Church of Jesus Christ. We are faithless adulterers who constantly turn our backs on God, yet He is faithful where we are faithless. He sent the Bridegroom, Jesus Christ, to redeem His bride, the Church.
Of all the ways the Church is described in 1 Peter 2, perhaps the most pivotal is found in verse 11. Peter writes, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.” Peter refers to the Church as “sojourners” and “exiles.” Peter is essentially saying that to be Christian is to be different. So different, in fact, that Christians are like foreigners who have taken up residence as refugees in society. Yet how are we to understand the difference between Church and culture? Our identity as Christians in a secular culture is rooted in our union with Christ. We are sojourners because Jesus Christ was the ultimate sojourner. We are exiles because He was the ultimate exile among His own people, who rejected Him and condemned Him to die on the cross. It was He who was the real Chosen One, the ultimate Royal Priest, the true Holy One. As a people united with Christ, the Church then is a chosen race, a royal priest hood, and a holy nation. Our Christian difference is found only in our identity with Jesus Christ: our serving found in His servanthood, our suffering found in His suffering, our hope found in His death and resurrection. Redeemed, we are sojourners in a culture in need of redemption.
And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
The day started earlier than usual. Our baby woke up well before his “normal” time, and just like that, we were off and running. It was one of those mornings when everything just felt off. I was beyond exhausted. I fumbled through the kitchen to start my much-needed coffee and prepare breakfast for a busy one year old. I closed the kitchen cabinet with a bit too much gusto (and admittedly, some exhausted frustration), and then, the sound of shattered glass—never a good sign, no matter the time of day. But there’s something particularly provoking about broken glass before 6:00 am. My favorite cake platter acquired a chip, just large enough and sharp enough to render it dangerous and useless. I gripped the counter and hung my head. Not the start to my day that I had imagined. Where’s the reset button?
The morning progressed, and it seemed as though things were piling up. I had lost perspective. I felt like a snowball rolling down a hill—gaining speed and heading towards an inevitable crash. There wasn’t one particular issue that day, just a slew of miniscule bothers that combined to leave me feeling short and shallow. I felt short towards those I love dearly and shallow in my understanding of God’s grace. It had been an ordinary morning, nothing flashy, nothing tragic. Just daily life, and it was getting the best of me. But that’s the beauty of the Gospel. It cuts through the muck and mire of ordinary days and messy hearts to do what we can’t do for ourselves. That morning I found myself desperate for heart-level change.
I have been a mom for a little over a year now. Everything I thought I understood—the good things and the hard things—has been radically reorganized by a precious, bright-eyed boy. I have tasted the goodness of God in ways I never imagined. How deep the Father’s love for us! Oh, the beauty and depth and truth of that beloved hymn! I grapple with understanding the depth of my love for my son, and then I consider the infinitely higher, deeper, stronger love of Christ. What grace! Motherhood has humbled me beyond any other role. I find myself at a loss for words, which is an unsettling and challenging feeling for a writer! But oh, if anything should render me speechless, it should be the grace of God!
I have come to realize the staggering sufficiency of Christ in the ordinary moments of life. Life as a mom to a toddler can seem routine. Most of my days consist of three main categories: eating, napping, and playing. Sleep and then repeat. Yet each day feels so full and so purposeful. That is a picture of the sufficiency of Christ. Paul points this out beautifully in 2 Corinthians 9:8, “And God is able to make all grace abound to you, so that having all sufficiency in all things at all times, you may abound in every good work.” The Lord has used this verse to sustain me in moments when I have felt the weight of my own insufficiency—moments before the sun is up and glass is already shattering. Christ meets us in the ordinary moments and reminds us that the sufficiency to live life to the glory of God can only come from one source. He provides all that we need so that we may abound in every good work.
One of my favorite moments of the day is getting to rock our son to sleep at night. It is generally a peaceful process. Those quiet moments before sleep give me the opportunity to tell Will things I long for him to know. It feels like a sacred moment, like a chance to speak into his heart and life and beg the Lord to speak louder than my words. I sing and rock him until he’s asleep. As I carry him towards the crib, I whisper something to him. It is something that I deeply believe for him and desperately long for him to understand. I started doing this when Will was a newborn, and, at times, I feel like I do it out of routine more than anything else. But after a long, ordinary day of picking up glass and battling for perspective, I heard my own words in a new way. “Your deepest need is Jesus, Will. In Him you all have that you need.” I stood over his crib and felt the weight of those words on my soul. Did I really believe that? Sure, I believe it for Will, but do I believe it for myself? Oh Lord, give me grace to see! The Gospel is staggering, and the Lord’s love is sufficient for every single need, not only for an infant, but also for a sinful mama feeling trapped in the ordinary.
Grace for the ordinary moments and days—what a gift! Lord, grant us grace to believe that, truly, You are sufficient! Like an ocean, Your grace is deep, deep, deep—beyond what we can imagine—and it is sufficient for our greatest need.
His sufficiency is enough. My deepest need is Jesus, and in Him, I have all that I need.
… but we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God's love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us.
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
We’d been warned to look for danger signs of rejection following a bone marrow transplant (the last step in treating lymphoma months earlier). Still, I felt rather silly texting my oncologist at home just before the Fourth of July to report some bouts with escalating abdominal pain. By the end of the day, we were at the hospital. My wife Beth and I were about to descend into a pit of pain and suffering previously unimagined.
• I was shedding the lining of my GI tract; my liver and skin were under attack.
• I would not leave my hospital bed until Labor Day.
• I was fed intravenously and would not eat or drink by mouth for six weeks.
• I had a 5 to 10 percent chance of survival.
• The post-hospital recovery would consume the next two years.
How in the world would I endure this kind of unrelenting pain, fear, and uncertainty for months on end? The Lord provided rescue in the form of (1) His Word and (2) Himself. Romans 5:3-5 helped a lot.
Richness of His Word
Clearly, these verses implied my pain and loss were God ordained—designed with great purpose to change me (us). This truth saved my sanity. He was changing me just like the Apostle Paul had described. It was happening before my eyes.
I also learned that during a hard, dry time like this, it’s no time to read devotionals exclusively. As good as some are, I needed the Scripture. I didn’t need a burst of inspiration. In the fog of suffering, I forgot what God was like. Sometimes, I honestly wondered if He really answered prayers—if He really intervened in our lives—and whether my progressively worsening circumstances signaled the absence of His care for me.
So, I started reading the life of King David in 1 and 2 Samuel—a chapter a day—very slowly. Soon, I was reminded of all the trouble David encountered even though he was the anointed future king of Israel. Over the next weeks, I used a red pen and underlined all the places God intervened for David. I also underlined each place I saw the Lord’s attributes. My Bible was full of red. He did intervene. I remembered who God was—what He was like in multiple situations. I could scan the red parts of my Bible anytime I wanted and get reminded of who He is.
Richness of Himself
An amazing thing happened. Just knowing God as He really is, in all those dimensions, took away fear. It removed my insistence to know whether I’d live or die, when I would recover, why this happened, how I would ever work again. The “when, how, what, and why” were satisfied by the “Who.” Once I came face-to-face with Jesus and was assured of His 100 percent accuracy, power, wisdom, gentleness, patience, and love for me, I didn’t need to know the plan. I knew Him. I trusted Him and would follow Him anywhere.
That suffering produced endurance, alright all right. And my character was being transformed, too. There was a new level of peace and security at my core that wasn’t there before. I had a new hope that did not disappoint.
A PCPC pastor visited us early on at the hospital and reviewed Romans 5:3-5. Regarding the last sentence (v5), he said, “Beth and Jay, start looking for the ways God is pouring His love into your hearts.” We sharpened our attention and saw His work all over the place: pivotal encouragement by the right person at the right time; specific acts of grace for our children; money in the mail when we needed it; meals at home when Beth was too exhausted to cook; and a spirit of peace during downturns in my health.
Before that pastor left my bedside, he said, “In the middle of the night, when you can’t sleep and are all alone, imagine the Lord Jesus on the cross, suffering for you.” A couple days later, I had taken a bad turn and was particularly discouraged at about 10:30 at night. Unexpectedly, my oncologist walked in the room. He’s a godly man and said he felt a definite nudge of the Holy Spirit to drop by before he went home. We talked honestly about life and death. Then he said, “As you lie here alone, imagine the Lord Jesus on the cross, suffering for you.” It was yet another moment of God pouring His love into my heart.
Sometimes we get it backward and think when suffering comes, it’s God’s main job to remove it. That’s not what Romans 5:3-5 teaches. Instead of fighting the bewilderment, Jesus is there in the yielding. And now I can look back on the horrific events of the past three years and declare: it was no tragedy. It’s still a mystery, but I can truly rejoice in my sufferings. They were how God rescued me.
He said, “While the child was still alive, I fasted and wept, for I said, ‘Who knows whether the Lord will be gracious to me, that the child may live?’
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
Recently, Jay Hohfeler spoke at PCPC’s Summer Stories of Rescue series, recounting four areas of rescue the Lord brought in his life over the last three years after a serious cancer diagnosis. Here are links to his previous entries:
February 28: Abundance: My Way or God's Way?
July 11: Rescue through Suffering
Special Note
Recently, Jay Hohfeler spoke at PCPC’s Summer Stories of Rescue series, recounting four areas of rescue the Lord brought in his life over the last three years after a serious cancer diagnosis. Here are links to his previous entries:
February 28: Abundance: My Way or God's Way?
July 11: Rescue through Suffering
This quote from King David might hold the record for one of the most outrageous statements in the Bible.
The context is that David was confronted for his sin of adultery with Bathsheba and his subsequent cover-up murder of her husband. God had specifically warned David, in advance, that his child born of Bathsheba would surely die (2 Samuel 12:14). David fasted and prayed anyway. The baby died, but how in the world could he, guilty of scorning the Lord, even ask for an exception like that?
It was because David knew His Lord. He knew God’s bent for grace—His disposition for fully recognizing and condemning sin yet returning good. David knew God’s merciful, gracious, abounding, steadfast love toward him. That’s why he said, “Who knows?” David was just appalling. I want to be like him.
When I was sick with cancer, I hedged about praying for healing because I didn’t want to be presumptuous. I resisted “name, claim it” notions where just naming a desire with gusto somehow made God obligated to fulfill it. I thought I was being respectful, but I was actually positioning myself to avoid being hurt. I gave God lots of room to say no, so when he did, I wasn’t devastated.
Then, one dark night in the early, scary days of my cancer, a pastor came to my hospital room and boomed a prayer to rescue me from “this bed of affliction.” I prayed along but could barely even add a little, “who knows?” to his prayer. My hedging prayer and David’s shameless prayer both revealed our respective views of God. David’s prayer showed a wonderful, childlike, unreasonable expectation of grace. My heart showed doubt and suspicion.
Did the Lord really want to intervene? I probably knew better than that and could recount stunning divine interventions throughout my life. But was this the end of all God’s favor? Sometimes, when hitting the wall with tough circumstances, I assumed God had no provision for me in this situation—this time.
Face it. I resembled the ancient Israelites who wandered the Sinai and grumbled against God. As food and water became scarce, God saw their hearts through the grumbling. It wasn’t the grumbling itself that grieved the Lord (crying out is OK); it was that they didn’t believe He cared, or noticed, or was able to save them. You can almost hear God’s heartbreak when He told Moses:
…“How long will this people despise Me? And how long will they not believe in Me, in spite of all the signs that I have done among them?” Numbers 14:11
I just wasn’t going to do that to the Lord anymore. I wanted to stop my propensity to assume the worst about His future plans in my case. What does God want from us? He certainly doesn’t want positive thinking. He wants true and straight thinking.
In the case of the Israelites, God instructed them over and over to simply look around and backward to let His miraculous strength and love sink in. The ten plagues in Egypt, the parting of the Red Sea, the pillar of cloud by day, and pillar of fire by night were meant to change them forever. They had a holy history to draw upon.
I often talk to men my age, in their 50s, who are facing uncertainties common to this stage of life: health, money, and career. Many are gripped with cynicism and feel like pseudo losers as they compare themselves with others. They repeat the error of the Israelites by refusing to connect the dots of God’s patterns of grace in their lives.
Let’s stop it.
Our life-long body of work is remarkable. Can we see the strong arm of the Lord—very much alive—in our lives? Young or old, we have a holy history to draw upon. It speaks volumes about God’s love and intentions for our future. God’s relentless and shameless pursuit of us, individually, by His own flesh, ought to convince us to run to Him without hesitation—and certainly without cynicism. But, nonetheless, we forget what He is like. If we knew God like David did, we would pray outrageously, too.
What kinds of things did David know about God that gave him the freedom to hide in the Lord’s arms while covered with filthy guilt? Just read Psalm 86 that David wrote on another occasion. It explodes with insight into what God is like. You’ll be reminded again that, like David, you can pray into the uncertainty, never predicting the Lord’s actions but anticipating grace.
Today, almost three years later, I’m ready to re-enter normal life, and uncertainty still abounds. But I’m different this time. I had no special assurance then or now— nor did King David with his baby. But I pray without hedging. God’s sheer attributes in Scripture, His history in my life, His current action in His body of believers, and the example of King David have changed my cynicism to anticipation. It’s almost appalling.
Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to Him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.”
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
Special Notes
There will be no Every Thought Captive devotionals for August 1 and August 8 due to staff summer vacations.
Recently, Jay Hohfeler spoke at PCPC’s Summer Stories of Rescue series, recounting four areas of rescue the Lord brought in his life over the last three years after a serious cancer diagnosis. Here are links to his previous entries:
February 28: Abundance: My Way or God's Way?
July 11: Rescue through Suffering
July 18: Rescue from Cynicism
I know that ache. I was brought up in a home that was affluent, detached, and not safe. I regularly wondered if my Mom and Dad really loved me. I’m sure they did, but, nonetheless, I developed a hole in my heart that I carried into adulthood. It was a low-grade rumble in friendships, marriage, and even my relationship with Christ. That’s why I could especially relate to this account of Jesus with the woman at the well. I wanted a drink of water from Jesus that would make me never thirst again. The desire of my heart was to be loved unconditionally. For 40 years, I alternated between finding counterfeit sources and just begging God for relief.
When I contracted cancer three years ago, I watched God move dramatically to quench that thirst once and for all. After successful chemotherapy and a bone marrow transplant, I encountered some severe complications with my new immune system. Treatment was effective but left me with collateral damage of osteoporosis, seven fractured vertebrae, cataracts, diabetes, and nausea 24/7 for months on end. Pain and medication made it difficult to talk, read, or think straight. This level of despair and helplessness was a rung lower than I had ever imagined. Time dragged on with little change. I used to be a “somebody”–valued at work, being the dad with all the good ideas, the funny one, and the guy who could fix things around the house. Then, however, my kids didn’t ask for help and forgot to share exciting news with me, and the neighbor was changing light bulbs for my wife. I was alone on the couch—a “nobody.” I delivered no value to anyone, on any front, and couldn’t think lucidly enough to pray. I knew, intellectually, none of us could bring performance to the table for God. But, honestly, I had nothing—just abject brokenness.
Then Christ poured real love into me. Of all times! I saw remarkable intervention and specific acts of grace and mercy that only He could know. How could it be? Scripture like John 4—and dozens of others—convinced me of Jesus’ desire to love people who have nothing to offer. They have a thirst that must be quenched once and for all. There is something altogether different about reading Scripture when all you have is the Lord—and He is pleased to minister to you. His words leapt off the page. I was satisfied and without fear. It was like a cool drink of water.
God healed the hole in my heart about Him, but He also addressed the hole in my heart in my marriage, too. That deficit from childhood was evident as I tried to perform well to be loved. To be attractive to my wife, Beth, I’d try displaying all sorts of personas: the strong silent type, the accomplished career man, the funny guy, the servant husband, etc. None worked. One time, Beth suggested I stop trying to be attractive and try being genuine. I couldn’t do that; she’d despise what she saw. Then cancer struck. Chemotherapy ravaged my body like almost nothing else can. I lost 30 pounds, lost all hair, was continually nauseous, pathetically weak, and had to be driven everywhere by Beth. I was thirsty for the unconditional love of my wife. Truthfully, it was always there; I was just unable to receive it. Jesus was about to give me a drink that would never make me thirst again.
It happened in several ways, but one night was a turning point. Beth was already in bed reading. I came along later and hauled my bag of bones into the bed beside her, at which point she put down her magazine and rolled over to face me. She put her cheek up against my cheek and said, “I love you so much. You’re the bravest man I know.” Is there a more powerful message a wife could give her husband? Then it occurred to me that, once again, Beth was declaring her love at the most unlovable point in my life. I was physically hideous, not working, helpless, and no longer that interesting—yet was receiving an answered prayer to the desire of my heart. I started noticing the depth of her love in her actions: the phone calls on my behalf, the medical interventions, the accommodations for meals, germ prevention, friends and family updates, scheduling and caring for the household and children. She was 12 steps ahead at all times.
It was like a switch was thrown inside me. I have never again wondered whether God or my wife loves me. Not a chance. Look how creatively God answered the cry of my heart. Did it really take cancer? I think so. Our Lord is relentless when it comes to making us like Him. He’s not fooling around. I needed rescue in the worst way. It’s a miracle Jesus would care. I promise you; the water He gave me makes me thirst no more.
Phillip is originally from Atlanta, Ga., and moved to Texas to attend SMU. Upon graduation, he served as a campus intern for RUF at Mercer University. Phillip married his wife Christina in 2012, and they moved back to Dallas.
Phillip is currently in his second year at Redeemer Seminary pursuing an MDiv and is the small groups coordinator for PCPC.
Recently in a class at Redeemer Seminary, one of my professors assigned us a book intent on tracing the theme of shame through many of St. Paul's letters. I found that not only was this theme present, Paul actually spent an enormous amount of time addressing the causes, expressions, and effects of shame among those in the church. What’s more, the concept of shame is not unique to Paul’s writings! On the contrary, it is a reality that is as old as the Garden of Eden and as pervasive as human life.
The reality of our world is this: all people feel shame at various points in life. If the Israelites of the Old Testament experienced shame and the Apostle Paul worked arduously through shame with those in churches he planted, how could we expect it to not be a part of our Christian experience? Shame is not something to just protect against; it is a reality that must be confronted if we want to see how the Gospel transforms life.
To get a real sense of the gravity of our shame problem, think back to the very beginning, to our first parents, Adam and Eve. After God creates woman as the only suitable one for man—the only one worthy of accompanying him and him worthy of her—the section closes with a peculiar detail, one that seems out of place. Genesis 2:25 reads, “The man and his wife were both naked and were not ashamed.” The inclusion of this description leads us to ask why this detail is here. Well, if you know what comes next, you know that Adam and Eve’s freedom from shame is about to disappear forever. Shame is so close, so germane to our experience as humans that God points it out here at the beginning of our story, almost as if to say, “You’ll recognize this when you see it.”
And we do recognize shame, but often we are paralyzed by it. In fact, the effects of shame can so cloud our minds and entomb our hearts that we see isolation, not freedom, as the preferable way of life. We choose willful imprisonment instead of liberation. A young man overcome with feelings of worthlessness once said to me that he would rather go through life friendless than have friends who know him as he really was.
There is a large segment of Christians, however, who would rather discount and ignore the reality of shame than deal with the mess that it brings. And although the fear of getting mired in the mess that talking with someone in their shame—much less publicly and appropriately bearing our own—brings is reasonable, it must be resisted. Why? Because we will not understand the significance of the work of Christ to undo our shame until we see ourselves for the shameful people that we really are.
So what are we to do with our shame? First, uncover shame in your life and in the lives of those around you. If shame were given a voice, it would not say, “You have done something bad,” but rather, “You are a bad person.” Shame seeks to rob us of our worth, value, and dignity as men and women made in God’s image. Uncovering it and laying it bare begins the movement toward a life unencumbered by shame. To begin, take a spiritual inventory by asking yourself questions like:
Be ruthlessly honest.
Second, we must seek to know real freedom from the captivity of our shame. Because it feeds on dignity, inherent to all persons, shame cannot be purged abruptly. It also does not attack once and then leave us alone. Repeated truth telling about who we are in Christ by others and ourselves is required to continually kill feelings of shame and restore us.
Third, maintain hope for the day when we, as God’s people, will no longer know shame. Since shame exists as a social reality, when Christ comes to consummate His relationship with His people, our relationship with God and with one another will be perfectly restored and glorified, and shame will see its final death. We need to encourage one another to long for this day, to pray for it, and to live in the reality that it is indeed coming.
Shame is so vile that the Psalmist, after crying out to God for relief, wishes it upon his enemies (Psalm 31:17). He expresses this punishment primarily in terms of silencing them forever. To the righteous, however, God gives a voice. He inclines His ear to them, hears them, and relieves their distress. In fact, God has promised us that He will hear us whenever we cry to Him. “And this is the confidence that we have toward Him, that if we ask anything according to His will He hears us” (1 John 5:14).
And what more shall I say? For time would fail me to tell of Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah...of whom the world was not worthy...
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
I have been convinced for some time that children get far too much glee from pointing out inconsistencies. Say you take an alternate route to the grocery store. Any three year old, who may as well think the sun rises in the west, will announce that you are lost, criticize your decision-making, and give you “better,” unasked for directions. To what else can we credit the longevity of Sesame Street and the ubiquity of the magazine Highlights except a child’s singular joy in noticing one of these things doesn’t belong with the others and the many small ways that two pictures can differ from each other.
As a parent, you sometimes grit your teeth in annoyance, but mostly, you see it for what it is. The world is a bit beyond them, and they are simply trying to make sense of it all. The inconsistencies present to them a new world, and they have to grapple with that. I have often felt that way reading God’s Word. Here is a familiar but different world that is a bit beyond me, and I have to grapple with it.
Take Hebrews 11:32. Here is such a jarring inconsistency that any child would surely explode with delight. Hebrews 11 is the iconic chapter of faith, the sometimes-named Hall of Fame of Faith, which sounds deliciously American, though not especially biblical. And yet, as you read it, the men and women of faith grow out of the pages like mountains. By faith, they are spirited to heaven, condemn the world, then save the world, reverse infertility and old age, become land squatters, prophesy, emancipate an enslaved nation, disperse water like leaves on a sidewalk, implode city walls, and–you get the picture. These are the giants of the faith. As it says in verse 16, God is not ashamed to be called their God. And so the section ends triumphantly with, “…what more shall I say?” What else, indeed.
But, apparently, the writer to the Hebrews can’t help himself. The great faithful ones keep popping into his head. Who can forget these great men of faith: Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah…wait…what? These guys? Fearful Gideon who needed five different miracles before he would trust God? Barak isn’t even the main character in his own story! Deborah had to lead him by the hand into battle. Jephthah’s “faith” in God led him to turn his daughter into a burnt offering and a family squabble into genocide. And then Samson. Oh, Samson. He was tasked with one job from God: to free Israel from the Philistines. So he got self-destructively hooked on Philistine women. When Delilah came on the scene, she didn’t even have to disguise the fact that she was trying to destroy him.
And here at verse 32, my inner preschooler can’t resist shouting backseat instructions to God. You’re going the wrong way. These guys are more failure than success. This doesn’t fit. Yet here they are, and this is the strange world that God asks us to grapple with—a world where failures sometimes find themselves celebrated for faith, where grace is beyond us, and our thoughts about faith are challenged.
You see, Hebrews 11 isn’t about the power of faith for awesome deeds. It is the battle between faith and cynicism. Verse 1 tells us that faith is being sure of hope and trusting in what we can’t see. All these people—yes, even Samson—looked forward to God’s promises and held onto God. They trusted in what they couldn’t yet see. A better Kingdom was coming, and all failure, sin, and disappointment, even the rolling of eyes, would be dealt with and undone. Only vision empowered by grace can have the faith to take the long view of things and to see past hurt and brokenness.
For how could you not become cynical in Samson’s time? God promises you a kingdom then raises up a great warrior to defeat your enemy, but Samson practically trips over himself to give his power away and become a slave to said enemy. Wow. Might be time to set our sights lower. Here’s prudence: keep your cards close and your opinions harsh. Dole out little hope and less grace. And give up on the whole Kingdom thing anyway, ‘cuz listen, kid, the bottom always drops out. We knew it would.
But faith says to keep looking ahead. For there is a strange grace that lurks at the bottom of dry wells and at the feet of all failures, and it is the only kind of grace there ever was. Grace gave a blind, imprisoned Samson the faith to see that the Kingdom comes not through power, but through sacrifice, and only then did he do his task. Faith says to you in disappointment, failure, and cynicism to take the long view, for Christ has dealt with sin. And He will come again, and then hope will be true. He is the Kingdom. He is the rest. And one day, He will make all things new.
Fret not yourself because of evildoers;
be not envious of wrongdoers!
For they will soon fade like the grass
and wither like the green herb.
Trust in the LORD, and do good;
dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.
Delight yourself in the LORD,
and He will give you the desires of your heart.
Tim was raised in Phoenix, Ariz., and received a BA in Psychology from Wheaton College in 1980 and later his Masters of Biblical Studies from Dallas Theological Seminary. He and his wife Laura have been married since July 2006, and together have seven children and four grandchildren.
Tim's role at First Presbyterian Church in Chattanooga, Tenn., began in March 2010. Previousy, he served for 18 years at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas.
“Fret not” and “delight yourself.” Is fretting the opposite of delighting? Is delighting in the LORD the remedy for fretting?
Fretting…
So, what is fretting? Fretting occurs when we repeatedly focus our attention on the wrong object. David tells us not to fret over the evildoer or be envious of the wrongdoer. We can spend an hour looking at the news, fretting over Muslims who decapitate children in honor of their false god…or focusing on an elected leader who is purposely leading us away from trusting in the one true God. David says we are not to fret over the evil or wrongdoer (in his typical metaphorical fashion) because evildoers will fade and wither like grass. The evildoer is a temporal object, so David pushes us to accept that those who appear to be in control are not ultimately in control.
Delighting…
Delight is not the tingle of excitement that accompanies your first date; well actually, it kind of is like that. The Hebrew word for delight is a word that means to be delicate or feminine, to be dependent upon and to derive one’s pleasure from Him. On a date, some girls think, “This could be my knight in shining armor… This could be the one who takes care of me… This could be the one with whom I can be vulnerable and delicate because he is trustworthy, capable, and will always be committed to me.” There is a sheer joy that accompanies us when we find the person who is so qualified and committed. That excitement can make us giggle with delight.
But David uses the command form when he tells us to delight in the LORD. How can he command us to delight? David is commanding that we derive our utmost pleasure from the LORD. His corrective to fretting is “Delight yourselves in the LORD,” so the LORD is the correct object for our focus.
The word in our English Bible for the Hebrew word Yahweh is written as LORD, with all capital letters. Yahweh is one of the ways God identifies Himself, as seen in Exodus 3:15-16, when God reveals Himself to Moses as Yahweh. Yahweh means the always God—the God who always was, who is now, and who always will be.
Tying what we’ve learned about fretting and delighting together, David’s argument in this Psalm is to not fret by looking to the temporal evildoers, but instead, delight yourself in the eternal, permanent God.
One more thought on this revelation of God as Yahweh. God is saying to His people quite a few things when He identifies Himself as Yahweh:
David turns us from fretting over the temporal to trusting the eternal when he commands us to delight in the LORD. He may command us because when the Spirit reveals the LORD to us, we become delicate, frail, and dependent. We recognize that we are but creature and that He is Creator. We see that we are bent by nature and that only He can make us straight again. Yes, we have been found by the One in whom all of our dreams have been fulfilled. Oh, delight in the LORD for He is the One!
Doing Good…
Before we end this little devotional, notice verse 3 of our Psalm, “Trust in the LORD, and do good; dwell in the land and befriend faithfulness.” Doing good works doesn’t earn us salvation. Doing good while we are here on earth manifests the good of His eternal Kingdom. Remember how Jesus went about doing good while He was here on earth? He Himself says it this way, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven” (Matthew 5:16). As we delight in the LORD as our greatest hope, we manifest our hope in Him by doing good. Counter the evildoer by being a good doer. The children of darkness do evil; the children of light do good.
Even now, as we go about doing good, look into the skies and delight in the fact that He will return to make all things new and take us so that we may be with Him forever. Oh yes, He is the One! Delight in the LORD for He is the One!
Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.
See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ. For in Him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in Him, who is the Head of all rule and authority.
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
Dietrich Bonfoeffer wrote that, “Christianity means community through Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ.”1 The Church of Jesus Christ is a community of believers united together as they are united to Christ. Christian community is only intelligible in so much as it is founded in the blood of Christ, “that a Christian needs others because of Jesus Christ.”2 What this means is that I am called to be in community with other believers in Christ Jesus because we are mutually united to the same Christ Jesus. The same Christ that dwells in me also dwells in my Christian brothers and sisters. In this sense, my personal redemption is not personal at all, but rather shared in our mutual comm-union with Christ.
The concept of our mutual comm-union with Christ is central to Paul’s understanding of the Gospel and the Christian life. Paul uses the phrase “in Christ” over 100 times in the New Testament to describe the community of Christ and our union with Him. And in many ways, this is the central theme of Paul’s letter to the Colossians. In Colossians 2:9-10, Paul says, “For in Him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in Him, who is the Head of all rule and authority.” In these verses alone, there is so much encouragement for the community of Christ. First, we notice that in Christ dwells “the fullness of deity.” Simply put, God is found completely and wholly in the bodily person of Christ. All the attributes and abilities of God then are complete and full in Christ’s character and ability. For the Church of Christ, this mirrored image means that Jesus is to be esteemed above all others; He alone is Savior and God. He is to be worshipped and honored, and the whole of our lives should be completely oriented around Him. Ultimately, we cannot fully know God apart from our knowledge of Jesus Christ.
Next, Paul goes on to say that we ourselves have been filled in Christ. This directly speaks to our union with Christ as He dwells fully in us. All that He has in His provision and resources as the manifestation of God is now ours also. Therefore, the Church of Jesus Christ is never wanting for anything as our only true satisfaction is found solely in the fullness of Christ that fills each and every one of us who is united with Him.
Lastly, Paul tells us that Christ is the “Head of all rule and authority” over the Church. The concept of Christ’s headship is essential to our understanding of community in Christ for, “it may be said that no aspect of Christ’s relationship to the church looms larger in Holy Writ than the fact that He is its Head.”3 There are two primary aspects to Christ’s headship over the Church: His authority over the Church and His provision for the Church as His own Body.
With regards to authority, Christ is to be exalted as King of Kings and Lord of Lords over the Church. That is to say, Christ is our King, and we are His subjects. We pledge our allegiance to Him and to no other. He governs His Church through the authority of His Word and Spirit. This concept was the battle cry of the reformers who sought to appropriately align the authority of the Church under the authority of Christ by His governance through the Word. Paul clarifies in Ephesians 2:20 that the Church is “built on the foundation of the apostles and the prophets, Christ Jesus Himself being the cornerstone.” The true Church of Jesus Christ is found where His word is faithfully preached as authoritative and sufficient for instructing the whole of Christian life.
With regards to provision, Christ is the organic builder of the Church. Christ is the Head, and the Church is the body. This aspect is later described in Colossians 2:19, that the Church should hold fast to Christ, the Head, “from whom the whole body, nourished and knit together through its joints and ligaments, grows with a growth that is from God.” There is an intimate connection between Christ and His Church; this is our union with Christ. There is no life for the Church outside of Jesus Christ. In fact, it can be said without reservation that the Church cannot truly exist apart from Jesus Christ.4 He is its architect, its builder, and its sustainer. He is the architect in the sense that the Church is His vision and His design. He is the builder in the sense that the Church is founded and formed by the work of Christ. It is not made with brick and mortar but with the body and the blood of Jesus. And He is the sustainer in the sense that the Church finds all provision and continued existence in the perpetual mediation of Christ as our Savior and High Priest.
As Jesus says in the Gospel of John 15:5, “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.”
Endnotes:
1 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, Trans. By John W. Doberstein (San Francisco: Haper Collins, 1954) 21.
2 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, 21.
3 R. B. Kuiper, The Glorious Body of Christ (Carlise: Banner of Truth Trust, 1967) 91.
4 R. B. Kuiper, The Glorious Body of Christ. 94.
For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from Him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
Trust in Him at all times, O people;
pour out your heart before Him;
God is a refuge for us.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
I don’t mean quiet. We can achieve, tolerate, and even enjoy quiet. We love to go on a quiet run away from the noisy world and its worries. We love to take a long, peaceful walk by the lake. We love the idea of a quiet hike in the Rockies with nothing but the chirping of a bird or the scampering of a squirrel to break the stillness. We love the idea of a quiet autumn morning on the back porch with a cup of coffee and a favorite book or weekend newspaper. We can tolerate—and even enjoy—quiet. But silence is difficult. Quiet is the whispering wind; silence is the muggy absence of it. Quiet often creates peace; silence creates anxiety. Quiet requires seeking and discovering; silence requires waiting and surrender. Silence is empty. Silence is worrying. Silence is uncontrollable. Silence is a vacuous. Silence suggests a noise or voice is desired and expected but isn’t coming. Silence suggests the absence of something capable of responding. A desire unmet. An invitation unrequited. There is a relational feel (or absence) to silence. Silence is difficult.
In our lives, God sometimes feels quiet. That is tolerable, or if we lean in to listen and discover, even enjoyable. But it’s a whole other thing when God feels silent. What do we need when we sense God is silent with us? An ANSWER! To our request. To our issue. To our problem. To our doubt. Right? No. An answer isn’t enough. It’s too temporary and too small. It’s not worth placing your hope in. It won’t last and might not lead to what you hope it will lead to. New requests arise. New doubts surface. New issues emerge. New pain develops. God may graciously answer our requests, but we won’t find peace in the waiting until our hope is Him. That’s what the psalmist is proclaiming to his own soul, and that’s what we must re-preach to ourselves time and time again:
“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for your hope is from Him.”
If you are growing bitter or resentful waiting in silence, it might be because you are still waiting on the wrong thing. You have misguided hope. Your desire for an answer has become your beginning and your end. So God lets you wait because He knows what you ultimately need is not an answer, but Him. He is the answer. You just aren’t convinced of it yet. Your answer is still more important than Him. Only painful silence could be so convincing. An answer simply won’t do. He won’t let you settle for less. He quietly, with bridled power and steadfast love (see end of Psalm 62), guides you through silence to a hope unfailing—a rock, a fortress, and a refuge for your soul. If ever you feel utterly alone in the waiting, find company and comfort in Another whose desperate cry was unresolved, whose question was left unanswered in His hour of need:
“My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?”
The Lord Jesus. He already asked the question you struggle with in the silence. How did He endure such painful silence? He delighted above all things in the Father. So should you and I. Our Rock. Our Salvation. Our Fortress. Our Refuge. Our hope is from Him. Cling to Him, O my soul.
“Trust Him at all times, pour out your heart before Him. God is a refuge for us.”
As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.
Tim was raised in Phoenix, Ariz., and received a BA in Psychology from Wheaton College in 1980 and later his Masters of Biblical Studies from Dallas Theological Seminary. He and his wife Laura have been married since July 2006, and together have seven children and four grandchildren.
Tim's role at First Presbyterian Church in Chattanooga, Tenn., began in March 2010. Previousy, he served for 18 years at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas.
How do you deal with rich or wealthy people? In some ways we are to treat the rich the way that we treat everyone else, but there are some particular side effects to being rich. Most of us think that rich is that other guy, not me. Rich is someone who has more than I do. If you looked into your closet this morning in order to decide what to wear, you are rich. If you drove your car today, you are rich. If you decided whether or not you would eat breakfast this morning, you are rich.
I have great news for some of us—if you make $48,000-plus annually, it places you in the top 1 percent of global wage earners. But discovering that doesn’t make you jump up and shout, “Yay, I am rich! I am rich!” Discovering that you are better off than most people in the world doesn’t really make you feel rich. Most of us are rich compared to most of the world, but most of us don’t feel like we are rich. (By the way, I really benefitted by reading Andy Stanley’s book, How to Be Rich, and his teaching influences some of these thoughts.)
In order to take the Bible seriously, we must realize that we are rich, and that being wealthy has side effects. Timothy, while he was at Ephesus, was surrounded by “wealthy converts” to Christianity due to the commercial nature of that city. It was a booming port city where merchants could make a lot of money. So Paul tells Timothy to instruct the rich, and Paul told Timothy three things about preaching to rich people.
Rich people confuse actually being rich with feeling rich (v.17)
So if you don’t think that you are rich, then you won’t listen to this Scripture. Many are rich but don’t feel it, and feeling rich is what makes being rich fun. When is the last time you felt rich? When I was nine years old, I won a contest for a free Icee every day for a year. I felt like the richest kid in the world. I’d walk down the street with my Icee in my hand so proud, but then the other kids started to ask me for my Icee. With my daily supply of Icees, I felt rich!
Margin is what makes us feel rich. Margin is the freedom to spend more combined with the discipline to spend less. If you want to feel rich, you must downsize until you create enough margin to feel rich. If you are freaking out about cutting back, then you’re suffering from feeling entitled. If you are quite wealthy but do not have margin, you don’t feel wealthy; instead, you are just trying to keep up your commitments. If we don’t feel rich, generally we are not truly grateful to God.
Rich people are plagued by discontentment because we become haughty, arrogant, and entitled (verse 17)
Our desire for newer and nicer has fed an appetite titled “more,” and we think that we deserve more. We make a huge assumption that because we have this money and stuff, that it is all for our consumption. Our appetites are never fully satisfied; they just keep on growing. Every time you feed your appetite, your margin erodes.
See Proverbs 30:15, “The leech has two daughters: Give and Give. Three things are never satisfied; four never say, “Enough”: Sheol, the barren womb, the land never satisfied with water, and the fire that never says, “Enough.”
Imagine walking through the slums in Africa or in the inner city, sitting down with one of the citizens, and trying to explain the financial pressures that you feel. It would be embarrassing! We are rich, but we are not good at it because we are never satisfied.
“Upgrade” counts for more margin erosion than anything else rich people do. How do you upgrade? Phone, kitchen remodel, more clothes?
Don’t get me wrong—we are blessed to be rich. Being poor isn’t a virtue, and being rich isn’t a sin. We are able to enjoy our wealth! But watch out that we keep trusting the Provider rather than in His provision.
Rich people suffer from the migration of hope
Over time wealth becomes a substitute for God; without meaning to, we allow our hope to be placed in God’s provision rather than in God, who is our Provider. Often we hoard stuff to guard against the future rather than trust in God. We try to save our way to security. On the other hand, if you think that you are going to hope in God at the end, why not trust in God now?
Okay so what do I do? See verses 18-19.
A. Be rich in doing good works because you have the time and the money since you now have margin.
B. Be generous. Don’t just give 10 percent to the church; give a larger percentage because you are rich.
Practicing these two scriptural principles may well allow us to be good at being rich.
(Tim recently preached a four-week sermon series on being rich from August 3-24. You may listen to his sermons here. They are also available in iTunes.)
For the Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And no creature is hidden from His sight, but all are naked and exposed to the eyes of Him to whom we must give account.
Since then we have a great High Priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a High Priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but One who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
Most of us are probably able to remember a day—a long, long time ago—when going to pick up newly developed photos was an exhilarating event. We had dropped off our rolls of film or disposable cameras a week, or a day, or an hour before, and were then approaching CVS filled with great anticipation. We had not seen, edited, or shared these photos. No one had “liked” them, “regrammed” them, or commented on them. We were filled with both hope and fear as we anticipated what we might find in that little envelope. Would we be overwhelmed with the beauty of the people and places the photos captured? Would we be overcome with sweet nostalgia for the memories the photos represent? Many of us, if we are honest, looked not immediately at the people and places surrounding us, but at ourselves. Would we be satisfied with how we looked, or would our own flaws strike us glaringly? Or worst of all, would we find ourselves not to be the blossoming photographers we thought ourselves, with an entire roll overexposed?
While this may be over dramatized a bit, if many of us are honest, we often approach the Word of God with a similar mindset. We know, as the author of Hebrews has said, that the Word of God is living and active. Therefore, we approach it with a certain level of anticipation, wondering what will meet us when this living Word comes in contact with our hearts. Will we be overwhelmed with the beauty of God and the Gospel? Will we be overcome with joy? Will we rest in remembering the God who loves us and the experience of life in Him? Or will we be most aware of ourselves, struck glaringly by our own flaws and all the ways we have fallen short? Will we find ourselves to be exposed?
What is God’s intention for when this living, active Word comes in contact with our hearts? All of the above; He intends for us to be exposed—both by and for the Gospel.
None of us wants to be exposed. Exposure is one of our greatest fears. Exposure means that all the things we have tried so hard to keep hidden are seen. We see. Others see. God sees. God’s Word exposes us. The Gospel causes the thoughts and intentions of our hearts to be seen. The center, the causal core of who we are, is naked and exposed not only before our own eyes, but before the eyes of the One to whom we must give account.
We find our experience to be parallel to that of our first parents in the garden. “The man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed” (Gen. 2:25), a statement we read with wonder, with longing for the experience of “being known but not feeling exposed.”1 But we know this coveted reality did not last long. Upon Adam and Eve’s disobedience, being seen no longer felt like being loved but like being exposed and thus ashamed and afraid. It caused them to hide and to attempt, in vain, to cover themselves. We fear this exposure, but this is not the exposure that God intends.
We are not meant to look at the picture and see only ourselves; we are meant to see ourselves against the beautiful and glorious backdrop of the Gospel. The beauty of the Gospel is that it brings us to the place of exposure—our lowest point, our darkest place, the end of ourselves, where we have nowhere to hide—and it meets us there! It meets us there in the person of Jesus Christ, our great High Priest, who hung naked and exposed for us.
Exposure can make us want to hide in fear and shrink away in shame. But because Christ pleads His perfect obedience and sacrifice on our behalf, the Gospel, as it exposes us, invites us to come. The Gospel exposes so that we will come—not with our heads bowed low with shame, but with confidence; not to the back door, but before the throne; not to receive punishment, scorning, or shame, but to receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
When we come to God’s Word, we are exposed both by and for the Gospel. Here we find an exposure that both convicts and invites. Here we see not merely ourselves, but our gracious High Priest, Jesus Christ, by whom and in whom we are invited to come as we are, messy and needy but confident, before the throne of the living God, where in being fully seen and fully known, we are fully loved.
1 Ed Welch
The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
The morning air was soft and quiet. I tiptoed through the sleeping house, determined to make it outside without waking anyone. As I made my way to the door, I peeked out the window. It was early enough to be mistaken for nighttime—the moon was covered by a layer of clouds, blocking any remnants of light. It was a dark, silent morning.
Once downstairs, I quietly made the stroll towards the beach. There was not a soul around and only the accompaniment of lingering crickets in the darkness. Though it was not yet in sight, I could hear the bellowing roll of the ocean. It was consistent, powerful, and serene—a song that played through my soul like the beating of my heart. My feet met the sand, and with a flick of each foot, I left my flipflops behind as I continued towards the water. Above me, the early morning sky fell like a midnight blue blanket. Yet even in such darkness, my heart raced with excitement. I knew what was bound to come.
I found a spot to sit near the surf—far enough to avoid getting wet but close enough to catch the mist. I waited and waited. Soon a soft hue of pink caught my eye. It was subtle but brilliant. Slowly, shades of orange, pink, and red began to cut through the darkness. Faster than an instant, the darkness scattered. Daylight was coming, and darkness had nowhere to hide. A bright orange sliver appeared on the horizon—blinding yet captivating. If I blinked, I would miss it. The morning light began to rise higher and faster with each passing moment. As it climbed out of the water and into the sky, I was struck by its warmth. A new day began with a spectacular darkness-defying sunrise.
I wasn’t your typical adolescent. Each summer my family would spend time at our favorite beach retreat off the coast of Florida. Instead of sleeping in late, I set my alarm clock to go off before anyone else was awake. I spent many, many mornings watching the sunrise over the ocean—sometimes from my sandy seat on the beach and other times from the balcony with my journal in hand. Those years were formative for me. I came to know the Lord in the earliest hours of the day, before the sun was even up. I became fascinated by the powerful simplicity of light. It shattered darkness—every time. Even the darkest clouds and formidable storms scattered helplessly before the sun’s coming light. It struck me—light is victorious, every single time.
The Gospel of John begins with an incredible testimony to the power of light—specifically, the Light of the world, Jesus. Even in the bleakest, darkest hour on the hill of Calvary, darkness could not overcome the Light. As a believer, I know this truth—because of Christ, our greatest darkness of sin has been conquered. But do I live as one who knows that truth? I am convicted that I do not regularly live as one who knows that darkness has been defeated once and for all. As with many other things, I am forced to face these questions and my own doubts as I struggle to explain this world to my baby boy.
Will’s new favorite song is This Little Light of Mine. He was fascinated by the glow of a flashlight last week, and I playfully began to teach him the song. “Hide it under a bushel, NO! I’m gonna let it shine!” He gives a big belly laugh and claps his hands for more. If only there were video footage of the antics within our home. We perform quite the floorshow with this beloved tune, lights flickering on and off. It is such a simple song—one that I’ve known for as long as I can remember. But as I sing it with Will, I feel a new, deep yearning for him to grasp what it means, and therefore, I grapple with what it means. Oh Lord, how I long for him to know You—how I long for the light of Christ to dwell and shine from his young life.
I remember watching the news when Will was just three months old. The mess we had made of God’s perfect creation disheartened me. Parts of the world were exploding with anger and war and pain. As I watched my baby asleep close by—his little chest rising and falling, as steady as the tide—I almost felt the need to apologize to him. What kind of world had we created? I was saddened by the darkness of our society and sorry for the state of the world. Then light broke through. I leaned over and whispered what I knew to be true. This isn’t it, Will. We weren’t created for this world. So as you grow up in the world—take heart. Jesus has already taken care of this mess. Our biggest problem has been taken care of. Don’t lose heart. Jesus is greater. He will make all things new.
All things new—like the sunrise coming up over the water. Light defeats darkness—every time. Do you believe that? And if you believe it, do you live like you do? Let your light shine before others, that they may see and give glory to God. The flickering light switches in our house are so much more than a happy melody and silly dance. They are significant reminders of what my heart desperately needs to remember. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
You make known to me the path of life;
in Your presence there is fullness of joy;
at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Working with college students forces me to get in a time machine and ask myself, “What did I learn in college?” One lesson that stands out is a simple phrase: Jesus is joy. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). Jesus’ famous words are familiar to many people. I think I memorized that verse in high school, but I didn’t start to understand it until my college years. Where are you looking for life and joy right now? If that quest seems frustrating, do you ever ask yourself, “Why?”
When I stepped onto Duke’s campus as a freshman, I thought I knew where I would find joy during my college years. Duke basketball had a great program, and the prospects of a national championship were great. (We got one my junior year.) College was a whole new world of relationships, and the thought of meeting a special someone was exciting. (That never worked out during college.) Being far from home was a little scary, but it also offered the joys of independence and freedom. (I eventually had to learn how to do laundry.) In four years, I found some joy in sports, relationships, and parentless freedom, but the big lesson about joy I never saw coming.
I went to college as a Christian, but I didn’t understand that following Jesus could (and should) be a joyful endeavor. I knew that Jesus was God and that I should worship Him. I knew that He was King and that I should submit to Him. I knew that He was Savior and that I should trust Him. I knew that He was Friend and that I should walk with Him. What I didn’t fully grasp yet—what I’m still trying to work out today—is that Jesus is life and that I should enjoy Him.
Jesus is ______. What would you put in that blank if you were honest? Jesus is…boring? Irrelevant? No fun? Did you think to say, “Jesus is joy?” Like many college students, I thought that God’s glory and my joy were at cross purposes. If God was all about His glory and I was all about being happy, I had a choice to make, right? I could either follow Jesus and be miserable, or I could do what I wanted and be happy.
In those years, the Lord taught me that God’s great design and my deepest longings were not opposed to one another. A pastor named John Piper messed me up—in a good way—with his book Desiring God. His vision statement for his life and ministry gets right to the heart of the matter: “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” Piper simply found a different way to say what children have been learning from the Westminster Shorter Catechism for centuries. “What is the chief end of man?” “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.” Glorifying God and enjoying Him forever come together in the Christian life. We “glorify” whatever satisfies our souls, whether that’s a relationship, a sport, a meal, or success. And if that is true, then God gets the most glory when we find our ultimate joy in Him.
Why does this matter? During college, I started to see that my sinful desires had me looking for joy where it could not be found. I would taste a bit here or there, but apart from Christ, the search for joy was an endless exercise in futility. Much of what happens on campus, and everywhere else, is a picture of insanity—we return again and again to look for life in places where it can’t be found. We turn to the good gifts of God, but we try to enjoy them apart from Him. Trading God for His gifts is the recipe for idolatry and unhappiness, but Christ’s redeeming love brings us back to Him. He gives us a new heart to know Him, a heart that declares, “You make known to me the path of life; in Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
David says that God makes known to him the path of life. In other words, left to ourselves, we will never find the path. We will go on digging in the desert for water that’s not there. But God’s Word teaches us that Jesus has come into our wasteland, and He has made streams flow in the desert (Isaiah 35:6). Why would He come to earth to taste our sadness? Why would He subject Himself to the pain of the cross? The Bible answers, “For the joy that was set before Him” (Hebrews 12:2). What joy could Jesus find in the cross? It was the joy of glorifying His Father, the joy of obeying His will, and the joy of purchasing a people—a people who would know and show that Jesus is joy.
But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us. We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; cast down, but not destroyed;
Caroline grew up in Lexington, Ky., and graduated from Southern Methodist University in 2013. She was very involved in RUF as a student at SMU and was a member of PCPC. She also served as a Women’s Ministry intern at PCPC while in Dallas. She is currently working with RUF full-time at Mississippi State University in Starkville, Miss.
Two months ago, I was lying in bed falling asleep when my phone rang. It was my dad. When I picked up, he asked in a very alert and unsteady tone, “Caroline, are you awake? Something really bad has happened.” Before he could even tell me of the violence and horror that plagued my family that night, I fell apart—mentally, physically, and emotionally—simply hearing that bad news was coming.
As details of the event unfolded, it was becoming clear that my all-around “good” world of ease, comfort, and happiness had been punctured by the deepest pain and sorrow I’d yet known. What had been my stability, reality, and identity was stripped away, leaving me feeling like a hollowed out frame—raw, deflated, and without the ability to understand what was going on within me. And like that, my heavy sorrow slid into even darker fear.
In the days following, there was one clear and overarching fear that paralyzed me: This will destroy me. Various and constant “what if” scenarios filled my mind: “What if I never feel normal again?” “What if I get too unstable to do my job?” “What if I spiral out of control into depression that I never get out of?” “What if this darkness, this dullness, is permanent?” “What if this is the new me?”
Sadly, I was completely and utterly convinced that these scenarios were not simply my imagination, but a foregone reality. And furthermore, I was convinced that the sorrow, pain, and darkness that was pulling me under was more powerful, more real than Jesus. I didn’t see Jesus releasing me from His grip by choice but felt like Satan’s pull was stronger and would win the tug-of-war, and he’d crush me for good.
My community of close believing friends and the elders and pastors of my local church tightly encircled me in constant prayer amidst my tears, unpredictability, darkness, and mess. While I was seemingly so empty, so uncertain, so fearful, they were not. With the certainty and steadfastness I lacked, they poured and prayed the fullness and never-ending sweetness of the Gospel of grace over me. A dear friend pointed me to this passage from Tim Keller’s Walking with God through Pain and Suffering during an especially dark moment:
“Jesus lost all His glory so that we could be clothed in it. He was shut out so we could get access. He was bound, nailed, so that we could be free. He was cast out so we could approach. And Jesus took away the only kind of suffering that can really destroy you: that is being cast away from God. He took so that now all suffering that comes into your life will only make you great. A lump of coal under pressure becomes a diamond. And the suffering of a person in Christ only turns you into somebody gorgeous.”
This, dear brothers and sisters, is the treasure we possess in Christ. Our Substitute took on the worst-ever, unimaginable, destroying kind of suffering on the cross so that it could never touch us. This treasure, the righteousness and glory of our Savior Jesus, is everything. It is the irrevocable, immutable, and eternal protection and strength that we fragile and weak jars of clay boast and rest fully in. This treasure is a promise that you will never be destroyed. And not only is it our perfect protection, it is also what turns evil, suffering, and pain into beauty. This treasure enables us to long for Jesus to return, a day of glory the Lord promises will be worth the dark night of pain.
The Lord graciously and mercifully used this season of darkness and sorrow to draw me near to Him, not to release me into Satan’s hand to be chewed up and spit out. The treasure I possess makes that cosmically impossible. Crying out to the Lord in deep distress and fear was not a “last hope” prayer after all; it was a sure promise—more sure than the evil I was convinced was ripping me from my Father’s hand. What felt like the Lord losing His grip on me was actually Him helping me release my tight clinch on deep-seated idols of comfort and ease that had to be removed for my own good and protection. And I began to live in the freedom of Gospel reality, free from the fear of the “what ifs” of tomorrow as God exposed their powerlessness.
I’m constantly reminded as I meet with college girls everyday that yes, this world is dark. This year I’ve listened to accounts of abusive parents, anxiety and depression, mental illness, self-harm, rape, disbelief, and physical health problems. O, how these pains cut deeply into my heart, but we have this treasure. This treasure doesn’t make awful things go away, but it ensures that Jesus will not let these awful things crush us, destroy us, or bring death. Jesus enters into pain with us; He knows exactly what it feels like; He goes through it with us and for us. The Kingdom is coming. He is healing this world, and He is healing you and me.
Not that we lord it over your faith, but we work with you for your joy, for you stand firm in your faith.
Jeremy Gabrysch is an emergency room physician and medical missionary serving at Soddo Christian Hospital in Ethiopia. His wife, Christina, serves as the guest coordinator for the visiting physicians who come to see the mission work. They have two children, Nate (6) and Taylor (3). The Gabryschs are training and discipling young national physicians as well as bringing medical care and the Gospel to the southern part of Ethiopia.
I’ll be honest with you. Doing ministry cross-culturally is not without its challenges. In fact, we’ve gone through a rather rough year here in Ethiopia. Our good friends, neighbors, and partners in ministry moved back to the U.S. Our kids lost a lot of their good friends this year, and their behavior has definitely taken a turn for the worse. We’ve been working tirelessly, and Christina and I both are exhausted.
Recently, I realized that I was losing my joy. “But does that really matter?” I wondered. I know we’re called to be here, so can’t I just dutifully serve out my calling? Do I really need to be joyful?
I’ve always been a big fan of John Piper’s teaching, and his messages on Christian Hedonism and missions that I heard when I was 21 are a big reason that we are in the mission field. The central thesis of Christian Hedonism is that “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in him.” Happily, joyfully satisfied. Christian Hedonism builds on the theology of Jonathan Edwards who resolved this at the tender age of 20:
Resolved, to endeavor to obtain for myself as much happiness, in the other world, as I possibly can, with all the power; might, vigor, and vehemence, yea violence, I am capable of, or can bring myself to exert, in any way that can be thought of.
Wait, did he say "violence?” This kind of diligence and fighting for joy has not been characteristic of me this year. I have reluctantly resigned to duty. But I need to fight for joy with all my “power, might, vigor, and vehemence, yea violence.” Paul told the Corinthians that he was working with them for their joy (2 Cor 1:24). How am I working for my joy? All of us, and certainly those of us in ministry, must make happiness in God our primary aim. Without it, we will surely burn out. We cannot focus on ministry results, fellow staff who seek to undermine us, persecution, or even a lack of appreciation from those to whom we minister. Paul experienced all this and much more.
The joy comes from fellowship with God. It comes from intentional time in His Word. And it comes from taking heaven by storm, as in the title of the great Puritan classic by Thomas Watson, Heaven Taken by Storm, Or, the Holy Violence a Christian Is to Put Forth in His Pursuit after Glory. Like Edwards, Watson described a holy violence—a literal fighting, grasping, and clawing for joy in God; a constant, delightful pursuit of the glory of God, because, as Jesus said, heaven is taken “by force” (Matt 11:12).
I am rediscovering this kind of fighting. As a missionary and a minister of the Gospel, I long to lead others into that happiness that is found in God. But I can’t give what I don’t have. I pray that I will delight in God again. As I read his Word, I am praying for God to return this joy to my soul. I am so thankful that we hold the very words of God to live by, and I pray that His voice will ignite happiness in my life again. I recently read this from Spurgeon and think it’s quite appropriate:
In His written Word thou hast this assurance in part fulfilled, for holy Scripture is His counsel to thee. Happy are we to have God's Word always to guide us! What were the mariner without his compass? And what were the Christian without the Bible? This is the unerring chart, the map in which every shoal is described, and all the channels from the quicksands of destruction to the haven of salvation mapped and marked by One who knows all the way. Blessed be Thou, O God, that we may trust Thee to guide us now, and guide us even to the end!
And He said to His disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing."
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
And He said to His disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. For life is more than food, the body more than clothing.” Luke 12:22-23
When I was about seven years old, my family and I were at Pine Cove Family Camp for the first time. It was the best place for families. The kids got to hang out with awesome counselors during the day while our parents attended seminars with amazing speakers and simply enjoyed fellowship without the maniacal children clawing at their pant legs. It was a place of true shalom for every member of the family. The first morning there I found myself without an appetite, and before the end of breakfast, I was in tears saying, “I don’t want to go to day camp!” What was my problem? I was anxious. Even though all peace and happiness lay ahead of me, I couldn’t get over the fact that I wasn’t going to be with my parents for eight hours.
Fast forward to fourth grade. I had a poetry recital for my English class. Once again, I felt nauseous and didn’t want to go, but this time I faked being sick to avoid having to deliver my sonnet by Longfellow.
Fast forward again to September 16, 2012, at Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas. Our first child, Stella Elizabeth Stimson, had just been born at 2:21 pm. However, within about 10 minutes, the doctors and nurses realized there was a problem. Stella was struggling to breathe. Before we knew it, we were having a conversation with the NICU head nurse about Stella having an infection in her lungs. She was headed to the NICU to run more tests. They told us to go to our room and wait for a phone call. Anxiety loomed like a storm cloud ready to rain down panic at any moment!
Think about your story, your life. What makes you anxious? The word for anxious in this passage from Luke comes from a root word meaning part or division. Ultimately, to be anxious could be translated to be divided or to have many cares. Right before this famous command in Luke 12:22, a man approaches Jesus demanding that his brother “divide the inheritance” with him; again, divide comes from the same word as to be anxious. What’s the point? When we are anxious, our attention, our faith, our affections are divided among many things.
This division of affection occurs because of one fundamental problem—not believing that God is good and will provide. Jesus, like a good pastor, goes on in Luke 12:24-28 to give two metaphors to demonstrate His point. When we get anxious, Jesus wants us to think about birds and flowers. “Consider the ravens, they neither sow nor reap…of how much more value are you than they! …Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin… but if God so clothes the grass, which is alive today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith!” God created us to be in fellowship with Him, perfectly trusting Him to provide our every need as He did for Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, but our human condition, as passed down from our first father and mother, is to be tempted to question God’s goodness and provision. When we do this, we take matters into our own hands and usurp God by providing what we think we need. This practice is the root of sin, which is the root of anxiety.
So when Jesus commands us not to be anxious, are we supposed to just pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, memorize Luke 12, and never be anxious again? Jesus continues with this: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom.” God doesn’t just command things of us and then wait for us to keep our end of the deal. He provides the plan and the means to carry out that plan. And we know this because of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Christ was tempted in every way that we are, yet He did not sin.
In Gethsemane, Jesus is filled with anxiety about what is to come. He cries out, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me.” Jesus’ statement to His Father is more of a request. Jesus was not just fully God, but fully human. He knew the pain and agony He was about to experience both physically and spiritually. If there was another way, Jesus wanted that. But where your humanity and mine would have failed, as mine has over and over throughout my life, Jesus’ prevailed in the statement of faith tacked on to this request, “Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done.”
God desires that we not be anxious. Why? Because He wants us to live for Him in His Kingdom that He is providing for us rather than worrying about our own kingdom and how we will provide for ourselves. Do you believe that God will provide your daily needs? Are you living for His Kingdom or yours? What are you anxious about right now? Jesus declares that God cares about the birds and the flowers, but how much more does He care about you, those made in His image? He cares so much that He was willing to lay down His life because of our sin and lack of faith so that we would know the extent God is willing to go to to care for His flock. Peter, the man who denied Jesus because of his anxiety over his own well-being, writes, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:6-7)
And they came to Jericho. And as He was leaving Jericho with His disciples and a great crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, the son of Timaeus, was sitting by the roadside. And when he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he cried out all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart. Get up; He is calling you.” And throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. And Jesus said to him, “What do you want Me to do for you?” And the blind man said to Him, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.” And Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed Him on the way.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. His little march up and down the driveway is like a miniparade. He is focused and determined—the perfect combination for a new walker. He pauses to notice a passing car or to reroute his push toy but then returns to his task. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. And then in a moment’s notice, he stops in his tracks. Head tilted towards the sky, his face lights up with excitement as his tiny finger shoots towards the treetops. A plane! He hardly moves as the tiny speck in the sky inches slowly overhead—his finger following as though tracing a line. The plane disappears beyond the rooftop, and he looks to me with a proud sense of accomplishment. “Did you see it, Mama? Wasn’t it amazing?” he seems to say. Then just like that, he’s back to business. Pitter-patter.
To tell you the truth, I don’t think I have ever noticed a plane flying over our house, and we’ve lived here for three-and-a-half years. Not once can I recall noticing a plane. As it turns out, our neighborhood is in the shadow of a very well traveled landing route for planes coming into Dallas. I now know that hundreds of planes soar over my head every single day…and close enough to see! It took the wonder of a precocious and observant toddler to bring this to my attention…over and over and over again, each day. In a beautiful, new way, through Will’s wonder, I am learning to see.
In the Gospel of Mark, Jesus and His disciples encounter a blind man sitting by the side of the road. Upon hearing the commotion that the Messiah was passing by, the beggar creates a scene, desperate to attract the attention of Jesus. Though many try to silence his persistent cry, the blind man succeeds. Jesus calls him and asks a simple question, “What do you want Me to do for you?” The man responds with a simple, faith-filled answer, “Lord, I want to see.” He trusted that Jesus was able to do the impossible—to restore sight to a blind beggar. The Savior shows awesome mercy to a man as simple and desperate as you and me. Miraculously healed. Can you imagine what it must have been like for him to see?
I have thought so often of this particular account from Mark 10. A man, physically blind, seeks the thing he desperately needs: sight. Though I don’t know this physical need, I know it as a spiritual need. Daily, I need the Lord’s grace to give me eyes to see. To see my sin. To see my Savior. To see other people—their hurts and needs. To truly and clearly see.
An unexpected blessing of being involved in youth ministry is that you can’t help but revisit your own high school days. Whether they were glory days or days you’d just as soon forget, working with high school or college kids almost forces you to crack open the memory book. In this process, I have found plenty of laughs, but I have also studied components of “high school Ann” and found myself wishing I had done things differently. I loved high school—I had great friends, a loving family, and a resumé full of extra-curricular activities. Truthfully, I loved every minute of it. Looking back, I can see that I wasn’t hurting—but I know so, so many of my classmates were. I wish I had known that then. I wish I had seen the hurt—the pain of exclusion, the angst of not fitting in, the struggle of addiction, anxiety, and stress. I wish I had seen these things.
As believers, the Lord is gracious to give us new hearts and new eyes to see as He sees, and in His grace, He even gives us windows into our past to trace His faithfulness. As I look back at where I’ve been—and perhaps the ways I wish I had seen things differently—I find myself here, in this day. Oh how I long to see! How I long to see God’s glory in creation and in the spectacular and unique way He fashions His children. How I long to see the people who are hurting, broken, and desperate. How I long to see the things that break the Father’s heart…and the things that shout His praise. In my day-to-day life, I often live like a horse with blinders on his eyes; I can only see as far as the tip of my nose. God’s grace alone can remove those blinders and give me eyes to see—to see the wonderful, glorious things that make our hearts sing with praise and the heart-breaking things that bring us to our knees before the throne of grace.
It’s no secret—life with a toddler will cause you to see things in new ways. Will notices everything—a doodlebug crossing the sidewalk or a freckle on my arm that, to his dismay, just won’t come off despite his tiny finger’s persistent rub. He sees this world in an extraordinary, simple way. I beg the Lord daily that his little heart would see his Savior.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter. Look! See! A tiny plane flies overhead. Lord, we want to see. Give us eyes to see You.
So Mephibosheth lived in Jerusalem, for he ate always at the king's table. Now he was lame in both his feet.
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
When it comes to describing the character of God, Eugene Peterson writes, “[S]ometimes, the story is better than a definition.” Surely, this is what the Scripture is—a story. A story that beautifully, richly, and tangibly puts on display the character, the heart, the Gospel of God. Each individual story serves as a part of the grander narrative through which a transcendent God makes Himself known to His people. The story before us in 2 Samuel is no exception. In the story of a crippled boy dining at the king’s table, the character of the King of Kings is set gloriously on display.
This particular story starts out with David, God’s chosen king, seated upon the throne of Israel. Though God had chosen him and anointed him while only a mere shepherd boy, it was a long road to the throne. David defeated a giant, led Saul’s army, fled for his life at the hands of one of Saul’s sons, and ruled over only two of Israel’s 12 tribe—all before he took his seat as God’s appointed king over all of Israel. Once upon the throne, God moves toward David and makes a revolutionary covenant with him. God promises this king that He will establish His kingdom forever and that ultimately one greater than David would come through his line, ruling and reigning over his people as God had always intended. God promises that His steadfast love would never depart from David and thus never depart from his people.
At this point, our story picks up: David, out of the overflow of the steadfast love that has been shown and promised him by God Himself, asks, “Is there anyone left of the house of Saul, that I may show him kindness for Jonathan’s sake?” (2 Samuel 9:1). Then he asks again, “Is there not still someone of the house of Saul, that I may show the kindness of God to him?” (9:2). The answer…there is one. Mephibosheth. He was Jonathan’s son, and he was lame in both his feet.
Mephibosheth was likely not his given name. The nickname, meaning ‘shame,’ was likely given to him as a small boy when he became crippled. As a descendent of Jonathan, he would have been near to David’s heart, but as a descendent of Saul, he was an enemy to the throne. He is a crippled enemy living in exile with absolutely nothing to offer the king, and yet David says, “Go and find him.” Why? That he may show him kindness, that he might restore to him all that belonged to his family, that he might eat at the king’s table always.
Four times it is mentioned in this short story that Mephibosheth dined at the king’s table. Thus four times the loving kindness of the king is underscored. At the king’s table, an enemy is treated as a son, dishonor is turned to dignity, shame replaced with respect. At the king’s table, emptiness is filled with overflowing bounty, covenant love ensures that while a man has nothing to offer, there will always be a seat.
What a beautiful glimpse this story gives us into the heart of King David, but what an even greater glimpse it gives us into the heart of the greater David who was to come—our Savior, Jesus, the King of Kings; the King of Kings who left the glory of the throne to enter this broken and messy world in search of those to whom He might show kindness; the King of Kings who found us as enemies in exile and brought us to His table to dine as His sons; the King of Kings who took our dishonor and shame upon Himself, hanging naked on a cross and bearing the reproach we deserve; the King of Kings who has made those who come with empty hands co-heirs in His victorious inheritance; the King of Kings who has covenanted with us that nothing can separate us from His steadfast love, that there will always be a seat at His table.
The King of Kings invites us to come, so may we come, as beggars, as exiles, as enemies with empty hands and lame feet to the table of the One who has shown us steadfast love and overflowing kindness. May we find rest and fullness at His table, and fix our eyes upon that one glorious day when we will see this King seated upon His throne, when we will live in His presence in the new Jerusalem, where we will dine at His table always, and where we will be so caught up in the glory of His presence that we fail to notice the lameness of our feet.
“I am the true vine, and My Father is the vinedresser. Every branch in Me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit He prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in Me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in Me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing. If anyone does not abide in Me he is thrown away like a branch and withers; and the branches are gathered, thrown into the fire, and burned. If you abide in Me, and My words abide in you, ask whatever you wish, and it will be done for you. By this My Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be My disciples. As the Father has loved Me, so have I loved you. Abide in My love. If you keep my commandments, you will abide in My love, just as I have kept My Father's commandments and abide in His love. These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Please note that there will not be a new Every Thought Captive devotional on Friday, November 28 due to the Thanksgiving holiday.
The crumpled list says, “six apples.” Well of course it does. We always have apple pie for holiday meals. Should be easy, right? But these days we shop at one of those fancy stores, the kind that isn’t even called a “grocery store.” It’s really more like a trip to a foreign country. Just past the bin where you can purchase purple potatoes (why?) and right before the stop for baby pineapples (which aren’t even apples at all), you stand before the apples. Uh oh! Twenty yards of all kinds of apples stretch before you like a great cobblestone fruit highway. Stunned! Speechless! And right about now I’m thinking, “Can I just get a big can of pumpkin pie filling and call it done?”
On the night in which He was betrayed, while finishing the meal with His disciples, Jesus spoke about bearing much fruit, about vines and branches, and being filled with joy, and then He prayed for us. He prayed for all those who would become believers based on the witness of those disciples—that’s us, and Christ’s words about bearing much fruit are also for us.
So how does that happen, that Kingdom fruit bearing? And how do we recognize the fruit when we see it? While a lifetime can be spent contemplating those questions—and truly our lives as believers should be spent contemplating—at least three things are worthy of focused attention.
First, fruit bearing only really begins when we abide in Christ. Jesus is clear. He is the source, and He is the strength for building the Kingdom of God. That means abiding in Christ is more about “being” than it is about “doing.” It means being found in Christ, as the Apostle Paul would later say. It means dwelling in the presence of the Lord, being in Jesus as He is in the Father. But that mystery drives us to ask, “How?!” The Lord tells us. He makes clear that the center point of abiding in Christ is the Word He has spoken, the very things He heard in the presence of the Father, He has made known to those the Father has given Him. Abiding in Christ means being a person of the Word, because we are people of the Word. Is the field of your life irrigated by the Word of God?
Jesus also tells those disciples to trust and obey. To do the will of the Father means first believing in the Son. Then, obedience to Christ grows out of being in Christ.
Now in our culture, a mere lukewarm nod to the fact of Jesus is often regarded as trusting obedience, but we are increasingly aware around the globe that being Christ’s means being outcasts, anti-cultural, dangerously different. And to obey in a place where it’s not a cultural cliché requires intentionality and perseverance. But that’s exactly the kind of culture, the kind of soil, in which the Church was planted. First century Middle Eastern culture was not lukewarm about the early Church; it was hostile, but the disciples, empowered by the indwelling Spirit of God, obeyed Christ’s command. Breathtakingly, and “risk-takingly,” they demonstrated their obedience in love. First they learned to love the brotherhood of believers and then, daringly, to love their enemies. The apostle John, who leaned on Jesus’ chest in that upper room, would later write, “Whoever loves his brother abides in the light, and in him there is no cause for stumbling. But whoever hates his brother is in the darkness and walks in the darkness, and does not know where he is going, because the darkness has blinded his eyes.” Do you pray for the Lord to teach you how to love the brothers? Do you long to love even your enemies and pray for those who persecute you?
Lastly, fruit bearing happens. Those apples didn’t so much try to be apples; they are apples because they came from an apple tree. Seems self-evident, huh? But for us, it’s the same. When we are in Christ, when our lives are lived by Word and prayer, it is God’s good pleasure to bear fruit for His Kingdom through our lives. It may mean great earthly success, or it may mean martyrdom. Our fruit may be seen and known by thousands or by a grateful few. It may mean being well fed or hungry. It may mean being an outcast or an oddity at the office. But it will, according to the promise of God, mean a life of joy and a life of peace.
“I have said these things to you, that in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:33)
Happy Thanksgiving. Enjoy your pie!
“Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son,
and they shall call his name Immanuel”
(which means, God with us).
"... And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Oh how much we love this time of year! It’s Christmas time! All the Grinches retreat with frowny faces into their caves, and all the joyful people come out and sing Frank Sinatra and Michael Bublé. I love Christmas. It’s just a shame how quickly it comes and goes. Much of life is that way.
People come and go. It’s an unfortunate part of life. There are very few permanent relationships that we maintain, especially with regards to quantity of time and quality of relationship. Friendships often change. I experienced this phenomenon recently. My best friend from elementary school married, and I was not invited to the wedding. For a short time I was saddened by the reality we had grown distant, but I briefly reminisced and was thankful for the time and place of our friendship in my childhood, the role it played in my life, and how happy I am that he found the love of his life. People like that are wonderful in life, but they often come and go.
Events come and go. It’s an unfortunate part of life as well. Have you ever had a moment in time or a day in your life you wish you could somehow DVR and store in the high-definition section of your brain to be replayed from time to time? I can think of a couple—taking batting practice with my dad behind Ben Franklin Elementary School before every Little League game, or the Sunday night I was baptized and knew something significant had occurred yet wasn’t capable of putting the significance into words, or the joy of my wedding reception as I lip-synced on stage to Journey’s “Don’t Stop Believin’” as family and friends danced and celebrated with us for hours. Events like that are wonderful in life, but they often come and go.
As good as these things are, the best things in life are those that don’t come and go but remain—those that are always with us; those that arrive on the scene of our lives and grow fuller and more delightful over time. Their presence is available, and their relationship ongoing. As time passes, the relationship takes fuller color. There is an abiding presence, a remaining fellowship, an ongoing enjoyment. It’s harder to name these things, for they are fewer and far between though, in my opinion, the heart of life. They are always with us.
Immanuel. That is our introduction to Jesus. God with us. It is the echo of Advent. The One who would come in Matthew 1 and go in Matthew 28 in the exact same name…I am with you. This is the essence of our celebration of Advent: God in the flesh arrived, entered, and came for us to save those who are His from their sins. He came to do for us in human form what we could never do for ourselves, to live the life we should have lived and die the death we should have died to give us life we don’t deserve. But that’s not necessarily explicit in this name. This name implies more than God for us. It is God with us. He didn’t solely come to do something notable for us; He came to abide with us.
Immanuel. This might be the very place you need to ruminate this season because you might be like me—you often consider God doing something for you but not God abiding with you. He is an abiding presence, a remaining fellowship, and ongoing enjoyment. He grows fuller and more delightful over time. His presence is available, and his offer of relationship ongoing. He does not come and go but is with us always, even to the end of the age.
Immanuel. It might be advent-ageous to remember this season that, in Christ, God is not just for you always but with you always. The parentheses of Matthew 1:23 is the parentheses of your life. Joy to the world, the Lord is come. He is with us. Let every heart prepare Him room.
Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way. When His mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. And her husband Joseph, being a just man and unwilling to put her to shame, resolved to divorce her quietly. But as he considered these things, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream, saying, “Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins.”...When Joseph woke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him: he took his wife, but knew her not until she had given birth to a son. And he called His name Jesus.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
Joseph always seems a bit part in the Christmas pageant. A step up from the anonymous sheep and the extra star, to be sure, but his biggest scene is a nod of the head or, if he’s lucky, a line or two. But someone needs to hold the donkey, after all, and Mary cannot give birth alone in the stable. It is her first child, never mind the child being God, and she’ll need the support.
So, enter Joseph stage left with little fanfare, a kind and just man but also one not prone to drama. He wants to do things quietly. He does not possess the instant magnetism of Mary. He isn’t the pregnant virgin giving birth to God. He doesn’t get a magnificent song. No. He’s just Joe.
Joseph’s pizazz seems too ho-hum by comparison to Mary, which may explain why we gloss over his contribution so quickly, especially in pageants. Mary has Gabriel standing before her, announcing God’s favor. Wowzer! Joseph gets, after the fact, a dream. Mary cannot doubt God’s message. It presses down on her bladder and kicks her awake in the middle of the night. But Joseph, even while holding Jesus, must wonder if the dream and what Mary said were true, if he wasn’t in the end some cosmic cuckold.
In some ways, we all want to be Mary, unique and special, to have God send a special messenger to tell us one of the greatest mysteries of all time will happen within us. How warm and fuzzy we would feel about ourselves! Better still, the ease of assuaging our doubts by simply stroking our belly and waiting for the evidence inside to kick. How comforting! Yet, the thudding truth is that there can only ever be one Mary. So we must all be Joseph, sitting on the edge of the bed after a strange dream, tempted to just roll over and go back to sleep.
But that exact place¬—sitting on the edge of faith, waiting and wondering if we will get up and obey as if it were easy—that is right where Advent locates us. Not in a well-explained plan but in a call to wake up and do as told. For God begins to save His people in the confusion of life. Here is your pregnant virgin fiancée, Joseph, be still and believe. Here is very God of very God being born exactly like everyone before and after, vulnerable and weak, crying for air and milk, with a young mother praying He stays well. Joseph, see and believe. Here is the Word who created the world, needing to be carried to Egypt that He might not die before His time. Joseph, believe.
And here we sit, looking back on one Advent and anticipating another, and God continues to save us through frighteningly ordinary things. He speaks to us through His Word, by His people, in prayer, and sometimes, even still, in dreams. He tells us not to fear, that the Holy Spirit goes before us and within us. He says that Christ has died, has risen, and will come again, and thus Christ has saved and is saving us from sin.
So, Josephs, get up and believe. Walk in the light. Love your enemies. Be faithful to those whom God has given to you. Forgive. Put to death the sinful deeds of the flesh. Be joyful, gentle, kind, and patient. Control yourself. Drink this cup and eat this bread, and believe that Christ is with you always, even to the end of the age.
That sounds grand, but it isn’t. It comes in the confusion of the ordinary world. Forgiveness sometimes seems foolish, self-control impossible. Often gentleness takes too long, and patience doesn’t get things done. And in dark and lonely times, believing that Christ is with us feels nearly as ludicrous as believing your pregnant fiancée is still a virgin. But these are the ordinary moments of faith through which God saves us. He uses our obedience and trust to bring others into the fold and to heal a broken world, even if we don’t quite understand how. So go this Advent like Joseph. Hear from God, get up, and obey.
But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to Him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” Luke 10:40-42
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Will walked a country mile in those tiny boots on Thanksgiving. The pitter-patter, pitter-patter continues but with a little more trot and tumble. Watching the world unfold before a curious toddler’s eyes has done more for my soul than years of study and books.
We spent Thanksgiving Day in the pastures of East Texas. Our family farm is nestled a good distance from the highway where the lowing of cattle drowns out any hum of traffic. The pastures are wide,and the pine trees tall—“tickling the toes of angels,” as my grandmother used to say. I grew up in those pastures learning to fish and check bluebird boxes, jump hay bales and gather wildflowers. I learned to recognize a bird by its song and even how to drive in the old family pickup truck. In the country, life happened beautifully and simply for my brothers, sister, and me.
There’s something staggering and simple about being away from the buzz of city life. I am grateful that my parents pulled us away and took us to the country on a regular basis. There in the friendly plains of East Texas, I grew up in the same pastures as my grandfather. He’s the best example of a cowboy and a gentleman that I could ever give our son, and he was the first to welcome us to the ranch on Thanksgiving. We spent the day trotting around the country, picking up pinecones, and standing in awe of cows and peacocks. I watched Will breathe in the country air and felt myself take a deeper breath as well. Simple. Oh the gift of simplicity!
Amid the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, does the practice of simplicity ever cross your mind? There is so much to be done—shopping, baking, wrapping, Christmas programs, and holiday parties. The months of November and December are a blur of turkey and tinsel unless we are intentional to slow down, stop, and lean in. I relate to many characters in God’s Word—but none more than Martha, sister of Mary. When I replace Martha’s name with my own in Luke 10, I see a startling resemblance that humbles me every time I read the passage.
Jesus is visiting the sisters’ home, and Mary quickly finds herself listening and learning at the feet of Jesus. Meanwhile, Martha busies herself with making preparations and grows frustrated with her sister’s selfishness. Insert my voice (or perhaps yours?) here: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Tell her then to help me.” The kindness of the Lord’s response is convicting to my busy heart. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”
One thing is necessary. Not the 34 other things on my ever-growing checklist. One. Convicted and grateful for the Lord’s goodness, I set my list aside and sit. I try to remember. I try to simplify. With David I pray, “One thing have I asked of the LORD, that will I seek after: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to inquire in His temple” (Psalm 27:4).
Sally Lloyd-Jones has a spectacular children’s book that has quickly become one of my year-round favorites. Song of the Stars tells the Christmas story from creation’s perspective. The other day I was reading it with Will when a particular page stopped me in my tracks. Crowded around the Savior’s manger, the animals peer in wonder at the baby King. In brilliant simplicity, Lloyd-Jones writes, “The One who made us has come to live with us.” As I read these words to Will, I paused to soak in the significance of that one, simple statement. I felt a lump in my throat and warm tears hit my cheeks. (Imagine Will as he tried to comprehend his mama’s reaction to a seemingly simple book.) What beauty! What truth! The One who made us has come to live with us. That’s Christmas in one, simple, powerful statement. Praise God!
I have thought about that simple page every day this Christmas season. It’s a staggering reminder to keep things simple. Everything else—the shopping, the planning, the busyness—needs to take a backseat. One thing matters: He who made us, who spun the world together and called the stars by name, has come to live with us. To carry our burdens. To bear our suffering. To give us eternal life.
This Christmas, I invite you to this pursuit of simplicity. Step out of your car or your house or your calendar. Get out of the city limits where the hum of traffic disappears. Turn off the radio. Pick up a children’s book. Open God’s Word. Enjoy the simplicity and overwhelming beauty of Christmas. Simply put: the One who made us has come to live with us.
Say to those who have an anxious heart,
“Be strong; fear not!
Behold, your God
will come with vengeance,
with the recompense of God.
He will come and save you.”
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then shall the lame man leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the mute sing for joy.
For waters break forth in the wilderness,
and streams in the desert;
the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water;
in the haunt of jackals, where they lie down,
the grass shall become reeds and rushes.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
We lived in Big Lake, Texas. The dry West Texas dust deviled in the arid wind, and the air always smelled like oil. So did the water. The way I remember it, there was flat, barren ground as far as I could see. For a little kid, the grass was filled with "goathead" stickers, and the sun parched you crispy. How in the world did that place ever get called "Big Lake?" Maybe someone was joking when they chose the name.
But it's the memory of Big Lake that helps me understand the Bible's passages about the exile of the people of Israel. They had been dragged off to Babylon by conquering armies. The "promised land" didn't seem to hold much promise, and the only thing flowing was the tears of God's people as they longed for home. Disobedient and dispossessed, Israel need only look outside to be reminded that they were exiles in a foreign place. The wilderness had swallowed them whole.
But God is a covenant-keeping God, and the prophet Isaiah, who had thundered God's judgment like a courtroom prosecutor, now had a glorious message of hope. God Himself would come to save them. God Himself! He would do it. He would come and avenge His people! The blind would see and the deaf would hear, and the desert wasteland of exile would be made lush by the power and glory of God. And there would be joy, and dancing, and springs of living water flowing across the burning sand.
Nearly 800 years later, a group of men who worked with John the Baptist went to ask Jesus if He was the long-awaited Messiah. Was He the rescuer? Was it time? And Jesus pointed those men to these words of Isaiah. Jesus restored the sight of the blind. Jesus told the lame man to take up his mat and walk. Jesus said that in Him, spiritual thirst was gone. The evidence was clear. God with us; Emmanuel had come.
But that message of hope and restoration was not just for those long-ago Israelites. And it was not just about Christ's first coming. For you see, we who are in Christ are also exiles. We also long for strength. We also endure the barrenness of a world held in bondage to decay. So the Christmas promises of Isaiah point our hearts not just to the memory of Jesus who has already come, but the prophet reminds us that we still journey on. We strain forward as the New Year dawns. And one day, we pray very soon, He will return! And we will, at last, be safely home.
Maybe this year.
Maybe today!
Our soul waits for the LORD;
He is our help and our shield.
For our heart is glad in Him,
because we trust in His holy name.
Let Your steadfast love, O LORD, be upon us,
even as we hope in You.
(bold emphasis added)
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
If waiting on God is such a big part of our walk with Him, how, exactly, are we supposed to do so? What does God want from us during this holy time? Psalm 33:20-22 gives some profound guidance.
Wait on God (not the answer)
When we wait on God for help, particularly for something pivotal (a job, a future spouse, a baby, a business transaction, wisdom for a decision, healing), we can easily shift our antsy focus from Him to the specific request. It’s amazing the peace that comes from placing our weight on our Lord first and the request second. This Psalmist outlines God’s attributes and then shows how it is possible to wait well. He confesses, “Our soul waits for the Lord” (not the business deal or the healing). He leans on God (not the prayer request) in every one of these six lines. By contrast, we sometimes pray over what needs to happen.
For example, instead of just praying for the new job that we need, we can confess to God that it is Him we need. We pin our hopes to the only One who can help. The job cannot help. He can. It’s a good thing the new job I seek isn’t ultimately up to the hiring executive; it’s up to God, for Whom I am waiting. We look to God for rescue; we do not look to a prayer outcome to rescue us.
Wait on the real God (not the god of my own making)
When we wait on God, let’s make sure we aren’t really seeking the god of our own making that will surely give us the outcome that we want. We sometimes craft our own god who will agree with our plans. The result is stressful. When our god is really just the “god of my plans,” we sit on the sidelines yearning that this god must come through at every turn—just right. While we wait, we lose a glad heart. We cannot rest under God’s care because it all must work out a certain way that we’ve prescribed.
But what if we let God be God? What if we wait on Him and His answer alone? Whatever it is. Sure, God may answer in a way that changes our plans. He might disappoint us in the short run. Or He might open doors we never considered and are perfect for us. When we trust the real God, and He dashes our plans, it doesn’t have to land us in the ditch. Author Elizabeth Elliott, who is no stranger to having her plans dashed, wrote this in her novel, No Graven Image,
“God, if He were merely my accomplice, had betrayed me. If, on the other hand, He was God, He had freed me.”
We are free when we trust God to provide impeccably—whatever that looks like. We can stop stirring the pot in a particular way to make sure God comes through for us according to our vision. The writer of Psalm 33 doesn’t mention for what he is waiting. It almost doesn’t matter. He knows God hears him and rests in His protection and steadfast love. He has a glad heart while not knowing the future outcome. His hope is not in the outcome; his hope is in God. Big difference.
That’s why the Apostle Paul commanded believers to pray this way:
Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. (Philippians 4:6-7)
Why offer thanksgiving at the beginning of a prayer request? Because, when we are His, we can fully depend that He will do the highest good for us on many levels we cannot fathom. We don’t need to know the specific plan or outcome—we know Him. It will make perfect sense by a God who is infallible and knows our needs exhaustively. He invites us to inquire and wait on Him without our agenda. Waiting for a “god of our own making” to execute our plan will wear us out. Waiting on Him—whatever His perfect plan is—brings intimacy and freedom. Now that’s a God worth waiting for.
And He said, “The kingdom of God is as if a man should scatter seed on the ground. He sleeps and rises night and day, and the seed sprouts and grows; he knows not how. The earth produces by itself, first the blade, then the ear, then the full grain in the ear. But when the grain is ripe, at once he puts in the sickle, because the harvest has come.”
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
Years ago I had just finished re-seeding my backyard with the help of my wife’s grandfather who was actually a member of the Arkansas Agricultural Hall of Fame. The soil was tilled; the seed was down, watered, and covered with hay. We stood for a moment admiring the work. Then this wise, old man—who had seen it all in the field of agriculture—said, “It still amazes me. We still don’t know how a seed germinates. What energy causes it all to start?”
That was Jesus’ point, too. What happens under the ground, out of sight, out of our control, is a mystery. It is how the Kingdom of God operates. When we pray and ask the Lord for something, it is like planting a seed. Then we wait. Waiting is a core competency for a fruitful walk with God.
It is at this point, in the waiting, where it appears nothing is happening. A seed underground is analogous to those times when we pray and pray and wait and wait. God has neither answered “yes” or “no,” but we are driven to our knees beseeching Him to act in areas beyond our control and line of sight. After a while, we are tempted to dig up the soil to see if that seed is doing anything.
Allow the seed to die (germinate)
Here is the crucial phase for a Christian. We must yield every corner of our will. Consent. Admit dependence. Trust in Him alone (not the answer we seek), and let God be God. Rest in whatever direction the Lord may wisely move us.
It is here, in the absence of visible encouragement, where we run the danger of living by sight alone. We just react: “God’s gone;” “He’s forgotten me;” “He’s not able;” “He doesn’t care;” “I don’t matter.”
Over 100 years ago, Andrew Murray wrote his classic book Waiting on God. He spoke of the same necessary process of dying to oneself and attaching to the Lord with our heart and mind:
“Do believe that in waiting on God, His greatness and your littleness suit and meet each other most wonderfully. Just bow in emptiness and poverty and utter weakness, in humility and meekness, and surrender to His will before His great glory, and be still. As you wait on Him, God draws near. He will reveal Himself as the God who will mightily fulfill His every promise. And, let your heart continually take up the song: ‘Blessed are they that wait for Him.’”
Leave the seed in the ground
This step requires a toughness and spiritual discipline for thinking straight while the Lord operates out of sight. When nothing is happening, something is happening. Remember those many times in Scripture when believers panicked over the Lord’s “slow” response? Hunger and thirst in the desert (Exodus 15:22-16:12). Craving meat in the desert (Numbers 11). Storm on the Sea of Galilee (Mark 4:35-40).
In each case, the Lord intervened, but He admonished believers for forgetting who was with them the whole time. Instead of just reacting to the visible crises, God wants us to rehearse the truth about Him and acknowledge what Jesus pointed out in the parable of the seed: God’s work is a mystery and often happens in the unseen realms. And, when He does act, it will be at the point of full ripeness. He will put the sickle to our situation—right on time.
“Delayed” answers
The Lord sometimes delays His answers, but He is never overdue. God calls us to wait for many reasons—many concurrently:
• So that more may be given
• So that a larger purpose can be served
• To build relationship with us
• To tear down unhealthy resistance
• To exercise our muscle of faith
• To re-align our thinking and hearts
• To inflame our hearts to finally receive what God intends to give
• Kindness
• For His glory
• Protection
In Jesus’ parable of the seed, conspicuously absent is the role of the farmer. Other than tossing the seed, germination progresses through the harvest without the help of the farmer. In fact, Jesus describes the man’s contribution to the process: “he knows not how.” This is what the Kingdom of God is like: God controls it.
There are plenty of places in Scripture where God commands us to take action of various kinds. When the Lord places obvious steps before us, we must act with forthright courage, and when He obviously brings silence and pause to the journey, we must bring courage in the form of faithful persistence in Him. This waiting requires the work of our hearts and minds while He stays silent on the answer. He will speak clearly to us in the interim. Watch Him intercede with encouragement and new revelations from His Word.
Stay steadfast. Refuse to simply react to circumstances. As Jesus says, God’s method during the wait is a mystery, but He controls it. So, let’s wait with joy and anticipation because the Lord In C¬harge loves us and already gave Himself up for us.
Again there was a day when the sons of God came to present themselves before the LORD, and Satan also came among them to present himself before the LORD. And the LORD said to Satan, “From where have you come?” Satan answered the LORD and said, “From going to and fro on the earth, and from walking up and down on it.” And the LORD said to Satan, “Have you considered my servant Job, that there is none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil? He still holds fast his integrity, although you incited me against him to destroy him without reason.” Then Satan answered the LORD and said, “Skin for skin! All that a man has he will give for his life. But stretch out your hand and touch his bone and his flesh, and he will curse you to your face.” And the LORD said to Satan, “Behold, he is in your hand; only spare his life.”
So Satan went out from the presence of the LORD and struck Job with loathsome sores from the sole of his foot to the crown of his head. And he took a piece of broken pottery with which to scrape himself while he sat in the ashes.
Then his wife said to him, “Do you still hold fast your integrity? Curse God and die.” But he said to her, “You speak as one of the foolish women would speak. Shall we receive good from God, and shall we not receive evil?” In all this, Job did not sin with his lips.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Park Cities Presbyterian Church hosts Dr. Derek Thomas Sunday, January 25-Tuesday, January 27, for its WinterGrace series. Dr. Thomas will take us through the book of Job with his four-session series entitled Where is God in my pain? This series is free and open to the public. Learn more here.
Unable to attend in person? Join us through live streaming at www.pcpc.org.
The drama always looks different from backstage. The set is not at all what it appears to be to the audience. The stage hands scurry about, silently and unseen. The players say their lines and move through well-rehearsed blocking while somewhere someone cues the music and works the lights. For the crowd beyond the footlights, the answers are clear as the story unfolds from a tidy script. But all that is seen is never all that is. The visualized tale is but a fragment, a piece played out between what is known and what is not.
So it is with Job and the drama of his life. Most of us have heard his story, heard of his trials and tribulations. We've even grown up using the cliché that this person or that person has "the patience of Job." But early in the telling of this sobering tale, the author makes us confront the untidy reality of unanswered suffering.
Job never knows of the conversation between God and Satan. He never learns that God allowed the calamity and permitted the afflictions. He never is told that he passed the test, or even that there was a test. But we are backstage. We hear the mocking accusation of Satan and the chilling agreement to proceed. We listen as Job weeps and wonders—and even worships. We see and hear that God defeats Satan through the faithfulness of poor, wretched Job.
Job will cry out. He will plead with God to explain. He will listen as his friends accuse him, and suspect him, and offer platitudes instead of praise. But he will not abandon his faith in God his Redeemer. He will not wonder if God is good. He will not lose heart even after losing everything else. And at last, he will come to the knowledge that God is beyond understanding but still closer than his breath. And in that he rests.
Paul the Apostle also knew of these things. He too knew of abandonment and loss. He too felt the scourge of the enemy and the chill of the coming winter in the lonely dungeons of Rome. Yet, in Christ Paul was able to learn that beyond what is seen is the unalterable steadfastness of God Almighty. And in that he rests.
For us, the story is often the same. Many, many questions will go unanswered and unanswerable. We too will weep. We too will endure explanations that offer concise logic but little comfort. We too will struggle to live in the reality that what God has for us is what is best for us. May we abide in Christ, and stand with Job proclaiming, "Though He slay me, I will hope in Him." (Job 13:15a)
Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
Grayson hails from Macon, Ga., and attended the University of Southern Mississippi where she earned dual degrees in theatre and public relations. After graduation, she moved to Dallas to begin work with Reformed University Fellowship at SMU. After two years with RUF, Grayson began working with PCPC youth in June 2012.
Grayson loves Mexican food and reading, and she greatly believes her spiritual gifts include dancing and singing to 90s music.
Having just celebrated Christmas with my family, I had the great displeasure of packing all my belongings back into my suitcase. I am always excited about my new holiday treasures, excited to pull gifts out of boxes and enjoy them. And simply because they are new, I will treat them differently from other possessions. I make sure I take extra good care of them! I want that newness to remain intact! But the weight of my two suitcases made me more and more aware of all my stuff. When I was boarding my plane back to Dallas, I had a realization—I am constantly looking for that next new thing—and not just things like my new Christmas treasures. This searching bleeds into most areas of my life.
This revelation says two things about me: I get bored easily and I sense there is something I don't have that I need. Both drive me into search mode. I love the enjoyment of new and exciting things, but the enjoyment soon ends when I see something else that I don't have. I am no longer satisfied. It is truly a vicious cycle in which to be caught. Do you identify with me? Do you find yourself being unsatisfied with what is in front of you? Do you, like me, search for that “next” thing?
Here is the deep heart issue that comes to light—we have a joy problem. The word joy is often mistaken for enjoyment. They are vastly different. Enjoyment is situational and based on our opinion. Joy is pure delight that doesn't falter. Matthew 6 helps us to differentiate between the two.
“Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal…”
Verse 19 begins with a command. Do not bind yourself to the treasures of this world that will fade or be stolen. Notice that the verse does not use wording like “might” or “could possibly.” It's very real that the treasures, the enjoyment, the search for satisfaction will not be met fully on earth. Well then, where do we find this true, unwavering joy?
“…but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven”
Heaven. Heaven is where the true and lasting joy is found. It is being kept for us there! This assurance is coming from the mouth of Jesus Christ in the midst of His Sermon on the Mount. He is telling us the answer is intimately found in Himself.
Many of us would agree. We know that it is the truth, but we live in tension with what Scripture says to be true about joy and where it is found and with what the world says to be true about joy and where it is found. We can say with our lips that Jesus is the answer, but with our lives, the world is winning. I want both to be true. I want my filling and lasting joy now! I want it to be found in my circumstances, friendships, future, and Jesus, revealing from where I want my true joy to come. I settle for the momentary and cycling joys that my earthly treasures will provide rather than delighting in the very Author and Creator of joy.
Brothers and sisters, do you too find yourselves here? Verse 21 is a call to action for us. What is truthfully your treasure? Because where our treasure is, that is where our heart is. Our lived-out loves, our motivations, our chief ends are all wrapped up there. And until we can say with a full and true voice that Jesus is the treasure of our hearts, we will be living in the midst of a battle.
Join me in asking the hard question, “Where is my true treasure?” Unearthing these fleeting joys in our lives points to the forever, unchanging, unfaltering, and fulfilling joy that comes from being in relationship with Christ. Take time to inventory your heart. Pray that the Holy Spirit will do what only He can do and give us eyes to see what we cannot see for ourselves.
“When He went ashore, He saw a large crowd, and felt compassion for them and healed their sick. When it was evening, the disciples came to Him and said, “This place is desolate and the hour is already late; so send the crowds away, that they may go into the villages and buy food for themselves.” But Jesus said to them, “They do not need to go away; you give them something to eat!” They said to Him, “We have here only five loaves and two fish.” And He said, “Bring them here to Me.” Ordering the people to sit down on the grass, He took the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up toward heaven, He blessed the food, and breaking the loaves He gave them to the disciples, and the disciples gave them to the crowds, and they all ate and were satisfied. They picked up what was left over of the broken pieces, twelve full baskets. There were about five thousand men who ate, besides women and children.”
Nichole is from Auburn, Ind., and attended Lenoir-Rhyne University in North Carolina, where she earned a degree in human occupational studies with a minor in psychology.While in graduate school for occupational therapy, she followed the Lord’s call to Kanakuk Institute in Branson, Mo., a post-graduate theological studies program. It was there that the Lord confirmed her call to full-time vocational ministry.
Nichole loves serving in the high school ministry and looks forward to what is to come. She recently got engaged and will wed in June 2015.
About two months ago, I got engaged to the most godly man I know. It was a day that I will never forget, a day that will forever stand out to me as one of the best. It was more than I could have ever dreamed to ask for. On that day, I was overcome with joy about marrying this man. Since the proposal, this joy has not changed; if anything, my joy has grown.
However, over the past two months, I have come to realize what few people tell you in the excitement of getting engaged—planning a wedding requires a lot of time and energy. No one had ever told me how much of my time would be required to research vendors. No one discussed how many conversations would have to go into determining a location for the wedding, especially when the two people getting married live across the country from one another. Needless to say, this process has been quite a surprise to me.
In the midst of this crazy season, I find myself coming to the Lord feeling like I have very little to offer. I find myself holding up the few minutes of free time I have, wondering how He could possibly use me. I think about the Kingdom work that is needed in this dark world, and the work seems so huge that it must be impossible for Him to use me to do anything about it, especially when it feels like I have so little to give.
Many of you may feel the same way. In whatever circumstance or stage of life we find ourselves, there is always so much to do for the Kingdom with so few of our own resources. When we look at the world and dream about the things that stir our compassion, the problems and needs appear too huge for us.
This sense of helplessness is what the disciples feel in Matthew 14. It has been a long day of ministry for their Teacher, Jesus Christ. He has been healing non-stop. The sun is setting, and they are at the end of their strength, with seemingly nothing left to offer. There are 5,000-plus people who need to be fed. The best, they think, they could possibly do for them is to send them away so they can find food. But Jesus disagrees; He sees the circumstances from a completely different perspective. With what little they have to offer, He tells the disciples not to send the people away, but to meet their needs.
All they had to give was five loaves and two fish. To us, what we have to give seems so small, too. Yet, placed in Jesus' ever capable hands, lifted up to the Father, we see the meager things we have to offer multiplied in ways that are astonishing, used in ways we never thought possible, to fulfill His purposes. N.T. Wright summarizes what we see at work here:
“What Jesus does with what we give Him is so mysterious and powerful that it's hard to describe in words. We blunder in with our ideas. We offer, uncomprehending, what little we have. Jesus takes ideas, loaves and fishes, money, a sense of humor, time, energy, talents, love, artistic gifts, skill with words, quickness of eye or fingers, whatever we have to offer. He holds them before His Father with prayer and blessing. Then, breaking them (there's the cost, yet again) so they are ready for use, He gives them back to us to give to those who need them.”
Oh, that we would let this truth seep deep into our hearts. Oh, that we would believe that He can powerfully multiply all that we surrender into His hands. Would we say before the Lord, “All I have here is...” believing that He is not only able to use it, to use you, but that He delights to do so! Whatever He has given you in this moment, it is enough. You are enough. By His grace and through His power, you are enough.
I cannot help but hear the magnificent words of Paul ringing in my ears as I think about what God can do with little me, seemingly insignificant, and the minuscule things I have to offer. “Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or imagine, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen.” (Ephesians 3:20)
“What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead. But someone will say, “You have faith and I have works.” Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works. You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder! Do you want to be shown, you foolish person, that faith apart from works is useless? Was not Abraham our father justified by works when he offered up his son Isaac on the altar? You see that faith was active along with his works, and faith was completed by his works; and the Scripture was fulfilled that says, “Abraham believed God, and it was counted to him as righteousness”—and he was called a friend of God. You see that a person is justified by works and not by faith alone. And in the same way was not also Rahab the prostitute justified by works when she received the messengers and sent them out by another way? For as the body apart from the spirit is dead, so also faith apart from works is dead."
Dr. Julian Russell has been an urban ministry practitioner for more than 30 years. In 1994, Julian enrolled in Reformed Theological Seminary in Orlando, Fla., and while a full-time student, Julian began a church plant in Orlando. In the spring of 1997, he was asked to prayerfully consider relocating to Memphis, TN, to plant a PCA church in the third poorest zip code in the United States. Ten years later, Julian left Memphis to pursue God’s call to serve at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas. He is now a PCPC Home Church Missionary to his beloved Nassau in the Bahamas. Dr. Julian and Christiana Russell presently serve as the Team Leaders for MTW Bahamas.
Julian earned his Doctor of Ministry and his Masters in Theology in Biblical and Pastoral Theology at Covenant Theological Seminary, St. Louis, MO. He completed his Masters in Divinity at Reformed Theological Seminary.
On the surface, it appears that James is at odds with Paul on the issue of saving faith, but both men share the same view on genuine faith. Here, James recalls the essential purpose of his epistle in 1:22, “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves.”
All Christians have been called by God to become a collective “womb of response” to the living Word. Christian ethics must be seen as a response to God’s grace. We can either adorn the Gospel or become a disgrace to it. James’ ethic is found in Matthew 5:20, “For I say to you, that unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” James’ overriding question is this: What kind of faith unites anyone to Christ so that he/she receives eternal life? He responds with a four-step definition of faith:
1. Dead. Faith does not promote Christian brotherhood (2:15-17)
2. Barren. Faith acknowledges God but is useless (2:18-20)
3. Living. Faith justifies (2:21-24)
4. Genuine. Faith extends the Kingdom of God (2:25-26)
Is James contradicting Paul on the matter of saving faith? I believe these brothers represent both sides of the same coin—genuine faith. The main issue for both Paul and James is how Abraham was justified. Both men point to Genesis 15:6. James also references Genesis 22:1-18, when Abraham offered Isaac as a sacrifice to God.
Paul, writing to a largely gentile audience (see Romans 3:28; 4:1-3; Galatians 2:16), insists that Abraham was declared righteous by faith alone. Now remember that first-century gentiles were pagans who sought to placate their gods with sacrifices, performances. These gentile converts needed to see the sovereignty of God in all facets of life. On the other hand, James’ audience was mainly Jews who had embraced Jesus as the Messiah. So for James, Abraham was vindicated by working faith (James 2:22-24).
The Covenant community has always had two kinds of committed believers: Those who struggle with guilt and those who struggle with self-righteousness. The former needs to be reminded of God’s immeasurable love for His children while the latter urgently needs to see God’s sovereignty, because self-righteous people tend to exclude themselves from His amazing grace.
So what is James saying to us today? James calls us to act.
Words could be useless.
“When we as Christians behave badly, or fail to behave well, we are making Christianity unbelievable to the outside world.” C.S. Lewis
Genuine faith expresses itself in works of the Holy Spirit.
“Faith is a living, daring confidence in God’s grace, so sure and certain that the believer should stake his life on it a thousand times. This knowledge of and confidence in God’s grace make men glad and bold and happy in dealing with God and with all creatures.” Martin Luther
Christian love of others is the work of genuine, living, fruitful faith.
“The life of faith is more than a private…transaction of the heart with God. It is the life of active consecration seen in the obedience which holds nothing back from God and the concern which holds nothing back from human need.” J.A. Motyer
May the Holy Spirit enable you to serve the Lord as you serve others.
"One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in His temple.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
After dinner, we sat across the table from him, waiting to hear his reply. Our question lingered in the air, and I couldn't wait to hear what he might say. John had been an important figure in Robby's life since Robby’s time at Duke University. During those four years, John and Robby would meet regularly. They talked about the Lord and life and how to become a man who served God’s purposes. What a picture of discipleship!
John and Robby have remained great friends. John’s visits to Dallas are regular, as are his waves of encouragement through calls and emails. So our dinner together was nothing out of the ordinary. Yet this time, we had some fun news to share: a baby boy would join our family that summer. As the evening drew to a close, Robby looked at John and simply asked, "What advice would you give as we begin this journey of parenthood?"
John sat still for a moment and then began to speak. His response caught me off guard. "It is impossible to raise godly children," he said calmly. Gulp. I started to panic. What? What do you mean I can't raise godly children? Isn't that what good Christian parents should do? And you're telling me that’s impossible? Then what's the point—why have children at all if you can't control the most important thing in their lives?
My thoughts scattered in a million directions, but I tried to remain focused. Thankfully, John didn't leave us hanging for long. He continued, “If a person is going to be born again, the Lord has to do the work. It is completely out of our control. Only the Lord our God can change a heart and cause it to know its need and, in turn, be saved.” Well, John had a point. I knew those things to be true, but it panicked me that I couldn't do anything about it as a parent. It was out of my control.
So, then what? As a new mom, what was I to do? I leaned in, hoping John would answer the question that was weighing heavy on my heart. And he did. “As a parent, your responsibility is twofold. First of all, plant the soil. Tuck it in on every side. Dig it in deep trenches around your child. Teach him about the Lord, raise him up in the church. Pack, pack, pack the soil. And then pray. Only the Lord can bring fruit out of fertile soil. But your job as a parent is to plant and pack."
I had never thought about it that way. Plant, pack, and then pray—leaving the work of salvation to the only One who can bring it. I thought about the people in Luke 5 who were desperate to bring their paralytic friend before Jesus. Unable to carry him through the crowds, they climbed up on the roof to lower him right to the feet of Jesus. Trusting that He alone could heal, they played the only role they knew. They brought their friend to Jesus, and they let Jesus take it from there.
So many thoughts raced through my mind, but one in particular stood out. I can plant, I can pack—but then I must trust the Lord to provide. To heal. To change. To save. My role is simple: plant, pack, and pray. Plant, pack, and pray. And repeat. For the rest of my life.
John continued, “Show your child what it looks like to have a satisfied soul in Christ. That is the greatest gift you can give him. Show him the beauty and richness of a life lived in Christ." That’s it, really? So simple and yet profound. As I considered the significance of what he was saying, it made perfect sense to me.
Our children’s greatest need is Jesus. By God's grace, I pray that the children of our church will come to see this as they grow up around people whose “one thing” is to glorify and enjoy the Lord. Consider the next time your church body celebrates the baptism of its children. As a body, we vow to play a role in the Christian nurture of these young lives. Perhaps it comes down to packing, praying, and then seeking to be satisfied in Jesus.
Two years ago, there were so many unknowns when I thought about becoming a mom. John answered the questions I had long been afraid to ask. And yet in doing so, he gave me great hope. It doesn't depend on us. Do you believe this? Do you believe we are completely dependent on Jesus—for ourselves and for our loved ones? Yes, we have a role to play—the significant role of planting, packing, and praying—but salvation belongs to the Lord.
Oh Father, give us grace to know our place. Not as a savior—but as a believer, called to plant, pack, and pray. And live. Help us to leave the work of salvation to you. Our children’s needs are no different than our own. So as little ones fill our pews and classrooms on Sundays, may they see souls that are satisfied in Christ.
Plant, pack, pray. Live before our children with souls that are satisfied by the one, true Savior. Then wait. But keeping praying for that soil—that it would be fruitful—and that He would raise up a child who knows the only One who is truly satisfying.
And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that He might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. And He humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD. Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years. Know then in your heart that, as a man disciplines his son, the LORD your God disciplines you.
Jay Hohfeler is a former PCPC elder, deacon, and Sunday school teacher. He and his wife Beth have been married for 24 years and have three daughters, Molly, Maggie, and Kate.
It’s not always this way but, sometimes, after coming through a desert experience, God gives us a clear view of why He ordained it, how He changed us, and how He carried us through it. Moses received such a debriefing just as his literal 40-year desert experience was ending. What a bewildering period. But God explains why the test was necessary. We can draw great encouragement as we walk through our own tests, ordained by this same God, for our sure benefit. He knows exactly what He is doing.
God’s purposes in testing are to humble us (v2), reveal what is in our hearts (v2), and establish a new appetite for living (v3).
Humility
The Lord often begins by humbling us. We shouldn’t have to keep relearning this principle, but it’s one of the surest constants of walking with God. His hand forged the harsh vastness of space and also formed the wings of gnats. So, for our advantage, He knows just where to place His finger on our lives to bring us low. The wise, timely, and faithful wounds from God are like none other. His thoroughness shows He will stop at nothing and knows us intimately. When God does the humbling, we are left with a quiet contentment of who we actually are in relation to Him. The striving stops. We can enjoy living under God’s lead instead of charting our own path.
New Heart
God’s desert hardships revealed what was in the Israelites’ hearts: distrust, suspicion, fear, insecurity, and hatred. Once He bubbled the filth to the surface, He purified them. The crucible is for silver, and the furnace is for gold, and the LORD tests hearts (Proverbs 17:3). God, Himself, bent low and bore with these people to transform their hearts. For their sake, He tested them with days without water, days without food, threats from enemies, discomfort in the wilderness, and obscurity—all for a prolonged timeframe—so that they would know (in their hearts) that He was their God.
New Appetite
If you’ve ever embarked on a high-protein/low carbohydrate diet, you know that the early days are rough while craving sugar and carbs. But, in time, an internal switch is thrown. Junk food and empty calories lose their appeal. You’ve acquired a new appetite.
God wanted to create a new appetite in the Israelites. Instead of them feeding their souls on bread alone (food, riches, comfort), God wanted them satisfied by Him alone. His test would purposely cause them to be hungry and confused (“manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know” v3). They weren’t necessarily just spoiled; the test was hard.
God wants to create a new appetite in us, too. Instead of feeding our souls on the things of this world (riches, comfort, power, position, reputation, false security), God wants us to be satisfied by Him alone. To live by the Word of God, instead of the bread of this world, takes real maturity. It is seldom acquired by sheer willpower. God often uses bewildering circumstances where we have no choice but to depend on Him. Under the new diet, we discover deep satisfaction from feeding on Him alone.
Our Response
Accepting the test is easier when we see God’s magnificent support undergirding it all. He reminded the Israelites that while they endured, He provided supernatural protection (“Your clothing did not wear out on you and your foot did not swell these forty years” v4). God closes this debriefing with Moses by asking him (us) to dig deep and remember this testing is normal for those He loves. Verse 5 makes it all bearable, doesn’t it? We are His children. Discipline is what a watchful, loving father does. He has great purpose in it.
Article 12 of The Westminster Confession of Faith reminds us just how breathtaking it is to be a child of God:
“All those justified…enjoy the liberties and privileges of the children of God…
• have His name put upon them
• receive the spirit of adoption
• have access to the throne of grace with boldness
• are enabled to cry, “Abba, Father”
• are pitied
• are protected
• are provided for
• chastened by Him as by a father
• yet never cast off
• but sealed to the day of redemption
• inherit the promises
• heirs of everlasting salvation”
These astounding gifts assure us that God’s wise testing will bring us new life—never destruction—under His care. Let’s be encouraged!
But when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were terrified, and said, “It is a ghost!” and they cried out in fear.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The world loves a conspiracy, and it got one in 2012 from a four-inch fragment of papyrus. By now you’ve heard of the Harvard professor of antiquity who came into possession of a remarkably preserved swatch of Egyptian writing, purportedly from the fourth century, which spoke of Jesus and His mother, Mary. That someone had unearthed another piece of ancient hagiography would be no story amid the torrent of other more pressing news. What made this find newsworthy was that the text reports Jesus saying, “My wife...”
Were the fragment to be found genuine and its translation from the Coptic plausible, the content would serve to challenge the Bible’s and the church’s consistent teaching that Jesus had been single and celibate for the entirety of His earthly ministry.
The conspiratorial impulse kicked into high gear when some from the scholarly community used this week’s discovery to insinuate there are only two reasons that could explain why the church has always taught that Jesus had been unmarried: either it’s just a matter of “happenstance,” as one scholar put it, that our earliest existing texts about Jesus portray Him as single, or it’s because the church’s early exaltation of celibacy as a mark of true holiness justified suppression of alternative perspectives on Jesus’ marital status.
Ross Douthat of the New York Times wondered out loud why the scholarly community wouldn’t consider a third, and to him, more plausible explanation—namely, that Jesus was in fact celibate. We need not entertain a Dan Brown-esque form of historiographical sleight of hand masquerading as scholarship when a simple review of the existing data will do.
We’re drawn to conspiratorial theories that undermine earlier explanations, probably for many reasons. We ought not disparage the impulse out of hand given the number of salutary discoveries that arose from intuitive dissatisfactions with long-standing theories. But we should admit that the more we can complicate our picture of an issue, the less claim we feel it has upon us. In this case, the more controversy we inject into the identity of Jesus, the less inclined we are to see Him as an authority.
So the consequence of every misapprehension of Jesus is to treat Him as less than He deserves. For the world can think of Him as, at best, a historical enigma and in turn relegate Him to the status of eccentric sage. The disciples can think of Him as a ghost, as He approached them walking on the water, and reduce Jesus to something only to fear. Judas can try to force Jesus’ hand as if He were a revolutionary gone soft, while Peter can try to preserve Him from harm as One unworthy to suffer.
In each case, misapprehending Jesus is a distortion not only of His identity but also of what is due Him. Recall your own experience with being misunderstood and you remember how unbefitting the response you received. Shouldn’t we be all the more concerned with viewing Him properly that we might treat Him rightly?
Oh, but does He ask too much? Aren’t His ways inscrutable (Rom 11:39)? Don’t we see Him through a glass darkly, waiting for a day of greater clarity (1 Cor 13:12)? Aren’t we commended for loving Him though we do not see Him (1 Pet 1:8)?
Until we see Him as He is (1 Jn 3:2), we will never comprehend Him fully. But despite His incomprehensibility, we still gain sufficient understanding of Him from even His most succinct statements.
For Jesus is the One who said, “Take heart.” With Him comes good reason to pull ourselves together no matter how our moment pulls us apart.
He is the One who said, “It is I.” Jesus is no ghost, but the very Son of God whose taking away the sins of the world amply proves His love and His ability to confirm the rationale for hope.
Christ is the One who said, “Do not be afraid.” Whatever our thoughts or preliminary conclusions that would induce in us a panic, His pardon, presence, and promise are all sufficient to render such panic not just premature but pointless.
Your life may be as tattered as that fourth-century fragment, your moment as indecipherable as some of its ancient inscription. But whatever may be conspiring against you—it meets its match in Him who came—and died—for His bride.
“…[W]hen they bring you to trial and deliver you over, do not be anxious beforehand what you are to say, but say whatever is given you in that hour, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit."
James Peel grew up in Tyler, TX, and Nashville, TN, but calls Dallas his home. He is a graduate of Westmont College and is currently the project manager and a contributing writer for the Denison Forum on Truth and Culture (www.denisonforum.org). James and his lovely wife, Paige, are active members at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. During his spare time, James is a songwriter (www.jamespeelmusic.com) and recording artist focusing on compositions for commercial use.
I was driving to a friend’s house when I noticed a group of people holding picket signs. As I got closer, I realized they were picketing an abortion clinic. Although I’m an ardent pro-life supporter, the signs they held were troubling. Some had bold black and red messages like “Murder happens here!” Others showed gruesome pictures of aborted fetuses.
On my way home, I decided to stop and talk to the picketers. I wanted to try to understand their perspective, but I confess that another motive compelled me to stop. I wanted to ask some tough questions and convince them of my position on protest—that using fierce words and frightening photos was an ineffective method of communication, not to mention an embarrassment to many Christians.
Channeling Marshall McLuhan, I approached two picketers holding provocative signs in hopes that they would understand McLuhan’s maxim “the medium is the message.” After a polite greeting, I expressed my opinion that signs like the ones they were holding would be received as impersonal and judgmental, and, in all likelihood, would inspire anger or being ignored rather than save lives.
I then struck up a conversation with a man holding a sign that simply read, “Pray to end abortion.” After introducing himself, Steve explained that he had wanted to make a difference in the pro-life movement, but, like me, he had become cynical because of the methods and messages used by many picketers. So he, like me, decided to talk to them.
He attended a few pickets, developed relationships with some of the regulars, and became particularly close to a man whose sign read, “Pray to end abortion.” One day when they were picketing, the man asked Steve if he would hold his sign while he went to the restroom. Steve agreed, but instead of holding the sign up, he kept it down at his side. It was during that brief time that a woman pulled over and parked her car. She approached Steve and said, “Do you see that nine-year-old boy in my car? He is alive today because someone like you was holding a sign like that nine years ago.”
Steve said that experience changed his perspective—so much so that now he regularly holds a “Pray to end abortion” sign outside abortion clinics around the country. I was astonished at Steve’s story. As he continued to talk, I sensed that God was trying to teach me something.
“Often times,” Steve explained, “abortion clinics have restraining orders against picketers, so we have to stand farther away than is ideal. One time we had to picket in a driveway about 25 feet from the door of a clinic. This presented a problem, because if clinic visitors were going to stop and talk with us before they entered the clinic, we would have to shout at them to get their attention.”
Many of the picketers did shout, but Steve didn’t. He just held his “Pray to end abortion” sign. He recounted that a man with a booming voice was standing next to him bellowing pro-life messages and Christian clichés at the top of his lungs. He admitted, “I was still cynical—I judged him for having the wrong tone. He sounded angry as he yelled. Later that day,” Steve continued, “a woman walked out of the clinic and headed for the driveway, specifically for the guy who was shouting. She told him, “I could hear you through the walls, and I just couldn't go through with it.”
A life was saved because of a man's shouting.
By this time, my own cynicism was clear, and I saw that God wanted to humble me through this experience. Steve’s stories made me realize that God can do mighty things through broken messengers with broken messages. This truth is both humbling and freeing. While I believe it is important to consider the medium, tone, and timing of the messages we knowingly and unknowingly send to those we want to know the truths of the Gospel, I was reminded that “God opposes the proud, but gives grace to the humble” (James 4:6).
I’m not saying that every Christian should picket. Or that we should never picket. Actually, I’m still processing that sidewalk experience. The point is that we may have an opportunity to share the Gospel today. We may be nervous to do so because we think (or know) we’re not the best example of a Christ-follower. Or we may be afraid that we’ll say the wrong thing.
A recent sermon given by Mark Davis at Park Cities Presbyterian Church recounted Jesus' conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well, and I was reminded that God uses broken messengers to communicate His truth. After the woman's interaction with Jesus, she hurried to see the very people she was ashamed to be seen by so she could tell them about Jesus, and “many of the Samaritans from that town believed in Him because of the woman’s testimony” (John 4:6).
The humbling and comforting reality is that you and I are just like the woman at the well: broken messengers with a broken message. The Gospel, though, is perfect, and the Holy Spirit will speak through us. “…[W]hen they bring you to trial and deliver you over, do not be anxious beforehand what you are to say, but say whatever is given you in that hour, for it is not you who speak, but the Holy Spirit” (Mark 13:11).
As I looked,
thrones were placed,
and the Ancient of Days took his seat;
his clothing was white as snow,
and the hair of his head like pure wool;
his throne was fiery flames;
its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued
and came out from before him;
a thousand thousands served him,
and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him;
the court sat in judgment,
and the books were opened.
I saw in the night visions,
and behold, with the clouds of heaven
there came one like a son of man,
and he came to the Ancient of Days
and was presented before him.
And to him was given dominion
and glory and a kingdom,
that all peoples, nations, and languages
should serve him;
his dominion is an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away,
and his kingdom one
that shall not be destroyed.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
He was a prisoner of war. Overrun by the conquering army, his homeland lay in ruins, but God Almighty majestically orchestrated the defeat and deportation of Daniel. For in the land of the enemy, God prophetically proclaims His eternal victory.
In Babylon, Daniel has a vision of judgment. God Himself is seated on the throne, and fire goes out before Him. Fire to cleanse and to purify. Before Him are standing 10,000 times 10,000 as the book of judgment is opened. Then the clouds of heaven descend into the throne room, and one “like a son of man” is presented before God. He is the perfect man, God's perfect image bearer, and He is given dominion and glory. All people from every land serve this Son of Man. Forever. But what do the visions mean, and who is this one who is “like a son of man?”
Hundreds of years later, a most remarkable thing happens. A virgin pregnant teenager from a backwater town in Israel has a baby while she is travelling for legal reasons. And people proclaim the birth of this baby. Visitors show up from far away eastern lands to present gifts. People who have never met this man are amazed by Him, and healed by Him, and fall down to worship Him. And He teaches them about Himself, reminding them of that long-ago vision of the captured prophet. “For as the Father has life in Himself, so He has granted the Son also to have life in Himself. And He has given Him authority to execute judgment, because He is the Son of Man.” (John 5:26-27)
Jesus is the very One of whom Daniel spoke. He is the One to whom God has granted all authority in heaven and on earth. He is the only begotten Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. And He is alive! And His Kingdom is eternal.
This is the glorious truth of the resurrection. This is the foundational teaching of the early church. But the resurrection means more than a long-ago astounding event. It means that today Jesus, the Son of Man, is reigning. And it means that He will return. He will indeed return to “judge the quick and the dead.”
“Then I saw a great white throne and Him who was seated on it. From His presence earth and sky fled away, and no place was found for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done.” (Revelation 20:11-12)
Today as you read this, are you His? Where is your name in that book? May the Lord bless you with full assurance of His love for you today, and may you rejoice that, being found in Christ, the King of Glory knows your name. Forever.
“The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.” (Revelation 22:17)
Amen and amen!
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
I am neither political pundit nor prognosticator, but I am certain that you will never hear any political candidate give this speech:
“My fellow Americans, I want to thank you for your encouragement and support thus far in my campaign—especially the moneyed interests without whose support I’d be giving this speech on the back of a pickup truck. Thank you for your large, quiet, financial contributions accompanied by your smile as you intimated expectations of political reciprocity later. Thanks also to your legal teams for keeping your association with me out of the media whenever you commit anything untoward.
I’d like to thank you all for your passion for the issues I’ve campaigned for—issues I really don’t know too much about, nor have much conviction for. Issues, which the focus groups say, are great for getting attention and currying favor. Issues with statistics—statistics I can rattle off readily because my handlers drill me on them. Statistics that sound legitimate but can’t be verified.
I’d also like to thank my wife for her unflinching willingness to maintain the charade that I am as wonderful as my haircut and smile suggest. All I had to do was keep you well-dressed and delight you with the prospect of hobnobbing with exotic, influential people—you’ve really kept up appearances. Love you, babe!
Most of all I’d like to thank you, for your personal support of me, because while I have some interest in you and in making this a better place, I realize that most of what fuels me and my campaign is that I need this. I need to win. I need to feel needed, and winning will help me feel good about myself. That’s my greatest good. And I’m in good company since most of you are the same: your greatest good is no higher than your own good. So we’re made for each other.
So let me conclude with words I don’t really mean: God bless you, and God bless the United States of America.”
If anyone gives that speech, the crowd goes silent, the men spit the olives back into their martini glasses, and the campaign manager suddenly needs smelling salts. It’s a cynical vision of politics, I know, but I’m not alone.
The Lord Jesus was no politician. He did not tell people what they wanted to hear in order to curry their favor and increase His following. He greased no palms and took no kickbacks. Yet, in this moment of His deepest agony, Jesus gave perhaps His most transparent speech—one that seems, on one level, an embarrassment—scandalous to Him and all He’d stood for considering what all He had said about the goodness of God, His Father. But by His transparency and what follows it, Jesus teaches us two things that go to the very heart of our being. He teaches us something about fear and something about glory.
Jesus understands fear—He gets it. He’d spoken with foreboding for much of His ministry, alluding to but not elaborating upon His anticipation of being delivered up to the Jewish elites and executed for unsubstantiated crimes. As the moment approached, the foreboding turned to a complex of emotions: sorrowful as He invited some of His disciples to tarry with Him in the Garden of Gethsemane; wistful for some other way to accomplish His father’s will; so anguished that His tears were like drops of blood. And doesn’t drinking the cup of those emotions have an undertone of fear accompanying them?
In a matter of hours, Jesus endures almost everything we might fear: betrayal, ridicule, savagery, unrelenting pain, and the sense of being swallowed up by death. All that He experienced—all that tempted Him with fear. But in His dying words, His transparent anguish does this for us: He teaches us what most to fear. By His outcry, He taught us to fear most the abandonment of God.
All else He suffered provided ample reason for inward terror. Anything fearful in our condition, short of God’s turning Himself away from us, is anything but illusory. But for Jesus to summarize His agony in terms of God’s absence means there can be no greater horror than to know the rejection of God.
From the cross, Jesus specifies the greater danger, echoing what he said to His disciples in a quieter moment in Matthew 10:28, “...do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell." Men and circumstances may terrorize you, but they are nothing compared to falling into the hands of the living, and angry, God. (Heb 10:31).
Yet in teaching us what most to fear, Jesus is not inviting us to live in fear. For in what follows His transparent speech, we learn what He did about that greatest fear. Here we come to what He teaches us about glory.
Jesus breathes his last, and in its wake, glorious things happen—things only feebly imagined but now finally realized. The temple curtain is torn in two, signifying both an end to a kind of separation between God and men and the beginning of a new era of access to the living God. The world literally shakes at the shift. And men and women rise from their graves, signifying an end to death’s stranglehold on all humanity. Even the pervasiveness of cynicism is placed in check, exemplified in the humble concession by a hardened soldier who realized he’d witnessed the death of more than a mere man.
Amid the dark horror of Jesus’ death, the glory of God shines forth, and not just to impress us that God’s power and plan were at work. Glories now bursting forth in living color are meant to teach us where to find our greatest glory—that is, upon what to rest our deepest sense of satisfaction and gratification.
What is, and must become, our most gladdening truth? What idea must we continually circle back to in order to live and die well? The glory that followed His agony reveals that that our greatest satisfaction is to be found in a restored favor with God and a corresponding freedom from the fear of death.
Jesus celebrates new health and new insight. He hails fresh faith and raw repentance. But the curtain-tearing, rock-splitting, grave-opening tumult points us to where we have to plant our ultimate hopes and seek our ultimate joys. All other delights and pleasures have their own merit but none like knowing that He knows and loves us and that we will never be apart from Him.
That is what He meant to teach us by His transparency—what most to fear and where to find our glory. But He does more than teach; He means to transform our fears and our glories from all-consuming to God-endearing.
And about the ninth hour Jesus cried out with a loud voice, saying, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?” that is, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
We all fear. Some of us woke up today already rattled. Others of us sit now with this undercurrent of anxiety we can’t quite explain but can’t deny. Left to themselves, those fears become all-consuming. And our natural instinct is to turn from God and appeal to some other truth or remedy, going in a thousand irrational, maniacal directions just to console our soul. I know this, because I do this. So do you.
Jesus identifies with our fears on the cross so that we might identify with His trust in His Father. But He transforms our fears when He invites us to, if you will, filter our fears through the cross: to place our fears against what should be our greatest fear—to see them in the context of being utterly abandoned by God and then realize Christ Himself has utterly obliterated that reason for fear. Viewing our fears in the shadow of what His cross did convicts us as it consoles us: convicted that our fears betray our failure to believe He’s solved our greatest fear; consoled that, if He can resolve our ultimate fear, He is more than willing and able to help us face our other fears with peace.
He transforms our glories in similar fashion.
We glory in many things—derive great satisfaction from them. In that there’s no harm. But almost instinctually we find ourselves trying to replicate the successes to preserve the feelings that come with those glories—or we just try to sustain the feelings themselves. In time, one of two things will happen: we let those glories lure us away from God, such that we think we no longer have need of Him. Or we let those glories so define us—tell us who we are and what we’re worth—that when the glories fade, we fade with them. Life devolves into delusion or nostalgia; either way, we’re lost.
Jesus’ transparent speech and death transform our glories by inviting us to filter our glories through the glory His cross purchased us. When simple pleasures or monumental achievements gratify us, we take them to God by reminding ourselves of what constitutes our greatest gratification.
Jesus doesn’t chide us for the satisfaction we find, for instance in our achievements, or our talents, or our children. He is not interested in stealing joy from these lesser glories. Rather, He means to remind us that all the glories of this life are themselves gifts—gifts that point us to a Giver to whom we are then endeared all the more. Viewing our glories in the light of our greatest glory keeps us from forgetting the God from whom all blessings—and glories—flow.
Do you see how fear and glory are inseparably linked? Unless Jesus’ transparent speech transforms our fears from all-consuming to God-endearing, fear will often fuel our pursuit of some glories. And frustration or loss of our glories will create fear. This is a good Friday because Jesus’ death gives us the hope and the power to have rightly ordered fears and glories.
To those of you who may be considering Jesus for the first time, or yet again, His speech to you is His Gospel: trust in what His death did for you, and He will rescue you from all-consuming fears and intoxicating, yet unsatisfying, glories.
And to those who have yielded to Him, but who find themselves beset with lingering fears, or dulled to the glory of God by your own lesser glories, humble yourselves in the sight of God by taking your abiding fears and distracting glories to the foot of this cross. That is your spiritual formation.
We may never get a wholly transparent politician but we shall always have a transparent Lord, who sees through you and died for you anyway.
Don’t let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith and in purity.
Timothy, guard what has been entrusted to your care. Turn away from godless chatter and the opposing ideas of what is falsely called knowledge,
James Madden grew up in Dallas at PCPC. He attended Washington and Lee University and later worked with Reformed University Fellowship (RUF) at Wake Forest University. James was recently ordained on March 22, 2015, and currently serves as the RUF Campus Minister at SMU.
Two commands in one relationship between two people; that the young man might grow into maturity, to become seasoned in the faith like the old man. Such is the letter from the Apostle Paul to his protégé, Timothy. Of course, there are many themes, motifs, and principles one can draw from 1 Timothy, yet there are two trajectories within Paul’s first letter that produce an internal tension within young Timothy. Juxtapose the verses I Timothy 4:12 and 6:20, and weigh how the two messages might interact with one another. On the one hand, Timothy is to stand tall and confident, a leader for whom all ages and stages of the Christian life might point and cry, “Yes! That is it. Behold, the young man of God.” On the other hand, Timothy is a disciple, a guardian of good news entrusted to him to protect, proclaim, and preserve the future of the church. One posture is that of a proactive, public leader. The other is that of a sentinel, a recipient. Do the two conflict? Not necessarily, but they do require a subtle wisdom to embody.
The public leader has several characteristics, and according to Paul, he is to exemplify these virtues as a role model for everyone, including those older than he. He is to speak humbly, but boldly. He is to act with conviction yet humility. He is to love, but within love there exists rebuke and compassion. One must also walk by faith and not by sight and still be authentic in periodic doubting. And yet even then, one must be pure: holy, righteous, blameless, and set apart from the world. So, no pressure for young Timothy.
Not dissimilarly, the private custodian holds equally important responsibilities. He is to protect the Gospel, curate it even, and he is to then guard this deposit while simultaneously engaging in his present cultural context. How does one know when to interject the good deposit into public dialogue? How can one proclaim and protect the Gospel within a cacophony of public voices and yet still avoid the red herrings, circuitous debates, the rhetoric, and the idea du jour?
I am a young minister of the Gospel, and I feel this tension. Of course, I am no Timothy or Paul or anyone for that matter (not to self-deprecate too much), but I have been called, taught, examined, and now installed to proclaim the Gospel while simultaneously living a public life of faith and purity. So no pressure. It is obvious that it is an impossible task for anyone to do perfectly, let alone someone green like myself or Timothy. So, what to do?
One comfort for the young minister is the apostle Paul. Whether that is Paul himself or an older living pastoral figure, the young pastor must see the Christian live before him. I must see it lived before me. Thankfully, Jesus did not overnight mail the ESV Bible to His disciples and say, “Best of luck! When in doubt, use your grammatical-historical exegesis!” No, He lived with them for years. There was an indissoluble link between word and deed throughout His ministry. As much as He died for the disciples, He also spoke to His life, death, and resurrection’s significance, even if the disciples did not understand. The young minister is looking for someone to watch and follow after. Will he find someone?
Let’s expand the scope. The Christian life must be modeled for all Timothys, those in pastoral and lay ministry. Will the young Timothys find their Pauls? I don’t know. There is a hunger within the millennial generation (those born between 1980-2000, roughly) for mentors, and yet millennials alienate themselves from older generations. The millennial gets Paul’s first message: be an example, be a leader, change the world (no pressure). The millennial does not understand the second: guard and keep the deposit entrusted to you.
I fear for the millennials, because there is moxie without maturity. I live in a millennial ghetto—there is no attachment to past history, Christianity, philosophy, or culture. Millennials are shiny cars without drivers; they have impressive engines, great custom interiors, but who will drive? Where will Timothy go if Paul does not show him? And yet what is even more troubling is the endemic moral incoherence of our Western moment (yes, even within the churches, too).
Millennials are products of their cultural milieu; we are not special or unique. There is great potential within millennials, but again, I fear the moxie. The call to be big and bold and set an example has been reinforced ever since grade school. What is often omitted is the entrusted deposit of the good news of Christ.
I am eternally grateful for my upbringing within the PCA, because through it, I believe I received the good deposit. I have watched and continue to watch many Pauls show me the life he commands Timothy to emulate. I want for others what I have received, for we are surrounded by irreverent babble and contradictions. Many of the latest advances in knowledge, particularly within the social sciences, epitomize what is falsely called “knowledge.” Only wise believers, able to sort through the noise, will be able to show the millennials what it is to abide in Christ as we rejoice in the Gospel.
I will say it again and again, with love and humility: We need the Pauls.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Like many families, our family typically spends a fair amount of time and energy preparing for Easter Sunday, or as our church calls it, Resurrection Sunday. Some of our preparations center on the message of Jesus’ death and resurrection: meditating on the biblical account of the events, doing the “resurrection eggs” activity with our three young children, and attending special worship services. Some of our preparations center on our celebration of Jesus’ death and resurrection: planning a big meal, laying out special clothes, and stuffing eggs with candy for our egg hunt. But recently I have realized that our family spends almost no time and energy responding to Resurrection Sunday. The following week, we mostly return to the same old routines and inward concerns of everyday life, which seems inconsistent at best and disobedient at worst considering how the first Christians responded to the resurrection.
Think for a moment of how the disciples responded to the resurrection. Beyond the initial confusion and excitement, the resurrection gave them a new identity and mission: to be witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection. Luke says the risen Jesus appeared to them and “opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in His name to all nations, beginning in Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things” (Luke 24:45-48). Rather than keeping the good news of His death and resurrection to themselves, Jesus told His disciples to be witnesses of those things to all nations.
In the opening chapters of Acts, Peter repeatedly affirmed this new identity and mission to be witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection. In Acts 1:22, when seeking a replacement for Judas, Peter tells the other disciples, “One of these men must become with us a witness to His resurrection.” In his sermon at Pentecost, Peter tells the Jews of Jerusalem, “This Jesus God raised up, and of that we all are witnesses” (Acts 2:32). Shortly afterwards, Peter tells the people of Jerusalem, “You killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses” (Acts 3:15). And finally, before the council of the Sadducees, Peter said, “The God of our fathers raised Jesus, whom you killed by hanging Him on a tree…and we are witnesses to these things” (Acts 2:30-32).
Not only did Peter and the apostles talk about being witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection, they bore witness to Jesus’ resurrection in their evangelistic preaching. Nearly half of Peter’s sermon at Pentecost concerned Jesus’ resurrection (Acts 2:24-32). In Acts 4:33, Luke says, “And with great power the apostles were given their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and grace was upon them all.” And Paul preached at length about the resurrection of Jesus, both to the Jews (Acts 13:29-39) and to the Gentiles (Acts 17:30-32).
Why was Jesus’ resurrection so central to the witness of the first Christians? First, the resurrection completed Jesus’ work of redemption. As Paul says, if Jesus did not rise from the dead, our faith is vain, and we are still in our sins (1 Corinthians 15:17). But because He rose from the dead, we are justified (Romans 4:25). Second, the resurrection confirmed Jesus’ identity. His resurrection declared Him to be the Son of God (Romans 1:4) and the Savior from sin (1 Timothy 3:16). And third, the resurrection compels people to respond to Jesus and His Gospel. As a public, historical event, the resurrection cannot be ignored; one must either deny it (Matthew 28:11-15) or believe it (Romans 10:9).
Responding to the resurrection in a biblical way not only means believing in Jesus for our own salvation, but witnessing about Jesus to all nations. And our witnessing about Jesus will be incomplete if we do not witness to Jesus’s resurrection as the first Christians did.
I will be the first to admit that to witness to Jesus’s resurrection before unbelievers is not easy. On the one hand, it requires boldness, because some may reject it. Unlike Jesus’ loving care or moral example to us, His physical resurrection from death is not an easy-to-swallow idea for very many. And as it did for Paul, proclaiming the resurrection may bring mockery (Acts 17:32) and, in extreme circumstances, perhaps even threats of death (Acts 23:6-12).
But to witness to Jesus’ resurrection is never fruitless; God will bless our witness and cause even the most unlikely hearers to accept the risen Jesus as their Lord and Savior (Acts 13:42-43). At the end of his glorious chapter about physical resurrection of believers, Paul writes, “Therefore, my beloved, brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:58). In light of the resurrection of Jesus Christ and His victory over our own sin and death, Paul says we can be steadfast and immovable witnesses. Like the first Christians, may we as a church, as families, and as individuals be found responding to the resurrection as witnesses, knowing that in the Lord, our labor is not in vain.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
We are all in the business of Kingdom building. Subconsciously or intentionally, we spend our days creating, building, and fluffing our kingdom of self. We fill our little kingdoms with the things we love and the accolades we receive, and often we hope it will support the weight of our desires. And yet our small kingdoms cannot withstand the pressure. We desperately need a bigger, better Kingdom. This is exactly why Jesus came.
With the unpredictable weather in Texas, we have become proficient tent builders. One by one, we haul the dining room table chairs into the master bedroom. Using the bed and chairs as the perfect boundaries, we canopy the room in blankets. We drape my old high school t-shirt blanket as the tent’s roof—proudly displaying every club, prom, and football season. We spread out a beach towel for the floor and stack pillows to make walls—impenetrable borders until our playful dog storms the fort. Will likes to take his favorite things into the tent. One basketball, baseball, and football at a time, he is creating his perfect little kingdom.
One afternoon in particular, we built a fort. Will—a busy almost-two-year-old—was just having a rough afternoon, and eventually it ended in a meltdown. He wasn’t feeling well, he was tired, and quickly he retreated tearfully to his tent. After a couple of minutes, I noticed that his crying hadn’t calmed, and he was lying with his little face buried in the beach towel. He needed to be lifted out of his despair—he couldn’t do it himself. I bent down and dipped my head under the blanket, crawling towards my melted toddler. Even in his upset state, he didn’t resist as I scooped him up and into my lap. His head was warm and his tears streaked my shirt, but I held him close. He needed someone to come into his tent kingdom and lift him out.
In that moment, I was overwhelmed by the clarity of the Gospel in the most average of days. There is a Celtic saying that talks about a “thin place.” This particular phrase describes a place where the veil between heaven and earth is particularly “thin,” so much so that one is able to catch a glimpse of eternity. In a “thin place,” for a moment in time, heaven and earth seem as one. It’s an incredibly beautiful thought for us as believers. For me, I can think of no thinner place than the edge of the mighty sea. However, the mundane—the normal activity of day-to-day life—has become a beautiful thin place as well. It’s not the ocean’s roar, but it’s equally as staggering. Will is no different than his mama. On a day when I doubt the Lord’s goodness to me, I desperately need someone to crawl into my tent and rescue me from my own meltdown.
The great news of Easter is that Jesus came for me. He came for you. He came for the world that He created. Breaking into our world of self-made kingdoms, the Kingdom of God overwhelmed our brokenness. “Though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:6-8). The Lord Jesus—in all His divinity—bent down and crawled into our t-shirt blanket tents. Despite our unreasonable state and lingering mess, He came. Into our small kingdoms, He moved in to save us from ourselves. Our despair and self-created chaos did not deter heaven’s grace. It knocked down our pillow walls and stooped low to give us hope.
As I sat with Will in his tent, I caught a glimpse of the Lord’s dying love for me. Easter is the most staggering, beautiful picture of our mess-turned-clean state. Our Savior lives and reigns at the Father’s right hand today, but He also lived and reigned in our broken, needy world so that we could have life. Our little kingdoms cannot withstand our deepest need, and they don’t have to. Heaven’s Kingdom accomplished all that we need and more on the cross.
At Christmas, we celebrate the coming King—a Savior who stooped low and left the brilliance of heaven for the muck and mire of this world. At Easter, we rejoice that He came, lived, died, and then rose. Heaven crawled into our t-shirt blanket tents and, in His infinite grace and mercy, pulled us out that we may truly live.
But Moses said, “The people among whom I am number six hundred thousand on foot, and you have said, ‘I will give them meat, that they may eat a whole month!’ Shall flocks and herds be slaughtered for them, and be enough for them? Or shall all the fish of the sea be gathered together for them, and be enough for them?” And the Lord said to Moses, “Is the Lord's hand shortened? Now you shall see whether My word will come true for you or not.”
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Several weeks ago, my wife and I took our two-year-old daughter to the beach for the first time since she’s been able to walk. I was not sure how she would respond to the sand and the waves. Excitement? Nervousness? Paralyzing fear? Some children are terrified by the vastness of the ocean, its waves, and the creatures that live in it (thanks to Finding Nemo’s shark, Bruce, and the Little Mermaid’s villain, Ursula…among others) but not our little girl. Brynn loved the sand, the shells, the waves; she was virtually fearless. She was even strangely fond of the recurrent birds circling overhead, waiting for her small hands to fumble goldfish or PB&J or yogurt-covered raisins. At one point, she demanded I try to catch a bird. Being a good father, I obliged. I’m sure you can imagine the scene—a barefoot father running back and forth leaping in the air with outstretched arms, trying to grab a bird as my daughter giggled, demanded another try, pointed, and giggled again. She couldn’t understand why the birds were so hard for me to capture. They were just out of my reach. How do you explain our physiological differences except to say that Dad’s arms were too short? She wanted a bird, but my arms couldn’t make it happen. I was willing but clearly unable.
This disconnect is similar to Israel’s situation in the wilderness except “Dad” is quite different. Never before that day had Brynn seen her father catch a bird. My arms had always been too short. But Israel! O Israel! She had witnessed her Father exceedingly willing and abundantly able to provide. She had witnessed the strength and length of His arms through the plagues, at the shore of the sea, with the manna falling from the sky in the wilderness. Time and time again, His arm proved long enough and swift enough and strong enough to deliver them and provide. And every time, the provisions were exceedingly above what they imagined. Every insurmountable foe—whether it be Pharaoh or hunger—had been surmounted. Yet here they are again—led by their deliverer Moses—questioning the power and reach of God. Can His arms provide what His people need?
There is a similar story in the New Testament about Jesus feeding more people than any reasonable person (or disciple) would think possible to feed. Five loaves and two fish for 5,000 men, not including women and children? Impossible. Again the question resounds: can His arms provide what His people need? And yet we are told as the wait staff cleared the tables that “they all ate and were satisfied, and they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over” (Matthew 14:20).
Of course His arms can provide what His people need. Bread from the sky? Meat in the wilderness? Bread and fish for thousands? Not a problem for our God; His arm is long, and His heart is wide. Satisfaction for your starving soul? Yes! His arm is able and wiling for you, today.
What might be troubling you this day? Do not let life make your God into a feeble father trying to capture birds with shortened arms. Instead, be aware that our trials are temporary and His arms permanent. We doubt, grumble, and question, but God’s arm is not too short; neither has it been shortened. His outstretched arms can provide what His people need. His outstretched arms have provided what His people needed most. His arms bore our sins on the tree so that we might die and yet exceedingly and abundantly live. His arms suffered the curse of sin for us that we might exceedingly and abundantly inherit the promise of blessing. His arms burst the bonds of death and the gates of hell that we might exceedingly and abundantly taste newness of life. Though our perspective tends to be shortsighted, His arms never fail to be out-stretched.
He brought me out into a broad place;
He rescued me, because He delighted in me.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Either my wife is really good at rescuing animals, or they are really good at finding her. Scarcely a month goes by that Ann doesn’t come home with the latest Story of Rescue: Animal Edition. It’s uncanny. Once she stopped traffic on a busy residential street in Dallas to form a team and corral a dog. Another time she rescued a bird from impending doom. And there was just last week when Ann found a kitten trembling against the curb several streets from our house. As far as Ann could tell, someone dumped this kitten. No one in the area recognized him. His paws were pristine as if he had been inside. There he was, left for dead, and there was Ann, ready to rescue. Little did the kitten know that being found by Ann is like winning the lost animal lottery.
We spent a couple days looking for the kitten’s original owner and pursuing a loving home for him. As outside options fell through, inside our house the situation was changing. Ann was crazy about the kitten, our son Will couldn’t stop saying “Hi, kitty cat!” and I even started to like him. (Our dog wasn’t so sure about the whole thing.) Long story short, we decided to keep the kitten. Milo is ours now, and though animal rescues are not the biggest thing going on in the world today, this story has given me a window into the great story that shapes our lives as Christians.
In Psalm 18, David remembers the perilous place he was in: “The cords of death encompassed me; the torrents of destruction assailed me” (v. 4). King Saul was out to get David, and his life was hanging in the balance. Sometimes on the run, sometimes confined, David could always sense the danger Saul posed. But the Psalms remind us that David always knew that he could cry out to the Lord, and the Lord would answer. David writes, “He brought me out into a broad place; He rescued me, because He delighted in me” (v. 19). The reality of the Lord’s rescue usually gets the headlines, but I want to focus on the rest of the story. What does it mean to live as one who has been rescued?
When the Lord rescues us, we find ourselves living in a new world, even if our circumstances don’t really change. From a life of running or a life of confinement, the Lord brings us out into a broad place. The walls were caving in on us, but now the air seems fresher and the skies bluer. We experience a new atmosphere, but also a new affection. We are in danger of missing the wonder of our redemption when we focus on the what of the cross without remembering the why. If we ask, “What did Jesus do to rescue us?” we can answer that question. We might even be proud of our answers. But ask, “Why did Jesus do it?” and our words fail. We struggle to get to the bottom of it. Why? “Because He loved me.” Why? “Because He delighted in me.” Why? “Because that’s just the way God is.” Why? “I don’t know, but isn’t it amazing?”
Since we rescued Milo the kitten, I’ve loved watching his response. He has every reason to be terrified—past trauma, strange people, new house, energetic toddler, and suspicious canine—but from the moment Ann brought him home, Milo has been comfortable. He was probably hours away from getting hit by a car or taken by a coyote, but now he is in a whole new atmosphere. He’ll play like a kitten, but then he just wants to curl up on someone’s lap. I’ve seen plenty of cats. I know they can be into themselves, but Milo seems different. He wants to be where we are. He has an affection that just makes me wonder: Does he realize the distance between where he was and where he is now? Does he know he was rescued? He looks out our back door when it’s open, but he has no interest in going out there. Does he remember his old life and have no desire to go back? Maybe I just want to think that. Maybe it helps me justify keeping a kitten. Regardless of what Milo knows, I love the story. Whenever I see him, I remember that he was rescued. We rescued him because we delighted in him and wanted him to be ours.
If you don’t like cats, this story surely sounds crazy and impractical. But remember—this really isn’t about cats. Milo’s story reminds me of the great story. There’s a God who rescues people because He delights in them, because He wants them to be His. How crazy and impractical does that sound? Through the work of Christ, the Father rescues us from a death we deserve and adopts us into a family better than our wildest dreams. “He rescued me.” Is that your story? “He brought me out into a broad place?” Is that your atmosphere? “He delighted in me.” Do you know His affection? And if you do, don’t you want the Lord to use you to bring His rescue to others?
Praise the Lord.
Praise the Lord, my soul.
I will praise the Lord all my life;
I will sing praise to my God as long as I live.
Do not put your trust in princes,
in human beings, who cannot save.
When their spirit departs, they return to the ground;
on that very day their plans come to nothing.
Blessed are those whose help is the God of Jacob,
whose hope is in the Lord their God.
He is the Maker of heaven and earth,
the sea, and everything in them—
He remains faithful forever.
He upholds the cause of the oppressed
and gives food to the hungry.
The Lord sets prisoners free,
the Lord gives sight to the blind,
the Lord lifts up those who are bowed down,
the Lord loves the righteous.
The Lord watches over the foreigner
and sustains the fatherless and the widow,
but He frustrates the ways of the wicked.
The Lord reigns forever,
your God, O Zion, for all generations.
Praise the Lord.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
"Are you blind?!?," he screamed. It wasn’t a rhetorical question. "Is that how they teach you at your hospital?!" A pool of angry spittle formed on his lower lip. I had nothing to say. As the resident, I better have nothing to say. The inquisitor was a staff pediatric radiologist, famous for his bibliography and infamous for his temper, and now that temper exploded onto me with unbridled fury. He threw the images onto the floor and charged into the room where the baby lay.
The procedure was simple, done dozens of times a week. The baby was in the x-ray room; the tube was in her nose and down into her stomach. Then the barium went down to be sure the swallowing tube and stomach were clear. Routine. But in an instant, with me watching, the barium came out of the stomach and filled the lower half of the baby's right lung. Ninety seconds later, I handed the images to "Dr. C," and the barrage began. "Are you blind!?!"
Well, in the most rudimentary, physiologic sense, no. Of course not. But in the deeper, more important sense, yes. I was blind. In that moment, faced with an uncommon occurrence and an unsuspected diagnosis, I was blind to the reality before me. I was, as it were, blind at noonday, unable to comprehend what I was seeing.
Think about that now in a spiritual sense. Recall how often in Scripture we hear of God restoring sight to the blind, of darkness being vanquished so sight is renewed. Blindness that was real and congenital was healed by the Messiah. But we also read of that deeper and more important sense. We read that many people saw Jesus, many people watched the miracles, but far fewer actually beheld His glory. Only some actually saw Jesus with unblinded eyes.
So what does that mean? How do we think about this clear-eyed, faith-filled sight?
Well, first and most importantly, sight that truly sees is given to us. Always. We cannot strain to see through the darkness or tilt our heads in the dusk of unbelief. We see because Jesus, by His Spirit, makes us see. Think of those fellows strolling to Emmaus. They only saw the Lord when He revealed Himself in the breaking of the bread. Mary was looking right at Him, then He called her by name, and she saw.
Secondly, when we really do see Jesus, as He reveals Himself to us, we see everything else differently. We see the foolishness of all the enticements of the world. We see, at last, that “all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh, and the desires of the eyes, and the pride of possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever” (1 John 2:16-17). We also see that so very much of our lives is wasted in the nowhere land between the "if" and the "then." "If I can get that promotion, then...". "If my wife would just_____, then..." There are a million of those "if/then" traps that hold us captive to the value system of this passing world.
But when we see Jesus, in all His Glory, in all His love, and in all His resurrection power, we come to know that He's already managed the "thens" for us. He's already taken care of it. His finished work means we can learn to see the world the same way Paul did. The murderously brilliant, blinded rabbi whose scaly eyes were opened to see.
”Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Finally, brothers, whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you.” Philippians 4:4-9
That is emphatically not the way the world sees things. Ask the Lord to open your eyes and know that, truly, believing is seeing.
Soli Deo Gloria
P.S. The baby was fine.
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To Him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Pat Hobin was born and raised in Dallas and has a Bachelors degree from University of Texas as well as a Masters in Counseling degree from Colorado Christian University. Pat served on the staff at Park Cities Presbyterian Church as the Single Adult Pastor in the early 90s and is currently serving as the Director of Counseling & Care. He is also an adjunct professor at Redeemer Seminary.
Pat has three grown daughters: Katherine (27), Sarah (25), and Grace (22).
In early March, I went to Cuba on a short-term mission trip. As I am sure you have heard, Havana looks like a movie set from the 1950s. There is nothing new, and everything has a very dated or dilapidated appearance. Some call Havana “The Crumbling City.” The architecture is spectacular but literally crumbling slowly from neglect.
Upon my return to Dallas, I began to realize that the Western Church looks a lot like Havana—not necessarily a movie set out of the 1950s or an outward crumbling building, but instead a crumbling that stems from an acquiescence or acceptance of the way things are in our culture. We gloss over things we should probably find bothersome and, in many cases, appalling. We have become desensitized to seeing sex and violence on television with no real concern as to how it might significantly affect our hearts. We have become obsessed with a singular pursuit of comfort as if it is a right to which we are entitled. We celebrate an idolatrous devotion to sports with virtually no awareness of how it compromises worship of our God. It appears that by turning a deaf ear and a blind eye, we have been lulled to sleep. Tragically, I think we are sleeping well.
As I think about our Cuban brothers and sisters, I think about all of us in light of I Peter 5: 6–11. This passage exposes how differently things look when faith rules a heart as opposed to relying on self-sufficiency. Self-sufficiency tells us that only fools humble themselves and that we should, instead, exalt ourselves. It has us scoffing at the thought of an adversary and feeling quite safe dancing with a roaring and ravenous lion. It also tells us that we know what is best and reinforces the commitment to control our own lives.
This passage wakes us up from our slumber and helps us realize that objectionable entertainment, an obsession with comfort, and misplaced worship are truly dangerous—deadly is more accurate. If we believe that, really believe it, then maybe it is time to address those three areas beginning with our televisions, comfort sources, and sports appetite. Self-indulgence signals a lack of sober humility.
This passage tells us to humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God. When we do, we are yielding control and acknowledging His sovereign authority over us. If we truly understand that, it is incredibly freeing, and it gives us eyes to see and ears to hear. We see Him as the Giver and Sustainer of life, and we hear His voice guiding and directing us. We trust in the work He has done for us and in the promises He has made to us.
This passage tells us to humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God, so at the proper time, He may exalt us. Who does the exalting? He does, and He will do it on His timetable. Who does He exalt? He exalts those who are willing to humble themselves before Him.
This passage tells us to humble ourselves under the mighty hand of God, casting all our anxieties on Him because we know He cares for us. He alone is the One who is worthy of our worship. Don’t ever forget that, and don’t ever forget that He cares for us. He is our true source of comfort!
This passage tells us to be sober-minded and be watchful because we have a real adversary. We are to resist him, firm in our faith. Operating out of faith allows us to stand firm, as opposed to operating out of a paralyzing or compromising fear.
Finally, this passage tells us to be prepared for the same kind of suffering that is being experienced by our brotherhood throughout the world. We are not promised comfort, but we are told that we will only suffer for a little while. We rest in the truth that the God of all grace, who has called us to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish us.
May we trust Him, and may the truth of this passage be evident in our lives today, tomorrow, and forever! Amen!
And James and John...came up to Him and said to Him, “Teacher, we want You to do for us whatever we ask of You.” And He said to them, “What do you want Me to do for you?” And they said to Him, “Grant us to sit, one at Your right hand and one at Your left, in Your glory.” Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” And they said to him, “We are able."...And when the ten heard it, they began to be indignant at James and John.
Kristen Hatton is a native Texan now putting roots down in Edmond, Oklahoma with her pastor husband and their three (mostly) teenagers. With a public relations degree from Southern Methodist University, Kristen has a wide background of professional experiences, none of which she counts as important to the job of being a "present" mom. Through leading a small group Bible study of teenagers, she has discovered her passion for teaching and writing about God's grace and ministering to teens. Her first book, Get Your Story Straight: A Teen's Guide to Learning and Living the Gospel, was recently released with a second book specific to teen girls in the works. To learn more visit: kristenhatton.com
Haven't we all at some time or another felt snubbed by a friend? Maybe someone you expected to be there for you wasn't. Maybe several friends did something together, but you weren't invited. Or, perhaps someone stole your spotlight by turning the attention to himself. In whatever the circumstance, how did you feel? Did it feel like a personal attack or abandonment? Did it make you want to retaliate? Did you lose sleep over it?
My husband has been preaching through the book of Mark, and one passage that recently hit me centers on a situation in which two of Jesus’ disciples, James and John, snubbed their fellow disciples. In considering that Peter is the one recalling the event for Mark to record, I speculated how he must have felt after hearing what the other two asked of Jesus. But the passage takes us in a different direction, and all of the sudden our own hearts are under the microscope.
Did they really just ask Jesus if they could be the ones to sit on either side of Him in glory? I wonder if Peter was thinking, "What about me? I'm the one who deserves to be seated at His right hand!"
The reality is this snub probably didn’t have anything to do with Peter or the others. Most likely the others had not even crossed James’ and John’s minds. Their minds were simply filled with their own selfish ambition and desire to be made great.
It’s like kids at a birthday party who all want to sit next to the birthday girl, get the first piece of cake, or have her open their present first. They aren't thinking of anyone but themselves. If they get what they want, they feel more important than everyone else there. But what happens if someone else gets what they want?
Jealousy. Jealousy because they are now deprived of the attention and spotlight they craved. In this example, the heart is easy to see, but is ours any different?
What if someone else is elected to the position we sought? What if we don't get as many "likes" or "comments" on our social media posts as someone else? Or, let's ask it this way—when we have floor or box seats to the biggest sporting event or concert in town, don't we feel pretty important? Like we are better and more important than anyone else there!
What we need to see is how like James and John we are. We, too, have a blockage in our hearts caused by our own self-centeredness, self-glory, and self-love. A blockage so dire, heart surgery is our only hope!
The work and worth of Jesus is the surgery we need applied to our hearts. Only He was willing to do what we are not. Only He drank from the cup for people who care more about themselves than others around them. There was no other way to keep us from having to drink the cup of God's wrath for the ways we selfishly snub, dismiss, and harm others—this is why He had to die.
By God's grace, may the ways of the world telling us to make ourselves great, to be noticed, to be first, and to be the best get pushed out. Instead may we see a Savior who came to stoop and serve.
And Jesus called them to Him and said to them, “You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give His life as a ransom for many.” Mark 10:42-45
Living life in the reality of His Kingdom calls us to die to self, to serve others for their good, and to lose for others’ gain. Instead of trying to be great, we should strive to make others great—willingly exhausting ourselves so other are strengthened.
I don't know about you, but even on a good day, this is hard, which makes it all the more clear that my heart is blocked by selfishness. Admitting the need for surgery is not easy, but it is freeing. Freeing to see that Jesus loves me despite my selfish heart, and, in the ugliness of my exposed heart, I am met by how beautiful my Savior is to me.
Once when Jacob was cooking stew, Esau came in from the field, and he was exhausted. And Esau said to Jacob, “Let me eat some of that red stew, for I am exhausted!” (Therefore his name was called Edom.) Jacob said, “Sell me your birthright now.” Esau said, “I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?” Jacob said, “Swear to me now.” So he swore to him and sold his birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau bread and lentil stew, and he ate and drank and rose and went his way. Thus Esau despised his birthright.
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
It’s easy to sympathize with Esau. Under extreme duress, on the brink of death, his twin brother seizes an opportunity to weaken him even further. Esau’s reasoning seems beyond reproach: “I am about to die; of what use is a birthright to me?” So Esau consents to the exchange, “and sold his birthright to Jacob.” Jacob’s actions are deplorable, but Esau, who could blame?
Well, the narrator blames him. He makes clear a moral judgment against Esau in his conclusion of the scene: “Thus Esau despised his birthright.” That judgment is confirmed by the writer of Hebrews: “See to it that no one fails to obtain the grace of God…that no one is sexually immoral or unholy like Esau, who sold his birthright for a single meal” (Hebrews 12:15-16). Scripture renders Esau the villain.
So what are we to learn from Esau’s ill-fated decision? Maybe it’s that we should avoid showing any signs of vulnerability, for the world crouches, waiting to take advantage of a weakness exposed. But that can’t be the lesson, for it’s not the weakness in Esau that the narrator condemns. Rather, it’s the choice Esau makes in order to relieve his weakness. There’s something in the choice that deserves our attention.
If we take Esau’s appraisal of his condition at face value, then the choice is between his rights as the firstborn son and the possibility of losing his life. And if that is in fact the choice, then Scripture’s evaluation is clear: There are things worth more than our comfort and momentary cravings. And even more, some things are so valuable that we should not turn our backs on them at any cost, even though holding on to them puts us in mortal danger.
Christian martyrs throughout the centuries have lived as alternatives to Esau, having “held fast the confession of faith without wavering,” even unto death (Hebrews 10:23). Stanley Hauerwas, a professor of theology at Duke University, says that this is one of primary tasks of the Church. He quotes the Russian novelist, Alexander Solzhenitsyn, who writes, “The problem with modern society is its sinful presumption that man is born to be happy, when he clearly has to die.” Hauerwas adds, “A truthful [community] is one that teaches us to die for the right thing, and only the church can be trusted with that task.” One lesson from Esau is that we must learn to risk our lives for the right thing.
But there’s something more fundamental here, and it has to do with the birthright itself. As moderns, we don’t live in a world of birthrights anymore, so it’s hard to understand the value. The firstborn son held the position of honor within the family. He was singled out from the rest, given a double portion of the inheritance, and considered the definer of the family’s destiny. In Esau’s case, as the firstborn son of Isaac, his birthright meant more than material wealth and privilege; it involved his calling as the bearer of the Abrahamic promise. Esau was the rightful steward of the Messianic hope through which God intended to bless the world. In selling his birthright, Esau wasn’t merely choosing personal health over personal privilege. He was choosing his own life over his calling to bear God’s life to the world.
Now contrast Esau with the One who Scripture names as the “firstborn of all creation,” Jesus Christ (Colossians 1:15). Throughout all eternity, Jesus experienced the matchless affection of God the Father, singled out in His position of honor and authority. When Satan tempted Jesus in the desert to bow down to him in exchange for all the kingdoms on earth, he was inviting Jesus to despise His birthright, to turn His back on His calling to bless the world. But Jesus refused. He held fast to His birthright until there was something even better worth exchanging it for. That something, the Bible tells us, is actually someone. It’s you. It’s me. It’s the Church.
At the cross, Matthew records Jesus’ final words as an address to God the Father. Only for the first time, Jesus does not call Him, “Father.” He says instead, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” It’s a final cry of dereliction for a Son who has lost His firstborn blessing, for a Son who has exchanged His birthright for a curse in order that we might experience the blessing of becoming the firstborn sons of God (Galatians 4:4).
If Jesus was willing to let go of His birthright to have you, then what does that say about your value in His eyes?
And consider also the evaluation of God the Father. There is little doubt that we all crave the unique affection that falls to the firstborn. In our union with Christ, that is exactly how God feels about us. God the Father loves us as if we were the only one in the world, with a love that is as exceptional as it is cosmic.
If you are in Christ, you are a firstborn son of God, no matter how unexceptional you feel in the moment. The privileges and rights and joys of the firstborn belong to you. And so does the calling. You are a bearer of God’s mercy to a world that desperately needs it. Don’t despise your birthright. Don’t exchange it for a life of momentary comfort and ease. Instead, give your life in service to it, without fear that a life cherished by God can ever truly be lost.
So to keep me from becoming conceited because of the surpassing greatness of the revelations, a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But He said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
What is growth in the Christian life? Too many people equate Christianity with morality, and because they do, Christians are seen as good people who get better. Growth is seen as people getting stronger and stronger, sinning less and less. This understanding of spiritual growth puts the emphasis on behavior change rather than heart change; when our behavior is the emphasis, we begin to depend more and more on our performance and live our lives as if we need Jesus and His performance less and less.
Spiritual growth is not so much growing stronger as it is growing in God’s grace, where His grace is exalted in our weakness.
We have become experts at hiding our weaknesses. We work hard to display to ourselves, and to others, that we are not weak. But if “Christ’s strength is exalted in our weakness,” then why do so many Christians give the impression to others that we aren’t weak, that we don’t still struggle with sin? Why don’t we boast of our weaknesses?
Because we don’t talk about the fact that we are all weak and still struggle with sin, the Church has become a superficial, unsafe place for weak and sinful people. At church, we perform well for others, put on a mask, and speak more of our victories than we do of our weaknesses. And because we do, people who genuinely struggle with sin are made to feel like they are sub-par Christians, who are alone in their struggles.
But have you ever wondered why God did not just instantly make us perfect when we became Christians? Why does He leave indwelling sin for us to battle until the day we die? Because we aren’t instantly made perfect, our weakness and struggle with sin is meant to glorify God and benefit His people. I want us to consider three reasons why.
First, our weakness and struggle with sin humbles us and makes us more dependent on Jesus. The picture of the Christian life is Israel wandering in the wilderness for 40 years. God redeemed Israel from slavery to Egypt, but He did not immediately lead them into the Promised Land. In Deuteronomy 8:2, we find out why: “And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness that He might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart.”
God knew what was in Israel’s heart, but Israel didn’t. Israel needed to be humbled so that they could see how they need to depend on God every step of the way. When we think we are strong, we live as if we really don’t need God’s grace, and we live as if we are better than other people. We look down upon other people’s weaknesses, and when we look down on others for their weakness, we leave them crushed in the wake of our selfish pride.
We all need to be humbled. We all need to have our eyes open to the fact that “apart from Christ we can do nothing”(John15:5) and that we must depend on Him for everything. We cannot grow in the Christian life without a growing awareness of our sin and how much we need Jesus and His grace. Growth is not the absence of sin; it is our increased understanding of God and His grace amidst our sin. The more we understand God’s grace, the more we display God’s grace to others in their weakness and sin.
Second, by humbling us, we become more understanding, patient, and compassionate towards others in their weakness. When we see ourselves rightly—as a broken, weak, messed up sinner in constant need of God’s grace—it helps us to identify with others instead of elevating ourselves above them. We better understand other people’s struggles because we understand our own; we more easily forgive others for their failures, because we know how often we fail. And yet, God keeps forgiving us.
Third, when we see how weak and sinful we really are, who Jesus is and what He has done for us becomes more amazing and precious. And isn’t that the goal of the Christian life—to fall more in love with Jesus? When we see our weakness, we have eyes to see how strong Jesus is for us. In our key passage, Paul understood that his life’s story was never meant to exalt and glorify himself. His life was meant to exalt and glorify Jesus.
The sufficiency of God’s grace for us is that Jesus takes everything that is bad about us and gives everything that is good about Himself. And because His grace is sufficient, may we all boast more in our weaknesses in order to exalt His grace.
If we live by the Spirit, let us also walk by the Spirit.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
The sketch in my kids’ scripture memory book is of a young boy running to catch up with a woman whose purse isn’t quite clasped shut. She’s inadvertently left a trail of dollars and coins strewn behind her, and the lad is carefully collecting her accidental generosity that he might return it to her.
The boy could’ve absconded with the unexpected gain, but he doesn’t. He could’ve also expected a reward for his integrity, but he doesn’t. His reward came in the form of the simple satisfaction of having done what he knew pleased God.
In the divine economy, what is the greatest reward we could ever get? It’s not the material blessings God could grant us. It’s not even the eternal enjoyments He might bestow. The greatest reward we could ever have is God Himself—knowing Him, experiencing Him, resting in Him (Jeremiah 9:23–24). He is the greatest reward because He is, by definition, the greatest thing in the universe.
To believe God is our greatest gift has an effect on how we value everything else, including what proceeds from doing His will. The kind of heart that believes God Himself is our greatest gift sees nothing else as more appealing or attractive. So the child who gives the money back to the woman without expectation of reward represents the kind of heart God wants us to have: a heart which treasures God most, which is happy to do His will even if it means he will receive nothing else in return. God is His treasure.
But wait. Doesn’t Jesus promise rewards for obedience (Mark 10:23–31)? Doesn’t He encourage the pursuit of treasure in heaven (Matthew 6:19)? That sounds like God means to incentivize us with reward. Yet we also know that Paul warns of misconstruing our salvation as a wage for service rendered (Romans 4:4). Furthermore he seems to embrace an attitude of contentment irrespective of whether God has provided for him materially (Philippians 4:11). God is not our lackey; we are His servants. So how can we understand (and seek) His rewards without misconstruing them as wages? How can we bear fruit for God without reducing our obedience to a mere transaction—a favor now for a leg up later?
We seek to emphasize the necessity of faith in the freedom Christ fought to furnish as the foundation of all our fruit-bearing (with apologies to those with an aversion to alliteration). Christ has freed us from the penalty of sin, from the power of sin, but also from the compulsion to establish our own acceptance with God. Resting in that freedom has several effects, one of which John alludes to when he says, “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:18–19). Faith in his love evacuates fear of our approach to God.
But I would add that faith in His freedom does more than remove fear. It also transforms—even rescues—our obedience from a transactional mindset that unwittingly conceives of God as the cosmic concierge. Knowing that my union with God—my enduring communion and fellowship with Him—is entirely grounded in what Christ has done, rather than what I do, obliterates my naïveté that I could oblige Him to reward me. Moreover, knowing the utter graciousness of that union helps me to see the height of His kindness, and impels me to obey Him for His sake alone—not merely for His gifts or even His rewards.
God does, of course, make promises of reward to those who hallow Him with their lives. But the rewards—like all things related to salvation—are bestowed not because God is obliged to compensate us, but because of His grace. We will be compelled to cast any crowns of affirmation for our obedience at His feet because we will know it was because of Him that we obeyed (Revelation 4:10–11). The fruit of the Spirit comes from a heart which, like a child who unassumingly returns lost money, knows God in that way—even if it also looks forward to an inheritance still to come.
Would you say your obedience is for God, or for His gifts? Could you obey Him if He promised you nothing in return? If God loves to reward the heart that finds its reward in God alone, what conditions are you placing upon your obedience that God must strip away? What matter calls for child-like faith this morning?
For a day in Your courts is better
than a thousand elsewhere.
I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God
than dwell in the tents of wickedness.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
"Do you do anything musical?" That’s what the man asked me as he reviewed the results of my aptitude test. As a senior in high school, I didn’t grasp the gravity of the question. I said something about playing piano in elementary school and singing in the shower. The man wasn’t amused. "You have these high musical aptitudes, and if you don't do anything with them, you'll probably come to a point in life and have a mid-life crisis." My parents were just trying to help me find a college, course of study, and career path. I wasn't ready for the mid-life musical crisis. But I got the message: I asked for a guitar for Christmas.
I never could have imagined where this musical journey would go. At first, music was a hobby for me, and I liked it that way. Playing guitar by myself was one of the few unhurried parts of my life. But the Lord had other plans. I was asked to lead worship for a campus ministry as a freshman in college. I really didn’t want to be in the spotlight, but I reluctantly agreed to do it. As I began leading worship, I found that I was always in a hurry to get “off stage.” It may have looked like humility, but it was really fear. What if I didn’t play or sing well enough? What were people thinking about me? I was too concerned about myself.
Whether we are “up front” or not, many of us worship in the grips of fear. We’re afraid of what other people think. We’re afraid of what God might do if we really give ourselves to Him. And so we hurry through it. Hurried worship may seem like a time problem, but it’s really a heart problem. Perhaps we should ask ourselves, "When—if ever—am I not in a hurry?" Don't we make time for what we love? If we slow down or make time for TV or social media or something else, perhaps that thing is the true joy of our hearts.
"For a day in Your courts is better than a thousand elsewhere." What has happened in the psalmist’s heart? Clearly, he has seen something. What is it? The Lord is better. More glorious. More satisfying. More desirable. Better. When the Holy Spirit opens our eyes and we see Jesus for who He really is, we see and experience and declare that Jesus is better, and the Lord's majesty messes with our math. What never made sense suddenly does: a day in the Lord's presence is better than a thousand elsewhere. We’re not in a hurry because we are right where we want to be. There's no need to fear, and there's no need to fly.
I recently returned from the PCPC Florida Trip. Standing on stage, worshiping with a room full of high school students, I think I have the best vantage point. On the final night, we had a time of worship after the students returned from spending time alone on the beach. During the worship time, students had the opportunity to step out of the room and pray with a leader. We had already sung five songs earlier in the evening, and there was no way of knowing how long the prayer time would last. In the past, this situation would have been my nightmare, but the Lord gave me grace this year. I prepared a bunch of songs, and I asked the Lord to help me be in that moment and to enjoy worshiping Him. So we played and played, and the students prayed and prayed. Students stood together, joyfully singing to the Lord, and no one seemed to worry about when we would finish. Just as I realized that we were down to our last song (bringing our grand total to 17 songs!), the prayer time came to an end. The Lord had orchestrated everything perfectly. I’ll never forget that night of unhurried worship. I'm only sad that these moments are so rare.
I'm not asking for 17 songs this Sunday, but I am asking myself, "Why am I in a hurry to get through three or four?" We never hurry our way to knowing a friend or loving a spouse. Enjoyment takes time. So why do we think that we can be in such a hurry and still bask in the love of Christ?
I'm not really talking about songs or church services either. I love songs and corporate worship, but the Lord invites us to worship Him all the time, in every place. So we're not just hurrying through a service of worship; we're hurrying through a life of worship. It’s sad to “miss” a song on Sunday, but it’s a tragedy to forget that our life is the song. The remedy is not in critiquing the place or the program of worship. The remedy is gazing at the Person we worship until the eyes of our hearts are opened and the pace of our lives is slowed.
In an unhurried moment with the Lord, we finally find the space to voice our heart’s cry: “Lord, why am I in such a hurry? Convince my heart that You are better. No matter where I go today, help me to live in the joy of Your presence.”
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
What did God get when He got you? I know He got a raw deal when He got me. He got someone who doesn’t think about Him very much throughout the day. He got someone who doesn’t talk to Him very much. Someone who would rather live for my little kingdom than for His. Someone who spurns His love to chase after other lovers, thinking that other things can give me what He can’t.
When God chose to set His affection on people, He chose to love people who do not love Him back very well—people who question His goodness, who misunderstand Him, who are unfaithful to Him, who trust more in themselves than they do in Him. So why was Jesus willing to suffer so much in order to get us? The answer is found in Mark 14, where we see that God’s love is one-way love.
The structure of chapter 14 is meant to show us for whom Jesus sacrifices Himself. In verses 10-11, Judas plots with the religious leaders on how to betray Jesus. And in verses 26-31, Jesus predicts how all of the disciples will fall away and desert Him. Sandwiched between Judas’ betrayal and the disciples’ desertion, we have the Last Supper, where Jesus says, “This is My body… And this is My blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.” The Last Supper reveals for whom Jesus sacrifices Himself—prideful, selfish cowards who will betray Him, desert Him, and deny ever knowing Him. Jesus sacrifices Himself for unworthy, unfaithful failures, and in verses 32-42, we see God’s one-way love given to people who don’t return it.
The whole of redemption and the fate of the world hangs in the balance in the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus is faced with the distressful decision of whether to obey His Father or not. Just as the whole of humanity hung in the balance in Genesis 3 on the obedience of Adam over a tree in the garden, the fate of salvation hangs in the balance on the obedience of Jesus over a tree in this garden.
Will Jesus obey the will of His Father and go to the cross, or will He follow His own desires? Will He save Himself, leaving us to pay for sin’s penalty? Or will He sacrifice Himself in order to save us? Mark 14:33-36 reads, “Jesus takes Peter, James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled. And He said to them, ‘My soul is very sorrowful, even to the point of death. Remain here and watch.’ And going a little farther, He fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He said, ‘Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Remove this cup from Me. Yet not what I will, but what You will.’” This scene in the garden defines what it means for God’s Son to be in full submission to His Father, but the question at this point is this: Why would the One whose mission is “to give His life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45), now all of a sudden quake before the prospect of death? What caused His soul to be so greatly distressed to the point of death? Why would Jesus ask for the cup to be removed from Him?
Jesus is greatly distressed because He is aware of facing something more than simply His own death. The cup is the cup of God’s wrath. In giving His life as a ransom for many, Jesus is going to take upon Himself every sin of every one of His people throughout all of history, and Jesus is going to stand before God in their place and pay the ransom for their sins. The One, who for all eternity has known the love and pleasure of His Father, is overwhelmed with sorrow at the prospect of facing His Father’s displeasure and rejection. The thought of being separated from His Father caused Jesus more anguish and agony than all the physical pain He would endure.
In verse 36, we see Jesus struggling with this decision, and yet, we also see that His will to obey His Father is stronger than His desire to serve Himself. “Yet, not what I will, but what You will.” Jesus chose to love His Father, and us, above Himself. This love is beyond comprehension. This love is without limits. This love is God’s unique one-way love given to unworthy, unfaithful failures. In the garden, Jesus chose to face His Father’s wrath, because His Father’s love for us is worth more to Him than anything else in the world.
Do you see what Jesus’ decision in the garden means? If Jesus didn’t abandon you in the garden, do you think He will abandon you now? What did God get when He got you? Someone so valuable to Him that Jesus was willing to face His Father’s displeasure and rejection.
When you begin to see how much He loves you and how valuable you are to Him, you will begin to value Him more than anything else in this world.
"For the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the sons of God."
"He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
The first time my feet hit red, rough dirt, my life changed. In an instant, I was in another world. After hours of travel and months of preparation, I suddenly felt unprepared and anxious. This was a world unlike any I had seen before. Africa. Nothing was familiar—in fact, much of it was jarring to behold. The comforts of my contented world slipped away and I felt raw, exposed and vulnerable. How could a part of God’s created earth look so vastly different from the one with which I was familiar?
As our bus drove through the compound—tires splashing through sewage and frequent pot holes—I sat still and pensive, but my heart was racing. We swerved through “neighborhoods” of homes made of mud and cardboard with thatched roofs, often patched with black tarps. To millions, this was home. I couldn’t begin to comprehend the depravity and need unfolding before my eyes. From my perspective, they “needed” so much. Perhaps that is why what happened next surprised me.
In a matter of moments, herds of tiny feet came scampering in the direction of our advancing bus. Delightful squeals of children—chanting and singing—came rushing towards us as we moved through the compound. Expecting to see somber faces that matched the state of their circumstances, I was humbled to notice something entirely different. These children were radiant. They were joy-filled and exuberant. Our bus carefully moved forward, now with an ocean of children on either side, clapping to the rhythm of the motor.
We came to a stop on the grounds of a nearby community school. The children flocked through the open gate and bounced up and down as our team unloaded. As I stepped off the bus, I was greeted by an overwhelming welcome. Tiny hands gripped mine, as though we had been friends for years. They tugged and jumped and laughed. These children—these beautiful, made-in-God’s-image children—instantly grabbed hold of my heart. Our parade moved into the streets of the compound again and scattered in every direction. They wanted us to see their homes. In the midst of mud, sewage and unimaginable poverty, these children were joyful, content and even proud of the place they called “home.” It stopped me in my tracks—a world so different than my own in appearance and contentment. From a worldly perspective, they had nothing. But as I got to know their hearts and stories and HOPE…they had everything. They had Jesus.
You don’t have to be around for long on this earth to figure out that life is often bittersweet. A juxtaposition of things that are really joyful, delightful and good next to things or circumstances that are difficult, confusing and sad. The concept of bittersweet has been stirring in my mind lately. Life is full of circumstances, events and happenings that are bittersweet in nature. My view this morning looks out over the ocean. The Creator’s handiwork stretches as far as my eye can see. But in a world of such beauty and majesty, there is violence, hate and unthinkable sadness. Yet the two opposing realities are governed by the same merciful Redeemer who is making all things new.
“Bittersweet” is a true reality of our world this side of heaven. I am learning that it is also a significant sign of the Lord’s daily and consistent work of redeeming a broken world. Heartache comes in all forms—the loss of a job, the estrangement of a family member, the ravages of addiction, the miscarriage of a hoped for pregnancy. Creation groans and waits with eager longing (Romans 8:19) to be made new by the One who spun the orbits and feathered the bluebird.
As bittersweet life unfolds, I find myself in a fight for joy. The kind of joy that I saw in those precious faces of Zambian children. There is deep seated sense of joy that comes from knowing Jesus. It rides above circumstances and heartache. It is a joy that buoys us up in the face of great loss and undesirable realities. It is a peace that surpasses understanding. Life is bittersweet—a sure sign that Jesus is at work and He is coming again.
My husband once wrote a song about our coming hope as believers. It’s melody rings through my mind as I contemplate the brokenness of our world and my heart.
We are pilgrims passing through;
We were made to dwell with you.
Cloudy eyes can’t see the way,
All signs point to the day
When death and pain will be erased,
And we see you face to face.
Alleluia, allelu,
Amen, Jesus, please come soon.
All creation groans for you,
And we are feeling homesick, too,
For the God who makes all things new:
Amen, Jesus, please come soon.
The waves crash right outside my window. Creation—in all its majesty and tranquility—points me towards my eternal hope. There will be a day when all is made right, when “He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away” (Revelation 21:4).
My hope is the same as those children in Zambia. Yet they live like they believe it. Lord, give us grace to live with abounding hope. You are making all things new. Amen, Jesus, please come soon.
Kari received her Master’s in Biblical Counseling from Dallas Theological Seminary in 1997 and spent four years in private practice as a counselor. She has been the Director of PCPC Women for the past 15 years, where she loves serving women of all ages and and stages of life. Kari loves being with family and friends, and while God has given her many talents, "accessorizing" is certainly close to the top of that list.
Not long ago at a family gathering, I happened upon an endless version of the game “Peek a Boo” with a toddler. Over and over and OVER again I put a scarf over her little head and said, “Where did Lucy go?” Then I’d yank the scarf off to her gleeful shrieks and reply, “There she is!” The giggles and the fun lasted for longer than I thought possible for a game to continue with a baby.
What made Lucy giggle so profusely as she participated in this game is that she was learning something called “object permanence”. It is the developmental process that allows children to understand that an object continues to exist when it can’t be seen, touched or heard. Prior to this stage, in the first few months of a baby’s life, they think when an object is “out of sight”, in their minds, it ceases to exist! So when Lucy couldn’t see me, she just thought in her tiny toddler mind, “she’s not gone, she’s right there and boy howdy that is hilarious!”
Object permanence is very important because it gives us the ability to understand that objects that we may have never seen in our lives actually exist. For example, I’ve never been to France nor seen the Eiffel Tower, but I know that it exists even though I’ve never physically seen it. Throughout our childhoods as we become adults, object permanence moves from the physical to the abstract as we gain more experience with the world around us. And, by God’s grace, it lays the foundation in our brains to develop faith in the triune God. We can know, by faith, the One who we have not seen physically, but we can be sure He is with us. In Christ, He is our ultimate permanent object. Some of my favorite verses that teach us this truth are:
“My presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” (Exodus 33:14)
“Just as I as I was with Moses, so I will be with you.” (Joshua 1:5)
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I feel from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.” (Psalm 139:8-9)
“…I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20b)
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5b)
Yet, the reality of my life and I would suspect yours too, is that sometimes, I don’t feel God is near. Loneliness creeps in and I feel left out, forgotten, marginalized. For years, I thought my experience with loneliness was because of my singleness. Yet I know now, that loneliness comes to those surrounded by family and people that love them too. It could be your particular loneliness comes from being in a difficult marriage, struggling with a chronic illness or perhaps a stressful career that really, so it seems, no one really understands your world. It seems to me that the summer heat this time of year just seems to exasperate the notion, “Who really cares?” and “Does God really care?” “Does He know I’m feeling alone and forgotten; just an extra player in this game of life?” We end up feeling like a toddler with a scarf over our heads wondering “Where is God in my dark aloneness?”
Loneliness tempts us to find comfort by escaping through activity, or shutting yourself off from the world or drowning our sorrows in food or drink, or my personal favorite: cruising the mall on Saturday nights. It’s easy to give in to despair and resentment, to stop reading the Bible or praying. But none of these leads us to lasting peace. What does lead to peace is something Amy Carmichael wrote about in her poem, “For In Acceptance Lieth Peace”. Our loneliness may not go away, but it can be accepted as God’s will for today and that turns it into something beautiful.
Recently I had an ugly bout with loneliness, all of my familiar temptations to doubt and escape swirled around me. I did not feel God’s presence. All I felt was the dread that the loneliness had returned and that it would only get worse in the days ahead. By God’s grace, I know now that I have to practice His presence. So, I opened my Bible and read it, listening for the Word He had for me. It came! I prayed and thanked the Lord for being the One who would never leave me or forsake me. He gave me peace. The very next day God sent me a surprise of His love in the mail, something only He could do in His perfect timing. It was a quarterly magazine from the seminary from which I graduated. On the back was a graphic of a tree, rooted in Christ Jesus, with its branches filled with names of single men and women who have furthered God’s Kingdom throughout church history. To my utter amazement, in the far right branch I saw my name. Underneath the graphic was written the verse, “Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.” (Mark 3:35). God was shouting clearly to me, “Kari, I love you, I’ve got you right where I want you, now let’s move on…we’ve got more to do here.” I giggled! He’s not out of sight, He’s present. He is our ultimate permanent object!
To some who were confident of their own righteousness and looked down on everyone else, Jesus told this parable: “Two men went up to the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee stood by himself and prayed: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other people—robbers, evildoers, adulterers—or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week and give a tenth of all I get.’ “But the tax collector stood at a distance. He would not even look up to heaven, but beat his breast and said, ‘God, have mercy on me, a sinner.’ “I tell you that this man, rather than the other, went home justified before God. For all those who exalt themselves will be humbled, and those who humble themselves will be exalted.”
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
William James, the father of American Psychology, wrote, “Religion, in short, is a monumental chapter in human egotism.” One of the most common arguments against religion is that it is arrogant and prideful and above all else, self-righteous. Indeed it is self-righteousness that many in the community of intellectualism and popular culture find synonymous with religion. And in the mind of the critic, this self-righteousness makes religion hypocritical. But what makes religion so hypocritical is not that its followers claim morality and yet go on sinning. What makes religion hypocritical is that its followers refuse to admit that they continue to sin. This is the epitome of pride. This is the ultimate in arrogance. This is the essence of what it means to trust in one’s own self-righteousness. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is radically opposed to self-righteousness. In fact, it could be said that the chief enemy of the Gospel is pride. In Luke’s Gospel, the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector is a definitive indictment against the evils of self-righteousness and a revelation of God’s gracious heart for the humble. In this parable, Jesus paints a starkly contrasting picture of pride and humility by telling a story about the prayers of a Pharisee and a Tax Collector. Not only does Jesus give us a potent picture of self-righteousness and humility, but he also gives us rare insight into the radical nature of the Gospel. Jesus’ final verdict of justification makes the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector (Luke 18: 9-14) one of the most tangible displays of the Gospel in all the parables.
Jesus begins his parable with an introduction of two men: “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector.” The people and the place of this parable are significant in two ways. First, the temple in Jerusalem was a place of prayer. Second, the temple in Jerusalem was a place of deep cultural polarization. The temple was a place that assumed deep cultural and religious distinctions between Pharisees and tax collectors. The Pharisee’s prayer is found in verses 11-12: “God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortionists, unrighteous people, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.” It is important that we do not read the Pharisee’s prayer through New Testament eyes. The Pharisees were a dominant figure in Luke’s Gospel (Luke 5:17) and certainly a dominant figure in 1st century Judaism. For a Jew to hear the Pharisee’s prayer would not have instantly conjured images of pride and arrogance. Luke’s original audience would have seen a model prayer from a pious man. At first glance, it would appear that the Pharisee is in fact genuinely grateful to God for all his accomplishments (fasting twice a week and tithing). But, as the parable unfolds so does the pride of the Pharisee’s prayer, and his self-righteousness is exposed. Like the ones “who trusted in themselves that they were righteous and despised everyone else” (v. 9) the Pharisee shows very little compassion for his fellow man. He dismisses the Tax Collector as a filthy sinner, along with the “extortionists, unrighteous people, and adulterers” (v.11). In fact he dismisses all “other men” as nothing more than sinners. Full of righteousness in himself, the Pharisee lacks any real love for others, and ultimately any real love for God.
The prayer of the Tax Collector appears next in verse 13: “But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’” As prominent as the Pharisees were in Luke’s Gospel, the tax collectors were certainly characterized throughout. In this 1st century context, the Tax Collector of this parable was understood as a low-life. This unfavorable distinction may have contributed to the Tax Collector taking his place in the temple by “standing far off.” What is more, the Tax Collector’s posture is one of extreme sorrow as he “would not even lift up his eyes to heaven.” His penitent posture is further accentuated by the “beating of his breast,” an action of genuine heartfelt repentance. The prayer of the Tax Collector is short but powerful as it mirrors the opening words of David’s confession in Psalm 51: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” Rather than suggest that he is righteous, the Tax Collector declares that he is a sinner. And rather than assume he is justified, he begs God for mercy. In the end we are left with a stark contrast between the Pharisee and the Tax Collector that is quite different than the one we had at the parable’s opening. The original distinction between piety and sinner is beginning to unravel. The Tax Collector’s brokenness has been pitted against the Pharisee’s merit. His humility against the Pharisee’s pride.
Jesus gives the final verdict: “I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” In a shocking reversal of roles, Jesus declares that it is the Tax Collector who “went down to his house justified,” not the Pharisee. In the Greek, the word “justified” is used passively, showing that it is God who does the justifying, not men. It is God who considers the Tax Collector righteous based on his divine mercy, not human merit. The last phrase in the parable “everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted” is the final capstone contrasting pride and humility. It is the ultimate reversal of values, illustrated tangibly in lives of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. Jesus makes the radical statement that righteousness is found only by the mercy of God, not by the merits of human piety. Only those who approach the throne as humble sinners in need of mercy receive the gift of mercy. Those who approach the throne boasting in their own self-righteousness find themselves as enemies of the Gospel. In his book, Humility: True Greatness, C.J. Mahaney defines pride in this way: “Pride is when sinful human beings aspire to the status and position of God and refuse to acknowledge their dependence upon him.” In many ways this is the message of the Parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector. Pride is playing God. It is putting oneself in the position of judge and king, believing oneself to be moral and self-sufficient apart from God. Humility is acknowledging our supreme need of God’s redemptive grace. In knowing our utter dependence on the Gospel, we become friends of God though the sovereign mercy of Jesus Christ.
Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. He who calls you is faithful; he will surely do it.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
I am a long admirer of W. H. Auden. Auden once wrote a poem for which he received the Pulitzer Prize. I doubt that you have read it. It is, as these things go, a tedious slow cultural commentary. You may, however, recognize the title: “The Age of Anxiety”.
In my daydreams I have imagined writing a follow up poem diagnosing our own culture. And in a moment of poignant clarity, I had a title; “The Age of Apathy”. It has that alliterative resonance to both remind of Auden’s piece and move beyond it. I haven’t written a word since. The irony is nearly killing me.
Maybe one day I’ll get on it. But the idea of an age of apathy kept coming back to me. I began to wonder if the promise of instant whatever-you-want-ness dries out our patience and endurance until we give up before we’ve begun. Are you hungry? You can have a meal in less than 10min. Are you in a debate over how many movies Chris Pratt has starred in? Open your phone, click on your computer, ask Siri. You can have that and more instantly. Are you lonely, feeling unappreciated, or ashamed? Log on to facebook or instagram and have people celebrate your wit or looks. Even better, find those who don’t have half your wit or looks, and bang! Instant smug. Bored? 14 seconds for the next Netflix show to load or a fingerprint can unlock a world of games, distractions and amusements.
But patience and endurance seem difficult, tedious, and totally at odds with quick fixes, easy growth, and everything now. It’s hard work. Yet as I read the scriptures, I find that patience and endurance are fundamental Christian virtues. Why? Because they are fundamental to God’s character. Remember how slowly and gently God dealt with Israel in the Old Testament? How often were God’s people reminded that God is slow to anger, abounding in loving kindness, and long suffering? And what is Christ’s incarnation, but the deepest commitment to redeem by taking the long way around? He inaugurated the Kingdom of God, not through power, but through the slow patient process of death and resurrection. Recall that the disciples just didn’t have the time, before or after the resurrection, for this slow approach. They wanted the Kingdom in all its glory now, sooner, immediately. But in Acts 1 Christ simply says, I’m going to give you power and you will be my witnesses to the change. And what was the power? The breath of God - the Holy Spirit - that elusive person of the Trinity, going where it is blown, mysterious as the wind. In other words - Christ says, I will spread my Kingdom by breaking down strongholds and moving mountains through my Spirit alive and at work in you. Now, how long does it take to blow down a mountain? That’s a slow approach.
I find it hard to be patient over a world full of mountains of sin and brokenness that seem unchanged. I find is difficult to endure others lack of change and repeated and then repeated sin. And I find it crushing to endure my own battle against sin, to resist temptation, to be patient as I alternate between stumbling on top of Christ and being strong upon Him. I don’t want to be thrown into the slow cooker of the soul. I want to be placed into a microwave. Give me one complete transformation, a mountaintop on which to stay, a power that never lets up. Let the battle to be completely sanctified be over now, sooner, immediately.
I suppose it could be if God had wanted to turn us into holy automatons. Robots perfectly obeying the law. But He wants us to choose and rejoice in holiness because He is holy. He wants sons and daughters who see sin as vile because it is a comically weak imitation of the delight of being in Him. He wants us to have hearts of flesh, hearts that desire Him, and it is slow change. It requires patience and endurance, getting back up and pushing on in hope, forgiving and walking forward in faith.
So the writer of Hebrews in chapter 12 reminds us what Christ has won for us. Before Christ, the closest we could get to God was standing in fear before Mt. Zion, but Christ brings us into the city of the Living God. No longer is God shrouded in darkness at a distance, but He can be known, because He was patient to reveal Himself and because Christ endured the horrors of the cross. Patiently establishing a Kingdom that cannot be shaken. So lift up your drooping head and strengthen your weak knees. Do not grow weary or fainthearted.
Christ who has brought you to know the Living God will not fail in making you holy. He has called you into life with Him. He is faithful. He is patient. He has endured. You too be patient. You too endure. For He will surely do it.
“…praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
I was sitting in the barber's chair getting my hair cut when Operation Desert Storm began in 1991. I knew that a war had begun in Iraq because I was watching it on TV. It was that strange combination of razor-sharp scissors and laser-guided bombs. I watched with fascination as cameras on fighter jets and missiles captured the destruction of various targets on the opening night of the war.
Technology has changed the way we experience war, but not war's primary strategies. What were those pilots trying to accomplish at the beginning of the war? The news anchors told us that the first objective was undermining and destroying the Iraqi army's communication system. And the reason is obvious: if units can’t communicate with each other, if soldiers are cut off from their commanding officers, they can’t fight effectively. War is so intense that constant communication is essential. Both sides in a conflict want to cut off their enemy's lines of communication.
In Ephesians 6, Paul makes it clear that we are in a battle. "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places" (6:12). Because of the intensity of this spiritual battle Paul reminds us that our own weapons are not sufficient for the fight. "Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day" (6:13).
But how do we stay aware of this battle? And how do we take up the armor of God? We can easily forget the final words of Paul's battle plan. He writes that Christians should be "praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication" (Eph 6:18). Prayer is not the pastime of some spiritual elite; it is the privilege of every believer in Jesus Christ. And that privilege was hard won: Jesus lived, died, and rose again so that his people would enjoy an unbreakable union with him and perpetual access to him. Prayer is our vital line of communication to the Lord himself. In the midst of the battle of our life, how are these lines of communication holding up?
I recently reread C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters. This fictional work is framed around the concept of an established demon (Screwtape) writing letters to a novice (Wormwood) explaining how to tempt patients (humans) and keep them from the Enemy (God). Not surprisingly, prayer is a theme to which Screwtape often returns. “The best thing," he writes, "where it is possible, is to keep the patient from the serious intention of praying altogether." Satan's attacks are like laser-guided bombs aimed at our communion with God in prayer. Should we be surprised that prayer can be more duty than delight, more struggle than strength?
Technology has changed the way we experience spiritual warfare, but not the war's primary strategies. There was a time when smart phones and social media weren't the things keeping us from prayer, and there will be a day when they are replaced with something else. But the struggle is always the same: the Lord invites us to a life of prayer in his presence, and the enemy will do whatever he can to keep us from that life. Samuel Chadwick writes, “The one concern of the devil is to keep Christians from praying. He fears nothing from prayerless studies, prayerless work and prayerless religion. He laughs at our toil, mocks at our wisdom, but he trembles when we pray.” Have you ever considered what it might look like or sound like to pray prayers that make the devil tremble?
The good news is that prayerlessness should never get the last word in a Christian's life. The key to the battle is not trying harder to win a fight that’s too big for us. The key is looking to Jesus, who has already lived the perfect life of prayer and defeated the devil decisively. As we look to Jesus, we are reminded that the Holy Spirit indwells believers so that the power and presence of Christ are not just a nice idea, but a lived reality. In Christ, we have everything we need to protect the lines of communication that are essential for the battle of the Christian life. And as we grow in prayer, the Lord intends to bless our communion with him and build his kingdom at the same time.
Where are we in relationship to this battle? Are we oblivious, not even realizing there's a battle raging all around us? Are we sitting in a barber's chair, not sure whether to be entertained or terrified by what's unfolding before our eyes? Or are we engaged, connected to our King through what John Piper has called “the wartime walkie-talkie” of prayer? Are we more and more aware of the Lord’s overarching victory and continuous provision as we wrestle in prayer? Or have we left the front and gone AWOL? "No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him" (2 Timothy 2:4). As the battle rages, do we know the Prince of Peace? Do we know that when we come to him and say, “Lord, teach us to pray,” he gives us an answer, and he even gives us himself?
For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery.
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
When I was about four or five years old, at bedtime I would run into my room, slam my closet door shut, leap several feet into bed, and throw the covers over my head before I tried to fall asleep. This went on for many weeks, until my older brother came in and said, “What the heck are you doing? Why are you slamming the door and jumping into your bed?” I told him, “Because I didn’t want the ‘thing’ in the closet to grab my arm or his ‘buddy’ under the bed to grab my feet.” Now, obviously there was no such thing as a monster in the closet or under the bed, but when it comes to the Christian life we face fears everyday that are very real. In Galatians 5:1, Paul wants to drive out those fears, “It is for freedom that Christ has set you free. Stand firm therefore, and do not allow yourself to submit again to a yoke of slavery.”
This passage is all about living in the certainty that Christ has set us free. For those who have lived their whole life in slavery however, Paul knows that this is the hardest thing for us to do. That is why Paul gives us this two-fold command to “Stand and not submit again to a yoke of slavery.” Paul knows how easy it is for us to live in fear, and when we live in fear we immediately fall back into the slavish thinking that God’s acceptance of us is based on our performance. It isn’t on the “good” days when we live in fear, but rather on the “bad” days. Most of us have no problem believing that Jesus saves us from our past sins, or that our past sins have been forgiven. It is the present and continual struggle with sin that leads us to fall back into the slavery of personal performance and live in fear.
The days when we consciously choose to sin, even when we know it is wrong. The days when we are so weak that we can’t resist. The days we don’t want to resist. The days when nothing goes right, and one bad thing after another keeps happening, and we feel like God is punishing us. The days when we feel numb, and our hearts are cold and distant from God. The days when we plead with God to change our desires, to give us the strength to stop, and He doesn’t, and we are left wondering if He’s had enough of us, and His silence only fuels our doubts.
The goal of the Gospel is that we might live freely, but unfortunately, we live in fear. Instead of standing and resting on “It is finished,” we hop on the performance treadmill and run, believing that we must finish. Notice, this is a statement of fact–Christ has objectively set you free! He does it! He did it! We don’t set ourselves free. It is not our obedience, purity, and holiness that sets us free. It is Christ’s obedience, purity, and holiness that frees us. Jesus lived a perfect life of obedience, not primarily, as our example to follow in His footsteps but as our substitute, in our place, on our behalf–so He could give us the righteousness we don’t have!
Then “The One who knew no sin” (2 Cor. 5:21) willingly, voluntarily went to the cross, knowing that while on the cross He would become all of our sin. By becoming our sin, He became the object of God’s wrath for our sin! Every sin we have ever committed, are committing, or ever will commit is paid for by His blood! So now, our sin isn’t the issue with God anymore, our freedom is!
God wants this accomplished, objective fact, that Christ has set you free, to be subjectively felt and experienced by us! “For Freedom–Christ has set you free.” God wants you and me to live in the reality of that freedom. He did not set us free so that we would go back under the yoke of slavery! Paul’s “Emancipation Proclamation” is that we have been set free from more than just having to face sin’s penalty. We’ve been set free from our greatest fears. Set free from the fear that my sin will cause God to abandon me. Free from the fear that He will love me less. Free from the fear that He will be angry with me, punish me, and reject me. Set free from my believing that I have to perform for God. Free from my fearing whether I have done enough, or whether I am doing too little. Free from my fear of condemnation, judgment, and wrath. Free from my fear of facing God’s displeasure. Free from the enslaving fear to be perfect, and free to know that God is not angry with me, and that I am are deeply loved.
Because in Jesus, God’s love for us will never increase or decrease, we are free to confess and return to Him whenever we sin. He will always welcome us back. He will always put us back together. He will always cleanse us, embrace us, and take us in. Because Christ has set us free, we can step off the running treadmill of “do,” and stand and rest securely on “It has all been done.”
"Little children, keep yourselves from idols."
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
This is a rather odd verse when you take in the context of the entirety of John’s first epistle. A thorough examination of the five chapters will show no familiarity with the concept of idols. There is no discussion of graven images, no observance of statues worshipped in a pagan temple, nothing of the sort. So what does this verse mean in light of John’s letter to the early Christian church and to us today? Without mincing words, John exhorts a Christian community imploding. An infiltration of false teachers has torn the community in two, beginning with the denial of the Incarnation. This denial has caused serious ethical, social, and moral consequences to play out. In his letter, John describes to his Christian brothers and sisters how they can be confident they know the one true God. The Scriptures are explicit in the command to love God but also to love His people. This love is only imparted through the Holy Spirit, and serves as a litmus test of our faith and hope in the Lord. “For everyone who has been born of God overcomes the world. And this is the victory that has overcome the world -- our faith (1 John 5:4).” With a pastoral love, he exhorts them to guard against any god or idol that is not Jesus, the Word made flesh (1 John 1:1-5). Therefore, John’s exhortation transcends the ages. In every season we must guard against imposter’s of the Triune God, phonies of the incarnate Word, pretenders of the Helper. But just as John wrote, we face not idolatries built of wood, stone and metal, but rather the idolatries which are eerily similar to the God of the Old and New Testament. This subtlety is not caught by the untrained eye. As Irenaeus, the early church father, aptly put “Error never shows itself in its naked reality, in order not to be discovered. On the contrary, it dresses elegantly, so that the unwary may be led to believe that it is more truthful than truth itself.”
In 2005, the National Study of Youth and Religion concluded its study on the religious temperament and commitments of teenagers in America. The study presented several harrowing conclusions: “We have come with some confidence to believe that a significant part of Christianity in the United States is actually only tenuously Christian in any sense…U.S. Christianity is [not] so much being secularized. Rather, more subtly, Christianity is either degenerating into a pathetic version of itself or, more significantly, Christianity is actively colonized and displaced by quite a different religious faith.” It would be easy to lay blame at teenager’s feet. It would be easy to place the sole blame on parent’s shoulders too. But in reality the study identified that when the church consistently delivers a watered down faith and gospel that teenagers will lack the perseverance observed time and time again throughout the scriptures, from Abraham to Paul, and so many in between. If this is the case, then we should pause and consider what Christianity is being given to our children and youth today.
One description of the Christianity being given to future generations is the “cult of nice.” An environment of nonjudgmental openness, self-determination, and the authority of personal experience are some major tenets of the “cult of nice.” It is where lifestyle choices are no longer a matter of morality but rather preferences, and to impose any restriction or limitation is viewed as just plain mean. The “cult of nice” is found in the American church, in our pews, in our small groups, Sunday school classes, praise hymns and prayers. We want a god who is nice to us, that grants wishes, hall passes, and provides us with a little cushion when life gets bumpy. This is exactly the kind of god John warned the church about, an idol, a god made in man’s own image. We want this kind of nice god because it means less demands on us as sinful humans. With this god, we can kind of get all that we want – and we want a god who placates to our sinful desires. The only problem is that this is not the God of Scripture; it is not the God of Isaiah 63, Habakkuk 1 or John 19-20. Ironically, this polite sort of god, according to the National Survey of Youth and Religion, is the god that most teenagers describe as the one they know and understand. How can this be?
One theory is that this is the kind of faith and Christianity being modeled for children and youth. The problem is not the kids, or their ability to comprehend the Christian faith, it is we have failed to live out a radical faith before them. Christian Smith, who led the National Study on Youth and Religion, noted that faith modeling through parents is the number one contributing factor to successful discipleship in the church. But not just parents the church as a whole is needed. It’s been noted by several sociologists that a 5:1 ratio is needed for “successful” faith modeling to occur, which translates to five faithful, orthodox Christians for every child. That means all of those Sunday School teachers and small group leaders count. That means relatives and friends’ parents count. That means every Christian adult – passionately following Jesus -- in your child’s life counts.
The state of American Christianity is dire, and what is needed isn’t hipper worship services, coffee bars, or cool programs. What is needed are passionate followers of Jesus, to walk into the halls of children and youth ministries and say, similar to Isaiah’s response, “Here I am Lord, I am here. I am in the greatest mission field today.” This kind of activity and service does not guarantee that the future generations of children and youth won’t worship the false god of the cult of nice, or the idols encountered in the second century. The work of redemption is up to the Lord, but what we can do is model for younger generations that the Lord we love so dearly is worth submitting to and following.
References above can be found in Almost Christian by Kenda Creasy Dean or Soul Searching by Christian Smith and Melinda Lundquist Denton.
Now Jericho was shut up inside and outside because of the people of Israel. None went out, and none came in. 2 And the Lord said to Joshua, “See, I have given Jericho into your hand, with its king and mighty men of valor. 3 You shall march around the city, all the men of war going around the city once. Thus shall you do for six days. 4 Seven priests shall bear seven trumpets of rams' horns before the ark. On the seventh day you shall march around the city seven times, and the priests shall blow the trumpets. 5 And when they make a long blast with the ram's horn, when you hear the sound of the trumpet, then all the people shall shout with a great shout, and the wall of the city will fall down flat, and the people shall go up, everyone straight before him.” 6 So Joshua the son of Nun called the priests and said to them, “Take up the ark of the covenant and let seven priests bear seven trumpets of rams' horns before the ark of the Lord.” 7 And he said to the people, “Go forward. March around the city and let the armed men pass on before the ark of the Lord.”
8 And just as Joshua had commanded the people, the seven priests bearing the seven trumpets of rams' horns before the Lord went forward, blowing the trumpets, with the ark of the covenant of the Lord following them. 9 The armed men were walking before the priests who were blowing the trumpets, and the rear guard was walking after the ark, while the trumpets blew continually. 10 But Joshua commanded the people, “You shall not shout or make your voice heard, neither shall any word go out of your mouth, until the day I tell you to shout. Then you shall shout.” 11 So he caused the ark of the Lord to circle the city, going about it once. And they came into the camp and spent the night in the camp.
12 Then Joshua rose early in the morning, and the priests took up the ark of the Lord. 13 And the seven priests bearing the seven trumpets of rams' horns before the ark of the Lord walked on, and they blew the trumpets continually. And the armed men were walking before them, and the rear guard was walking after the ark of the Lord, while the trumpets blew continually. 14 And the second day they marched around the city once, and returned into the camp. So they did for six days.
15 On the seventh day they rose early, at the dawn of day, and marched around the city in the same manner seven times. It was only on that day that they marched around the city seven times. 16 And at the seventh time, when the priests had blown the trumpets, Joshua said to the people, “Shout, for the Lord has given you the city. 17 And the city and all that is within it shall be devoted to the Lord for destruction.Only Rahab the prostitute and all who are with her in her house shall live, because she hid the messengers whom we sent. 18 But you, keep yourselves from the things devoted to destruction, lest when you have devoted them you take any of the devoted things and make the camp of Israel a thing for destruction and bring trouble upon it. 19 But all silver and gold, and every vessel of bronze and iron, are holy to the Lord; they shall go into the treasury of the Lord.” 20 So the people shouted, and the trumpets were blown. As soon as the people heard the sound of the trumpet, the people shouted a great shout, and the wall fell down flat, so that the people went up into the city, every man straight before him, and they captured the city.
Kristen Hatton is a native Texan now putting roots down in Edmond, Oklahoma with her pastor husband and their three (mostly) teenagers. With a public relations degree from Southern Methodist University, Kristen has a wide background of professional experiences, none of which she counts as important to the job of being a "present" mom. Through leading a small group Bible study of teenagers, she has discovered her passion for teaching and writing about God's grace and ministering to teens. Her first book, Get Your Story Straight: A Teen's Guide to Learning and Living the Gospel, was recently released with a second book specific to teen girls in the works. To learn more visit: kristenhatton.com
Although the story of Joshua is one I’ve heard since childhood, it wasn’t until recently revisiting the scene that I noticed something I hadn’t thought about before. Learning to insert myself into the story is changing the way I read my Bible and has led me to meditate more on the details, the ones included and the ones deliberately left out. In doing so with this passage, I am struck not that God brought the walls of Jericho down, but over the fact the people actually listened to and trusted Joshua with God’s plan of attack that sounded insane!
If you remember correctly, these are the same people who grumbled incessantly throughout their time in the wilderness. When God led them out of Egypt, they complained, even though they wanted to flee. When God provided manna to eat, they were irritated it was the same food day after day. When Moses went up on the mountain to meet with God, they grew rebelliously frustrated that he was gone for so long. Now, however, these same people are told they must be patient and quietly walk around the city for seven days first, and miraculously they do just that.
Isn’t it surprising that they accept this plan so easily? Wouldn't you think, based on their previous track record, they would demand a new leader or devise their own plan? A plan they deemed smarter, quicker or more efficient?
Isn't that what we do? We don't like waiting on God. And, we certainly don't think His plans for our lives are always best. So we grumble, doubt and try to take control, which actually leads us to spin even more out of control!
That is what makes the Israelites amazing. It appears these once impatient, discontent group of complainers are able to learn something throughout their time in the wilderness. (Even if what they learn is temporarily mindfulness, as apparent in the next chapter of Joshua.)
In this moment though, they learn who God is through the wilderness and are enabled to better trust Him. Instead of doubting His plan, trying to take things into their own hands, or control the timing, they submit to what God says is good and best. Therefore, the wilderness God allows them to remain in serves to shape and mold them, to show them more of who He is, and to prove His faithfulness and love!
What great hope this offers for our time in the wilderness. It's not without purpose, even though like the Israelites, we hate it, don't understand it, and find enduring through it very hard. But through the trials, we see more of His character and learn to trust Him better.
I'm seeing this first-hand in our family. This past year was especially challenging for one of our children. It seemed as if the wilderness would never end. Many days felt like we were going in circles around the same struggles we thought had already been dealt with. And, at times we doubted God’s goodness and shook our hands at His plan.
But, He is always working. Working on the heart of this child, and on ours, as He slowly reveals more about who He is for us and who we are in Him. Now we better see that He as the conquering King is knocking down walls and defeating enemies everyday. We can even assent to what He appointed was best. Not a wilderness we want to go through again, but one that gives life-changing perspective.
Sometimes it takes the wilderness to help us to see and to build our trust, just like the mighty men at Jericho. They had great faith but faith given to them by the One they had learned to see as their great deliverer.
For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience. Romans 8:22-25
The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. John 10:10
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Summertime has always been a season for growth me. The structure of the school year falls behind and routines change just enough to allow a new rhythm to set in. Growing up, summers were filled with new thoughts and writing. I would spend many days at the beach—scenery that would teach me about the Lord and about myself. I would write for hours on end, wrestling with thoughts and filling journals, one after the other. Today, I am so thankful for those long, hot days. Summertime looks a little different as a mom to a busy toddler, but I am finding that it is still a season of deep growth. The moments of writing are few and far between and my heart a little bit more “on edge.” Motherhood has heightened my senses and given me renewed appreciation for quiet moments of thought and growth.
On an vacation with my extended family, the house is filled with activity and napping babies. It is almost impossible to slip away by myself. But I fought for it one day this summer. After I got Will down for his nap, I passed off the monitor and hit the beach by myself. I started walking south, towards my favorite spot on the island. What bliss. As I walked, I had a chance to talk to the Lord and listen. More than any other conversation with any other person, I desperately needed time with Him. I desperately needed to be heard—and even more to be taught. For 31 years the most significant conversations and realizations with the Lord have happened on this beach, on these walks.
As I walked and talked to the Lord, I was struck by the number of broken thoughts that surfaced in my mind—heartache in many forms. As I prayed through each and every one my heart grew heavy and discouraged. So much hurt. So much ache. So much desperate need. I walked until people were far behind me. Facing the ocean, I was overwhelmed by the LIFE rolling before me. I kept thinking of Romans 8—how creation groans for His triumphant return. I felt the same way. I groaned for the Lord. I cried out to the Lord.
“For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.” (Romans 8:22-25)
As I stood there, I was struck by how beauty can exist in a world that is so broken. In the midst of broken there is LIFE beginning and thriving. All around me, creation shouts a song of life. Birds flying overhead or scurrying near the lingering shoreline. The ocean—mighty and teeming with life—ebbs and flows. Ebbs and flows. Wave after wave, I am overwhelmed by the Lord’s constancy. Like the ocean, He never fades or slows. He endures. He renews. Oh the faithfulness and love of Jesus in the mighty ocean! It is vast, unmeasured, boundless and free. It is all consuming and beautiful. As my heart ached, it was finding hope.
Our culture today is in a crisis of understanding the value and beauty of life at every single phase. As I notice the brokenness our nation faces today—as well as the powerful hope that is stemming from the “Stand for Life” movement—I am struck by how personal it feels. This past summer, our little family experienced a miscarriage. Within a few weeks’ time, I had the privilege of photographing multiple newborns—including the delivery of a dear friend’s son—and witnessing a beautiful story of adoption. Life stands next to loss. What a beautiful reminder of the redemptive nature of our loving Father! Life continues and thrives even though there is heartache and loss. At times, this is a hard pill to swallow. Yet even more, it is the Gospel playing out in our broken and needy world, and it fills me with tremendous hope.
“The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” (John 10:10)
Are you tempted to feel like the thief is winning? Perhaps the state of our world leads you down a road of despair and hopelessness. That’s exactly why Jesus came—that we may have LIFE and have it abundantly. The reality of our world this side of heaven is that life will stand next to loss. It is a matter of perspective for me. Though we have faced heartfelt loss this summer—as a family and as a culture—life in Christ is victorious. Life wins! He wins! The ocean continues to flow, babies are born, and life teems in beautiful ways.
The last night on the beach, Will and I were heading back up right as the sun was setting. As I looked back at the ocean, something caught my eye, a mama sea turtle swimming up the coast. I saw her head, followed by a large shell. It took my breath away. I watched her swim, coming up for air several times—something I have never seen before on the island that I love. And yet, there she was—a mama turtle—perhaps looking for a place to lay her nest. Tears filled my eyes. Oh Lord, how kind you are, once again, to show me that you ARE life. You CREATE life. You SUSTAIN life. In You, we have LIFE abundant.
Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right. “Honor your father and mother” (this is the first commandment with a promise), “that it may go well with you and that you may live long in the land."
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
This passage is proof Paul endorses children’s ministry. It is appropriate to read this verse and, if you are a parent, quickly and directly apply this to your or another’s children. Of course they need to honor! Have you seen the disrespect children show their parents these days? The world is on a downward slide and the children are climbing up and gliding down it! Many parents want their youth minister to create a six-week series from this Pauline sermonette and let it (gently) fly to their sweet little ears.
But what about us? In some sense, are we not still childish? Though we might be “of age,” might have our own family, and be quite independent physically and financially from our parents, we are still spiritually and physically dependent on God as much today as the day of our spiritual and physical birth. Need an example? Remind yourself to breathe right now. Now exhale. Now tell the sun to remain where it is. Now make sure the earth’s axial tilt remains at approximately 23.4°. Remind your leukocytes to arise and defend you against your child’s influenza. Stop worrying. Now stop worrying about worrying. Now remind yourself to breathe again. Answer your prayer from last night. Breathe! Tiresome, no? God sustains us with His common grace and transforms us with His special grace every single day. We cannot live or thrive without our heavenly Father. We must honor Him as the One in whom we live and move and have our being. In this sense, we are quite childish, and the command to honor remains. To recognize Him as your Father is to honor Him. To honor Him is to love Him.
Now, it is true, we are admonished by Paul to be mature—not childish—in our speaking, thinking, and doing. But central to many of Paul’s letters is a reminder that childishness is fundamental to the Gospel and our identity as Christians. We never graduate from being a son or daughter of God. Ever. Almost paradoxically, in the Christian life we put away childish ways and childish thinking only as we grow more childish in our relationship with our heavenly Father. Thus, Paul is indirectly preaching to our sweet older ears and asking,
Are you honoring your heavenly Father?
If it is difficult to answer that question, Paul helps us evaluate. He asks, “Are you honoring your father?” That’s a lower-case f. He tells us to survey how we treat our earthly parents. The way in which we treat and honor our earthly parents reflects the way in which we value and honor our heavenly One. If we cannot honor and love our parents who are seen, how will we possibly honor and love our Father who is unseen?
So, are you honoring your father?
What if you have dishonorable, deficient, flawed parents this side of heaven? For some, this is the primary hurdle in their Christian faith. This wound can be very dark and quite deep, and here Paul calls us to honor them nonetheless. It is a very difficult task to be dishonored and not dishonor, to be reviled and not revile in return, to “love your enemies” or even “pray for those who are persecuting you.” There is only one way to undergo such a task. Remember the Father who is for you what they have not been and never could be, who perfectly loves and never fails. Your earthly parents will fall short, but your heavenly Father never will. His love for you is flawless. The admonition here in Ephesians 6:1 is connected to the admonition of Ephesians 5:1: “Be imitators of God…as dearly loved children.” You are dearly loved by your heavenly Father. Dearly loved. That is why you honor Him by honoring them. He flawlessly loves you. Ever question or wonder how deeply and dearly He might really love you? Someone else* answered that question:
How deep the Father's love for us,
How vast beyond all measure
That He should give His only Son
To make a wretch His treasure
How great the pain of searing loss,
The Father turns His face away
As wounds which mar the chosen One,
Bring many sons to glory.
Now surrender, today, to His sacrificial love for you in Christ Jesus. Now breathe. Now honor Him. Now breathe. Now childishly live and be flawlessly loved by such a Father as this.
*Stuart Townend, copyright 1995 Thankyou Music
And as soon as it was morning, the chief priests held a consultation with the elders and scribes and the whole council. And they bound Jesus and led him away and delivered him over to Pilate. And Pilate asked him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” And he answered him, “You have said so.” And the chief priests accused him of many things. And Pilate again asked him, “Have you no answer to make? See how many charges they bring against you.” But Jesus made no further answer, so that Pilate was amazed.
Kristen Hatton is a native Texan now putting roots down in Edmond, Oklahoma with her pastor husband and their three (mostly) teenagers. With a public relations degree from Southern Methodist University, Kristen has a wide background of professional experiences, none of which she counts as important to the job of being a "present" mom. Through leading a small group Bible study of teenagers, she has discovered her passion for teaching and writing about God's grace and ministering to teens. Her first book, Get Your Story Straight: A Teen's Guide to Learning and Living the Gospel, was recently released with a second book specific to teen girls in the works. To learn more visit: kristenhatton.com
It is no wonder Pilate was amazed! The Roman government was interrogating Jesus over the accusations of tax evasion, treason, and terrorism (since the charge of blasphemy against God would not hold up in a Roman court), and Jesus said nothing to discredit the lies or to defend Himself. Humiliation, rejection, being misunderstood, viewed poorly, and ultimately made to suffer and die, He counted as nothing compared to glorifying the Father by fulfilling His promises.
Oh, how unlike Jesus we are!
I’ve thought of this often over the past few days as everything in me wants to defend and justify the attacks and misconception directed at my husband. Not only do I want to clear the record and prove how wrong the accuser is in his thinking, but I also want to shoot back with my own accusations. I want this person to see his own shortcomings and sin and feel the weight of the hurt heaped on to us—and, to make sure no one else believes his lies. What I really want to do is rat him out to others.
So there you have it—my own sinful heart. Can you relate?
Are there times when you tear someone else down in order to make yourself look better?
Do you lash out at anyone who speaks against you or even holds a different opinion than you?
Is your tendency to dominate the conversation by your own self-promotion and pride?
Are your conversations peppered with gossip or unwholesome talk?
Do you stir up conflict or drama by adding your own fuel to the fires? Or, maybe you create the fires?
God’s Word tells me I am not alone. We all struggle in wanting to justify ourselves so others look favorably upon us and for various reasons find satisfaction in tearing others down. From the words of James,
“For we all stumble in many ways. And if anyone does not stumble in what he says, he is a perfect man, able also to bridle his whole body. If we put bits into the mouths of horses so that they obey us, we guide their whole bodies as well. Look at the ships also: though they are so large and are driven by strong winds, they are guided by a very small rudder wherever the will of the pilot directs. So also the tongue is a small member, yet it boasts of great things. How great a forest is set ablaze by such a small fire! And the tongue is a fire, a world of unrighteousness. The tongue is set among our members, staining the whole body, setting on fire the entire course of life, and set on fire by hell. For every kind of beast and bird, of reptile and sea creature, can be tamed and has been tamed by mankind, but no human being can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison. With it we bless our Lord and Father, and with it we curse people who are made in the likeness of God. From the same mouth come blessing and cursing. My brothers, these things ought not to be so. Does a spring pour forth from the same opening both fresh and salt water? Can a fig tree, my brothers, bear olives, or a grapevine produce figs? Neither can a salt pond yield fresh water.” James 3:2-12
If this is true of all of us, which it is, can we not be honest enough to admit it? To see how desperately we all need a Savior whose perfect record of holding His tongue is credited to us!
Pilate was right—what Jesus did is amazing!
What He did, we won’t ever do right all the time. Jesus is the only perfect Man, and therefore the only One who never stumbled in what He said. It is here—in the amazement of what He did for us through His sacrificial life and death—that we love Him more. And the more we are captivated by who He is, the greater our desire becomes to live and to speak in a way honoring to Him. And by His grace, the more we care about glorifying Him, the less we will care about defending our own reputations.
See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
If you could be called anything, what would it be? I’m not talking about all the things you’ve been called that you’d rather forget. If you could have your wish, what would you want to be called? Rich? Smart? Funny? Athletic? Beautiful? Talented? Successful? Husband? Wife? Mother? Father? We could make a long list of roles, achievements, and attributes that we’d love to have attached to our name. “What would you want to be called?” is a question that strikes at the heart of who we are. What is our primary identity?
In 1 John 3:1, John exclaims about the greatness of the Father’s love for us. How do we know how great that love is? Exhibit A is this reality: “that we should be called children of God.” Christians have a Father who loves them so much that He sent His Son to do everything necessary so that they would be called His children. That good news leaves John head-scratching and word-searching. God has poured out His love on His people in such a way that it completely redefines who they are. As much as we hear about being God’s children, sometimes it’s hard to make this identity stick. Have you ever wondered, “Why?”
Our identity can be slippery during transitions in life. Since being ordained in February, I’ve enjoyed new opportunities to preach and teach, to assist in corporate worship, and to officiate weddings. I love serving in these ways, but the new contexts have also revealed hidden pockets of fear and anxiety. We think our identity is secure in Christ, but then a transition reveals how easy it is to define ourselves by our performance. Do we just want to get comfortable in these contexts so that we’re not anxious, or do we want to be so secure in Christ that our identity doesn’t rise and fall with each “performance?”
Our identity can also be slippery because sin distorts how we see and what we want. What the Lord has to say about us in His Word doesn’t seem as valuable as the identity that we can construct for ourselves. And so our Christian identity often means less to us than some counterfeit identity. If we want our identity as God’s children to stick, part of the challenge is learning to see these replacement identities for what they are: incomplete, unsatisfying, and fragile. If we want to be called something other than “child of God,” that identity may work for us for a time. But sooner or later, the counterfeits fail us. They leave us feeling incomplete, unsatisfied, and fragile.
So we need to expose the counterfeits, but we also need to rehearse the significance of the real thing. What would it look like to embrace being called children of God? John Eagan writes:
The heart of it is this: make the Lord and His immense love for you constitutive of your personal worth. Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. God’s love for you and His choice of you constitute your worth. Accept that, and let it become the most important thing in your life.
What’s not to love about that? On the surface, nothing. I want my identity to flow from the Lord and His immense love for me. I want to define myself radically as one beloved by God. But in order to enjoy that, I have to humble myself. I have to give up the charade of trying on counterfeit identities and making a name for myself. I have to embrace the reality: “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling.” Do we really realize how difficult that is?
I imagine myself with my hands full of little pieces of paper. On each piece of paper is a word or phrase that represents an aspect of my identity. If the Lord asked me, “What’s all that? What are all those pieces of paper?” I would say, “This is who I am. This is what people call me.” How do you think Jesus would respond? What if He asked me to drop all of the paper—to let it all go—so that he could write “Child of God” on my hands? Are my hands too full to receive the redefining love of Christ? Are yours?
By His lavish grace, the Father makes orphans His sons and daughters. Is that your story? Being a father to a two-year-old is teaching me a lot about being a child of God. As a proud father, I could easily brag about all the things that Will can do, but I love how none of that seems to matters to him right now. He’s too busy enjoying being my son to get wrapped up in the silly identity games that we “grown ups” play. Will calls me “Daddy,” and whenever I’m home, he just wants to be together. So whether we dig, mow, chase, draw, wrestle, or read, as long as we’re together, he’s happy. He is the child of a loving father, and that is more than enough for him. As you reflect on the love of the Father in calling us His children, is that enough for you?
Who is a God like you, pardoning iniquity and passing over transgression for the remnant of His inheritance? He does not retain His anger forever because He delights in steadfast love. He will again have compassion on us; He will tread our iniquities underfoot. You will cast our sins into the depths of the sea. You will show your faithfulness to Jacob and steadfast love to Abraham, as you have sworn to our fathers from the days of old.
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
Micah means “Who is like Yahweh?” It is not so much a question, but a cry of the heart. A cry of praise. It is a cry we hear often from the lips of God’s people.
Who is like You, O Lord among the gods? Who is like You, majestic in holiness, awesome in glorious deeds, doing wonders? – Exodus 15:11
O Lord, God of Israel, there is no God like You, in heaven above or on earth beneath, keeping covenant and showing steadfast love to Your servants who walk before You with all their heart… - I Kings 8:23
O Lord, who is like You, delivering the poor from him who is too strong for him, the poor and the needy from hism who robs him? - Psalm 50:21
Your righteousness, O God, reaches the high heavens. You have done great things, O God, who is like You? – Psalm 71:19
There is none holy like the Lord: for there is none besides You; there is no rock like our God. – I Samuel 2:2
The Lord is incomparable in His holiness. In the glory of His wondrous deeds. He is incomparable in His steadfast love and His faithfulness to His covenant. He is incomparable in His deliverance and His redemption. He is incomparable in His righteousness. He is incomparable in His strength and surety. In this passage at the end of Micah, it is the incomparable nature of Yahweh’s forgiveness that is celebrated. There is no one who forgives like our God.
Only Yahweh pardons iniquity and passes over transgressions. This would have brought to the minds of the original hearers the image of the Exodus, where God graciously passed over the houses of His people as He poured out His judgment on Egypt. In that same, intentional way, God has graciously passed over their sin.
Only Yahweh will not remain angry because the delight, the joy of His heart is steadfast love. The Hebrew word for steadfast love is hesed, which one scholar describes as connoting “at one and the same time faithfulness, love, mercy and grace.” He has compassion on His people again and again.
Only Yahweh casts all our sins into the depth of the sea, so that they are seen and known no more. They are cast into the depths of the sea, so that, as my pastor once said, “Our sins cannot get to us and we cannot get to them.” They have been fully removed from us.
Only Yahweh remains faithful to His covenant promises even when over and over again His covenant people prove faithless.
I recently had a conversation with some college girls about the nature of forgiveness. One of the things I admire most about college students is the honesty of their questions. Is there ever a reasonable limit to forgiveness? Is there a difference between forgiveness and boundaries? Can you truly love someone and not forgive them? Why does being both a recipient and a giver of forgiveness sometimes just not sit well with us? Does sometimes forgiveness just seem cheap—like we are turning a blind eye, acting like it never happened? Why does it sometimes seem as perfunctory as the reconciling exchange between two toddlers? “I’m sorry.” “I forgive you.” And then mom chimes in, “Now give each other a hug.”
What is echoed in their questions, and what is echoed in our hearts, is that forgiveness is hard because forgiveness costs us something. Tim Keller once wrote, “No one who is seriously wronged can "just forgive" the perpetrator.... But when you forgive, that means you absorb the loss and the debt. You bear it yourself. All forgiveness, then, is costly.”
The nature of God’s forgiveness is incomparable because it came at an incomparable cost. The original hearers of Micah’s words saw only dimly what is now fully known to us. God was going to bring down His just judgment upon them for their idolatry, for the rampant injustice among them, for their hollow worship, their hard hearts, the presumption upon the gracious character of God. And yet, He would also show them mercy. He would gather a remnant, He would be their shepherd, He would live in their midst and give them peace. This doxology at the end of the book that shouts the incomparable nature of Yahweh’s forgiveness points forward to the incomparable cost of the cross of Christ. There Yahweh himself would absorb all their sin and all their debt at the cost of His very own Son. At the cost of His own Son, there Yahweh Himself would absorb all of ours, too. He would absorb the debt of our idolatry, of our injustice, of our hollow worship and hard hearts, and of the many times we presume upon the grace of God.
This incomparable forgiveness also brings with it an incomparable freedom. Freedom to confess. Freedom to ask the Lord to search our hearts—to show us how we have made idols of lesser things and given ourselves to them, to show us how we have used our power and strength at the expense of others, to show us where our worship has been empty, and where we have each presumed upon God’s amazing grace. If we are in Christ, He has born the debt of each of these. We have freedom to confess, knowing that God is now for us and that “there is now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.” (Romans 8:1)
This incomparable forgiveness also brings us freedom to forgive. The cross of Christ both enables and empowers us to absorb the debt of others against us even at great cost to ourselves. When these realities seem too far off and to difficult for our hearts, we can hope and pray for and expect incomparable change because through His Spirit, God Himself is at work within us. And who is a God like Him?
Remember those who are in prison, as though in prison with them, and those who are mistreated, since you also are in the body. Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous. Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, “I will never leave you nor forsake you."
Jeff is a licensed marriage and family therapist and supervisor in Texas. He earned his master's dregree and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, MS). He also holds a PhD from Drexel University (Philadelphia). Jeff is married to Susan. They live near White Rock Lake and enjoy spending time with their three daughters.
I have always found it humorous that the writer of Hebrews placed the directive to hold marriage in high regard in between two additional directives, one of which was to remember those in prison while the other was to not get overly attached to your money. What a strange train of thought! You Seinfeld fans may remember how Kramer emphatically told Jerry to forget about getting married because Jerry would essentially be “doing time.” You may also be aware of how often couples fight about money and how it is spent. Is it possible this was the writer of Hebrews way of equating marriage to a prison cell where you are destined to spend endless hours fighting about how to spend money? Not a chance.
The writer of Hebrews is saying the opposite about marriage–the believer is to honor marriage. Who is called to honor it? All of us. What does it mean to honor? Honoring your marriage and the other marriages around you is being respectful in word and action and having an inward attitude of esteem for their position. The Greek word for honor means “to revere, prize, and value.” Honor is giving respect not only for merit but also for rank. We are called to prize our marriages and to encourage one another to do the same.
So if we know to whom this directive applies (all of us!) and what it means, then how do we do it? I will examine that question in this three-part devotional series. The focus for this week’s devotional will be the deepening of the friendship. Social science tells us that couples that continually seek to deepen their friendship generally have better and lifelong marriages. This should not surprise us. We’ve seen couples who enjoy one another’s company, who hold hands and laugh at each other’s jokes. They are friends. The Scripture makes it clear that spouses should love one another. But how can we really love anyone, particularly our spouse, without really knowing them? Surely this means we need to know their preferences and tastes, but we must also seek to know their current internal world. How does my spouse think about our home? Our church? Our country? When something good or bad happens, how does my spouse process that information? Who does she see as the hero or the villain? When she needs to make a decision, how does she go about it? Does she think about these things the same way she did when we first got married?
In my work as a counselor, I often see couples make assumptions about their spouse’s internal worlds. One common assumption is that their spouse is the same internally, with the same heart and mind, as they were earlier in marriage. We assume we know our spouse because we live with them every day. Of course we know their heart and mind! Of course we know their internal world!
And yet we also know that every person grows and changes. Scripture gives us many examples of people who change for both good and bad through the course of their lives. Consider Paul whom we first meet as a wild persecutor of the church and who changes his thinking completely after a life-changing encounter with Jesus. We watch Peter grow and mature and Matthew totally change his view of what is good. People change. Most of us change slowly and gradually. And those around us may not notice the change or may just assume no change has happened at all.
Do you ever look back at your high school photos? Have you ever asked yourself, “What was I thinking?” when we see the hair or the clothes? Ask yourself–would you date that person if they appeared just like they are in that photo today? Why not? Because you have changed. Your inner world, the way you process things, your heart and mind have changed. Your views have changed. Your taste has changed as the world around you has changed.
So how do we keep our friendship with our spouse fresh? How do we know their internal world? One way that we do so is by asking open-ended questions and by giving them room to express themselves fully. We must give them time and space to share their internal world. We must also show interest in hearing what they reveal. The old TV cliché of the husband grunting to his wife’s comments from behind the newspaper is an example of not being ready to listen. While not as easy to hide behind, our phones and tablets can keep us from being ready to listen as well.
In Philippians 2, Paul directs his readers to “look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests in others.” One cannot support the interests of others unless that person is aware of the other’s interests. Ask questions that go beyond, “What did you do today?” Perhaps try, “How do you feel about what went on today?” God calls us create safe spaces for our spouses to share their inner worlds with us. That should not be surprising in light of how God has made a perfectly safe place for us in His Kingdom. Regardless of the situations that we see in our world, His children are perfectly and have an opportunity and responsibility to extend that safety to our others, particularly our spouses.
I fear that perhaps when I come I may find you not as I wish, and that you may find me not as you wish—that perhaps there may be quarreling, jealousy, anger, hostility, slander, gossip, conceit, and disorder.
Jeff is a licensed marriage and family therapist and supervisor in Texas. He earned his master's dregree and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, MS). He also holds a PhD from Drexel University (Philadelphia). Jeff is married to Susan. They live near White Rock Lake and enjoy spending time with their three daughters.
What a hard list of bad behaviors Paul feared he would find among the Corinthians. Nor did he suggest that he was perfect and they had all the problems! Paul understood human behavior and the fallen nature, and it hasn’t changed in our day. Paul was honest and so should we be when we consider our relationships – particularly our marriages.
I enjoy eating out and, of course, I can’t help but watch the couples at the other tables. I imagine you have done the same. One could almost write a short story for each table, based on how the couple talks, looks at each other, smiles, laughs or just sits silently chewing. Occasionally one will see tears. How does the other person respond? Once I saw a whole blowout fight. How sad and uncomfortable. Once I saw one person get up and storm out of the restaurant, leaving the other person alone, stunned and embarrassed.
There are times in every marriage when one or several of the behaviors listed in our verse will appear. How does God call us to respond to conflict where we personally involved? I think Paul gives us the first clue when he admits he may be part of the problem. When we recognize that our marriage has stress and conflict and we see unwelcome and ungodly behaviors popping up the first step is to search our hearts with our Lord’s help and recognize what we need to confess. Are we looking for a fight? Are we attributing sin to our spouse when we have no proof? Are we telling our friends what a rotten spouse we have and that it is all of his or her fault? Stop here first and ask God what role we have played. Listen. Pray. Confess and ask for God’s cleansing and direction. Ask that he take the log out of our eye so we can see the splinter in our spouse.
Hostility and quarreling often show up hand-in-hand in a relationship. When our spouse no longer seems to be our friend, when we can no longer feel that they are on our side, hostility grows and our spouse’s behavior becomes front and center in our hostile mind. The next thing they say is somehow part and parcel of their whole problem and BAM! We let them have it. Or not. Maybe our hostility comes out as a slow, quiet burn.
What does scripture say? Matthew 18:15 tells us that when our brother (or spouse) sins against us go and tell him his fault, between you and he alone. Don’t grow secretly hostile, don’t tell your friends, don’t pick a fight. Find a time when you can sit down and honestly tell your spouse how you are feeling. Tell him or her how their behavior has affected you. Yes – be vulnerable to your spouse, your friend. Do not lash out. Be honest – but do not attack. Yes – this is hard.
Not only do we need own our part of the problem, but we must also recognize that many problems are simply not easily solvable. Marital research indicates that more than two-thirds of the problems experienced in marriage are more perpetual in nature. It does not mean that couples cannot make progress in hard issues, but it often means that such progress is slow and requires us to grow in patience towards one another.
I see many couples that are frustrated with marriage not being what they thought it should or would be. The gospel does not create perfect marriages, but it does change the context in which marriages exist. I firmly believe that few things expose the believer to the already/not yet dimension of life, redemption, and transformation like being married. We were already given what we need to love one another, but our ability and our spouses’ ability to do so is not yet fully realized. The reality is that some of us probably need to try harder in loving our spouses. Others of us probably need to love more wisely. Either way, marriage is not primarily about our work or our wisdom. Ultimately, it is God calling two people to be a part of God’s glorification of Himself. Marriage provides us a wonderful opportunity to decrease, so that He may increase.
In the same way husbands should love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself. For no one ever hated his own flesh, but nourishes and cherishes it, just as Christ does the church, because we are members of his body...let each one of you love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respects her husband.
Jeff is a licensed marriage and family therapist and supervisor in Texas. He earned his master's dregree and an MDiv from Reformed Theological Seminary (Jackson, MS). He also holds a PhD from Drexel University (Philadelphia). Jeff is married to Susan. They live near White Rock Lake and enjoy spending time with their three daughters.
Love and respect. I don’t know if there are two more essential words for a healthy marriage. And while Paul specifically instructs husbands to love, and wives to respect, no husband would object to his wife loving him nor any wife resist her husband respecting her. We know there are hundreds of ways to demonstrate love and respect, but let’s consider how love and respect actively build up a marriage and sustain it during hard times.
As children we imagine ourselves growing up and fulfilling some exciting occupation such as pro football player or ballet dancer. As we get older those dreams usually change into something more achievable. In fact, dreams and goals often change many times throughout our lives, but they are always important to us. And it is sweet indeed when our spouse encourages us in our desire to grow and use the gifts God has given us. We feel loved and respected when our spouse tells us that they will support us as we strive to reach that goal.
Some dreams are callings. Imagine the work required to complete medical or seminary training. Consider the work required of the other person in that marriage as they sacrifice for their spouse and family. Now consider a smaller goal or dream. If your spouse desires it, support them with all your energy. If they long to write, or go on a summer mission trip, learn another language, or even change professions, support them with all your strength. If you have misgivings express them in love, but as much as possible, support your spouse in their dreams and goals. Husbands, remember the Proverbs 31 woman. She ran a business as well as a household. Encourage your wife and do not hold her back. In this way you love her and show respect for her as a person as well as a co-member of Christ’s body.
There will be times when one spouse must step back so that the other may achieve their goal. This is loving one’s spouse as Christ loved the church. It behooves the spouse who is being served to show gratitude, love, and return the favor so that the other spouse’s dreams are not left behind. Social science reveals to us that couples who have lifelong and satisfying marriages find ways to support the dreams and callings of the other person. Again, this should not be surprising to us as we know that God has called us to “count others more significant” (Phil 2:4) than ourselves. If God has called us to love others in the church this way, certainly it is God’s design for marriages to demonstrate that same type of sacrifice.
Now consider the couple that actively supports and encourages one-another’s dreams and goals. What does this couple look like? It looks strong–almost invincible. Together they are far more than two individuals. When each spouse loves and respects the other and encourages the other, they are in a far better position to weather a time of trouble. Each act of love and respect strengthens the marriage’s foundation so that there is room to suffer and experience loss without creating irreparable fissures.
Strong couples who love, respect, and support one another can look back at the identity they have formed as a couple. Their growth has formed them into a new being–one flesh–that has endured. Another discovery from marriage research reveals that healthy relationships develop a shared identity that goes beyond just supporting the individual dreams and callings. While it is vital to support one another’s role in the Kingdom, it is just as vital to come together and develop an identity as a couple and as a family. Ask questions about what impact you want to make on your children, your community, and your world. Indeed, God has not only called you to be and do something specific in His Kingdom, but He has also called the two of you to be and do something specific as well. Don’t pursue one at the expense of the other. Ask God to guide you as to how to wisely pursue them both.
Most marriages do not change or deepen overnight. One of the most important pieces of wisdom I have ever received reminds me that we tend to overestimate what we can accomplish in one year and tend underestimate what we can accomplish in five years. Pray individually and conjointly and ask God to help you and your spouse develop a vision for how your marriage can grow and deepen over the next few years.
"But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light."
Dr. Lloyd Kim was elected Coordinator of Mission to the World (MTW) by the 2015 General Assembly. A native of California, he graduated from UC Berkeley with a degree in engineering and worked as a consultant with Ernst & Young before getting his M.Div. at Westminster Seminary in California and his doctorate in New Testament Studies at Fuller Theological Seminary. He was associate pastor with New Life Mission Church (PCA) in Fullerton, California, before joining MTW. Lloyd and his wife Eda served as missionaries with MTW beginning in 2004 in the Philippines and then in Cambodia, where they initiated a new church-planting work which has grown to a team of 20 with five sites and four church plants. Eda worked part-time as a physician at a Christian clinic in Phnom Penh, which treated patients connected to their church-planting work. She also mentored medical students and home schooled their children. Lloyd served as MTW’s international director of the Asia-Pacific region before his nomination as MTW coordinator in July of 2014. The Kims have three children: Kaelyn, Christian, and Katy. They reside in Lilburn, Georgia.
In the book of 1 Peter, the apostle was speaking to Christians who were living in an anti-Christian context. They were an easy target for blame, insults, prejudice, and discrimination. Some even endured persecution to death.
These were not new problems then, and they continue today. Christians are persecuted in ways that range from subtle to unlawful or worse. What effect can this hostility have on us? Well, often we try to fit in and downplay differences. Then we begin to forget who we are, adopting the norms, values, and standards of the majority—if for no other reason than to avoid ridicule and insult. Values get blurred; ethics get blurred. Living as a Christian minority can be difficult. The temptation to be like the majority can be great.
So how does Peter address this? He reminds us of who we are as God’s people. He tells us, “You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession.” He wants us to know that we do not need the world’s approval, honor, or acceptance. We do not need to validate our existence by the world’s standards: money, education, career, family. We are not of the world. We have been set apart. We have been chosen by God Himself.
When I was 10 years old the fourth grade soap operas began. All of a sudden, boys and girls began liking each other, and recess’s big event was catching up on all the gossip of who liked whom. One eventful day, the most popular girl in fourth grade was deliberating between two boys, Danny and Kevin. We all thought the two were going to fight, but instead they confronted the girl and asked her plainly: just pick one of us. A crowd of kids gathered as she looked back and forth between Danny and Kevin. Whom would she choose? Disappointed there would be no fight, I slouched off to a bench in the shade. Then, with dramatic effect, she turned to look at me and said, “I choose Lloyd. Lloyd will be my boyfriend.” I thought she was joking, but she grabbed my arm, the two other guys left, and the crowd hummed at yet another dramatic turn in the soap opera known as fourth grade. How does it feel to be chosen? It feels great! My stock went up after that day.
God wants to tell us that He chose us. He chose us! It’s no joke. We now belong to Him. He accepts us. He gives us value, significance, honor, and satisfaction. Reminding ourselves of our identity helps us cope with the pressures of conforming to the practices and values of this world, and turning away from things that we used to do without a twinge to our conscience—“former passions,” as Peter describes them. It is our identity as God’s precious chosen people that should give us boldness and confidence not only to withstand the social pressures of conforming to the world, but also to be ambassadors for Christ in a hostile environment.
Not only do we need boldness, but we also need grace, lest we imitate the world in its hostility to us. How is it possible to respond to a hostile world with grace? It is only possible when we understand how much grace we have received. We were those who were once in darkness. We were those who were once not His people.
Think about Peter’s own life. He was the one who boasted that if all other disciples abandoned Jesus, he would not. He was the one who said he would die with Jesus (Matt 26:32–35). Yet in the courtyard of the high priest, he was afraid even to be associated with Him. He denied knowing his Lord. But Jesus did not leave him in his guilt and shame. He met Peter after the resurrection on the shores of Tiberius, restored him, and commissioned him to be His under shepherd. Peter knew what it means to receive grace. God wants us to bathe ourselves in this same grace. Beloved, we are to see ourselves in Peter’s life. Those who understand how much they have been forgiven are able to forgive others. Those who have received grace upon grace are able to extend it to others.
When we understand who we are, we will begin to live out our purpose—the purpose for which we have been called. Peter says that this new identity in Christ is for declaring the excellencies of the One who has called us out of darkness into His glorious light. The reason God chose us, saved us, redeemed us is to declare to the world how great He is. What does this mean practically? It means simply sharing our story with others. Sharing how great and marvelous our God is. This is the foundation of why we go to the nations—to declare the excellencies of Him who called us out of darkness into His glorious light.
“There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.”
“But if Christ is in you, although the body is dead because of sin, the Spirit is life because of righteousness. If the Spirit of Him who raised Jesus from the dead dwells in you, He who raised Christ Jesus from the dead will also give life to your mortal bodies through His Spirit who dwells in you. So then, brothers, we are debtors, not to the flesh, to live according to the flesh. For if you live according to the flesh you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live. For all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God. For you did not receive the spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with Him in order that we may also be glorified with Him.”
Kristen Hatton is a native Texan now putting roots down in Edmond, Oklahoma with her pastor husband and their three (mostly) teenagers. With a public relations degree from Southern Methodist University, Kristen has a wide background of professional experiences, none of which she counts as important to the job of being a "present" mom. Through leading a small group Bible study of teenagers, she has discovered her passion for teaching and writing about God's grace and ministering to teens. Her first book, Get Your Story Straight: A Teen's Guide to Learning and Living the Gospel, was recently released with a second book specific to teen girls in the works. To learn more visit: kristenhatton.com
I lead a small group Bible study of senior girls whom I’ve had the privilege of being with since they were sixth graders. Along the way of observing and investing in these individual girls, I have also gained a deeper understanding of teens universally.
One major realization is the lack of Gospel impact in their lives despite attending churches, para-church ministries and Christian camps. I believe the reason for this is the result of a Christian culture working so hard to make Christianity appealing and non-offensive that the Gospel has been left behind. Furthermore, we’ve made Christianity more about being good and doing good than seeing how good Christ is for us. We hear about how we should be like Christ, but miss seeing that the power of the Gospel comes in hearing who He is for us, personally.
Therefore, when I ask my small group to tell me what justification means, I am met with blank stares. Some have at least heard the term, but many others have not. I explain that “to be justified” is to be made right with God. They nod their heads in agreement. They do believe Jesus’ death paid the penalty for their sins and made them right before God. But for them, and many of us, what justification has to do with anything practically speaking doesn’t translate.
In our passage in Romans, Paul tells us that for those who are in Christ, we have been set free from the penalty of sin and viewed by God only according to Christ’s righteousness put upon us. Along with this great exchange, He adopted us as His children and bestowed upon us all the privileges that come in being an heir. This means everything that is true of Jesus is true of us.
So in Matthew 3:17, when God says, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased,” this is how God views us, too. Jesus received the wrath and judgment we deserved so that we could get grace. Therefore, we can rest knowing God delights in us instead of thinking we live under His frown.
Does this seem to good to be true?
Do you struggle to believe God is really pleased with you?
Do you still live as if you must atone for your own sin and failures?
Do you base your worth on your own performance instead of His?
Do you feel unworthy? Insecure? Forgotten?
If we are honest, all of us have to answer “yes” to these questions at times. That is why we must camp out at the cross to grasp the good news of justification. At the cross, Jesus defeated Satan, dealt with sin, and declared, “It is finished.” At the cross Jesus won, which means at the cross we won too! Now our identity is found wrapped up in His identity.
An identity that says:
• “No matter what my peers say about me, I am deeply loved.”
• “I don’t have to prove or elevate myself because God accepts me as I am and His opinion is the only one that matters.”
• “Even when I have messed up for the thousandth time, God calls me righteous.”
• “Although I got passed over for the promotion or lost my job, my significance and worth is in Christ.”
• “Changing diapers, cleaning house, and intervening in my children’s fights are valuable Kingdom work given to me by God.”
• “His image in me makes me beautiful, regardless of my appearance or how I feel.”
Do you see why justification matters?
When justification penetrates your heart you will no longer define yourself by your deficiencies, weaknesses, struggles, sins, or brokenness. But by the power of the Gospel, your heart will be reoriented to see how He is your true source of life-giving identity and security.
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by Him all things were created… He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together. And He is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything He might be preeminent.
And being found in human form, He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted Him… at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth…
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
I don’t know what you know about Henry Ward Beecher. I suspect not much. You likely know his sister, Harriet Beecher Stowe, who penned Uncle Tom’s Cabin, but unless you are an antebellum scholar or have in interest in pastors from the past, the name probably means little to you. However, in his day, Henry Ward Beecher was, as they said, gospel sharp. I explain him as a delicate mix of Jerry Falwell, Rick Warren, a subtle pinch of Joel Osteen, and several dashes of adulterous scandal. His celebrity caused a statue to be made in his honor that still stands in Downtown Brooklyn to this day. One story illustrates his national clout. A friend accused Beecher of adultery after the friend’s wife admitted the affair. In response, Beecher’s church exonerated him and excommunicated the friend. An ensuing civic court settled as a hung jury, and Beecher had the Congregational church exonerate him. All the while, the entire episode played out on every front-page paper in America.
I say all this because recently I took a little romp through Beecher’s sermons. In one, Beecher preaches on self-denial and taking up the cross of Christ. He laments that people say, “I cannot deny myself for Christ. It is too hard,” yet in the next breath they show how much and how often they deny themselves for a little bit of gold or power. Now, there is much to be said in that statement. You may find Beecher’s morality suspect and find him more self-indulging than self-denying (in fairness, the sermon was in support of the temperance movement and Beecher was a lifelong teetotaler), but I hope you can feel the power of that rhetoric. Our problem as human beings has never been our ability to deny ourselves or even to die for something greater than ourselves. It is just that we too willingly die for the wrong thing. We deny ourselves for ourselves. We take up our own cross dreaming of our own self-resurrection and the better and newer life we can create for ourselves. We control our bodies, not so that we might not be disqualified, as Paul says in 1 Corinthians 9:27, but so that we can be in charge of qualifying ourselves.
That is why, when you encounter little passages like those above from Colossians and Philippians, it can be unnerving. In Colossians Paul makes it quite clear that everything, I mean everything, is about one man—Jesus Christ. The world is created by, but also for Him. He inherits its beauty and majesty (that’s what it means to be the firstborn). He is the One who redeems but also the One for whom the redeemed have been redeemed. He is raised from the dead in order to be the first of the new creation and thereby eternally over all. Christ is the first to the last and then back again. And because of this, in Philippians, Paul says, every knee will bow and every tongue will confess. There is no option. There is no way around, every knee and every tongue.
And that is unnerving because often in self-denial we come on our own terms. We come with what we will deny in hand, keeping back what we want to hold on to. We play it safe. We come to negotiate with Christ. “See what I’ve given up for you?” we say. But Christ comes with the cold reality of His eternal dominion. He is King over all the created and recreated. And He will look you in the face and say – Everything in you. Every single thing must bow down.
Your dreams, hopes, and goals. Your reputation. Your career. Your family. Your health. All these and more, they all must bow down.
He will do that, because He denied Himself for you, yet He held nothing back. He played it unsafe. He humbled and denied Himself all the way down to the cross. In other words, there is no one else who could legitimately demand this of us, and there is also no one else who we would want to demand it. All those other things to which we bow down are violent taskmasters. They demand all, yet they give nothing. But Christ demands all, because He gave all. And when you bow to Him, amazingly, all those things He inherits he also gives to you. All his privilege and standing, He shares with you. In other words, Christ demands all, because He continues to give all. So let Him work. Let Him into all those corners of your heart. Let them all bow down and rejoice.
Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
It was a crisp, clear morning. The lingering heat of summer was finally behind us and hopeful traces of fall were beginning to pop up all around. That one morning, I swung the back door open to let the morning come seeping in. Our toddler Will set right to work, carrying toys and balls back and forth, inside and outside, with a little skip in his step. It seemed like the kind of morning I desperately needed—a break from the routine of racing out the door to make it to school, work, or the grocery.
I took the luxury of making another cup of coffee and thought that sitting on the back porch sounded like the perfect start to our day. Just then, Will came scampering back in with a surprised look on his face. “Uh oh! Mama’s phone!” His little hand grabbed mine and he led me out into morning air. Squatting down, he shoved his tiny finger between the wooden boards of our deck, pointing toward the dark and damp dirt several feet below. He said it again. Sure enough—Mama’s phone: lit up and lying perfectly out of reach below a deck secured by boards and nails.
I wish the conclusion of this moment involved a lot of laughter and some good power tools. It did involve a power tool, but it was accompanied by a sour and frustrated attitude. It wasn’t part of my plan that morning to dismantle a deck board by board. All for an iPhone sitting perfectly in sight but out of reach. I did figure out the drill and we did retrieve the phone, but my attitude in those brief moments stirred a great deal of thought for me. Why am I so opposed to the adventure of unplanned twists and turns? When things don’t go according to my plan, my default is to respond with frustration. But oh how gracious the Lord is to stop me in my tracks! How I long to embrace the new, the unexpected, as an adventure instead of an assault on my well laid plans.
As we approach another season of Advent, I find myself thinking of Mary and all of the unexpected twists and turns that no doubt crossed her path as the mother of Jesus. From the very beginning, she set out on a God-led adventure.
“Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to Him the throne of his father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His kingdom there will be no end.” Luke 2:30-33
Mary’s response to such bewildering, improbable news is starling. “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to Your Word” (verse 38). When presented with a situation that seemed impossible and that would attract the judgment and questioning of others, Mary held her hands open. She didn’t push back. She didn’t lament about how having a baby would change everything for her—especially under these circumstances. From God’s Word, we don’t even see an emotional meltdown that articulated feelings of doubt, inconvenience, or shame. Though I feel certain this surprise (and every unusual) pregnancy was not part of Mary’s plan, she stepped into the Lord’s plan by faith. The Lord God was doing something extraordinary—swimming against the current of things “as they should be” and using unexpected circumstances to reconcile a merciful Creator with His broken creation.
The holiday season is upon us—a spirit of thanksgiving that lifts our eyes and prepares our hearts to enter Advent, the celebration of our coming Savior. With the busyness of festivities, I notice my tendency to have things organized and planned. There is so much to do and it is easy to get lost in the details of checking everything off of a list. Yet sometimes the adventures come in astonishing ways—at unplanned moments. A dismantled deck challenged me to embrace the moments that throw a wrinkle into my plans. The Lord is sovereign—His plans are steadfast. He is merciful to interrupt our rhythm so that we learn to see with new eyes. Beauty often flows in unexpected ways—just consider a virgin mother and her newborn Son and Savior, lying in a manger. Don’t miss the adventure that is laced into unforeseen moments. Our God is mighty to save, sometimes in surprising ways.
O Lord you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
There is something about Christmas that intensifies a spirit of perfectionism in me. It isn’t an inner perfectionism – about who I am, but an outer perfectionism – about how I appear. You might call it an external perfectionism, and at Christmas it reveals itself in my frustrated attempts to buy someone the perfect present (with a limited budget), to take the perfect Christmas card picture (with three wiggly kids and a dog), or to create the perfect light display on the front of our house (with year-old strands of lights already half-broken). Can you relate? Our external perfectionism may seem humorous and harmless, but over the years I’ve come to identify it as an annual enemy. Why? Because our external perfectionism blinds us from seeing the grace of the incarnation. We can’t see what’s real when we’re living in a land of make-believe.
When we consider the incarnation of Jesus Christ, His taking on human nature and life, there are many “how” and “so what” questions theologians and pastors cannot answer. But the Bible is clear on the “why” question: “You shall call His name Jesus, for He will save His people from their sins (Matthew 1:21).” Jesus became like us to save us from our sins. The concept is familiar to our ears, but foreign to our hearts; it all seems backwards. Deep down we are convinced that we need to earn the privilege of God dwelling among us. So as we do with each other, we put our best foot forward before God, especially at Christmas.
A few months ago, I asked a group of older Christians in a retirement community what some of their favorite passages of the Bible were. Several people mentioned Psalm 139, which begins with these memorable words: “O Lord You have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, You know it altogether (Psalm 139:1-4).” Do those words comfort you or intimidate you? I hope they do both! It’s comforting to remember that God knows where we are and what we are experiencing at every moment. But it’s intimidating to remember that God knows us completely; our every thought, action, and word. So like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, we can put our best foot forward before God in a spirit of perfectionism, but it won’t matter. His knowledge of us is perfect; inside and out; past, present, and future; for better, and for worse. God knows we are not merely imperfect, but we are corrupt, unrighteous, and worthless (Psalm 14:1-3; Romans 3:10-12).
Despite knowing the depths of our sin, Jesus Christ came to earth. Or to put it in stronger terms, because of knowing the depths of our sin, Jesus Christ came to earth. The promise has come true, “Those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness and shadow of death, on them has light dawned (Isaiah 9:2; Matthew 4:16).” The incarnation is not earned or deserved; it is a gift of grace. This is the very connection John makes at the beginning of his Gospel: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth…For from His fullness we have all received, grace upon grace (John 1:14, 16).”
To celebrate Christmas in its fullness, we do not need to hide our true condition and compensate with external perfectionism – from God or from each other. On the contrary, we need to lean into the reality of our sinfulness and our continued fight against sin – as individuals, as families, and as a community. Wouldn’t your celebration of Christmas be richer if Christmas cards and party conversations included more stories of rescue than accolades and travelogues?
In 1943, Dietrich Bonhoeffer spent the first of two Christmases in a Nazi military prison called Tegel. To cheer him, his fiancé Maria brought him a Christmas tree, but it was so too big to fit in his cell so it was given to the guards. But rather than spoiling his celebration of Christmas, Bonhoeffer wrote that his circumstances actually helped him celebrate more fully: “The celebration of Advent is possible only to those troubled in soul, who know themselves to be poor and imperfect, and who look forward to something greater to come (Letters and Papers from Prison).”
Rather than embracing a spirit of external perfectionism, we as Christians can embrace the reality of our personal trouble, poverty, and imperfection because we know the grace of the incarnation. Jesus Christ took on human nature and life because He knew the depths of our trouble, poverty, and imperfection. Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!
For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son…
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Have you ever wondered why most of us love the Christmas season as children, but find it more difficult when we “grow up”? The child’s hope and imagination seem powerless against the cynicism and boredom of adulthood. How many of us have thought, “Christmas used to be so meaningful and magical, but I know too much about my family or this world to get back to that place”? Knowing what we know about ourselves and this world, can we still love Christmas?
Why do most of us love the thought of caring for hard people and places in our world…but struggle to sustain that passion when we actually go? Our heart for the orphan in Africa or the slave in India burns until we get our hands dirty. We run toward a dying world, but when we see the devastation first hand, we often want to run away. Knowing what we know about the realities of injustice and the challenges of change, can we still love people when it’s hard?
Why do most of us want deep relationships…but have trouble building and maintaining them? Can we know the depths of someone’s heart and still love them? Can we let someone know and love us?
In his book Visions of Vocation, Steven Garber writes, “To know the world and still love it? There is not a more difficult task that human beings face.” If you think about the scenarios above, Garber’s analysis fits. We love Christmas with a child-like naiveté, but the more we know about ourselves, our families and this world, the more difficult that love becomes. We love the mission of God, but the more we know about the obstacles, the more we struggle to love. We love relationships from a distance, but knowing and being known makes real intimacy a terrifying proposition. To know anything and still love it is incredibly hard.
So we’re stuck. I think that if you love me, there’s no way that you could know me. And if you know me, there’s no way that you could love me. So if the Bible claims that God loves us, He must not really know us, right? The Lord doesn’t know what it’s like to live in this world. To be human. To know and still love in the midst of this mess. If not for Christmas, that might be a fair accusation. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son.” The Gift of all gifts was God giving us Himself. Christmas means that God has come…to know and love us, to be known and loved by us. Christmas means that God’s love is more than an idea or an emotion. God refused to love us from a distance. The Triune God loved us so much that the Father sent the Son to embody that love on earth. So we can never accuse God of not knowing what it’s like to be human. Christmas means that God Himself has addressed the challenge of knowing and still loving.
Steven Garber asks, “How do we see what is awful and still engage, still enter in? How can we have our eyes open to reality and understand that we are more implicated, for love’s sake, for what we see?” The answer, quite simply, starts with the Incarnation. The Lord saw what was awful in us and in the world and still engaged. What the Lord knew perfectly from heaven, He came to know experientially on earth. Jesus had His eyes open to reality and was willing to get involved, for love’s sake, to right the wrongs in the world that He made, the world that we broke. When Jesus saw us—with all our injustice, alienation, sin, and death—He did not run away. No, He ran toward us, and one day He walked toward the cross to die in our place.
If the whole story does not shock or amaze us, we’ve missed it. Jesus knows perfectly and loves perfectly. He knows you perfectly and loves you perfectly. I can’t tell you why Jesus, knowing all that He knows, still loves us. All I can do is point you to the cross, the greatest demonstration of that love. Jesus left His home to come and die in order to bring us home to God. Christmas means that God wants to know us and love us as His friends and family.
If we have been known and loved like that, it changes us. We can face the challenges of the Christmas season in our culture and still engage. We can go into our neighborhoods, this city, and the world and not shrink back from what we see. We can learn to be in relationships that reflect the reality of the gospel in our lives. Why? Because the Lord Jesus Christ knows us and still loves us. He doesn’t turn away from what He knows. For love’s sake, He enters into the great work of redeeming us. And as His people, we have the privilege of being involved in that ongoing work of redemption. The baby in the manger reminds us that God knows the world and still loves it. How might your life share that good news with the world this Christmas?
And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
What visible impact does the power of God make on our lives? For one, it makes us regular church attenders.
As uninspiring as that sounds, it’s exactly what Luke tells us in Acts 2 following one of the most well known revivals in history. After the Spirit of God descended on those gathered in Jerusalem for Pentecost, and three thousand new converts responded to the gospel in faith and repentance, the next scene commends the regular, corporate gathering of Christians for worship.
“And they devoted themselves to the apostle’s teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers.” Acts 2:42
Here’s a shorter way of making Luke’s point: Everyone kept going to church.
That’s not exactly fair, because the word translated here as devoted suggests more than merely going to church; it suggests heartfelt commitment. These new church attenders gathered not to watch, but to participate... to offer themselves. They viewed regular church attendance as the vital means through which their love for and loyalty to Jesus could be expressed. As one historian points out, worship was not an inner feeling of inspiration, but an embodied life of God-honoring practices. Corporate worship was the habit through which early Christians imagined they could best know, and follow Jesus Christ.
Luke goes on to indicate the result of their devotion to corporate worship: “And awe came upon every soul…” He says more than this, of course, but this first fruit of corporate worship is important. Through being together regularly to hear God’s Word and to sing and to pray and to celebrate the sacraments, God became even more amazing to them. His holiness, love, and mercy astonished them even more. Corporate worship fueled the early Christians’ vision of God, which in turn fueled their mission of making Him known throughout the world in the face of severe opposition.
To be sure, the pattern of the early church was not a new one. It was the pattern of God’s people for centuries, and it remains the pattern for His people today. Devotion to corporate worship is one of the primary ways in which our own vision of God grows. It’s how our loyalty to and love for Jesus gets expressed. This same devotion causes our hearts to enlarge for our neighbors, and for the extension of God’s kingdom in our time and place. Author Annie Dillard paints the picture well:
"You do not have to do these things (corporate worship) —unless you want to know God. They work on you, not on Him. You do not have to sit outside in the dark. If, however, you want to look at the stars, you will find that darkness is necessary.”
If you want to know God, to grow in your awe of His love and authority, you will find that regular church attendance is necessary. This is true on the heels of revival, and it remains true when God’s Presence seems to have vanished, as was often felt acutely by the psalmists (e.g., Psalm 13). When those times come, the insight of C. S. Lewis is especially worth remembering:
“When we carry out our ‘religious duties’ we are like people digging channels in a waterless land, in order that when at last the water comes, it may find them ready.”
Regular church attendance is often a commitment to keep digging – to keep listening, offering, praying, singing, and sharing – no matter how we feel, in hope that when the awe of God at last returns, it will find channels in us to fill. May those channels in us be deep.
All the congregation of the people of Israel moved on from the wilderness of Sin by stages, according to the commandment of the Lord, and camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. Therefore the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Give us water to drink.” And Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the Lord?” But the people thirsted there for water, and the people grumbled against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” So Moses cried to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” And the Lord said to Moses, “Pass on before the people, taking with you some of the elders of Israel, and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb, and you shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, and the people will drink.” And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the quarreling of the people of Israel, and because they tested the Lord by saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
I love the book of Exodus because we get to see how Israel’s experience in the wilderness is similar to our daily walk as Christians, where, just like Israel wandered, Christians wander this world as “aliens and strangers,” waiting in anticipation for our true home. So, if Israel’s story is our story, we learn at least two things from Israel’s time in the wilderness. First, Israel’s time spent wandering in the wilderness is hard. Second, Israel’s greatest struggle is continuing to believe that God’s presence is constant through great hardship.
When things don’t go our way, don’t we question God’s presence? If we are honest this is one of our greatest struggles as well. When families are torn apart because of divorce, when tragedy strikes or illness hits, don’t we cry out, “God, where are you? Do you even care what I’m going through?” We conclude that either God isn’t willing to help or He lacks the power to help! Either way, when life in the wilderness gets hard we thirst to know whether God is really with us or not.
We are no different than Israel. In Exodus 17:1-7, God leads Israel to a region of the wilderness where there is no water. And the people don’t just complain (like they had been doing), they actually put God on trial and test the Lord by saying, “Is the Lord among us or not?”(v.7). Without water, Israel concludes that God has broken His promise to deliver them and left them in the wilderness to die. But they take it one step further–they actually convict God and find Him guilty of covenant unfaithfulness and as a result are ready to stone Moses. Knowing that his life is in danger, Moses cries out to the Lord, “What shall I do with this people? They are about to stone me”(v.4).
What happens next is one of the most dramatic scenes in Exodus. Moses cries out to the Lord and the scene drastically changes as God says, “Moses, pass on before the people, taking with you some of the elders of Israel, and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go”(v.5).
Israel is judging God and Moses by putting them on trial, but there is a shift in Exodus 17:5. Moses is acting as judge, and now it looks like Israel is on trial! The staff that God tells Moses to take is none other than the staff that Moses used to strike Egypt with God’s judgment, and the elders with him will serve as witnesses. Someone is going to be judged, but who?
In Exodus 17:6, God says, “Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb, and you shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, and the people will drink. And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel.”
Two amazing things happen here. First, God condescends to give the people what they want! The phrase “I will stand before you” is used only in the Old Testament in places where an inferior stands before a superior in the posture of a servant. Instead of punishing Israel, God assumes the posture of a servant and serves them by giving them an outpouring and overflow of His grace to satisfy their thirst.
The second amazing thing about Exodus 17:6 is what Moses’ judgment staff strikes. Where did God stand in the posture of a servant before Moses and all the people? ON THE ROCK! And what did Moses’ judgment staff strike? The ROCK! When the rock is struck God is saying to Moses, “Bring the judgment on Me! I will receive the blow of justice that my people deserve so that my people can be refreshed and drink deeply from the waters of my grace.”
Do you see what this means for us? The outpouring and overflow of God’s grace while we are in the wilderness flows out of the Rock that was struck with judgment! That Rock, Paul says in 1 Corintinans 10 was Christ! The One, who in Mark 10:45, humbly stands before you in the posture of a servant and says, “For even the Son of Man did not come to be served, but to serve and give His life away as a ransom for many.” Jesus serves us by paying the ransom for what our sins deserve.
This is why when Jesus hung on the cross paying the ransom for our sin, He cried out, “I thirst.” Jesus died of thirst in His wilderness experience so that we would have an outpouring and overflow of grace to drink from in ours! The waters of God’s grace flow from the ultimate hard place–the cross–the place where John tells us that a Roman soldier’s spear struck Jesus’ side and immediately “blood and water poured out!”
Can you see how God quenches our thirst and proves that His presence is with us? God abandoned His own Son, and struck Him in His wilderness experience, so that He would never abandon, nor strike us in ours. So when you struggle believing God is with you–get down on your hands and knees and drink from the outpouring and overflow of the waters of God’s grace in Christ. And when you’ve had your fill, give the overflow of that grace to others. Only the Rock that God provides can quench your thirst and assure you that God’s presence is with you every step of the way until He finally takes you home.
And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.”
Caroline was born and raised in Dallas and attended Texas A&M University. After college, she worked on staff with the PCPC Youth Ministriy for six years. She graduated from Covenant Seminary with an M.Div in May 2013. She and her husband, John Mark, currently live in Chattanooga, Tenn., where they work with college students through Reformed University Fellowship at the University of Tennessee-Chattanooga. Caroline and John Mark have a daughter, Mary Margaret, and a son, Jack.
“Mommy, is Jesus’ birthday over?”
This was the sweet little question I received from the backseat last week as I drove around Chattanooga running errands. This also, was the sweet little question that caused me to really pause and think before I answered. This was the first year Mary Margaret really began to understand Christmas, and she loved everything about it. How do I then explain to my tender, curious two-and-a-half year old little girl that though Christmas had come and gone, the reality about what we celebrated in that season is still just as true and real today?
As I have gone about my daily life these past few days, as the weather gets colder and our schedule gets busier, it has weighed upon me that her tender little heart is not the only one that needs to hear and be reminded of this reality. My heart needs to hear day after day that what we just celebrated at Christmas is still just as true and real this day.
At our house this season, the Christmas carol, Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus, was on repeat. My heart has clung tightly to the first verse:
Come, thou long expected Jesus, born to set Thy people free
From our fears and sins release us, let us find our rest in Thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation, hope of all the earth Thou art.
Dear desire of every nation, joy of every longing heart.
At Christmas, we hear, we sing, we pray, we are reminded of these beautiful realities over and over again. Jesus has come! And though the circumstances of our lives may seem to be ever the same, because of His coming, everything is different. Because of His coming we have freedom from sin and rest in our striving, strength in our weakness and consolation in our sorrow, we have hope that is sure and joy that is immeasurable. At Christmas, we hear these truths loudly, we hear them often, and the eyes of our hearts are lifted and they are fixed upon Jesus.
Christmas is not that far past, and we are just barely two weeks into the New Year. What have you fixed the eyes of your heart upon?
Perhaps the eyes of your hearts are fixed upon your striving. This is the year of keeping resolutions–of losing weight, of reading through your Bible, of getting off Facebook, of better managing your time. This is the year to do better. With enough discipline, it can happen. Christian, let us be reminded of the truth of Christmas, that Christ has come to give us rest in and from our striving. What He started in the manger, He has finished. The babe in the manger now sits at the right hand of the throne of God, pleading His righteous record and perfect standing on your behalf.
Perhaps the eyes of your hearts are fixed upon your shame. Just two short weeks into the New Year, and the resolutions are already broken… again. The resolution to read your Bible, and to try to pray every day, you have actually kept, but it’s felt more like something on a checklist than something your heart is engaged in. Perhaps you are not a resolution person, but you have hoped, you have prayed that this year you would be different–that you would be kinder to your spouse and more patient with your children, that you would be a person of gratitude and contentment, that you would be more generous with time and money and gifts. But our hearts don’t seem any different yet, and with that comes a sense of failure; a sense of shame. Christian, let us be reminded of the truth of Christmas, that He has come to bear our sorrow and our shame. The scandal of the incarnation ended in the scandal of the cross. The babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, hung naked on a cross wearing our sin and our shame for us. We are covered and clothed in Him.
Perhaps the eyes of your hearts are fixed upon your fears. A friend reminded me recently, that though for many this season is one of hope, for many it is a season of great anxiety. This past year has been harder than we could imagine, and we wonder what will happen next. This past year has been really great, and we wonder if this is the year where the other shoe will drop. Our future seems totally unknown. Our future seems totally secure, but we wonder where and when it will crack. Our eyes look ahead into something yet unseen, and our hearts are filled with fear. Christian, let us be reminded of the truth of Christmas, that He has come to meet us in and release us from all our fears. The Christmas story initiates the glorious end of the story, of our story–the story where Emmanuel wins, where we dwell with Him in glory, and where He tenderly wipes away all tears from our eyes.
And perhaps the eyes of your hearts are fixed upon your hopes. We hope deeply and sincerely, that this is the year the LORD will give us the longings of our hearts. Christian, let us be reminded of the truth of Christmas, that He has given us our surest hope, and met our deepest longings in Himself. In the babe in the manger who became the man on the cross, we see displayed the sure reality that God is for us and is willing to give us what we need most at the greatest cost to Himself.
Martin Luther once said, “Preach the Gospel to your self everyday.” In these bleak and dreary days of winter, where the reality of Christmas can often seem so far gone, let us remind ourselves and each other everyday of the Gospel that the shepherds heard that seemingly ordinary night in Bethlehem, “Fear not, for behold I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior who is Christ the Lord…” These are not just Christmas words, they are everyday words; everyday truths about a Jesus Who is alive, Who is near, and Who is the same–yesterday, today, and for all the days to come.
O God, we have heard with our ears, our fathers have told us, what deeds You performed in their days, in the days of old: You with Your own hand drove out the nations, but them You planted; You afflicted the peoples, but them You set free; for not by their own sword did they win the land, nor did their own arm save them, but Your right hand and Your arm, and the light of Your face, for You delighted in them... Things that we have heard and known, that our fathers have told us. We will not hide them from their children, but tell to the coming generation the glorious deeds of the LORD, and His might, and the wonders that He has done… When the LORD restored the fortunes of Zion, we were like those who dream. Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, ‘The LORD has done great things for them.’ The LORD has done great things for us; we are glad.
Matthew is a lifelong member of PCPC, a graduate of Covenant College class of '14, and is currently a student at Redeemer Seminary. By Christ's grace, he cannot remember a day that he did not know Christ as his Lord and Savior, and is pursuing his M. Div. with a desire to serve Christ and His church in vocational ministry.
I have spent the last two weeks at Covenant College on Lookout Mountain, a place very dear to my heart, visiting cherished friends and faculty before standing by the side of one of my best friends as he said “I do” to the woman whom the Lord has called him to love as Christ loves His church. While there, countless memories from the three splendid years I was given the gift of spending there have flooded my thoughts as I have reminisced with friends and professors. The Lord’s extravagant grace and faithfulness in bringing me to Covenant have shined forth: It was there that the Lord confirmed His calling on my life to pursue vocational ministry, and called me to write my senior thesis on the theology of disability (through which He has called me to the New Day Sunday Morning Community at PCPC). And there He blessed me with the Christ–centered friendships of five young men who have become the brothers I never had!
Five years ago I sat in Mark Davis’s office, having applied to Covenant the previous day to learn only hours later that I needed a third open-heart surgery, despairing that I could not see what the Lord was doing in the events of the prior day. Mark prayed with me and remarked that while he did not know with certainty what the Lord’s will was, he could see the Lord placing me at Covenant as a “promised land” to which the upcoming surgery would be the “Jordan river” along the way. In His extravagant grace, the Lord did indeed carry me through and, through the gracious generosity of the PCPC family, gave me the gift of attending Covenant. Now, as I look back over the last five years, I am at a loss for words at how the Lord has worked in my life through my time here! As the old hymn says, “For why? The Lord our God is good, His mercy is forever sure; His truth at all times firmly stood, and shall from age to age endure.”
The theme of retelling the glorious deeds of our God permeates the pages of Scripture as God’s people are called to “sing to the LORD, bless His name; tell of His salvation from day to day. Declare His glory among the nations, His marvelous works among all the peoples!” (Psalm 96:2-3) We are called to “Bless the LORD… and forget not all His benefits” (Psalm 103:2), for He calls us those who “have been borne by Me from before your birth, carried from the womb; even to your old age I am He, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save.” (Isaiah 46:3-4) His faithfulness is centered in the immutability of His character as revealed in the Person of His Son. “Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.” (Hebrews 13:8) He has done great things for us, calling us “out of darkness into His marvelous light.” (1 Peter 2:9) And so “to Him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by His blood and made us a kingdom, priests to His God and Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.” (Revelation 1:5-6)
Jesus is the true and faithful Bridegroom who came to this earth to get us, His Bride, and take us unto Himself for all eternity!
However, unlike my friend’s stunningly beautiful bride, we were not beautiful at all, but were ugly in our sinful nature and dressed in the rags of our sin, having rebelled against our loving Husband’s rule. Yet, the Gospel tells us, “God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8) He took the just judgment of His Father on our broken wedding vows, and He who is eternally faithful to His spouse bore the penalty for our spiritual adultery in order that we might receive the eternal honeymoon of His fellowship in the new creation when He returns to make all things new. On that day, we will cry with all creation, “Hallelujah! For the Lord our God the Almighty reigns. Let us rejoice and exult and give Him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His Bride has made herself ready; it was granted her to clothe herself with fine linen, bright and pure” (Revelation 19:6-8), and we will for all eternity rejoice in the goodness of Him whose steadfast love, mercy, and faithfulness never come to an end! Oh, for that day to come! To Him alone be the glory!
There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
He had travelled as far as his unpracticed freedom could take him and lay down on the sidewalk to die. In the late spring swelter, he wouldn't wait long. Nellie, one of our office staff, came in from lunch and announced to cubeland, "Hey ya'll, there's a parrot on the sidewalk!" In my typically supportive way, I responded, "Nellie, there is absolutely not a parrot on the sidewalk. What have you been doing at lunch?" But in a moment, Nellie appeared in my office, her hands cupping a tiny puff of bright green and yellow feathers with a ruby red beak. He was vanishingly small, and helpless, and we thought he couldn't fly. And he actually isn't a parrot, but an African lovebird, certainly an escapee from one of the apartments near our office.
My longsuffering wife answered, "? sure" to my texted photo and emotionally charged inquiry, "Can we keep him?" So now he lives by the window in our den where he can see outside and screech at the other birds. We've adopted him. And we gave him a name, two actually. His official name is Justin Peeper, but in the family he's known as Li'l Peep. He's been rescued, and adopted, and given a new identity.
You see, there are really two kinds of stories of rescue, aren't there? There are the titanic-sinking, earthquake-shaking, tornado-blast rescues that so often fill the headlines. These events call forth gracious acts of courage from bystanders and people of faith. Rescuers are quick to respond, and we are encouraged by the accounts of hope brought to hapless victims of circumstance or anonymous violence.
The other stories of rescue, though, are the ones that fill the pages of Scripture and the pews of Christian churches. These are the shiny-forbidden- fruit, rooftop-bathing-beauty, "I-don't-know-Him" stories. These are the tales of folks like me—and you—I bet; folks who took flight on their own, headed for the hot, certain death brought by the sinful rush into perceived freedom.
Twice in the book of Proverbs, Solomon tells us, "There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death" (Proverbs 14:12 and Proverbs 16:25). Curious to ponder is that his own father exemplified those very words. And so do all of us. Somehow, tempted by "the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and the pride of life,” we fly headlong into some dreamed-about better place or deserved fulfillment, only to lie exhausted and panting, waiting to die. It is from ourselves that the Lord Jesus offers rescue. He went to the cross, and suffered and died, so that bird-brained, self-destructive, rebellious sinners might become adopted members of God's own family.
John, the Son of Thunder, knew of this rescue. He reminds us what has happened to us in Christ.
"See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are. The reason why the world does not know us is that it did not know Him. Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like him, because we shall see Him as He is. And everyone who thus hopes in Him purifies himself as He is pure." (1 John 3: 1-3)
I wish I could report that Li'l Peep is a tame, grateful, loving pet that rides around on my shoulder while I talk like a pirate. But that would be the "devotional" ending, not the reality. My adopted son really is more like me than I care to admit. He tries to bite me, hops away from any attempt at caress, and would be off like a rocket given half-a-chance.
But somehow, I really like that little bright green guy, with all of his silliness, and fluff and ridiculous bravado. He reminds me of a most amazing truth.
“For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die— but God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by His blood, much more shall we be saved by Him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of His Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by His life. More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation.” (Romans 5: 6-11)
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!
At that very hour some Pharisees came and said to Him, “Get away from here, for Herod wants to kill You.” And He said to them, “Go and tell that fox, ‘Behold, I cast out demons and perform cures today and tomorrow, and the third day I finish My course. Nevertheless, I must go on My way today and tomorrow and the day following, for it cannot be that a prophet should perish away from Jerusalem.’”
“Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you build the tombs of the prophets and decorate the monuments of the righteous, saying, ‘If we had lived in the days of our fathers, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the blood of the prophets.’ Thus you witness against yourselves that you are sons of those who murdered the prophets. Fill up, then, the measure of your fathers. You serpents, you brood of vipers, how are you to escape being sentenced to hell? Therefore I send you prophets and wise men and scribes, some of whom you will kill and crucify, and some you will flog in your synagogues and persecute from town to town, so that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah the son of Barachiah, whom you murdered between the sanctuary and the altar. Truly, I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation.”
James Madden grew up in Dallas at PCPC. He attended Washington and Lee University and later worked with Reformed University Fellowship (RUF) at Wake Forest University. James was recently ordained on March 22, 2015, and currently serves as the RUF Campus Minister at SMU.
"Well that’s not very nice, Jesus! Go to Your room and think about how mean and hurtful these words are! If You don’t have anything nice to say…”
...And so the saying goes; Every Thought Captive often abounds with well articulated, tightly woven, and actionable exhortations to help us grow into conformity to the image of Christ. Today's devotion begins and ends with ellipses, for I am not sure how to exhort the Christian into Christ-like conformity today. I cannot articulate today's brewing kulturkampf, nor what historical tune we are raving to. But we are raging; make no mistake. And so I’m unsure of how we are to bring the Gospel and Jesus’s Kingdom to Dallas.
I know there was confusion within Jesus moment. There was dissension within the establishment of the religious and political quarters of Israel. Within 40 years, the temple would be destroyed and Jerusalem would be razed to the ground. Now to state the obvious concerning today: we are witnessing and participating in a time of political, spiritual, and social upheaval. Not-so-friendly friendly fire surrounds us as cultural institutions crumble. There is neither the space nor competency (from yours truly) to detail which institutions are falling and why, other than to say it appears we are living in the ruins, and therefore we must love in the ruins, as Walker Percy would proffer.
Political insurgents speak against the establishment. Former establishmentarians become insurgents; insurgents join the establishment. God is invoked. God is neglected. God is trumpeted. God is rejected. Unlikely alliances and bedfellows meet and nasty divorces ensue. What's going on? I don’t know.
So let’s start with what we know. Without naming heroes and villains, what can we assert with confidence that is good, true, and beautiful? Let’s begin with the beginning, middle, and end of it all. Jesus Christ is the Way, Truth, and Life. By His death on the cross, subsequent resurrection, and ascension into heaven, we know that our human story concludes with a happy ending, one where justice and love reign, embodied in the presence of Father, Son and, Holy Spirit dwelling with us in the new heavens and earth (Revelation 21). Two, only one “human institution” will last for eternity: the church. Three, the United States is not the Church. Four, we don’t know where we are in our own national story; the difference between the turning point and the denouement in any narrative is only decided by either the author or reader, not the characters. So, enough of the apocalyptic talk.
We do know that there is one true story, the redemptive arc leading Jesus from Galilee to the cross in Jerusalem (Luke 13:32). It must then inform both the perspective and tacit orientation to how we process and interact with one another. This storyline promises conflict, dissension, and even death. Yet it also allows for mercy, forgiveness, and new life. Jesus spoke harsh, harsh words to those “inside” the Jewish assembly (see Matthew 23) and “outside” to the king (Luke 13). He condemned the political establishment, and He condemned the religious establishment. So our way forward must not be to simply keep quiet, to not say anything nice if we have nothing to say at all. Dallas Willard once said (and I’m paraphrasing), “Jesus stands with the truth.” Jesus is the Truth, but the truth of where we are and what direction we should march onwards is unclear at the moment. I know one thing for sure: I don’t want to align with the Pharisees, and I don’t want to align with Herod. I’m not sure who Herod or Caiaphus is/are today or whom the establishment(s) is/are. Maybe there aren’t any. If anyone is sure and can offer an understandable, relatively cogent picture, please give me a shout (I’m serious).
Questions, simply questions. Thanks be to God for the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Take heart, for He has overcome the world. And pray. And pray some more. This is a time for prayer, wisdom, and then bold words and actions adorned in truth and love. We must stand with the Truth. We must love in the ruins. To do so is un-Christian and ultimately destructive. Now come, Lord Jesus...
Cameron is from Dallas and attended Texas A&M University, where he received his degree. He began working for PCPC in May 2012. In December 2013, he married his beautiful wife, Brittany.
He is constantly floored by the Lord’s ability to use broken people to do His work, including himself. By the Lord's grace Cameron believes he is woven into His providential planning, and he is thrilled to be a part of the team of staff and volunteers at PCPC.
And God said, “Let there be light,” and there was light. (Genesis 1:3 ESV)
Just yesterday, I was out with my dog Blu enjoying the inexplicable winter weather we all experience in the great state of Texas. A man approached me, and I knew from the long pause filled up by his disapproving stare that this was not a friendly approach. He looked to be in his thirties and he was wearing an intense running outfit, complete with long-legged spandex (this will be important later). He spoke with an Australian accent.
“You know, I just think it is selfish you would have a husky in Texas.”
My dog Blu is indeed a Siberian husky. I happen to know quite a bit about Siberian Huskies, after all, I own one. My brain immediately jumped to multiple facts I wanted to tell to him, explained to me by the breeder from whom I purchased Blu. She has bred huskies in Texas for over 50 years, including dogs in the movie Snowdogs and others that have completed the 1,100 mile Iditarod dogsled race.
I intended to launch into an explanation of the uniqueness of the two-layered husky coat that allows for insulation and keeps the dog both cool and hot. But you probably aren’t interested in detailed knowledge of the unique aspects of a husky’s coat. Neither was this man. As I began to respond he cut me off with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses, I just think its wrong!”
I am editing what he said slightly because his actual words should never appear in any devotional of any kind. He spat his words with such surprising anger he was already ten feet away from me by the time my brain thought of a response.
“Is that what you think?? I think yoga pants are for women. Nice outfit!”
I practically yelled at him. He did nothing to acknowledge that he had heard what I considered a witty, stinging retort. I spent the better part of an hour running back over the conversation in my head. I was so annoyed. Now, I am ashamed of the way I spoke to a total stranger, someone created in the image of God, just like me.
In Genesis, we read that God speaks light into existence. He speaks the whole universe into existence! Imagine what that might have looked like, what it would have sounded like! Think about hearing the actual words God spoke to create the heavens and the earth, the fish in the sea, and the birds in the sky. Think of the incredible power in God’s words, words that created everything in our universe out of nothing. John tells us more about God’s Word. He says:
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him was not any thing made that was made. (John 1:1-3 ESV)
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14 ESV)
Jesus Christ is the Word of God made into flesh; the walking, breathing, human representation of God. And He lived among us! He ate with us and drank with us, and taught us lessons formed inside His mind, a mind that holds the same power by which God spoke the universe into existence. Can you imagine what He knew? I blew up at a stranger because he did not understand the intricacies of a Siberian Husky’s coat the way I do. How much better must Jesus understand all that we lack? I received one word of criticism from this man, looked him up and down, and did my best to cut into him, and make him feel small, less than me, like he was an inferior human being.
Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. (Philippians 2:4-8 ESV)
How absurd, how earth-shaking, that, this Jesus, who embodies the very same power by which God created our universe, and everything in it, came down among us, and received criticism from us. He was mocked, and he was called a liar. He was scolded as to the meanings of the religious texts that came from the mouth of God, the same God he embodies! And that God is so very powerful! So how did Jesus respond? Out of infinite love, He taught and He guided, and He counseled His way to the cross, where He died the lowest death possible. Woe is me, that I can serve such a savior and yet not love every single person around me. But there is hope for me yet! God’s Spirit lives in me! And if you believe Jesus sacrificed Himself to save us from our sins then that Spirit is alive in you too. And that very Spirit is transforming us.
Here is a prayer to consider in closing: God forgive me for being a prideful sinner. Thank you for showing me love. Continue to make Your love known to me, broaden my understanding of it, fill me with it until I can’t help but share it! Even with angry strangers. Jesus You knew true human anger, You understood its evil more deeply than I could begin to comprehend, and You forgave it, and you died for it. Praise be to You, the Word made flesh, my loving Savior! Amen.
Be patient, therefore, brothers, until the coming of the Lord. See how the farmer waits for the precious fruit of the earth, being patient about it, until he receives the early and the late rains. You also, be patient.
After graduating from Highland Park High School in 2009, Mary Beth headed to Austin to attend The University of Texas. She graduated in 2013 with a Bachelors in Education (Youth & Community Studies, to be more specific). Upon graduation she worked as a recruiter in the legal profession for one year, before following the Lord’s call on her life to ministry.
Growing up in Dallas, God greatly used the youth ministry at PCPC as a part of Mary Beth's story of rescue. She feels privileged to serve The Lord and His people through the very ministry that He used to pursue and love her as a restless teenager. She is thrilled to be at PCPC, and is excited to see what The Lord has in store for her in the upcoming years. Praise Him from whom all blessings flow!
Isn’t it funny how the Lord works? How He knows what we need even before we know we need it? I experienced this on Sunday, as I sat on the front row of the Sanctuary during the 9:30 am service. Now, I don’t normally sit on the front row at church. In fact, I normally sit in the very back with the rest of the youth staff and other young adults. But because of other responsibilities that morning, I found myself on the very first row, and I’m convinced that God had more reason for it than to simply read Scripture for the sermon that day.
You see, Sunday’s sermon was centered on the seasons of waiting that we all experience in life. And I am in a serious season of waiting. As the sermon began, I knew that God had something to say about this season of my young adult life. He revealed to me that in every area where the waiting is happening, my heart desires control. If I don’t have control in that area, I hold even more tightly to other “non-waiting areas” in an effort to make up for it. What’s funny (sort of) is that I know in my head that I have zero control over my life. My life is the Lord’s and He has a plan and purpose for all things. It is my job as a youth leader to teach students that God is sovereign and we can trust Him with every detail. And yet, here I am confessing that I struggle to trust Him with these very things.
Why does it have to be so hard? Why can’t I just get over myself and let God take over? What do I think I have to offer besides trust in Him, who has promised to do more than I could ever ask or think? It is so much easier said than done. And guess who doesn’t like that she can’t control the fact that she can’t give up control… me! But despite my weakness and struggle to trust Him in the waiting, God is still good. He reveals Himself, even if it takes sitting us down on the first pew on a Sunday morning to get our attention. Since that day, God has shown me three ways to practice trust in the waiting.
The first way is to be patient in the waiting. When James urges us to be patient just as the farmer is patient, we are encouraged to wait for our “precious fruit” as well. I am no farmer, and I sure don’t have a green thumb, but it seems to me that when you plant any sort of seed, you can expect fruit in its proper time. In the same way, we are encouraged to wait for the Lord to bring an answer, a solution, an open door, a changed heart, or an answered prayer. Whatever it is that we are waiting for, He is the one in charge and in control. He is doing the work on us and on everything happening around us. To have patience requires trust that His plan and His timing are better than our own. To have patience frees us up to rest in His care and love for us. God is just as interested in our hearts in the process of waiting as He is in the destination of the waiting. What a gift waiting is, then!
The second way is to actively listen in the waiting. Proverbs 3:5 states, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths.” When we acknowledge God, we allow Him to sit in His rightful place in our hearts. We lean on His understanding, not our own. Isn’t that listening? Listening to God through His written Word, prayer, and through fellowship with other believers, we get to know His voice. When we know His voice, we can recognize it in a sea of other voices, including our own. Listening in this season is actively trusting that God’s voice and direction are better than our own. His ways are higher than our ways. When we listen to Him, we may just be able to recognize His way when it is time to move.
The third way is to obey in the waiting, putting one foot in front of the other. He gives us just what we need to follow Him at just the right time. We do not need to know the final destination. He gives us Himself, and that is enough. I am reminded of a scene in The Hiding Place, when Corrie Ten Boom was worried about the future. In describing her father’s response to her worry, she wrote, “Father sat down on the edge of the narrow bed. ‘Corrie,’ he began gently, ‘when you and I go to Amsterdam–when do I give you your ticket?’ I sniffed a few times, considering this. ‘Why, just before we get on the train.’ ‘Exactly. And our wise Father in Heaven knows when we're going to need things, too. Don't run out ahead of Him, Corrie. When the time comes that some of us will have to die, you will look into your heart and find the strength you need–just in time.’”
What a beautiful picture of how God works with us! He gives us what we need, when we need it. Our only part is to be patient, listen for His direction, and obey where He leads. May we trust Him, whether we are entering, currently in, or emerging from a season of waiting, believing that He is our greatest good, no matter the circumstance.
A river flowed out of Eden to water the garden, and there it divided and became four rivers. The name of the first is the Pishon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Havilah, where there is gold. And the gold of that land is good; bdellium and onyx stone are there. The name of the second river is the Gihon. It is the one that flowed around the whole land of Cush. And the name of the third river is the Tigris, which flows east of Assyria. And the fourth river is the Euphrates.
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
Have you ever wondered why God created a world with gold buried beneath the surface? Even if you hold to one of the prevailing scientific theories that gold came to earth via a bombardment of meteorites more than 200 million years ago, that still does not explain how this unique metal came into existence. Perhaps, what is more troubling for me is why Moses would take the time to tell us this little detail: “the gold of that land is good.” These sorts of specifics are not mentioned in chapter 1 when God makes the world, it is as if it is just assumed to be part of His forming the ground out of the formless void.
We cannot forget that the whole focus of Genesis 2 is different from Genesis 1. While in Genesis 1 God is the main character who creates all that is seen and unseen culminating with the creation of man in His image, Genesis 2 depicts God making room for His image-bearers to grow and fulfill the task He gave them: “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over every living thing that moves on the earth.” (Gen 1:28). That earth came with gold.
For instance, God could have named all the animals, but He lets Adam do it in chapter 2. He is giving Adam the freedom to fulfill His place in the universe. That’s right, God wants us to rule and subdue and fill, and He creates the space for us to do so. God does not want us to be mere parrots or statue images, like the great pharaohs made of themselves. He wants us to be living, breathing expressions of who He is and what He has done. He wants us to explore and create. He wants us to reflect Him and His work in all things.
God gives us principles and materials and asks us to mirror Him in His creative glory as His stewards of the earth. As Andy Crouch says in Culture Making:
“God has provided the raw material—the garden, the animals themselves and Adam's very breath. But now the Creator graciously steps back just enough to allow humankind to begin to discover what it means to be a creator. Adam, like His Maker, will be both gardener and poet, both creator and cultivator. The Creator simply watches and listens, and it is good.” (p. 110)
So, why is there gold buried in the ground? Because God is waiting to see how we will reflect Him in this world. It’s all here for us to marvel at His gratuitous goodness, to gain a deeper understand of who He is and what He is like. He wants us to dig and explore, to find interesting and beautiful things and discover their depth, and in so doing, discover His depth and beauty.
It is not unlike watching a young child exploring a room and picking up a new object. You can see her wondering what it can do and how it can be used. This is an expression of childlike faith in its most basic form – wonder, awe, and amazement around every corner and under every hill.
This detail of gold should not be overlooked, and it should move us to worship and awe at the amazing provision of God. It should drive us to continue to explore the world that God has created and reflect Him in all things as we seek to unlock the mysteries of His grace.
For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, several guys on the PCPC Youth staff drive to a house near the church to work out, but this isn’t your typical workout. This is a combination of Crossfit and our friend, Drew. We call it Drossfit. Drew, in his inordinate, yet humble strength, has graciously offered up his time and energy to help us (we will call us “the less strong ones”) get into shape. One thing I have come to realize about Drew is that he likes phrases like “muscle confusion” and “muscle failure.” I find that I enjoy them less so. However, he says that this is what makes us actually get stronger. The concept is simple: do a certain exercise until you are unable to do it, fail, so that next time you will be able to do more.
[Insert Spiritual Connection here]. The Christian life is like Drossfit. Before you get stronger and more like Christ, you must experience weakness, failure, and even death. You have to come to the end of yourself. It is in this failure that you actually succeed and become stronger. But rather than a garage workout, God uses all of life and its many circumstances to point out our weaknesses in order to strengthen us. God’s method of making us stronger is making us more like His Son, by the power of His Spirit. Jesus’ life wasn’t an American Dream success story. It was birth in a barn, a life of functional homelessness (Luke 9:58), and death by Roman crucifixion. Paul says in Philippians 1:21 that “to live is Christ and to die is gain.” What? How does that make sense, Paul? Elsewhere, Paul says similar things like in 2 Corinthians 12–here Paul is experiencing some sort of physical (or spiritual) ailment that he calls his “thorn in the flesh.” Three times Paul asks for it be taken away. Who wouldn’t think that if they were Paul, that God would want to “bless” him in this way by taking away his pain? It would have made him “more effective” in his missionary journeys, right? But what happens with Paul’s thorn in his flesh? Does God take it away? No, he doesn’t. God says loud and clear, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness”(v. 9). God’s grace is the strength we need to endure weakness, to experience “muscle failure” through what the Bible calls trial, tribulation, cross-bearing, and suffering.
But in America, in Dallas, TX, we miss this often. We hear words like “to live is Christ and to die is gain” and “my power is made perfect in weakness” and gloss over them as spiritual platitudes to be “sought after.” But when it doesn’t match up with how we want to live our lives, we dismiss them altogether. We follow God when we feel good, but we really struggle to follow God in our weakness, pain, and persecution, when our lives actually look like Jesus’ life. John Calvin warns against this way of thinking in his Institutes: “Why then should we exempt ourselves from that condition to which Christ our Head behooved to submit (namely learning obedience through suffering); especially since he submitted on our account (italics added), that he might in his own person exhibit a model of patience.”
Here is the real problem. Our rebellion against God doesn’t always look like outright treason. But it is rebellion nonetheless. I realized a while back that if you switch two words in Philippians 1:21, it painted a more accurate picture of how we choose to live. My version of Philippians 1:21 reads, “To live is gain, and to die is Christ.” It’s subtle, but very different. I look at Jesus. I thank Him that I get to go to heaven when I die. But then I go about my business of pursuing my kingdom, filled with my treasure, and then I stamp “blessed” on my prosperity-driven gospel that really is no gospel at all.
Before you get on board the guilt train, feel bad for a little while, then get off and go on living how you lived before, begin by asking yourself a few questions:
1. Do I fully understand how much Jesus Christ loves me, even in my failure?
2. Am I willing to set aside my agenda, my worldview of success through my own strength, and submit myself to God’s plan of “power through weakness, trial, suffering, and pain?”
3. And am I willing to look to the bloody cross and the empty tomb for strength and the power of the Holy Spirit as I take up my cross and follow Jesus?
Fortunately for us, when we fail, when we sin, God’s grace is sufficient. AMEN? And even in the weakness of our own sin, God’s power is made perfect, and we are made stronger in Christ. As Paul Tripp says in his book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands, “The good news of the kingdom is not freedom from hardship, suffering and loss. It is the news of a Redeemer who has come to rescue me from myself.”
May Jesus Christ, who knows what it means to suffer as you do, yet without sin, rescue you, one day, one trial, and one test at a time through the power of the Holy Spirit as you see the Day drawing near. And may the strength given to you flow from your trials to help others in His body and this city to know Christ’s sufferings and the power of His resurrection!
Now if Christ is proclaimed as raised from the dead, how can some of you say that there is no resurrection of the dead? But if there is no resurrection of the dead, then not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, then our preaching is in vain and your faith is in vain. We are even found to be misrepresenting God, because we testified about God that he raised Christ, whom he did not raise if it is true that the dead are not raised. For if the dead are not raised, not even Christ has been raised. And if Christ has not been raised, your faith is futile and you are still in your sins. Then those also who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished. If in Christ we have hope in this life only, we are of all people most to be pitied.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The question sneaks in like a shadow this season of the year. It's not the trumpet-blast question of elephants and donkeys vying for votes, or even the thumbs-up/thumbs-down question of tax time. But if we're honest, even the goofy symbols of rabbits and colored eggs confront us with the question as much as the ecclesiastical pageantry and Hallelujah chorus. What will you do with the resurrection?
The reality that Jesus is alive, raised from the dead, and reigning as King forms the gravitational center of all that we believe about Christianity. Peter preached it, Paul proclaimed it, and the Church universal has declared it through the ages. But what about you? And what about me? What will we do with the resurrection?
The power and wisdom of God are on full display in Jesus alive again. The same power that called into the dark and formless void of pre-creation, and hovered over the womb of a virgin Jewish teenager, spoke into the darkness of the tomb of Jesus Christ. There could be no other way. A dead prophet would never amount to more than a memory, and an imperfect sacrifice could never bring more than temporary appeasement. God's great promise of redemption and His eternal covenant call for a sinless King who is alive.
The person and work of Jesus Christ coalesce in the resurrection. Jesus is exactly who He said He was. He didn't mince words or make outlandish statements. He was and is the long-awaited Messiah, the Hope of Israel and the object of centuries of prophecy. Jesus said that He must suffer and die. He explained to His disciples that He was sent to do that work, and His resurrection bears witness to the truth that His work of intercession continues this very day.
The Peace and Witness of the Holy Spirit are based on the truth that Jesus will never leave or forsake those who are His. The primary ministry of the Holy Spirit is to bear witness to Jesus. And on the night in which He was betrayed, Jesus said that the time was coming when those who are in Christ would know a peace and have a joy foreign to the world. The resurrection confirms the truth of those promises.
And so we confront the anti-cultural, unpopular, quiet question of this in-between age. Do you know Jesus, now raised and reigning? And do you live your life looking forward to the day when that same Jesus, very much alive, will return to claim you as His own?
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the Founder and Perfector of our faith, Who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Hebrews 12:1-2
You were ransomed from the futile ways inherited from your forefathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Introduction
Almost 13 years ago, I set out to make the most significant purchase of my life. It would be the first time I ever purchased anything that cost more than $1,000. It was also the first piece of jewelry I ever purchased. As you’ve probably guessed, I was planning the purchase of an engagement ring for Erin, who is now my wife. With such an important purchase, I was a little obsessive about making sure I got the right type of band, the right style setting, and most importantly, a very good diamond. I learned all about the “Four C’s” of diamonds (cut, clarity, color, and carat). After selecting a few worthy candidates, the jeweler showed me how to use a magnifying glass to examine each diamond from multiple angles.
In a way, the death of Jesus Christ on the cross is similar to a diamond. There are countless angles from which we can examine it, and there is a distinctive beauty revealed in each one. In 1 Peter 1:19, Peter chose to look at the cross of Jesus Christ from an interesting angle, the angle of blood. At first glance, this might seem strange; we don’t normally associate blood with beauty. Why does Peter focus on the blood of Christ, and why does he describe the blood of Christ as precious?
Why does Peter focus on the blood of Christ?
First, Peter focuses on the blood of Christ because it is a repeated biblical symbol of sin and salvation. Blood carries this dual symbolism in the bloody covenant sign of circumcision (Gen. 17:9-14), and, on a larger scale, in Israel’s sacrificial system of worship. While the animal was sacrificed in the courtyard of the Tabernacle and Temple, it was the blood of the animal that was taken into the Tabernacle and Temple, poured out on the altar, and sprinkled on the curtain of the Holy of Holies. As Paul reminds us in Hebrews 9:22, “Indeed, under the law almost everything is purified with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.” Through the blood of Jesus Christ, we have a reminder both of the great cost of our sin, and of the great triumph of our salvation.
Second, Peter focuses on the blood of Christ because it revealed the severity of Christ’s suffering. Jesus lost an incredible amount of blood throughout Good Friday, both in the events leading up to His death (i.e., beatings, flogging, the crown of thorns) and in the crucifixion itself. In fact, physicians have suggested that Jesus’ inability to carry His cross, His thirst on the cross, and the water that poured out of His side after His death are all evidence that He endured particular stages of “hypovolemic shock,” a condition resulting from severe loss of blood. Christ’s was a violent and especially a bloody death, and so it is very fitting for Peter to focus on the blood of Christ in His explanation of Christ’s redeeming work on the cross.
Third, Peter focuses on the blood of Christ because it was a powerful personal reminder. Peter was more than a biblical scholar who understood the symbolism of blood, and he was more than a physician who understood the role of blood loss in Jesus’ death. Peter was an eyewitness on Good Friday. He was there when Jesus Christ was beaten, flogged, and crucified. If you’ve ever experienced a traumatic event or a violent scene, you know that the images, sounds, and smells replay in your imagination almost inescapably. Peter probably couldn’t even think of Christ’s death without having the images of His bruised and bloodied friend flash before His mind’s eye. And for Peter, he knew especially well that it was his sin that caused Christ’s blood to be shed. In the very moments when Jesus was being tried and beaten, Peter denied even knowing Him. Can you imagine the guilt and shame Peter felt as he witnessed Christ’s crucifixion?
But Peter doesn’t merely mention the blood of Christ in this passage; he uses an amazing adjective for this blood, describing the blood of Christ as “precious.” Peter apparently liked the word precious. This word is only used nine times in the New Testament, and Peter is responsible for six of the nine. Of course, this wasn’t an idolatrous word as it was for Gollum in, Lord of the Rings; for Peter, precious was a noble, holy word.
Why does Peter describe The Blood of Christ as precious?
First, Peter describes the blood of Christ as precious because it was promised blood. It fulfilled God’s gracious covenant promise to provide a ransom for our sin—promised by God and longed for by God’s people for thousands and thousands of years. The setting on that Thursday night was the Passover meal. Jesus and His disciples had to kill a lamb for their supper and remember how the blood of that lamb signified their sin and God’s promise. And there, Jesus pointed not to the lamb’s blood, but to His own blood, as the fulfillment of God’s gracious promise.
Second, Peter describes the blood of Christ as precious because it was perfect blood. It satisfied God’s Holy requirement of a pure sacrifice for our sin. Because God is holy and our sin is an infinite offense, the sacrifice for sin must be pure and perfect—not a perishable thing “such as silver or gold,” but “like that of a lamb without blemish or spot.” The blood of the animals sacrificed in the Old Testament could never be sufficient to take away sin because they were themselves corrupted by sin. As Hebrews 10:4 says, “It is impossible for the blood of bulls and goats to take away sin.” But Jesus’ blood was perfect, not pure not just in appearance, but in reality.
Third, Peter describes the blood of Christ as precious because it was powerful blood. It accomplished God’s sovereign purpose to save us from our sin. It was not poured out with the mere hope that some might be saved by it, but with the certain confidence that it would in fact ransom God’s people from their sin (Heb. 9:12-14) and sanctify them (Heb. 10:19-23). It was human blood—of us and for us. As Isaac Watts so poetically put it, “Believing, we rejoice to see the curse remove; we bless the Lamb with cheerful voice, and sing His bleeding love.”
Conclusion
Good Friday carries with it multiple ironies; it is a day of hate and love, injustice and justice, tragedy and triumph, evil and goodness. So too, the blood of Christ carries with it profound irony. Yes, it should convict, humble, and grieve us as it reminds us of our sin and its awful consequences. But like Peter, we should not view the blood of Christ as primarily negative. It was precious. It was perfect, promised blood that powerfully ended the reign of sin and death for God’s people. Poured out in His suffering and death on the cross, the blood of Christ shouts “life” louder than “death!”
On this Good Friday, let us not be downcast, shamefully shielding our eyes from the bloody cross of Christ. Let us look to our bleeding Savior with gratitude and joy, and join the assembly of heaven in singing praise to Jesus, “Worthy are You to take the scroll and to open its seals, for You were slain, and by Your blood You ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation (Rev. 5:9)!”
Now among those who went up to worship at the feast were some Greeks. So these came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and asked him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Philip went and told Andrew; Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves Me, he must follow Me; and where I am, there will My servant be also. If anyone serves Me, the Father will honor him.
Phillip is originally from Atlanta, Ga., and moved to Texas to attend SMU. Upon graduation, he served as a campus intern for RUF at Mercer University. Phillip married his wife Christina in 2012, and they moved back to Dallas.
Phillip is currently in his second year at Redeemer Seminary pursuing an MDiv and is the small groups coordinator for PCPC.
"That's not really who she was," my brother Andrew said to me. "I wanted to remember her the way she was, the way we always knew her."
One year ago, my brother Andrew decided not to come with the rest of the family to view the body of "Oma," our grandmother, in a funeral home in north Atlanta, GA. Instead, he would meet us afterward as we left for her graveside service at the cemetery. Finally, a few weeks ago, he gave me his reason for deciding to forgo this opportunity to grieve.
How do we make sense of Jesus' words here in John 12 to Andrew and Philip? How could it possibly be that a grain of wheat, a seed, only after falling into the earth and dying, would bear much fruit? You don't need to be a farmer to perceive that the agricultural metaphor wouldn't apply when transferred to a person's life. Don't you think that as these men stood here and listened to their great teacher they wondered if He were really wise at all? Andrew: "Maybe He's finally lost it." Philip: "Perhaps the pressure has gotten to Him."
To make matters worse, their doubts are only corroborated after this. Jesus has doubts and inner conflicts of His own. He falls under arrest, then is crucified, raised from the dead, and ascends to heaven. He departs from them. At this point our perspective and theirs are equalized in that we are both left to wonder what to do now.
No doubt that once Jesus departed, His disciples wanted to remember Him as they knew Him. The Man they traveled with and lived with for years. The Man who had mercy on widows, orphans, lepers, and sinners. The Man who healed many, who had compassion on the downtrodden and disenfranchised. The Man who spoke truth to power in the halls of Jerusalem's highest local civil authority, Pontius Pilate, who had the power to change history in an instant. They did not want the lingering, sour memory of a forgotten Jew suffering on some bald patch of earth outside the city. "Let's remember Him as He really was!" The thought no doubt occurred to them.
Jesus is no longer here. But we are here. What do we do? Is our best recourse to do as my brother did? To remember Him as He was when He walked among us? Remember the incarnation? To wonder, "what would Jesus do?"
But doing so would be to ignore Jesus' teaching.
Looking back on Holy Week, the Passion of Christ, and Easter, and looking forward to the year ahead, it can feel like we are left to remember Jesus and hope for His sure return. But here on the eve of His crucifixion Jesus is saying that our call is not merely to remember, nor is it to simply emulate Him as an example. He says that for anyone to serve Him, he must follow Him in His death. His followers must enter the darkness that He entered with the confidence of Heaven itself.
And what is to be gained? What does Jesus promise to those who would be so bold, so faithful? Fruitfulness. More specifically, fruitfulness that carries on into life forever with God.
So what does that mean for you? For all those who would follow Christ? It means that first, you must resist merely remembering Christ and instead become like Him in His death. Sometimes we crave a hero, a role model, so voraciously that we get confused into thinking Jesus was just a man to be mimicked, rather than God incarnate with whom His followers have been mystically united. It means that walking forward from Easter is following Jesus in His death, that resurrection life might be yours forever.
It also means that you must begin to think seriously about what it would look like to live as though death is the path to fruitfulness—about becoming like Jesus in His death in order that you might bear fruit that glorifies God. In other words, serving Jesus, bearing witness to the Gospel of God, is living confidently that Jesus has gone before you to empty disgraceful moments of their power, times of great loss of the finality of their pain, and humiliating defeat of its belittling sting. It is living in security and peace. The challenge, then, will not be the difficulty in an ascent to greatness, but in a descent to obscurity.
Two thousand years later, as another Andrew and Phillip far from Galilee process the death of our beloved grandmother, our task is clearly defined. Jesus calls us not to merely remember Him in His life and ministry, but to boldly follow Him in His death and resurrection. But be of good courage, for there our Savior has already gone.
Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into His glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, He interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself. So they drew near to the village to which they were going. He acted as if He were going farther, but they urged Him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So He went in to stay with them. When He was at table with them, He took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognized Him. And He vanished from their sight.
Isaac is a son, husband, student, and poet. He is from the enchanted deserts of southern New Mexico and has made a home in Texas, where he attended Redeemer Seminary, Dallas. He and his wife Ashley are members of PCPC and love her people. You may spot them walking their dog through Lakewood or imbibing at their neighborhood chill-outaries on Greenville.
Maybe a meal wakes the imagination to what we thought food could do. Perhaps this spring you’ve caught sight of a blue jay’s tail and marveled at its colored symmetry, like seeing it for the first time. Or perchance you prepared a family favorite for Easter—deviled eggs or shortcake—and the smells of the kitchen reminded you of cherished time with family and you felt renewed. From the most mystic of us to the most pragmatic: magic, imagination, and wonder appeal to us all. Whether we watch scary movies, read historical fiction, play video games, or hunt exotic game; we crave otherworldliness. It may come in a flight of fancy or a stalwart curiosity, but we all finger-poke into the cellophane of the matrix in some way.
When the seen gives way to the unseen, when our experiences or hobbies give way to an ineffable quality, we are put in-touch with the eternal. Whether we know this rationally or intuitively, all our desires and dreams are infinite, at root. This is because we are eternal beings, created by an infinite God, to be forever satisfied. God created in an abundance of Himself, life is grace, and all is gift. We were designed for flourishing by means of God’s way.
Yet, as eternal beings with endless appetites, surrounded by flowering grace, we demand that we enjoy God’s gifts as we choose. This unsavory rebellion is sin—our human propensity to screw things up. The consequence of this treason before God is exile. Adam and Eve learned this in the Garden. Consequently, we as heirs of their insubordination lead lives of pushing God further and further out of our business. We sit at a peculiar time in history where God has been pushed from our world and persons. Man now assumes that we functionally sustain ourselves. The exile of sin has made us strangers to this world and to ourselves.
St. Augustine is credited with saying, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in You.” What makes his concession interesting is that surrender is a confession of what is already true. BUT how do we practice the necessary surrender and confession required for return from exile? How do we rest?
Scripture is God’s Word spoken like His first words of creation, “Let there be light and truth in the midst of chaos and ruin.” Scripture preaches the good news of what is already true about God’s world. Proclamation of scripture is participation with God’s remaking of this world that sin has plunged into turmoil. God’s word gives us the means by which we may know repentance, whereby we know peace.
The road to Emmaus scene in St. Luke’s Gospel provides those who seek rest the beating heart of the Scriptures. The way back to something-like-Eden walks through Emmaus. The journey out of rebellion begins at Passover in Jerusalem. The resurrected Jesus is the way, out of exile and into wholeness. Scripture offers us a person (He interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning Himself). The Word became flesh and moved into the neighborhood. Because of the incarnation and redeeming work of Christ, our relationship to God’s word must account for truth Himself in its stories, poems, and letters. Our rebellion and exile matches that of Adam and what follows. It is confounded by the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus the Christ.
Another surprising detail of this story in Luke 24 is the fact that “Christ was known to them in the breaking of the bread.” Along with interpreting all of scripture to be about Him, Christ also opened the eyes of man to God’s creation. The bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper offers us a person. In John 6, Jesus preaches the peculiar reality that He was the bread from heaven by which the Israelites were nourished in their wilderness wandering. Only in Jesus can the words of Psalm 34 be fulfilled, because the meal of thanksgiving lets us “Taste and see that the LORD is good.” Word and Sacrament give us Christ. Both are essential to our Christian pilgrimage.
What other manifold means of God’s creation like that of bread and wine nudge us to our Savior? It may be in slowing our pace long enough to enjoy a leisure walk, glass of wine, or good book. The near occasion of Easter’s resurrection celebration may have us considering how Spring tells the story of Jesus. The earth flowers into new life and we are reminded of recreation and renewal. We are made intimately aware of God’s in-breaking, feeling like we are seeing green and floral for the first time all over again. What is this newness that is so ancient? What is this bouncing energy that is firm and yet fresh? It is our God renewing creation through His Son, Jesus (See G.M. Hopkins “Spring” for further reading—my thoughts are a footnote to this poem).
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made Him to be sin Who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.
James Madden grew up in Dallas at PCPC. He attended Washington and Lee University and later worked with Reformed University Fellowship (RUF) at Wake Forest University. James was recently ordained on March 22, 2015, and currently serves as the RUF Campus Minister at SMU.
This read is going to be a bit picky and dense, so forgive me. Have you ever read something that sounds really good and true but still feels like it’s a little off? I feel that way about Brene Brown, so I’ve tried to trace out the pleasure and discomfort I simultaneously experience while reading her. There will likely be a moment when you think I’m being too “micro” and a bit mean, but I hope you will persevere and see the payoff near the end; because we are confronted daily with contemporary wisdom that is difficult to integrate with our own commitments as Christ-followers.
So who is Brene Brown? She’s a talented researcher at the University of Houston who studies vulnerability, shame, and the power of human connection. She garnered wide attention from a TEDxHouston talk on the power of vulnerability and has since published a number of books popularizing her years of research. I read one of her most recent books, Daring Greatly, and want to share a profound claim she makes:
Connection, along with love and belonging (two expressions of connection), is why we are here, and it is what gives purpose and meaning to our lives.
Brown says connection is the meaning and purpose of our lives. Does this fit within the Christian story as presented in 2 Corinthians 5? It can! In a way it is a restatement of Augustine’s famous, “Our hearts are restless until they find their rest in you,” meaning we will never be satisfied until we are connected, love, and belong to God. But this 2 Corinthians passage clearly confirms her claim: to be in Christ is to be connected to Christ and to belong to Christ, and though these verses do not explicitly mention God’s love for us, a Christian reading of them can see that John 3:16 and Romans 5:8 are implicit in the process of our reconciliation to God through the cross.
But would we describe this miraculous happening as mere “connection,” one way among many that we can achieve our purpose in life? It seems we must even if it leads us to places we don’t want to go. For example, if I were to join a gang, connected with the members, belonged as a brother, and trusted that members would lay down their lives to protect me, is that a sufficient demonstration of “connection” and thus fulfilling why we exist? I would think not, even though it fits the criteria of connection, belonging, and love. Of course, Brown would almost certainly not use that as an example of what she is getting at, but it is worthy to consider what types of connections are valid within her statement about our purpose. To say it another way, her abstract statement concerning why we are here is devoid of actual history. It is based on interviews with actual people, but the idea itself is a formula that can be filled with many different combinations, some of which would be less than desirable as just shown. The good news of the Gospel, on the other hand, is rooted in history with persons and intentionality and actual consequences… a real cross and an empty tomb. It is one story, with one main character and one way to eternal connection, belonging, and love. In a sense it is very narrow, but its inclusivity comes from the universal call to anyone who will follow after Jesus. Brown’s statement, on the other hand, is a universalized propositional statement, akin to a fortune cookie with vague morality. What makes it intelligent and succinct as a summation of her social science research is actually what makes it imprecise and incomplete as a philosophy or theology for life.
Here’s what happens in these dialogues with psychology and sociology, and I must defer to Walker Percy’s summation. He says that social scientists will provide profound, accurate accounts for what is happening in the world around us, but then they will covertly assume the role of judge and tell us what we are to do or how we are to think in light of their findings. Both the findings and the directives are rolled together into “science,” undeniable conclusions that are normative for why we are and how we should live. But the truth is that although “science” such as this has many profitable things to say, it has nothing to say about why we are here and the meaning of it all.
One might say, “Aren’t you being overly harsh and taking one statement out of context in Brown’s work?” To that I would respond that I am offering only one of the more salient examples, and limited space prevents me from mentioning more. What is mentioned above is simply a case study for the delicacy and nuance we must engage with as we accept the current day’s wisdom or other popular psychological panaceas. We are always engaging in discussions with other communities, traditions, and beliefs; we must recognize as best we can when we are in dialogue and when we are uncritically appropriating worldly explanations of how we are to live and why we are here.
But here’s the messy part. I really like Brene Brown. I have integrated her priceless insights into my own life, relationships, and ministry with Reformed University Fellowship at SMU. Her descriptions of how shame operates and the power of vulnerability are transformative. The way she describes how we armor ourselves from true intimacy and vulnerability ring true. I’d love to have her as a friend. And much of her work CAN and DOES fit within the Christian story!
So it’s messy to engage in dialogue with the world. And we are called to be ministers of reconciliation. But this reconciliation is primarily with God through the work of Jesus Christ, through Whom we enjoy eternal union and intimacy. In fact, it is the security through which we might dare greatly, take chances, and be open to vulnerability as we challenge other beliefs. But to do so requires that we acknowledge from where we begin our dialogues with the world. We begin in faith as part of a community that grounds our reason, hope, and explanation for existence in Jesus Christ, the Word, the Logos. We believe that the Bible is God’s special revelation, specifically recording Jesus’s words for us today. We must live in this space and lovingly affirm what is true into the Christian story while simultaneously calling out what is false.
Can the Christian story explain Brene Brown’s research better than Brene Brown can?1 In short, yes. To quote British Missiologist, Lesslie Newbigin, “Insofar as my own participation in the Christian tradition is healthy and vigorous, both in thought and in practice, I shall be equipped for the external dialogue with the other tradition.” We must know our Bible, situate ourselves in the history of God’s people, and indwell the Gospel story to profitably sift through insightful works like Daring Greatly. Thoughtful engagement is good witness.2
1Alasdair McIntyre unpacks this approach much, much better.
2Consider Lesslie Newbigin’s The Gospel in a Pluralist Society for a much better, more thorough treatment of how Christians are to engage with the scientific community in a thoughtful manner.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
I walked along the lingering line of the ocean earlier this spring. The water had a chilly bite to it—proof that the winter months were just freshly behind us. The coast was quiet, as most of the spring breakers wouldn’t arrive for weeks. As I walked, I watched the ocean crash. It was a rough tide. The waves collided with an irregular rhythm, not the melody of ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow. It was a wild ocean, full of splashing, mist, and power. I kept strolling, amazed at how the Creator can hold back the might of a wild tide with a simple, sandy line.
Then my feet brushed up against something tucked in the sand. As I looked down I was surprised to find a perfect, whole sand dollar. These are rare little sea treasures—even on days when the ocean is calm and tranquil. It seemed like a paradox. How could something so fragile and delicate come from such harsh conditions?
My little beach-find that morning was a glimmer of hope for a weary soul. I needed to remember that beauty can come from rough places. I needed the reminder that the Lord delights in the impossible and can sustain fragile things through harsh conditions. That simple moment, with sandy toes and a sand dollar in hand, gave me hope.
The Lord brings beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3). Many times, beholding this great work is like watching the spring unfold. During the cold months of winter, the earth seems to fall asleep beneath frosty temperatures, short days and (depending on where you live) winter conditions of snow and ice. But as spring approaches, creation begins to stir beneath the chill. Tiny buds appear on the tips of bleak tree branches. Grass shoots pop through the gray ground. And the sunshine seems to crack through misty skies and muted landscapes. Life breaks through and begins to grow. Color bursts into the palette once again. Beauty from ashes.
There are seasons of life that feel as bleak and cold as winter. I found myself in that kind of season as I walked the beach. But oh! To behold the beauty and miracle of a fragile shell—perfectly (and surprisingly) preserved. I couldn’t help but think, “Lord, if You can do that with a sand dollar in these rough waters, then You can bring me through this season, too.” It gave me hope for spring.
Still, our darkest seasons and darkest days cannot compare to the day our Savior died on the cross—for me and for you. The earth appeared to break and grieve beneath the chill of our rebellion. The Sun of Righteousness appeared to be extinguished. But God was doing something that no physical eye could see. For a world trapped in cold and darkness, the Lord was bringing life out of death. On the third day, spring came as Christ rose victoriously from the grave—for me and for you.
My friend, consider the spring! Look around you. Life is stirring. The Lord brings beauty from unexpected and improbable places. What beauty might He bring out of this season in your life?
Now the rabble that was among them had a strong craving. And the people of Israel also wept again and said, “Oh that we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt that cost nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
In the passage above we find God’s people well on their way to the Promised Land. Between their experience of God’s presence at Sinai, and on the cusp of entering into Canaan, we have a few stories, which are a portal into the kind of people God calls His own. Led by their taste buds and stomachs, the Israelites are aching for something else other than manna. Manna was the daily reminder for God’s people that He would provide as He promised. But for the Israelite diet, it had become boring to taste, obnoxious at sight, and repulsive knowing that the next meal would be the same. Perhaps visions of succulent lamb, fresh fish, sweet melons, and robust herbs flooded their minds while they munched away on manna every day, three times a day, with no break to the culinary monotony. God’s people had had enough, and the dreams of food that “cost nothing” actually broke out into conversations and audible complaints towards Moses and then, God.
“What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of life?” Have you ever heard such a phrase? Spoken it yourself or hidden such a thought in the depths of your soul? I believe we find ourselves thinking or saying such things in the midst of hurt, whether mild or great. Once the thoughts begin, it can be hard to shut down. The wheels in our minds turn and we envision a better life. We explore those thoughts–“This is not how life should be,” become, “I hate my life right now,” soon followed by, “God screwed this up when He took me down this road.” Between the place of pain and healing, a few pitfalls are ever present along the journey. And the pitfalls, make no mistake, are deadly. Pitfalls such as self-pity, bitterness, resentment, envy, and rage are likely, however envy is the most dangerous. Envy seems harmless, but left unchecked, gives way to isolation and darkness.
Envy wants to kill your soul. Envy has us look around and see what everyone else possesses or is in the process of attaining. Paychecks, cars, notoriety, significant others, homes, jobs, friends and social esteem. Envy is a balance ledger that always has us looking at the assets in someone else’s column and always seeing the shortcomings in our own. Envy has us thinking what it would be like to be someone else, and when that happens the consequences almost at once are severe. The mere taste for some fish, a few vegetables and a couple of roots have the Israelites wishing they were still slaves beaten under the Egyptian sun while they created centers of power and control, for a wicked ruler. The Israelites in this story wish to rewind the clock, and to be their former selves. The envy of their previous life has driven them to madness. Who would dare enter into a life of slavery for a few moments of pleasure?
Christian philosopher Jeff Cook notes that exile is always a result of envy. This cause and effect has been at the center of human history and began with our first parents. Adam and Eve envied that which alone was God’s. They pursued what they thought was a better life by another route, and in doing so Adam and Eve were exiled along with every person born away from God and the life He desired for His creatures. In our story, the Israelites envied part of their former life; interestingly enough their sin has given them a selective memory. Ironically, the Israelites wish to enter back into exile, to leave God in the desert and return to Egypt. Instead of letting His people head back to their own destruction, God in some ways gives them exactly what they want and it kills them (Numbers 11:33). Envy operates under the notion that we know better than God, and that is misery.
What delivers us from envy? Gratitude is the place to start, but is not the end. Gratitude is and can be a discipline, as Henri Nouwen says, “It [gratitude] is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.” Gratitude is not always spontaneous, but can be a measured response to all of life simply because everything we receive in life–great and small–is a gift (1 Corinthians 4:7). Nouwen goes on to say that gratitude can be a conscious choice even when we are hurting, when we do not feel like being grateful and our hearts are full of resentment. To practice gratitude is a choice. But gratitude is a response, or posture, to something even greater: trust. Trust, the confidence that God will keep His promises, is a hard thing. In their travels to the Promised Land it was probably a hard reality to look around and see barrenness, but only to hear that a land of milk and honey would soon be found. In the middle of a desert, little to sustain life and little sign of it, God was calling His people to trust Him because over the horizon was a life far greater and better for them. But instead of trusting the promises of God, the Israelites, and we too, believe the lie. The lie that God has withheld something better from us, the lie that God did not get our lives right, the lie that God truly does not love us. To believe the lie keeps us in the darkness, to believe the lie keeps us in exile, to believe the lie keeps us away from God.
This is certainly never the end! In our own exile, just as in the Israelite exile, God brings His people back to Himself. God actively searches, rescues and restores His people to the joy of life He knows we need. God sends His Son to tell us that the life we truly want, we truly need, the abundant life is not one in which God withholds, but freely gives us through Jesus Christ.
Sources
Cook, Jeff. Seven: The Deadly Sins and the Beatitudes. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 2008.
Nouwen, Henri. The Return of the Prodigal Son. Image Books: New York, 1994.
And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at His teaching, for He was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
You might not find a more provocative headline than the one written for a column in The New York Times last month. William Irwin, Professor of Philosophy at King’s College (Wilkes Barre, PA) wrote an article entitled, “God Is a Question–Not an Answer.”
The title came from a recent work of fiction, which itself took its cue from an earlier work by Camus. But to Irwin it captured what it means to believe in God in a world where pluralism predominates, where the question of evil endures, and where the history of atrocities committed in the name of various deities is perhaps rivaled only by those committed in the name of none. For every reason to trust in a transcendent presence, Irwin observes, there are other putative reasons not to. Though in fairness, he concedes, the converse is also true. That anything exists and that intricate life persists in an undeniably forbidding cosmos are but two reasons bidding a second look beyond the material.
Given present conditions in which the question of God has become increasingly heated, Irwin argues that any credible belief–held by believer and non-believer alike–naturally and necessarily wrestles with doubt. Those who cannot fathom the slightest reason for entertaining an alternative view, or at least second-guessing their settled position, reflect a kind of certainty that says more about their determination to dis/believe than comprehensive analysis of their dis/belief. He does not reproach anyone for being properly zealous for their view–he even advocates for one’s advocacy. He only ascribes a certain “fraudulence” to anyone’s belief that never admits instances of weakness or contrary thoughts.
One might read Irwin’s musings as an encouragement to those on both sides of the God question to reconsider just how assured they have a right to be. One may never be fully settled on the question–there will always be arguments for and against any belief. But countenancing reasonable differences with one’s point of view can only sharpen one’s own thinking about why one believes.
The point of that personal dialectic is not to pursue a constant state of dis-equilibrium. Nor is it to live without any commitments that at some level require faith (an impossibility). Rather it is to authenticate one’s belief by letting it be tested against opposing ideas.
Faith, when conceived of abstractly, is certainly a category rich with philosophizing potential. Its dialogue with Reason has spilled no little ink over the centuries. But tying the credibility of faith in God to philosophical argumentation alone will always lack something essential to abiding in what that faith propounds. Quietly reciting Anselm’s ontological argument at the bedside of a dying wife offers the coldest comfort.
So what does serve to fortify one’s convictions in some meaningful and abiding way?
In the Gospel according to John, Jesus responds to the incredulity some had for His authority. While it’s somewhat anachronistic to say, Jesus was espousing a kind of empirical verification of His wisdom, saying in John 7:17, “If anyone’s will is to do God’s will, he will know whether the teaching is from God or whether I am speaking on my own authority.” (I like Eugene Peterson’s rendering of the same text: “Anyone who wants to do His will can test this teaching and know whether it’s from God or whether I’m making it up.”) In so many words, Jesus is arguing that to walk in the way He outlines is a path to discovering whether there’s anything more to it than human wisdom. Could it be, then, that faith is fortified in the practice of what it propounds?
One might argue no other biblical text (save perhaps the 23rd Psalm) holds as much cultural currency as the Sermon on the Mount. What Jesus outlined therein has captivated theists and atheists of manifold stripes, mainly for the ethic to which it calls all who listen. The Sermon rises above both the teaching of Jesus’ day, and the wisdom of any day, to help us see what is an alternative Way that will ultimately endure. In often confounding and sometimes cryptic words, Jesus reimagines life for us.
But as you begin to hear in the literature commenting on the Sermon, its significance is borne out not just by its content, but more so by what it reveals about the One who delivers it. The question behind “what kind of teaching is this?” is the more important question “what kind of person is this who is saying what He’s saying?” Any other preacher who makes himself the center of attention in his preaching has failed in his task. But Jesus, in saying what He did, makes Himself out to be either deeply misunderstood, profoundly megalomaniacal--or evidently divine. And it will be in the practice of what He said that one may find a reason for belief more substantial than any arguments we hear or even the company we keep (as nurturing to our pilgrimage as those adjuncts are).
One caveat though: while practice fortifies faith, it may be that what we find from God in our failures of belief that does as much to confirm us in that belief. For the life He will outline in the Sermon means to do more than confer an ethical vision. It means to confirm, as the theologian Richard Hays argues, that no less than God is present to us—and especially when we have denied him (Jn. 21:9-19).
So to Irwin’s comment that God is at best a question without a settled answer, and therefore we are best to retain an open-mind, it was Chesterton who inimitably said, “Merely having an open mind is nothing. The object of opening the mind, as of opening the mouth, is to shut it again on something solid.” No preaching from the Sermon on the Mount can remove all doubt in God. But listening and wrestling with how it inevitably challenges us, as it reimagines life for us, may solidify our reasons for closing our grip upon Him more tightly–if only because in so doing we realize it is He who has tightened His loving grip on us.
Here at CtK we devoted a recent Sunday’s sermon to an interpretive recitation of the Sermon on the Mount in its entirety. You can hear that recitation here.
For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ, being ready to punish every disobedience, when your obedience is complete.
After a decade in professional ministry—serving for four years in the youth ministry of PCPC—Christen went corporate in April of 2018. She now manages and coaches real estate agents at Keller Williams Urban Dallas in Uptown. Christen continues to serve as a lay youth volunteer at PCPC and writes and speaks on a variety of topics such as theology, youth ministry, and the faith & work conversation.
The title of this devotional series is “Every Thought Captive.” Captive. That word and its variants have loaded connotations, do they not? Captive. Capture. Captivity. Captivating. All but “captivating” seem to have a negative vibe. Perhaps images come to mind of a jail cell or a kidnapping or those rural compounds you see on the news where victims have been held for decades. It’s this idea of putting impenetrable boundaries around something. If you are a captive, you are hostage to your captors. So what does it mean to, as Paul urges, “take every thought captive to obey Christ?”
In youth ministry, the topic of boundaries seems almost thematic in many of our conversations with students, typically in reference to physical boundaries. But recently, in a small group Bible Study of high school girls, my co-leader and I posed the question, “how do you know when you shouldn’t be watching or listening to something? When does it cross the line?” It was a question about thought boundaries. What struck me more than anything was—not their answers—but simply how novel the question was to them. To their knowledge, they’d never considered the existence of a proverbial line or the possibility of it being crossed. This led to discussion about all of the things they’d seen, heard, watched, or read without ever reflecting on its influence over their thoughts and behaviors. They voiced that it never occurred to them to put the book down, turn the music off, change the channel, or walk out of the movie.
And the truth is, that lifestyle sounds pretty lame. Why? Because the idea of setting up boundaries feels restrictive. We feel like WE are the ones in captivity, missing out on all of the fun things available to us. Boundaries are for losers, the sheltered kids, the goody-goodies. Does it sound like I’m writing for teenagers? And yet, we all know this is true for us grown-ups as well. I’m an adult now, it’s okay for me to watch this. I know what I believe, I’m too strong to be influenced. It would be socially awkward for me to remove myself from a conversation with my peers just because there is a little gossip. I’m well over the age of 17, this movie is appropriate for my age.
Let’s admit it. We grown-ups are just as apprehensive toward self-restriction as teenagers. We are humans. We don’t like limits–never have. Satan didn’t tempt Eve with the likes of a ripe, juicy, triple-washed, organic apple. He taunted Eve with the notion that God was placing boundaries on her, limiting her, restricting her from being all she could be. God was holding her back from being, as Satan so bluntly put it, “like God.” How dare he? How dare he hold us captive from reaching our full potential? How dare he withhold from us the opportunity to express ourselves fully? How dare he request that we turn our eyes from something interesting, alluring, inviting? It’s culture, after all.
Nope. It’s slavery. We forget that… We forget that those things are a trap. They are carrots luring us to a captor we cannot see. Paul hints at this hidden enemy in the same breath he uses to urge us to take every thought captive. He writes, “For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh.” According to Paul, we are in a war. I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty serious. And in this war, Paul tells us that we actually have access to weapons not made of flesh that literally have the power to destroy strongholds. It is with these spiritual weapons that we fight to recapture our thoughts.
This is not to say that every secular book is wrong, every R-rated movie is evil, and every rap song has a bad message. The Bible also has a lot of things to say about the beauty and value of culture. This passage is not a plumbline against which to measure holiness. It’s not telling us what we should and shouldn’t watch on Netflix. It’s telling us to think before we ingest things into our minds. It is a call out of intellectual passivity and into action. We have to take our thoughts captive by taking them back from their current captors. In fact, this is the only way to freedom. Because that—contrary to first impressions—is precisely what our God is interested in: our freedom. Not our captivity. And we as Christians can only have true freedom by actively taking our thoughts captive rather than passively allowing our thoughts to be held hostage by the dominating messages of the day.
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent His only Son into the world, so that we might live through Him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that He loved us and sent His Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and His love is perfected in us.
By this we know that we abide in Him and He in us, because He has given us of His Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent His Son to be the Savior of the world. Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in Him, and He in God. So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us.God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
There I stood, stunned. Stupefied really. The task had seemed simple. We were making pancakes and needed milk. So it fell to me to dash to the local market. Sure thing thought I, I'll be back in a flash. And then I found myself, still as a stone, standing helpless in front of the frosty glass doors. I had forgotten that almonds are mammals, and coconuts and soybeans. Cow milk, goat milk, whole milk, lactose free, calcium fortified, fat-free, 1/2%, 2%, organic–I need an aspirin. But at least I wasn't shopping for granola!
The infinite choices and clamoring voices of our culture are mind-boggling. Trouble is, they can also be heart-boggling and spirit-boggling. We can be stunned into uncertainty and silenced into submission because we face an endless barrage of faith claims, each presented as ultimate truth. Culture screams at us that we mustn't hold antiquated ideas of one true faith. There is no such thing, we're told, any more than "milk" means just one thing.
God's people in every age have faced exactly the same scenario. The people of Israel were warned by word and deed that the land of Canaan would offer other gods to be worshipped, other truths to be encountered. But God is a jealous God, and his people were to revere Him as the one TRUE God, maker of heaven and earth.
In the early Christian church, the apostle John writes to his congregations about just this matter. Some folks had learned enough about Christianity to sound plausible as teachers of the way. But their message was a confusing cacophony of partial information seeded with doubt about the person and work of Jesus Christ. This was causing anxiety at best and faith-destroying blasphemy at worst. How was the truth to be discerned? Which were the clues to cling to?
John, the Son-of-Thunder, the "disciple whom Jesus loved," points to two things; is the teacher teaching and the preacher preaching that Jesus Christ is the Son of God, who has come in the flesh from God? Jesus is not just an idea, or an ethic, or a memory. He was and is fully God and fully man. To proclaim that mysterious truth is not to explain it or contain it. But John makes a powerful statement that Jesus Christ, who came in the flesh, is the unalterable reality. John reminds us that it is the Holy Spirit's work to proclaim and protect that truth in the heart of the believer. If what we see and hear detracts from or denies that central truth, it is not of God.
John also reminds us that all of redemption grows out of the reality that God is love. And therefore, those who are God's lead lives of love. This is exactly what John heard Jesus say, “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep's clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will recognize them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thorn bushes, or figs from thistles? So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus you will recognize them by their fruits." Matthew 7:15-20
John is saying something very bold here. He is reminding the church that the adopted children of God bear the likeness of their Heavenly Father. By the power of the Holy Spirit, Christian people are people who love one another and love the world around them. If the proclaimed message of truth is packaged in selfishness and hatred, it is not the message of God Almighty.
So John tells his churches, and us, that we must test the spirits to see whether they are from God. And he gives us the criteria by which to do the testing. Do the messages resound with the glorious Gospel of Jesus Christ, the only begotten Son of God? And do the messengers live faithful, loving lives?
May we ourselves be found living in the truth of the Gospel.
And this is His commandment, that we believe in the name of His Son Jesus Christ and love one another, just as He has commanded us. Whoever keeps His commandments abides in God, and God in him. And by this we know that He abides in us, by the Spirit whom He has given us. 1 John 3: 23-24
When the king of Egypt was told that the people had fled, the mind of Pharaoh and his servants was changed toward the people, and they said, “What is this we have done, that we have let Israel go from serving us?” So he made ready his chariot and took his army with him, and took six hundred chosen chariots and all the other chariots of Egypt with officers over all of them. And the Lord hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and He pursued the people of Israel while the people of Israel were going out defiantly. The Egyptians pursued them, all Pharaoh's horses and chariots and his horsemen and his army, and overtook them encamped at the sea, by Pi-hahiroth, in front of Baal-zephon.
When Pharaoh drew near, the people of Israel lifted up their eyes, and behold, the Egyptians were marching after them, and they feared greatly. And the people of Israel cried out to the Lord. They said to Moses, “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt? Is not this what we said to you in Egypt: ‘Leave us alone that we may serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” And Moses said to the people, “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The Lord will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
The Lord said to Moses, “Why do you cry to Me? Tell the people of Israel to go forward. Lift up your staff, and stretch out your hand over the sea and divide it, that the people of Israel may go through the sea on dry ground. And I will harden the hearts of the Egyptians so that they shall go in after them, and I will get glory over Pharaoh and all his host, his chariots, and his horsemen. And the Egyptians shall know that I am the Lord, when I have gotten glory over Pharaoh, his chariots, and his horsemen.
Matt recently moved back to Dallas from England where he completed a PhD in New Testament Greek. He is now the acquisitions editor for an academic press, a pastoral intern at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and a home-sent missionary to Lithuania where he will be Professor of Greek and Biblical Studies at a liberal arts college.
Chapter 14 may be the most entertaining chapter of Exodus. Pharaoh "let the people go" after experiencing ten-plagues-too-many. Even then, he wasn't entirely convinced of his decision. Deciding to go back on his agreement with Moses, he gathered his army and sought to bring the Jews back to Egypt.
For the recently freed Jews, seeing the Egyptians coming after them in full battle array must have been horrifying. So much so that the text says the Israelites "cried out to the Lord" (14:10). They had some flippant words for Moses as well. "Were there no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness?" (14:11) Considering Moses had single-handedly negotiated their release from Pharaoh’s brick factory, it is pretty shocking the Israelites were complaining at all. Just to be clear, the Israelites would rather be Pharaoh’s slaves in Egypt than die in the desert following God (14:12).
After hearing their complaints, Moses bravely tells the groaning Israelites to watch and wait for God. For "He will fight for you while you keep silent" (14:14). In other words, while the Israelites sit on their hands in the sands of Egypt, God will do the heavy lifting. Immediately after, Moses gives a powerful charge to the Israelites. Though it is not mentioned in the text, it can be inferred Moses then prayed to God, probably in desperation. Then, something surprising happens. God says to Moses, "Why are you crying out to Me? Tell the Israelites to go forward!” (14:15).
The Egyptians are coming. Moses takes time to encourage God’s people. Says a quick prayer. Then, incredulously, God breaks in and says “Hey, uh, Moses, stop praying and get on with it already!” God taught Moses an amazing lesson that day, and indirectly teaches us the same as we read.
What is the lesson?
God had done so much already for the Jews to be free even before the miraculous sea-splitting episode. Why would He not do the same when Pharaoh changed his mind? Did Moses and the Israelites really think that the God who had turned the Nile to blood, who instantly killed all Egyptian first-borns, needed a reminder to finish the job of rescuing them from Pharaoh's army? The answer is "yes!" A resounding “yes!” To be fair, their prayers and doubts are not much different from those of many believers in today’s Christian culture.
We ask Him to forgive sins long confessed. We ask Him to bless us as if He hasn't already. We ask Him to make us like Jesus though in His eyes we are. We ask Him to be with us as if He wasn’t seated on our very souls. We ask Him to guide our lives despite His loving providence. I imagine God in heaven, patiently saying to a lot of our prayers, "I am answering your requests as your prayers rise to me. Keep going!”
I do not mean to dismiss sincere prayers to God. Moses was honestly seeking God's help when he saw Pharaoh's army coming. The problem was, he was asking God to do what God had said He would accomplish. He was praying for something that God was in the midst of doing. And for this, God rebuked him.
Then, God ordered Moses to stay behind. Why? So Moses could do something important? He tells him to stand there, with hands lifted. For what? To magically split the seas? No, to witness. Verse 21 says, “Moses stretched out his hand...the Lord drove the sea back.” God strangely tells Moses to hold up his staff. This Hebrew word מַטֶּה can also mean branch or rod. Not surprisingly, it brings the connotation of “tree”. Let’s not stretch this too far, but Moses’ wooden walking stick was instrumental in almost all of the miracles in Egypt. Go back and look.
Whether or not the writer of Exodus had a clue about the connection, I see Moses, unknowingly, holding the cross of Christ over his head, on the mountaintop, watching his God perform what was probably the craziest miracle anyone had ever seen. Moses held high his staff as the water-walls were held aside. Today, in our prayers and life, we are to hold high Christ’s tree, those blessed beams that held fast the hands and feet of our Savior atop of the mountain called “Skull-Place”. God calls us today, to witness His work, with arms lifted high in praise. He has already acted and continues to act on our behalf, as we run “through on dry ground” to salvation.
It is the full realization of such passages in Exodus that can lead Paul to make the connection to his own call-to-arms in the New Testament. Paul says in Philippians 3:13, "Brothers and sisters, I do not consider myself yet to have taken hold of it. But one thing I do: Forgetting what is behind and straining toward what is ahead”.
Paul is saying the same thing God told Moses. All who follow God need not think, stress, ruminate, dwell, or focus on that which God has already dealt with. Sin, regret, failures; those things are over. “It is finished" (John 19:30)! In the same breath we must remind ourselves, "Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in me will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus" (Philippians 1:6).
If this passage in Exodus is how God really feels about prayer, maybe our prayers should be different? Perhaps, it should be a time more concerned with gratitude, and praise, for what God has done (and will do), for who He is, a time of cross-lifting, instead of praying for Him to do things He has already done, is doing, and promises to do.
Deuteronomy 34:10 says "Since that time no prophet has risen in Israel like Moses, who the Lord knew face-to-face." If Moses can get his prayers wrong, we shouldn't be surprised if we do as well from time to time. But this verse is no longer true, you see. A prophet greater than Moses has come. Next time you find yourself praying for things that have already been promised or completed, remember that great prophet, hands nailed wide on wood, watching God work the craziest miracle anyone had ever seen: True Salvation. He has called us to run through the divided curtain to the throne room of the same God whom Moses witnessed divide those walls of water. Trust He will do what He says He will do. Pray in gratitude that He has acted and is now acting on your behalf. And, of course, “Move forward!”
"...My Father is the vinedresser"
Jenni was born and raised in Atlanta, Georgia and attended college at Samford University in Birmingham, Alabama. While in Dallas attending Dallas Theological Seminary, Jenni met and married her husband, Paul, and now finds herself a Texas resident. She spends her days at home raising their daughters Ann Elise and Margaret.
Jenni and Paul are grateful members of PCPC, where Paul serves as Associate Pastor.
When my hands are in the dirt, something about me feels very human. Is it because we were created from the dirt? Why did God create everything else in this vast universe by the power of His Word, but us, from the dirt?
Perhaps the Lord knew we would meet Him there, in the dirt. Possibly when He put man in the garden to work it and to keep it, He knew for the rest of mankind's days they would have their hands in their gardens, their lawns, their farms, working them and keeping them. And here, we would meet Him.
And so it was that my hands were in the dirt of our small backyard a few months ago, making way for star jasmine to be planted along the sunny side of our garage wall. My husband had prepared a diamond-patterned trellis after going through several of my haphazard sketches. The plans were made, the plants were selected; it was time to get to work.
As we worked, I saw a sort of picture of the Gardener, the Vinedresser. My hands in the garden, I saw Him working in the garden of my heart. Oh, how He loves His work in the garden of our hearts!
Think of how vigorously and tenderly He works on you. The soil for planting must be prepared. We read chapters on “soil modification” (there are entire books written on the subject!). Dry soil does not foster root growth. Rocky soil will not allow for plants to work up toward the light. Sandy soil will become bogged down, and nutrients will not sink in. And so He cultivates the soil of our heart, working imperfections up and out of us. The rough machinery of refinement turns over old, dry, rotting habits and thoughts and impurities. His tender hands dig into the dirt after the hardship seasons of purification, taking the raw and exposed soil of our hearts and adding to it the rich soil of the Word of Christ, so that when roots come, they will grow deep.
With the soil of our hearts prepared, He plants in us the likeness of Himself. He bears His hands down on us so we will take root. He pours out watering grace on every new thing He has planted in us.
The vine breaks through. It finds the pattern the Master has made for it. Even with the pattern laid out before us, still He bends down to conform us to it. I took the vines in between my fingers, and I wrapped them around the trellis wires. It was a creator’s delight. To take something and form it into a plan we had made for it. We stepped back and reveled in our work. The Lord sees His master plan. He lovingly shapes us, turns us this way or that, bends us upward, for our good, and the glory of His work. And to think how He loves this work!
The work is never finished. Weeds crowd in on our vine all the time. My hands go back to the soil, uprooting what has threatened budding life. Some invaders are easy to pull. Some take force. Some appear to be taken care of, but the roots are still underground, and weeds will inevitably resurface. I sometimes feel frustrated – and overwhelmed! – by what hinders my outdoor work. My lack of power and half-hearted love: a poor picture of the sin-killing work of the Creator on behalf of His creation. The Lord loathes the assailing sins that attach themselves to His life-producing work in His creation. These are not pesky weeds or time-wasting annoyances to Him. He does not causally check on the status of His work because He happened to pass it by en route to another task. He is ever-vigilant, ever-watchful, never sleeping (though it is night), ever-tending, ever-pruning, never forgetting His work in the garden of our souls.
What a lovely gardener He is! What a good gardener! How He delights in His work! In me! In you! In us! "He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ." (Philippians 1:6) With delight, He tirelessly tends to the garden of our hearts until, one Day, we will dwell together with Him in the Eternal Garden, and our hearts will be as perfected as the place where we dwell.
1 Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations.
2 Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever you had formed the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
3 You return man to dust and say, “Return, O children of man!”
4 For a thousand years in your sight are but as yesterday when it is past, or as a watch in the night.
5 You sweep them away as with a flood; they are like a dream, like grass that is renewed in the morning:
6 in the morning it flourishes and is renewed; in the evening it fades and withers.
7 For we are brought to an end by your anger; by your wrath we are dismayed.
8 You have set our iniquities before you, our secret sins in the light of your presence.
9 For all our days pass away under your wrath; we bring our years to an end like a sigh.
10 The years of our life are seventy, or even by reason of strength eighty; yet their span is but toil and trouble; they are soon gone, and we fly away.
11 Who considers the power of your anger, and your wrath according to the fear of you?
12 So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.
13 Return, O LORD! How long? Have pity on your servants!
14 Satisfy us in the morning with your steadfast love, that we may rejoice and be glad all our days.
15 Make us glad for as many days as you have afflicted us, and for as many years as we have seen evil.
16 Let your work be shown to your servants, and your glorious power to their children.
17 Let the favor of the Lord our God be upon us, and establish the work of our hands upon us; yes, establish the work of our hands!
Isaac is a son, husband, student, and poet. He is from the enchanted deserts of southern New Mexico and has made a home in Texas, where he attended Redeemer Seminary, Dallas. He and his wife Ashley are members of PCPC and love her people. You may spot them walking their dog through Lakewood or imbibing at their neighborhood chill-outaries on Greenville.
"Where’s Tom Petty from?" I recently heard this question asked by a comedian in a segment of his routine wherein he discussed the irony of the Internet. He tells the story of lying in bed late one morning and asking the innocuous question to his iPhone. He argues the space between knowing and not knowing is made so small by our devices that we lose the ability to delay gratification and wonder at the answer. Consequently, the ordinary is stripped of wonder. Any overarching significance that a famous person was born in a particular geographical place offers no mediated relationship of meaning to the one who questions. So then the immediate discovery is empty. The result of the extraordinary power to access endless amounts of information is boredom. A boredom haunted by a quest for meaning.
If you do not know where Tom Petty is from then, you feel a deficit within your being. Even now, dear reader, you may feel the impulse to Google the blond rock star or consult Siri on the matter. This condition, brought on by torrents of information and hamster wheels of accessibility, is the white noise, the static screen of our lives. It flies under the radar. Its symptoms are nagging boredom and anxious, harried toil. My hope is to give a name to this static and list some of its characteristics.
This condition of tired boredom brought on by meaningless toil has been called different names by philosophers and theologians through the ages. Diagnosed as one of the seven deadly sins it goes by the name sloth or acedia.
Philosophers have preferred the title malaise. Let’s go with tradition on this one and call it acedia. In monastic tradition acedia is often referred to as the noonday devil. The time of day after midday meal and prayer, when no amount of discipline or solitude could focus one’s attention on meditation or prayer. They often found themselves falling asleep to the boredom. Something similar kicks many of us in the gut when we are trying to rest but are burdened by tasks left undone, obligations to stay in touch, or simply wanting to know where Tom Petty is from. The potential to act on so many different thoughts that fly into our mind has us distracted and anxious and, at the same time, bored and tired.
Acedia is that sense of being overwhelmed by incoming texts and calls. Its inbox is at 100. It’s the guilty nudge towards social media when you’re trying to read for school. It’s the nagging sense that you forgot to complete a task at work that was required of you, while you should be resting on the weekend. It’s also the hamster-wheel of trying to be more present and toiling for more self-control. It’s sharpening productivity habits to be more effective. The purposeless toil of acedia is an ulcer. Furthermore, our attempts to cure ourselves of the ulcer is like printing and binding all the best results on ulcers from WebMD and rubbing our belly with it, hoping the pain stops. What we need is a physician.
So what can be done? We have to work to eat. And how are we to rest on so much work to do?
The delayed punch line of the joke about Tom Petty comes in the form of a story. The comedian explains: before the time of pocket-know-it-alls, you would walk around with a deficit of knowledge but full of wonder asking people if they happen to know where Petty hails from. And most people wouldn’t know, but you keep on trying, until one day you see a girl wearing a Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers T-shirt, and you ask her where Tom Petty is from, and she tells you, “Florida.” And that’s the story of how you met your wife. The journey of learning how to work and rest well and not be bored, anxious, and cynical leads to a person.
Psalm 90 diagnoses our acedia ulcer and introduces us to a doctor who's wearing a "Heartbreakers" T-shirt. The psalm asks the question, "Who considers the power of Your anger, according to the fear of You?" This question leads us to a person.
What is being asked is the hinge of the whole psalm. Within this psalm, we find a diagnosis of acedia. God’s power is illustrated by the psalmist's confession that God is Creator and Lord over the cosmos including all life on earth. Knowing Him in His anger makes work a toil, life but a breath, and the life of man like dust. If work is not done for the sake of God’s Kingdom and in honor and admonition of His reign, the labor and toil of life go just the way it is illustrated in the psalm. Therefore, God must establish the work of our hands. Because Jesus finished His work and now lives and reigns with God the Father, our work can bring meaning, and we can rest knowing the greatest labor has been done. We have been made heirs of the promise that Jesus has done everything for us.
God returned to His rebellious creation through His Son, so that we might not know Him by His anger, but by His love. Jesus is the one who considers God’s anger and fears His Father over men, which led to His death. Yet in His very death, His Father’s anger was appeased, so He declared the Son righteous in death. If we participate in that same kind of fear of the Lord and serve Jesus as our King, God will indeed, “establish the work of our hands."
The Lord your God is in your midst,
a Mighty One who will save;
He will rejoice over you with gladness;
He will quiet you by His love;
He will exult over you with loud singing.
Bill Bogart served as the part-time role as Director of Marriage Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and was called into relational ministry after a 30 year career in banking. He and his wife Brenda work with engaged and married couples sharing the truth of God's design for marriage and the work He has done redeeming their lives individually and together in marriage. Bill and Brenda have 6 children and one 9 month granddaughter, Annie.
Have you ever been quiet? I mean really, really quiet? I had the opportunity to practice being quiet last year at a silent retreat in the mountains of Colorado. I joined a group of men who took a vow of silence for three days. No phones. No TV. No talking. All we had were our Bibles and instructions to show up with no agenda other than the prayer, "Here I am Lord, do with me as You wish." Transitioning into immediate quietness is a very awkward, uncomfortable proposition coming from a frenetic life filled with lots of words, noise, and busyness. But an amazing thing happened over the following days. As my heart and mind quieted, I began to hear God speak to me.
Beginning the three-day journey of silence, what was I to do? How was I to start? How was I to become quiet? With only my Bible in hand, the concordance guided me to scripture having the word quiet in its text and quickly found and started praying through Zephaniah 3:17. The prophet's words spoke to me, "He will quiet you by His love". There was the answer to my question of how to be quiet—God's love! I do not have the power or devices to quiet myself, but God does. By focusing on the reality of His love for me, my mind and heart can be quieted. And what an amazing love it is. "But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us" (Romans 5:8).
As God quieted my heart through this truth, then came the next question: Lord, why do you want me to be quiet? Through the voice of Zephaniah some 600-700 years before Christ, there in the verdant mountains near Gunnison, Colorado, God spoke into my heart. He wanted me to be quiet and listen—to listen for Him, to listen to Him, through focusing on His Word. Zephaniah's prophecy was warning Judah of God's wrath for forsaking Him in their pride and idolatry. In Zephaniah 1:7 He instructs Judah to be silent before Him. God was speaking of future judgments and His people were to sit and listen. They had no excuses for their disobedience and no defense. Likewise, as the Lord quieted my heart, He spoke to me revealing the idols remaining in my life, revealing my pride, my desire to perform and to people-please. Like Judah, God was speaking to me—be quiet and yield to Me.
As the Lord removed noise and distraction from my heart, He tenderly showed me through His Word how to be quiet by focusing on His love demonstrated on the cross. He wanted me to be quiet to hear His voice and know His desire to have all of my heart and life. Then He focused my attention on the intimate regard He has for me and the celebration that Zephaniah describes:
"He will rejoice over you with gladness; He will exult over you with loud singing."
There was the truth! God rejoices. God exults. With gladness. With loud singing! God is glorified when we quiet our lives and hearts and bow to Him in full dependence and obedience. He provides the means to do so. "The Lord God is in your midst; a mighty one who will save." Indeed, all the work has been done on the cross to quiet us in the midst of all of life's busyness and storms. Through this place of quiet, He reveals to us areas of our lives that we should yield.
By the third day in Colorado, quiet became my friend. It was no longer awkward or uncomfortable. God sweetly revealed Himself to me in new ways. As I prayed and meditated on God's Word, He revealed His deep, deep love for me. He strengthened my faith. Indeed, God revealed to me that He was in my midst. He quieted me with His love and gave me a love for being quiet with Him!
Everyone who comes to Me and hears My words and does them, I will show you what he is like: he is like a man building a house, who dug deep and laid the foundation on the rock. And when a flood arose, the stream broke against that house and could not shake it, because it had been well built.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Jesus compares life to building a house. Have you ever explored the significance of that image? We’re all building a house. We’re all facing the inevitable reality of rain, floods, and winds that come against our life. And the decisive factor in whether our house will withstand life’s storms is rather simple: Do we have a firm foundation of hearing the words of Jesus Christ…and doing them? We can learn a lot by comparing the physical foundations of our houses with the spiritual foundations of our lives. Let’s trace that comparison in a number of areas and see if it helps us find new depths of meaning in a familiar passage.
1. Foundations are often taken for granted.
Growing up in my parents’ home, I never questioned the integrity of our house’s foundation. I trusted my parents, and so I assumed that their home was safe to inhabit. In a similar way, I think we often live in spiritual houses with unexamined foundations. We take for granted that what our parents or churches taught us is solid, but we haven’t taken the time to investigate, to break out our own shovel and dig down deep. When foundations are assumed but not appropriated, there’s always a chance that “moving out of the house” will reveal cracks in our own foundation. In what ways do you take the foundations of your life for granted?
2. Foundations are normally hidden from view.
We often take foundations for granted because, when it comes to a physical house, the foundation itself is usually hidden from view. It’s the most important aspect of the building—and the hardest to see. In our spiritual lives, the bedrock beliefs that shape our thoughts, affections, and actions are difficult to detect without investigation. When we focus on the part of our house that we can easily see—our behavior—we can miss the opportunity to see the foundational convictions that undergird everything else. Have you taken time to uncover what you really believe about God and His Word?
3. Foundations are not always transferable.
The foundation that works for a house in Dallas may not work in Colorado. And the one that works in Florida may not work in California. With physical houses, foundations are not always transferable. Because Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever, our spiritual foundation should “hold” at different times and places. But sometimes moving to a new place in the world or a new season in life reveals that we struggle to live in and through Christ in a new context. Going to college, moving to a new town, or starting a new relationship can reveal the need for foundation work.
4. Foundations are ultimately tested by time and trials.
No matter what the builder claims, time and trials are the ultimate tests of a foundation’s integrity. When a house falls apart in the wind and the rain, we learn the truth about its foundation. When a building has been standing in Europe for 1,000 years, we can draw conclusions about its foundation. Similarly, as we build a life, the real test of our foundation is not how we live on a beautiful 70-degree day without a cloud in the sky, but how we live when the heavens open up and the wind bends the trees in our yard. What does your response to life’s trials reveal about your foundations?
5. Foundations are essential.
A building won’t survive without a strong foundation, and neither will a life. Thomas à Kempis once said, “The loftier the building, the deeper must the foundation be laid.” So how lofty is the building that the Lord is calling us to build? We often feel the pressure to build a life that passes inspection with our family, friends, and coworkers. But the Lord wants to build our lives in such a way that they withstand life’s trials now and the Lord’s “inspection” later.
When we realize that the Lord wants to build us into houses that reflect Jesus Christ, the appropriate response is to humble ourselves and lean on the grace that saves and renovates us. “On Christ the solid rock I stand; all other ground is sinking sand.” So are we hearing and doing the words of Jesus Christ, by fleeing to Him for refuge and relying on Him as we build a life?
How firm a foundation, you saints of the Lord,
Is laid for your faith in His excellent Word!
What more can He say than to you He has said,
To you who for refuge to Jesus have fled?
Paul writes, “For no one can lay a foundation other than that which is laid, which is Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 3:11). If you build a life on anything else, it will eventually fail, but if you are in Christ, you have an invincible foundation. Don’t take that for granted! By God’s grace, survey it, trust it, and build upon it.
Now those who were scattered because of the persecution that arose over Stephen traveled as far as Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except Jews. But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who on coming to Antioch spoke to the Hellenists also, preaching the Lord Jesus. And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number who believed turned to the Lord. The report of this came to the ears of the church in Jerusalem, and they sent Barnabas to Antioch. When he came and saw the grace of God, he was glad, and he exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith. And a great many people were added to the Lord.
Dr. Julian Russell has been an urban ministry practitioner for more than 30 years. In 1994, Julian enrolled in Reformed Theological Seminary in Orlando, Fla., and while a full-time student, Julian began a church plant in Orlando. In the spring of 1997, he was asked to prayerfully consider relocating to Memphis, TN, to plant a PCA church in the third poorest zip code in the United States. Ten years later, Julian left Memphis to pursue God’s call to serve at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas. He is now a PCPC Home Church Missionary to his beloved Nassau in the Bahamas. Dr. Julian and Christiana Russell presently serve as the Team Leaders for MTW Bahamas.
Julian earned his Doctor of Ministry and his Masters in Theology in Biblical and Pastoral Theology at Covenant Theological Seminary, St. Louis, MO. He completed his Masters in Divinity at Reformed Theological Seminary.
Differences between cultures often produce unpleasant experiences. When culturally diverse people rub against each other, rest assured, friction is generated. Friction within the church is an inevitable by-product when Christians come together. How will God’s people handle this cultural friction that could easily divide, distort, and destroy the body-witness of the church? Answer: The Lord has key individuals in place. The same Jesus who turned common water into fine wine, who turned common fisherman into world-changers,–is still at work, transforming regular folk into extraordinary people–bridge-people.
In Acts 11:19-24, the Lord used persecutions to move His church toward making disciples of every ethnic group. Many believed the Gospel and became converted. One such place was Antioch, some 300 miles north of Jerusalem. Antioch had become a very diverse center at the time of Christ. Richard Longenecker described it as “a melting pot of Western and Eastern cultures, where Greek and Roman traditions, mingled with Semitic, Arab, and Persian influences.”
The church at Antioch became a vibrant, multi-ethnic congregation that exhibited levels of Christian transformation that radically impacted that region. This new community believed that they fully belonged to the one people of God, despite their ethnic and cultural differences. We cannot imagine the tension that Jewish Christians must have felt about Gentiles believing the Gospel. Christopher Wright observes: “The powerful message that brought hope and joy to diverse Gentile communities brought shock and anger to some of Paul’s fellow Jews.” The church at Jerusalem didn’t seem prepared for this fruitful inclusion of Gentiles.
Barnabas played a key role in the church at Antioch. He was commissioned as the right person for the task. After all, Barnabas had demonstrated a keen ability to flourish in the Gentile-dominant world of Cyprus. He was also a generous man and demonstrated his giftedness in shaping others. Most importantly, he was filled with the Holy Spirit. This young church needed sound teaching, so Barnabas placed “the needs of the church before his own advancement and self-glorification." As an official representative of the established church, Barnabas was probably one its most significant figures. Yet this confident bridge-person was willing to open the “circle of leadership” to include the highly trained Paul.
The church has always been a counter-cultural phenomenon. That’s why its members are urged to become equipped and enabled to withstand “the corrosive acids of a culture” that does not know Jesus. The Lord worked so mightily at Antioch that onlookers referred to this multi-ethnic congregation as “Christians” for the first time. And it all happened in a Gentile-dominated, morally corrupt city! They were no longer Gentile Christians or Jewish Christians. They were simply “Christian” to the glory of God!
Acts 11:27-30 is a fitting end to this section of the cross-cultural expansion of the church. Here, Christians at Antioch began a food-drive to support their Jewish brothers and sisters in Christ. James Boice comments: “As far as I know, this is the first charitable act of this nature in all recorded history–one race of people collecting money to help another people.” This is a telltale sign that Jews and Gentiles–people from polar opposite parts of the spectrum–had become one within the church, the Body of Christ. What a glimpse of the true church–a collection of dissimilar people! This expression of the church was empowered by the Holy Spirit and energized to take the reconciling Gospel to all people, everywhere! The true church has not been called to philosophize about a future world but to demonstrate the working of the coming Kingdom within this present evil age.
How will the people of God, enabled by the Spirit of God, handle the friction that could easily divide, distort, and destroy the body-witness of the church of the Lord Jesus Christ? I urge you not look to “best practices,” especially to the efforts of the early church. Look to Holy Spirit-led “bridge-people” like Barnabas. Not only is Barnabas a great role model for the character that is recommended for cross-cultural leadership, his influence in the church at Antioch also serves as a goal for Christians in a very crucial way.
Jesus is the only “Builder” of His church; and He is building His church right in the middle of a world that is alienated from God and from each other. To borrow from Dr. Dianne Langberg, Jesus wants to take common people like you and me and make us extraordinary. Lord, please raise up more Barnabases!
O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean
In its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me,
Is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above!
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Consider the depth of the ocean. In its deepest parts it is unsearchable. Even with advanced technology, there are mysteries in the depths below. There are creatures that exist down below the surface of the sea that mankind knows very little about—their creation, it seems, solely for the glory of the Creator. The deeper one goes below the rolling waves and shimmering sunshine, daylight disappears and a deep, black vastness sets in. It is dark. It is chilly. It is mysterious and without bounds. Though I have never been lost at sea, I can only imagine the overwhelming sense of being far from land and encompassed by ocean. The miles of sea—in every direction, including below—must seem unmeasured and incomprehensible.
In Matthew 14, Jesus joins His disciples in the middle of the night, walking on water. The disciples are making their way across the sea without Jesus, when suddenly He appears above the waves and through the wind. The Creator of the vastness below was walking above the current. In a moment of boldness, Peter stepped out of the safety of the boat and onto the waves. As he walked, with his eyes fixed on Jesus, he progressed closer and closer. And then the unmeasured might around him—wind and water and waves—consumed his thoughts and shifted his eyes off of Jesus. In a moment, he began to sink. The depth below could only be mastered by the One who fashioned it.
The timeless hymn O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus paints a beautiful comparison between the mighty ocean and the love of Jesus for us. It is humbling to consider the depths of the unknown ocean and then to ponder the unmeasured love of Jesus. Despite our sin, despite our inability to know our own need for grace, the love of Jesus is vast, unmeasured, and boundless. And only by the dying love of Jesus are we set free.
Not a day goes by without hearing the groans of our hurting and broken world. It is as global as human trafficking and terrorist attacks and as local as broken homes and mental illness. This world needs to know the love of Jesus that has no bounds and no end to its depth. A glimpse of the news these days is hard to stomach. At moments, I want to turn off the newscast and push the angst of the aching world to the back of my mind. Yet to do so—to ignore the aching and desperate pleas of a broken world—would be a foolish attempt to avoid what is real and raw. Evil exists on our globe, in our country, even in our homes and families. Like me, are you tempted at times to feel like the enemy is winning? Oh that we would together be reminded of the infinitely greater and vastly deeper love of Jesus! The same Jesus, who measures the depth of the ocean in His hand, has already won victory over our hurt.
William Langland was an author in the 1300s. He beautifully penned these words. “But all the wickedness in the world which men might do and think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.” A live coal—hot and red—is no match to the vast ocean below. Neither is the wickedness and hurt of our world compared to the deep, deep love of Jesus.
Now among those who went up to worship at the feast were some Greeks. So these came to Philip, who was from Bethsaida in Galilee, and asked him, “Sir, we wish to see Jesus.” Philip went and told Andrew; Andrew and Philip went and told Jesus. And Jesus answered them, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit. Whoever loves his life loses it, and whoever hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also. If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
There must always be a death. I didn’t really understand this when I was younger. When you are young, all the options of life seem available to you. You bounce around on the playground jumping from astronaut to cowboy to police officer to president. They all seem likely and possible. And why not? Your imagination knows no bounds. Your options seem unlimited, and everyone around you encourages you to dream and become the best you can be. However, no one tells you then that to become the best means first a kind of death. No one tells you then, that all those options must die if you want to truly have life in one of them. They also don’t tell you that any success comes through a kind of death. Death to the wild freedom of an untamed schedule. Death to eating whatever you want. Death to getting your way. Death to all the other things you could have been to be the one thing you are. In other words, a seed can only go into the ground at one place.
I did a wedding this year for a beautiful couple. The joy shining out of their faces felt like Moses coming off the mountain. They were radiantly in love. The text for their wedding homily was the one above. It’s a bizarre choice for a wedding. Normally couples will take a passage about love within the church and co-opt it to their romantic feelings. John 12, however, is unambiguously non-romantic. It smarts with the often-grizzly business of following Jesus. It’s about dying. Self-denial. Eternality. And above all, Jesus’ death. The passage could have killed the happiness of the moment. Yet it didn’t because through the vows of any wedding, there is first, by necessity, a kind of death. Two people promise to put aside their own desires, their own interests, and their very selves to have and to hold someone else, when it is easy or hard. In other words, the two must die to become one. And this, as Paul says, this mystery of marriage and of covenantal union, is the mystery of Christ and His church. Christ dies to Himself at the cross on our behalf to unite us to Him as one. He asks us to follow Him, and it is glorious.
The hour of Jesus’ glory in the Gospel of John is always His death upon the cross. It seems strange that a death would be glorious. But it never is for a seed. The glory of the seed is always the plant it produces, and so too of Christ, our cosmic seed. He burns most brightly in His death and resurrection, because it proclaims to us all His eternal commitment to not lose us. He will not let us go. He will not abandon us, even if that means He must be abandoned and forsaken. He did not hold tightly to His own life; He held tightly to ours. And all those who follow in His way, they will do the same. The way of Christ on the cross and in the tomb show us that sin and death are conquered not by violence, but by voluntarily walking into death by self-sacrifice and self-giving. He willingly goes into the ground for us and takes what kills us with Him. He does it for the joy of having us, being united to us as one; A joy that burns like Moses’ face coming off the mountain.
And what does that kind of voluntary death bring? Resurrection. Christ could not be kept in the tomb. So too being united to Him, we will not be kept in the tomb. As Peter tells us, we have been born again, not of perishable seed, not the seed that has gone into the ground, but the imperishable seed of the Risen Christ. Our hope is eternal. Death cannot undo us. Self-sacrifice cannot break us. The life of God in us is the life of the eternal undying God. To walk in His path is to give of ourselves for others – Jew and Gentile, slave and free, man and woman - in joy, knowing that God will not let us go. He has proven that by going into the ground with our sin for us. He has shown us new life by rising from the dead. Death, even in dying, is not our end for we are, even now, hid with Christ on high awaiting our final consummation.
“Travelin’ man, travelin’ man, got no home, got no plan;
just an old worn out heart in my hand.
Travelin’ man, travelin’ man, I’ll get there any way I can.
I’m just an uninspired, tired-out travelin’ man.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Those lonesome lyrics are from a little-known Stevie Wonder tune crooning about traveling. And there are others. In fact, we could probably all participate in a lengthy “sing-off,” and come up with scores of songs about wandering, or traveling, or moving on. You know you know them. Take a second right now and sing one out loud. It’ll surprise the folks around you! Even Johnny Cash penned such a lyric.
I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
I'm traveling in this world of woe
Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger
In that fair land to which I go
I'm going there to see my Father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home
The Scriptures speak often of the same theme, the same journey, the same longing. There is something in us that longs for home, longs for rest. Yet we live together “in this world of woe” knowing that the home we seek still lies ahead of us, still beckons us on. In his letter to his churches in the days of increasing Roman persecution, Peter calls believers to live out their identity as travelers, as sojourners.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation. 1 Peter 2: 9-12
Now if we think about it, every journey has three parts. There has to be a leaving, a departure. Then, there’s that part in the middle, the “On the Road Again” part. (Go ahead, sing it!) And at last, the getting there.
This is the lyric of salvation. In His mercy, God calls us to leave. He said that very specifically to Abraham, remember? Then, He called His people out of Egypt. And Jesus called those Galilean fishermen to leave the lives they had known for generations, and things would never be the same. He calls us the same way. Jesus calls us to leave the old ways of trusting in ourselves, of surrounding ourselves with sinfulness, of doing it “My Way.”
The Lord also calls those who are His to travel well, by traveling with Him. In every case, the promise of God is the presence of God. Before God tells Abraham about the Promised Land, He tells him to begin the journey. The Israelites were called first into the desert to assemble in the presence of God. God led them there; He sojourned with them. So He does with us. We live our lives in the presence of a merciful heavenly Father who dwells among His people as we travel onward.
And we too, united with the faithful saints of old, look toward that destination at journey’s end. We seek to live faith-filled lives now, always remembering that we travel toward a place of enduring rest. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. (Hebrews 13:14)
And so we journey on. We do not wander aimlessly; we do not journey in vain. But in Christ, led by the same Holy God that was seen as a pillar of fire, we travel onward toward the place prepared.
And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:2-4
That’s where we’re headed. Thanks be to God!
And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, He has now reconciled in His body of flesh by His death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before Him.
-Colossians 1:21-22
All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.
-2 Corinthians 5:18-19
Tracy worked as PCPC's Ministry Leader of Urban Missions before moving back to Houston to be near family. We pray you find her words from 2016 meaningful and encouraging.
We see the need of reconciliation throughout the globe both internationally and locally. This is no small or painless thing. The world’s narrative shows cultures pitted against one another. I am only for you if you are on my side or in my culture and don’t offend me. Somehow the world’s solution—peaceful coexistence and acceptance—feels shallow and unrealistic, but why? Could the cause and solution be even deeper? In Colossians 1:21, we see that we are not merely indifferent to God, but actively alienated and hostile. Our enmity towards God has us at odds with His world, including other individuals, and ultimately with ourselves. We are enemies in need of reconciliation to God, His creation, and each other.
One story that illustrates enemy reconciliation comes from C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Edmund Pevensie was a boy that you just wanted to put in time out. He was beyond rude to his baby sister as well as defiant and rebellious in other circumstances. When entering into the land of Narnia on his own, through his greedy self-centeredness, he betrayed his siblings to the White Witch for more candy. Sometimes it’s hard to read about his actions without wrinkling your nose in displeasure. Yet, though he is firmly encamped with the enemy against the good King Aslan, he is rescued out of the darkness and into Aslan’s camp, much to his relief. When the White Witch lawfully claims Edmund’s life due to his status as a traitor, Aslan gives his innocent life to be sacrificed in place of guilty Edmund, fulfilling the law and reconciling Edmund. In this allegory, we readers realize that we, in fact, are Edmund. We were enemies of the Kingdom of God but rescued and reconciled through Christ’s death and resurrection.
Thankfully, Christ did not look upon us as just rule breakers and offenders unworthy of reconciliation. He didn’t treat us as the enemies that we were. He looked at you and me as beloved, made in His image, and He died a painful death on our behalf on the cross. He bridged the chasm and turned enemies into beloved children. But, beloved, at what cost?
Consider this as we are ministers of reconciliation here and now, in Dallas, Texas and wherever we go. Do we count the cost, or are we afraid of the potential pain of being entrusted with this ministry? It would be easy to try to practice this reconciliation ministry at a distance, through vague statements among like-minded company, Facebook solidarity, and email forwards. Who wants to enter into the discomfort of difficult conversations or one-on-one relationships, especially with someone we may consider an enemy? It would be more convenient to ignore someone outside of our circle or easier to hold even mild disdain for someone who operates through a different cultural lens.
Yet we are not just reconciled to God through Christ. Period. End of story. We are now His ambassadors tasked with the mission of reconciliation. No one made in the image of God is past the hope of rescue and reconciliation. We are called to take up our cross and to experience the discomfort and even pain of strained relationships. We are called to purposeful, perhaps awkward conversations; faithful listening filled with compassion and empathy; and to the vulnerability of loving the alienated and the enemy with bold and softened hearts. God is using us to bring people to Himself, by His Spirit. We may feel alien in some contexts and crave the comfort of the familiar. However the familiar and safe does not reflect the reality that our present situation is not our home. We can take courage, because of Christ’s reconciling work; we will one day be home with Him and can endure the stormy call to the present. The hymn, “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks” reminds us of where we are and the promise of our future.
On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.
I am bound for the Promised Land,
I am bound for the Promised Land;
So through the pain of Christ’s reconciliation and the ministry of reconciliation to which we are called: Though there is pain—it comes with promise.
So for now, by Christ, in Christ we ask and act:
O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of Peace.
And when He returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that He was at home. And many were gathered together, so that there was no more room, not even at the door. And He was preaching the word to them. And they came, bringing to Him a paralytic carried by four men. And when they could not get near Him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above Him, and when they had made an opening, they let down the bed on which the paralytic lay. And when Jesus saw their faith, He said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Why does this man speak like that? He is blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” And immediately Jesus, perceiving in His spirit that they thus questioned within themselves, said to them, “Why do you question these things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, take up your bed and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”— He said to the paralytic— “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed, and go home.” And he rose and immediately picked up his bed and went out before them all, so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “We never saw anything like this!”
I want you take a brief second and think about the biggest problem you're currently facing. I’m sorry for causing a brief moment of panic or anxiety, but let’s walk through this together. For some, it could be job related; that project you just completed that didn't get the recognition you thought it deserved. Or maybe things are a little closer to home and problems right now revolve around your family life. The kids have been unruly and stubborn for years or you're not connecting with your spouse. Right now you may feel as if life is spiraling out of control and it doesn’t look like that’s changing anytime soon, if ever.
Whatever your problem currently is, hold onto it. Hold that feeling because I want to tell you a story about a man with a very big problem, and I want you to feel for him.
There was a man who lived with a problem unlike most of the problems we face today. He constantly suffered in his town and with his state of life because, you see, he was born without the ability to walk. Being paralyzed meant that life was not just inconvenient for him but nearly impossible. He relied almost entirely on others, his friends and family, to take care of him. He was utterly devastated because life could never truly be satisfying
But one day, he heard of a chance to have his life changed and his paralysis healed forever. Rumors spoke of a person who was smarter and greater than any doctor; a man who had become quite legendary because against all rationale, he was a miracle worker.
The man called upon his friends and pleaded with them to help this one last time. He was utterly desperate to see this miracle worker and for him, this might be his only chance to have his problem fixed.
Let’s pause for a second. If I offered you the chance to fix your biggest problem, would you take it? How far would you be willing to go to fix that problem?
Remember how I said this man was truly desperate? Well, listen to what he does because of what he believes about his problem.
"And they came, bringing to him a paralytic carried by four men. And when they could not get near him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him, and when they had made an opening, they let down the bed on which the paralytic lay."
Now let’s break this down. This man believed something about his paralysis. He believed it was not just a hindrance on life, not just a bug bite of a problem. No, this man believed that this was earth shattering, the kind of “no one can love me if they knew I struggled with this” problem. His entire value system was wrapped up around his physical ailments.
If you don't believe me, read into the context here. When was the last time you demolished the roof of a stranger’s house because there was someone so important inside whom you had to see? This man was desperate.
If this is your first time hearing this story, you're probably expecting this to happen next: Jesus immediately healed his legs, life was amazing, and everyone got to see that Jesus is awesome. It makes sense. Jesus had to heal this man because—who else believed so much that he had someone else’s house demolished because he believed that the one person who could heal him was inside?
But of course, this doesn't happen. When I really read through this story, I actually got a little mad. I wanted the man to be healed. He's the protagonist who deserved a break. This is Frodo from Lord of the Rings doing the right thing, so let’s see a victory, please.
Then Jesus said something so offensive and so revealing about Himself and about this man:
And when Jesus saw their faith, He said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.”
This is maddening! It seems that this man came all this way only to have Jesus kind of pat him on the back and give him a nice farewell benediction. He probably thought, “I don't want to be forgiven, I want to walk!”
Here is why we need to hear Jesus say these words. We are the subject of this story. We are the paralyzed man. We believe that our problem is so incredibly big, and we need God to fix it. Unfortunately, just like the paralyzed man, we miss the actual problem we have. All of the physical problems, the struggles we face, the injustice we see in our city, the utter pain that we will feel because of the brokenness around us—all of that pales in comparison if we haven't found forgiveness in Christ.
When Jesus sees the man, He doesn't see an invalid— a term once used to describe a person with physical disabilities. And how terrible it is that we, including this man, see that and believe it to be his biggest problem. Jesus, however, looks into his heart and sees its need to be healed. Jesus, in all authority to forgive sins, pronounces to all that this man is redeemed.
Just like the paralyzed man, we need Jesus to put into perspective the order of our problems. We need to see the depths of our hearts reflected against the perfection of Christ; like Isaiah who felt the reality of his sin because of God’s glory.
We need to hear those incredible words that heal.
“Son, Daughter, Child, your sins are forgiven.”
Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong... for I bear on my body the marks of Jesus... who will transform our lowly body to be like His glorious body, by the power that enables Him even to subject all things to Himself.
Matthew is a lifelong member of PCPC, a graduate of Covenant College class of '14, and is currently a student at Redeemer Seminary. By Christ's grace, he cannot remember a day that he did not know Christ as his Lord and Savior, and is pursuing his M. Div. with a desire to serve Christ and His church in vocational ministry.
Every day of my life, I am reminded of my physical frailty as my disabilities impact my daily routine. I cannot walk the length of a table without crutches; I must be careful when walking on slick surfaces lest my crutches slip out from under me and I fall; I must take daily heart medication that keeps my arrhythmia in check. These have been realities throughout my life, and will likely continue to be so until the day that Christ returns or calls me home to heaven. When I was young, it always bothered me when I was at restaurant, or a Ranger game, or the grocery store, and noticed kids staring at me. They might ask a parent, "Daddy, why does he have those?" or "Mommy, what is wrong with him?" Sometimes overhearing a parent's answer could bother me even more than the question the child had asked. The questions and stares only served to painfully remind me just how different I am from most people, which nurtured my insecurity and desire for self-dependence. But ultimately my insecurity grew out of a heart not resting in my identity as a redeemed, beloved son of God; a disciple of Jesus Christ rather than as someone with disabilities.
In 2 Corinthians 5:16-20, the apostle Paul writes, "From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard Him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the ministry of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making His appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God."
From the day that Paul encountered Jesus on the Damascus road, he lived his life for the Gospel to which the Lord had called him. The Lord gave Paul eyes to see all the circumstances of his life through the lenses of who Christ is and who Christ declared Paul to be in Him. Paul found his identity in his Savior, and could exclaim, "I have been crucified with Christ. It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me. And the life I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me." (Galatians 2:20) This is why Paul could write that he was content with his weakness—because the power of Christ was magnified in it.
Over the years I have come to treasure my disabilities because of the ways in which Christ teaches me the truths of the Gospel through them! The 6" scar down the center of my chest where I have undergone three open-heart surgeries reminds me that just as without those surgeries I would not be alive today, so also it is only through Christ having raised my wicked heart from the dead that I am alive spiritually. Just as it is impossible for me to ambulate without crutches, so also I am daily dependent on my Savior to sustain my weak faith and guide my heart that is prone to wander. The Lord has given me eyes to see my crooked legs, surgical scarlines, and crutches as the marks of Christ on my body that provide me avenues through which I can share with others all that He has done for me! The Lord has brought me to the point where I no longer cringe when I overhear or am asked questions pertaining to my disabilities. He has shown me that such moments are opportunities to speak of how I have seen Jesus rescue not only my body but also my very soul from a life of sin and death. Thus, for me to tell my story is truly to tell of His story! He has called me to be an ambassador for Him. Through my disabilities has given me opportunities to share how I am not defined by my physical limitations, but by the greatness of my Savior—a Savior who has rescued me and has promised to return and make all things new, including my infirm body.
A friend recently asked me if I ever pray for healing. I answered no, not because I doubt the Lord's healing power, or because I would somehow not be overjoyed were He to heal me in this lifetime, but because I find great anticipation for Christ's return through the ongoing presence of my disabilities. My physical limitations make it impossible for me to bend my knees beyond a 25° angle, and so I have never knelt in my life. I have never knelt in prayer or a ceremony, and—should the Lord bless me with a future wife—will have to sit down in order to propose. The Gospel tells me that there is a day coming when I will experience what it is like to kneel. I know the very first time I experience kneeling will be at the feet of Jesus Christ, who has delivered me from my sin and whose grace is sufficient for me. His power is made perfect in my weakness. Oh, for that day to come! Soli Deo gloria!
“I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.”
Andrea Stimson serves with Redemption Group Ministry and is married to Danny Stimson, who currently serves as High School Director at PCPC. Andrea spends most of her time chasing around her two daughters, Stella and Lila, as well as doing calligraphy.
In Redemption Groups at PCPC, it takes all of five minutes to realize that each person who comes in the door struggles. Each one of us has multiple ways in which we love something or someone else more than Christ. Each one of us has moments of despair when we look back and realize that there are even issues that we struggled with today that we were struggling with ten years ago. Change comes painfully slowly a good deal of the time. I have been a believer since I was a small child, and still I waver between faith and rebellion–between freedom and slavery. Will I value the thoughts and opinions of others today above God's? Will I crave, no, need the “well done” from that client? From my husband? (Will I put off writing this devotional out of fear of how others will perceive me?) When change comes slowly and when I find myself again in need of forgiveness, where do I find hope for lasting change?
The Israelites cry out to God in their affliction again and again under the rule of Egypt. The glory they had enjoyed during the days of Joseph are long forgotten, and the people of Israel are tired and weary. When Moses returns to Egypt insisting that the Lord hears their cries and sees their affliction, they struggle to believe change is certain. Immediately, Pharaoh refuses to relent and let the people go. He increases their burdens and tightens his grip even harder, leaving Israel worse off than before. The Israelites feel hopeless. Circumstances are not changing. The enemy is still at large. Will God come through? God responds, “I will take you to be My people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians (Ex. 6:7). Although the people are powerless to change, God declares that He is determined and able to claim them as His own beloved possession. He will deliver them. God is the only hope for lasting change.
As we read on in Exodus, God does deliver His people in mighty, powerful ways and safely brings the Israelites out of Egypt. He fulfills His promise to give them a new land and to be near them. He frees them from bondage and calls them His own. But the story gets sticky again, and again, and again as Israel frequently returns to its old patterns. They forsake God's laws, worship idols, and prove themselves at many points to be faithless. But God stays with them, forgiving and disciplining them as He reiterates His promises to them. When they are faithless, He is faithful. Eventually their hardened hearts land them enslaved to a foreign people all over again. And all over again, they cry out to the Lord in their misery.
It is not so hard to relate to Israel's story. How many times have I seen the Lord move in my life? How many times have I cried out to God for forgiveness for fearing someone else more than my Lord? How many times have I returned to my old patterns of living? Wait, is this Israel's story or mine? Or yours? If it is our story, we need a hope for lasting change. We need someone who is stronger than our own ability, smarter than our enemy, so committed to loving us when we fail, and who can actually change us.
In John's account of the Gospel, he focuses in on Christ's resurrection. John shares this lovely moment with Mary who comes to the tomb looking for the body of Jesus only to find Him missing (John 20:11-18). She stoops in to look and sees two men sitting there, but no Jesus. All her hopes were placed on Jesus. She sacrificed much to follow Him these last few years and is now grief stricken that her hope is gone. Mary hears a voice behind her, presumably there all along, asking her why she weeps so. Mary turns to see the risen Jesus standing there, speaking with her, but does not recognize Him. She mistakes Him for the gardener and only realizes it is Christ after He says her name. Or does she mistake Him? Is it not fitting that the God, who promised all those years ago (from as early as the fall) that He had a plan to rescue His people and make them His own, would be walking in a garden, fully alive and new, pleased to be near Mary and talk with her? Again, He proves Himself to be the God who hears His people in their distress: “Woman, why are you weeping?” Again, He proves Himself able to overcome any obstacle, this time death itself. Again, He proves Himself THE HOPE for lasting change, this time for good.
Jesus is the only one able enough, wise enough, long-suffering enough, powerful enough, just enough, and good enough to be our hope for lasting change. When I am faithless, I do not need to fear whether or not God will finally decide to throw in the towel. We do not need to wonder if we are a lost cause. Jesus proved once and for all that our futures are certain. We are new. Do I believe this? Do you? Echoing the promise given to Israel, Jesus leaves Mary (and us!) with this assurance, “Go to My brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God.”
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.
After a decade in professional ministry—serving for four years in the youth ministry of PCPC—Christen went corporate in April of 2018. She now manages and coaches real estate agents at Keller Williams Urban Dallas in Uptown. Christen continues to serve as a lay youth volunteer at PCPC and writes and speaks on a variety of topics such as theology, youth ministry, and the faith & work conversation.
Abstinence. That’s what we’ll be discussing today. Intrigued? This may seem like an unusual topic to broach in this setting, but for a 31-year-old woman—yet unmarried—abstinence is a very real part of my world. I also find it to be a topic rarely discussed by the church as a whole outside of the occasional youth group message. Perhaps it seems to only apply to certain people. Perhaps we avoid it because it’s polarizing. Or maybe we assume it’s just a given and move on. Maybe it’s awkward. I can attest to its awkwardness firsthand. One of my many jobs throughout the duration of my education actually involved traveling to various public schools around the Metroplex giving the “Abstinence Talk.” I had a PowerPoint and everything. The looks on their faces…
But that was not my first exposure to the word abstain. In high school, I participated in Model United Nations, during which each country could draft resolutions and get other countries to sign their support. Once drafted, we would debate, caucus, redraft, present, and then vote. You could vote for the resolution or against, but there was also a third option: abstain. I remember the sound of voices from around the room answering their role calls: Morocco, Yes; Mozambique, Yes; Namibia, No; Netherlands, Abstain; New Zealand, Abstain; Nicaragua, Yes; Niger, No; Nigeria, No; Norway, Abstain. Abstinence simply means to willfully disengage–to actively not participate.
One can abstain from anything–eating, spending, speaking, watching TV, voting, drinking, listening to music, etc. The purpose of abstention is not solely deprivation or withdrawal. It is that by abstention our senses are heightened to other things of value. Compare it to what happens to the senses of people who have lost their sight. While there are many challenges and difficulties that come from not being able to see, a blind individual’s functioning senses are amplified. They notice sounds and smells they would never have noticed before. There is beauty in that. And while blindness is an abstention placed upon people without their choosing, we can each exercise the ability to abstain from things by choice and feel the effects. Abstinence in romantic relationships, I have found, has led to a heightened awareness of other types of community: rich friendships, being welcomed into families, treasured late nights of feasting and communing, focusing my attention on ministry, freedom of schedule, the ability to apply my emotional energy toward my spiritual family, since I am not creating a physical family, solitude.
Consider, too, the example of fasting. Fasting is meant to serve many purposes, all of which involve heightening our awareness of things otherwise dimmed by consumption. Fasting alerts us to our dependence. Fasting triggers a call to prayer with every hunger pang. Fasting frees up time and finances. In fasting, we become “blind” to food and begin noticing things we would never have noticed before.
Let us not forget that even marriage itself is an act of abstention. I love the language in many vow exchanges of “forsaking all others.” In marriage, the spouses commit to abstain from all others so that their senses might be heightened toward their beloved. It is a choice to turn away from any other person out of a desire to become captivated by that one individual beyond any other. This phenomenon is something the modern movement of “free love” has failed to grasp–instead espousing that we all have enough love to share, so why limit it to one partner? But the purpose of marriage is to by abstention make that person the sole object of our affection and, thus, experience the joy of mutual delight in the other. Free love can never accomplish this, because there is a level of enthrallment that can only be achieved when one’s senses are heightened in the act of abstention.
This is not to say that abstinence is easy. Absence is meant to be a challenge. It is not always preferred or desired, and neither does it come naturally. It is a discipline, and like all disciplines, it requires, well…discipline. It fits within that familiar Christian theme of sacrificing the temporary for the eternal, sacrificing short-term pleasures for long-term joy. The purpose of this essay is to suggest, however, that it is not only sacrifice. It would not be worth the sacrifice if good did not come of it. This is a call to seize and not squander that good. We can, after all, abstain without ever reaping the benefits. Imagine the opportunities I would miss if I spend my singleness pining and lamenting. While there is a time and a place to mourn my disappointment, there are so many joys to be seized! Similarly, to spend one's marriage forsaking all others without also basking in the wonder of one's spouse is to have wasted that sacrifice. Fasting without communing with the Father is merely self-mortification. Let us abstain, brothers and sisters, not out of obligation or duty, but to cultivate our senses, to glimpse beauties we would otherwise never have seen, and to increase our anticipation of the return of the Bridegroom, when all longings will be met in full.
Then God said, “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness…And God blessed them. And God said to them, “Be fruitful and multiply and fill the earth and subdue it, and have dominion…
The LORD God took the man and put him in the Garden of Eden to work it and keep it.
Bill has over 20 years of leadership experience in business and 20 years in the church. In business Bill has served as a principal at the Trammell Crow Company where he led the Tenant Representation Business and the Third Party Ownership Platform. Bill also served TCC as Regional Director for the Bank of America account responsible for 7 cities and almost 500 employees. Bill also served as Executive Vice President for Marketing at Lincoln Property Company where he successfully led the marketing programs for Lincoln Centre, Lincoln Plaza, and Union Bank and Trust Tower in Dallas as well as University Plaza in Ft. Worth. In the church Bill has served as an Assistant Pastor for Park Cities Presbyterian Church for two different periods, responsible for the shepherding ministry to young families, the new members class, and the launching of PCPC@WORK. Bill also served as the church planter of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in McKinney, Texas.
Where is the church on Monday morning? We know that we gather as the church on Sunday mornings in order to worship God. But where is PCPC as we scatter throughout the rest of the week? The greater Dallas area consists of 10 or more employment centers including Downtown, Uptown, Las Colinas, Telecommunications Corridor, Legacy, and three hospital districts. On Monday morning, most of the 3,000 adult members of PCPC are scattered throughout and beyond these employment centers. Does God care about what happens in our work? Does the Bible have anything to say about our work?
God does indeed care about what happens in our work. Steve Garber has written that “Vocation is integral, not incidental, to the mission of God.” The Scriptures reveal God’s purposes for His people as they work for Him. He spells out His intentions for our work in the two creation narratives of Genesis 1 and 2. Genesis 1 gives us a macro view of work, while Genesis 2 provides a micro view. Genesis 1 spells out the who and what of our work, while Genesis 2 tells us the where and how.
The Bible presents God as a worker who creates, sustains, and redeems His world. Genesis 1 shows that men and women have been created in the image of God to partner with Him in shaping and developing His world. As image bearers we reflect His character of love and grace as we create beauty, promote justice, nurture His people, fix that which is broken, discover new technologies, and build productive economies that allow our fellow citizens to grow and to prosper. In humility we recognize that God does not need us to build His world, but He gives us the tremendous privilege of partnering with Him in establishing a sustainable, flourishing civilization. God cares about our work because through it and through us He is shaping and building our world.
In Genesis 2 God places the man in the Garden of Eden to work and keep it. In so doing man is given a specific responsibility in a specific context. In one of my many sojourns in the business world God placed me at the Trammell Crow Company. This was my garden. Gardening is hard work. It plants seeds waiting upon God to yield the harvest. It is a daily effort of bringing order out of chaos. My responsibility was to tend my garden, to bring order to it, and help it grow. My job was also to keep my garden, to protect and preserve its assets and reputation. In my six years at Trammell Crow, I held three different roles, but in each of them the specifics never changed. I was to grow and protect the business. As a manager and leader, I was to image God by bringing order out of chaos every day.
The Hebrew words translated work and keep are used together in another context—for the specific role of the priests as they labor in the temple of God. As we consider these important terms through that lens, it helps us to see the why of work—also as a primary place of worship where we are called to bring honor to the living God. We honor God as we serve Him in pursuing excellence in everything we do.
God cares about our work because it is a place wherein love for God (worship) and love for neighbor (creating a culture for human flourishing) are its fundamental purposes. God demonstrates His care when He calls each of us to a specific garden where we are to bring honor and glory to His name. When we image God as we work and tend our garden, we shape and build both the city and the culture. As God gathers us on Sunday mornings to bring honor and glory to His name, so also He scatters us Monday through Friday throughout the city in very specific callings and contexts. Each calling and each context is a sovereign assignment by God for His glory and the good of the city.
What is the why or purpose behind your work? Where is your garden? What are you called to do each day to work and keep your garden? In what ways do you reflect who you are as the image bearer of God in your work? How does your work contribute to the corporate health and well being of God’s world?
God has given us the privilege to partner with Him in creating, sustaining, and redeeming the gardens to which we have been sovereignly scattered and placed. May God establish the work of our hands.
This Book of the Law shall not depart from your mouth, but you shall meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do according to all that is written in it. For then you will make your way prosperous, and then you will have good success. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.
Patrick Lafferty, Pastor of Grace Mills River Church in Mills River, NC, grew up in Houston, received his undergraduate degree in liberal arts from the University of Texas at Austin, and his ThM from Dallas Theological Seminary (DTS).
He is married to Christy. They have four children: Seamus, Savannah, Bella (deceased), and Jedidiah. Patrick and his family have a love for dancing, good stories, good food, good music, all things Irish, and raising chickens for their eggs.
This is a reprint from September 10, 2009.
Charles Lindbergh experienced it near the end of his groundbreaking transatlantic flight. Several who have traipsed up the punishing heights of Mt. Everest attest to the same. Even the last man out of the South Tower on 9/11 speaks unabashedly of a similar occurrence—something anyone else might consider lunacy.
These and numerous others all share the experience of sensing an unnamed, unbidden, but discernible presence with them in their most arduous moments. John Geiger has written a book about those experiences entitled The Third Man Factor, which takes its title from a line from T. S. Eliot’s The Wasteland: “Who is the third who walks always beside you? When I count, there are only you and I together." Eliot penned the line after hearing Ernest Shackleton recount his own episode of being strangely accompanied while seeking rescue during his doomed expedition to the South Pole.
Geiger cites various explanations for the phenomenon, but in the end he suggests an evolutionary adaptation we fortuitously accrued in order to help us brace ourselves in dire situations.
Sunday refreshed our memory that the Lord’s earliest and most enduring promise is to be a God who is with His people. He would accompany Israel where she goes and in what she does.
Here in Joshua 1, the Lord clarifies His promise: the courageous strength that comes from confidence in God’s presence is significantly bound up with the knowledge of God’s Word—of having His word as Joshua’s constant companion. Mere acquaintance with what the Lord has said would not do and would not serve, only a deep familiarity (“Let not this Word depart from out of your mouth”). A familiarity born of regular, thoughtful and prayerful consideration (“You shall meditate on it day and night”). A consideration that leads to cherishing and submitting to that Word (“Be careful to do according to all that is written in it”). The threats to Israel would not necessarily subside by virtue of her knowledge of His Word and submission to it. But the capacity to sense His being with them, irrespective of their circumstances, would rest specifically on intimacy with His Word. On those terms would they sense Him as their “third man.”
Jesus taught no differently when He promised to send a Helper who would teach them all things and would bring to remembrance all He’d said to them (John 14:26). The third person of the Trinity would be the third man for the church, and with His help they would know a peace from Jesus vastly different from what this world provides.
Paul solidifies the relationship between our knowledge of His Word and our sense of His being with us in a single metaphor when he speaks of “the Sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God” (Eph. 6:17). Only what is deeply known can be deeply felt. And if it is the Word of the Spirit that moves us to faith (Acts 10:44), why would we not think it able to move us to peace in His presence?
So, would you characterize your relationship to His Word as that of acquaintance or constant companion? Do you regularly consider it? Is the consideration thoughtful and prayerful? Do you wrestle with its meaning and its mandate until you see its truth and submit to its teaching?
Our Reformed forbears heralded the efficacy of the scriptures to bring, with the Spirit’s aid, the knowledge of salvation, but they also acknowledged the inherent challenges to making sense of every detail of scripture (WCF I.vii). If in your good faith efforts to make sense of His Word you have run into the difficulties they spoke of, have you given up in despair, or have you sought the help of others in making sense of what it says?
Whether Lindbergh or Shackleton bore testimony to a spiritual presence with them or an evolutionary-adaptation in them (a letter to the editor about the review linked to above argued this question), what we can be sure of is man’s enduring desire “to receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need” (Heb. 4:16). The Lord Jesus is that help, confirmed by His work on a cross outside Jerusalem—His Father seemingly far off, but with Him in His darkest hour. The peace to be had from that truth confirmed so long ago shall be confirmed in us today by companionship with His Word. Factor that in. It will serve you in both tame and tumultuous moments.
The Spirit lifted me up and took me away, and I went in bitterness in the heat of my spirit, the hand of the Lord being strong upon me. And I came to the exiles at Tel-abib, who were dwelling by the Chebar canal, and I sat where they were dwelling. And I sat there overwhelmed among them seven days.
Tricia is an Indiana farm girl trying to make her way in the big city. She served as a communications specialist for PCPC. She now is a full-time mom of three and serves as an events photographer in the Metroplex. She enjoys painting, drawing, and devising plans with her husband to escape to the mountains.
I try to be careful about attributing my feelings as an acceptable interpretation of scripture. But as an imaginative and empathetic person, I often wonder at the inner thoughts that must have been bouncing around in the heads of the prophets. I believe words are used very purposefully in the Bible, and I can’t help but linger on the picture of an overwhelmed Ezekiel.
To set the stage, Ezekiel had just had the heavens opened to him with visions of awesome cherubim and the glory of the Lord in what appears to be a pre-incarnated Jesus on a sapphire throne. God presents Ezekiel with a scroll containing His “words of lamentation and mourning and woe” over the rebellion and idolatry of Israel. Ezekiel is then charged with presenting this message of judgment to the hard-hearted Israelites under the Babylonian exile.
This grand vision is laid before Ezekiel and then he is plopped back by the river where he started. The word overwhelmed seems a bit of an understatement. It can’t possibly capture all the emotions that must have been there! Overwhelmed in this context has also been translated as astonished or in deep distress with an emphasis on silence. The seven days reflect a period of mourning. Perhaps he mourned over the sad condition his people were in, and above all, at the dreadful things he had to deliver to them. Perhaps he was mourning what his past had been and how everything would now be dramatically different. In that one word, we get a glimpse of this prophet’s humanity, and perhaps it points to Ezekiel’s heart before God called him.
Before his visions, Ezekiel was an exiled priest, a sojourner in a foreign land. Is it not possible that he felt abandoned by God, wondering how to be a priest to a seemingly forsaken people entrenched in idolatry? Israel had been swept away from the land they ought to have been enjoying as God’s chosen people in covenant blessing. Was God faithful to His people, to His promises? Where was God now in the midst of exile, uncertainty, and Israel’s faithlessness? What was Ezekiel supposed to do now?
Surrounded by this darkness, Ezekiel is called to pull an about-face in vocation. All his life, he had trained to be a priest. His entire career was to represent the people to God and bring their repentance to the Lord. Suddenly, God called him to the role of prophet where he would represent God to the people, bringing His judgment to a displaced Israel for their lack of repentance. His former life was gone and the future was even more unknown than before.
Seasons of our lives can lead to once solid edifices crumbling around us, leaving us with more questions than answers. Who am I? Do I even know who God is anymore? All that I thought I knew seems to turn to ash. This new perspective of God weighs heavily on my soul and seems incongruent to everything I thought I knew. What will happen to me now?
I have often been overwhelmed when confronted with my mistaken perceptions of God. I have gone through periods of my life thinking or hoping God was one way, only to have the Holy Spirit shatter that illusion. I tend to build the foundations of my life on my perceptions of God rather than God Himself. It shouldn’t be a surprise when that foundation crumbles and I painfully fall onto the true bedrock of God’s glorious personhood; a personhood more majestic than I could ever envision.
In the midst of the tumultuous darkness of Ezekiel’s circumstances and perceptions, the radiance of God was enthroned. It was the rainbow parting the clouds after the storm. Israel’s political and spiritual crisis was put into its proper perspective when Ezekiel saw God for who He truly was. Israel was not forsaken in Babylon but was deeply loved by God. Ezekiel was no longer exiled but at the center of the Lord’s plan to bring Israel back into the covenant. God lifted Ezekiel’s eyes beyond his present situation and former identity to the throne of God’s glory; a glory more dazzling than anything imaginable. And on that throne was man–a man that would shatter everyone’s perceptions of God.
How do we perceive God? How do we perceive our circumstances in light of our knowledge of God’s character? Are we overwhelmed by our earthly troubles or the magnificence of the Almighty God? Where are our eyes as we sojourn through this exiled land? Look to the Son of Man enthroned. He will shatter your perceptions and give you a new vision of God.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
In recent episodes of the popular podcast, This American Life, various stories were told to illustrate the idea that people never really change. Perhaps they may change in minor or temporary ways, but deep down at their core, people never really change. This is what makes relational intimacy so frightening, adapting to a new culture so challenging, and new skills so elusive.
The idea that deep, lasting, positive change is impossible resonates with much of what we see in this world of broken promises, short-lived commitments, and the stubborn reappearance of old habits. And while we may not want to admit it, we as Christians may sometimes suspect that change, even for us, is more myth than fact. As a pastor, I hear this suspicion expressed by those who fear their sin is inescapable. As a friend, I see this suspicion portrayed in embittered withdrawal from a parent, spouse, or child. And as a sinner myself, I feel this suspicion creep up in my own heart with the Holy Spirit’s unrelenting exposure of sins old and new in my life.
But the Bible says that change is possible. Despite our nagging suspicions, change is not a myth. You and I really can change, and change for the better in this present age.
The book of Ephesians is an incredibly helpful guide in understanding the dynamics of change for the Christian. For example, Ephesians reveals that the goal of this change is something far greater than the moralism what we naturally pursue: being good so life goes better. The goal is deep, lasting, positive, and God-glorifying. It is the holiness that God has promised: being perfect as God is perfect (Eph. 4:24). While we cannot achieve perfect personal holiness in this life, Ephesians declares that we are on the road of change towards holiness because of God’s gracious saving work in us (Eph. 2:8-10). Of course, life on the road of change is hard work. Holiness is promised, but that doesn’t make us passive. To make progress on this road, Ephesians calls us to make use of the realities and resources He has given. Realities like the will of the Father, the resurrection of the Son, and the power of the Spirit. And resources like fellow believers, music, and prayer (Eph. 2:11-22; 5:19; 6:18-19).
Perhaps the more than anything else, Ephesians commends the Bible as the thing that speeds and guides us on the road of change towards holiness. We see this most clearly in the command to unsheathe “the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God (Eph. 6:17).” This connection between the Bible and holiness also overflows repeatedly in the poetry of Psalm 119, with statements like, “Teach me, O Lord, the way of Your statutes, and I will keep it to the end (Ps. 119:33).” And there could be no more powerful summary than in Jesus’ prayer to His Father, “Sanctify them in Your truth; Your Word is truth (John 17:17).” If we are to make progress on the road of change and grow in holiness, we must be people who read, meditate on, and live in light of the Bible.
When our hearts tell us that holiness is a lost cause, we need to drown out the lie with the sounds of God’s Word. We need to hear again that change is not only possible, but promised for all those who are God’s workmanship created for good works (Eph. 2:10). About three hundred years ago, the great hymn writer Isaac Watts penned a hymn that sings these truths in poetry. And so we pray, “Oh may Thy counsels, mighty God, my roving feet command, nor I forsake the happy road that leads to Thy right hand.”
“Laden with Guilt and Full of Fears” by Isaac Watts
Laden with guilt and full of fears, I fly to Thee, my Lord,
And not a glimpse of hope appears, but in Thy written Word.
The volumes of my Father’s grace does all my griefs assuage.
Here I behold my Savior’s face in every page.
This is the field where, hidden, lies the pearl of price unknown.
That merchant is divinely wise who makes the pearl his own.
Here consecrated water flows to quench my thirst of sin.
Here the fair tree of knowledge grows, No danger dwells within.
This is the judge that ends the strife, where wit and reason fail.
My guide to everlasting life through all this gloomy vale,
Oh may Thy counsels, mighty God, my roving feet command,
Nor I forsake the happy road that leads to Thy right hand.
Not a burden we bear, not a sorrow we share,
But our toil He doth richly repay;
Not a grief or a loss, not a frown or a cross,
But is blessed if we trust and obey.
Trust and obey, for there’s no other way
To be happy in Jesus, but to trust and obey.
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Be it in traffic, at the grocery store, or for test results to come back, I think we can all agree that waiting is the worst. We live in a society that values efficiency and rapid response, thus waiting is not seen as merely inconvenient, but downright wrong. We hate to wait, and yet, God often calls us to seasons of waiting. Just read the Psalms. Time and time again, David pens prayers of waiting on his God to rescue.
I believe that I shall look upon the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living! Wait for the Lord; be strong, and let your heart take courage; wait for the Lord!
-Psalm 27:13-14
Wait for the Lord and keep His way, and He will exalt you to inherit the land; you will look on when the wicked are cut off.
-Psalm 37:34
I wait for the Lord, my soul waits, and in His word I hope; my soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for the morning, more than watchmen for the morning.
-Psalm 130:5-6
I’ve recently found myself in a season of waiting. Many good things have come out of this time, such as a renewed trust in God’s sovereignty, a greater appreciation of His love for me, and, quite frankly, a good old reminder that I’m tougher than I thought I was (a valuable lesson that is absolutely terrible to learn). It has been sweet to see fruit in this season, and yet here I remain, waiting. It’s unnerving to realize that I have no idea when—or if—the waiting will end. Although I desperately want to honor the Lord through my waiting, I often find myself tired and frustrated, lacking the stamina to continue in joy. How then does one wait well?
I recently found encouragement in the most unlikely of places: through a fifth grade girls’ Bible study. This past Wednesday night, a handful of 11-year-old girls and I sat in a circle and discussed the call of Abram from Genesis 12.
Now the Lord said to Abram, ‘Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.’
-Genesis 12:1-3
After reading the passage, I asked the girls how they thought Abram felt in that moment. Honestly, I expected the primary answer to be along the lines of “cool,” but then one student said, “I bet Abram was really scared.” I asked her to explain and she pointed out that though God had promised something magnificent, He hadn’t given much detail. It is true: God did not mention how or when His promises would occur. To this fifth grader, God’s promise clearly pointed to a season of waiting and unrest. And when you think about it that way, I suppose it does seem a bit scary.
Our discussion continued, and we chatted about the appropriate response when God calls us to a season of waiting. As the girls talked it out, it became clear to them that there were two duties for believers during such a season: trust in God’s plan and continual obedience to His Word.
Trust and obey. It seems rudimentary, does it not? Yet throughout Scripture, we see the most hopeful of waiters doing these two simple acts. We can obediently follow God, knowing He is working for our favor. And in that, my friends, we find that waiting is truly a blessed season.
For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them. For they could not endure the order that was given, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned...” But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem… Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
At a youth conference that we attend every spring, we close the weekend off singing “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks.” The song situates the singers on Jordan’s banks looking off into the Promise Land. Each verse abounds with the beauty and delight of that healthful land, and then rapturously repeats in the chorus that we are bound for that promised land.
Once after singing that song, a thoughtful kid mused to me that the song seemed outrageously presumptuous. How could we be so confident, even arrogant, at being bound for that promised land? The answer is here in Hebrews and the word hope.
It’s a powerful word, the same way an unopened box on the top shelf of a cabinet is powerful. Anything could be in that box—just imagine! And look at what we wrap into hope–joy, desire, happiness, goodness, change, peace, delight, safety. And whatever we think will give us the above we make the shelf for our box of hope. In fact, the only thing that slows our hope is her cousin, a tempering word dropped at the end of a comma. “This week, I’ll get that box,” we say, then add, “hopefully.” Ah! That word of sudden uncertainty slouching around the horizon like a spoiling cloud. But what else can you do in a sin-crushed world? Dark clouds live beyond every horizon. Hopes are hardly realized. But that it isn’t how the Bible talks about hope. Hope in God’s Word is, as some kid rightly said, outrageously presumptuous.
Hebrews 12.22 perfectly captures the biblical idea of hope through these four words: But you have come...
The book of Hebrews has been arguing consistently up to chapter 12, that Christ is not only superior to the Old Covenant, but that He is what the entire Old Covenant was pointing toward. And now at the climactic and poetic finish in chapter 12, the entire Old Covenant is summarized in that frightful moment from Exodus 19 when the nation of Israel stood before Mt. Sinai and God came down upon the mountain in fire and smoke, with a loud trumpet, and deafening peals of thunder. At that moment the consistent refrain (announced three times) was do not touch, or else God in His holiness will break out against you. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.
Still God took His people from Sinai into Canaan, the land of promise and rest. There a holy city was built and a temple was created for God to dwell in with His people. Yet they did not have rest. That temple was destroyed. That kingdom was shaken to the ground. Canaan cracked under the weight of sin. They still needed something better. They still needed to know God’s rest. They still needed a better, heavenly city. They needed a kingdom which would never shake. And if that was what the people of God hoped for, have always hoped for, Christ made that hope an expectation.
The writer of Hebrews is emphatic. You will not come to the city of the Living God, hopefully. In Christ, you have come. Christ, to whom you belong by faith and by baptism, has taken you there. He has brought that rest. He has secured your sacrifice in the heavenly temple before God’s very throne. He has ushered in a Kingdom which will never be shaken, a Kingdom where the fire of God burns eternally, over all, through all, and in all—consuming but not destroying. He has brought us to the expected and eventual city.
And for us in Christ, that should change everything. The recipients of this letter were going through a time of suffering, but they could endure it, precisely because they hoped expectantly. Or as Hebrews 10:34 says, “You joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one.” If there is a more challenging verse to our current cultural angst, I don’t know it.
Are you fearful for yourself, for these United States, for the liberty of Christians in the next generation? Never forget: you have already come in Christ to a land without anxiety, to the Kingdom which never falters, to a city of perfect freedom. Are you so fixed on heaven, that the pains of earth cannot cripple you?
As W.H. Auden said,
He is the Truth.
Seek Him in the Kingdom of Anxiety;
You will come to a great city that has expected your return for years.1
Because of Christ, we have an expectant hope, and an expected and eventual city to which we are bound, and will not fail to find. Live in that Hope. Live in that expectation. Fear not.
1 W. H. Auden “For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio”
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
In a few days, our country will choose its president and elected officials. The past two years have been increasingly tumultuous as this country has marched toward November 8, 2016. Future scenarios have been painted, policies and their impacts discussed, and candidates made spectacles in the public square. This election cycle may have established a new low in civility and public decorum. Our citizens have increasingly become more given to hate, anger, envy, rage, malice, deceit, hypocrisy, and slander. These characteristics are now the public norm for our country, and, unfortunately, for most Christians.
We could look at the past two years, and really human history, and notice a particular theme at large:
Fear.
Not the sort of reverent, Godward fear the ancient writers exhort us to have in the book of Proverbs, nor other healthy fears such as the impulse to pull a toddler out of oncoming traffic or not to touch a red-hot ember in a fireplace. The fear I speak of is narcissistic and debilitating, focusing our attention inward and away from God. It occurs when we sense a threat to our identity– when something that makes us feel in control is threatened or taken away.
The belief that we are in control is an illusion first demonstrated by Adam and Eve in Genesis 3. The serpent engages our first parents by questioning God’s authority, “Did God actually say?” From this line of questioning, everything goes downhill. Our first parents not only question God’s authority, but also His design. The serpent convinces Eve that God has withheld something from them: “For God knows that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened, and you will be like God, knowing good and evil” (Ge 3:5; cf. 2:17). Believing that lie is only furthered by the lie that God does not love them. Sally Lloyd Jones captures it well:
“As soon as the snake saw his chance, he slithered silently up to Eve. ‘Does God really love you?’ the serpent whispered…The snake’s words hissed into her ears and sunk down deep into her heart, like poison. Eve wondered. Suddenly she didn’t know anymore. Eve picked the fruit and ate some. And Adam ate some too. And a terrible lie came into the world. It would never leave. It would live on in every human heart, whispering to every one of God’s children: ‘God doesn’t love me.’”
Instead of gaining control, Adam, Eve, and all humanity acquired chaos. In the attempt to exchange love for power, we gained neither. And since that time a quest for control has marked every human because of fear—fear for loss of control, fear for what we do not have, and fear for what could be taken from us.
In an issue of The New York Review of Books last year, Pulitzer Prize author Marilynne Robinson penned, “First, contemporary America is full of fear. And second, fear is not a Christian habit of mind.” She is right. But more alarming is the number of fearful Christians. So what is the distinctly Christian response to this turbulent season and going forward after November 8?
1 Peter is very fitting for this time in our country and for us as Christians. Peter writes to an audience of Christians living in very unsettled times as royal and holy vagabonds (1 Pe 1:1; 2:9). Caught between living in the height of Roman occupation and their holy calling, Peter responds with how Christians are to live in such times.
First, let us remember from where we came. Peter writes that we were called out of darkness into marvelous light. Nothing we have done merited God’s grace in calling us into His marvelous light. This act of mercy “caused us to be born again to a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead” (1 Pe 1:3). This glorious grace of God has relieved our worst fears, dispelled our dark nights, and will one day guide us safely home. Fear is what drove us from God, but His irresistible grace is what brings us to Him.
Second, let us remember where we belong. 1 Peter goes on to say that this grace brought us into a family: “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people.” Once we were all strangers, and now we are family. Only God’s grace can take diversity and bring unity. Knowing that we are united together in Christ gives great assurance that we are to face whatever comes together and not alone. Furthermore, the witness of our togetherness is what the world will see and come know of God (John 17:21). Or as Richard Mouw states, “If we are not able to point to our own communal life to illustrate the righteousness we want for everyone, our message is not credible.”
Third, let us remember how we are to act. Understanding where we came from is not an attempt to bring about any sort of shame, only to remind us that the great work of making the dead come to life is God’s work. So if we are brought out of the darkness into the light, then such things as malice, deceit, hypocrisy, and the host of other vices should be put away (1 Pe 2:1). But that is not all. Christians, of all people, should remain humble (1 Pe 5:5-8). Have you noticed that humility is lacking in the political discussion? Humility is often seen as a vice than a virtue, which is reminiscent of Peter’s day when humility was a reprehensible quality. Christians are called to enormous task of living in a world that does not recognize them. This calling, as 1 Peter 2 reminds us, is to “keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable” (v. 12). But our conduct is to be honorable for one very good reason—“they may see your good deeds and glorify God.” Our conduct should be seen as kindness, warmth, and empathy, or as 1 Peter 2:17 states, “Honor everyone.”
What is perhaps the most disconcerting and heartbreaking observation in this season is the ferocity with which people have attacked each other. Francis Schaeffer wrote, “All men bear the image of God. They have value, not because they are redeemed, but because they are God’s creation in God’s image. Modern man, who has rejected this, has no clue as to who he is, and because of this he can find no real value for himself or for others. Hence, he downgrades the value of others and produces the horrible thing we face today—a sick culture in which men treat men as inhuman, as machines. As Christians, however, we know the value of people.”
Whatever comes next Tuesday, and the days and years following, our clear calling in this world does not change. As sojourners and exiles we have a clear mandate to proclaim the excellencies of Him who called us out of darkness into light and to “not repay evil for evil…but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called” (1 Pe 2:9; 3:9). Christians, let’s be done with fear and instead love as it was shown for us and given to us in Christ.
Sources
Lloyd-Jones, Sally. The Jesus Storybook Bible. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2007.
Mouw, Richard. Uncommon Decency: Christian Civility in an Uncivil World. Downers Grove, InterVarsity Press, 2010.
Schaeffer, Francis. The Mark of the Christian. Downers Grove: InterVarsity Press, 1970.
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
This command is very difficult. I know because it presented itself to me in my own kitchen during my first year of marriage. I made it home early one day and thought to myself, “I’m going to clean the entire kitchen and even wipe down the countertops for my wife (emphasis important).” She had a late meeting and would not be home for a couple hours so I got to work. I started by properly placing everything on the countertops in the appropriate cabinet location. I then moved to the dirty dishes in the sink only to realize I first had to remove all the clean dishes from inside the dishwasher so the dirty ones might find proper storage for a bubble bath. At this point the kitchen by all outwards appearances looked very clean, but I knew this was my chance to shine. So I went above-and-beyond and swept the floor and, with towel and cleaner in hand, wiped down all the countertops. I even shined the sink. Boy did it sparkle. It was complete. I stood back and surveyed my spotless masterpiece and knew that she would be so pleased to find I had cleaned the entire kitchen for her (emphasis still important). I triumphantly awaited her arrival.
She arrived home after a long day’s work, walked through the door into the kitchen, and placed her purse and workbag on the freshly cleaned countertop. No comment was made. She then went to the cupboard to retrieve a clean cup so that she could draw a glass of water from our refrigerator door. Still no comment. I sat patiently, holding my words in the back of my throat, waiting for her to detox from the day and finally survey the Brent-tastic scene. She finally made a comment. But not the one I expected.
“Brent, is there a reason you forgot to bring the trash can in? I don’t want to sound mean but it’s been a really long day and I almost hit it with my car when I pulled in the driveway.” WHAT?! How dare she! Was she so blind that she could not see I expended 10x the effort on the kitchen that it would have taken to wheel the trash can down the driveway?! Could she not take a few steps, turn around, and see that Mr. Clean made a visit to her favorite room in our house, her kitchen?! I couldn’t hold it in any longer. In a spew of wounded self-pity I recounted the blood, sweat and toil it took for me to clean the kitchen for her after a long day’s work of my own. I asked why she couldn’t just be grateful I had taken the time to try and serve her. I told her I would not get the trashcan until she would at least recognize that I tried to do something nice for her. And she very smoothly and gently spoke words to me that pierced my insides like a knife through hot butter: “Did you clean the kitchen for me or for you?”
Like a gong, Paul’s words reverberated in my mind: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit…” She was right. I cleaned the kitchen for me, not for her. I did my good deed in hopes to receive praise, reward, and accolade for me. I was trying to climb the husband-ladder. I was serving myself by serving her. That’s not love. Love serves the other for the sake of the other. Love isn’t selfish. Love is humble. Love is self-forgetful, even self-sacrificing. How do I know?
It’s how Christ loved us. It’s the next several verses of this same chapter. He is the supreme example of self-forgetfulness for the sake of love. He took the form of a servant for you and me. He bore our cross and carried our curse for us. And Paul tells us to have His mind as we go about our doings for others—to do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility to count others as more significant that ourselves.
Oh give thanks to the LORD, for He is good, for his steadfast love endures forever!
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Few days represent American culture like Thanksgiving. The holiday originated here, of course, and was first celebrated in Plymouth, Massachusetts, nearly three hundred years ago. More than that, the day expresses many beloved features of our culture: freedom, food, family, and football. That last one is a great local tradition in particular, with the Dallas Cowboys hosting a Thanksgiving Day football game for nearly forty years.
But a genuine celebration of Thanksgiving is also in tension with American culture. To celebrate the holiday with a healthy spirit of gratitude is actually very challenging in our culture. The quintessential attitudes of the American spirit include independence, self-reliance, and at times even superiority. Those attitudes are at odds with a spirit of gratitude, which requires attitudes of dependence, need, and humility. Gratitude also requires a measure of contentment, which is difficult when the siren song of the big sale is so loud. And let’s not forget the confusion over the object of our thanks, for few know the Triune God to be the source of every good and perfect gift (James 1:17).
How do we cultivate hearts of deep thankfulness to God when the activities and attitudes of our culture have hardened the soil? How do we plow these hard places, and to refresh a spirit of glad, humble, worshipful thanksgiving to God?
The answer the Bible gives is to remember the past. It calls us to remember both the long, shared history of God’s people, and the short, personal history of your life. Of course, remembering the past is a tricky thing, since our memories are limited. And if we take the next step and try to interpret what we remember, all kinds of biases are introduced. Remembering the past can be a tricky business. So the Bible doesn’t simply tell us to remember the past; it helps us remember the past by telling and retelling key stories. So we read and reread the historical stories of creation, the patriarchs, the kings and prophets, the life of Jesus, and the early church. And in those stories, we are moved to gratitude as we see God’s glory, our sin, and the gospel of Jesus Christ repeatedly displayed.
But the Bible also gives us imaginative, poetic stories to help us remember the past and cultivate gratitude. In Psalm 107, we are given four of these imaginative, poetic stories. While the setting of each story is different – a desert, a prison, a deathbed, and a ship – all are united by a common plot: an experience of trouble, a desperate cry to God, deliverance from trouble, and a call to give God thanks. Together, these four stories form one powerful work of art that helps us remember our past and move us to respond to the psalm’s repeated exhortation and “thank the Lord for His steadfast love.”
While there are plenty of biblical events involving deserts, prisons, deathbeds, and ships, the four stories of Psalm 107 are not intended to be read as references to specific historical events. Instead, they are meant to prompt our imagination to consider how we too have found ourselves in trouble, have cried to God, have been delivered, and should give God thanks. We may not have been in a desert or prison, or on a deathbed or ship, but the descriptions of those kinds of trouble have universal application to each of our lives, to lives of those around us, and to the long history of God’s people before us. In one way or another, we’ve all been in trouble because of the sin of others (the desert story of verses 4-9), or because of our own sin (the prison story of verses 10-16), or because of your own foolishness (the deathbed story of verses 10-22), or because of natural disasters (the ship story of verses 22-32). Reading Psalm 107 helps us remember those events, and builds within us hearts of thankfulness to God.
At first, it may seem like a bad idea to reflect on your past troubles. Wouldn’t it be easier and better to simply thank God for the good things? Charles Dickens expressed this idea famously, saying, “Reflect upon your present blessings – of which every man has many – not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some.” But if we trust in God’s sovereignty and goodness, reflecting on past troubles helps us to see and remember that God was always at work in our troubles, and was always with us in our troubles. More than that, remembering how God delivered us from our troubles deepens and widens the scope of our thankfulness. Stories of divine rescue have a dramatic power that far exceeds stories of everyday blessing.
So let me invite you to use Psalm 107 as a guide for your heart in these days leading up to Thanksgiving. Let the stories draw you in to reflect on your past and present trouble. Consider how God answered your cry and delivered you. And lean into the opportunity to “thank the Lord for His steadfast love” this Thanksgiving, even as you enjoy the freedom of restful days, as you spend time with family and friends, as you prepare and eat good food, and yes, as you watch a little football.
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
Have you ever been in conversation with someone and it was apparent that they weren’t really listening? They were pretending that they were listening, they made eye contact, they nodded, but they were really meditating on what they wanted to say next.
I believe that this is how we often treat God. In my devotional time, I often begin with a chapter of Scripture and end with a time of prayer; yet the two are rarely connected unless the specific devotional exercise I’m engaged in is geared toward praying through a passage of Scripture.
This is what it looked like the other night:
Read Micah 2–
Woe to those who devise wickedness
and work evil on their beds!
When the morning dawns, they perform it,
because it is in the power of their hand.
They covet fields and seize them,
and houses, and take them away;
they oppress a man and his house,
a man and his inheritance.
Therefore thus says the LORD:
behold, against this family I am devising disaster,
from which you cannot remove your necks,
and you shall not walk haughtily,
for it will be a time of disaster.
In that day they shall take up a taunt song against you
and moan bitterly,
and say, “We are utterly ruined;
he changes the portion of my people;
how he removes it from me!
To an apostate he allots our fields.”
Therefore you will have none to cast the line by lot
in the assembly of the LORD.
“Do not preach”—thus they preach—
“one should not preach of such things;
disgrace will not overtake us.”
Should this be said, O house of Jacob?
Has the LORD grown impatient?
Are these His deeds?
Do not My words do good
to him who walks uprightly?
But lately My people have risen up as an enemy;
you strip the rich robe from those who pass by trustingly
with no thought of war.
The women of My people you drive out
from their delightful houses;
from their young children you take away
My splendor forever.
Arise and go,
for this is no place to rest,
because of uncleanness that destroys
with a grievous destruction.
If a man should go about and utter wind and lies,
saying, “I will preach to you of wine and strong drink,”
he would be the preacher for this people!
I will surely assemble all of you, O Jacob;
I will gather the remnant of Israel;
I will set them together
like sheep in a fold,
like a flock in its pasture,
a noisy multitude of men.
He who opens the breach goes up before them;
they break through and pass the gate,
going out by it.
Their king passes on before them,
the LORD at their head.
Contemplate the Meaning of the Passage for a Moment –
Wow, God is really angry with the way that the powerful are treating the weak. I should keep that in mind. This is also a great chapter to use in that curriculum I’m working on. The context of Judah’s sin during the kingdom and leading up to the exile is exactly what we are seeing today.
Pray about My Struggles –
Lord, my three-year-old’s tantrums have reached a whole new level. What the heck am I supposed to do with her? Help us to be better parents, to love well, etc…
Was that real communication?
Let me lay out a few points for us to ponder:
1) God is sovereign
2) God speaks to us through His word
3) We speak to God in prayer
God in His sovereignty chose that passage for me at that specific moment. Sure, I ‘ve been reading though the minor prophets, and I put this plan in place, but He in His majestic ordering of all things chose for me to read it then – accounting for the days missed, nights I read a half chapter, and other devotional practices I jumped into when I wanted a change of pace. It was His word for me at 11:30 PM on November 20, 2016, and I wasn’t listening.
This is what it probably should have looked like:
Read Micah 2 –
Contemplate the Meaning of the Passage for a Moment –
Wow, God is really angry with the way that the powerful are treating the weak. Some basic questions I should ask of a given text include:
1) Where am I in this story? Is this a warning to me in a position of power? Or is it comfort to the remnant? The answer probably depends on the day.
2) Where is Christ and how does He relate? He is the true shepherd who will ultimately gather the sheep.
3) Savor Christ. The sheep are literally breaking the gates down to run out and follow the LORD.
4) How should I respond?
Prayerful Reflection –
Lord, you are doing a marvelous work in the hearts and minds of Your remnant. Thank you for the ways that You have done so in my life. I pray that all of that energy, excitement, and passion in my three-year-old will ultimately be channeled into breaking down gates to follow You. Lord, do a mighty work in her life and give me the wisdom, grace and care to be the shepherd she needs. Amen
And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased!”
When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Tommy is Assistant Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church where he shepherds the Family Ministry. He has served in five different congregations before the Lord called him to PCPC in 2011. He is married to Priscilla, his wife of 21 years. They have four children, Austin, Elli, Lily and Judson.
Have you ever refused to receive a gift? I almost did. It was a few minutes after 9:00 pm on December 1 when a group of Christmas carolers came through my neighborhood and stood outside my house. Inside my house was a host of teenagers and a flurry of activity, making it impossibly loud in my tiny home. In fact, there was so much action happening downstairs that I did not realize that someone had opened my front door and given the green light to this happy group of carolers to burst out in song. But at that moment something wonderful happened—as the harmonious voices of Christmas increased, all other noise in the house decreased. When I heard the beautiful singing of the carolers, it compelled me to come to the front door.
True confession—my first thought was to ignore it; a knee-jerk reaction to brush off the carolers. There was homework to finish, dishes in the sink, and the Cowboys were fighting for victory against the Vikings. But the sound of Christmas persuaded me to come and listen. The result was joy and gratitude, and I almost missed it. If Christmas carolers came to my door five years ago, I would have been the first to the front door and had them sing two encores. What is different in 2016?
Advent, derived from the Latin word for coming, is the season to prepare our hearts once again for the coming of the Messiah. The season of Advent is an ancient gift to the modern Church because it helps our overscheduled, stressed out souls to stop, listen, and prepare for the coming of Christ the King. Here’s the question: how are we preparing?
Meditate on the first Christmas. What do you think the shepherds were doing before the arrival of the heavenly host? I bet none of them were preparing for glory of the Lord to invade their field and overwhelm their souls. They were not busy taking selfies or checking email. Can you imagine what that night was like? Look again at Luke 2 and place yourself in the sandals of the shepherds. We can safely assume that the concerns of their day were vanquished as they, “were filled with great fear.” Notice that the only time the shepherds were in a hurry was when they left the field on their way to Bethlehem.
If you are still reading along then you know where I am headed. As sojourners during Advent, let us all be intentional to stop, listen, and prepare for this Christmas! May our haste be on the road towards Christ and not the mall. We schedule everything else in our lives for December 25, so why not prepare our souls with the same priority? Then we may respond like the shepherds as they left Bethlehem, “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard.” Another way to prepare is to do what Blake Schwarz candidly modeled in last week’s Every Thought Captive devotion: [Communication in Prayer](http://www.etcdevo.org/entry/2016/12/02/communication-in-prayer/).
We may be so familiar with the hymns, the special music, and the typical rhythm of church activities that we actually miss God revealing His glory in fresh ways. As we sojourn on this side of heaven, let us admit that we don’t fully understand the mysteries of the Incarnation. Honestly, does your mind drift when Luke 2 is read aloud in church? May we all continue to be in awe with the shepherds, lay down our gifts like the wise men, and treasure all of it in our hearts like Mary. As one pastor noted, “In Advent, Christians embrace the groaning and recognize it not as hopeless whimpering over the paucity of the present moment but as expectant yearning for a divine banquet that Jesus is preparing for us even now.”
How is Christmas 2016 different from 2006 for you? Has your marital status changed? Do you now have children, or is this your first year to experience an empty nest? Are you struggling with depression, grief, or a growing cynicism? Most of us have Christmas traditions that don’t change, but how have we changed? When Christ comes to knock on the door of our hearts this Christmas, will we stop and listen or just keep striving to multi-task before midnight?
In those days John the Baptist came…
“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,
‘Prepare the way for the Lord,
make straight paths for him.’”
John’s clothes were made of camel’s hair, and he had a leather belt around his waist. His food was locusts and wild honey. People went out to him from Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole region of the Jordan. Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River…. “I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
In the tinselly and joyful season of Christmas, the figure of John the Baptist always seems a bit jarring. If you’ve ever organized your Bible readings through the lectionary, then you’ve certainly encountered John the Baptist during Advent. The stark dress, the apocalyptic grooming habits, and the overly frugal meal plan always seem a tad over-serious. As if he’s lurking back in the shadows of a party, waiting till a good laugh is rolling over the crowd to suddenly stand up and remind everyone of their mortality. “Behold,” he shouts, “I know that joke about Santa, and the elf, and Jack Frost walking into a bar is funny, but do you know that the suicide rate goes up every Christmas season? Does that make you feel jolly? Sure, I’m the only one saying these things in a wilderness of laughing, but we’ve got to prepare for this!”
That’s how he strikes me at least, but perhaps it didn’t always feel this way. It use to be, and for some still is, that the dividing line between Advent and Christmas was drawn with thick ink. Advent belonged to John. Christmas belonged to Jesus. John had to do the hard, jarring work of preparing us to meet Jesus. He had to knock down some hills and lift up some valleys to make a straight road for the Christ to walk in on. Because it was and is no small thing to have God walk the earth.
But often, in our commercialized Christmas world that now begins before Thanksgiving even ends, the immensity of the Incarnation doesn’t translate. It’s hard to find Jesus most of the time, and when you do, He’s a sweet little baby laying down a sweet little head. He’s having, as far as I know, the first and only peaceful and quiet pre-epidural birth in history in a tiny strangely cozy manger, apparently never even crying. Attended by parents who are happily receiving vagrant wanderers, astrologists, and grimy shepherds. It is quaint and kitsch. And so saccharine that thinking about it might give you a cavity.
But the truth is, you don’t need a John the Baptist for that kind of a thing. Santa surely doesn’t need a John the Baptist. Believe in him if you want to, or don’t. Put the cookies out or forget, he’ll still show up ho-ho-ho-ing. He twinkles and his belly laughs. It’s what he does. And you don’t need to prepare for that.
But the Incarnation is something else entirely. The world changed that day. It was shaken to its very core, because its Creator became a part of the creation. God participated in His world in a way that He had never done before. He began the work, as Paul said in Ephesians 4, of making God “over all, and through all, and in all.” Or as he said in 1 Corinthians 15, to make God “all in all.” Things have never been the same. The first steps of redemption were in many ways the loudest. They rang the gong of God’s re-creative work. The second Adam came to work. The true Image of God began to renew the broken and diseased men and women who had been created in God’s image, but had rejected and marred it. The actions on the cross and in the resurrection became communicable through the Incarnation. Our hope for a personal relationship with God became a concrete reality through a God who became human. And death, corruption, evil, and darkness in God’s world is being crowded out by His ever growing light and life until one day, God will be all in all and sin will be no more.
And that is good news, but it ain’t quaint. Sin and corruption don’t go quiet. All the false and cheap things will get tossed in the wind. All that we grab onto instead of Him will get winnowed away. Because in the Incarnation, God declares and even demands that He be all in all. If He wanted to hold back, then there would have never been a Christmas. And for that kind of work, you need a John the Baptist. A dull and sleeping world slumbering in sin needs waking up. We need waking up. Let us toss out all the chaff we fill our lives with and cling to Christ, the God made Man. He will renew in us God’s Image, for He is the true Image of God.
I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing… By this My Father is glorified, that you bear much fruit and so prove to be My disciples. As the Father has loved Me, so have I loved you. Abide in My love… These things I have spoken to you, that My joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
2016 is over. We all stand on the start line of a new year. Many of you are ready to charge into 2017 armed with a set of resolutions made with idealism and gusto.
Yet before you race off into the new year, I challenge you to rest. Begin your resolutions with a prayerful plea to surrender striving, slow down and bask in His great love for you. While rest in Him can't be measured like pounds on a scale or miles on the treadmill, it will have far greater impact on your spiritual health and well-being.
Rest is hard in a culture that consumes activity at an alarming rate, a habit that often spills over into our spiritual lives. Many of us have perfected the art of “doing”–even good Christian things–at the expense of “being.” Our souls are desperately weary, fatigued to the point of exhaustion, yet we’re unwilling to pause, be still and allow Jesus to sing His promises over us. Why is that? How do we change?
Change begins with prayer and is empowered by the Holy Spirit. Ask God to teach you new habits of silence and surrender: silence to listen to His voice instead of all the other competing noise; surrender to give Him your agenda, insecurities, and all that you desire to control. After all, He loves you and is the best caretaker of your life.
Trust in His personal love for you–this is unbelievably liberating–especially to those of us who are often ruled by performance, accomplishment, and a constant striving to “do more.” If you struggle to believe He loves you and likes you (and believing is different than knowing!), confess that to Him and ask Him help you in your unbelief.
In light of His delight in you, you are able to rest in Him, and as you abide, you are freed to reconsider your ambitions. Jesus’ concept of greatness is very different than ours. I often forget that. How much of the joy of His created order is missed when we race from task to place to ambition without seeing what He has sovereignly placed around us. Rest in Him provides a newfound opportunity to recover a delight in the ordinary, mundane aspects of life. Ask Him to show you His wonderful work; ask also to find great joy in it. Things such as the sound of a child sleeping, the rise of the morning sun, an afternoon walk, or the way the leaves fall from trees whose branches stretch upwards towards Him in season-less praise. Abiding in Him allows us to not only revel at the way He has designed the creaturely world in which we inhabit (and we are creatures!). Rest in Him also enables us to more warmly embrace the God-given limitations of our humanity. We don’t know it all. We have doubts and questions for which we don’t have answers. We can’t be everywhere we’d like to be. We can’t fix it all or hold the brokenness of our lives together independent of Him. Our capacity is limited. And this is how He made us–needy and dependent; created to draw upon the limitless capability of our Creator and to find a joy in Him that penetrates to the deepest of places within us.
I wonder how our lives would change if we asked God to reveal how we needy and dependent on Him we are—and then invested our energies not to pursue flawlessness but to meditate on the reality that we are forgiven and freed children of God. What if we prayed for His help to enable us to understand the glorious promise and security that comes with the knowledge that we “died and our life is now hidden with Christ in God” (Col. 3:3)? What if our imagination was employed not in vivifying our fears and anxieties, but in imagining His coming Kingdom and His presence with us as we journey the often bumpy soil of this earthly terrain on the road to redemption?
One of best things we can offer a hopeless and dying world is to be spiritually rested and abiding in Christ. There we will best reflect His character and the true rest and joy that is found exclusively in Him. As we abide in Him, He is glorified in us.
So as you stand at the start line of 2017, before you take a deep breath and sprint off, first let out a big exhale in the confidence that you are secure and safe in the strong grip of our Redeemer as you run this year.
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when He came up out of the water, immediately He saw the heavens opening and the Spirit descending on Him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are My beloved Son; with You I am well pleased.”
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
I once tried to read John Milton’s Paradise Lost. I lost the thread somewhere in the process, alarmingly early I might add, and ended confused. You may have been similarly vexed, or perhaps more likely, you’ve just looked it up on Wikipedia and read some of these choice old style English words: thereupon of Paradise wherein he was plac't or fitliest call'd Chaos. Let us just say, it takes a minute to get through all that.
If you persevere, you soon find Milton asking for the muse (he later calls this muse the Spirit) to aid him in turning the story of the Fall into epic poetry. He certainly needed supernatural help. Paradise Lost contains over ten thousand lines of poetry with the bulk of the work done after Milton had gone blind. As they said in the old style, “thereupon I was plac’t at rapture with his efforts, and thought him fitliest call’d Amazing.”
If an invocation for heavenly aid seems odd to you, it wasn’t for Milton. Nearly all the classic epic poems (Iliad, Dante’s Comedy) begin this way. The authors all sought assistance for that moment of epiphany when an image or idea illuminated a deeper truth and brought unity and direction to their work.
Still odd? Enroll yourself into a creative writing class. Our modern sensibilities don’t allow talk about the supernatural anymore (We’ve renamed it the subconscious. It’s easier. Since it was inside of us all along, there are fewer people to thank), but the search for epiphany remains. Most of the syllabus contains exercises to unleash the right side of your brain, find your voice, express yourself, find inner truth, and other such existential quests—in other words, gain a realization of the truth you had been seeking. The fact that this modern process for epiphany assumes the deeper truths are just slinking around in the dank basement of our souls betrays much about our culture. Milton and his predecessors thought in exactly the opposite direction. They looked up into the heavens, expecting the great truths to come from above, to be bright and brilliant realities to our shadowed and corrupted truths. For you see, on earth the brightness of the sun only shines half the day. But in heaven, the light is never occluded.
The Christian calendar marks the time after Christmas and before Lent as Epiphany. The church historically celebrates during this time the revelation of Christ’s divine character. Pause a moment: Christ, the Light of the world and the Truth, arrives from heaven, and then the church celebrates the revelations of His bright and true nature and calls it Epiphany. How classic. How very un-modern. But more, how delightful. This is not some isolated truth dropped into the imagination of a writer. This is the entirety of Truth—God Himself revealed unto the whole world. The scope of this epiphany must overwhelm us. God, through Christ, has peeled back the sky and let all who wish lift up their head and see into the center of heaven. In Epiphany we find Magi bowing down before a baby, Jesus transfigured into His heavenly glory, and Jesus’ baptism with all persons of the Trinity present and euphoric. All three episodes direct us to a deep truth outside of ourselves that gives order and direction.
This is of course a wonderful way to begin the New Year. We like to dig down inside ourselves and resolve toward more discipline, and greater weight loss, and more effort. We know that there is something wrong inside of us and if we can just sharpen our spades and go a little deeper we might unearth a little light. But the light we are seeking comes down from above. How we might change by gazing on Him!
All those who were coming out to John the Baptist to be baptized were much like us at the New Year. They realized that something wasn’t adding up. They came to John to have their souls cleaned and begin again. So it is surprising that Jesus would come for this baptism. He had no need to be cleansed from sin. But behold His humility. He associates with us in a process that He does not need, in a river that He has made, and beneath a lesser man. And quite suddenly, the heavens open. The Spirit descends like a dove and The Father announces His pleasure with the Son.
And we see, for the first time, the Trinity and its eternal self-giving love. The Son shows the humility and love that brought Him to earth. The Father announces His deep love and pleasure in the Son. The Spirit encourages and conveys the love between Them. Also, the wonder of God’s redemption is revealed. The last time that a dove and water came together, God was cleansing the world with a wrathful flood. Then He protected His people with a boat. But now He Himself goes beneath the sin-filled water. He takes the wrathful flood onto Himself, so that the Spirit might descend on our hearts and we might hear from God His good pleasure in us.
It is a truth so bright, that even while staring at it, it’s hard to comprehend. The love of the Godhead bursts from its heavenly confines and deigns to incorporate us. It is an epiphany that might well order your year and bring a new orientation.
Clap your hands, all peoples!
Shout to God with loud songs of joy!
For the LORD, the Most High, is to be feared,
a great king over all the earth.
He subdued peoples under us,
and nations under our feet.
He chose our heritage for us,
the pride of Jacob whom He loves. Selah
God has gone up with a shout,
the LORD with the sound of a trumpet.
Sing praises to God, sing praises!
Sing praises to our King, sing praises!
For God is the King of all the earth;
sing praises with a psalm!
God reigns over the nations;
God sits on His holy throne.
The princes of the peoples gather
as the people of the God of Abraham.
For the shields of the earth belong to God;
He is highly exalted!
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Perhaps you are a member of the extended Van Winkle family, or have just returned from a prolonged vacation to outer space. Otherwise, you probably are aware that our nation, the U.S. of A., has recently elected a new president. If all goes according to plan, you will be reading this note on the very day that said new president will officially take office. It is Inauguration Day. And that reality has generated white-hot national excitement, with both the Elephants and the Donkeys.
Yet we are Believers, Christian people. How should we think about these national matters? If you've not already rolled your eyes in disgust or disinterest, let's think briefly about three fundamental precepts. For we are a people called by God to be citizens of an eternal realm, and yet dwell in a particular culture at a particular time.
Scripture declares that God is sovereign over His creation! God's Word, from Genesis to Maps, proclaims that God made the world and rules the world. How's that for stating the obvious? But it's important for us to remember what that means, particularly in the rough-and-tumble world of national and global politics. Remember the hated Assyrians? They are specifically named as the instruments of God to punish the apostate nation of Israel. In their time, the Babylonians, Persians and Romans all shaped history according to God's eternal decree. Governments of all sorts have come and gone, but not at random and not outside of God's perfect will. It's the same with the leaders of those governments. Scripture is filled with examples that demonstrate what it declares, “The king's heart is a stream of water in the hand of the Lord; He turns it wherever He will” (Proverbs 21:1). We, just as all the humans in the Bible, are confronted with perplexing, painful realities, both personal and political. But remembering that God is managing His world for His glory and for His people's good brings, "strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow."
Now please don't read that reminder of God's sovereignty as a call for a complacent Christian citizenry. Scripture certainly doesn't. God has designed His people to bear His image in his world. We do not serve an aloof, disinterested God. So to be Christian citizens characterized by disinterested aloofness is not part of the good works for which we have been made.
The second clear message of scripture that shines like a beacon in the recent political storms is that our identity in Christ supersedes all other identities. That was a very, very difficult lesson in the early church. It's actually just as tough for us. Maybe even a bit more so if you are a born citizen of the Lone Star state! But what if you were born in first-century Corinth to Greek parents? They became Christians after hearing Paul's teachings. Then do you accept Christ as a non-Jew, foreigner and that's enough? Or do you first renounce your heritage, convert to Judaism, and then get to become a Christian? We know the right answer, but do we live the right answer? In the quiet place of our hearts, do we really recognize that everything which ordinarily forms our self-identity fades into the background in light of the extraordinary reality of the resurrected Lord Jesus? That's more important than being rich. It's more important than being famous. It's more important than being American. It's more important than being Presbyterian or Southern or Democrat or Republican.
“If anyone else thinks he has reason for confidence in the flesh, I have more: circumcised on the eighth day, of the people of Israel, of the tribe of Benjamin, a Hebrew of Hebrews; as to the law, a Pharisee; as to zeal, a persecutor of the church; as to righteousness under the law blameless. But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For His sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead” (Philippians 3:4-11).
On Inauguration Day, will you join me in prayerfully considering what things we have allowed to take "identifying precedence" over Christ?
Finally, let's remember the truth that changed hearts changes cultures. We all know accounts of people we would have least expected becoming gospel-driven world- changers. A particular Jewish Rabbi with a penchant for the pen comes to mind. And a simple fisherman from "the wrong part of the country" finally came to understand about that "fishers of men" business. It's happening today too. Our faithful God is drawing people from every tribe and every tongue, calling them in Christ out of darkness into His marvelous light. Will you pray for that? "Well, of course!," you might be tempted to say. "I support foreign missions!" But the Word of God also pointedly calls us to pray for our political leaders. And that's different than praying "about" them. Will you pray for them to know the Lord, to grow up in Christ, and to walk in His ways?
"Park Cities Presbyterian Church exists to extend the transforming presence of the Kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ in Dallas and to the world." Will you pray that such a transforming presence will extend to the hearts of our government leaders, whatever their policies or your preferences? Now more than ever in this country,
“But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation” (1 Peter 2:9-12).
So, whatever pomp in whichever circumstance you find yourself today, God is sovereign over His creation. Our identity in Christ supersedes all other identities, and it's changed hearts that change cultures. So, pray without ceasing.
“Even youths shall faint and be weary,
and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not grow weary;
they shall walk and not faint.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Life in the middle is hard. Have you ever thought about that? Beginnings are exciting and hopeful. Endings are satisfying and joyful. But the middle? Often the middle is just hard. Our English language supports the argument. Here’s what life in the middle sounds like:
“I woke up in the middle of the night.”
“Times are hard for the middle class.”
“We need to cut out the middle man.”
“Our middle child is having trouble.”
“Middle age is no fun.”
“The Middle Ages were so dark.”
“We can’t find the middle ground.”
“I block out most of what happened in middle school.”
“My car broke down in the middle of the highway.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
There’s an idiom that describes life in the middle: caught between a rock and a hard place. That’s how we feel in the middle. At the beginning the path is clear. At the end, we know we made it. But in the middle of life’s woods, two roads diverge, and we’re faced with hard choices.
As a church, we find ourselves in the middle of the school year, in the middle of (a balmy) winter, in the middle of our Sojourn theme. How’s the journey for you? Perhaps the excitement of launching “Sojourn: Toward an Enduring City” has given way to boredom and weariness. These are understandable reactions to being in the middle. The excitement of beginning wears off, and we get bored. The exhilaration of running hard goes away, and we get tired. The resolve to finish well erodes, and we just try to survive. Our sojourn this year is a microcosm of our life as believers. The real question is: If you’re a Christian, how are you living in the middle—in the middle of your conversion and your homecoming, in the middle of Christ’s First and Second Coming?
Isaiah 40 offers comfort and hope for those living in the middle. The end of the chapter acknowledges what we’re up against as sojourners, but it also reminds us where to find the resources to carry on. In a sense, we should not be surprised if we’re tired. “Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted.” If the youthful and strong among us burn out in the middle, that’s bad news for all of our strategies to be good enough, smart enough, fast enough, and strong enough to make it on our own. In the middle, being self-sufficient is insufficient. In fact, the more we believe in our own wisdom and strength, the more likely we are to grow weary and faint. Why? Because there is only One who does not faint or grow weary, and you and I are not He.
Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
His understanding is unsearchable.
Isaiah 40:28
Weary traveler, do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the one who never wears down in the middle. He is the one who understands the way when nothing makes sense. The middle of nowhere is not nowhere to Him. Life in the middle requires ears that hear and eyes that see. We need to hear the Word of God reminding us who He is and who we are (and who we’re not). We need to see with Spirit-opened eyes that we are not wise or powerful in ourselves, but He is. As He opens our ears and eyes, we realize that the way up is the way down. “He gives power to the faint, and to Him who has no might He increases strength” (Isaiah 40:29). So will we acknowledge our weariness and confess our weakness? Life in the middle humbles us and breaks us down, but the Lord intends to meet us there and build us up in Christ. There is invincible hope for those who look to Him in the middle:
They who wait on for the LORD shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.
You might say, “I’ve heard these verses before, but how can I really know that God is with me in the middle of my journey?” Forgive me the Sunday school reply, but the answer is one name: Jesus. The Alpha and the Omega left heaven and entered the middle of history. Jesus inserted Himself in the middle of our mess. He walked our roads, healed our sick, and confronted our sin. He came to be the Mediator—the Man in the middle—between a holy God and a sinful people. And to do that He died on a cross, in the middle of two thieves, to pay our debt and to make us His treasured possession. Jesus grew weary, became faint, and laid down His life so that we might live this sojourn in His resurrected power. In Jesus Christ, we have His joy in a new beginning, His hope in a glorious ending, and His grace for life in the middle.
There Israel encamped before the mountain, while Moses went up to God. The Lord called to him out of the mountain, saying, “Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the people of Israel: ‘You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings and brought you to Myself. Now therefore, if you will indeed obey My voice and keep My covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is Mine; and you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words that you shall speak to the people of Israel”…And the Lord said to Moses, “Behold, I am coming to you in a thick cloud, that the people may hear when I speak with you, and may also believe you forever.”
Will Stockdale was born and raised a Texan. He grew up in the town of Aledo and attended Texas A&M University. After graduating college in 2012 Will worked in oil fields of Port Fourchon, LA and the Eagle Ford Shale in south central Texas. He moved to Dallas in September of 2014 to work for a tech startup. In October of 2015 Will served as campaign manager for state representative Cindy Burkett. Will started working as a resident at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in May of 2016. He is a student at Reformed Theological Seminary here in Dallas and is excited to share the amazing person and work of Jesus Christ.
On Mount Sinai, the LORD descended with a power never before witnessed by the people of Israel. Not even Moses had seen God on display like that. The mountain was enveloped by black, kiln-like smoke—thick and dark, wrapping around from base to peak. No doubt such a sight was beautiful, but even more so—terrifying. Thunder rolled from within and was heard without. When Moses returned from communing with the LORD, the people of Israel stood trembling in fear, begging Moses to return up the mountain lest they be destroyed. And so Moses did; walking towards that thick darkness to commune with their God whose glory was terrifyingly beautiful.
Through Abraham, God covenanted that He would set the world to rights through His newly formed people. In Exodus, He remembered His promise and set His people free through Moses to be a blessing to all nations. Israel witnessed God’s resolve and might through the smiting of Egypt. And yet there at that mountain, the people saw their Rescuer God in more power than they could ever have imagined. Their God was a God of authority and glory beyond anything they could possibly fathom.
The glory and power of our God is too vast, too cosmic, too eternal to be limited by the archetypes of light and dark representing good and evil. There is a thick darkness around God, but it does not exist due to any evil, for there is nothing bad or evil or corrupt in Him. But rather, in God exists a holy mystery infinitely outrunning our finite minds. John Owen expressed it in The Mortification of Sin when he wrote, “Can the mind of man, which is as nothing, do any more but swallow itself up in an infinite abyss?... That infinite and inconceivable distance that is between [God] and us, keeps us in the dark as to any sight of His face, or clear apprehensions of His perfections.” (Owen, 125-126) In his prologue, John writes that “no one has ever seen God” but also that “truth came through Jesus Christ.” And so we rejoice in the person of Jesus whom God has chosen to reveal to us. He is the Deliverer of things into which angels long to look. As followers of Christ, we hold these two truths in tension: that our God is eternally beyond us and that He came intimately near us in Jesus Christ. The God Who descended in glory on Mount Sinai, the God we worship, has revealed Himself to us in Jesus Christ and yet remains an infinite mystery.
And so this thick darkness surrounding God means something different for the follower of Jesus. In a world and life without God, there is a darkness we dare not approach. It is frightening in a completely lifeless way. But in living with God there are dark mysteries of His glory with a wholly different meaning. They are mysteries that draw us in. Like a painting by Rembrandt, the dark mysteries of God reveal as much as they hide. As a viewer stands before one of his paintings, she must stare more deeply into the dark places to know what the artist is doing. As she peers into the dark shapes and figures appear, there she learns more about Rembrandt than if she hadn’t pressed in. The mysteries of God’s glory are something like that. They are deep and rich and textured beyond imagining. Rather than retreat in fear from the deep mysteries of God, we press in to look more closely because He came close to us. And there we see depth and dimension of which we could have never dreamed.
The apostle Paul wrote that his union with Christ began to “show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus” (Ephesians 2:7). Amongst an infinite number of things, union with Christ means we have the opportunity to stare deeply into and contemplate the unfathomable riches of Christ—a mystery hidden for the ages, but now shown to us in Jesus. Life in Christ means we can now begin the search that will continue for all eternity.
We glimpse this on Sunday morning as we gather with other believers. A vision of the exaltation in which we are participating is shown to us in Revelation 4. There John describes for us worship without cessation around the throne of God. He describes worship images so vivid to him they could only be described as being like something else. Even more, the author of Hebrews tells us that we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses. And so, in worship something wildly mysterious happens. We commune and partake with that glorious fellowship around the throne of God. Every Sunday we are given the opportunity to search out the immeasurable riches of Christ together. In corporate worship we participate with the saints worshipping before the throne of the King of Glory. Such a reality is too lofty for us to comprehend. So, let the search party begin.
Search me, O God, and know my heart!
Try me and know my thoughtsc
And see if there be any grievous way in me,
and lead me in the way everlasting
Isaac is a son, husband, student, and poet. He is from the enchanted deserts of southern New Mexico and has made a home in Texas, where he attended Redeemer Seminary, Dallas. He and his wife Ashley are members of PCPC and love her people. You may spot them walking their dog through Lakewood or imbibing at their neighborhood chill-outaries on Greenville.
If you ask an aficionado about his passion, buckle up. He will tell you with love and conviction about how to grill the best steak, what truck has the best towing performance, where the best coffee beans are grown and roasted, or why soccer is the most beautiful game. She will persist in her impassioned rehearsal of God’s gift to humanity until you tell her you need to freshen your drink or begin your own litany of praise for whatever your own delight is. Many of the psalms offer that same type of conversational space.
Psalm 139 delights in the work of God albeit through the prism of the self. It uses data points of creation and redemption to describe the virtuosity with which God has made man to delight in God alone. The assumption of the imagery is that creation and man is the theater of God’s glory—or in everyday language: “You’ll find yourself only when you find your ‘self’ doesn’t belong to yourself.” (We find ourselves insofar as we are found in Christ). The psalm invites the reader to consider God’s love in crafting and the love for His handiwork. It’s in seeing God as the psalm depicts that the self is rightly understood.
The psalm enacts a Jonah-type journey of the praying David. Beginning with the confession that, “God has searched me and knows me,” the psalm is pleased to consider the implications of God’s acquaintance with man, “You know when I sit and when I rise…You search my path and my lying down.” Yet it’s in finding how much God is acquainted with man that David sets to flight. David runs through the theoretical end of how a fleeing from God will eventually be brought to its end. “If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea…” David plays the hypothetical, employing the help of a demi-god to reach the edge of creation—the edge of the known. Yet it’s in going rogue that David learns that it is God’s hand leading! “Even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me.”
The intimate and human mode of describing God leading by the hand is key to understanding how God is choosing to reveal Himself in these verses. No matter how deep or far one goes, God’s presence is profoundly simple in its ability to just stand next to you wherever you are. It takes you by the hand. It covers you with a hand. We know this to be true insofar as we confess Jesus to be the actual presence of God. He understood men’s thoughts from afar because He knew what was in the heart of man. He descended to incarnate—descended into Sheol. “Darkness is light to Him” because He is the Light of life.
Therefore, this psalm must first be true of Jesus before it is ever true of us. We find ourselves only when we find our ‘self’ doesn’t belong to ourself. We belong to Jesus by virtue of Him belonging to our state of flesh. In His temptation, He was brought to the edge of the known kingdom and offered rule of it in rebellion to His Father. His prayer in that moment very well could have been, “Search me, O God, and know my heart! Try me and know my thoughts! And see if there be any grievous way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting.” His blamelessness in that prayer led Him in the way everlasting. But because of our rebellion to find ourselves in ourselves, God charted the way everlasting through our neighborhood. Sin caused Jesus’ road to the everlasting to pass through Sheol. The Father’s gracious chase of us rebels required that the Son prove Himself—as the man—obedient unto death. And He did. That hard news for Jesus is the best news for us.
Now, friends, we pray/sing this psalm in freedom. We invite God to search us because we are so enmeshed in the person of Jesus and He is so enmeshed in us that we must ask God to search us to find that He will find Jesus there. This psalm is the presence of Jesus to us—in that He prayed these verses before we ever could—and makes it now a prayer/song of praise to God’s handiwork in creation, man, and redemption. It’s now a House of Eternal Return of sorts.
There is a community space/art installation in New Mexico that has taken a warehouse and put a home in it. This home is surrounded and interspersed with different spaces and artscapes— a beautifully crafted labyrinth of sights, sounds, and smells. The fun and wonder of it all is that every space, sight, sound, and smell perpetually reminds you that it is all contained inside a home. Whatever space you enter and however imaginative and big or small they and objects might be; you are ever at home. It’s in the act of exploration that you come to find that you only eternally return insofar as you are eternally held. God is an aficionado of creation, man, and redemption and He is rehearsing His passion to us in His Word. This is His conversation to us. Lean in and listen. Because:
In the prayer/praise of this psalm, in the presence God, we are being held by the hand of Jesus and are ever at home.
For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from Him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
Trust in Him at all times, O people;
pour out your heart before Him;
God is a refuge for us.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
I don’t mean quiet. We can achieve, tolerate, and even enjoy quiet. We love to go on a quiet run away from the noisy world and its worries. We love to take a long, peaceful walk by the lake. We love the idea of a quiet hike in the Rockies with nothing but the chirping of a bird or the scampering of a squirrel to break the stillness. We love the idea of a quiet autumn morning on the back porch with a cup of coffee and a favorite book or weekend newspaper. We can tolerate—and even enjoy—quiet. But silence is difficult. Quiet is the whispering wind; silence is the muggy absence of it. Quiet often creates peace; silence creates anxiety. Quiet requires seeking and discovering; silence requires waiting and surrender. Silence is empty. Silence is worrying. Silence is uncontrollable. Silence is a vacuous. Silence suggests a noise or voice is desired and expected but isn’t coming. Silence suggests the absence of something capable of responding. A desire unmet. An invitation unrequited. There is a relational feel (or absence) to silence. Silence is difficult.
In our lives, God sometimes feels quiet. That is tolerable, or if we lean in to listen and discover, even enjoyable. But it’s a whole other thing when God feels silent. What do we need when we sense God is silent with us? An ANSWER! To our request. To our issue. To our problem. To our doubt. Right? No. An answer isn’t enough. It’s too temporary and too small. It’s not worth placing your hope in. It won’t last and might not lead to what you hope it will lead to. New requests arise. New doubts surface. New issues emerge. New pain develops. God may graciously answer our requests, but we won’t find peace in the waiting until our hope is Him. That’s what the psalmist is proclaiming to his own soul, and that’s what we must re-preach to ourselves time and time again:
“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for your hope is from Him.”
If you are growing bitter or resentful waiting in silence, it might be because you are still waiting on the wrong thing. You have misguided hope. Your desire for an answer has become your beginning and your end. So God lets you wait because He knows what you ultimately need is not an answer, but Him. He is the answer. You just aren’t convinced of it yet. Your answer is still more important than Him. Only painful silence could be so convincing. An answer simply won’t do. He won’t let you settle for less. He quietly, with bridled power and steadfast love (see end of Psalm 62), guides you through silence to a hope unfailing—a rock, a fortress, and a refuge for your soul. If ever you feel utterly alone in the waiting, find company and comfort in Another whose desperate cry was unresolved, whose question was left unanswered in His hour of need:
“My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?”
The Lord Jesus. He already asked the question you struggle with in the silence. How did He endure such painful silence? He delighted above all things in the Father. So should you and I. Our Rock. Our Salvation. Our Fortress. Our Refuge. Our hope is from Him. Cling to Him, O my soul.
“Trust Him at all times, pour out your heart before Him. God is a refuge for us.”
When He suffered, He did not threaten,
but continued entrusting Himself to Him who judges justly.”
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Second to the Bible, the most published Christian book in history is one which most Christians today have never heard of. The book is The Pilgrim’s Progress, written in the 1760’s by a poor English preacher named John Bunyan. It is allegorical quest-story about a man’s conversion to faith in Jesus Christ, and his pilgrim journey towards his heavenly home. Like Bunyan, who wrote the story while in prison for preaching, the main character experienced both profound joy and suffering during his journey.
One of the most severe seasons of suffering in the story comes when Christian walks through the Valley of the Shadow of Death (while written in Old English, the allegorical aspect of the book is very straightforward). Bunyan introduces readers to the place with these words,
The valley itself is as dark as pitch; we also saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit; we heard also in that Valley a continual howling and yelling, as of a people under unutterable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and irons; and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of confusion. Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order.1
Striking in Bunyan’s description is how disorienting and chaotic the Valley seems. Those who have experienced evil, misery, affliction, and the threat of death can all bear witness to the accuracy of Bunyan’s words. Many of us can attest that to the fact that suffering inflicts a confusion that can be paralyzing, lonely, and downright scary.
In the midst of the darkness, Christian is reoriented by doing two things: praying out loud (to drown out the evil sounds around him), and reciting Bible verses (because it was too dark to read his Bible). While they sound a bit cliché and pious at first, these were the desperate acts of a man turning to God for order in the chaos, for light in the darkness, and for hope in the shadow of hell.
Is there a word to describe this gritty, personal trust?
Theologically, it falls under the category of faith. The classic Protestant definition of faith has three aspects: knowledge (notitia), assent (assensus), and trust (fiducia). For instance, a person with true and healthy faith not only understands that Jesus claimed to be the Savior of sinners, but agrees that Jesus actually is the Savior of sinners, and trusts that Jesus is their Savior from their sin. It is that third and most personal aspect of faith that Christian exemplified most in the Valley of the Shadow of Death; he took what he knew to be true, and leaned into it with all of his heart. But somehow, the word “faith” doesn’t seem to do justice to Christian’s bold dependence on God.
In his letter to suffering Christians, Peter uses the word entrusting to describe our approach to God in the midst of confusion and danger. In the New Testament, the language of entrusting is the language of stewardship: the responsibility to care for something belonging to another. In the Gospels, Jesus uses this word in to refer to a master entrusting his servants with his possessions (Matthew 24:14; Luke 12:48; Luke 16:11). In his letters, Paul uses this word to refer to God entrusting us with His words (Romans 3:2; Galatians 2:7; 1 Timothy 6:20). But in his letter, Peter uses the word entrusting to describe how we give God stewardship over our very lives. Yes, God already rules over our lives; but when we entrust ourselves to Him we acknowledge our deep and personal trust in God’s rule.
In 1 Peter 2:23, Peter uses Jesus as our example for entrusting ourselves to God. He says, “When He was reviled, He did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but continued entrusting Himself to Him who judges justly.” In the evil and confusion of suffering, Jesus did not merely believe in His Father; He actively entrusted Himself to His Father. While this inward attitude and trust is invisible at its core, it expressed itself in Jesus’ life in ways similar to Christian in The Pilgrim’s Progress – in prayer, and in dependence on God’s Word. These two things are expressed together poignantly in Jesus’ last words, “Into Your hands I commit My spirit (Luke 23:46; Psalm 31:5).”
While the circumstances of our suffering may be different from Jesus’ life, from Bunyan’s life, and even from Christian’s life, we too are called to entrust ourselves into the hands of our Heavenly Father. Our God is a faithful and trustworthy steward, and He will rule our lives with perfect wisdom and goodness. And so as Peter says in his conclusion, “Therefore let those who suffer according to God’s will entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good (1 Peter 4:19).”
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1John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress (Minneapolis: Desiring God, 2014), p. 68.
O LORD of hosts,
blessed is the one who trusts in You!
Rev. Paul G. Settle
Paul, a native of St. Albans, WV, attended WV University, and graduated from Bob Jones University and Columbia Theological Seminary. Ordained to the gospel ministry in 1959, he has served churches in West Virginia, Alabama, Florida, North Carolina, Texas, and South Carolina. He served also as the first Coordinator of the Committee for Christian Education and Publications of the PCA, and as the Director of Ministries at the Ridge Haven Conference Center, near Brevard, NC.
He was the only full-time executive employed by the Steering Committee for a Continuing Presbyterian Church, whose efforts culminated in the establishment of the Presbyterian Church in America. He has served on many denominational committees, contributed articles to a number of periodicals and authored several books, including The Memory Work Notebook, Changeless Truth in a Changing World -- Meditations on the Westminster Confession of Faith, and To God Be the Glory, a popular history of the PCA, celebrating the denomination's 25th. Anniversary. Paul served as Moderator of the PCA General Assembly in 1980. North Texas Presbytery granted him honorable retirement in February, 2007.
Board memberships have included Westminster Theological Seminary, Greenville Presbyterian Theological Seminary, The Presbyterian Journal, The Presbyterian Guardian, WORLD Magazine, and Women To the World.
He was married to Georgia for 54 years. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease in 2002 and was taken home by the Lord in September, 2010. Georgia was the first Consultant for the Women In the Church of the PCA, wrote two WIC study guides, Seasons of Change, Seasons of Grace, and Women of the Bible, and was a founding member of the Board of Directors of Women To the World, a mission organization that ministers to women the world over.
He has two children and three grandchildren.
His hobbies include photography, reading, music and hiking.
Each of us who confess Christ as Lord and Savior should be characterized by what we might call a holy homesickness—a heart for God and His house.
Each of us, if our hearts are right with God, cry out for intimate fellowship with Him and all those whom He has lovingly gathered to Himself. Our souls long—even faint—for that fellowship found in the LORD’s courts. There we will raise our voices in songs of joy and praise to the LORD of hosts, the living God who dwells in our midst. That place of worship is precious to us because of the Person who dwells there: the holy God Himself, our King and our God. He is discovered there in His Word preached, the prayers offered before His throne, the sacramental signs of cleansing, sacrifice, and continuing nurture.
The Christian life could be characterized as a holy pilgrimage to that distant home where God is. Each pilgrim has discovered that those who yearn for Him with holy homesickness as they make their way to God, will certainly find holy happiness.
For holy happiness is found near the altar of God Almighty; the altar where the blood of the Lamb their Lord was spilled as a propitiatory sacrifice for the sins of those who, by grace, walk the way to God. Yes, even for our Lord—no, as for our Lord above all others—the way of the will of God was and is the way of sacrifice—the way of self-sacrifice. And those who would follow Him learn, like the pilgrims of old, that for them, as for their Lord, it is the way of the cross that leads home. This is the way to happiness, for this is the way to God.
And this marvelous discovery—this holy happiness—is possessed only in and by the strength God gives to those who set their hearts on Him. The highway to God is not an easy way—it is narrow, and curves sharply through many switchbacks as it leads steeply upward through a high valley of weeping. The trail crosses waterless, gloomy wastelands, crisscrossed with gullies that hide bandits and wild beasts. But each pilgrim perseveres, making his or her way upward by faith, discovering rich blessings of grace in the hardships experienced on the way to Zion. The high valley of Baca ("weeping") is transformed by faith into a place of springs, and early rains cover it with pools. Weeping is turned into wondrous praise, and weakness into wonderful power. The traveler goes from strength to strength, faith and deep yearning for God growing with every exhausting step along every rocky path. Though the plaudits, pleasures and promises of the world, the flesh, and the devil would tempt the faithful to turn aside, those in whose hearts are the highways to Zion lay hold ever more firmly on Him who is a sun (light, joy, heat, energy) and a shield (protection, courage, victory). The LORD God has promised to bestow favor and honor upon His own, and to withhold no good thing from them.
With self-denying trust in God each pilgrim embraces the ultimate holy happiness—the ultimate blessing of all those who live to glorify and enjoy God, who have not seen but believed—the inexpressible joy that is the destination for every Christian pilgrim: the Beatific Vision: Jesus, face to face.
Beloved, we are going home to our Father God. We are on the way. We walk together to Zion. By the good pleasure of God, who enables all true pilgrims to walk the walk so beautifully portrayed in the life and ministry of Jesus Christ, we shall gaze, one glorious Day, upon His face, the face of Jesus, who has gone to prepare a place for us, the dwelling place of the LORD of hosts, the house of our King and our God. The pilgrimage will be over. We will be home.
And we will never be homesick again.
"O LORD of hosts, blessed is the one who trusts in you!"
"God is faithful, by whom you were called into the fellowship of His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord." —I Corinthians 1:9
"Even so, come quickly, Lord Jesus." —Revelation 22:20c
What is the chief end of man?
The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.
Bill has over 20 years of leadership experience in business and 20 years in the church. In business Bill has served as a principal at the Trammell Crow Company where he led the Tenant Representation Business and the Third Party Ownership Platform. Bill also served TCC as Regional Director for the Bank of America account responsible for 7 cities and almost 500 employees. Bill also served as Executive Vice President for Marketing at Lincoln Property Company where he successfully led the marketing programs for Lincoln Centre, Lincoln Plaza, and Union Bank and Trust Tower in Dallas as well as University Plaza in Ft. Worth. In the church Bill has served as an Assistant Pastor for Park Cities Presbyterian Church for two different periods, responsible for the shepherding ministry to young families, the new members class, and the launching of PCPC@WORK. Bill also served as the church planter of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in McKinney, Texas.
The 1981 film “Chariots of Fire” was nominated for seven Academy Awards and won four, including Best Picture, Best Screenplay, and Best Original Score. The movie is a fact-based story centered around two English athletes, Eric Liddell and Harold Abrahams, who compete in the 1924 Olympic Games. Central to the plot is Eric Liddell’s refusal to run a preliminary heat of the 100-yard dash scheduled for a Sunday. For him to run would be a violation of the Sabbath. Liddell and Abrahams are presented as competitors, but it is their individual motivations for running that I find particularly instructive. Prior to his final race in the 100-yard dash, Abrahams states: “I have ten seconds to justify my entire existence.” In contrast, Liddell proclaims, “God made me fast; and when I run I feel His pleasure.”
I think this juxtaposition of motives is instructive when applied to our own work. Is my work primarily about my glory or God’s? Abrahams’ explanation reflects that of the people who built the Tower of Babel: “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves” (Genesis 11:4). Many in our culture see their work in like manner. It seems their primary achievement is to make a name for themselves, either in professional or financial terms. The purpose of their work is to make their own name great.
Liddell saw his ability to run as a gift from God, and as he fully exercised that gift he found both meaning and joy. The Bible demonstrates that our work has twin objectives. We work for His glory as well as for our good. Genesis 1 informs us that God has privileged His image bearers to be co-creators in partnership with Him. He has condescended to allow us to continue to shape the world that He has first created out of nothing. Essentially, He has commanded His creatures to extend the flourishing nature of the Garden of Eden until it covers the face of the entire earth. In creation, God has provided the raw materials from which men and women are to shape and fill a world for God’s glory and their good.
Work was designed as a good and glorious enterprise. But it is the Fall which has made work hard, seemingly futile and meaningless. Sin turns the purpose of our work from the glory of God to our own glory. We seek to make a name for ourselves rather than making a name for God. “We have exchanged the truth about God for a lie and worshipped and served the creature rather than the Creator, who is blessed forever” (Romans 1: 25).
But the Gospel renews us and reshapes our calling in Ephesians 2:10. “For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them.” Here we find that we are being renewed as God’s work of art, recreated by the Spirit through the finished work Christ Jesus for good works. God is at work in us in order that He might work through us. The good works here is more than our work, but not less than our work. And the fact that God has “prepared” the works beforehand “that we might walk in them” should draw our attention back to Genesis 1 where God provided the raw material of creation as the starting place for our work. Again, God condescends to be co-workers with us in shaping the world according to His design and plan. God is at work in us and through us for His glory and the common good.
Jesus points us then to the ultimate end of our work. “Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works and glorify your father in heaven” ( Matthew 5: 16).
You are God’s work of art. You have been created in His image. How is God’s image made manifest in you? How has God gifted you? To what end do you work? Eric Liddell was fast, and he understood his speed to be a gift from God. When he exercised his gift, he brought glory to God and found pleasure and meaning through it. May you find pleasure and meaning in your work today as you exercise your gifts for His name. Remember that God is at work in you and through you to the praise of His glory.
“If we confess our sins He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.”
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Lately, I have learned some new lessons about grace. This trinity of sources has steered me toward the unmerited favor of God: Scripture, Redemption Groups at PCPC, and Anne Lamott. The main thing I have learned about grace in recent months is that grace comes to us through means that we may not always want, but that God knows we need: confession and prayer.
When I first started working on the youth staff at PCPC in 2014, Mark Davis said at our first All Staff meeting, “If any of you are struggling with a sin pattern and you have had the thought, ‘I can settle this between me and God and I don’t need to tell anyone else,’ then you are believing a lie from the pit of hell.” Those words are not minced. They are also Scripture’s words. As Christians, we love the “already-ness” of God’s grace and forgiveness. But the “not-yet-ness” can be harder to bear. If we are not careful, this lopsided view of grace can lead us down two very slippery slopes: perfectionism or antinonmianism (anti-law). Perfectionism says God’s grace has already made me perfect in Christ, therefore I won’t struggle with sin anymore. Antinomianism says that God is perfect; I am not yet. God’s grace is sufficient to cover all my sin no matter what I do, so I can, in a sense, do whatever I want and still be forgiven. The truth in these two paths are: God IS perfect, and He HAS made us perfect in Christ. However, we will always struggle with our sin, and we need the grace-infused power of Christ and His Word to be able to battle as victors over sin rather than be victims of it.
Anne Lamott says in her book Traveling Mercies that “Grace is having a commitment to—or at least an acceptance of—being ineffective and foolish.” But she does not stop there. It would be easy to take a statement like that or a verse like “by grace I have been saved” and either give up because we are ineffective in living for Christ or become prideful to think, “I’ve got this.” Anne goes on to say, “I do not at all understand the mysteries of grace—only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us.” God’s grace is not a mystical cloak of perfection nor is it a “get out of hell free” card. God’s grace seeks us out. And when it finds us, it grabs us by the collar, points our eyes to Christ, and fills us with Gospel power to want to move from one degree of glory to the next as we become more and more like Christ each day.
Grace is more than two tickets to paradise. It changes us. But how? Through confession and prayer. This is where Scripture and Redemption Groups come in. 1 John says, “If we confess our sins, He [God] is faithful and just to forgive us our sins and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.” This is a loaded verse. In fact, up until a day ago, I think I misunderstood what it meant. I always thought it made God’s grace and forgiveness conditional upon my confession. And ultimately, this is what some Christians believe. It is important to consider verse nine fully connected to verse eight which says, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Miraslov Volf says in his book Free of Charge, “Without confession, I will remain unforgiven, not because God doesn’t forgive, but because a refusal to confess is a rejection of forgiveness.” This confession is, of course, to the Lord, but it is also to others.
Being in Redemption Groups has taught me the glorious means of grace that is confession. When we profess faith in Christ for the first time, we enter into God’s grace and forgiveness of sin by the power of His Spirit. And when we confess our sin in an ongoing way, to God and others, we actually take hold of grace day after day, struggle after struggle. We grasp it, use it, and consume it; it changes us through the community that is created by that confession. Confession is one aspect of something bigger, namely prayer. Prayer is a summoning of God’s grace by coming out of ourselves to encounter God on his terms. And John tells us that the result of confession and prayer is a cleansing and a clothing. We are cleansed from our unrighteousness and clothed with Christ as our propitiation, our wrath-absorber. George Herbert describes prayer as our “Christ-side-piercing spear.” What an image! Our prayers, like the centurion’s spear that poured out Christ’s blood to confirm His death, summon the Gospel of Jesus Christ and pour it into our lives.
God’s grace in Christ, applied by His Holy Spirit, is indeed a mystery. It is summoned by prayer and taken hold of through confession in the midst of community with fellow believers. May God’s grace cover you as you confess and spill out of you as you pray today and in the days to come.
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; the old has gone, the new has come! All this is from God, who reconciled us to himself through Christ and gave us the ministry of reconciliation: that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting men’s sins against them. And he has committed to us the message of reconciliation. We are therefore Christ’s ambassadors, as though God were making his appeal through us. We implore you on Christ’s behalf: Be reconciled to God. God made him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What would you do if you woke up in a whole new life? Like a movie character who opens her eyes to discover she has been transported to a new reality—only it’s your life. You’d quickly ask: “Where am I? Who am I? What am I supposed to do?” Imagine getting your bearings and discovering that you’re in a new place with a new assignment. You’ve been sent to a foreign country to represent the interests of the United States. It dawns on you: “I’m an ambassador.” As you walk the streets, you realize that you’re in a strange place with unfamiliar people all around you. These people don’t seem to share your interests or passions. Your mind begins to race: “What do I say? How do I represent home in this place?”
This scenario, which seems worlds away, is really the daily reality for those who are in Christ. When Christians open their eyes each day, they wake up in a whole new life. Paul says, “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation.” We have new answers to old questions, because the old has gone and the new has come. So where are we? We are in Christ, and we are here, but our relationship to this place has changed. Who are we? We are a new creation thanks to the reconciling, renewing grace of Jesus Christ. And what are we supposed to do? We are no longer to live for ourselves, but for Him who died for us and was raised again. We have a new home, a new identity, and a new mission. In short, a whole new life. The Lord has sent us to a strange place, not to represent ourselves, but Him. Have we really grasped the significance of being Christ’s ambassadors?
As much as we long for something novel, most of the time we just need a reminder. In the next six weeks, we’ll be reminded of the kind of vision that should frame every day of our lives. It’s a vision that is easy to say but hard to live. We say that “we exist to extend the transforming presence of the Kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ in Dallas and to the world”, but what does it mean to live that? It means moving from words on a page to lives on a mission. It means embracing our calling as ambassadors. It means seeking to extend ourselves for the sake of the gospel. It means rejoicing that we are now involved in the most significant thing happening in the world: God’s ministry of reconciliation.
The vision of EXTEND is more a return than a revolution. As we always do, we return to the good news that Jesus, through His incarnation, death, and resurrection, has extended Himself to us. Paul writes, “God made Him who had no sin to be sin for us, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” The cross is the ultimate picture of what it means to extend. Jesus exerted Himself to the utmost. He took our sin upon Himself and held out His grace to us. And through His loving sacrifice and the power of His Spirit, He continues to cause His transforming presence to cover an ever-expanding area.
As we reflect on the Gospel, we’re reminded of what the Lord did for us and what He intends to do through us. The Lord could accomplish His purposes however He wants, but Paul says that God has committed to us the message of reconciliation. As we think about the world that needs Jesus Christ, it’s as though God is making His appeal through us. If we have received His message, we have become His messengers. Wherever we go, the Lord is calling us to be His ambassadors, to extend ourselves so that the world might catch a glimpse of the One who extended Himself. The vision of extending has always been with us as a church, but the Lord has given us this season to realign our hearts with His. And as we do, our prayer is that the Lord would transform us, our city, and the world.
In this season, we believe the Lord is calling us to pray bold prayers and to dream big dreams. So let’s ask the Lord, “How are You calling us to extend?” And let’s dream of how the Lord might use us to open new doors, to plant new churches, and to usher in a new city. Brothers and sisters, we serve a God who raises the dead, who turns enemies into ambassadors. When we realize that we have a whole new life in Christ, what will we do? Will we take the time to stop? Will we create the space to listen? Will we pray for the grace to follow wherever the Lord leads?
So Jesus again said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the Door of the sheep. All who came before Me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the Door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
If you know anything about sheep, you know that they’re not the most impressive members of the animal kingdom. They’re not particularly beautiful, smart, or fast; but at least they can’t defend themselves! We can process the sheep scouting report with little emotional attachment until we remember that we’re often compared to sheep in the Scriptures. Suddenly, it feels personal. We’re not particularly beautiful, smart, or fast. We are helpless on our own. Let’s just say the sheep metaphor is not meant to puff us up. So why does the Lord love this imagery? When we grasp the reality of our vulnerability as sheep, we begin to see the glory of having a Good Shepherd. We scratch and claw to prove our worth as sheep, and all the while our Good Shepherd offers us everything we need. Jesus becomes the beauty, wisdom, and security of His sheep.
So what is the connection between a shepherd and a door? Remember, sheep are vulnerable on every side. So a good shepherd is eager to find a location where his sheep are enclosed. Imagine a natural setting where a mountain forms a back wall, and trees and fences seal off the sides. But there still must be a door for the sheep to go in and out of that pasture. When Jesus claims that He is the Door of the sheep, we should imagine Him placing Himself in this most crucial passageway. The lost sheep must go through Him to find good pasture. The found sheep must go through Him to leave. And all the threats and dangers outside the fold must go through Him to touch His flock. Jesus is the Door, and we all must ask, “Am I inside or outside the Door?” Outside of Christ, we are lost sheep who do not recognize His voice, who look at death and call it life, who look at Life and call Him death. But in Christ, as we walk through the Door, we hear His voice, respond, and find abundant life. The Good Shepherd laid down His own life to rescue us from death and give us life. Through His death and resurrection, Jesus has stood in the gap and overcome every threat to our life in Him. Truly, the Lord is our Shepherd, and we want for nothing. He gives us rest in verdant pastures. He leads us to pure, clean waters. He restores our weary souls. And wherever we walk—even through the valley of the shadow—He is with us. Jesus is the Door to abundant life with God. Have you entered by Him?
There is only one Christ, but as C.S. Lewis says, we are “little Christs.” There is only one Good Shepherd, but we are sheep who have become mini-shepherds. Jesus is the Door, but God often uses us as a door through which other people walk to connect with Jesus Christ. Whom has the Lord used to help you to see Jesus? Who has been a “door” for you? There have been so many doors in my life. I think of Ann, Frank, Leith, Kim, Todd, Jason, John, Mac, Mark, Russ, and Brent (and the list could go on and on). The Lord brings people into our lives to share His love, to speak His Word, and to live His life before us so that we can see what it means to follow the Good Shepherd.
As we think about extending ourselves for the cause of Christ, we’re praying that the Lord will open new doors for fruitful ministry in our church. Making it easier for people to park and make it through the door matters. Providing adequate facilities for children, youth, and adult communities matters. Having more space for ministries that have reached capacity matters. But the people will always be more significant than the project. The flock will always mean more than the facility. If we don’t catch the vision of every believer being a new door through which others can connect with the Door, parking lots and buildings won’t make a difference. Left to ourselves, we’re not that impressive. We’re just sheep. But the Good Shepherd became a Lamb who was slain in order to bring us back into the fold. By His grace, we are His sheep who are becoming shepherds that reflect His sacrificial love for the lost. We are doors that open to the Door.
As you pray this week, stop, listen, and follow. Stop and think about Jesus’ claim: “I am the Door.” Have you entered by Him? Do you believe that a day in His courts is better than a thousand elsewhere? Listen to His voice: “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” Do you know abundant life in Christ? Do you long for others to taste that life? Follow where He leads: “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness” (Psalm 84:10). Is your ambition to be a faithful member of the family of God? What if we are the most important new doors at our church?
After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“Age is just a number; I’m young at heart.” Those are two phrases you probably won’t hear from a child. Children aren’t self-conscious about their age. Birthdays are for parties, not pity! At their best, children are too young to be cynical, too hopeful not to lose themselves in the moment. Most children don’t care about a clock; most adults don’t survive without a calendar. As we get older, we may gain wisdom, resources, and influence. But we also face the dangers of being more established in the world. We can trade living with passion for maintaining the status quo. We can trade serving others for protecting ourselves. We can trade childlike hope for growing cynicism. Aging with grace is not easy.
Do aging churches face the same challenges as aging people? Let’s compare younger church plants with older established churches. In one corner we have church plants, with their vibrant vision, evangelistic zeal, cultural sensitivity, team spirit, and world-changing ambition. I’m not saying that church planting is easy or that every church plant is a picture of health. But the reality of the task demands a vision that appeals to outsiders, a love that welcomes the stranger, and a commitment that engages every member. In the other corner we have established churches, with their improved facilities, predictable finances, varied ministries, and multigenerational flavor. Aging churches are not wrong to have buildings, budgets, or a breadth of options. But being an established church can bring a growing sense of obligation to keep doing what we’re doing, to maintain what we have, and to care for our own. Before long, an older church can lose the heartbeat that made it what it is. The passion to reach new people can give way to the priority of doing church for “us”. In an established church, people can easily become spectators who consume ministry instead of ambassadors who engage in it.
As our church grows older, what would it mean for us to think like a church plant? It starts with reminding ourselves over and over why we’re here. We don’t exist for ourselves. We exist to extend ourselves so that more and more people will experience the transforming grace of Jesus Christ. We should never grow tired of seeing new people come to know the Lord. Do we believe that the next person who walks through the door is as significant as the person who has been here from the beginning? In the heavenly vision of Revelation 7, we see “a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb” (Revelation 7:9). That’s beautiful, but how do we get there? How does God intend to gather this international, cross-cultural multitude? The plan hasn’t changed. The Lord uses gospel-preaching churches to plant gospel-preaching churches that will plant gospel-preaching churches. Thinking like a church plant means that we never forget how we got here, and we treasure the privilege to be involved in planting churches until the Lord returns. Whatever we invest in our own church should be seen as a strategic investment in new churches that will proclaim the good news: “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” (Revelation 7:10).
Are we bored with the mission of God? In Revelation 7, there’s nothing boring about the worship of heaven. People cry out with loud voices. Angels and elders and the four living creatures fall on their faces and worship God. In heaven, familiarity does not breed contempt. Proximity ignites passion! Earlier in Revelation, the Lord charges one church with forgetting her first love (Revelation 2:4). Have we? We’ve heard before, “What goes deepest to the heart goes widest to the world.” Thinking like a church plant means remembering and treasuring Jesus so that His love goes deepest to our hearts and widest to the world. Some churches have been open for centuries; some for only a fraction of that time. A new church can be “old”, and an old church can be “new”. What matters is the heart of the people and the presence of the Spirit. Each week we gather to worship the same God, hear the same gospel, and remind ourselves of the same mission. When the years start to add up, how will we relate to the monotony? As our church gets older, can we still say, “Age is just a number; we’re young at heart”? G.K. Chesterton writes:
God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.
Perhaps God never tires of planting daisies, but He surely never tires of planting churches. For centuries He has said, “Do it again,” as His word and Spirit gather His people around the world. Jesus loves His church so much that He endured the cross for her joy. As His beloved people, will we stop and listen? Will we hear the voice of practicality calling us to play it safe…or the voice of Jesus calling us to extend ourselves? Will we follow our urge to build our own kingdom…or will we follow our Lord in His great church-planting mission? Brothers and sisters, the Lord is calling us to live in light of that great Day when He will gather His church together in that city with foundations, whose designer and builder is God. There, the season of church planting will close with a harvest song: “Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and forever” (Revelation 7:12). There, age will just be a number, for we will spend eternity growing young in God’s presence.
But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in Him.”
The LORD is good to those who wait for Him,
to the soul who seeks Him.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
There’s a reason Lamentations 3:21-25 sounds familiar. This passage speaks of the Lord’s mercies in an unforgettable way: “His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.” If we haven’t heard these verses, we’ve probably sung them. The hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” rises from this text. These five verses may be familiar, but the rest of the book is likely not. The dictionary helps us understand why. When we look up lament, we read: “a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.” We’re drawn to joyful worship, passionate preaching, authentic fellowship, and sacrificial service. But lament? Who wants to attend the evening of lament at church? Lamentations is the passionate expression of grief as God’s people wrestle with the destruction of their homeland. In an age of options, who could blame us for wanting to change the channel? But the language of lament is not unusual in the Bible; it just feels unusual in our time and place. We can’t read the Psalms for long without running into a lament, but what do we do when we stumble upon one? Do we enter into the darkness, or do we run ahead looking for light? The hope of Lamentations 3:21-25 is deeply connected to a moment of lament. We should ask ourselves: Would passages like these reach so high if their roots weren’t planted so deeply in the soil of sadness? And if not, what does that mean for us if we choose superficial joy over the deeper joy that comes on the other side of lament?
When he lost his son in a hiking accident, philosopher Nicholas Wolterstorff penned a lament. In the midst of his devastation, he wrote, “Every lament is a love song.” God’s people lamented because they loved Jerusalem and they loved the Lord, and they feared they had lost both. If we allow ourselves to go there, what would be our lament? Where could we sing the song of love lost? In relationships with friends or family, could we lament what we’ve said or left unsaid? Could we lament the distance we feel because we’ve failed to spend time or seek reconciliation? In our work, could we lament the choices that we’ve made when we were blown by the winds of wrong motives to places that we desired…until we got there? Could we lament the wasted hours, days, and opportunities? In our relationship with God, could we lament the sin that clings so closely, the moments when we do what we hate and hate what we do? Could we lament the sluggishness of hearts that are prone to wander, even after we’ve experienced more of the mercies of God?
I ask because I sense that many of us do not know how to lament. We hear Jesus saying, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” and we think, “That’s great for the sad mourning people out there somewhere.” Many of us are second-hand mourners. Lament is biography, not autobiography. I ask because I fear, as long as that is the case, the comfort of the Gospel will be biography, not autobiography. We become people handing out flyers to places we’ve never been, inviting others to experience the life-changing love of Christ when we are too afraid to go there ourselves. I ask because I know that we’re tempted to waste our lives chasing the next new thing, when only Jesus is big enough to satisfy our longing. I ask because only Christ can make all things new, but we’re tempted to choose the old that we know over the new that we don’t.
The only way to new life in Christ is to confront the lamentable devastation of what is old. With brutal honesty, the author of Lamentations brings his lament before the Lord. And it’s there, in the smoldering ashes of devastation, that something new happens. The poet gives us a vital practice: calling things to mind. When difficulty comes, we cannot avoid remembering or preaching some kind of message to ourselves. So will we listen to the voice of hopelessness, or will we call to mind the voice of God? Will we yield to the darkness, or will we remind ourselves of the Light who shines in the darkness? When all the signs suggest otherwise, we preach to ourselves that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. When we think that we’ve exhausted His forgiveness, we call to mind that His mercies never come to an end. When we fear that we’ll be forsaken, we declare, “Great is His faithfulness.” When nothing else satisfies, we proclaim, “The Lord is my portion.” By His grace, we learn to wait on the Lord…and to lament. We follow Jesus, who is the pattern and power of our altogether new life. In the middle of our efforts to avoid difficulty, can we see Jesus waiting, lamenting, and suffering? He seems to know that the way to new is not around but through. So what does He see that we don’t? On the other side of lament, there is joy. On the other side of death, there is resurrection. On the other side of old, there is new. There is much to lament, but this we call to mind, and therefore we have hope.
For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come.
Hebrews 13:14
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away.”
Revelation 21:1-5
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
Matthew 5:14-16
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What do we see when we look at our city? Do we see beauty or ugliness? Soaring skyscrapers or dilapidated dwellings? Do we see light or darkness? Harmony or discord? Righteousness or injustice? Do we see opportunity or despair? Promise or hopelessness? Do we see riches or poverty? People thriving or people wasting away? Signs of life on the outside or signs of decay on the inside? Do we see laughter or tears? If we have eyes to see, when we look at our city, we see it all. This place is beautiful and broken, glorious ruins, like the people who inhabit it. God made us for Himself, to bear His image, to reflect His creativity in ordering chaos and building civilization. But ever since the Fall, we are drawn to building for ourselves instead of building for God’s glory. Like the bricklayers of Babel, we are tempted to make a name for ourselves and defame the Name of the true Builder. And the higher our worldly ambition reaches, the farther the Lord has to “come down” to see it (Genesis 11:5). The reality of God’s common grace explains many of the beauties and benefits of living in a city, and the reality of sin explains much of the danger and devastation that dwell here, too. How we live in the midst of all these tensions truly reveals how we see God, ourselves, and our city. Are we here for ourselves or for the Lord? Is the city here for us or are we here for the city? Are we parasites or blessings to this place?
God’s Word offers us a corrective dose of realism as we think about our city. “For here we have no lasting city,” the author of Hebrews writes. If we’re honest, evidence of this fact is all around us. We see it in the ruins of history’s greatest cities, now reduced to rubble and tourist attractions. We see it in the unending construction around us. Roads, bridges, and buildings are falling apart. We’re tearing down perfectly functional homes to build new homes that will immediately start to decay. We’re longing for a place that can withstand the relentless forces of time and nature. Left to ourselves, however, we try to make heaven on earth, just not in God’s way. We seek the perfect paradise in a home or a backyard or a vacation, but the ache for permanence remains. So the author of Hebrews reminds us that “we seek the city that is to come.” The longing is not an accident, for the Lord is building a city that will satisfy it. Ironically, if we want to build a life and a city that lasts, we must first embrace the fading futility of what we see with our physical eyes. Then, with eyes of faith, the Lord can begin to give us a vision for the city that is to come, and we can begin to pray with new vigor: “Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.” Are we willing to surrender our counterfeit kingdoms and scrape our Babel-ish buildings in order to embrace God’s dream for our city?
If we are, God’s Word also offers us a spectacular hope. John’s vision in Revelation 21 should cause our hearts to burn and our imaginations to soar. John sees “the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.” Just as Jesus came down from heaven to dwell with us on earth, the City of God will come down from heaven to earth. And as beautiful as the new creation will be, the defining characteristic of the place is the Lord’s presence. “And the name of the city from that time on shall be, The LORD is there” (Ezekiel 48:35). The dwelling place of God will be with us; we will be His people, and He Himself will be with us as our God. In that place, God will ruin everything that ruins our cities: tears, death, mourning, and pain. The former things will pass away in the presence of Him who is making all things new. How does a heavenly vision affect our lives on earth? If we are citizens of this city that is to come, we should begin to relate to our earthly city in new ways. We can embrace that we are the light of the world, a city set on a hill, the first rays of light heralding the coming warmth of the rising Son. We can celebrate that God Himself is with us, when we gather as a church family and when we scatter to every corner of the city. We can engage with the brokenness in our own lives and in our city with new urgency and fresh hope. We can no longer exploit or avoid the city. Following a Savior who died for His enemies, we must lay down our lives to love this city and its people. Wherever injustice, racism, wealth, or poverty are obscuring the abundant life of Christ, we must extend ourselves, to be and to bring the transforming presence of the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ. What did Jesus see when He looked at the City of Man? He saw a beautiful, broken place full of people He loved and longed to redeem. And He gave everything He had to that mission. What do we see when we look at our city, and by God’s grace, what will we do?
He entered Jericho and was passing through. And behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was small in stature. So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was about to pass the way. And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried and came down and received Him joyfully. And when they saw it, they all grumbled, “He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.” And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
How far are you willing to go to see something great? Have you made the trek to the Grand Canyon or another national park? Have you climbed a high mountain? Have you seen the sun rise over the ocean? Have you stood before a majestic waterfall and felt its power? Have you gone across the country for your favorite band or team? Have you hopped on a plane to surprise someone you love? Maybe you haven’t seen or done some of these things, but the mere mention of them stirs your desire. Most of us aren’t content with a postcard from the Grand Canyon. We want to go. We want to see. And when we see something great and glorious, it changes us. The life that made sense suddenly feels inadequate. The priorities that seemed right suddenly appear trivial. Sometimes we see something that changes everything. Or like Zacchaeus, we see Someone who changes everything.
Imagine what Zacchaeus had seen. He was not just a tax collector. He was the chief tax collector, and he was rich. He had tasted the pleasures of power and wealth. He had seen the best that the world had to offer, yet he was still looking. “He was seeking to see who Jesus was.” But Zacchaeus had two problems: he wasn’t popular, and he wasn’t tall. The crowds that followed Jesus were not kind to vertically challenged tax collectors. But Zacchaeus was willing to go far to see something great. The little tax man ran ahead of the crowds. He found a low-hanging branch and started to climb. He ignored the shame for a shot—a shot to see Jesus. Zacchaeus was looking for Jesus, but he suddenly realized that Jesus was looking for him. The seeker had been sought; the lost had been found. Seeing Jesus changed the way Zacchaeus saw everything else. Everything that had been great for Zacchaeus faded in the presence of the glory of Christ. Zacchaeus’ use of power was no longer desirable, but despicable. His hoarding of wealth was no longer gratifying, but gross. In a moment, by the power of God, Zacchaeus was becoming a new person in Christ. That radical transformation quickly overflowed into a new commitment to radical generosity. Zacchaeus had hurt others by taking, but now he would help others by giving. All because he saw Jesus, and he knew that Jesus had seen and loved him.
Perhaps we’ve gone to great lengths to see something beautiful at some point in our lives. But how far are we willing to go to see Jesus? When we’ve seen the best the world has to offer, and we’re still looking, will we seek to see Jesus? Do we realize that the crowd around us—no matter who they are—can make it difficult to see Him for who He really is? What would it look like for us to get above the crowd and see Jesus? As much as we would love to control the process, Jesus flips the script. He makes the first move. He comes to our place. He sees us, and if we really see Him, He must have opened our eyes. So before we think about extending ourselves, we must consider how Jesus extended Himself. How far did Jesus go to see the greatest sight—the glory of God in the joy of His redeemed people? He left His home so that we would be brought home to God. He was torn so that we would be mended. He was poured out so that we would be filled. He was disfigured so that we would be beautiful. He was hated so that we would be loved. He closed His eyes in death so that we would open our eyes and share in His resurrection life. Have we seen this Jesus? If we have, it should be our joy to extend ourselves in new ways. How far are we willing to go to see something great? To see Jesus and to help others see Him? Will we stop and climb above the crowd? Will we look and listen for Jesus in His Word? And will we follow wherever He leads?
When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down:
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Every time our church celebrates the Lord’s Supper, we hear these beautiful words: “These are the gifts of God for you, the people of God.” The gifts are the bread and the cup; tangible symbols pointing to the reality of God’s saving love for us in Jesus Christ crucified. To those who know the depth of their sin and who feel the weaknesses of their faith, these gifts of God provide relief and stability. These gifts also motivate various responses from us, such as worship, evangelism, and obedience. But there is another response that we too often miss: service.
In a way, all of us like service; we like to be served, and we even like the idea of serving others. But few if any of us are naturally inclined to the actual task of serving others. So we may have felt some internal resistance when heard these words on Sunday, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another (1 Peter 4:10).”
Sin and the culture of self we sojourn within may threaten to draw us inward, but the gospel of Jesus Christ always drives us outward. Embracing God’s gift to us in Jesus is the key to extending our gifts to serve one another. When we understand and believe Jesus came not to be served by us but to serve us by breaking his body and shedding his blood on the cross, the Holy Spirit initiates a radical reorientation in us. Our old resistance to serving one another shrinks, and our new desire to serve one another grows. That reorientation is not instant or perfect, but it is steady reality in the Christian. As Donald Whitney testifies, “One of the clearest indications that a person has truly believed the gospel of Jesus is that their selfish desire to be served is overcome by a Christlike desire to serve.”
While our spiritual gifts and avenues of service to one another may vary, our central motivation to extend them in service to others is always the same: Jesus Christ – the gift of God for us, the people of God. May we feed on Him our hearts by faith this week, and may we grow to be a people who serve one another in love and gratitude.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
For two millennia, the Christian Church has wrestled with its place in culture. Over the years, many Christians have held to a sectarian view of the Church. Sectarians believe that culture is hostile to the purity of the Church and should be avoided. This type of Christianity is marked by the strict boundaries often seen in fundamentalism. Others have understood the relationship between Church and culture to be quite the opposite. Syncretists believe that the Church should be accommodating to culture. In their view, there is no separation between the sacred and the secular. The Emergent church movement has most recently exhibited this kind of thinking. Emergent or fundamentalist, syncretist or sectarian, it is clear that the tense relationship between the Church and culture remains just as relevant now as was 2,000 years ago.
I have found 1 Peter tremendously helpful in my own life as I struggle to live as a Christian in a changing culture. Vital to Peter’s understanding of Christian living in the midst of culture is the notion that the Church is a people. Peter writes in verse 9 of chapter 2, “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of His own possession.” Peter’s description of the Church is astounding. Drawing from a host of Old Testament references, Peter ascribes terminology to the Church that was once reserved for Israel, God’s chosen people.
In 1 Peter 2:9, Peter first describes the Church as “a chosen race.” Taken from Isaiah 43:20, the word “race” refers to a people of common ancestry. Within the context of Isaiah, that ancestry is the line of Abraham, the people of Israel. But, within the context of 1 Peter 2:9, that ancestry is attributed to Jesus Christ. To be a Christian is to be a part of a new race, a new people of God.
Peter then goes on to describe the Church as “a royal priesthood” and a “holy nation.” These phrases are taken from Exodus 19:6. The phrase “royal priesthood” identifies the Church as a community of priests who now devote their lives and their service to the true King, Jesus Christ. The phrase “holy nation” describes the Church as a community that has been set apart to live differently in the way they conduct themselves. This distinction is rooted in Peter’s earlier command in 1 Peter 1:14-18, “As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as He who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct.”
The last phrase Peter uses to describe the Church in verse 9 is “a people of His own possession.” While similar wording can be found in both Exodus 19:5 (a proper people) and Isaiah 43:21 (My people whom I have acquired), this phrase is most intimately linked with Peter’s words in verse 10, “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” Verse 10 is the capstone in Peter’s description of the Church of Jesus Christ. In verse 9, Peter ascribes the attributes of Israel to the Church. In verse 10, Peter implies that the Church is a fulfillment of the ancient prophecy found in Hosea 2:23, “And I will have mercy on No Mercy, and I will say to Not My People, ‘You are My people’; and he shall say, ‘You are my God.’” This is what is so amazing about the Church of Jesus Christ. We are faithless adulterers who constantly turn our backs on God, yet He is faithful where we are faithless. He sent the Bridegroom, Jesus Christ, to redeem His bride, the Church.
Of all the ways the Church is described in 1 Peter 2, perhaps the most pivotal is found in verse 11. Peter writes, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.” Peter refers to the Church as “sojourners” and “exiles.” Peter is essentially saying that to be Christian is to be different. So different, in fact, that Christians are like foreigners who have taken up residence as refugees in society. Yet how are we to understand the difference between Church and culture? Our identity as Christians in a secular culture is rooted in our union with Christ. We are sojourners because Jesus Christ was the ultimate sojourner. We are exiles because He was the ultimate exile among His own people, who rejected Him and condemned Him to die on the cross. It was He who was the real Chosen One, the ultimate Royal Priest, the true Holy One. As a people united with Christ, the Church then is a chosen race, a royal priest hood, and a holy nation. Our Christian difference is found only in our identity with Jesus Christ: our serving found in His servanthood, our suffering found in His suffering, our hope found in His death and resurrection. Redeemed, we are sojourners in a culture in need of redemption.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To Him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
They were unschooled tradesmen in the beginning, getting by in the north, near the border. They shared nothing at the start. The zealot was the sworn enemy of the tax collector, and the brothers from the fishing family jostled everyone and each other for position. Their unelected spokesman was impulsive and could be quick tempered. But they came together and traveled together and lived together; this unlikely band of unknowns. One of their number wasn't with them at the beginning. He was an intellectual "townie" from the south, and puffed up with self-righteous fury. He happily hunted and destroyed perceived enemies of his religiosity.
But something changed them. Years later one of those brothers, one of the "Sons of Thunder" would write love letters to far-away places he would have once despised. The fiery leader would implore his friends to submit to the very authorities who were murdering them. And the scholar? He continued to travel, but to teach, not terrorize. With only one sad exception, this peripatetic mob became galvanized into unified, widely dispersed couriers of eternal truth.
What made the change? They had nothing in the world to gain by forsaking their backgrounds, their homes, their prejudices. They suffered unimaginable hardships. And they spoke and wrote and lived lives of love. How did that happen?
They were loved by Jesus. He called them, you see, every one of them. And He taught them and prayed for them, and right before He was crucified, He knelt in the dust and washed their filthy feet. Then He told them to love each other. Start there, He said, with each other.
The same thing happens to you and me. Called by Jesus, filled with the same Holy Spirit He told those disciples about, and basking in the breathtaking love of Christ, we begin to know what it means to love earnestly. We know because we have been loved earnestly. We begin to understand how that once murderous rabbi could write that "Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude." We can understand how the "disciple that Jesus loved" could teach us, "We know that we have passed out of death into life, because we love the brothers." And we grasp the glorious magnitude of a forgiven and restored Peter reminding the church, "Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins." God's love in Christ changes us.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers.
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And they went to a place called Gethsemane. And He said to His disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” And He took with Him Peter and James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled. And He said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death. Remain here and watch.” And going a little farther, He fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Remove this cup from Me. Yet not what I will, but what You will.” And He came and found them sleeping, and He said to Peter, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” And again He went away and prayed, saying the same words. And again He came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy, and they did not know what to answer Him. And He came the third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? It is enough; the hour has come. The Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, My betrayer is at hand.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
How would we trace the story of urgency in Peter’s life? We could follow him from the shores of the sea, where he labored to catch fish, to the roads of Caesarea Philippi, where he passionately declared, “You are the Christ!” (Matthew 16:16). We could follow him from the Garden of Gethsemane, where he tried to thwart Jesus’ plan, to the streets of Jerusalem, where he told the religious leaders, “We cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20). We could follow him from the moment that he laid down his nets to the moment that he laid down his life. Through all the ups and downs, we would see a man who learned that “the end of all things is at hand,” a man who invites us to “be self-controlled and sober-minded” for the sake of our prayers (1 Peter 4:7).
Peter was passionate, but passion can be misdirected. Like Peter, our urgency is often tainted by self-interest and self-preservation. But by God’s grace, passion can also be redirected. As He did in Peter’s life, the Lord wakes us up to the glory of His person and purposes. Our self-centered urgency begins to fall asleep as a Christ-centered passion awakens. If urgency reflects priority, Peter’s life reminds us that the Lord is always realigning our priorities to reflect the centrality of Jesus Christ and His mission. The question is: Are we open to that kind of process, to having our priorities challenged and changed?
If we traced the story of urgency in our own lives, what would we see? How do our priorities shine through in our sense of urgency (or lack thereof)? Are we awake to the glory of Christ and the priority of knowing Him and making Him known? Or are we distracted by the urgency of good but not ultimate concerns: finishing school, doing our job, finding a spouse, maintaining a home, caring for children or parents? Have secondary concerns so consumed us that we are numb to our primary calling to abide in Christ? As we nod off into a spiritual slumber, do we even recognize the voice of the tempter? Brothers and sisters, watch and pray. Consider the One who resolved to go to the cross, even as His best friends fell asleep. Remember the One who rose from the grave, even as His best friends lost hope. Remember the One who is coming again, even when we lose our urgency. Jesus knows our struggle and loves us. Jesus prays for us and has the power to awaken us. Watch and pray.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To Him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
It may sound cliché, but we have much to learn from the early church, from those who embraced the Christian message and lifestyle in all of its freshness and force. When we read the New Testament, particularly books like Acts and the life and letters of Peter, we see a clear and vibrant commitment to worship, prayer, evangelism, and the Holy Spirit. In varying degrees, many of those commitments have been emphasized throughout the history of the church and continue to be valued today.
But this past Sunday we considered a commitment of the early church that for various reasons has fallen by the wayside, at least in the contemporary American churches. In his book, Thirty Years That Changed the World, scholar Michael Green notes that it was hospitality that was one of the hallmarks of the lifestyle of the early church. He writes, “Hospitality is one of the greatest joys in life, and the early Christians used it to the full; but it is undeniably costly. It costs time, effort, trouble, money. Yet the first Christians found it absolutely central to their mission. Their hospitality to strangers was legendary…This love, this cohesiveness, this hospitality is no less vital today.” The hospitality Green describes, and which Peter commends in 1 Peter 4:9, is the practice of welcoming people into one’s home, not only for a few hours of talking and eating, but for an extended time of living as guests.
Countless dynamics of our culture push back against the idea of practicing this type of hospitality. Many of us have become too busy, too individualistic, too fearful, and too dependent on institutions to consider hospitality possible, much less normal. Sure, there may be some younger “radical” Christians who could take the disruption of hospitality in stride, or maybe some older “empty nester” Christians who might even enjoy the hustle and bustle of it for a season. But if Peter only knew the pace and pressures of our lives, he might back off the idea of hospitality as a universal Christian commitment, right? Probably not. In fact, he might just consider that question itself a form of “grumbling” (1 Peter 4:9).
It’s worth noting that hospitality is the first example Peter gives of what it looks like to “love one another earnestly (1 Peter 4:8).” If hospitality is an act of love, there’s little room for opting out. In fact, if hospitality is an act of love than it is one of the most essential duties of our lives as Christians. Remember how Jesus described the most important commandments? He said, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind. This is the great and first commandment. And a second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. On these two commandments depend all the Law and the Prophets (Matthew 22:37-40).” To show loving hospitality, no matter how counter-cultural or disruptive it may seem, is basic to Christianity.
By God’s grace, in Jesus Christ we have a perfect model of and motivation for hospitality. In the most unexpected and selfless acts of history, the Son of God left His home and sacrificed Himself so that we, His enemies, would be shown eternal welcome in heaven as His family. As we consider together how God is calling us to show hospitality to one another, may God dissolve our objections and fears with the power of His loving hospitality to us.
When the day of Pentecost arrived, they were all together in one place. And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and rested[a] on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.
Now there were dwelling in Jerusalem Jews, devout men from every nation under heaven. And at this sound the multitude came together, and they were bewildered, because each one was hearing them speak in his own language. And they were amazed and astonished, saying, “Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians—we hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God.” And all were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, “What does this mean?”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The "vacation" included 1,720 highway miles back and forth across Interstate 70, the asphalt cummerbund of the country. Strapped into their safety seats like tiny cosmonauts were an insatiably curious four-year-old boy and his ebullient three-year-old brother. There are lots of questions to ask in 29 hours on the road! And in western Kansas, the horizon is punctuated by crops of enormous windmills. They stand over 260 feet tall, with wingspans of nearly 250 feet. Turning slowly in the Mid-American wind, they beckon those questions like mesmerizing sirens of the prairie.
"Why are those there, Grandpa?" "They make electricity from the wind," I answered, foolishly thinking that would do it. "How?" Then came my ridiculous soliloquy about generators, and magnetic flux, and wire coils, and other mumbo-jumbo that didn't even make sense to me. What I should have given the boys was the observation and not an explanation. The powerful, invisible wind turns those blades. And the wind's power is changed into visible things like light and movement. But the light and movement began with the blowing wind. Exactly how that happens is hard to understand, but it's easy to see the results.
That's how Peter talked on that Pentecost morning when the power of the Holy Spirit blew across the early church. Something amazing happened, something frightening and mysterious. And when the stunned crowd asked the church's spokesman for an explanation, he gave them the observation. He told them that they were witnessing the one, true, invisible God making Himself visible through the changed hearts and actions of His followers. God had sent His Son to be the exact representation of the Father, said Peter. And now, the breathtaking, awe-inspiring reality is that God has sent the Holy Spirit to indwell His people. And why? To make His glories known, to make Himself visible in the lives of the "Christ's Ones." At last, the gathered people of God will live out their purpose—to bear God's image in God's world. They will be the body of Christ. We have seen it, said Peter, and so have you.
So what happened to the believers? When the wind of the Spirit blew into their hearts and transformed them, what characterized them? What was the visible outcome? They became a united people, empowered by God and characterized by, "...glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people." May we live out the powerful reality of God the Holy Spirit at work in our lives to make our Savior seen.
So I exhort the elders among you, as a fellow elder and a witness of the sufferings of Christ, as well as a partaker in the glory that is going to be revealed: shepherd the flock of God that is among you, exercising oversight, not under compulsion, but willingly, as God would have you; not for shameful gain, but eagerly; not domineering over those in your charge, but being examples to the flock. And when the chief Shepherd appears, you will receive the unfading crown of glory.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
On Sunday, we had the privilege of ordaining and installing a group of men who have been called and confirmed to serve the church as elders and deacons. We believe the Lord has called these officers to “shepherd the flock of God” (1 Peter 5:2). As we focused on Peter’s exhortation to the elders of the early church, we considered the challenges of being a shepherd. Whether we are officers or not, many of these challenges apply to all of us as we love and serve one another. Some are called to ordained offices in the church, but we all are called to shepherd somewhere—in our families, friendships, neighborhoods, and workplaces. What must we remember as we seek to shepherd others?
Throughout our study of the life and letter of Peter, we have been reminded that it is absolutely essential for us to embrace our primary, permanent identity as beloved children of God. Jesus Christ, “the chief Shepherd,” has lived, died, risen, and ascended to bring all of His wandering sheep home. The Good Shepherd became a Lamb who was slain so that His lost sheep could rest in the security of His loving embrace. We should always be more impressed with what the Lord has done for us than what we are doing for Him, but we are prone to wander away from green pastures and quiet waters. We are tempted to try on other identities, and finding our meaning in serving the Lord is an alluring one. Oswald Chambers warns us, “Beware of anything that competes with your loyalty to Jesus Christ. The greatest competitor of true devotion to Jesus is the service we do for Him.” When the secondary becomes primary, we are on the road to idolatry. When serving Jesus supplants abiding in Jesus, the shift seems subtle, but it’s significant. We begin to see ourselves primarily as shepherds, not sheep, and the weight of ministry shifts from the Lord’s everlasting arms to our own fumbling hands. Defining ourselves as people who do this or that for the Lord may seem noble, but rejecting the identity we have in Christ and seeking to find it in our ministry performance is ultimately a picture of pride.
As we pray for our elders and deacons, we should also pray for every member of the body of Christ. We are all tempted to make secondary things primary, to find our life in good things, just not in Jesus. So may the Lord always remind us that we are sheep before we are shepherds. May we trust that Jesus Christ will continue to shepherd us until He returns to gather His flock. As we seek to feed others, will we remember that we ourselves are hungry? Augustine says, “I go to feed myself so that I can give you to eat. I am the servant, the bringer of food, not the master of the house. I lay out before you that from which I also draw my life.” Can we rejoice in the humbling reality that we are sheep whose lives are constantly dependent on the Shepherd?
Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you,
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
In his classic book, Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis writes this about pride: “There is no fault which makes a man more unpopular, and no fault which we are more unconscious of in ourselves.” Because pride is so hard to detect in ourselves, God regularly uses the Bible like a mirror to reveal our pride. And like a good mirror does, the Bible not only reveals the defect of pride, but it helps us long for the beauty of humility.
It has been said that comparison fuels discontent. That’s true at times, but more often comparison simply fuels pride. In passages such as Luke 18:9-14, the Bible teaches that it is comparison to other people that fuels the sin of pride. Have you ever noticed that as weird, unsuccessful, or immoral as we may be, we can always find a reason we are better than someone else? It’s funny and sad all at once.
The antidote to this is not the pursuit of humility by brute force, but rather a comparison of another kind: the comparison of oneself to God. As counter-intuitive as it may seem, it is not looking within to our own character or looking outward to other people that helps us to flee pride and seek humility. Rather, it is looking outward to God’s character and God’s acts that compels this change. In Isaiah 6:1-6 and in 1 John 1:5-10, it is God’s perfect holiness and purity that exposes our pride, and drives us to repentance. And in Philippians 1:1-11, which we read together on Sunday, it is Jesus’ acts of incarnation and crucifixion that cultivates humility in us. When we get a taste of who God is and what He has done for us in Jesus Christ, our restless pride melts into humble security as the children of God.
Of all the many things the Bible says about humility, perhaps the most repeated is the promise of reward for the humble. Riffing on passages like Psalm 149:4 and Proverbs 22:4, Jesus echoed the promise this way: “For everyone who exalts himself with be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted (Luke 1:52, 14:11, 18:14).” But Jesus didn't repeat this phrase simply to promote morality, and He certainly was not suggesting that salvation is earned or kept by our humility. Rather, Jesus is proclaiming that it is on the path of humility that we come to know God and ourselves rightly. And it is on the path of humility that we can walk secure as the children of God through the Son of God, who humbled Himself to be made like us that He might die for us.
Likewise, you who are younger, be subject to the elders. Clothe yourselves, all of you, with humility toward one another, for “God opposes the proud but gives grace to the humble.” Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The photographs are breathtakingly poignant. Captured by the expert eye of the prize-winning photographer, they evoke memories no one still has and moments of greatness long evaporated. The book is titled, What Is Left Behind. It's a collection of pictures of exactly that, the leftovers of life now for purchase at estate sales. They are hard to look at. They are frightening in the simple truth they declare. All of the things we have, all of them, will someday belong to someone who doesn't revere them; sold at a discount to no one who cares.
It's truly a humbling experience to be mesmerized by those images—humbling precisely because they call to mind our own rush to pride, our own self-created sense of worth, and value, and meaning. We cry out like Solomon, "Vanities of vanities, says the Preacher, vanities of Vanities! All is vanity. What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:2-3)."
And it is just that humbling reality that Peter himself had experienced. Betrayed by his rough accent as he stood by the fire, he surely felt his self-sufficiency and bravado waft away with the smoke. Peter was the one who had declared he would never forsake his Lord. And Peter was the one who now caught the eye of Jesus as the guards jostled Him away to the cross. He had nothing left but memories no one wanted. Peter was undone by his pride.
Days upon agonizing days would pass before that welcoming and restoring breakfast on the beach. Peter would say, "Yes, Lord, You know I love You," without a hint of bravado. At last he knew the full reality that everything that was worth anything was found in knowing the love of Jesus. Peter had learned about humility that grows in self-insufficiency and flowers fully in the sufficiency of Christ.
So when Peter writes to the churches on the fringe of the Roman Empire, he calls the believers to be people marked by humility—humility owned and humility shared. Even as ridicule and violence began to overtake them, Christ's Ones were to forsake self-sufficient pride and walk humbly with the Lord.
That's Peter's message for us as well. Knowing that we have been saved, and loved, and restored by Jesus, there is no room for self-centeredness, no need for the hollow trappings of importance. Indeed, "Turn your eyes upon Jesus. Look full in His wonderful face. And the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace!"
Now when Jesus came into the district of Caesarea Philippi, He asked His disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” And they said, “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” And Jesus answered him, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah! For flesh and blood has not revealed this to you, but My Father who is in heaven. And I tell you, you are Peter, and on this rock I will build My church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. I will give you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.” Then He strictly charged the disciples to tell no one that He was the Christ. From that time Jesus began to show His disciples that He must go to Jerusalem and suffer many things from the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised. And Peter took Him aside and began to rebuke Him, saying, “Far be it from You, Lord! This shall never happen to You.” But He turned and said to Peter, “Get behind Me, Satan! You are a hindrance to Me. For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Have you ever had an amazing day and a terrible day—all in the same day? Imagine getting a new car and then having an accident on the way home. Or acing one test only to bomb another. How would Peter remember the day he confessed that Jesus is “the Christ, the Son of the living God” (Matthew 16:16)? It was the day when Jesus said, “Blessed are you, Simon Bar-Jonah!” And it was the day when Jesus said, “Get behind me, Satan!” Peter learned that we can be right about Jesus, and still be wrong. We can make a sound profession and still oppose Jesus’ plans. Even after the Lord opens our eyes to see Jesus for who He is, the renewing of our minds remains a lifelong journey.
After this rollercoaster of a day, it seems that one line stuck with Peter. Jesus said to him, “For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man” (Matthew 16:23). Like a younger Peter, our minds are often fixed on something other than the Lord. From time to time, our passion comes out in the same ready-FIRE-aim style that we see in Peter’s life. But after years of growth, Peter invites us to cultivate a prepared mind, a sober mind, and a mind oriented toward the hope of Jesus Christ’s return (1 Peter 1:13). That mindset is the opposite of the rash, hasty, shoot-from-the-hip Peter that we see in the Gospels. Here is an older man who grasps the significance of setting one’s mind on the things of God. None of us drifts into a renewed mind by accident. Peter and Paul both highlight the struggle, empowered by the grace of God, to set our minds on the Lord.
“For those who live according to the flesh set their minds on the things of the flesh, but those who live according to the Spirit set their minds on the things of the Spirit.” Romans 8:5
“Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind...” Romans 12:2
“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.”
Colossians 3:1-2
As we journey together as the people of God, where are we setting our minds? Do we realize all that Jesus Christ has given us through His life, death, and resurrection? We rejoice in His forgiveness and grace, but do we revel in the gift of a new mind? “We have the mind of Christ,” Paul writes (1 Corinthians 2:16). But how do we prepare our minds for action? Peter issues the invitation: “Like newborn infants, long for the pure spiritual milk, that by it you may grow up into salvation—if indeed you have tasted that the Lord is good” (1 Peter 2:2). At the center of our mind’s renewal is the Word of God. Have we tasted that the Lord is good? If so, that holy hunger should keep us feasting on the Word that reveals our Savior and renews our minds. By God's grace, what will do today to set our minds on Him?
...casting all our anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The word has been sterilized by overuse. We have lawn care, pet care, elder care, automotive care, hair care, and health care. And those are just the offerings that scream from the sideline of Dallas Central artery. There's so much care in the air that when we hear that God cares for us, we sometimes react with a bored, heard-it-all before shrug.
Yet scripture teaches us in poetry, prose, and proverb that the abiding story of humanity is God caring for His people. From that eerily quiet morning in Eden to the descent of the New Jerusalem, God's Word proclaims God's care for His vice-regents. That central truth plays out throughout history, and throughout the individual lives that make up history. Remember Abraham and Joseph. Think about Moses and Daniel and Job. Hear Paul and Peter and Mary and Martha recount the experiences of God's care for them.
In the grand sweep of God's dealings with mankind, He has shown His care in three profound ways. God's care for His people is powerful. He rules His creation for His glory and our good. And that good can be felt in a caressing breeze or heard in the whisper of a summer rain. Sometime just think about the amazing gift you enjoy when the sweet tang of the orange moistens your mouth. And that's to say nothing of the defeat of Egypt or Assyria or Babylon or Rome. It's to say everything about the defeat of death. God cares powerfully.
God's care for His people is personal. Do you remember the story of Samuel? A little kid asleep in the temple heard God Almighty call him by name. He called Samuel by his name. You see, God could be powerful, like an earthly ruler, who cares deeply for people but doesn't know them at all. But that's not God's way. Jesus spoke forthrightly about our Heavenly Father caring for us in personal, intimate detail. He knows you and cares for you—by name.
Finally, God's care for you is present. Think of all the times in the Bible when God declares that He will be with His people. And that's amazing, isn't it? Because God's care could be powerful, and even personal, and still be aloof. But God traveled with Abraham and Moses. God stayed with Job in his struggle. God came to a cattle barn in a backwater town to be with the sinners whose souls He would rescue.
It is God's very character to care powerfully and personally and presently for His people. And for those who are in Christ Jesus, that is God's eternal, here-and-now promise "because He cares for you."
The LORD is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the LORD forever.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Psalm 23 is one of the most familiar passages in the Bible, and its pastoral imagery shapes our expectations for the Christian life. Once God becomes our Shepherd, we are ready for a good, safe, cup-running-over, sleeping-by-the-stream kind of life.
But for most of us, the days when the Christian life feels like that are few and far between. Everything from work, to relationships, to our physical bodies, to the practice of our faith itself exists in a state of dysfunction and disappointment. And while advancements in learning, organization, technology, and financial planning might give a small measure of distraction or relief, nothing we have or do can restore our souls to the way of life we expected our Shepherd to give us.
How do we make sense of the gap between God’s promise and our experience? Perhaps our Shepherd isn’t good or powerful enough to help us overcome these valleys and enemies? Or perhaps we as His sheep simply aren’t deserving of the tranquil life we once hoped for. Or perhaps there is another explanation for all of the valleys and enemies we encounter in this sojourn.
It may sound odd at first, but throughout the Bible we learn that our wise Shepherd regularly leads us through valleys and before enemies. He does this not to punish us, but to purify us. While we may be busy looking for ways of escape, He is busy teaching us the way to Himself. Chad explained it this way in his sermon, “Your anxieties, your fears, and your burdens are not obstacles that you have to overcome in order to connect with God. It’s just the opposite. They are opportunities in your life to grow in intimacy, love, and connection with God Himself.” Or as the psalmist puts it, “I will fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and staff, they comfort me (Psalm 23:4).”
The day will come when we experience the lush comfort, rest, goodness, and mercy in all of its fullness in the new heaven and earth. Until that day, we rest in the promise that our Shepherd is good, powerful, and wise with us and for us in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“Be sober-minded; be watchful.” If that’s all Peter had said, most of us would agree. We need a sound mind and a watchful eye for any number of reasons. But Peter grounds our thinking and watching in a confusing and frightening reality. We need to think well and keep our eyes open because we have an adversary, a fallen angel who “prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour”. Does our life feel like war, like someone is seeking to devour us? Some of us came to Peter looking for a spiritual pick-me-up, but now he ushers us into the war room. We should have known this might happen, for when it comes to spiritual warfare, Peter is an experienced guide, tested and tried. This may not be the message we wanted, but this is the message we need. So when we hear about our adversary, how should we respond?
We shouldn’t remain oblivious. Paul says that “we are not ignorant of [Satan’s] designs” (2 Corinthians 2:11), but sadly, many are. The modern naturalistic worldview makes Peter’s teaching about the devil seem outdated or untenable. The march of technology and science makes the reality of a spiritual realm seem unlikely. But in Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis’s fictional tempter explains, “Our policy, for the moment, is to conceal ourselves.” Could all these atmospheric challenges play into the demonic strategy of working behind the scenes? Of course. It doesn’t matter how the enemy conceals himself as long as we remain oblivious. How can we win a war when we’re not even aware of it?
When we learn about the devil, we also shouldn’t become obsessed. As the pendulum swings, we can quickly move from ignorance to obsession. We didn’t “see” the devil at all before, and now we see him everywhere, creeping under every rock, hiding around every corner. Once we gave the devil no credit; now we give him too much. We forget that “those who are with us are more than those who are with them” (2 Kings 6:16), that He who is in us “is greater than he who is in the world” (1 John 4:4). When this happens, our enemy becomes greater in our imaginations than our Strength and Shield, Jesus Christ. How can we win a war when we don’t realize that our resources are far greater than the enemy’s?
No, when we learn about the devil, we should not remain oblivious or become obsessed. By God’s grace, we should live as those who are informed but not intimated. We should be sober-minded and watchful, aware of the devil’s schemes, but confident in Christ's victory. Because Adam (and all of us) have yielded to temptation, Jesus went into the wilderness—led by the Spirit!—and resisted Satan’s temptation in our place. Like a roaring lion, the devil sought to devour Jesus, but in the desert, in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the cross, and in His resurrection, the Lion of the Tribe of Judah has dealt the devil a deadly blow. As we engage in the fight of faith, do we rest in the victory of Christ?
The Prince of Darkness grim,
We tremble not for him;
His rage we can endure;
For lo, his doom is sure,
One little word shall fell him.
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
When we think of spiritual warfare, many of us might assume that Satan is after something dramatic: a scandalous sin, a psychological break, or a heretical conviction. But masquerading as an angel of light, Satan’s tactics and aims are typically more shrewd. What we may consider a mundane compromise is often the stuff of violent assault.
Consider the ways that Satan attacked Jesus with temptation in the wilderness. The first two means of temptation related to Jesus proving His deity and power. Satan said, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread,” and from the top of the temple, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down (Matthew 4:3,6).” Satan even quoted the Bible for rationale, making his temptations seem permissible, and perhaps even good.
In his classic, Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis suggests that Satan and his forces can do more damage to a Christian by twisting the truth than rejecting it altogether. Speaking of Jesus, the demon says, “We thus distract men’s minds from who He is, and what He did. We first make Him solely a teacher.” In other words, Lewis perceives that Satan may do us more harm by keeping a half-true version of Jesus before us than by convincing us that Jesus was a lunatic or liar.
It's been suggested that one of Satan’s greatest means of attack comes when he convinces us of the half-truth that we are unable to solve the problem of our guilt and sin. On the one hand, this is true: we aren’t able to solve this problem. But on the other hand, this is a hell-stained lie: Jesus has solved this problem and freely extends His victory to us. As the hymn-writer put it:
When Satan tempts me to despair and tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look to see Him there, who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died, my sinful soul is counted free,
For God, the just, is satisfied, to look on Him and pardon me.
In the fog of warfare, how do we defend ourselves against attacks that we miss so easily? How do we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith? Like Jesus, we must arm ourselves with the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.
Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day.
Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies, for it is ever with me (Psalm 119:97-98).
While it may seem like a simple, even permissible compromise, we must not consider God’s Word peripheral to our spiritual security. It is the sword God has given us to battle against the schemes of Satan, and with it we, like Jesus, are wiser than our great Enemy.
But the day of the Lord will come like a thief, and then the heavens will pass away with a roar, and the heavenly bodies will be burned up and dissolved, and the earth and the works that are done on it will be exposed.
Since all these things are thus to be dissolved, what sort of people ought you to be in lives of holiness and godliness, waiting for and hastening the coming of the day of God, because of which the heavens will be set on fire and dissolved, and the heavenly bodies will melt as they burn! But according to His promise we are waiting for new heavens and a new earth in which righteousness dwells.
Therefore, beloved, since you are waiting for these, be diligent to be found by Him without spot or blemish, and at peace. And count the patience of our Lord as salvation, just as our beloved brother Paul also wrote to you according to the wisdom given him, as he does in all his letters when he speaks in them of these matters. There are some things in them that are hard to understand, which the ignorant and unstable twist to their own destruction, as they do the other Scriptures. You therefore, beloved, knowing this beforehand, take care that you are not carried away with the error of lawless people and lose your own stability. But grow in the grace and knowledge of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. To Him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity. Amen.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
THE END. What comes to mind when we see these words? Most of us think of the cessation or termination of something. Old cartoons and movies insult us by flashing “The End” on the screen, as if we don’t realize the show is over. But maybe there’s a message in there. We struggle to identify endings in this life. In this sense, Peter is quite interested in the end that is coming. He speaks of the day of the Lord, a day that will come like a thief, a day that will transform the heavens and the earth, a day that will mean judgment for some and salvation for others. At the close of our Sojourn series, Peter ends his letter by reminding us of the end. As much as we hear that “the joy is in the journey,” is there joy in a journey that ends in destruction? As the people of God, we cannot overstate how important it is to understand Who is coming, where we are going, and what that means for our lives as we watch and wait. You may have heard the question: “Where does the 800-pound gorilla sit?” The answer is, “Wherever he wants.” Something that big and powerful has the right to rearrange the room. In the Scriptures, the return of Christ is an 800-pound gorilla. In the midst of a thousand things that could lead us off the path, the coming of Christ fixes our gaze and sets our horizon. As we continue to travel together, how much will the return of Christ inform and empower our journey?
THE END. In our squishy English language, the end is not just about finish lines. The end also signifies an ultimate goal or purpose. Many of our children learn Question 1 of the Westminster Shorter Catechism at an early age. “What is the chief end of man?” “Man’s chief end is to glorify God, and to enjoy Him forever.” In this sense, Peter calls us to a life that aligns with the supremacy of God in all things. As we sojourn together, waiting, preparing, growing, we live under this banner: “To Him be the glory both now and to the day of eternity” (2 Peter 3:18). In The End For Which God Created the World, Jonathan Edwards writes that “all that is ever spoken of in the Scripture as an ultimate end of God’s works is included in that one phrase, the glory of God.” Edwards imagines God’s glory shining upon us and into us, and then being reflected back to God through our lives. “The beams of glory come from God, are something of God, and are refunded back again to their original. So that the whole is of God, and in God, and to God; and He is the beginning, and the middle, and the end.” As we continue to travel together, for what (or for whom) will we live?
As we finish this season of our sojourn, we’re reminded of two precious truths. We know that the end is coming with Christ’s return, and with it, the beginning of eternity in His unveiled presence. Knowing that we have an inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading should give us joy and confidence as we walk by faith (1 Peter 1:3-5). We also know that, whatever happens, it is ultimately from Him and through Him and to Him (Romans 11:36). By God’s grace, let us live for the end for which we were created. The good news that God rescues, redeems, and reorients is as true for us today as it was for Peter in the first century. Jesus lived, died, and rose again so that we might no longer live for ourselves but for Him who for our sakes died and was raised (2 Corinthians 5:15). He is the Alpha and the Omega, the founder and perfecter of our faith, the God of our sojourn. To Him be the glory forever. Amen.
Now it happened that as He was praying alone, the disciples were with Him. And He asked them, “Who do the crowds say that I am?” And they answered, “John the Baptist. But others say, Elijah, and others, that one of the prophets of old has risen.” Then He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” And Peter answered, “The Christ of God.” And He strictly charged and commanded them to tell this to no one, saying, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” And He said to all, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
On the wall in my office hangs a small brown paper bag. It’s ordinary in most ways, and it had the very practical purpose of carrying my lunch one day about a year ago. But this bag is special to me because of what a friend wrote on it: “Discernment is not seeing the difference between good and bad; it is seeing the difference between good and almost good.” Attributed to the famous preacher Charles Spurgeon, this statement is more than a pithy proverb about a healthy diet. It has become a regular warning of how we are susceptible to a slow, often imperceptible drift towards mediocrity in the Christian life.
There are countless “almost good” things we can give our time and attention to as Christians. If an author, activity, or initiative relates to God or the Bible, it is fairly easy to believe they are acceptable. But just like not all that is edible is nutritious, not all that is acceptable is good. The Apostle Paul put it this way, “All things are lawful for me, but not all things are helpful” (1 Corinthians 6:12). So for Paul, and for us, the question should not be, “Is this acceptable?” Rather, the question should be, “Is this helpful?” Or, better still, “Is this good?”
There are several good things that nourish us in the Christian life. In our tradition, we emphasize the “means of grace”: the Word, sacraments (Baptism and the Lord’s Supper), and prayer. But arrange those on a Venn diagram, and their common focus is the superfood of the Christian life: Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Paul made that the priority of His ministry to the Church, saying, “I resolved to know nothing among you but Jesus Christ and Him crucified” (1 Corinthians 1:2). This was not a rhetorical flourish or simplistic philosophy of ministry; rather, this was Paul’s clear-sighted conviction that this is the bullseye of the Christian life. While other truths and practices matter, none is so central or so good as this.
There are countless reasons why Jesus Christ and Him crucified is the central focus and hope of the Christian life, but for now, consider just three.
First, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually awakens us to the depths of our sinfulness and the heights of God’s holiness. By nature, we tend to minimize the problem of our guilt and have a hard time even imagining a being who is perfect. But our sin was so great and God’s holiness so perfect, that only a pure sacrifice in blood could provide atonement to bridge the once impassable gap. And in “the precious blood of Christ like that of a lamb without blemish or spot” (1 Peter 1:19), that sacrifice has been made for us.
Second, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually refreshes us with God’s self-sacrificial love for us. Make no mistake, God was never obligated to atone for our sins; His holiness and justice could have been satisfied simply by punishing and condemning us. But as John 3:16 famously celebrates, “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” And as 1 John 3:16 later echoes, “By this we know love: that He laid down His life for us.”
Third, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually empowers us to be people of hope. Once hopeless slaves to sin, we have been set free and united to Jesus Christ. Our lives are no longer ruled by darkness, but bursting with the bright hope of obeying God from the heart and walking paths of righteousness for His name’s sake (Psalm 23:3; Romans 6:17-18). What is more, we also live in hope that the curse of death that once hung over us has been swallowed up in Christ’s victory on the cross, and will be forever removed from us at His return (Isaiah 25:7-8; 1 Corinthians 15:54-55). “Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57)!
The world may see Christ and His cross as a weak or foolish thing. But to us it is the power of God. To us it is the greatest good. To us, every other good thing is merely, “almost good.”
And He strictly charged and commanded them to tell this to no one, saying, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.
And He said to all, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself? For whoever is ashamed of Me and My words, of him will the Son of Man be ashamed when He comes in His glory and the glory of the Father and of the holy angels. But I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
It was sophomore year, and I needed to register for an elective. The teacher came highly recommended, and the subject seemed practical and helpful, so I enrolled in Intro to Financial Accounting. Despite my noble intentions, my adventure in accounting led to the lowest grade of my college career. However, I did learn a valuable lesson: accounting is not as simple as it seems. That reality is even more evident as we consider the “accounting” we do in life. We are constantly counting the cost: the cost of buying a home, having children, eating healthy, treating an illness, pursuing a relationship. But our accounting often neglects the other side of the equation: the cost of not buying the home, not having children, not eating healthy, not treating the illness, not pursuing the relationship. These few examples illustrate what we often struggle to see: the cost of not doing something can be far greater than the cost of doing it.
In Luke 9 and several other passages, Jesus offers an intro to accounting in an upside-down kingdom. As the crowds gather around Jesus, He gives a strange invitation. “If anyone would come after Me,” He says, “let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me.” For us, a cross may be a beautiful piece of art in a sanctuary or on a necklace, but for Jesus’s audience, they would have known exactly what He meant. A cross is an instrument of torture and execution. Jesus just invited us to follow Him to our death. The marketing experts may hate the pitch, but Jesus understands what’s at stake in our accounting. If we refuse to follow Him, we can go on living however we want. That seems like life, but at the end, will gaining the whole world mean anything if we are lost for eternity? What is the cost of turning our backs on the Author of Life? Underneath Jesus’s call to die is an invitation to live, to share in His sufferings that we might also share in the power of His resurrection. In the upside-down kingdom, we must die to live. We must lose ourselves to find ourselves. For those with ears to hear and eyes to see, the cost of non-discipleship is far greater than the cost of discipleship.
The issue is not if but how we have been guilty of questionable accounting. Have we lived like forgiveness costs more than bitterness? Like rest costs more than busyness? Like generosity costs more than greed? Like serving the Lord costs more than serving ourselves? How have self-fulfillment, self-promotion, and self-sufficiency afflicted our lives? As we see our selfishness, we have a beautiful opportunity to see our Savior. Jesus Christ knew the cost of taking up His cross – “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me” (Luke 22:42). But thanks be to God! He knew the cost of not taking up His cross – “Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done.” Do we realize that our self was crucified with Him, and that we have been raised with Him, with new hearts and new eyes? Brothers and sisters, may the Lord help us to see the staggering cost of non-discipleship. No matter what crosses come our way, can we count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus our Lord (Philippians 3:8)?
There were some present at that very time who told Him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. And He answered them, “Do you think that these Galileans were worse sinners than all the other Galileans, because they suffered in this way? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish. Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them: do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others who lived in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.”
And He told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard, and he came seeking fruit on it and found none. And he said to the vinedresser, ‘Look, for three years now I have come seeking fruit on this fig tree, and I find none. Cut it down. Why should it use up the ground?’ And he answered him, ‘Sir, let it alone this year also, until I dig around it and put on manure. Then if it should bear fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The outcries begin almost as soon as we can speak. Hang around any playground in any land and you'll hear them soon enough. "Justice! I want justice!" Now at that early stage, the protests may have a more ordinary ring. You may hear the shouted declaration, "It was my turn and he grabbed it. Make him give it back!" Or a plaintive, "She broke it, and it was new." Though they may seem but pediatric pleas, those cries for justice are fundamentally the same as all others. We have a deep, life-long yearning for things to be set right, a need to know that good will prevail and evil will be punished. The plotlines of countless epics depend on that longing.
The fellows who accosted Jesus with their made-up tale of treachery were also depending on it. They intended for the Rabbi to react boldly in righteous indignation, to cry out for justice, to call for the overthrow of Rome. But Jesus stunned them, and held up a spiritual mirror to their souls. He made them consider if justice was really what they wanted after all. The hatred and deceit that had fueled their ploy was evidence of judgment warranted, not justice deserved. He reminded them that justice, in fact, requires judgment. No one can bear the scrutiny of their own motives and jealousies and wickedness. Jesus made plain, again, that there is no one righteous, not even one.
Then He told them a story. And He invited them to consider their desperate need for mercy. With His winsome agrarian parable, Jesus described the breathtaking patience of God, shown even to those who hate Him. But the story also makes clear that God's patience is not a fool's game. He makes clear that there is both: judgment and mercy. God's patience is infinite, but not endless. Will the fig tree actually make figs?
This overheard conversation happened as Jesus was on His slow, unwavering journey to the only place in history where perfect justice and perfect mercy are met together. At the cross, the Lord would hang crucified, unjustly captured, tried, and executed. All of the righteous judgment of God against your sinful rebellion and mine would be meted out on the Son of His love. And in that very same moment, God's great mercy is poured over the souls of those whom He gave to that Son before the foundation of the world. Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!
But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved—and raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus (Ephesians 2:4-7).
Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,
for in You my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge,
till the storms of destruction pass by.
I cry out to God Most High,
to God who fulfills His purpose for me.
He will send from heaven and save me;
He will put to shame him who tramples on me.
God will send out His steadfast love and His faithfulness!
My soul is in the midst of lions;
I lie down amid fiery beasts—
the children of man, whose teeth are spears and arrows,
whose tongues are sharp swords.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!
Let Your glory be over all the earth!
They set a net for my steps;
my soul was bowed down.
They dug a pit in my way,
but they have fallen into it themselves.
My heart is steadfast, O God,
my heart is steadfast!
I will sing and make melody!
Awake, my glory!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will awake the dawn!
I will give thanks to You, O Lord, among the peoples;
I will sing praises to You among the nations.
For Your steadfast love is great to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the clouds.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!
Let Your glory be over all the earth!
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Psalm 57 wasn’t written in a vacuum. This prayerful song rises from a real person and a certain moment in time. As you read the passage, imagine being David. The Lord has told you that you will be the king of Israel. You’re thrilled by the prospect, but the succession plan has all kinds of kinks in it. The old king (Saul) is not excited about the transition and would rather kill you than give up his job. So here you are, the Lord’s anointed, running from a man obsessed with your death, hiding in a cave. When you think about the threats around you, you can say “my soul is in the midst of lions” (Psalm 57:4). But from the lion’s den, a note of confidence rings. You declare to God, “In You my soul takes refuge” (Psalm 57:1). The threat of destruction is constant, yet you feel safely hidden in the shadow of God’s wings. You know your soul’s refuge.
In Psalm 57, the Lord commends to us the benefits of making Him our refuge. Like David, we live in a moment with real dangers, and we cannot help but seek refuge somewhere. Just in the past month, we have lived beneath the gathering clouds of political turmoil, racial division, natural disasters, and nuclear war. If the external threats were not enough, we face the perpetual conflict with sin that clings so closely (Hebrews 12:1). We feel the pull to find refuge in possessions, pleasures, politics, places, and people. But none of these compares to the security and strength we find in the Lord Jesus Christ. The hymn reminds us, “On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.” As our soul takes refuge in Christ, we begin to see every other shelter for what it is: fragile and faulty, unable to withstand the storm. When we see that our makeshift refuge is like a cardboard dwelling in a hurricane, will we forsake it? Only in Christ do we have a shelter stronger than the wages of sin and the waves of life. There are countless blessings that flow from the security of being hidden in Christ. Even in the dark caves of life, the Lord gives us confidence that He will fulfill His purpose for us (Psalm 57:2). Because Jesus has overcome the darkness and destruction of the cross, we know that He is working all things together for our good and His glory. With this confidence, we can sing with David in the cave and with Paul in prison. The song of a steadfast heart pleases us, but it also perplexes those who have yet to make the Lord their refuge. When saints sing through their suffering, the worth of Christ is on full display.
If we have made the Lord our refuge, what kind of joy should be evident in our lives? For we know that in Christ we are loved, and nothing—not sickness, not persecution, not war, not even death—can separate us from His love. Storms are here, and storms are coming. But we have a refuge full of mercy, strength, faithfulness, and love. A refuge sovereign and eternal. He is Jesus Christ, the God man sent from heaven, the risen Lord who reigns in heaven, the returning King who promises to make all things new. As the battle rages, can we sing the song of our soul’s refuge?
In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day when he was taken up, after he had given commands through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom he had chosen. He presented himself alive to them after his suffering by many proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
On Tuesday, September 12, the world watched eagerly as Tim Cook, the CEO of Apple, unveiled the company’s new products before a live audience in Cupertino, California. As always, the dramatic peak of Cook’s keynote address came as he introduced the latest models of the iPhone. To whet their appetite, Cook told the audience, “No other device in our lifetime has had the impact on the world than the iPhone has. Nothing else has become so essential or put so much power into so many people’s hands than the iPhone.” I nearly fell out of my chair when I heard Cook’s hyperbolic salesmanship. Is the iPhone an influential technology? Absolutely. Is it incredibly useful? For a wealthy few, yes. But more essential and powerful than anything else in our lifetime? Hardly.
Just before Jesus ascended into heaven, He gave His disciples this promise: “And behold, I am sending the promise of My Father upon you. But stay in the city until you are clothed with power from on high (Luke 24:49).” To equip the disciples in their work as witnesses to His death and resurrection, Jesus promised to clothe them with power. What was that power? It was more than a phone; it was God Himself, the Holy Spirit. We see this promise repeated in Acts 1:8, fulfilled in Acts 2:1-4, and applied throughout the remainder of this amazing book of speeches, signs, and wonders.
Many of us read Acts with a sense of longing, wishing somehow to experience the life of the early church. If only our church could be infused with that same spirit of unity, mission, boldness, and power. But let us not forget that we too possess this same Holy Spirit! While the apostolic age was unique in ways, the transforming presence of the Holy Spirit endures with us, the church, forever, just as Jesus promised (John 14:16-17)! As sojourners, we walk in the power of the Holy Spirit (1 Peter 2:9-11). As witnesses, we speak in the power of the Holy Spirit (Acts 1:8). And as mortals, we die yet live in the power of the Holy Spirit (Romans 8:11).
Thanks be to Christ for His indescribable gift!
O God, renew in us a sense of wonder and purpose as people indwelt by Your Holy Spirit. Grant us dependence on Him in all things, and may we exalt and extend the name of Jesus Christ in His power.
In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day when He was taken up, after He had given commands through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom He had chosen. He presented Himself alive to them after His suffering by many proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God.
And while staying with them He ordered them not to depart from Jerusalem, but to wait for the promise of the Father, which, He said, “you heard from Me; for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”
So when they had come together, they asked Him, “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
They seem to be a rite of passage for becoming a youth pastor. Or maybe it's a merit badge for middle school interns. But the Friday night, church gymnasium lock-in has winnowed out more than a few. Hardly ever is there an Adult Seniors lock-in. It's equally predictable that at some point between "lights out" and "Praise The Lord, it's over", someone will roll out a ghost story. We can't help ourselves. We're captivated by the murky mysteries beyond what we can see. Most years, Americans buy more Ouija boards than Monopoly games, and in the United Kingdom there were recent fears of a shortage at Christmas.
It's no wonder there is often confusion and even consternation when Scripture speaks of the Holy Spirit. The third person of the Trinity is even commonly called the Holy Ghost in many traditions. But in the months between the Lord's passion and His ascension, Jesus promises that the Holy Spirit will come upon all believers, and lead the expansion of the Kingdom of God until Jesus returns. On the night in which He was betrayed, Jesus explained the Holy Spirit to the disciples. Then He reminds them again before He leaves. Luke mentions the Holy Spirit three times in the first eight verses of his second volume.
So what is the role of God the Holy Spirit in the life of the believer and the expansion of the church? It seems that, said most simply, the Holy Spirit proclaims the gospel.
First, He proclaims the gospel to us. It is the work of the Holy Spirit to open the eyes of unbelief so that a soul sees the Savior. The calling from death to life is by the power of the Holy Spirit based on Christ's finished work. It is by grace alone through the power of the Holy Spirit that any of us can be born again.
The Holy Spirit also proclaims the gospel in us. It is the Spirit's work, through the means of grace, that we grow up into the fullness of Christ. The Spirit holds us fast that we may abide in Jesus.
And then, it is the Holy Spirit proclaiming the gospel through us that advances the Church to every tribe and every tongue, until the end of the age.
Those frightened fisherman gathered in the upper room would live the rest of their lives remembering their Lord's words. So can we, because of the help from the Helper.
These things I have spoken to you while I am still with you. But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid (John 14:25-27).
So when they had come together, they asked Him, “Lord, will You at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth. And when He had said these things, as they were looking on, He was lifted up, and a cloud took Him out of their sight. And while they were gazing into heaven as He went, behold, two men stood by them in white robes, and said, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw Him go into heaven.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What would we do if we had all the power in the world? That question can tease out the best of our generosity and the worst of our ambition. It feels like an exercise in imagination for us, but it wasn’t for Jesus. After His resurrection, He tells the disciples, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me” (Matthew 28:18). He could look at sin and death and say, “I conquered that.” He could look at the world and say, “I own that.” Jesus Christ possesses an authority we can scarcely comprehend. Acts 1:6-11 reveals what the disciples think Jesus should do with that power…and what Jesus decides to do instead. The disciples are hoping for the immediate and full restoration of the kingdom to Israel. No matter how they understand these pregnant promises from the Old Testament, they know that Jesus has the power to fulfill them. Most likely, the disciples are hoping that Jesus will do the work, and they can just enjoy the show. But the one who possesses all the power in the world refuses to hang around and wield those powers for an adoring audience. When the disciples ask Jesus, “Will you?” He responds, “[No.] But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be My witnesses.”
Have we pondered the glory and the humility of Christ in His ascension? The glory of ascending to His throne; the humility of leaving behind His ministry on earth. The glory of reigning in heaven; the humility of sending the Spirit to indwell us on earth. The glory of His mission to gather a people from around the world; the humility of His plan to entrust us to be His witnesses. The glory of making all things new; the humility of inviting us to work toward this restoration. Left to ourselves, we would be overwhelmed by the need for restoration in our lives, our families, our neighborhoods, our city, and the world. But Acts 1 reminds us that Jesus is the risen, ascended King over every realm. He promises that the Holy Spirit will empower us to live as witnesses of His restorative reign. The social division, physical suffering, financial ruin, systemic evil, and other challenges that could paralyze us become opportunities to witness to the Gospel of the kingdom. As the church, we are called to move toward the world as Christ’s witnesses. Will we live close to Him so that we can hear His voice and share His story? Will we live close to people so that we can know their pain and bring them hope? How might our lives change if we believed that the one who had all the power in the world has empowered us to be His witnesses?
Kevin DeYoung is the senior pastor at Christ Covenant Church in Matthews, North Carolina. He is chairman of the board of The Gospel Coalition, assistant professor of systematic theology at Reformed Theological Seminary (Charlotte), and a PhD candidate at the University of Leicester. Kevin and his wife, Trisha, have seven children.
We are honored to have Kevin as a plenary speaker at the PCA Global Missions Conference (November 10-12) at the Dallas Hilton Anatole. To find out more about the conference and registration visit: pcpc.org/world/gmc
The biggest need in your life, and in mine, is to see the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.
I'm convinced that more evangelism, more prayer, more fruitfulness, more holiness will flow from the fountain of our lives only when we start drinking more deeply of Christ.
If you want to be more merciful, look upon Jesus who cried out at the cross, "Father forgive them, for they know not what they do."
If you want to be more loving, look upon Jesus who ate with sinners and welcomed repentant prostitutes and tax collectors into the kingdom.
If you want to be purer, look upon Jesus whose eyes are like flames of fire and whose feet are like burnished bronze.
If you want more courage in the face of lies and injustice, look upon Jesus who drove out the money changers from the temple with a whip.
If you want to be stronger in the midst of suffering, look upon Jesus who did not revile when reviled and submitted himself wholly to the will of his Father.
If you want to grow in grace, look upon Jesus who reinstated Peter after he denied his Lord three times.
If you want more tenderness in your life, look upon Jesus who took the little children upon His lap and blessed them.
If you want to display the diverse excellencies of God, look upon Jesus who came from the Father full of grace and truth.
Our main problem is not lack of time or resources or the annoying people in our lives. Your main problem and my main problem is that we do not see enough the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. We are not amazed. We do not stand in awe. We are not rendered speechless in His presence.
Too many of us are toying around with gimmicks and looking for quick fixes and miracle cures. Too many of us are digging deep inside ourselves for the change we want. Too many of us spend all our time tinkering with sports and the internet and home repairs while neglecting the one thing that is most needful–to sit at the feet of Jesus, to see Him in the preaching of the Word, to gaze upon Him in the Scriptures, to slowly meditate upon the pages of the Bible, to spend uninterrupted, unhurried time with the Lord. This is what we need.
Let us plead with God that we might behold His glory in the face of Jesus Christ. Implore Him for eyes to see. Pray persistently and passionately to know Him more.
Because there is no growing apart from gazing, and no becoming like Christ without beholding Him in His glory.
When the day of Pentecost arrived, they were all together in one place. And suddenly there came from heaven a sound like a mighty rushing wind, and it filled the entire house where they were sitting. And divided tongues as of fire appeared to them and restedOr And tongues as of fire appeared to them, distributed among them, and rested on each one of them.
And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other tongues as the Spirit gave them utterance.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
It wasn’t even a complete sentence. Just a phrase, it would have been easy to miss. Who could blame them? In the last two months, they had shown up in Jerusalem at festival time, and the whole city turned out to meet them. But palm branches and the adoring shouts of Hosanna had given way to venomous cries for crucifixion. And in a kangaroo court in the middle of the night, their master had been condemned by his own people. Rome reluctantly complied. Keeping the peace was well worth the trouble of an afternoon execution of one innocent man.
Then for forty days, He kept showing up—alive! They had heard it from the women first, then seen it with their own eyes. Jesus had been raised from the dead. And He did what He had been doing from the beginning. He met with them, and He taught them about the Kingdom of God. Now it was time for Him to go.
That’s when He said it. Wedged between the commandment to stay put and the prophesy of their future witness, Jesus told them, “But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you.”
And they were waiting. Together. Then suddenly, the Holy Spirit rushed in. The power had come, and it was impossible to ignore. Luke tells us of the Spirit’s arrival in a few short sentences packed with truth for all of those who believe in the Lord Jesus.
Holy Spirit power was received by the believers. They didn’t engender it in themselves or think up something new. It was a gift of grace from God Almighty.
Holy Spirit power was undeniably demonstrated. The power was audible and visible. This was not a moment of God’s “still small voice,” but a moment of God’s creative and resurrecting power making dead souls alive!
Holy Spirit power was observed. People from all over the world saw the change. The believers were different. They were empowered to continue the mission of Christ. They had become the church. The power of Pentecost had been poured out.
Dear friends, the same thing happens to us when our souls are made alive by Jesus. We receive His Spirit in us, by grace alone. And it changes us. That change is demonstrated in ways that can be seen and heard. And a watching world notices. The Spirit of God in us is observed by a world that desperately needs to see Jesus.
“Let all the house of Israel know for certain the God has made Him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified”(Acts 2:36).
Now there were dwelling in Jerusalem Jews, devout men from every nation under heaven. And at this sound the multitude came together, and they were bewildered, because each one was hearing them speak in his own language. And they were amazed and astonished, saying, "Are not all these who are speaking Galileans? And how is it that we hear, each of us in his own native language? Parthians and Medes and Elamites and residents of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia, Pontus and Asia,
Phrygia and Pamphylia, Egypt and the parts of Libya belonging to Cyrene, and visitors from Rome, both Jews and proselytes, Cretans and Arabians–we hear them telling in our own tongues the mighty works of God." And all were amazed and perplexed, saying to one another, "What does this mean?" But others mocking said, "They are filled with new wine."
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
John Calvin, one of the leading voices of the Protestant Reformation, is perceived by some to have been a cranky, impersonal, and dull pastor. While Calvin was likely cranky (due to chronic ailments and cultural critics), he was hardly impersonal or dull. We would be hard-pressed to find a pastor more committed to the personal pastoral care of those in his congregation and community. And in the words of the great Princeton professor B.B. Warfield, John Calvin was “the theologian of the Holy Spirit.” Where the Roman Catholic Church prized the institutional influence and power of the church, Calvin reclaimed the personal influence and power of the Holy Spirit.
Consider Calvin’s description of Pentecost from his commentary on Acts: “If God could openly and visibly descend from Heaven, His majesty could scarce more manifestly appear than in this miracle.” For Calvin, Pentecost is the miraculous appearance of God’s majesty. While God’s majesty had appeared previously in earthly phenomena (like Israel’s guiding pillar of cloud and fire) and in the physical incarnation of the Son, those previous appearances were all temporary and localized. But at Pentecost, the gift of the Holy Spirit came to all believers globally for all time, including us today.
Both of my sons celebrated birthdays during the past week, and as I write this, I am across the table from some of their gifts. While they brought smiles and activity for a day or two, they now lie unused and forgotten. In fact, the suggestions for Christmas gifts have already begun! How similar are we with the gift of the Holy Spirit? Has the majesty of the miraculous presence of the Holy Spirit grown dull in our hearts? Has our sense of need for the Holy Spirit’s influence and power been usurped by a sense of need for other things which seem more influential or powerful? Are we more interested in the tangible gifts of the Holy Spirit than in His mysterious, personal presence in us?
Ironically, it is the Holy Spirit alone who can revive our wonder, dependence, and gratitude! May we be a people praying for God to restore these things to us by His Spirit, and may we be a people eager to extend the gift of the Holy Spirit through Jesus Christ the Son to our world.
Holy Spirit, living Breath of God, breathe new life into my willing soul.
Bring the presence of the risen Lord to renew my heart and make me whole.
Cause Your Word to come alive in me; give me faith for what I cannot see;
Give me passion for Your purity; Holy Spirit, breathe new life in me.
- “Holy Spirit,” by Keith Getty and Stuart Townend
Peter's Sermon at Pentecost
But Peter, standing with the eleven, lifted up his voice and addressed them: "Men of Judea and all who dwell in Jerusalem, let this be known to you, and give ear to my words. For these people are not drunk, as you suppose, since it is only the third hour of the day. That is, 9 a.m. But this is what was uttered through the prophet Joel:
"'And in the last days it shall be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams; even on my male servants Greek bondservants; twice in this verse and female servantsin those days I will pour out my Spirit, and they shall prophesy. And I will show wonders in the heavens aboveand signs on the earth below ,blood, and fire, and vapor of smoke; the sun shall be turned to darknessand the moon to blood, before the day of the Lord comes, the great and magnificent day. And it shall come to pass that everyone who calls upon the name of the Lord shall be saved.'
"Men of Israel, hear these words: Jesus of Nazareth, a man attested to you by God with mighty works and wonders and signs that God did through him in your midst, as you yourselves know--this Jesus, delivered up according to the definite plan and foreknowledge of God, you crucified and killed by the hands of lawless men. God raised him up, loosing the pangs of death, because it was not possible for him to be held by it. For David says concerning him,
"'I saw the Lord always before me, for he is at my right hand that I may not be shaken; therefore my heart was glad, and my tongue rejoiced; my flesh also will dwell in hope. For you will not abandon my soul to Hades, or let your Holy One see corruption.
You have made known to me the paths of life; you will make me full of gladness with your presence.'
"Brothers, I may say to you with confidence about the patriarch David that he both died and was buried, and his tomb is with us to this day. Being therefore a prophet, and knowing that God had sworn with an oath to him that he would set one of his descendants on his throne, he foresaw and spoke about the resurrection of the Christ, that he was not abandoned to Hades, nor did his flesh see corruption. This Jesus God raised up, and of that we all are witnesses. Being therefore exalted at the right hand of God, and having received from the Father the promise of the Holy Spirit, he has poured out this that you yourselves are seeing and hearing. For David did not ascend into the heavens, but he himself says,
"'The Lord said to my Lord, Sit at my right hand, until I make your enemies your footstool.'
Let all the house of Israel therefore know for certain that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified."
Now when they heard this they were cut to the heart, and said to Peter and the rest of the apostles, "Brothers, what shall we do?" And Peter said to them, "Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you and for your children and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself." And with many other words he bore witness and continued to exhort them, saying, "Save yourselves from this crooked generation." So those who received his word were baptized, and there were added that day about three thousand souls.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“Surely you know that if a man can’t be cured of churchgoing, the next best thing is to send him all over the neighborhood looking for the church that ‘suits’ him until he becomes a taster or connoisseur of churches.... The search for a ‘suitable’ church makes the man a critic where the Enemy wants him to be a pulpit.”
With these words, Screwtape encourages his demonic understudy to tempt people to cultivate a self-centered posture toward the church. Like other passages in C.S. Lewis’ Screwtape Letters, this shoe can fit so well that it makes us squirm. The same temptation to be a connoisseur and critic of a church also infiltrates our listening to sermons. Have we ever sighed when we arrive and learn that our favorite preacher is out of town? Have we made a mental or written note of things we would have done differently than the preacher? Have we ever left a worship service with little more than a judgment — “I loved it” or “I didn’t like it”? These questions reveal that the spirit of the connoisseur and the critic is alive and well in us. Sadly, we can prefer consumption and critique to conversion and conviction.
If we’re going to hear around 50 sermons a year (500 in 10 years...2,500 in 50 years), don’t we want to walk away with more than “I enjoy listening to him” or “I didn’t like that”? Preaching is not the only means of grace that the Lord uses to conform us to the image of Jesus Christ. Nevertheless, Acts reminds us that preaching has always played a central role in the transformation of God’s people. Peter’s sermon at Pentecost reveals some of the pillars of biblical preaching: (1) the authority of the Word (Sola Scriptura), (2) the supremacy of Jesus Christ (Solus Christus), (3) the free offer of the grace of God (Sola Gratia), (4) the call to turn to Christ (Sola Fide), and (5) the zeal for the glory of God (Soli Deo Gloria). The 5 “Solas” of the Reformation help us distinguish between those who preach the gospel of Jesus Christ and those who do not. But beyond our biblical-theological convictions, the following questions may help us reflect on how well we listen to sermons.
“Am I present?” It’s hard to listen to a sermon if I’m not there. Have I made it a priority to be present when the people of God gather for worship? Once I am in the sanctuary, am I all there? Am I seeking to be still, to draw near, and, ultimately, to worship God?
“Am I prepared?” What does my preparation for a weekly worship service reveal about me? If “my soul thirsts for God” (Psalm 42:2), wouldn’t I anticipate the joy of worshiping Him before I walk through the doors? How can I redeem the night before or the morning of a worship service so that I am ready and eager to hear from God?
“Am I practical?” If I know the text of the sermon earlier in the week, do I spend time in the passage before Sunday? When I hear a sermon, can I focus on one or two practical things that I believe the Lord is calling me to address? Grace-driven application sounds like this: “Lord, after hearing this sermon, I need your grace to help me __________.”
“Am I prayerful?” Is my listening to sermons bathed in prayer...before, during and after the sermon...for myself, for the preacher and for everyone gathered to listen? The connoisseur and the critic in me suffocate in the presence of God. The pride that only looks down gives way to the humility that looks up. As the Lord teaches me to pray, He shapes my heart to receive His Word, to be “cut to the heart,” (Acts 2:37) and to “know for certain that God has made [Jesus] both Lord and Christ” (Acts 2:36).
How are we listening to sermons? By God’s grace, how do we want to grow?
Now when they heard this they were cut to the heart, and said to Peter and the rest of the apostles, "Brothers, what shall we do?" And Peter said to them, "Repent and be baptized every one of you in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit. For the promise is for you and for your children and for all who are far off, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to himself."
And with many other words he bore witness and continued to exhort them, saying, "Save yourselves from this crooked generation." So those who received his word were baptized, and there were added that day about three thousand souls.
After a decade in professional ministry—serving for four years in the youth ministry of PCPC—Christen went corporate in April of 2018. She now manages and coaches real estate agents at Keller Williams Urban Dallas in Uptown. Christen continues to serve as a lay youth volunteer at PCPC and writes and speaks on a variety of topics such as theology, youth ministry, and the faith & work conversation.
Let’s talk about circumcision. This is perhaps not the introductory sentence one might expect for a reflection on Acts 2. Circumcision is nowhere mentioned in chapter 2 or anywhere close. The first time it’s referenced is Acts 7:8 during Stephen’s history lesson from the Old Testament. That’s because it was an Old Testament idea. Circumcision was an act that represented the sign and seal of God’s covenant with Abraham. It marked the Israelites—literally—and set them apart as God’s people.
One of the clearest, sweetest pictures for understanding circumcision comes from C.S. Lewis’ The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. One day, after wandering from the group, Eustace (the obnoxious cousin of the Pevensie siblings, Peter, Edmund, Susan and Lucy) found himself transformed into a dragon due to his own greed getting the best of him. As a dragon, he underwent deep personal transformation, softening greatly despite his ongoing sufferings. After days of pain, Aslan, the great lion, approached him and called, “Follow me.” Leading Eustace to a pool, he commanded him to “undress.” Confused at first, he remembered that reptiles can shed layers, so he began to peel at his skin. Layer after layer, his efforts were ultimately futile. Finally, Aslan responded, "You will have to let me undress you." Eustace complied. Later on, he would describe the experience of Aslan clawing deep into his calloused skin: "The very first tear he made was so deep that I thought it had gone right into my heart. And when he began pulling the skin off, it hurt worse than anything I’ve ever felt."
He then described how he felt once Aslan completed his work: "And there was I smooth and soft as a peeled switch and smaller than I had been. Then he caught hold of me – I didn’t like that much for I was very tender underneath now that I’d no skin on — and threw me into the water."
Circumcision. God commanded the Israelites to perform a bloody, painful act as a sign of His covenant with them. But His real desire? That they might circumcise their hearts, not just their bodies (Deuteronomy 10:12-21; Romans 2:25-29). He longed for them to cut away all that was not of Him. But what we learn from history is that the Israelites, like Eustace, were no match for the layers of sin and brokenness around their hearts. The Israelites could not circumcise their own hearts. Only by the Spirit could their delicate, tender hearts be dislodged from their calloused encasements.
While circumcision may not be mentioned in Acts 2, it’s there. It’s the reaction of the people to Peter’s sermon. Verse 37 says they were “cut to the heart.” They were changed. When they inquired about next steps, Peter told them to be circumcised? No. Baptized; the sign and seal of the New Covenant; an outward sign representing an inward reality.
We have been cleansed! God always has and always will desire inward transformation.
What is your response to the Gospel? Have you been cut to the heart? Have you been “thrown into the water?”
So those who received [Peter’s] word were baptized, and there were added that day about three thousand souls. And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
How do people come to faith in Jesus? What should people do after coming to faith in Jesus? These are the million-dollar questions of Christian ministry, both figuratively and literally.
Yet for all their complexity, Acts 2:41-42a brings a stark clarity to these questions. The preaching of God’s Word led to faith in Jesus, and faith in Jesus led to devotion to God’s Word. In this grand moment of redemptive history, this great advance in Jesus’ Great Commission (Matt. 28:18-20; Acts 1:8), it was God’s Word that was central. And God’s Word remained central in the apostles’ ministry throughout the book of Acts: they spoke it with boldness (4:31); they made it their exclusive focus (6:2); it was not silenced by persecution (8:4; 11:19); and it increased and multiplied in Jerusalem (4:4; 6:7), Judea and Samaria (12:24) and to the ends of the earth (13:47-49; 19:20). For the apostles, God’s Word and God’s mission were interdependent; they could not embrace one without the other.
Still for us today, God’s Word and God’s mission go hand-in-hand in our lives. The stories of rescue we tell, and continue to experience, are all intertwined with God’s Word at work within us. Whether in a worship service or Bible study, from a personal conversation or a book, or through television or a tweet, God has used His Word to draw each of us to faith in Jesus (Rom. 10:17). And our faith in Jesus has caused us to long for what Peter calls the “pure spiritual milk” of the living and abiding Word of God (1 Pet. 1:23-2:2). And still for us today, God’s Word and God’s mission go hand-in-hand in our participation in fulfilling Jesus’ Great Commission. As those called to witness to Jesus’ death and resurrection and to make disciples of all who believe, it is God’s Word that forms all of our going, sending, and proclaiming.
Why is this connection between God’s Word and God’s mission so tight and timeless? Why, for all of our sophisticated learning and technology, are we still so dependent on something so ancient and simple as a book to form our lives and to fulfill Jesus’ Great Commission? The answer is that God’s Word is nothing less than the story of God’s Mission. In his magnum opus entitled The Mission of God, missionary and theologian Christopher Wright helps answer this by saying,
Mission is what the Bible is all about; we could as meaningfully talk of the missional basis of the Bible as of the biblical basis of mission...[The Bible] finds its focus and fulfillment both in the life and death and resurrection of Israel’s Messiah, and in the mission to all nations, which flows out from that event.1
While it may sound strange at first, the connection between God’s Word and God’s mission is something Jesus Himself expressed in Luke 24:46-48,
Thus it is written [in the Scriptures], that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in His name to all nations, beginning from Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things.
Not only does Jesus claim that the entire Bible is about His death and resurrection, but He claims that the entire Bible calls us to proclaim this to all nations. When we read God’s Word, we see Jesus; and when we see Jesus, we tell the world!
Beginning this evening, our church will host the Global Missions Conference of our denomination’s missions agency, Mission to the World (MTW), at the Hilton Anatole. Dozens of people from our congregation will give their time volunteering; hundreds of people from our congregation will invest their time participating; and thousands of brothers and sisters in Christ from around the world will join us. We will learn together, pray together, sing together, eat together, and grow to understand more of what God is doing through us together. But more than anything else, we will look to God’s Word together. For there, in God’s Word, we see and come to know Jesus Christ by faith. And there, in God’s Word, God calls us to go, send, and proclaim the gospel of Jesus Christ in our city and to our world.
If you would like to attend the Global Missions Conference and have not registered, you can still register at the event beginning at noon on Friday at the Hilton Anatole. Go to mtw.org/gmc for more details.
1Christopher J.H. Wright, The Mission of God: Unlocking the Bible’s Grand Narrative (IVP Academic, 2006), pp. 29-30.
When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil way, God relented of the disaster that He had said He would do to them, and He did not do it.
But it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he was angry. And he prayed to the LORD and said, “O Lord, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that You are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster. Therefore now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the LORD said, “Do you do well to be angry?”
Jonah went out of the city and sat to the east of the city and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, till he should see what would become of the city. Now the LORD God appointed a plant and made it come up over Jonah, that it might be a shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort. So Jonah was exceedingly glad because of the plant. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the plant, so that it withered. When the sun rose, God appointed a scorching east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint. And he asked that he might die and said, “It is better for me to die than to live.” But God said to Jonah, “Do you do well to be angry for the plant?” And he said, “Yes, I do well to be angry, angry enough to die.” And the LORD said, “You pity the plant, for which you did not labor, nor did you make it grow, which came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should not I pity Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also much cattle?”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
On Sunday, November 12, 2017, Michael Oh preached from Jonah 4 at the PCA Global Missions Conference. Over 2,000 people were present to be reminded of God’s call to share the Gospel of Jesus Christ with the world.
Jonah, what if things had gone differently? What if you had gone willingly when the Lord called? What if you hadn’t turned and run in the opposite direction?
What if you had thought differently about the people of Nineveh? Instead of seeing enemies who didn’t share your religion, nationality, or politics, what if you saw people who shared your own flesh and blood? What if you saw sinners—no better or worse than you—hopeless without the same mercy that God Himself had showed you?
What if you had rejoiced when your enemies turned from their evil ways? What if you had shared the angels’ joy over one sinner who repents (Luke 15:10)? What if God’s being “gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love,” was the greatest news, not just for you and yours, but for “them”? What if you had remembered that, from God’s perspective, we were all “them.”
What if you had been more concerned about the lost than your own comforts? What if countless sinners facing eternal discomfort had moved you more than the loss of your own temporal comfort? What if you had pitied people more than a plant?
Jonah, we’re encouraged by your failings. In the mirror of your life, we see all the ways that we fall short. We have been unhappy missionaries trudging through an unwanted mission, but it doesn’t end there. We have also been encouraged by God’s relentless pursuit, not just of the Ninevites, but of you. God’s grace to you reminds us that He is not finished with us yet, and for some strange reason, He still wants to use us to share the good news of His love with the world.
Jonah, what if? What if you had gone joyfully and loved your enemies and laid down your life for them? What if you had chosen their salvation over your security and rejoiced in their repentance? If you had done that—if we could do that—we wouldn’t need Jesus. And so we thank God for you, Jonah. You have given us the most important reminder: No matter how well we do in responding to God’s call to go, our hope is always in Jesus Christ. When the Father called, He went. When confronted with His enemies, He loved us and gave Himself for us. When the choice was His life or ours, He went to the cross. And now He reigns in power and pours out His Spirit so that we can be His body on earth.
Jonah, we live in the tension between being just like you and being just like Jesus. We want to know what happened after Jonah 4. Did you finally “get it”? Did you discover God’s heart for missions? If we’re honest, we’re tempted to wonder about that and ignore the disconnects in our own lives. Perhaps if we could talk, you would turn the tables on us. Perhaps you would invite us to read this letter again and ask ourselves the same questions.
Maybe you would ask: “Church, by God’s grace, what if you thought about the mission of God differently?”
And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Darkness had finally fallen. There were no street lamps, or billboards, or headlights. The blackness was thick. But in the distance, where we had hiked an hour before, we could see an unearthly orange glow. Smoke swirled upward as if from a cauldron. The scene was eerie. "What is that?" I asked. "It's creepy!"
"That's the volcano," came the answer, "the one we were looking down on just a bit ago. You just couldn't see the glow in the daylight." I was breathless, overcome with the awe of what I was seeing. That glow, and warmth, and steam was coming from the furnace that is the center of the earth. And in the amalgam that is awe, I felt amazement, and wonder, and a dollop of fear. Light and mist and heat from inside the earth. Awesome!
Think of how many times in Scripture the same thing happens. The unexpected overwhelms the ordinary, as God's power and mercy and love all burst unavoidably into the here and now. Remember those half a million people trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea? And then the leader cried out, "Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the Lord, which He will work for you today" (Exodus 14:13). And they crossed the sea floor on dry ground. It wasn't too long before the descendants of those same folks would capture a heavily fortified city with trumpet blasts and shouts. Then years later there would be a crowd of mourners who shared probably the longest pregnant pause in history. The stone had been rolled back, the weeping rabbi friend had shouted the dead man's name, and then, he came out — alive. The onlookers must have been awestruck. "The man who had died came out, his hands and feet bound with linen strips, and his face wrapped with a cloth. Jesus said to them, 'Unbind him, and let him go'" (John 11:44).
The church began that way and still grows that way. When God's people "see the salvation of the Lord," they recognize themselves as part of the eternal history of God's power and mercy and love. And awe comes upon them. Once stony hearts are filled with gladness. These Christ's Ones grow more and more in awe of the goodness God has done in Christ. And Christians want to share. Can you imagine having crossed the Red Sea or marched around Jericho or unwrapped Lazarus' torso and not told anyone about it?
So this week especially, as we give thanks, may God renew our awe, that we may receive our meals with "glad and generous hearts." And may the light and warmth and love of Christ be seen afresh in us.
The Fellowship of the Believers
And they devoted themselves to the apostles' teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe or fear came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need.
And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
A meal can be many things. For countless around the world, a meal is a genuine problem to be solved, a means of survival. For others, it’s an interruption of more pressing matters, like deadlines at work or weekday basketball practices. For still others, a meal is a source of fear, guilt, or shame, as each calorie and ingredient is scrutinized and judged. We build relationships through meals, conduct business, celebrate, indulge, escape, and ache for those who are no longer with us.
Eating and drinking is one of the master images in the Bible. Those images include the range of our own experiences with food, both good and difficult, but ultimately center on eating and drinking as a means of God’s grace to us. From the daily miracle of manna in the wilderness to Jesus dining with tax collectors and sinners, meals are opportunities to see, taste, and feel God’s unmerited favor, His Kingdom come. Through eating and drinking, God teaches us how to rest more fully in Him.
Thus, Luke tells us, the early church devoted themselves to this ordinary routine of breaking bread together, believing that in doing so they were enacting and extending the very Kingdom of God. Jesus was their example. For on the night He was betrayed, at the annual Jewish Passover, Jesus chose a meal to disclose the truth of who He was and why He had come. The breaking of the bread was His body broken for His followers. The cup of wine was His blood poured out for sinners. Though every meal in the early church was not what we now call “the Lord’s Supper,” it was the story of the Supper that shaped their habits of eating and drinking together on other occasions. Jesus had also made himself known to confused, disheartened disciples on the road to Emmaus “in the breaking of the bread” (Luke 24:35). So, the early church believed, as they struggled to know Jesus more in their own confusing times, Jesus was with them and in them when they gathered together to eat and drink.
What about for us today? We would do well to let the devotion of the early church challenge our own eating habits. Do we see eating and drinking as occasions to give thanks to God for His daily provision, to bow before Him with glad and generous hearts? Are at least some our meals deep sources of communion with those whom God has called us to love? Can we imagine Jesus’ presence with us around our tables? Has the way in which Jesus has hosted us, in the giving of Himself freely to sinners, shaped our own views of hospitality? Are we willing to host those not of our tribes, to serve those from whom we expect nothing in return? And, by expansion, if the Gospel can so reframe and sanctify the ordinary act of eating and drinking, are we willing to consider how grace can reshape all of life for God’s Kingdom?
It is said that Adam lost the whole world in one bite of fruit. In a meal, Jesus regained that same lost world, in His life given for us. May you sense His grace in your meals, and in all you do.
Birth of John the Baptist Foretold
In the days of Herod, king of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah, Greek Zacharias of the division of Abijah. And he had a wife from the daughters of Aaron, and her name was Elizabeth. And they were both righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and statutes of the Lord. But they had no child, because Elizabeth was barren, and both were advanced in years.
Now while he was serving as priest before God when his division was on duty, according to the custom of the priesthood, he was chosen by lot to enter the temple of the Lord and burn incense. And the whole multitude of the people were praying outside at the hour of incense. And there appeared to him an angel of the Lord standing on the right side of the altar of incense. And Zechariah was troubled when he saw him, and fear fell upon him. But the angel said to him, "Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great before the Lord. And he must not drink wine or strong drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb.
And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, and he will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the just, to make ready for the Lord a people prepared.
And Zechariah said to the angel, "How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years." And the angel answered him, "I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I was sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. And behold, you will be silent and unable to speak until the day that these things take place, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time." And the people were waiting for Zechariah, and they were wondering at his delay in the temple. And when he came out, he was unable to speak to them, and they realized that he had seen a vision in the temple. And he kept making signs to them and remained mute. And when his time of service was ended, he went to his home.
After these days his wife Elizabeth conceived, and for five months she kept herself hidden, saying, "Thus the Lord has done for me in the days when he looked on me, to take away my reproach among people."
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
From his conception, to his prophetic ministry, to his death, God used John the Baptist for one great and lasting purpose: to point people to Jesus Christ.
In his gospel, Luke goes to great lengths to show us how John’s conception was used to point people to Jesus Christ. The story of John’s conception paralleled Jesus’ own conception in many ways: it was foretold by the angel Gabriel (Luke 1:19 and 1:26-27), his name was given by God (Luke 1:13 and Luke 1:31), and most notably, it was absolutely miraculous since Elizabeth was old (Luke 1:18) and Mary was a virgin (Luke 1:27; 34). In addition, John and Jesus are relatives (Luke 1:36), and the relational bonds between Elizabeth and Mary run deep (Luke 1:39-40; 56), so one could hardly know John, whom Zechariah called the prophet of the Most High (Luke 1:76), without knowing Jesus Christ, whom Gabriel called the Son of the Most High (Luke 1:32).
John did not only point people to Jesus Christ in his conception, but also in his prophetic ministry and death. As the last great prophet before Jesus, John zealously and faithfully fulfilled all of God’s about him. He cried in the wilderness and prepared the way for the Lord, as Isaiah said (Luke 3:4; Isaiah 40:3). He turned many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, just as Gabriel said (Luke 1:16). He gave knowledge of salvation to God’s people through the forgiveness of their sins, as Zechariah said (Luke 1:77). And as John himself declared when he saw Jesus, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world (John 1:29)!” John continued to be known and feared as a prophet until his death (Mark 6:20). For all of this, Jesus praised John as being more than a prophet, and that none born among women was ever greater (Luke 7:26-28).
When we read detailed and exalted accounts of a life such as John the Baptist’s, it is possible to begin thinking of him as existing in some almost mythological mode, as if untouched by the trials and temptations of ordinary human living. But while his conception was miraculous and his ministry unique, John was an ordinary man, just like us. He was tempted to sin and did sin. He was caught up in the ordinary stuff of human relationships, illness, and political corruption. At so many points, John could have softened or made selfish his prophetic voice. But a consistent, determined trust in his Savior caused him to “let goods and kindred go, this mortal life also,” for Christ’s Kingdom is forever.
Charles Studd (1860-1931) had a very different backstory than John the Baptist’s. He was a wealthy “trust fund kid,” a graduate of Cambridge University, and a world-famous cricket player from England. But after coming to faith in Jesus Christ through the ministry of the American evangelist Dwight Moody, he dedicated his life to global missions. He said, “I knew that cricket would not last, and honor would not last, and nothing in this world would last, but it was worthwhile living for the world to come.” So along with his wife and four daughters, Charles left his privileged life in England and served as an evangelist, church planter, and Bible translator for 10 years in China (with Hudson Taylor), for seven years in India, and for 20 years in Africa. He wrote over 200 poems and hymns, but his most famous is, “Only One Life,” which you can read below. His life began in a very different way than John the Baptist’s life, but the enduring worth of the Lamb of God compelled both of these men to preach Christ to many, and to many unwilling to hear it.
As you celebrate the coming of Jesus Christ this Christmas, may the good news and great joy of the Gospel grip your heart. And like John the Baptist and like Charles Studd, may the enduring worth of the Lamb of God shape your life into one that, in Christ, will last.
Two little lines I heard one day,
Traveling along life’s busy way;
Bringing conviction to my heart,
And from my mind would not depart;
Only one life, twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Only one life, yes only one,
Soon will its fleeting hours be done;
Then, in ‘that day’ my Lord to meet,
And stand before His judgement seat;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Only one life, the still small voice,
Gently pleads for a better choice;
Bidding me selfish aims to leave,
And to God’s holy will to cleave;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Only one life, a few brief years,
Each with its burdens, hopes, and fears;
Each with its days I must fulfill,
living for self or in His will;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
When this bright world would tempt me sore,
When Satan would a victory score;
When self would seek to have its way,
Then help me Lord with joy to say;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Give me Father, a purpose deep,
In joy or sorrow Thy word to keep;
Faithful and true what e’er the strife,
Pleasing Thee in my daily life;
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Oh, let my love with fervor burn,
And from the world now let me turn;
Living for Thee, and Thee alone,
Bringing Thee pleasure on Thy throne;
Only one life, ‘twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Only one life, yes only one,
Now let me say, “Thy will be done;”
And when at last I’ll hear the call,
I know I’ll say, “Twas worth it all;”
Only one life, ’twill soon be past,
Only what’s done for Christ will last.
Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son. And her neighbors and relatives heard that the Lord had shown great mercy to her, and they rejoiced with her. And on the eighth day they came to circumcise the child. And they would have called him Zechariah after his father, but his mother answered, "No; he shall be called John." And they said to her, "None of your relatives is called by this name." And they made signs to his father, inquiring what he wanted him to be called. And he asked for a writing tablet and wrote, "His name is John." And they all wondered. And immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue loosed, and he spoke, blessing God. And fear came on all their neighbors. And all these things were talked about through all the hill country of Judea, and all who heard them laid them up in their hearts, saying, "What then will this child be?" For the hand of the Lord was with him.
Zechariah's Prophecy
And his father Zechariah was filled with the Holy Spirit and prophesied, saying,
"Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,for he has visited and redeemed his people and has raised up a horn of salvation for usin the house of his servant David, as he spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets from of old, that we should be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us; to show the mercy promised to our fathersand to remember his holy covenant, the oath that he swore to our father Abraham, to grant us that we, being delivered from the hand of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days. And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his peoplein the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us or when the sunrise shall dawn upon us; some manuscripts since the sunrise has visited us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace."
And the child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness until the day of his public appearance to Israel.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Most of human history would have called the idea preposterous. Just the thought of such a thing would have been regarded as fantasy. Oh, we've had our lamps and lanterns and torches and hearths. But the notion that simply flipping a switch could instantly blast away the shadows? That would have seemed pure folly. Think of it. The common use of the common light bulb has only occurred since about 1880. Before that, people everywhere lived with the ever-present reality of creeping darkness just beyond the tiny glow of the fire.
Living in a world lit only by flame is hard for us to imagine. But remember the panic we feel when the storms get bad and the lights go out? In an instant, you rush for the candles or hope for fresh batteries or stumble to find the frightened child. Those few minutes of unwelcomed darkness are a palpable reminder that darkness can overcome us. The blackness of the storm feels thick and sticky. We are swallowed by it.
It's no wonder that Scripture so often uses the imagery of darkness to teach us of the pernicious power of sin. The Bible makes plain that when sin entered the world, and when sin controls our heart, we live in the shadowy dark valley of death. And all of us, when we strain to see in the inky blackness of our own soul, long for the sunrise. Even in our electrified, night-light world, we are right to be afraid in that kind of darkness. If we're honest, our hearts cry out, "When will the light come on? Who will comfort me in the dark?"
It's no wonder that God, in His mercy, promised a savior who would destroy the darkness. The prophet Isaiah proclaimed, "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone" (Isaiah 9:2). And John the Baptist's dad, when he could finally speak again, said about his son,
"And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people in the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:76-79)
It's no wonder that the Apostle John begins his account of Jesus by teaching us,
"In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." (John 1:1-5)
It's no wonder that the Lord Jesus would use language that every human heart understands when He proclaimed, "Again Jesus spoke to them, saying, 'I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life'" (John 8:12).
And it's no wonder that the wonder of Christmas bids us come. Come into the light. He will drive away your darkness. Thanks be to God!
In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city of Galilee named Nazareth, to a virgin betrothed to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. And the virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, “Greetings, O favored one, the Lord is with you!” But she was greatly troubled at the saying, and tried to discern what sort of greeting this might be. And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”
And Mary said to the angel, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” And the angel answered her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy--the Son of God. And behold, your relative Elizabeth in her old age has also conceived a son, and this is the sixth month with her who was called barren. For nothing will be impossible with God.” And Mary said, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word.” And the angel departed from her.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
How would we respond if we received the news that Gabriel delivered to Mary? As far as we know, she has never seen an angel. Of course she is afraid. Hearing of the Lord’s gracious favor and presence is encouraging, but then comes the announcement. A child—her child!—will reign forever on David’s throne. The news would make anyone’s heart race. And one more thing: she’s never been with a man. “How will this be?” is a fair question. The Lord is calling her to trust Him for a promise whose fulfillment requires doing the impossible. How would we respond? Would we trust that God can do the impossible? When our fear and God’s favor collide, faith grows as we remember God’s faithfulness.
Sarah was old and barren (Genesis 11:30), but the Lord chose her to bear Isaac, Abraham’s long-awaited child of promise. Rebekah was barren (Genesis 25:21), but the Lord blessed her with Jacob, the father of the 12 tribes. Leah was hated (Genesis 29:21), but the Lord opened her womb and she gave birth to Judah, the forerunner of a Lion whose roar would silence sin and death. A nameless Levite (Exodus 2) faced Pharaoh’s threat of infanticide, but the Lord delivered Moses to her—then delivered him all the way to Pharaoh’s household—that he might one day deliver Israel. Ruth was widowed and childless, but the Lord brought her a husband and a child, Obed, the grandfather of King David. Elizabeth was old and barren (Luke 1:7), just like Sarah, but the Lord chose her to bear John the Baptist.
Again and again, our sovereign Lord chooses to do the impossible as He writes His story of redemption. In choosing the barren, hated, hopeless woman, God makes it clear that salvation is nothing less than the Lord doing the impossible: bringing life from death and hope from hopelessness. And if barrenness and genocide are not enough, for His grand entrance the Lord overcomes the ultimate obstacle to having a child: virginity.
What impossible obstacles are we facing? Where do our fears collide with God’s favor? When we hold our circumstances up to God’s promises, what makes us ask: “How will this be?” If we learn anything from Mary, we learn that the answer is not: Because of who we are and what we can do. The Lord will do what He has promised in our lives by the power of the Holy Spirit, “for nothing will be impossible with God.” As we reflect on Mary and all these women, I believe the Lord wants us to see more than a string of medical miracles. He wants us to trust in His relentless love, a love that overcomes all obstacles to unite us with Himself.
At Christmas, we don’t just celebrate the coming of the Baby. We celebrate the arrival of the Bridegroom. God’s people are already betrothed to Christ, and a wedding is coming that will make the greatest earthly celebration seem dull. “How will this be?” I think we know the answer. Lord, let it be to us according to Your Word.
And when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they brought Him up to Jerusalem to present Him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, ‘Every male who first opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord’) and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the Law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.’ Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple, and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for Him according to the custom of the Law, he took Him up in his arms and blessed God and said,
“Lord, now You are letting Your servant depart in peace,
according to Your word;
for my eyes have seen Your salvation
that You have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and for glory to Your people Israel.”
And His father and His mother marveled at what was said about Him. And Simeon blessed them and said to Mary His mother, ‘Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Imagine being Simeon that day. The Lord has revealed to you that you will not see death until you see His Christ. The Spirit leads you to the temple, and you are fully awake. You hear the sound of God’s Law being read, and you smell the aroma of sacrifices being offered. Suddenly you see a young couple walk in with their baby. And you know He is the One. You move towards the weary parents and take the Child up in your arms. He’s not walking or talking or sleeping through the night, but you know that He is the Savior of the world. Your Savior. After all the waiting, You hold your Hope in your hands. Now you are ready to depart in peace, for your eyes have seen the Lord’s salvation.
Simeon holds his Hope in his hands. What are we holding in our hands? What do we long to hold? The answer to these questions often shows up around a little word we hardly notice. It’s the word “just”. Maybe you’ve said:
“I just wish life were easier…”
“If I could just get into that job…”
“If I could just make a little more money…”
“If I could just get out of this job and retire…”
“If I could just get these people to like me…”
“If I could just find the right person…”
“If I could just get my kids to behave…”
“If I could just ______ (fill-in-the-blank).”
Our “just” gives away our real hopes and dreams. It reveals our functional god, whether it is comfort, possessions, success, marriage, or appearance. What is the crown in your counterfeit kingdom? What is the meaning in life that doesn’t really give life? If we are ultimately waiting for that, we are not really waiting for Jesus. Our hope is in something else. When the Hope of all the earth arrives, He exposes all other hopes and dreams for what they are. The conflict of Christmas means that Jesus has come to expose our sin but also to offer Himself as a true and better hope.
On this wondrous day—perhaps within earshot of temple sacrifices—Simeon warns Mary that her baby will be a sign opposed. Jesus Christ and those connected to Him will suffer. On the cross Jesus would hang as the ultimate demonstration that we oppose God, but that “sign” would also be the ultimate demonstration that God loves us. Jesus paid the price for all our godless hopes and dreams. Now he offers us the joy, not of holding Him, but of being held.
Are you holding so much that you can’t experience being held in His grip? Don’t miss God’s grace in the passage. The Spirit leads Simeon to embrace a life of waiting for the Christ. The Spirit opens his eyes to see Jesus for who He truly is. Friends, put no hope in your ability to fix your waiting or hoping problems. Put your hope in the same God who worked mightily in Simeon!
For what are you waiting? If you get it this year, will you finally have peace? Will you be ready to depart like Simeon? There’s only one Hope that will never let us down…that is truly worth the wait. Only One is worthy of our “just.” May our heart’s cry be, “Just Jesus. Just Jesus.”
The Lame Beggar Healed
Now Peter and John were going up to the temple at the hour of prayer, the ninth hour. That is, 3 p.m. And a man lame from birth was being carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple that is called the Beautiful Gate to ask alms of those entering the temple. Seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple, he asked to receive alms. And Peter directed his gaze at him, as did John, and said, "Look at us." And he fixed his attention on them, expecting to receive something from them. But Peter said, "I have no silver and gold, but what I do have I give to you. In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk!" And he took him by the right hand and raised him up, and immediately his feet and ankles were made strong.
And leaping up he stood and began to walk, and entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. And all the people saw him walking and praising God, and recognized him as the one who sat at the Beautiful Gate of the temple, asking for alms. And they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.
Peter Speaks in Solomon's Portico
While he clung to Peter and John, all the people, utterly astounded, ran together to them in the portico called Solomon's. And when Peter saw it he addressed the people: "Men of Israel, why do you wonder at this, or why do you stare at us, as though by our own power or piety we have made him walk?
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
On February 18, 1546, Martin Luther died. In his pocket was found a piece of paper with this statement written on it: “We are beggars; this is true.” These words might have seemed mysterious at first, but those who knew Luther well quickly realized that he was not describing material poverty, but spiritual poverty. In other words, in God’s sight, we are so spiritually weak and needy that we are like beggars before Him. While most of us would agree that Luther is a credible source of great wisdom, we all must agree that Jesus is the one from whose lips we receive divine wisdom itself. And Jesus, too, promotes the truth of our lowly spiritual condition.
Amazingly, Jesus goes even further than Luther. Jesus not only affirms the truth that we are people of great spiritual need, but that is a good and even happy reality. We see this as Jesus begins his most famous sermon, The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). Jesus’ opening words in this great sermon are commonly known as the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:2-12), a description of the attributes and attitudes that should characterize us as Christians. Both counter-cultural and counter-intuitive, the Beatitudes present a vision of the good life that is marked by humility, need, and even mistreatment. In the Kingdom of God, those things which the world despises as weak and pitiable, God exalts as strong and enviable. And Jesus begins the Beatitudes with perhaps the most surprising attribute and attitude of all, saying, “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of God (Matthew 5:3).”
What does it mean to be poor in spirit? To be poor in spirit means having an attitude that reflects our attribute of spiritual poverty. This attitude is not mere pessimism or self-pity; it’s origin is not from our own heart or mind. Rather, it is an attitude of abiding humility that takes root in our souls when we learn the uncomfortable truth of who we are before God. In God’s eyes, we are not merely imperfect, but altogether unrighteous (Romans 3:10). Before His holiness, we are not only guilty, but condemned to the punishment of death (Romans 6:23). To be poor in spirit is to not only see these realities, but to feel in our bones the tragedy and humility of them personally.
Why does Jesus say it is a good and happy thing to be poor in spirit? Because it is only when we see our poverty that we can see and receive the riches of Jesus’ grace by faith. It is only when we feel the weight of hell’s justice that we, in turning to Jesus, can inherit the Kingdom of Heaven. This is the upside-down, inside-out nature of the Kingdom of God: abundant provision in Jesus Christ for those who see, feel, and openly acknowledge their need of Him. So while many of us try to keep our deep sense of spiritual weakness, corruption, and need hidden, Jesus calls us to own it and to bring it into the light of His glorious grace.
To possess a genuine attitude of spiritual poverty, we must turn away from our natural inclination to compare ourselves to other people and, instead, compare ourselves to God. Or to put it more accurately, we must stop looking at ourselves with the world’s mirror and look at ourselves with God’s mirror; we must see who we are in God’s holy sight. This is what led to the great expressions of spiritual poverty found in the Bible on the lips of people like Isaiah (Isaiah 6:5), Mary (Luke 1:46-48), and Paul (Philippians 3:8-9). As the famous English preacher Martyn Lloyd-Jones said,
"The way to become poor in spirit is to look at God. Look at Him, and keep looking at Him. And then say to Him, 'Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling.' Empty, hopeless, naked, vile. But He is the all-sufficient One: 'Yea, all I need, in Thee to find, O Lamb of God, I come, I come.' (Studies in the Sermon on the Mount, p. 52).”
May we who are poor look to Jesus who is rich and feed on Him in our hearts by faith as we anticipate the glories of the Kingdom of Heaven.
The Apostles Arrested and Freed
But the high priest rose up, and all who were with him (that is, the party of the Sadducees), and filled with jealousy they arrested the apostles and put them in the public prison. But during the night an angel of the Lord opened the prison doors and brought them out, and said, "Go and stand in the temple and speak to the people all the words of this Life." And when they heard this, they entered the temple at daybreak and began to teach.
Now when the high priest came, and those who were with him, they called together the council and all the senate of the people of Israel and sent to the prison to have them brought. But when the officers came, they did not find them in the prison, so they returned and reported, "We found the prison securely locked and the guards standing at the doors, but when we opened them we found no one inside." Now when the captain of the temple and the chief priests heard these words, they were greatly perplexed about them, wondering what this would come to. And someone came and told them, "Look! The men whom you put in prison are standing in the temple and teaching the people." Then the captain with the officers went and brought them, but not by force, for they were afraid of being stoned by the people.
And when they had brought them, they set them before the council. And the high priest questioned them, saying, "We strictly charged you not to teach in this name, yet here you have filled Jerusalem with your teaching, and you intend to bring this man's blood upon us." But Peter and the apostles answered, "We must obey God rather than men.
The God of our fathers raised Jesus, whom you killed by hanging him on a tree. God exalted him at his right hand as Leader and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins. And we are witnesses to these things, and so is the Holy Spirit, whom God has given to those who obey him."
When they heard this, they were enraged and wanted to kill them. But a Pharisee in the council named Gamaliel, a teacher of the law held in honor by all the people, stood up and gave orders to put the men outside for a little while. And he said to them, "Men of Israel, take care what you are about to do with these men. For before these days Theudas rose up, claiming to be somebody, and a number of men, about four hundred, joined him. He was killed, and all who followed him were dispersed and came to nothing. After him Judas the Galilean rose up in the days of the census and drew away some of the people after him. He too perished, and all who followed him were scattered. So in the present case I tell you, keep away from these men and let them alone, for if this plan or this undertaking is of man, it will fail; but if it is of God, you will not be able to overthrow them. You might even be found opposing God!" So they took his advice, and when they had called in the apostles, they beat them and charged them not to speak in the name of Jesus, and let them go. Then they left the presence of the council, rejoicing that they were counted worthy to suffer dishonor for the name. And every day, in the temple and from house to house, they did not cease teaching and preaching Jesus as the Christ.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
At the beginning of his message on this passage, our pastor Mark Davis asked, “Have you ever been arrested?” My pulse went up, my breathing got shallow, and I was seconds from a cold sweat. “No!” thought I. “Never!” Now, don’t get me wrong. There have been a few times when maybe I should have been, but just the thought of being locked up does its deterrent work on this generally law-abiding citizen. (Speed limits are not just suggestions, right?)
For the folks in the New Testament church, arrest was a common and dangerous reality. Accompanied by beatings, stonings and civic expulsion, arrest was an ever-present threat for Christians and often only a short-term formality preceding execution.
But why? Being a Christian wasn’t against the law. There was no Roman rule that said following Jesus was illegal. That bit of legislation wouldn’t come about for several decades. Yet the first followers of The Way often found themselves on the wrong side of the dungeon door, usually because of the ire they had caused the religious establishment in town. They were imprisoned because they kept telling everyone who would listen that Jesus was alive and that he was The Messiah.
So there they sat. Imprisoned for preaching the Gospel, the apostles were in a seemingly silenced, hopeless predicament. And you know what happened? An angel showed up in the middle of the night and set them free. I wonder if they thought they were dreaming. Maybe they were so scared they thought they had hallucinated their release. But the punch line of the account is that the angel didn’t just “turn them loose,” but also gave them instructions. “Go and stand in the temple, and speak to the people all the words of this Life.”
What? They had been arrested for preaching, freed by a direct miracle of God Almighty, walked past sleeping guards, and then told to go back to the center of town…and preach some more! But this time the audience would be different. They would wind up preaching the Gospel to the very leaders who had attacked them in the first place. They were beaten, roughed up for good measure, and then released.
How did they respond? It’s remarkable. They offered praise to God because they had been counted worthy of suffering for Christ. “And every day, in the temple and from house to house, they did not cease teaching and preaching Jesus as the Christ.”
And that’s the way with the followers of Jesus, isn’t it? God is building His church in and through His faithful servants. God’s Kingdom will prevail, empowered and emboldened by the same Holy Spirit that empowered Peter and the others. Who will you tell today?
Now there was in Joppa a disciple named Tabitha, which, translated, means Dorcas. She was full of good works and acts of charity. In those days she became ill and died, and when they had washed her, they laid her in an upper room. Since Lydda was near Joppa, the disciples, hearing that Peter was there, sent two men to him, urging him, "Please come to us without delay." So Peter rose and went with them. And when he arrived, they took him to the upper room. All the widows stood beside him weeping and showing tunics and other garments that Dorcas made while she was with them. But Peter put them all outside, and knelt down and prayed; and turning to the body he said, "Tabitha, arise." And she opened her eyes, and when she saw Peter she sat up. And he gave her his hand and raised her up. Then, calling the saints and widows, he presented her alive. And it became known throughout all Joppa, and many believed in the Lord. And he stayed in Joppa for many days with one Simon, a tanner.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dorcas is dead. That's the reality the disciples are facing. She was full of good works and acts of charity. She made beautiful garments with her hands, and she made the Lord look beautiful with her life. But now she's dead. Her body has been washed and laid in an upper room. For Dorcas, it's over. It's hopeless. And who would disagree? Apparently, the disciples. They send an urgent call for Peter to come. What do they think Peter will do? He has never raised a dead person to life. Perhaps they're hopeful in his close friendship with the One who is the Resurrection and the Life. When Peter arrives, he immediately feels the impact of Dorcas' life and the sting of her death. The clothes are a tangible reminder of the power of her life. The tears are a heartbreaking reminder of the power of death.
If you were Dorcas' friend, what would you have done? If you were Peter-summoned to come-what would you have done? The question is not as hypothetical as it may seem. We're surrounded by apparently hopeless situations. Situations where a sound thinker would say, "It's over." Situations where we're all tempted to say, "Dorcas is dead. There's nothing we can do. Let's just move on." On Sunday we talked about the sanctity of life and the horror of abortion. But the specter of hopelessness haunts us when we consider the hatred and division we see across our nation. The siren call of despair rings out wherever we find ourselves enslaved and see no way of escape. It's not an academic question: What do we do when Dorcas is dead?
Like Dorcas' friends, do we come together and make a plan? Do we grieve the apparent victories of death that terrorize us personally and corporately? Do we summon the courage to do something bold? Like Peter, do we agree to go, even when we don't have experience raising the dead? Do we go with a joyful confidence, not in ourselves, but in the risen Lord Jesus Christ? Do we silence the chaos and create a space to kneel and pray that the Lord will do what seems impossible to us? Surely, the Lord is the Hero of the story, but He delights to involve His people in His life-giving work. What if Dorcas' friends lose hope? What if Peter doesn't come? In a hopeless world, where is the Lord calling us to bear witness to the power of the resurrection? Death was not the last word for Dorcas; neither shall it be for God's people.
Now an angel of the Lord said to Philip, "Rise and go toward the south to the road that goes down from Jerusalem to Gaza." This is a desert place. And he rose and went. And there was an Ethiopian, a eunuch, a court official of Candace, queen of the Ethiopians, who was in charge of all her treasure. He had come to Jerusalem to worship and was returning, seated in his chariot, and he was reading the prophet Isaiah. And the Spirit said to Philip, "Go over and join this chariot." So Philip ran to him and heard him reading Isaiah the prophet and asked, "Do you understand what you are reading?" And he said, "How can I, unless someone guides me?" And he invited Philip to come up and sit with him. Now the passage of the Scripture that he was reading was this:
"Like a sheep he was led to the slaughterand like a lamb before its shearer is silent,so he opens not his mouth. In his humiliation justice was denied him. Who can describe his generation? For his life is taken away from the earth."
And the eunuch said to Philip, "About whom, I ask you, does the prophet say this, about himself or about someone else?" Then Philip opened his mouth, and beginning with this Scripture he told him the good news about Jesus. And as they were going along the road they came to some water, and the eunuch said, "See, here is water! What prevents me from being baptized?" And Philip said, "If you believe with all your heart, you may." And he replied, "I believe that Jesus Christ is the Son of God." And he commanded the chariot to stop, and they both went down into the water, Philip and the eunuch, and he baptized him. And when they came up out of the water, the Spirit of the Lord carried Philip away, and the eunuch saw him no more, and went on his way rejoicing. But Philip found himself at Azotus, and as he passed through he preached the gospel to all the towns until he came to Caesarea.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
God uses Philip in a providential crossing to bring the Ethiopian eunuch to Jesus Christ. God speaks to Philip and asks him to leave a thriving ministry and go to a place he doesn't know, to a person he doesn't know, for a reason he doesn't fully understand. And Philip obeys! What would we have done? As we reflect on what could seem like a strange detour for Philip, we should consider how we relate to interruptions in our lives. In Spiritual Leadership, Oswald Sanders shares a story to illustrate.
One busy man told me how he mastered the problem of interruptions. "Up to some years ago," he testified, "I was always annoyed by them, which was really a form of selfishness on my part. People used to walk in and say, 'Well, I just had two hours to kill here in between trains, and I thought I would come and see you.' That used to bother me. Then the Lord convinced me that He sends people our way. He sent Philip to the Ethiopian eunuch. He sent Barnabas to see Saul. The same applies today. God sends people our way.
"So when someone comes in, I say, 'The Lord must have brought you here. Let us find out why He sent you. Let us have prayer.' Well, this does two things. The interview takes on new importance because God is in it. And it generally shortens the interview. If a visitor knows you are looking for reasons why God should have brought him, and there are none apparent, the visit becomes pleasant but brief. So now I take interruptions as from the Lord. They belong in my schedule, because the schedule is God's to arrange at His pleasure."
If we believe in an Almighty God who advances His church through providential crossings, shouldn't we reconsider the way we think about the detours, interruptions, and "chance" meetings we have every day? Shouldn't we believe that the Lord still sends people to us, and still sends us to people, even when we don't know the who, the where, the why, or the how? Today, will we wrestle to hold onto control-which is an illusion!-or will we surrender to the providential direction of our gracious God who is building His church? What if He really intends to use us today to extend His kingdom? As another author writes, "What if our interruptions are in fact our opportunities?"
So Peter opened his mouth and said: "Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears him and does what is right is acceptable to him. As for the word that he sent to Israel, preaching good news of peace through Jesus Christ (he is Lord of all), you yourselves know what happened throughout all Judea, beginning from Galilee after the baptism that John proclaimed: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power. He went about doing good and healing all who were oppressed by the devil, for God was with him. And we are witnesses of all that he did both in the country of the Jews and in Jerusalem. They put him to death by hanging him on a tree, but God raised him on the third day and made him to appear, not to all the people but to us who had been chosen by God as witnesses, who ate and drank with him after he rose from the dead.
And he commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that he is the one appointed by God to be judge of the living and the dead. To him all the prophets bear witness that everyone who believes in him receives forgiveness of sins through his name."
While Peter was still saying these things, the Holy Spirit fell on all who heard the word. And the believers from among the circumcised who had come with Peter were amazed, because the gift of the Holy Spirit was poured out even on the Gentiles. For they were hearing them speaking in tongues and extolling God. Then Peter declared, "Can anyone withhold water for baptizing these people, who have received the Holy Spirit just as we have?" And he commanded them to be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ. Then they asked him to remain for some days.
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
This passage is a pivotal one in the book of Acts, as the gospel continues to spread out from Jerusalem to reach the ends of the earth (Acts 1:8). Peter delivers to Cornelius and his household one of the most straightforward gospel proclamations, declaring God's redemptive purposes for all men through the person and work of Jesus Christ. And what happens? As Peter is speaking, the Holy Spirit falls on the Gentiles, just as The Spirit did the Jews. Utter amazement fills all the believers with Peter. God saves even the Gentiles. Even them!? The power of God was at work on the frontier in unexpected and unimaginable ways.
We would do well as a church to dwell on God's power on the frontier. The church needs the frontier, and the frontier needs the church. As one who is genuinely passionate about God's glory and work in the nations, but also simultaneously apathetic and distracted, I'd like to offer a few points of application:
First, let us be honest before God about our reaction to His global mission. Let us in a spirit of humility acknowledge where our priorities are different from our Father's, and let us repent when we seek our personal kingdom's priorities more vigorously than His eternal and everlasting one. He is a God of grace.
Second, let us ask Him to give us a love for that which He loves. This is so much broader than His saving work in the nations, but no smaller! He is faithful to fill us with greater joy and fruitfulness as He conforms us to His character.
Third, let us ask Him to give us a vision for His kingdom that stirs our imagination to worship and pulls our heart toward action. For me, I love to hear stories of God's work around the world, through friends I know, but also videos. This is one of my favorites.
Fourth, let us consider how He may be calling us to go to the unreached, give financially to God's global gospel work, and/or pray for gospel doors to be opened so that every tribe and tongue may confess Jesus Christ as Lord.
Fifth, what are the "frontiers" that God may be calling us to cross in our city? Consider what are the ethnic, racial, and socio-economic boundaries that God may be calling us to cross for our good and the sake of the gospel? (To do so may require addressing a prejudice, even a subtle one, or de-emphasizing a recreational activity to create time in our calendars to serve and be served by someone different than us).
Lastly, how is our prayer life shaped by a concern for His power in the frontiers of our neighborhood, families, workplace, city, country, and truly to the ends of the earth? Who are the people that we would be surprised to see God save - even them?!
Yes, let's pray for even them.
God has always been about the work of reaching the lost and unlikely from all parts of the globe. Remember: we were once an "even them". He redeems us to join with Him in His rescuing work for all people, everywhere. Let His gospel of grace move us today to joyful, radical, worshipful service for His glory!
As we were going to the place of prayer, we were met by a slave girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners much gain by fortune-telling. She followed Paul and us, crying out, "These men are servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation." And this she kept doing for many days. Paul, having become greatly annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, "I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her." And it came out that very hour.
But when her owners saw that their hope of gain was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the rulers. And when they had brought them to the magistrates, they said, "These men are Jews, and they are disturbing our city. They advocate customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to accept or practice." The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates tore the garments off them and gave orders to beat them with rods. And when they had inflicted many blows upon them, they threw them into prison, ordering the jailer to keep them safely. Having received this order, he put them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks.
About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them, and suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened, and everyone's bonds were unfastened. When the jailer woke and saw that the prison doors were open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, supposing that the prisoners had escaped.
But Paul cried with a loud voice, "Do not harm yourself, for we are all here." And the jailer called for lights and rushed in, and trembling with fear he fell down before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them out and said, "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" And they said, "Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household." And they spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. And he took them the same hour of the night and washed their wounds; and he was baptized at once, he and all his family. Then he brought them up into his house and set food before them. And he rejoiced along with his entire household that he had believed in God.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Let's imagine for a moment that you are the composer, and it's time to pre-screen the film for which you've written the score. The hardest scene to craft was the "jail scene." The imagery is remarkable and chilling and raw. The prisoners are chained to one another and to iron rings in the stone floor of the near-dark dungeon. The director has asked the actor playing the jailer to cover his face with a cloth, to communicate the stench of the place. One of the prisoners pictured as the camera pans the cell is a rotting corpse. Now, cue music! And then your score swells with strains of, "Bless the Lord, Oh my soul, Oh my soul, worship His Holy Name!"
The producer wheels on you fiercely. He screams at you, "Are you crazy? This is a dungeon scene, in ancient Philippi! Did you even read the script!? There's an earthquake and a jail break and a near-suicide, you fool! What is praise music doing in this scene?!"
"Well sir," you answer, "the praise music is actually what the scene is about! Did YOU read the source document for the script?"
Then you get fired and he gets a Bible. Not a bad outcome to imagine.
Paul and Silas are singing praises in the middle of the night in the middle of the dungeon after a very long day that included interrogations and beatings. Singing-how can that possibly true?
Paul and Silas did not know they were about to be rescued from the dungeon of Philippi, but they did know they had already been rescued from the dungeon of hell. They were God's men on God's mission, and they sang the songs they had been singing all along: songs like the Psalms, praises like the songs of Moses and Mary. Or maybe they remembered and sang the lyrics of King David in that dark hole in Philippi.
The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?
Psalm 27:1
These men knew the Lord and praised the Lord because that was their habit. For Paul, and for us, our circumstances are not the primary source of the joy in our hearts. It's the Lord dwelling richly in our hearts who teaches how to understand and manage our circumstances.
They also sang because they counted suffering for Christ's sake to be an honor, and evidence of their union with Jesus. They could have run away from that jail, or encouraged the jailer to kill himself by saying, "Go ahead! Your life's over anyway!" But instead, they proclaimed the truth that had saved them. And they baptized the jailer in the name of The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. They went into the dungeon as prisoners of the guard and came out as brothers of the guard! That's something worth singing about.
Later, Paul would write a letter to the church there in Philippi. The jailer may have heard it read aloud. He would have thought back about that night when the prisoners didn't run, and I bet he would have praised the Lord for that memory!
But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For His sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith- that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
Philippians 3:7-11
Then they cast him out of the city and stoned him. And the witnesses laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul. And as they were stoning Stephen, he called out, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.” And falling to his knees he cried out with a loud voice, “Lord, do not hold this sin against them.” And when he had said this, he fell asleep.
And Saul approved of his execution.
And there arose on that day a great persecution against the church in Jerusalem, and they were all scattered throughout the regions of Judea and Samaria, except the apostles. Devout men buried Stephen and made great lamentation over him. But Saul was ravaging the church, and entering house after house, he dragged off men and women and committed them to prison.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
When you think of opposition, who comes to mind? Try to imagine how your enemies respond to you. When you speak, they twist your words. When you act, they misinterpret your actions. When you love, they question your motives. When they sin, they refuse to admit it. When the relationship is fractured, they resist reconciliation. When you do good, they repay you with evil. They malign your character. They stir up conflict. They grieve your heart. And in everything, they care only about themselves.
As you read these statements, where does your heart run? As you think of those who oppose you, do you become bitter, angry, and vengeful? Or does a heart of love and compassion begin to grow for those who are so lost and confused?
Let's try this again. Try to imagine how God relates to us as we oppose Him. When He speaks, we twist His words. When He acts, we misinterpret His actions. When He loves, we question His motives. When we sin, we refuse to admit it. When the relationship is fractured, we resist reconciliation. When He does good, we repay Him with evil. We malign His character. We stir up conflict. We grieve His heart. And in everything, we care only about ourselves.
If God responded to opposition the way we do, would we have any hope? If He chose to ignore, confront, or destroy us, where would we be? Thanks be to God! In His sovereign grace, the Lord chooses to move toward His enemies and convert them. We see it in the conversion of Saul in Acts 9. A man who was violently opposed to Jesus Christ and His church. The last man we would imagine being changed. This man is God's chosen instrument to carry His name (Acts 9:15). No one but God would write this story. No one but God could write this story!
When we think of opposition, who comes to mind? Do we think of others, or do we think of ourselves? Can we see the ways that we still resist and replace the Lord in our lives? Whether we are self-indulgent "younger brothers" or self-righteous "older brothers" (Luke 15:11-32), we have set ourselves against our loving Father. Have we owned our opposition to God? Paul never forgot how he had opposed Jesus Christ. He could write, "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost" (1 Timothy 1:15). Paul was generous in sharing the Gospel because he knew how much he needed it himself. We should ask ourselves, "Am I the worst sinner I know? Do I embrace Jesus Christ as my Savior? Am I the most unlikely convert?" If we answer "Yes," we should buckle up because the Lord wants to give us His heart for the people around us. He wants to use us as His instruments as He continues converting His opposition.
Now there was a disciple at Damascus named Ananias. The Lord said to him in a vision, “Ananias.” And he said, “Here I am, Lord.” And the Lord said to him, “Rise and go to the street called Straight, and at the house of Judas look for a man of Tarsus named Saul, for behold, he is praying, and he has seen in a vision a man named Ananias come in and lay his hands on him so that he might regain his sight.” But Ananias answered, “Lord, I have heard from many about this man, how much evil he has done to your saints at Jerusalem. And here he has authority from the chief priests to bind all who call on your name.” But the Lord said to him, “Go, for he is a chosen instrument of mine to carry my name before the Gentiles and kings and the children of Israel. For I will show him how much he must suffer for the sake of my name.” So Ananias departed and entered the house. And laying his hands on him he said, “Brother Saul, the Lord Jesus who appeared to you on the road by which you came has sent me so that you may regain your sight and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” And immediately something like scales fell from his eyes, and he regained his sight. Then he rose and was baptized; and taking food, he was strengthened.
For some days he was with the disciples at Damascus. And immediately he proclaimed Jesus in the synagogues, saying, “He is the Son of God.” And all who heard him were amazed and said, “Is not this the man who made havoc in Jerusalem of those who called upon this name? And has he not come here for this purpose, to bring them bound before the chief priests?” But Saul increased all the more in strength, and confounded the Jews who lived in Damascus by proving that Jesus was the Christ.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
If you watched any of the most recent Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea, you no doubt saw some mini-documentaries on some of the athletes. On a practical level, these stories are informative introductions to athletes whose careers and sports most of us know little about. On a personal level, their stories are inspiring affirmations that the right blend of talent and training can lead to amazing accomplishments.
In the book of Acts, we encounter conversion stories that are more than informative or inspiring; they are surprising. While faith in Jesus Christ is always reasonable and the Holy Spirit is always at work, it should nevertheless always surprise us to see sinners transformed to saints by faith in Jesus Christ. Conversions are not just unlikely; they are, in every way, miraculous.
In the book of Acts, chapters 1-8, we find several surprising group conversion stories as God draws thousands of people to faith in Jesus Christ. We don't know all of the names, but we see the glorious disruption of Jerusalem as nearly a quarter of its citizens become Christians. And in Acts 8-10, with the gospel spreading beyond Jerusalem, we find three surprising personal conversion stories. There is the unnamed African financier, the Ethiopian eunuch, who comes to faith by reading Isaiah 53 and hearing Philip explain its fulfillment in Jesus Christ (Acts 8:26-40). There is the Roman general, Cornelius, who comes to faith by the work of an angel, a dream, and the witness of Peter (Acts 10:1-48). And in the middle, the most famous and most amazing personal conversion story in Acts: the story of Saul, the Jewish terrorist, who sees and hears Jesus Christ Himself, causing blind unbelief to become clear-sighted faith and life-changing mission (Acts 9:1-19). Together, these group conversion stories and personal conversion stories surprise us as readers and as participants in God's great work of redemption.
Living in the buckle of the Bible belt, we in Dallas may sometimes see our conversion stories as less surprising, less miraculous versions of the conversion stories in Acts. Perhaps we believe that the Holy Spirit need a miracle of lesser degree to save us, given the Christian mores of our culture and the general morality of our lives. Worse still, perhaps we believe that our conversion was somehow a result of being specially favored by God. But we have the same deceitful, debilitating, deadly sin nature as Saul and Cornelius. And we need the same atoning work of Jesus Christ, and the same regenerating power of the Holy Spirit. Our conversion stories are just as surprising, and just as miraculous as the conversion stories in Acts.
Perhaps we could even push this point one step further: your conversion story should be to you the most surprising of any conversion story. Why? Because you should see and feel the weight of your sin and need for Jesus more than you see anyone else's sin and need for Jesus. Each of us should be able to say, "I am a log-eyed chief of sinners (Matthew 7:3-5; 1 Timothy 1:15)!" and "I am a prodigal heir of infinite grace (Luke 15:1-32; Ephesians 2:4-9)!" In the words of John Newton, our greatest wonder should be our own story of rescue: "If I ever reach heaven, I expect to find three wonders there. First, to meet some I had not though to see there. Second, to miss some I had expected to see there. And third, the greatest wonder of all, to find myself there."
Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, "Go and prepare the Passover for us, that we may eat it." They said to Him, "Where will you have us prepare it?" He said to them, "Behold, when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him into the house that he enters and tell the master of the house, 'The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?' And he will show you a large upper room furnished; prepare it there." And they went and found it just as He had told them, and they prepared the Passover.
And when the hour came, He reclined at table, and the apostles with Him. And He said to them, "I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." And He took a cup, and when He had given thanks He said, "Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." And He took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is My body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me." And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in My blood. But behold, the hand of him who betrays Me is with Me on the table. For the Son of Man goes as it has been determined, but woe to that man by whom He is betrayed!" And they began to question one another, which of them it could be who was going to do this.
A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
One of my fondest childhood memories were the Sunday lunches at my grandparents' house after church. In the small fifteen hundred square foot house gathered my immediate family, uncles, aunts, and cousins too. But the guest list did not end there, no, in fact other relatives would join us-second, third, and fifth cousins twice-removed, friends from church, and other family friends. Anyone who knew my grandparents knew there was a place on Sunday afternoons for them where they would be welcomed by hearty food, warm smiles, and lots of laughter. They were truly generous hosts who earnestly wanted any and all to come for a meal and fellowship.
The text from this past Sunday's sermon brings us to a climatic point in Scripture. Up and to this point, Jesus has spoken about His impending death and resurrection, yet the disciples are, at different times, confused, perplexed, or enraged about what He says. They cannot quite understand the true meaning of Jesus's words. Before Jesus is to endure the agonies of the cross and rise from the dead, He gathers His closest friends for one last, intimate meal. For them it was once in a lifetime experience, but for Jesus, the Earnest Host, it was not unfamiliar territory. If we go back to Genesis 1-3, the Earnest Host lays out a bounty of good for our first parents, Adam and Eve. However, the meal has parameters; no partaking of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. And yet we know both Adam and Eve disobey God, partake of the fruit, and the Earnest Host is incredibly furious and offended. Fellowship is cut-off. Relationship is broken between the Earnest Host and His image bearers. Rather than never to offer another feast again, the Old Testament teases us with portraits of a grand feast that is to come, where God will be reconciled to His image bearers and His Creation so that they may enjoy Him forever. Whether is it with Melchizedek king of Salem (Genesis 14:18), or the offerings in the Mosaic Law that included both feasts and sacrificial offerings (Leviticus 16, 23), there is something more to the Story that continually builds to this moment in the Upper Room.
In the Upper Room, the significance of moment and the meal is still muddled for the disciples. While Jesus spells out, at least to us, the apparent reality of what is to come both physically and spiritually in His crucifixion, speculation and one-up-manship break out among the disciples. The Earnest Host, again, lays out a bounty, a feast to partake, and the moment is lost in self-absorption. But this feast in the Upper Room is not the end; it points to a greater feast to come. This greater feast will happen in the Age to Come, where all the redeemed will gather with our God for forever (Rev. 19:6-9; 21:1-4). God will welcome communion and host His redeemed image bearers for a party of delight in Himself. God earnestly seeks out His people for that feast (Luke 19:10). Until that glorious day, we continue to gather at the Lord's Table to proclaim His death and look for His return.
We can have confidence that the Earnest Host will make a great feast for His people again, and this time there will be no interruptions, no self-absorption, no one-up-manship. There will be no end to His feast either. This feast will be about the enjoyment of our God for forever. As the prophet Isaiah wrote,
On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine,
of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined.
And He will swallow up on this mountain
the covering that is cast over all peoples,
the veil that is spread over all nations.
He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of His people He will take away from all the earth,
for the Lord has spoken. (Isaiah 25:6-8)
But Jews came from Antioch and Iconium, and having persuaded the crowds, they stoned Paul and dragged him out of the city, supposing that he was dead. But when the disciples gathered about him, he rose up and entered the city, and on the next day he went on with Barnabas to Derbe. When they had preached the gospel to that city and had made many disciples, they returned to Lystra and to Iconium and to Antioch, strengthening the souls of the disciples, encouraging them to continue in the faith, and saying that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God. And when they had appointed elders for them in every church, with prayer and fasting they committed them to the Lord in whom they had believed.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Apostle Paul was not just playing possum. He wasn't feigning death to fool the angry mob. The attackers undoubtedly had experience murdering people by stoning. So had Paul. He knew better than to attempt a ruse. And when he finally fell unconscious, he was dragged out of the city and dumped as the dead man they thought him to be. Paul the preacher, Paul the rogue rabbi, Paul the scholar had been dealt with once and for all. End of Paul—end of story!
The only thing is that it was emphatically not the end of the story. In fact, the very next day, Paul and his companions go back to Lystra, then to Derbe, and then keep on travelling, preaching the Gospel all the way. It's a story that propels the Good News of Jesus Christ from that remarkable day to this remarkable day.
Jesus had promised His disciples that tribulations would be a part of following Him. They should expect no better treatment than He had received, and He promises us the same thing. When the Gospel is preached, it will divide the crowd. Some will hear, have their hearts made alive, and join the throng of saints who worship The Lord. Others will rebel and attack and fight.
But the witness of scripture and the weight of history teach us at least three things about those certain attacks. First, the Gospel will not be defeated. Jesus said so plainly. And it is the final, eternal victory of our Lord's resurrection that guarantees that truth. Jesus really did die. And that wasn't the end of the story.
Also, tribulation actually serves to strengthen the Church and sharpen its message. Like galvanizing steel in a furnace, persecution prepares believers for the tasks to which we've all been called. Becoming strong in any sphere of our lives takes work, is often painful, and usually happens slowly. So it is with our growth in Christ. At the last supper, Jesus promised that He had overcome the world, telling the disciples to, "be of good cheer." Within 24 hours He was crucified.
Lastly, the very real, very frequent fact of persecution serves to spread the Gospel to every tribe and every tongue, until the end of the age. And sometimes the tribulation isn't even about being a believer. Persecuted people live all around us here in North Texas. They've come for all kinds of reasons. Maybe they've simply escaped the reality of starvation back home. And by God's grace, they hear of the mercy of God and the good news of Jesus.
So what does all this mean? For most of us, at least for now, being murdered as a Christ follower isn't too likely. Yet it means the same for us as for disciples in every age. Paul says what it means. Yes, that Paul—chased, beaten, stoned, shipwrecked, mocked, imprisoned, and ultimately martyred Paul.
I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by His appearing and His kingdom: preach the word; be ready in season and out of season; reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching. For the time is coming when people will not endure sound teaching, but having itching ears they will accumulate for themselves teachers to suit their own passions, and will turn away from listening to the truth and wander off into myths. As for you, always be sober-minded, endure suffering, do the work of an evangelist, fulfill your ministry.
2 Timothy 4:1-5
So Peter opened his mouth and said: “Truly I understand that God shows no partiality, but in every nation anyone who fears Him and does what is right is acceptable to Him. As for the word that He sent to Israel, preaching good news of peace through Jesus Christ (He is Lord of all), you yourselves know what happened throughout all Judea, beginning from Galilee after the baptism that John proclaimed: how God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and with power…
And we are witnesses of all that He did both in the country of the Jews and in Jerusalem. They put Him to death by hanging Him on a tree, but God raised Him on the third day and made Him to appear, not to all the people but to us who had been chosen by God as witnesses, who ate and drank with Him after He rose from the dead. And He commanded us to preach to the people and to testify that He is the One appointed by God to be judge of the living and the dead. To Him all the prophets bear witness that everyone who believes in Him receives forgiveness of sins through His name.” While Peter was still saying these things, the Holy Spirit fell on all who heard the word.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
Mostly it’s annoying getting interrupted. In the middle of a conversation, when you’re on your horse galloping through a speech, getting bumped off course seems criminal. Sometimes it sits you down—slack jawed in the dust—watching your thoughts wander over the horizon. But every once in awhile, an interruption, like a clap of thunder, bolts your conversation forward to its stunning and beautiful conclusion.
I wonder if that is how Peter felt in Caesarea. God had given him a stunning vision, three times, about how new the New Covenant really is. Certainly Peter knew the power of the gospel. Peter could talk eloquently about forgiveness of sins, the anointing of the Holy Spirit, and the new creation. But he was just coming to understand how truly transformational Jesus’s redemption is.
Yes— no partiality, no unclean, people from every nation. But God, with a booming interruption, sent the Holy Spirit and threw Acts chapter 10 to its stunning conclusion.
In the old way God-fearing Gentiles, like Cornelius, had a place. It was near…ish. Just outside. But this conclusion is something new, so very near and so inside that Jesus in His High Priestly prayer simply said that Peter and Cornelius were now one. United. In the old way, Cornelius was never Peter’s brother. In the new, they share the same divine Breath.
Psalm 133 says, “How good and pleasant it is when brothers dwell in unity. It is like the precious oil on the head, running down on the beard, on the beard of Aaron, running down on the collar of his robes!” This Psalm refers to Aaron’s ordination as Israel’s high priest. The oil, a symbol of the Holy Spirit, running down from his head to his body, made it clear to everyone that when Aaron stood offering sacrifices at the Tabernacle, all of Israel stood there too in Aaron. They were united.
We have a greater High Priest. At Jesus’s baptism, God anointed Him with the Holy Spirit. And as the oil ran down over Aaron, so too the Holy Spirit runs down from our Head, Christ, onto us, His body, the Church. So that where Christ is we are too. We are united to Him and to all who make up His body. Made one even as God himself is one (John 17.22).
Acts 10 interrupts us too. Who is the Cornelius in your life? The socially awkward? The politically backward? The day laborer in Cambodia or the refugee on a boat in the Mediterranean? In Christ, they all may be more intimately connected to you than the doctor who lives down the street, drives the same car, and celebrates the preferred beverage.
We may know that God shows no partiality, but without this sort of interruption, we may never see how near God is to those we keep at a distance, with what fire He adores them, nor how united to them we actually are. May the Spirit make us truly understand.
Now when they drew near to Jerusalem and came to Bethphage, to the Mount of Olives, then Jesus sent two disciples, saying to them, “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied, and a colt with her. Untie them and bring them to me. If anyone says anything to you, you shall say, ‘The Lord needs them,’ and he will send them at once.” This took place to fulfill what was spoken by the prophet, saying,
“Say to the daughter of Zion,
‘Behold, your king is coming to you,
humble, and mounted on a donkey,
on a colt, the foal of a beast of burden.’”
The disciples went and did as Jesus had directed them. They brought the donkey and the colt and put on them their cloaks, and he sat on them. Most of the crowd spread their cloaks on the road, and others cut branches from the trees and spread them on the road. And the crowds that went before him and that followed him were shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” And when he entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up, saying, “Who is this?” And the crowds said, “This is the prophet Jesus, from Nazareth of Galilee.”
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
Who is this? Have you ever tried to describe someone very precious to you, and all the words seem woefully inadequate to capture that person’s character and worth? That is how I’ve felt reflecting on Jesus’ person this week. All words seem to groan under the weight of all that He is and has done.
Who is this? The crowds were anxiously asking this question as Jesus came into Jerusalem. Imagine the sights and sounds, how people pressed and fought to see this man called Jesus enter Jerusalem. It was the week of Passover, and likely stories of Jesus’ power to heal likely preceded Him from nearby Bethany where Jesus had just raised Lazarus from the dead. Pilgrim Jews were eager to receive this man who worked miracles in their midst. Could this be the one that would save them from Roman oppression?
For the first time in His public ministry, Jesus wants all eyes on Him as He enters His final week on earth. He wants people to see what kind of King He is, and that His way of conquering is not through force or dominance, but through humility and death.
Sinclair Ferguson points out the fact that Jesus draws attention to only one special characteristic about Himself—paradoxically, His humility. He calls His disciples to learn from Him, for He is gentle and lowly in heart (Matthew 11:28). This is embodied in how He rides into Jerusalem. He comes not on a chariot or a war horse (Zechariah 9:10), but as the Prince of Peace, humble and mounted on a donkey (Zechariah 9:9). Jesus establishes His eternal rule not by way of the world’s glory, but instead the world’s shame and disgrace all the while exhibiting the most tender compassion and grace for His people. He is precisely the kind of king we need. And what a King He is!
Who is this? I want to borrow from the words of Gregory of Nazianzus, who gives such a poignant picture of Jesus’ person, work and worth:
“…He is sold, and cheap was the price—thirty pieces of silver; yet He buys back the world at mighty cost of His blood. A sheep, He is led to the slaughter —yet He shepherds Israel and now the whole world as well…He is weakened, wounded—yet He cures every disease and every weakness. He is brought up to the tree and nailed to it—yet by the tree of life He restores us. He is given vinegar to drink, gall to eat—and who is He? Why, one who turned water into wine, who took away the taste of bitterness, who is all sweetness and desire…He dies, but He vivifies, and by death destroys death…”
Who is this? I want to be more like the blind beggars who unabashedly called out to Jesus for mercy, pleading in desperation that they may recover their sight (Matthew 20:29-34). Would we all have fresh eyes to behold the power of the cross and the astounding meekness of our Savior, and may His perfect holiness be our humility.
Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you." So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. And behold, Jesus met them and said, "Greetings!" And they came up and took hold of his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
How do you feel when someone says, “I told you so”? An interesting tension exists in the resurrection narratives in the Gospels. On one side, we have trembling guards and fearful women and perplexed disciples. Everyone seems so surprised by the empty tomb. On the other side, we have Jesus and angels, who don’t seem surprised in the least. “He is not here, for He has risen, as He said” (Matthew 28:6). What do we make of this angelic “I told you so”?
When people say, “I told you so,” they’re often trying to tear us down. But when the Lord says it, He intends to build us up. The various responses to the resurrection reveal a kind of scriptural amnesia. Confronted with the horror of the cross and the triumph of the resurrection, the disciples simply forget what the Scriptures say—and what the Lord Himself has said! As the news spreads, some of His followers remember His words (Luke 24:8), while others think it’s “an idle tale” and struggle to believe (Luke 24:11). Jesus even tells two travelers, “O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken!” (Luke 24:25). Without question, the risen Christ wants His people to rejoice in His victory. But He also wants the resurrection to build their confidence in His word.
The Lord loves the argument from the greater to the lesser. “He who did not spare His own Son but gave Him up for us all, how will He not also with Him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:32). If God has already accomplished the greater thing (not sparing His own Son), how will He not also accomplish the lesser thing (graciously giving us all things)? The Lord’s “I told you so” suggests a similar argument. “If Christ has been faithful to His promise to rise again—as He said—how will He not also be faithful to every other promise He has made?” The resurrection invites us to take God at His word, to cultivate a humble confidence in His great and precious promises (2 Peter 1:4). Should we be shocked when God does what He says He would do?
By God’s grace, we can put this “argument” to work this week. If we’re anxious, we can cast our anxieties on Him, because He cares for us, as He said (1 Peter 5:7). If we’re tempted, we can be confident that He will provide a way out, as He said (1 Corinthians 10:12-13). If we’re lonely, we can trust that He will never leave or forsake us, as He said (Hebrews 13:5). If we feel inadequate to be His ambassadors, we can remember that our sufficiency is from Him, as He said (2 Corinthians 3:5). If we feel cut off from His love, we can remind ourselves that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord, as He said (Romans 8:37-39). If we’re facing death, we can be confident that we will be united with Him in His resurrection, as He said (Romans 6:5).
Friends, Christ is risen, as He said. All the promises of God have found their “Yes” in Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 1:20)! May we come and see the glory of the risen Christ on full display in His word. May He cause our hearts to burn as He opens the Scriptures to us (Luke 24:32). And like the morning of the resurrection, may He give us joy to go and tell, as He said (Matthew 28:10).
In our worship services on Sunday, April 8, 2018, several new Ruling Elders and Deacons were Ordained and Installed at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. As a part of the worship service, Ruling Elder Eric Horan delivered the following charge to the congregation. It is being reprinted here as an Every Thought Captive devotional in order to help readers continue reflecting on how to encourage, pray for, honor, and benefit from the ministry of the leaders in their local church.
As we consider the vow we have just taken to receive these brothers as Ruling Elders and Deacons, how best can this body yield “honor, encouragement, and obedience in the Lord” to which their office entitles them?
I was struck by a recent story in one of our PCPC publications. Twenty years ago, a family in our church was facing a very serious health issue for their young son which ultimately required a heart transplant. Those who were in close fellowship with this family came around them with tremendous support. They cleaned and redecorated their house, provided meals, and stayed until the wee hours of the morning at the hospital praying with them. At one point, the husband and father was overwhelmed by the amount of care being given to them. He said he couldn’t accept the gift offered to his family; it was too much, he thought. Perhaps this is similar to the way many of us might respond. Yet some of the men met his refusal with a response that is fitting for us this morning. They said to him, “Please do not deny us the opportunity to serve.”
Brothers and sisters, that is my encouragement to you this morning. These men have taken sacred vows before the Lord affirming their calling as Ruling Elders and Deacons in our church. How can we best yield “honor, encouragement, and obedience in the Lord?” By not denying them the opportunity to serve. Whether it be walking alongside you in your marriage, praying with and for you, teaching and mentoring you, or offering counsel, do not withhold from these men the opportunity to minister to you.
What we have witnessed here this morning is patterned after the instructions for church governance and leadership given to us in the New Testament’s letters to the early church. In particular, Ephesians 4:11-16, Paul describes Jesus as having given shepherds and teachers for our discipleship, for the promotion of healthy congregational life, and for God’s glory to be displayed in the church. He has given these men as gifts that we might “grow up in every way into Him who is the head (Eph. 4:15),” namely, Jesus Christ. Consider also the exhortation given by the author of Hebrews where he calls on the people to, “Obey your leaders and submit to them, for they are keeping watch over your souls, as those who will have to give an account (Hebrews 13:17a).” These men will have to give an account for the spiritual condition of this body.
With this in mind, I ask you to do three things. First, find ways to encourage these men when the burden of their office seems particularly heavy. Second, avail yourselves of their care and counsel; give them opportunity to minister to you. And third, pray for them; pray that they might walk in a manner worthy of the calling to which they have been called. In so doing, may much glory and honor be bestowed on Jesus, the true Shepherd and Overseer of our souls (1 Peter 2:25).
But some men came down from Judea and were teaching the brothers, "Unless you are circumcised according to the custom of Moses, you cannot be saved." And after Paul and Barnabas had no small dissension and debate with them, Paul and Barnabas and some of the others were appointed to go up to Jerusalem to the apostles and the elders about this question. So, being sent on their way by the church, they passed through both Phoenicia and Samaria, describing in detail the conversion of the Gentiles, and brought great joy to all the brothers. When they came to Jerusalem, they were welcomed by the church and the apostles and the elders, and they declared all that God had done with them. But some believers who belonged to the party of the Pharisees rose up and said, "It is necessary to circumcise them and to order them to keep the law of Moses."
The apostles and the elders were gathered together to consider this matter. And after there had been much debate, Peter stood up and said to them, "Brothers, you know that in the early days God made a choice among you, that by my mouth the Gentiles should hear the word of the gospel and believe. And God, who knows the heart, bore witness to them, by giving them the Holy Spirit just as he did to us,
and he made no distinction between us and them, having cleansed their hearts by faith. Now, therefore, why are you putting God to the test by placing a yoke on the neck of the disciples that neither our fathers nor we have been able to bear? But we believe that we will be saved through the grace of the Lord Jesus, just as they will."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The season was always festooned with lightning bugs. And there was homemade ice cream, dusks that lasted 'til bedtime and picnic dinners on the ground. It was summertime, and the livin' was indeed easy. Sadly though, the same season usually included at least one episode of clenched fists and jutted jaws; grownups raising voices and pawing the dirt with wildness in their eyes. Rarely were there blows, but the spectacle was no less frightening to an elementary age preacher's kid.
Such was the world of church-league fast pitch softball, where Christian men would wrangle over a missed call by an umpire or a player sliding cleats high with nefarious intent. It was unsettling to hear opening prayers give way to murderous shouts.
God's people are no strangers to conflict. In part, that's because God's people have always been a diverse bunch, called from very different backgrounds into the presence of the Lord. And then the Lord's plan is that His people will be united by God to bear God's image in God's world, to be lights to the nations.
The New Testament church felt the strain of diversity immediately and acutely. Think about it, slaves worshiping with their owners, each ransomed by the same finished work of Jesus. Jews and Gentiles, men and women, rich and poor were gathered by the unimaginable, unmerited grace of God to create a new race of humanity. Then those new creations were embedded in cultures all around the globe. United in Christ, the church draws others to Christ by proclaiming the good news of Christ. And every culture notices when natural enemies become supernatural allies.
So after no small debate, and guided by the Holy Spirit, the council in Jerusalem emphatically proclaims that the message of the church is, "come to Jesus." It is not, "become just like us." And that same message is particularly poignant today. Wisely managing relationships inside the church and lovingly proclaiming Jesus by the church remain the mandate of the church.
It's hard to imagine what the Apostle Paul must have felt as he wrote his letter to the church in Rome. Here he was, a Jewish rabbi, with a career preaching Jesus to Jews and Gentiles alike writing encouragement to a Christian church in the capitol city of the empire many Jews hated. His was truly a miraculous call to keep the focus on Jesus!
Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. (Romans 12:9-13)
That's way more important than winning.
As they went on their way through the cities, they delivered to them for observance the decisions that had been reached by the apostles and elders who were in Jerusalem. So the churches were strengthened in the faith, and they increased in numbers daily.
And they went through the region of Phrygia and Galatia, having been forbidden by the Holy Spirit to speak the word in Asia. And when they had come up to Mysia, they attempted to go into Bithynia, but the Spirit of Jesus did not allow them. So, passing by Mysia, they went down to Troas. And a vision appeared to Paul in the night: a man of Macedonia was standing there, urging him and saying, "Come over to Macedonia and help us." And when PaulGreek he had seen the vision, immediately we sought to go on into Macedonia, concluding that God had called us to preach the gospel to them.
So, setting sail from Troas, we made a direct voyage to Samothrace, and the following day to Neapolis, and from there to Philippi, which is a leading city of theOr that district of Macedonia and a Roman colony. We remained in this city some days. And on the Sabbath day we went outside the gate to the riverside, where we supposed there was a place of prayer, and we sat down and spoke to the women who had come together. One who heard us was a woman named Lydia, from the city of Thyatira, a seller of purple goods, who was a worshiper of God. The Lord opened her heart to pay attention to what was said by Paul. And after she was baptized, and her household as well, she urged us, saying, "If you have judged me to be faithful to the Lord, come to my house and stay." And she prevailed upon us.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
One of the most noticeable features of the book of Acts is the significant role of the Holy Spirit in the life of the early church. As we read, we see the Holy Spirit is promised by Jesus (Acts 1:8), comes to dwell in believers (Acts 2:4; 8:17; 9:17; 10:44; 15:8; 19:6), fills those preaching and praying (Acts 4:8; 4:31), sustains those persecuted (Acts 7:55), comforts the Church (Acts 9:31), appoints leaders for the Church (Acts 13:2; 20:28), and as we see in this and many other passages, the Holy Spirit guides the apostles in their missionary journeys by giving them either a “red light” to stop (Acts 16:6-7) or a “green light” to go (Acts 10:19; 13:4; 16:9-10; 19:21; 20:22; 21:4). One simply cannot encounter these stories without concluding that the Holy Spirit was the one establishing, ruling, and growing both individual Christians and the Church as a whole.
Perhaps one of the reasons why the role of the Holy Spirit in Acts is so striking to us is that the Holy Spirit seems less present in our lives today. But make no mistake—the Holy Spirit is just as real and active today as He was in the days of the early church. Just as Jesus promised, the Holy Spirit is with us permanently (John 14:16-17) in order to point us to Jesus (John 14:26; 16:13-15). And just as the Apostle Paul commanded, we are to be led by the Spirit (Romans 8:14) in order to bear the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:16-26). So as J.I. Packer puts it, our question should not be, “Do I have the Holy Spirit?” but instead, “Does the Holy Spirit have me?” In other words, each of us must ask whether we are being established, being ruled, and growing by the Holy Spirit like those in the book of Acts.
If you are a believer, you likely long for the Holy Spirit to have this kind of influence in your life. But for many, the actual process of being, hearing, and following the Holy Spirit seems mysterious, perhaps even intimidating. Driving in response to actual red lights and green lights is one thing, but living in response to the Holy Spirit seems like a whole other ballgame.
So how does the Holy Spirit speak to us? And how do we know what the Holy Spirit is guiding us to do?
In the book of Acts, two principles quietly and consistently emerge.
First, the book of Acts shows that Holy Spirit speaks to us through God’s Word. We know this is true in a general historical sense; as Peter says, it was the Holy Spirit who “carried along” the men who wrote God’s Word (2 Peter 1:21). But in Acts, the apostles point out that the Holy Spirit also speaks to specific present issues through God’s Word. Peter refers to the Holy Spirit speaking about Judas’ death and the Jews’ opposition to them through the book of Psalms (Acts 1:16; 4:25). And Paul refers to the Holy Spirit speaking about the Jews’ rejection of Jesus through the book of Isaiah (Acts 28:25). God’s Word is living and active, and so the Holy Spirit not only illumines the timeless truths of God’s Word, but also the particular bearing of God’s Word on our lives today. If we want to hear God speak to us, the first thing we should do is open our eyes and read our Bibles, for there is no greater gift for our faith or message for our lives than God’s Word illumined by the Holy Spirit!
Second, the book of Acts shows that the Holy Spirit guides us through Christ’s Church. What the Holy Spirit speaks to us through God’s Word He then guides us to apply through our brothers and sisters in the Church. Whether in matters of obedience (Acts 5:3-8), doctrine (Acts 15:28), or mission (Acts 21:4), the book of Acts shows us that the guidance of the Holy Spirit and the guidance of the Church go hand-in-hand. While human beings are fallible and are subject to God’s Word, the Holy Spirit regularly guides us by wise counselors (Proverbs 5:7-14; 15:22) and godly leaders (Hebrews 13:7; 1 Peter 5:5). If we want to be led by the Holy Spirit, we must emerge from isolation and engage in the community of the redeemed in Christ’s Church, where the Spirit Himself unites us for the good of all (1 Corinthians 12:4-13).
In closing, consider the question asked earlier: “Does the Holy Spirit have you?” Does He have your ear? Are you listening to Him speak to you through God’s Word? Does He have your life? Are you being guided by Him through Christ’s Church? May the Holy Spirit have us, and like the early church, may He then give us green lights to carry the good news of our risen Christ down every road to every nation.
1. J.I. Packer, Keep in Step with the Spirit, pp. 77-78.
Holy Spirit, living Breath of God,
Breathe new life into my willing soul.
Bring the presence of the risen Lord,
To renew my heart and make me whole.
Cause Your Word to come alive in me;
Give me faith for what I cannot see;
Give me passion for Your purity.
Holy Spirit, breathe new life in me.
Holy Spirit, from creation’s birth,
Giving life to all that God has made,
Show Your power once again on earth;
Cause Your church to hunger for Your ways.
Let the fragrance of our prayers arise.
Lead us on the road of sacrifice,
That in unity the face of Christ,
Will be clear for all the world to see.
Keith Getty and Stuart Townend, “Holy Spirit” (2006)
For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.
For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
For a pregnant woman, groaning is not difficult. It’s the default. Her groans reflect a simple reality: she is not satisfied with the way things are, and she longs for what is yet to come. For nine months, a pregnant woman lives with the tension between a painful present and a joyful future. In Romans 8, Paul reminds us that pregnant women are not alone in their groaning. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies (vv. 22-23). Ever since the Fall, groaning has been the default for creation. It should be the default for humanity. But for many, it’s not.
Why do we not groan? We don’t groan because we lose touch with the way things are. We turn away and pretend that slavery, addiction, racism, and violence are not crushing realities in this broken world. We don’t groan because we’re comfortable enough in this world that we don’t long for another. In the words of C.S. Lewis, we are “like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” We don’t groan because we forget all that the Lord has promised that is still yet to come. In the midst of all that’s old and broken, we struggle to imagine how God could make all things new (Revelation 21:5). We don’t groan because the desire for our little kingdom eclipses the desire for “Your kingdom come”. Actually, we never really stop groaning. Godly groaning simply morphs into selfish complaining about our circumstances.
If pregnancy is so difficult, so full of groaning, why do women go through with it? Among many answers to that question, consider one: the joy of holding her child is both the reason behind and the fulfillment of all the groaning. When a mother is finally united with her child, it is an indescribable joy. We must remember this, especially when we’re tempted to choose an easier life free from groaning. If life in Christ is so full of groaning, why would we go through with it? We press on because we are not satisfied with the mess or the mud pies, and we long for what is yet to come. We press on for the joy of seeing the Lord Jesus Christ face to face. We press on for the joy of gathering around the throne with His redeemed people from every tribe and nation. We press on because when we are finally united with the Lord, it will be the fulfillment of all our groaning…and His. We press on because we are His beloved children, pregnant with hope.
Now while Paul was waiting for them at Athens, his spirit was provoked within him as he saw that the city was full of idols. So he reasoned in the synagogue with the Jews and the devout persons, and in the marketplace every day with those who happened to be there. Some of the Epicurean and Stoic philosophers also conversed with him. And some said, "What does this babbler wish to say?" Others said, "He seems to be a preacher of foreign divinities"—because he was preaching Jesus and the resurrection. And they took him and brought him to the Areopagus, saying, "May we know what this new teaching is that you are presenting? For you bring some strange things to our ears. We wish to know therefore what these things mean." Now all the Athenians and the foreigners who lived there would spend their time in nothing except telling or hearing something new.
So Paul, standing in the midst of the Areopagus, said: "Men of Athens, I perceive that in every way you are very religious. For as I passed along and observed the objects of your worship, I found also an altar with this inscription, 'To the unknown god.' What therefore you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you. The God who made the world and everything in it, being Lord of heaven and earth, does not live in temples made by man.
nor is he served by human hands, as though he needed anything, since he himself gives to all mankind life and breath and everything. And he made from one man every nation of mankind to live on all the face of the earth, having determined allotted periods and the boundaries of their dwelling place, that they should seek God, in the hope that they might feel their way toward him and find him. Yet he is actually not far from each one of us, for
"'In him we live and move and have our being'
as even some of your own poets have said,
"'For we are indeed his offspring."
Being then God's offspring, we ought not to think that the divine being is like gold or silver or stone, an image formed by the art and imagination of man. The times of ignorance God overlooked, but now he commands all people everywhere to repent, because he has fixed a day on which he will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom he has appointed; and of this he has given assurance to all by raising him from the dead."
Now when they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked. But others said, "We will hear you again about this." So Paul went out from their midst. But some men joined him and believed, among whom also were Dionysius the Areopagite and a woman named Damaris and others with them.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
It must be a culinary lesson from some business school or management curriculum. I've certainly been served plenty of them in the hospital world. The famous "bad news sandwich" finds itself on meeting menus of all sorts. You know what I mean—a piece of good news, followed by the weightier, unpopular news, then another slice of good news or affirmation. All the parts are true, but the tough, stringy section in the middle is made easier to swallow.
Remarkably, the Apostle Paul takes exactly that approach as he preaches the Gospel to the intellectual Athenians. They were a curious bunch, those philosophers, with time on their hands and spirituality on their minds. All day long, they feasted on whatever was novel, whatever was the tasty idea of the day. But Paul had the eternal weight of Glory to proclaim. So he served them a fresh, culturally prepared "bad news sandwich!"
"I see that you are religious." Paul begins. His audience was hooked, and probably thought, "Pretty observant chap, this Rabbi fellow. And we're smart too!" Paul agreed with them and pointed out that their city was filled with idols of all sorts. He even complimented them by mentioning their thoroughness. They had an idol to "an unknown God" just in case there were bases they had accidentally left uncovered.
"What you worship as unknown, this I proclaim to you." The God of the universe, the one true God, creator of heaven and earth has made Himself known. This God does not dwell in a temple made by man, and does not need anything from man. He has given life and breath to all who live, and He has planted a hunger for worship and a longing for heaven in every human heart. But there will be a day of judgment! Now here's the "bad news" part. Your idols of silver and gold, your lifeless relics will not save you. Your empty worship and worldly philosophy does not bring about the righteousness God Almighty requires.
But God is patient, and He is rich in mercy. He has made a way for the righteousness of one man to stand in for you! You will be declared righteous based on the righteousness of the One whom God appointed. This glorious promise God has punctuated and sealed by the indisputable display of life-giving power. He raised Jesus from the dead! There is life. There is freedom from guilt. There is hope!
Paul preached the resurrection to the Athenians. And that feast of truth is for us as well. We too are called to turn from the idols we worship. We too must repent, and turn in faith to the one true God. And based on the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ, God the Son, we too can receive the assurance that Paul promised to the spiritually starving skeptics on that hilltop in Athens.
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift! (2 Corinthians 9:15)
“…praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
I was sitting in the barber's chair getting my hair cut when Operation Desert Storm began in 1991. I knew that a war had begun in Iraq because I was watching it on TV. It was that strange combination of razor-sharp scissors and laser-guided bombs. I watched with fascination as cameras on fighter jets and missiles captured the destruction of various targets on the opening night of the war.
Technology has changed the way we experience war, but not war's primary strategies. What were those pilots trying to accomplish at the beginning of the war? The news anchors told us that the first objective was undermining and destroying the Iraqi army's communication system. And the reason is obvious: if units can’t communicate with each other, if soldiers are cut off from their commanding officers, they can’t fight effectively. War is so intense that constant communication is essential. Both sides in a conflict want to cut off their enemy's lines of communication.
In Ephesians 6, Paul makes it clear that we are in a battle. "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places" (6:12). Because of the intensity of this spiritual battle Paul reminds us that our own weapons are not sufficient for the fight. "Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day" (6:13).
But how do we stay aware of this battle? And how do we take up the armor of God? We can easily forget the final words of Paul's battle plan. He writes that Christians should be "praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication" (Eph 6:18). Prayer is not the pastime of some spiritual elite; it is the privilege of every believer in Jesus Christ. And that privilege was hard won: Jesus lived, died, and rose again so that his people would enjoy an unbreakable union with him and perpetual access to him. Prayer is our vital line of communication to the Lord himself. In the midst of the battle of our life, how are these lines of communication holding up?
I recently reread C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters. This fictional work is framed around the concept of an established demon (Screwtape) writing letters to a novice (Wormwood) explaining how to tempt patients (humans) and keep them from the Enemy (God). Not surprisingly, prayer is a theme to which Screwtape often returns. “The best thing," he writes, "where it is possible, is to keep the patient from the serious intention of praying altogether." Satan's attacks are like laser-guided bombs aimed at our communion with God in prayer. Should we be surprised that prayer can be more duty than delight, more struggle than strength?
Technology has changed the way we experience spiritual warfare, but not the war's primary strategies. There was a time when smart phones and social media weren't the things keeping us from prayer, and there will be a day when they are replaced with something else. But the struggle is always the same: the Lord invites us to a life of prayer in his presence, and the enemy will do whatever he can to keep us from that life. Samuel Chadwick writes, “The one concern of the devil is to keep Christians from praying. He fears nothing from prayerless studies, prayerless work and prayerless religion. He laughs at our toil, mocks at our wisdom, but he trembles when we pray.” Have you ever considered what it might look like or sound like to pray prayers that make the devil tremble?
The good news is that prayerlessness should never get the last word in a Christian's life. The key to the battle is not trying harder to win a fight that’s too big for us. The key is looking to Jesus, who has already lived the perfect life of prayer and defeated the devil decisively. As we look to Jesus, we are reminded that the Holy Spirit indwells believers so that the power and presence of Christ are not just a nice idea, but a lived reality. In Christ, we have everything we need to protect the lines of communication that are essential for the battle of the Christian life. And as we grow in prayer, the Lord intends to bless our communion with him and build his kingdom at the same time.
Where are we in relationship to this battle? Are we oblivious, not even realizing there's a battle raging all around us? Are we sitting in a barber's chair, not sure whether to be entertained or terrified by what's unfolding before our eyes? Or are we engaged, connected to our King through what John Piper has called “the wartime walkie-talkie” of prayer? Are we more and more aware of the Lord’s overarching victory and continuous provision as we wrestle in prayer? Or have we left the front and gone AWOL? "No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him" (2 Timothy 2:4). As the battle rages, do we know the Prince of Peace? Do we know that when we come to him and say, “Lord, teach us to pray,” he gives us an answer, and he even gives us himself?
Since we were violently storm-tossed, they began the next day to jettison the cargo. And on the third day they threw the ship's tackle overboard with their own hands. When neither sun nor stars appeared for many days, and no small tempest lay on us, all hope of our being saved was at last abandoned.
Since they had been without food for a long time, Paul stood up among them and said, "Men, you should have listened to me and not have set sail from Crete and incurred this injury and loss.
Yet now I urge you to take heart, for there will be no loss of life among you, but only of the ship. For this very night there stood before me an angel of the God to whom I belong and whom I worship, and he said, 'Do not be afraid, Paul; you must stand before Caesar. And behold, God has granted you all those who sail with you.' So take heart, men, for I have faith in God that it will be exactly as I have been told. But we must run aground on some island."
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
My eighteen-month-old daughter Olivia and I read a book each night that is a paraphrase of Psalm 23 called Found. One of our favorite pages says, “even when I walk through the dark, scary, lonely places, I won’t be afraid. My shepherd knows where I am. He is here with me.” Olivia will point to the lamb, and then kiss the shepherd. It’s a lovely picture of childlike trust.
We put our trust in a great number of things. Acts 27 captures one of the most vivid descriptive narratives in the book of Acts, and truly, in much of the New Testament. Luke writes to convey the gravity and peril Paul and the shipmates faced, the astonishing power of God’s sovereign care and deliverance, and nestled in the middle in verses 22-25, a portrait of trust under duress.
It is said that the night is darkest before dawn begins to break. As God’s children, we often can’t see His presence or purposes in the storms of life. This was the case in Acts 27. Days went on without light. The hurricane-grade wind howled mercilessly and the berating waves sapped their strength (27:14-20). But then, God spoke (27:23-24). He spoke into the darkness and despair to give hope: Don’t be afraid. Take courage. I am the one who rules over this storm.
We often feel helpless, vulnerable and impotent to deal with the storms of life. And truly we are on our own. But by God’s grace we are not orphans, left to fend for life and livelihood by the scrappiness of our hands. We are beloved children who are always, always, in the strong grip of our good Father and sovereign God, who is our protector, defender, and caretaker in every single trial and trouble we experience.
Paul emulates in this passage what it means to depend on God as a beloved child in crisis. His ultimate trust was not in a certain outcome, but in God’s unfailing love for His children (Psalm 143:8). Thus, he did not assert himself aggressively when the centurion ignored him (27:11-12). He trusted the Lord’s voice when it meant destruction of their physical security, the ship (27:26). By inference, we know that Paul was praying fervently for God’s care and deliverance for himself and those in the ship as well (27:24c). He reminded his shipmates of God’s word (27:34). He praised God with thanksgiving in front of all (27:35).
This passage reminds me of Psalm 20:7: “Some boast in chariots and some in horses, but we will boast in the name of the LORD, our God.” In the Old Testament, chariots and horses represent means of escape and protection. Today we put our hope in many things that we think will insulate us from discomfort, financial hardship, pain, and trouble. But to boast in the name of the LORD means to have confidence in and trust in the character of God, our God, who promises that He will never leave us nor forsake us (Deuteronomy 31:6, Hebrews 13:5).
Fellow believers, let us take courage that whatever storm we may encounter, we are not alone. His character is trustworthy. He is always with us, even in the dark, scary, lonely places. He knows where we are. He is here with us, now and forever.
'Therefore let it be known to you that this salvation of God has been sent to the Gentiles; they will listen.’ He lived there two whole years at his own expense, and welcomed all who came to him, proclaiming the Kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness and without hindrance.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
This weekend our kids wound down a long sugar fueled Memorial Day at a friend’s house by watching some television. When a commercial played, my kids, who rarely watch any television with commercials, came unglued. “What happened to the show? Bring it back?!” They were frustrated because Netflix and PBS are never interrupted by commercials. The commercial was a sideshow interrupting things, distracting them, and confusing them. They just wanted to get back to main story.
In many ways, that is how the Jews in Rome felt as Paul expounded the gospel to them. The Jesus deal felt like a sideshow, a confusing little sect, an interruption in the main story of God’s dealing with His people. Let’s go back to the regularly scheduled broadcast of a people rescued from slavery in Egypt, saved by the blood of a lamb, baptized in the water of the Red Sea, watching that snake Pharaoh impotent and destroyed in those same waters, getting to feast with God at a mountain, receiving His word at the same mountain, getting miraculous provision on the journey to and finally reaching a promised land. You know, that story! Let’s get back to that one. Forget this commercial interruption.
But of course, this Jesus sideshow is the main show. The story isn’t being interrupted. In fact the plot hasn’t really changed. The fascinating thing about these last two chapters of Acts is how clearly they remind of the Exodus story. Paul begins in captivity. He is then freed from that captivity to journey to God’s promised destination. He leaves after the Day of Atonement to cross a great sea. On the journey, things go bad, but Paul gets a word from God. Paul breaks bread at dawn with them. Everyone is saved through the water and a serpent is found to be impotent and destroyed. And finally they arrive in Rome, the promised city.
Do you see? This is no sideshow. God is writing the same show. It is the story of God redeeming His people from captivity to sin and death. Freeing them to worship Him in Spirit and in Truth. Bringing them to a promised land to dwell in peace and joy forever. If you are in Christ, that is your story. It is the story. So go tell the story. Be bold. You are not hindered. You will pass through the waves. You have been freed. The serpent is impotent. You will come to the land that is promised. Jesus is bringing you through. There are those who will listen. There are some desperate to hear this story. Tell it without fear.
But a man named Ananias, with his wife Sapphira, sold a piece of property, and with his wife's knowledge he kept back for himself some of the proceeds and brought only a part of it and laid it at the apostles' feet. But Peter said, "Ananias, why has Satan filled your heart to lie to the Holy Spirit and to keep back for yourself part of the proceeds of the land? While it remained unsold, did it not remain your own? And after it was sold, was it not at your disposal? Why is it that you have contrived this deed in your heart? You have not lied to men but to God." When Ananias heard these words, he fell down and breathed his last. And great fear came upon all who heard of it. The young men rose and wrapped him up and carried him out and buried him.
After an interval of about three hours his wife came in, not knowing what had happened. And Peter said to her, "Tell me whether you sold the land for so much." And she said, "Yes, for so much." But Peter said to her, "How is it that you have agreed together to test the Spirit of the Lord? Behold, the feet of those who have buried your husband are at the door, and they will carry you out." Immediately she fell down at his feet and breathed her last. When the young men came in they found her dead, and they carried her out and buried her beside her husband. And great fear came upon the whole church and upon all who heard of these things.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The comma is the culprit. We place it there to give us a break, a moment to gather our rationalizations. We've grown so accustomed to the work of the little mark that we cringe in its absence. You see, the Scripture teaches that, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom" (Proverbs 9:10). But very often, it seems, what we actually believe is, "The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, but fear doesn't really mean fear." We tell ourselves that it means awe, or reverence, or high regard, or any number of things, but certainly not clear-eyed, unvarnished fear. "After all," we think, "how are we going to evangelize if the Bible says we're wise to fear God Almighty?"
When the evangelist physician Luke writes the account of Annanias and Sapphira, he mentions twice in short order that "great fear came upon all who heard." Not just fear, but great fear. And Luke was an articulate man. He knew all those other watered-down words. He could have let Theophilus off the hook. But make no mistake—fear gripped the early church. The disciples certainly remembered their storm-tossed fright. That fright melted into frightened wonder as the power of the Lord's word took the teeth from the wind and waves.
We are indeed wise to fear the Lord; but not because He is a capricious despot who may at any moment burst into rage or fling us away. We are wise to fear the Lord because in understanding more of God's fearsomeness, we recognize more fully His marvelous grace. As we contemplate the majesty and holiness and power of the sovereign Lord, we bow at His mercy and rejoice in His care. The God at whose name the demons tremble has invited us into His presence and enjoined us to call Him "Father."
So how do we think about John's words that, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear" (1 John 4:18)? Perfect love does indeed cast out fear. The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom. And the fear of anything else is the beginning of folly. When we fear the rebuke of men or the loss of status or the unmasking of our true selves, we make much of everything unholy and denigrate the holiness of God Almighty. Jesus was very clear about this.
I tell you, my friends, do not fear those who kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do. But I will warn you whom to fear: fear him who, after he has killed, has authority to cast into hell. Yes, I tell you, fear him! Are not five sparrows sold for two pennies? And not one of them is forgotten before God. Why, even the hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear not; you are of more value than many sparrows. (Luke 12: 4-7)
So as we grow up in the fullness of Christ, may we leave the calm repose of the misplaced comma and learn again the holy fear of The Lord.
And he said, “There was a man who had two sons. And the younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of property that is coming to me.’ And he divided his property between them. Not many days later, the younger son gathered all he had and took a journey into a far country, and there he squandered his property in reckless living. And when he had spent everything, a severe famine arose in that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him into his fields to feed pigs. And he was longing to be fed with the pods that the pigs ate, and no one gave him anything.
“But when he came to himself, he said, ‘How many of my father's hired servants have more than enough bread, but I perish here with hunger! I will arise and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son. Treat me as one of your hired servants.”’ And he arose and came to his father. But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and felt compassion, and ran and embraced him and kissed him. And the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his servants, ‘Bring quickly the best robe, and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet. And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’ And they began to celebrate.
“Now his older son was in the field, and as he came and drew near to the house, he heard music and dancing. And he called one of the servants and asked what these things meant. And he said to him, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fattened calf, because he has received him back safe and sound.’ But he was angry and refused to go in. His father came out and entreated him, but he answered his father, ‘Look, these many years I have served you, and I never disobeyed your command, yet you never gave me a young goat, that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fattened calf for him!’ And he said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. It was fitting to celebrate and be glad, for this your brother was dead, and is alive; he was lost, and is found.’”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Jesus turns the world upside down with this story. The lost son gets found, and the “found” son gets…lost? Is self-righteousness really more dangerous than self-indulgence? In Luke 15:7, Jesus says, “I tell you, there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous persons who need no repentance.” In this story, the younger son is the sinner who repents. The older son is the righteous person who doesn’t think he needs to repent. The more we think about it, the more self-righteousness is lurking around every corner. Have we ever drawn a blank during a confession time? “I guess I had a pretty good week!” we think.
To understand the danger of self-righteousness, all we have to do is analyze the older son’s complaint. “Look,” he says, immediately disrespecting his father. “These many years I have served you,” he adds, sounding more like a slave than a son. “I never disobeyed your command,” he claims, even as he refuses to share in his father’s joy. “Yet you never gave me a young goat.” He’s done everything right, and he hasn’t been compensated fairly. Do you see how self-righteousness destroys relationships? We struggle to call a parent “father” (v. 29); we struggle to call a sibling “brother” (v. 30). And we’re furious at the “injustice” of grace lavished on the unworthy. But are we really as good as we claim?
Older sons may boast perfection, but we fail repeatedly where it matters most. Like the older son, we “keep all the rules” and break the law of love. We don’t love the Father as we should. We don’t speak up when our younger brothers run away. We don’t stand in as ministers of reconciliation. We don’t go out and search for our younger brothers. We don’t come in to share our Father’s joy when prodigals return. Can we admit—in the words of Walker Percy—that we can get all A’s and still flunk life?
Jesus Christ is good news for older brothers. As the true older brother, Jesus succeeded at every point where the older son fails in the story. He loved the Father perfectly. He refused to remain silent when we sinned against the Father. He came to search for us and to reconcile us to God. He bore our shame on the cross, and he did it all for the joy of bringing us home. The unrighteous and the self-righteous both need to be saved, and Christ is loving and powerful enough to seek and save both. As you see self-righteousness in your heart, do you recognize the danger? Can you admit that you’re lost and need grace as much as anyone? The parable invites us to stop trying to justify ourselves and compare ourselves to other people so that we can make our home in the love of the Father.
And that’s the reason Jesus leaves the story unresolved. Because it doesn’t really matter what happens to the older brother in the parable. The question is: What will happen to the older brother in our hearts? How will we respond to God’s invitation? Will we stay outside or will we come in and share His joy? Will we remain a slave or will we become His beloved son or daughter? Will we trust in ourselves or will we trust in our older brother, Jesus?
"Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock.
And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear home builder,
I see that you’ve been given a plot of land, and it appears that you’re starting to build on it. That’s true for all of us around here, so I just wanted to reach out as you move forward with construction. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but there are lots of ideas floating around about how to build a great home. Your friends and family members have opinions. The rich and famous love talking about the homes they’ve built. These days, so many are concerned about windows, kitchens, bathrooms, and curb appeal. I’m not saying these aren’t important, but I want to remind you of something crucial that doesn’t tend to “sell” houses. Foundations. We take them for granted, they’re hidden, but they’re essential. Many have experienced that sinking feeling of buying a beautiful home, only to have an inspector inform them that the foundation is a disaster. The seller makes everything look great above ground, but we can’t see beneath the floorboards. When we’re confronted with the truth, what are we going to do? We’re already emotionally invested. The Master Builder tells us that it’s folly—like building a sandcastle by the sea—but still, these places go up and sell every day.
You may be thinking: “Why all the doom and gloom? Just let me build this thing how I want! Nothing’s going to happen.” But I want to tell you. It rains around here. The kind of rain that falls sideways—and an umbrella won’t help. You never know when the flash floods are coming, and they will sweep you away. We get wind here, too. Wind that bends your trees, breaks your windows, and blows you over. I can’t tell you when the storms will come, but they will come. The Master Builder says so. And when they come, your landscaping, brick color, and fixtures won’t matter much if your foundation is faulty. Here’s the scariest part: You may not know the true condition of your home until it’s too late.
But there is a better way. It starts with giving up the thought that you can build your own home or trust someone else to build it for you. There is only one Master Builder. He has the power and the tools to build us a solid foundation. He only asks us to trust Him and to do what He says. His houses look different—not necessarily on the outside. They seem to radiate from within, even when the materials are rather plain. And that’s never more obvious than when the storms come. Did you know: The Master Builder has never seen one of His homes destroyed? We think His building codes restrict our freedom and kill our joy, but the truth is, He loves us more than we know, and He knows what makes a happy home. In fact, He paid the price Himself to guarantee that His homes will be filled with joy forever. Have you heard about the Master Builder? If you’re interested, I’d encourage you to read more about who He is and what He has done around here. He’s always at work, putting up model homes all over the place. Rumor has it He has something even more amazing planned. I don’t want you to miss it.
Forgive me for the long note. I get excited about this stuff. Can’t wait to meet you.
Welcome home,
Your new neighbor
He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: “Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: ‘God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.’ But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, ‘God, be merciful to me, a sinner!’ I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other. For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Jesus is a master storyteller, and the parables are among His best. The settings and characters are earthy, but they reveal heavenly realities (Matthew 13:34-35). They are brief, but then linger in our minds (Mark 4:30-32). The plots seem familiar at first, but the endings always surprise (Luke 15:11-32). In the parable of the Pharisee and the Tax Collector, we see all three of these features on display. But it is the surprise ending to this parable that makes it the best of the best.
To appreciate the surprise ending, we must read the parable as a whole, and pay close attention to what happened after the men leave the temple. The surprise ending comes, as it should, in the last verse of the parable. Jesus concludes the story by revealing something otherwise invisible and unknown: “I tell you, this man went down to his house justified, rather than the other.” For the sake of clarify, we can fill in the specific identities of the men in this way: “I tell you, the tax collector went down to his house justified, rather than the Pharisee.”
There are two aspects to the surprise ending contained in Jesus’ divine pronouncement.
First, Jesus’ words reveal that it was the tax collector who received favor from God, rather than the Pharisee. Like Jesus’ original audience, we tend to assume that it is the outwardly good and openly religious who please God. But Jesus surprises us; He upends our assumptions and exalts the outcast sinner who humbly prays for mercy. Jesus doesn’t ignore or normalize the tax collector’s professional or personal sins, and He doesn’t suggest the Pharisee’s concern for holiness is worthless. And this parable certainly does not teach us to pray, “God, thank you that I am not like this Pharisee!” Instead, through this parable, Jesus shines a light on the necessity and beauty of humble dependence on God’s gracious initiative to save us.
Second, and most surprising of all, Jesus’ words reveal that the tax collector received far more than he asked for. He asked for mercy: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner!” In his earnest pleading, the tax collector begged God to withhold the just punishment he deserved as a sinner. But the tax collector did not merely go down to his house unpunished; he went down to his house, “justified.” This is the word the Bible uses to describe being in a perfectly right relationship to God. The tax collector wasn’t begrudgingly treated by God as not guilty; he was positively accepted by God as perfectly right in His sight. How could a just and holy God treat such a sinful and guilty man with such obviously unfair grace? Not by ignoring the tax collector’s sin, but by giving His own Son as the substitute.
The genius of this best-of-the-best parable is that it quietly but powerfully directs our attention to the storyteller, Jesus Christ Himself. The only way the tax collector could go down to his house justified is by Jesus coming down out of heaven to take his place. The themes of humility, justification, and the work of Jesus that we see swirling in this story are organized for us in Philippians 2:5-8.
Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.
Jesus did this in love (Philippians 2:1) so that we, like the tax collector, may receive the righteousness of God that comes through faith in Christ (Philippians 3:8-9).
Both those who struggle with a spirit of pride before God and those who struggle with a spirit of unworthiness before God find their struggles strongly rebuked, tenderly quieted, and faithfully overwhelmed by this parable of gospel grace. This best of stories has come to life in us who wholly lean on Jesus’ name! In Christ, God has given us far more than we have asked and far more than we dare hope. And so we all can join in singing:
Great Father of mercies, Thy goodness I own,
And the covenant love of Thy crucified Son.
All praise to the Spirit, whose whisper divine,
Seals mercy, and pardon, and righteousness mine.
—John Stocker, “Thy Mercy My God is the Theme of My Song” (1776)
When one of those who reclined at table with Him heard these things, he said to Him, “Blessed is everyone who will eat bread in the kingdom of God!” But He said to him, “A man once gave a great banquet and invited many. And at the time for the banquet he sent his servant to say to those who had been invited, ‘Come, for everything is now ready.’ But they all alike began to make excuses. The first said to him, ‘I have bought a field, and I must go out and see it. Please have me excused.’ And another said, ‘I have bought five yoke of oxen, and I go to examine them. Please have me excused.’ And another said, ‘I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot come.’ So the servant came and reported these things to his master. Then the master of the house became angry and said to his servant, ‘Go out quickly to the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in the poor and crippled and blind and lame.’ And the servant said, ‘Sir, what you commanded has been done, and still there is room.’ And the master said to the servant, ‘Go out to the highways and hedges and compel people to come in, that my house may be filled. For I tell you, none of those men who were invited shall taste my banquet.’”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
We are drowning in alphabet soup. The headlines tell us that, "POTUS is the hardest job in the world" and "SCOTUS nominees are interviewing with the President". Something is in the Daily News daily about LGBT, and the people of NOLA are still recovering from Katrina's wrath. We can't escape the "letterizing" even on a lazy Sunday afternoon: "The NFL on CBS."
By the time of the high-profile dinner party, Jesus was famous. And He was being watched by commoners and kings alike. Then He does it. He speaks to the host in a parable. Imagine how the news feeds of today would have reported the event. "Jesus offends Jerusalem's elite!" "The PCBL community is welcomed by the Rabbi!" Huh? What is the PCBL community?
The PCBL community is made up of folks who would be least expected to appear in polite conversation. And no self-respecting, self-righteous rich man would dare invite the poor, the crippled, the blind, or the lame to his banquet. They are outsiders, you see, and that's where they should stay. At least that would be the prevailing attitude. But in the Lord's story, the distracted wealthy and disinterested complacent had forsaken their earlier RSVP. They didn't show up. For them, the banquet just wasn't important.
But those PCBL folks know their place. They spend their lives not fitting in, being disdainfully looked over, and always over-looked. They are hungry, marginalized, never in the upper crust, and in need of mercy. And they know it. But Jesus' parable has them being welcomed to the great feast, sought out, treated lovingly, and fed lavishly. How would Twitter react (#PCBL treated like royalty)? The story was a stunner.
The Lord came to seek and save the lost. And the tragedy then, and now, is that often the lost don't know they are. But for folks who are poor, they know when lavish mercy has been given. The crippled leap with joy on legs made whole. When a blind man is made to see, he doesn't rebuff the grace. And the no-longer lame run to Jesus to worship.
The theme of the Lord's parable at the banquet that night is the theme of His entire ministry. The Kingdom of Heaven is for those who know they need a savior. He says so over and over again.
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted."
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth."
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied." (Matthew 5:3-6)
One of the criminals who were hanged railed at him, saying, “Are you not the Christ? Save yourself and us!” But the other rebuked him, saying, “Do you not fear God, since you are under the same sentence of condemnation? And we indeed justly, for we are receiving the due reward of our deeds; but this man has done nothing wrong.” And he said, “Jesus, remember me when You come into Your kingdom.” And He said to him, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in paradise.” (Luke 23:39-43)
Come to the banquet.
And He told them a parable to the effect that they ought always to pray and not lose heart. He said, “In a certain city there was a judge who neither feared God nor respected man. And there was a widow in that city who kept coming to him and saying, ‘Give me justice against my adversary.’ For a while he refused, but afterward he said to himself, ‘Though I neither fear God nor respect man, yet because this widow keeps bothering me, I will give her justice, so that she will not beat me down by her continual coming.’” And the Lord said, “Hear what the unrighteous judge says. And will not God give justice to His elect, who cry to Him day and night? Will He delay long over them? I tell you, He will give justice to them speedily. Nevertheless, when the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on earth?”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What can we learn from a strange story about a wicked judge and a hopeless widow? Jesus presents a judge without a moral compass and a widow without a righteous advocate. This judge can be bought, but this woman has neither the power nor the possessions to play the game. In the end, the wicked judge grants the widow her request for justice because she keeps bothering him, and he’s tired of it. The parable leaves most of us shaking our heads: “Wait, Jesus, what did you just say?” On the surface, it seems like the key to prayer is our persistence. If we just keep knocking, eventually God will be so annoyed that he’ll open the door and give us what we want. “Wait Jesus, I thought you said you were willing to teach us to pray. Is this really how it works?”
Before we punt the parable, let’s be honest. Do we ever think that God isn’t doing the right thing in our lives and in the world? If so, we may be viewing the Father as an unrighteous judge. Do we ever feel like we are hopeless and alone, without an advocate to plead our case? If so, we may be viewing ourselves as widows instead of the bride of Christ. Do we ever live like the answers to our prayers depend on us? If so, we may be underwhelmed by the Spirit who intercedes for us. In the parable Jesus actually exposes our inadequate views of God and our misdirected approaches to prayer. The widow persists, and the judge yields, but the power of the parable lies in the contrast between the characters in the story and the God who tells it.
First, God is not an unrighteous judge. His justice is not capricious. He has a moral compass. He is the compass. The Lord is True North. His justice does not wait for His people to bother Him until He gives in. No, His justice rolls down like waters in His perfect timing. His justice is not impersonal or unloving. What could be more personal and loving than the cross? “For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God” (2 Corinthians 5:21). When we pray, we’re approaching a God who is holy, righteous, and loving. We shouldn’t feel like we’re wrestling Him for something that we care about but He doesn’t. He is our Creator and our Redeemer, and He has promised to make all things new. How would our prayer life change if we truly saw God as a loving Father and not a wicked judge?
Second, we are not widows! If we are in Christ, we are His beloved bride. We are not orphans either! If we are in Christ, we are beloved children of our Father in heaven. Though we may not feel it, we are never alone. He is always with us. And though we may doubt it, we never lack an advocate. Jesus Christ lives to intercede for us. When we see the contrast between the characters in the parable and the relationship believers have with the Lord, we should be greatly encouraged. So what is Jesus saying? If this widow can get justice by bothering a wicked judge who doesn’t love God or people, how much more should God’s beloved people expect to get justice from Him? He loves us. He wants to hear from us. He wants to answer us. He intends for His kingdom to come on earth as it is in heaven. Prayer is not about us and our persistence. It’s about the Lord and His presence, promises, and power. As we embrace who He is and who we are in Him, we will persist in prayer, and we will do so with the right motive. Because of who He is and what He has done for us, we should always pray and not lose heart.
Now the rabble that was among them had a strong craving. And the people of Israel also wept again and said, “Oh that we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt that cost nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
In the passage above we find God’s people well on their way to the Promised Land. Between their experience of God’s presence at Sinai, and on the cusp of entering into Canaan, we have a few stories, which are a portal into the kind of people God calls His own. Led by their taste buds and stomachs, the Israelites are aching for something else other than manna. Manna was the daily reminder for God’s people that He would provide as He promised. But for the Israelite diet, it had become boring to taste, obnoxious at sight, and repulsive knowing that the next meal would be the same. Perhaps visions of succulent lamb, fresh fish, sweet melons, and robust herbs flooded their minds while they munched away on manna every day, three times a day, with no break to the culinary monotony. God’s people had had enough, and the dreams of food that “cost nothing” actually broke out into conversations and audible complaints towards Moses and then, God.
“What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of life?” Have you ever heard such a phrase? Spoken it yourself or hidden such a thought in the depths of your soul? I believe we find ourselves thinking or saying such things in the midst of hurt, whether mild or great. Once the thoughts begin, it can be hard to shut down. The wheels in our minds turn and we envision a better life. We explore those thoughts–“This is not how life should be,” become, “I hate my life right now,” soon followed by, “God screwed this up when He took me down this road.” Between the place of pain and healing, a few pitfalls are ever present along the journey. And the pitfalls, make no mistake, are deadly. Pitfalls such as self-pity, bitterness, resentment, envy, and rage are likely, however envy is the most dangerous. Envy seems harmless, but left unchecked, gives way to isolation and darkness.
Envy wants to kill your soul. Envy has us look around and see what everyone else possesses or is in the process of attaining. Paychecks, cars, notoriety, significant others, homes, jobs, friends and social esteem. Envy is a balance ledger that always has us looking at the assets in someone else’s column and always seeing the shortcomings in our own. Envy has us thinking what it would be like to be someone else, and when that happens the consequences almost at once are severe. The mere taste for some fish, a few vegetables and a couple of roots have the Israelites wishing they were still slaves beaten under the Egyptian sun while they created centers of power and control, for a wicked ruler. The Israelites in this story wish to rewind the clock, and to be their former selves. The envy of their previous life has driven them to madness. Who would dare enter into a life of slavery for a few moments of pleasure?
Christian philosopher Jeff Cook notes that exile is always a result of envy. This cause and effect has been at the center of human history and began with our first parents. Adam and Eve envied that which alone was God’s. They pursued what they thought was a better life by another route, and in doing so Adam and Eve were exiled along with every person born away from God and the life He desired for His creatures. In our story, the Israelites envied part of their former life; interestingly enough their sin has given them a selective memory. Ironically, the Israelites wish to enter back into exile, to leave God in the desert and return to Egypt. Instead of letting His people head back to their own destruction, God in some ways gives them exactly what they want and it kills them (Numbers 11:33). Envy operates under the notion that we know better than God, and that is misery.
What delivers us from envy? Gratitude is the place to start, but is not the end. Gratitude is and can be a discipline, as Henri Nouwen says, “It [gratitude] is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.” Gratitude is not always spontaneous, but can be a measured response to all of life simply because everything we receive in life–great and small–is a gift (1 Corinthians 4:7). Nouwen goes on to say that gratitude can be a conscious choice even when we are hurting, when we do not feel like being grateful and our hearts are full of resentment. To practice gratitude is a choice. But gratitude is a response, or posture, to something even greater: trust. Trust, the confidence that God will keep His promises, is a hard thing. In their travels to the Promised Land it was probably a hard reality to look around and see barrenness, but only to hear that a land of milk and honey would soon be found. In the middle of a desert, little to sustain life and little sign of it, God was calling His people to trust Him because over the horizon was a life far greater and better for them. But instead of trusting the promises of God, the Israelites, and we too, believe the lie. The lie that God has withheld something better from us, the lie that God did not get our lives right, the lie that God truly does not love us. To believe the lie keeps us in the darkness, to believe the lie keeps us in exile, to believe the lie keeps us away from God.
This is certainly never the end! In our own exile, just as in the Israelite exile, God brings His people back to Himself. God actively searches, rescues and restores His people to the joy of life He knows we need. God sends His Son to tell us that the life we truly want, we truly need, the abundant life is not one in which God withholds, but freely gives us through Jesus Christ.
Sources
Cook, Jeff. Seven: The Deadly Sins and the Beatitudes. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 2008.
Nouwen, Henri. The Return of the Prodigal Son. Image Books: New York, 1994.
And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, "Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" He said to him, "What is written in the Law? How do you read it?" And he answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself." And he said to him, "You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live."
But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side.
So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denariiA denarius was a day's wage for a laborer and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, 'Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.' Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?" He said, "The one who showed him mercy." And Jesus said to him, "You go, and do likewise."
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
What makes it so difficult to ask for help? Yesterday I watched my 20-month old daughter pile five large stuffed animals into her armchair and drag the chair, animals overflowing, down the hallway with one arm while trying to push her stroller in front with her other arm. It was quite the sight. But ever-determined and strong-willed, she powered—i.e. fumbled and huffed—her way to the end of her hallway and into her room. I laughed but was simultaneously convicted by this tiny person clearly in need of help yet firmly resisting it. It was a portrait of myself—with other people and with the Lord. Why are we so resistant to acknowledge our weakness and need?
The parables are intriguing in that they readily invite us to self-identify with the characters in the story. Are we like the priest, distracted by personal agendas and comfort? Are we like the Levite, full of knowledge about God, but absent in personal application of His love and ways in everyday life? Or like the lawyer, sharp and proud, eager to justify ourselves rather than be open to change? Some may most closely identify as the Good Samaritan, but we are not the hero of the story; only pride would lead us to believe that. We will daily embody aspects of each character in the parable, but those are not the primary place we should see ourselves. There are many surprises in the story, the most of which is that we are most like the man who was helpless and near death. In fact, without Christ’s intervention, we were worse off—we weren’t in ICU on the side of the road, but dead in the ditch. Ephesians 2:1 tells us that we were all once dead in our sins and by nature children of wrath. Paul then goes on to say, but God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, made us alive even though we were dead. What did the Good Samaritan show the wounded man? He showed him extravagant mercy (Luke 10:37), lavish love at a great cost to himself. Jesus Christ is the True Good Samaritan.
What can this parable teach us about asking for help? First, while we are no longer dead in the ditch and unable to save ourselves, we must not forget our stories of rescue. The Gospel has given us new and abundant life in Christ. Let us pray like the psalmist that God would restore to us the joy of His salvation (Psalm 51:12). Second, we are daily in need of rescue. We have the Spirit of Christ, but we are not self-sufficient. Let us pray for His mercy to be tender-hearted toward Him that we may take our sin seriously and receive His grace worshipfully. Third, let us practice saying words to Him and to others like, “I need help.” “Will you forgive me?” “I’m afraid.” “I’m hurting.” Lastly, let us find rest in Jesus, where we can lay down our pretensions and find mercy and grace in our time of need. The paradox of the gospel is that acknowledgement of our need and weakness opens a door to experiencing more of God’s grace, compassion, peace, confidence, security, and strength.
He put another parable before them, saying, “The kingdom of heaven may be compared to a man who sowed good seed in his field, but while his men were sleeping, his enemy came and sowed weeds among the wheat and went away. So when the plants came up and bore grain, then the weeds appeared also. And the servants of the master of the house came and said to him, ‘Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have weeds?’ He said to them, ‘An enemy has done this.’ So the servants said to him, ‘Then do you want us to go and gather them?’ But he said, ‘No, lest in gathering the weeds you root up the wheat along with them. Let both grow together until the harvest, and at harvest time I will tell the reapers, “Gather the weeds first and bind them in bundles to be burned, but gather the wheat into my barn.”’”
Then He left the crowds and went into the house. And His disciples came to Him, saying, “Explain to us the parable of the weeds of the field.” He answered, “The one who sows the good seed is the Son of Man. The field is the world, and the good seed is the sons of the kingdom. The weeds are the sons of the evil one, and the enemy who sowed them is the devil. The harvest is the end of the age, and the reapers are angels. Just as the weeds are gathered and burned with fire, so will it be at the end of the age. The Son of Man will send His angels, and they will gather out of His kingdom all causes of sin and all law-breakers, and throw them into the fiery furnace. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth. Then the righteous will shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. He who has ears, let him hear.”
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
“Take a chill pill.” It’s a phrase I repeated often in my childhood as way to rebuff the immediate and irksome demands of a sibling, friend, and occasionally a parent. The phrase has resurfaced some twenty years later. The context is pretty much the same, however the person making the demands has shifted from peers or parents to my three-year-old. I’ll often use the phrase in the middle of typical three-year-old demand generally culminating in a meltdown. In great parenting fashion I am trying to impress upon my daughter, despite her struggles, to wait and that I will help her soon. Usually, and unfortunately, the request does not work.
The Parable of the Wheat and the Weeds is a fairly straightforward text. Jesus describes for the crowd and later interprets for His disciples what the world is like: a coexistence of good and bad until the day of judgement when the Sower, Jesus Christ, will sort things out. Eternal bliss for the good seed, or the sons of the kingdom, and damnation for the sons of the evil one, or the weeds. The sermon outlined comforts the sons and daughters of the kingdom can have in response to this coexistence. We acknowledge that God permits it to happen. The wheat and the weeds living side by side does not surprise God. We can acknowledge that God will use it. God will use this liminal time—from the sowing of the seed to the harvest—as a way to form and grow the good seed as He sees fit. Finally we can acknowledge that God will overcome it. The reality that good and evil coexist is not surprising to any of us either, and often it can feel as though good is always trampled underfoot by evil. However, we can rest assured that God will vindicate the sons and daughters of the kingdom and His own work on judgment day.
Patience seems to be in short supply these days, and yet from the text patience is the demonstrable attribute of the Sower. During this liminal time I think it bears upon us to think deeply about what it means as God’s people to live alongside the sons of the evil one. We should look no further than the Sower Himself in order to understand our responsibility.
As described in the sermon, the weed, or darnel, was a nuisance. This sort of weed was of no good or profitable use, and to sow it was a crime in the Roman Empire. The ability for a fungus to inhabit the grain rendered it toxic if consumed. Sowing the darnel among the good seed was an act of agricultural sabotage by, or understanding this in the grand scheme of Scripture, revenge by the Enemy. Regardless, the Sower’s reception to the bad news and his plan demonstrates patience. Two options lay before the Sower. He understands that with imprudence the good crop will be lost, so the weed must be left alone to coexist with the wheat. This means that the care of the good crop by the fieldworkers will profit the weed as well. Not only the attention, but the resources. Sunlight, good soil, and water are all things that make for a good crop, and the weed enjoys these things too. Since the wheat and the weed are intertwined, their immediate circumstances are as well. If the wheat receives “blessing” such as consistent rain or sunshine, then the weed receives the same blessing. This reminds us of Jesus’s earlier statement in Matthew’s Gospel account, “For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matthew 5:45). The Sower’s benevolence knows no bounds as both crops receive blessing.
The patience with the weed by the Sower, even attentiveness despite its inherent and evil nature, and in light of Matthew’s earlier statement given its full context, brings us to a critical point in how God’s people are to coexist with the weeds, or the sons of the evil one. God’s people by virtue of being sons and daughters of the kingdom, sown by the Sower, must demonstrate a patience with, and, to go further, love for the sons of the evil one. Earlier in Matthew’s gospel (Matthew 7:15-20) Jesus warns that any tree which does not bear good fruit eventually is thrown into the fire. Taking this into account, to be God’s people, to demonstrate the legitimacy of being part of God’s kingdom, one must show the proper outworking of God’s love in our lives and that is none better demonstrated in patience with the sons of evil. Jesus displays this in His own life with His disciples. Among them is Judas, a son of the evil one, and Jesus shows forbearance with His betrayer. Jesus was able to use Judas for good, despite his evil nature and intentions, for the larger, greater good of redemption.
Why is it important to extrapolate the character of the Sower? Because it’s the nature and character of the Sower that determine the destiny of both seeds. If the Sower were lazy, the destiny of the crop is death. If the Sower is impatient, the crop will not give its full yield. And yet the nature and the character of the Sower in the parable is strikingly different. The Sower is good because He sows good seed; His crop is a reflection of Himself. His work mirrors His nature. But not only that the Sower’s patience and diligence save the good seed from ruin. To hastily remove the weed from the wheat would have ruined the wheat. The Sower was, and still is, patient. As for the weed, its malicious nature runs counter to the Sower’s and so its destiny is the raging inferno. The patience of the Sower serves both as the foil and launching pad for our world and for us.
Stanley Hauerwas notes in his commentary on Matthew that, “The parable of the wheat and the weeds is given to encourage Christians to endure in a world that will not acknowledge the kingdom that has come in Christ.” Hauerwas goes on to say this parable, which clearly gives us a picture of the End, also states the necessity with which the Church is to be patient with sons of the evil one.
The sons and daughters of the kingdom should not be in a hurry. Our world operates with rapid fire. We have a proclivity for the immediate. We are conditioned for it by our very nature, and our modern era plays to it. Simply put, we become quickly hostile when an electronic device or system stalls for more than a few milliseconds or when a stranger is driving slower than necessary in the farthest left-hand lane. Our reactions to any number of situations, with respect to patience, is that we quickly run in and do so violently. We rush to tear down a foe, eliminate a nuisance, or crush any opposition.
Patience places a pause on violence and waits lovingly and works diligently to demonstrate a different reality. This different reality is constructed entirely by God’s own forbearance with a wicked world, and then when the time was right God sent His Son to die for the ungodly (Romans 5:6; Galatians 4:4). This reality, and our incorporation into it by Christ’s life, death, and resurrection, serves as a launching pad for how God’s people should coexist with the sons of the evil one. Being patient demonstrates that God’s people have a different orientation to their way in the world and that God’s Kingdom is vastly different than anything else out there. What Pierre Teilhard de Chardin has to say is almost a prayer for God’s people as we wait, endure, love, and work between the time of sowing and reaping.
“Above all, trust in the slow work of God
We are quite naturally impatient in everything
to reach the end without delay
We should like to skip the intermediate stages.
We are impatient of being on the way to something
unknown, something new. And yet it is the law of all progress
that it is made by passing through
some stages of instability-
and that it may take a very long time.”
And when He was alone, those around Him with the twelve asked Him about the parables. And He said to them, "To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside everything is in parables, so that
"they may indeed see but not perceive,and may indeed hear but not understand,lest they should turn and be forgiven."
And He said to them, "Do you not understand this parable? How then will you understand all the parables? The sower sows the Word. And these are the ones along the path, where the Word is sown: when they hear, Satan immediately comes and takes away the Word that is sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: the ones who, when they hear the Word, immediately receive it with joy. And they have no root in themselves, but endure for a while; then, when tribulation or persecution arises on account of the Word, immediately they fall away.Or stumble And others are the ones sown among thorns. They are those who hear the Word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things enter in and choke the Word, and it proves unfruitful. But those that were sown on the good soil are the ones who hear the Word and accept it and bear fruit, thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Can you imagine their quizzical looks? They probably happened every day. Jesus would speak, or teach, or discuss, and then the disciples would glance at each other. With eyebrows raised, silently mouthing, "What does that mean?", they would whisper among themselves. Shrugged shoulders and wonder were often the shared answer. Sometimes they would ask the Lord Himself, at which point the Lord would explain His words to them. He would illuminate and clarify what had been shadowy and opaque.
The parable of the sower and the seed is one of the teachings the Lord specifically details to His disciples. Their question had been oblique, the kind you and I might ask. "Why do you speak to them in parables?" they asked, really meaning, "Why do you speak to us in parables?" And Jesus, in His kindness, makes clear the primacy, and the purpose and the power of God's Word for the citizens of the kingdom of heaven.
For God's people, God's Word is the very foundation of their identity and their hope. In God's Word, God's Son, our Savior is made known. Illuminated by the Holy Spirit, the Word of God is the preeminent source of wisdom and strength for those who are Christ's Ones. Those often befuddled disciples heard Jesus quote the Old Testament dozens of times. For Jesus, the Scriptures were both from His lips and on His lips. God's Word was the foundation of life and work for God's Son!
God's Word also sheds light on hearts that are hardened to the things of God, or distracted by the cares of the world. Jesus says the seed of God's Word is often choked out by the thorny brambles of life, and the stunted, wealthy sprouts never quite produce expected fruit. But the purpose of the Word of God is to grow abundantly in the lives of believers, and bear much fruit for the Kingdom. God's Word, in many, many ways serves as a winnowing sieve.
The expert Old Testament scholar, Saul of Tarsus, was apprehended by the Lord and put to work for The Kingdom of Heaven. It was the power in Paul's thorough understanding of the Old Testament Scriptures that informed his preaching and writing. The Scriptures had prepared him for teaching, reproof, correction, and training in righteousness, as he completed the good work Jesus gave him to do.
Years ago, a wise pastor friend had a saying that has rung in my memory through the decades. He would hold up his Bible, lean over the pulpit and (sort of) shout, "If God's Word is closed, God's mouth is closed!" Today, ask the Lord just like those disciples did. He has promised, in His Word, not to leave or forsake those who are His. He will make Himself known, and, with Him, you will bear much fruit.
"For it will be like a man going on a journey, who called his servants and entrusted to them his property. To one he gave five talents, to another two, to another one, to each according to his ability. Then he went away. He who had received the five talents went at once and traded with them, and he made five talents more. So also he who had the two talents made two talents more. But he who had received the one talent went and dug in the ground and hid his master's money. Now after a long time the master of those servants came and settled accounts with them. And he who had received the five talents came forward, bringing five talents more, saying, 'Master, you delivered to me five talents; here I have made five talents more.' His master said to him, 'Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.' And he also who had the two talents came forward, saying, 'Master, you delivered to me two talents; here I have made two talents more.'
His master said to him, 'Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.' He also who had received the one talent came forward, saying, 'Master, I knew you to be a hard man, reaping where you did not sow, and gathering where you scattered no seed, so I was afraid, and I went and hid your talent in the ground. Here you have what is yours.' But his master answered him, 'You wicked and slothful servant! You knew that I reap where I have not sown and gather where I scattered no seed? Then you ought to have invested my money with the bankers, and at my coming I should have received what was my own with interest. So take the talent from him and give it to him who has the ten talents. For to everyone who has will more be given, and he will have an abundance. But from the one who has not, even what he has will be taken away. And cast the worthless servant into the outer darkness. In that place there will be weeping and gnashing of teeth.'
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“One talent? That’s it? I’m not a one talent guy! I’ve seen the two and five talent folks. They’re not that impressive. I don’t get it. Why would you give me so little to work with? The game is rigged. The deck is stacked. And I know how this is gonna go. You’re gonna want a great return on your investment, but there’s just not enough here to grow. So I’ll play it safe. I’ll bury this little bit in the ground, and when you come around, I’ll at least be able to give it back to you.”
We don’t know everything about the servant who receives the one talent, but we know that he was afraid (Matthew 25:25). Fear colors the way we see God, life, and the work He has entrusted to us. Fear leads us to compare ourselves to other people and count “talents” instead of thanking the Lord for the abilities and opportunities He has given us. Fear leads us to bury our life in the ground, to play not to lose, instead of taking risks because we know that the Lord has been both rich and generous to us. Fear always shifts our focus. Fearful lenses are like carnival mirrors: everything is distorted, and we forget what is real. We don’t see the Lord clearly. We don’t see our neighbors clearly. And we certainly don’t see ourselves clearly. How much does fear paralyze us and keep us from walking in the good works that the Lord has prepared for us (Ephesians 2:10)?
The servants who receive two and five talents remind us that our abilities and resources are not the ultimate issue. What we do with what has been entrusted to us is what matters. We tend to ask, “Why did I not get as much as she did?” But the Lord would have us ask, “Why did You give me so much, and how do You want me to use it?” As we come to revel in being saved by grace through faith, humility and courage start to grow where fear once dominated our lives. We start to see that our abilities and resources are gifts from a God who loves us and lavishes His grace upon us. Why would we bury a life in the ground when there is so much to gain and nothing to lose? Fear is constantly running from dread; faith is constantly chasing down joy. There’s the joy of His salvation that dawns when we come to know Christ. There’s the joy of His approval that grows as we work unto Him. And there’s the joy of His commendation that awaits us at the end: “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.”
We all spend a lifetime working in one way or another. But will we ever slow down and think deeply about our work? Will we rest in the finished work of Christ? Will we work, not to earn God’s love, but because we already have it? Will we hedge our bets for the sake of being safe, or will we take risks for the sake of being faithful? As His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, these are not small questions. According to Jesus, eternal joy hangs in the balance.
Finally, be strong in the Lord and in the strength of His might. Put on the whole armor of God, that you may be able to stand against the schemes of the devil. For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places. Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day, and having done all, to stand firm. Stand therefore, having fastened on the belt of truth, and having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and, as shoes for your feet, having put on the readiness given by the gospel of peace.
In all circumstances take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming darts of the evil one; and take the helmet of salvation, and the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God, praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication. To that end keep alert with all perseverance, making supplication for all the saints, and also for me, that words may be given to me in opening my mouth boldly to proclaim the mystery of the gospel, for which I am an ambassador in chains, that I may declare it boldly, as I ought to speak.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
Perhaps you’ve seen this E-trade commercial? The camera bounces back and forth between a stoic, thoughtful person silently watching an admirable, wealthy person who is captivating a large group, while a smooth, baritone voice reveals the inner envious dialogue. The voice reveals how successful this second person is and how, in fact, the stoic first person even, despite his envy, begrudgingly likes him. Then the commercial finishes, “but you’d like him a whole lot more if you made more money than him. Don’t get mad. Get e-Trade.”
Unfortunately, that’s not how envy gets cured. If you like her more if you are better than her, you’ve never truly liked her. The problem isn’t a readjustment of circumstances. The problem is an envious heart.
But the commercial is fascinating to me because it eloquently describes the war, but it goes to fight the wrong battle. And that’s Ephesians 6. Paul tells us that our struggle is not actually against flesh and blood, but against demonic systems set up by the forces of darkness, the powers of evil, and our enemies in the spiritual realm. For us enlightened, western, individual materialists, that’s not the battle we are accustomed to fighting. Spiritual warfare seems like something from the forgotten realm of superstition, vampires, and blaming Zeus for impregnating my cow with a demi-god. But Paul tells us the real battle between good and evil, isn’t against other human beings, but against, as we say at baptisms, the world, the flesh, and the devil. The real battle happens first at the spiritual level.
Paul is not implying some gnostic nonsense like only the spiritual matters. Rather, Paul is illuminating this point: Christ wasn’t battling the Roman Empire on the cross. He was shaking down the powers of the spiritual world. He was crushing the very head of Satan. In His death and resurrection, He was forming a new eternal Kingdom of heaven and of earth. He waged war not against flesh and blood, but against the devil himself. He won. And as a matter of fact, in time, the Roman Empire shook and disappeared and God’s people and God’s Kingdom picked up the pieces and marched on.
That is the battle we still wage on His behest and through His power. The flesh and blood that we so want to dismiss, defeat, or better are not our enemies, but our potential allies in God’s Kingdom. The circumstances are second to the spiritual forces that tell us money will make us happy, power will make us secure, and sex will satisfy. The real battle is fought on the spiritual plane everyday. Which is why Paul tells us to have already put on God’s armor, but to always be praying. Prayer is the putting on. Prayer is aligning our hearts for the real battle. Prayer is asking the crowned King for strength and His will. So be praying, at all times, in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
There’s a lot of talk these days about Christian community. Here are some valuable insights from Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s Life Together on the subject.
1. Christian community is a gift, not a guarantee.
“It is by the grace of God that a congregation is permitted to gather visibly in this world to share God’s Word and sacrament. Not all Christians receive this blessing. The imprisoned, the sick, the scattered lonely, the proclaimers of the Gospel in heathen lands stand alone…Therefore, let him who until now has had the privilege of living a common Christian life with other Christians praise God’s grace from the bottom of his heart. Let him thank God on his knees and declare: It is grace, nothing but grace, that we are allowed to live in community with Christian brethren.” (18, 20)
God does not owe us the experience of community. May gratitude rather than entitlement be the tone of our fellowship.
2. Our romantic hopes for community are often deep hindrances to reality.
“When the morning mists of dreams vanish, then dawns the bright day of Christian fellowship.” (28-29)
This line is challenging. It begs the question: What did we dream a community would be for us? A busy place where our needs would be met? A safe place where we could retreat from the hazards of the world? An easy place where relationships happen organically? According to Bonhoeffer, our dreams need to be chastened and perhaps even mortified. Genuine Christian community rises to life from the ashes of our misguided romances.
3. Faith is more vital than experience.
“There is probably no Christian to whom God has not given the uplifting experience of genuine Christian community at least once in his life. But in this world such experiences can be no more than a gracious extra beyond the daily break of Christian community life. We have no claim upon such experiences, and we do not live with other Christians for the sake of acquiring them…We are bound together by faith, not by experience.” (39)
In other words, how we feel is not always a reliable indicator of what God is doing. Sometimes faith leads us into the relational experiences we want in a community. Other times, faith leaves us wanting something else entirely. But we are called to live out a profession, not a feeling, and so we must trust that God is at work in spite of the contradictions we feel within us.
4. Jesus must be at the center.
“Christianity means community through Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ. No Christian community is more or less than this.” (21)
It’s important to state the obvious here. Every community has a center—something that binds it together. That binding agent could be anything, from a social cause to a football team. At the center of Christian community should be Jesus Christ. In practice, His priorities always trump our personal preferences and cultural biases. We live together as perpetual listeners, open to His correction and renewal.
5. Sinners are welcome.
“The final break-through to fellowship does not occur, because, though they have fellowship with one another as believers and as devout people, they do not have fellowship as the undevout, as sinners. The pious fellowship permits no one to be a sinner. So everybody must conceal his sin from himself and from the fellowship. We dare not be sinners. Many Christians are unthinkably horrified when a real sinner is suddenly discovered among the righteous. So we remain alone with our sin, living in lies and hypocrisy. The fact is that we are sinners!” (110)
“But it is the grace of the Gospel, which is so hard for the pious to understand, that it confronts us with the truth and says: You are a sinner, a great, desperate sinner; now come, as the sinner that you are, to God who loves you. He wants you as you are; He does not want anything from you, a sacrifice, a work; He wants you alone.” (110-111)
This insight follows from the last point. If Jesus welcomed sinners, then the social reality gathered in His name must bear that welcome as well. What makes Christian community unique is also what makes it hard—anyone can come. We must dare to expose ourselves as sinners alongside one another, trusting that God’s love is for us as we are, not as we should be.
6. Community takes practice.
“Just as the Christian should not be constantly feeling his spiritual pulse, so, too, the Christian community has not been given to us by God for us to be constantly taking its temperature. The more thankfully we daily receive what is given to us, the more surely and steadily will fellowship increase and grow from day to day as God pleases.” (30)
Community takes more than talk. It takes practice and enduring commitment. May God increase His patience in us as we live out His life together.
There was a certain man of Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim whose name was Elkanah the son of Jeroham, son of Elihu, son of Tohu, son of Zuph, an Ephrathite. He had two wives. The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. And Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.
Now this man used to go up year by year from his city to worship and to sacrifice to the Lord of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the Lord. On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and daughters. But to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. And her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. And Elkanah, her husband, said to her, "Hannah, why do you weep? And why do you not eat? And why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?"
After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly.
And she vowed a vow and said, "O Lord of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head."
As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was speaking in her heart; only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli took her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her, "How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you." But Hannah answered, "No, my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation." Then Eli answered, "Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him." And she said, "Let your servant find favor in your eyes." Then the woman went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad.
They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord; then they went back to their house at Ramah. And Elkanah knew Hannah his wife, and the Lord remembered her. And in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Samuel, for she said, "I have asked for him from the Lord."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
The students chuckled as the professor walked into the room. Did he not notice what was happening with his shirt? As they watched him make his way to the podium, they had trouble containing their amusement. How could such a brilliant man fail to button his shirt correctly? As the professor addressed the class, he acknowledged the issue with the shirt. He had put the first button into the second button hole. “You see, if you don’t start in the right place, you’ll never end up in the right place.” A simple mistake at the beginning can result in great embarrassment by the end. Sometimes, the only way to fix the problem is to start all over again.
The beginning of 1 Samuel gives us an opportunity to ask, “What is our starting point?” We often start with something that feels like a strength in our lives. We have this or we’ve done that or we’re good at this or we know them. These things give us a sense of value and power. They combat our creeping sense of inadequacy. What we don’t usually realize—until it’s too late—is that starting with ourselves is like missing the first button on our shirt. We never genuinely start with God until we finish starting with ourselves. We don’t want to come to the end of ourselves because we fear there will be nothing there. We refuse to admit our inability because we think we can do this. Maybe we can. But in the most crucial areas, we can’t.
“God’s tendency is to make our total inability his starting point.” This statement from Dale Ralph Davis is evident when we zoom in on the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel 1 and when we zoom out on the whole story of redemption. Here, a barren woman, devastated by her circumstances, has come to the end of herself. Her safety nets have been shredded. She has no fallback options. But here, in the place of utter desperation, the song of God’s rescue rings out. Our total inability is the prelude to the symphony of God’s sufficiency. In blessing barren Hannah with a child, the Lord again reveals the pattern of His redemption. In our hopelessness, the Lord gives birth to hope. In our despair, the Lord gives birth to joy. Salvation is nothing less than God doing the impossible, bringing life out of death. Who but God could turn a dead end into a fountain of life? If that’s the way the Lord works, why do we spend so much energy trying to avoid His starting point? Next time we button our shirt, we should remember: If we don’t start in the right place, we’ll never end up in the right place. Lord, help us to be honest about our inability and to be bold in crying out for Your grace!
The man Elkanah and all his house went up to offer to the Lord the yearly sacrifice and to pay his vow. But Hannah did not go up, for she said to her husband, "As soon as the child is weaned, I will bring him, so that he may appear in the presence of the Lord and dwell there forever." Elkanah her husband said to her, "Do what seems best to you; wait until you have weaned him; only, may the Lord establish his word." So the woman remained and nursed her son until she weaned him. And when she had weaned him, she took him up with her, along with a three-year-old bull, an ephah of flour, and a skin of wine, and she brought him to the house of the Lord at Shiloh. And the child was young.
Then they slaughtered the bull, and they brought the child to Eli. And she said, "Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord."
And he worshiped the Lord there.
And Hannah prayed and said,
"My heart exults in the Lord; my horn is exalted in the Lord. My mouth derides my enemies,because I rejoice in your salvation.
"There is none holy like the Lord; there is none besides you;there is no rock like our God. Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed. The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength.
Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry have ceased to hunger. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many children is forlorn. The Lord kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up. The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low and he exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord's, and on them he has set the world.
"He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness, for not by might shall a man prevail. The adversaries of the Lord shall be broken to pieces; against them he will thunder in heaven. The Lord will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king and exalt the power of his anointed."
Then Elkanah went home to Ramah. And the boy ministered to the Lord in the presence of Eli the priest.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
They are so much alike they are sometimes mistaken for twins. Everyone confuses them. And it's no wonder. They frequently travel together and even seem to make a point to show up at exactly the same time. Helplessness and hopelessness are nearly indistinguishable, and for the unredeemed, usually inseparable.
Like me, you have probably entertained both. You found yourself in some situation or relationship that seemed utterly futile, completely out of your control, and careening headlong toward despondency. Remember that? But that sense of utter helplessness didn't remain neutral. It wasn't sterile and contained. Pretty soon, the twin terror of loss of hope crept in. "Well, what's the use," we say, "nothing I do seems to make a bit of difference." And then we utter the mantra of our hopeless age, "Well, whatever!" We're undone by our helpless estate. Hope is gone.
But Hannah, Samuel's mom, knew the better way, the way of the redeemed. She traveled with helplessness, but knew that hopelessness mustn't join in the journey. And where did she go, this woman with deep faith and bone-crushing sadness? She went to God Almighty. She knew the eternal truth that rings throughout all of scripture. God is at work, always and everywhere. And for those who know Him, that work shines most brightly when we finally come to the end of ourselves.
Think of the stories! A man from Ur with a settled history and an extended family is told to leave all that and take off for who knows where. A young boy is sold into slavery by his own brothers. A petulant missionary finds himself in the belly of a fish, and an erudite Roman citizen sings praises chained to the floor of a filthy dungeon. The stories are legion, and the stories are true. They teach us again and again that our pernicious belief that we are in control is folly. They teach us to draw near to God.
Think of the disciples. They watched helplessly as their leader was accused, arrested, and led away to execution. There was nothing they could do. Then he breathed his last, and his lifeless, broken body was hurriedly hustled into a borrowed grave. Darkness was coming. Darkness had won. Helpless and hopeless, the fearful disciples hid out.
And then, in the central event of all of human history, the eternal torrent of hope washed over creation like a tidal wave. "He is alive!", they cried. Indeed, HE IS ALIVE. In Christ, there is "strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow."
So when you hear yourself sighing, "Well, I've done all I can do, I guess there's nothing left but to pray", remember Hannah. Remember all the others. And remember that chained, helpless, hope-filled Rabbi who reminds us all.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10.
Then Elkanah went home to Ramah. And the boy was ministering to the Lord in the presence of Eli the priest.
Now the sons of Eli were worthless men. They did not know the Lord. The custom of the priests with the people was that when any man offered sacrifice, the priest's servant would come, while the meat was boiling, with a three-pronged fork in his hand, and he would thrust it into the pan or kettle or cauldron or pot. All that the fork brought up the priest would take for himself. This is what they did at Shiloh to all the Israelites who came there. Moreover, before the fat was burned, the priest's servant would come and say to the man who was sacrificing, “Give meat for the priest to roast, for he will not accept boiled meat from you but only raw.” And if the man said to him, “Let them burn the fat first, and then take as much as you wish,” he would say, “No, you must give it now, and if not, I will take it by force.” Thus the sin of the young men was very great in the sight of the Lord, for the men treated the offering of the Lord with contempt.
Samuel was ministering before the Lord, a boy clothed with a linen ephod. And his mother used to make for him a little robe and take it to him each year when she went up with her husband to offer the yearly sacrifice. Then Eli would bless Elkanah and his wife, and say, “May the Lord give you children by this woman for the petition she asked of the Lord.” So then they would return to their home.
Indeed the Lord visited Hannah, and she conceived and bore three sons and two daughters. And the boy Samuel grew in the presence of the Lord.
Now Eli was very old, and he kept hearing all that his sons were doing to all Israel, and how they lay with the women who were serving at the entrance to the tent of meeting. And he said to them, “Why do you do such things? For I hear of your evil dealings from all these people. No, my sons; it is no good report that I hear the people of the Lord spreading abroad. If someone sins against a man, God will mediate for him, but if someone sins against the Lord, who can intercede for him?” But they would not listen to the voice of their father, for it was the will of the Lord to put them to death.
Now the boy Samuel continued to grow both in stature and in favor with the Lord and also with man.
And there came a man of God to Eli and said to him, “Thus says the Lord, ‘Did I indeed reveal myself to the house of your father when they were in Egypt subject to the house of Pharaoh? Did I choose him out of all the tribes of Israel to be my priest, to go up to my altar, to burn incense, to wear an ephod before me? I gave to the house of your father all my offerings by fire from the people of Israel. Why then do you scorn my sacrifices and my offerings that I commanded for my dwelling, and honor your sons above me by fattening yourselves on the choicest parts of every offering of my people Israel?’ Therefore the Lord, the God of Israel, declares: ‘I promised that your house and the house of your father should go in and out before me forever,’ but now the Lord declares: ‘Far be it from me, for those who honor me I will honor, and those who despise me shall be lightly esteemed. Behold, the days are coming when I will cut off your strength and the strength of your father's house, so that there will not be an old man in your house. Then in distress you will look with envious eye on all the prosperity that shall be bestowed on Israel, and there shall not be an old man in your house forever. The only one of you whom I shall not cut off from my altar shall be spared to weep his eyes out to grieve his heart, and all the descendants of your house shall die by the sword of men. And this that shall come upon your two sons, Hophni and Phinehas, shall be the sign to you: both of them shall die on the same day. And I will raise up for myself a faithful priest, who shall do according to what is in my heart and in my mind. And I will build him a sure house, and he shall go in and out before my anointed forever. And everyone who is left in your house shall come to implore him for a piece of silver or a loaf of bread and shall say, “Please put me in one of the priests' places, that I may eat a morsel of bread.”’”
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
There is a tragedy in Shiloh – a moral, spiritual mess – which was instigated by two men: Hophni and Phinehas. These were not just any two men, they were priests of God. They were supposed to represent the living God to the people of Israel, and instead they were villains. Their ill behavior was a public spectacle: Hophni and Phinehas were taking their cut of the liturgical sacrifice out of order, and they were taking more than they should (vv.12-16). Not only were they pilfering what was supposed to be the Lord’s, they had become sexual deviants with the women who entered the temple to worship (v. 22). These men who were to be holy had indulged themselves in hedonism.
The lifestyles of Hophni and Phinehas were in direct contempt for the God they were supposed to love, serve, and worship. The text makes it clear that both men did not even know God. Their atheism, their misrepresentation of God, sent the priesthood into an immoral abyss. And Eli’s passivity to his sons’ activity brought judgment on Eli and his household. The men deserved God’s judgment, they had misrepresented God.
This story should cause us to pause and evaluate our own representation of God. Where have we misrepresented Him? As we were reminded, misrepresenting God is blasphemy. And at the root of every sin is blasphemy. This deserves condemnation. Such an assessment should not send us spiraling into the depths of despair thinking there is no way out. Nor should we attempt to ascend to the summit of self-righteousness, for we are not as pious as we truly are. Such reflection should lead us to the Cross.
The story ends with God raising up a faithful priest. While wicked Hophni and Phinehas are busying destroying the priesthood, God is making preparation to restore it. In His judgment, God also dispenses mercy. We see the Lord’s justice and provision in Samuel. Samuel would be a forerunner to the true and faithful Priest, Jesus. A Faithful Priest who will advocate for His people. In this knowledge, we can turn and worship God for all He has and continues to do for us.
In his book, The Knowledge of the Holy, A.W. Tozer summarizes our text so well. He writes,
“What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.
The history of mankind will probably show that no people has ever risen above its religion, and man’s spiritual history will positively demonstrate that no religion has ever been greater than its idea of God. Worship is pure or base as the worshiper entertains high or low thoughts of God.
For this reason the gravest question before the Church is always God Himself, and the most portentous fact about any man is not what he at a given time may say or do, but what he in his deep heart conceives God to be like.
We tend by a secret law of the soul to move toward our mental image of God. This is true not only of the individual Christian, but of the company of Christians that composes the Church. Always the most revealing thing about the Church is her idea of God.”
Now the young man Samuel was ministering to the Lord under Eli. And the word of the Lord was rare in those days; there was no frequent vision.
At that time Eli, whose eyesight had begun to grow dim so that he could not see, was lying down in his own place. The lamp of God had not yet gone out, and Samuel was lying down in the temple of the Lord, where the ark of God was.
Then the Lord called Samuel, and he said, "Here I am!" and ran to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call; lie down again." So he went and lay down.
And the Lord called again, "Samuel!" and Samuel arose and went to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." But he said, "I did not call, my son; lie down again." Now Samuel did not yet know the Lord, and the word of the Lord had not yet been revealed to him.
And the Lord called Samuel again the third time. And he arose and went to Eli and said, "Here I am, for you called me." Then Eli perceived that the Lord was calling the young man. Therefore Eli said to Samuel, "Go, lie down, and if he calls you, you shall say, 'Speak, Lord, for your servant hears.'" So Samuel went and lay down in his place.
And the Lord came and stood, calling as at other times, "Samuel! Samuel!" And Samuel said, "Speak, for your servant hears." Then the Lord said to Samuel, "Behold, I am about to do a thing in Israel at which the two ears of everyone who hears it will tingle.
On that day I will fulfill against Eli all that I have spoken concerning his house, from beginning to end. And I declare to him that I am about to punish his house forever, for the iniquity that he knew, because his sons were blaspheming God,Or blaspheming for themselves and he did not restrain them. Therefore I swear to the house of Eli that the iniquity of Eli's house shall not be atoned for by sacrifice or offering forever."
Samuel lay until morning; then he opened the doors of the house of the Lord. And Samuel was afraid to tell the vision to Eli. But Eli called Samuel and said, "Samuel, my son." And he said, "Here I am." And Eli said, "What was it that he told you? Do not hide it from me. May God do so to you and more also if you hide anything from me of all that he told you." So Samuel told him everything and hid nothing from him. And he said, "It is the Lord. Let him do what seems good to him."
And Samuel grew, and the Lord was with him and let none of his words fall to the ground. And all Israel from Dan to Beersheba knew that Samuel was established as a prophet of the Lord. And the Lord appeared again at Shiloh, for the Lord revealed himself to Samuel at Shiloh by the word of the Lord.
And the word of Samuel came to all Israel.
Now Israel went out to battle against the Philistines. They encamped at Ebenezer, and the Philistines encamped at Aphek.
Will Stockdale was born and raised a Texan. He grew up in the town of Aledo and attended Texas A&M University. After graduating college in 2012 Will worked in oil fields of Port Fourchon, LA and the Eagle Ford Shale in south central Texas. He moved to Dallas in September of 2014 to work for a tech startup. In October of 2015 Will served as campaign manager for state representative Cindy Burkett. Will started working as a resident at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in May of 2016. He is a student at Reformed Theological Seminary here in Dallas and is excited to share the amazing person and work of Jesus Christ.
Painted in this intimate encounter between God and Samuel and Eli is a larger picture of Israel’s spiritual state out of which God calls Samuel into his prophetic role. In the land, visions from God were infrequent and Israel began to only see the Lord dimly. A deafening darkness had settled on Israel like the darkness that had settled on the temple that evening. But then God’s vision came to Samuel in the dead of night.
God’s word was so unusual in that time that Samuel had never heard it before, and when he first did, it was unrecognizable. It was not until the third instance of mistaken identity that even Eli realized what was happening. The frequency of silence had dulled his sense of hearing until the moment of understanding—God was on the move. The God Who rescued His people out of Egypt, Who gathered a people through His thunderous appearance at Mount Sinai, and Who brought them into the Promised Land was revealing Himself again. Finally His vision and voice had broken through the silent darkness to sustain Israel into the future. And so, after sending Samuel back to his room, Eli waited eagerly until morning to hear this new word from God.
We serve a God Who calls into being that which was not. His very voice is a creative act. By it darkness folds back and light comes to be. His own people are called into being by His sovereign word. We who once were not God’s people are now called children of the living God. It is a deep and personal calling—like a shepherd calling out to his sheep and the sheep knowing his voice. The result of this calling is that we now have a new vision for life. A vision bursting with the good news of our risen and ascended Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. It is a vision that sustains us while we move about as husbands and wives, sons and daughters, employees and employers, craftsmen and artists, as worshippers.
Eli waited not knowing what word he would receive, and when he heard it, it was tragic. But let us rejoice! For we too wait to see with our eyes and hear with our ears the vision and voice of God. But unlike Eli, we who have been called His people know what will be revealed. The darkness has been lifted, the light has come forth, and we know with confidence that one day, we will see King Jesus coming with His Kingdom to cover the earth. The darkness that we feel too often in this life will be banished by His glorious light and we will finally see our God not dimly, but with eyes bright and clear.
And the word of Samuel came to all Israel.
Now Israel went out to battle against the Philistines. They encamped at Ebenezer, and the Philistines encamped at Aphek. The Philistines drew up in line against Israel, and when the battle spread, Israel was defeated before the Philistines, who killed about four thousand men on the field of battle. And when the people came to the camp, the elders of Israel said, “Why has the Lord defeated us today before the Philistines? Let us bring the ark of the covenant of the Lord here from Shiloh, that it may come among us and save us from the power of our enemies.” So the people sent to Shiloh and brought from there the ark of the covenant of the Lord of hosts, who is enthroned on the cherubim. And the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were there with the ark of the covenant of God.
As soon as the ark of the covenant of the Lord came into the camp, all Israel gave a mighty shout, so that the earth resounded. And when the Philistines heard the noise of the shouting, they said, “What does this great shouting in the camp of the Hebrews mean?” And when they learned that the ark of the Lord had come to the camp, the Philistines were afraid, for they said, “A god has come into the camp.” And they said, “Woe to us! For nothing like this has happened before. Woe to us! Who can deliver us from the power of these mighty gods? These are the gods who struck the Egyptians with every sort of plague in the wilderness. Take courage, and be men, O Philistines, lest you become slaves to the Hebrews as they have been to you; be men and fight.”
So the Philistines fought, and Israel was defeated, and they fled, every man to his home. And there was a very great slaughter, for thirty thousand foot soldiers of Israel fell. And the ark of God was captured, and the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, died.
A man of Benjamin ran from the battle line and came to Shiloh the same day, with his clothes torn and with dirt on his head. When he arrived, Eli was sitting on his seat by the road watching, for his heart trembled for the ark of God. And when the man came into the city and told the news, all the city cried out. When Eli heard the sound of the outcry, he said, “What is this uproar?” Then the man hurried and came and told Eli. Now Eli was ninety-eight years old and his eyes were set so that he could not see. And the man said to Eli, “I am he who has come from the battle; I fled from the battle today.” And he said, “How did it go, my son?” He who brought the news answered and said, “Israel has fled before the Philistines, and there has also been a great defeat among the people. Your two sons also, Hophni and Phinehas, are dead, and the ark of God has been captured.” As soon as he mentioned the ark of God, Eli fell over backward from his seat by the side of the gate, and his neck was broken and he died, for the man was old and heavy. He had judged Israel forty years.
Now his daughter-in-law, the wife of Phinehas, was pregnant, about to give birth. And when she heard the news that the ark of God was captured, and that her father-in-law and her husband were dead, she bowed and gave birth, for her pains came upon her. And about the time of her death the women attending her said to her, “Do not be afraid, for you have borne a son.” But she did not answer or pay attention. And she named the child Ichabod, saying, “The glory has departed from Israel!” because the ark of God had been captured and because of her father-in-law and her husband. And she said, “The glory has departed from Israel, for the ark of God has been captured.”
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
We all have a worst fear, a greatest nightmare. For Israel, their worst nightmare was the absence of God’s presence. 1 Samuel 4 is a low point in the history of Israel, a time of incomprehensible darkness: 34,000 Israelite soldiers dead. The sound defeat by an arch enemy. Judgment fulfilled on the house of Eli. But all this devastation paled in comparison to the capture of the ark of the covenant, the very symbol of God’s presence and power among Israel.
Is He the living God to Israel or just a good luck charm? The loss of God’s personal presence was of unspeakable horror to Israel. Yet, we can see from the preceding chapters that Israel had a slow deterioration in reverence for God. This brings the loss of the ark into sharper focus. They didn’t treasure God or worship Him. Israel had forgotten God’s majesty and forgone relationship with Him in exchange for expedient results.
After their first defeat by the Philistines (1 Samuel 4:2), they did not pray, repent, or seek God’s counsel. Instead they conferred among themselves and came up with a plan that seemed right to them (1 Samuel 4:3-4). Bring the ark! That’ll work! They had reduced the living God to an oversized good luck charm. They almost were saying by their actions, “We don’t want God; we just want His power and victory.” They had lost sense of the reality that they are God’s servants, created to honor, enjoy, and glorify Him. The unimaginable darkness that follows (1 Samuel 4:10-11, 18, 20-22) is God’s just and merciful judgment to wake Israel up from their spiritual slumber and bring them back to covenant faithfulness.
What can we learn? We are also prone to spiritual slumber, lulled to sleep by preoccupations and distractions. We easily forget of our identity, purpose, and who is reigning on the throne. It’s not us! We are not the chief executives of our little worlds; God is not our consultant to advance our comfort and success. He is the living God— holy and awesome, whose greatness is unending (Psalm 145). We would all do well to ask God to search our hearts (Psalm 139: 23-24) to see where we may have grown cold in our affection or where we desire expediency or self-sufficiency over relationship with Him. We may also ask God to train our hearts to trust Him when we face darkness or confusion of any kind.
How do we hope for the dawn when darkness strikes? In 1650, a British preacher and historian wrote, “…It is always darkest just before the day dawneth, so God useth to visit His servants with greatest afflictions when he intendeth their speedy advancement.”1 This is true for Israel. And it is true for us. God never abandons His people. He cannot forsake them. God is always at work. Israel was in a valley of the shadow of death, but even in 1 Samuel 4 there is the lingering hope that the story is not finished. His promises give hope (Lamentations 3:21-24). He strengthens us to keep going. There is promised movement through the dark valley (Psalm 23:4a). Moreover, He is always with us (Psalm 23:4b), even when we fear the darkness will swallow us whole. No matter what you are facing, He is with you. The darkness for those of us in Christ is never permanent or perpetual. The dawn will surely come.
1 Thomas Fuller, A Pisgah Sight of Palestine (1650), Book II, ch. XI.
1 Samuel 5:1-7
When the Philistines captured the ark of God, they brought it from Ebenezer to Ashdod. Then the Philistines took the ark of God and brought it into the house of Dagon and set it up beside Dagon. And when the people of Ashdod rose early the next day, behold, Dagon had fallen face downward on the ground before the ark of the Lord. So they took Dagon and put him back in his place. But when they rose early on the next morning, behold, Dagon had fallen face downward on the ground before the ark of the Lord, and the head of Dagon and both his hands were lying cut off on the threshold. Only the trunk of Dagon was left to him.
This is why the priests of Dagon and all who enter the house of Dagon do not tread on the threshold of Dagon in Ashdod to this day.
The hand of the Lord was heavy against the people of Ashdod, and he terrified and afflicted them with tumors, both Ashdod and its territory. And when the men of Ashdod saw how things were, they said, "The ark of the God of Israel must not remain with us, for his hand is hard against us and against Dagon our god."
1 Samuel 6:13-7:2
Now the people of Beth-shemesh were reaping their wheat harvest in the valley. And when they lifted up their eyes and saw the ark, they rejoiced to see it. The cart came into the field of Joshua of Beth-shemesh and stopped there. A great stone was there. And they split up the wood of the cart and offered the cows as a burnt offering to the Lord. And the Levites took down the ark of the Lord and the box that was beside it, in which were the golden figures, and set them upon the great stone. And the men of Beth-shemesh offered burnt offerings and sacrificed sacrifices on that day to the Lord. And when the five lords of the Philistines saw it, they returned that day to Ekron.
These are the golden tumors that the Philistines returned as a guilt offering to the Lord: one for Ashdod, one for Gaza, one for Ashkelon, one for Gath, one for Ekron, and the golden mice, according to the number of all the cities of the Philistines belonging to the five lords, both fortified cities and unwalled villages. The great stone beside which they set down the ark of the Lord is a witness to this day in the field of Joshua of Beth-shemesh.
And he struck some of the men of Beth-shemesh, because they looked upon the ark of the Lord. He struck seventy men of them,Hebrew of the people seventy men, fifty thousand men and the people mourned because the Lord had struck the people with a great blow.
Then the men of Beth-shemesh said, "Who is able to stand before the Lord, this holy God? And to whom shall he go up away from us?" So they sent messengers to the inhabitants of Kiriath-jearim, saying, "The Philistines have returned the ark of the Lord. Come down and take it up to you."
And the men of Kiriath-jearim came and took up the ark of the Lord and brought it to the house of Abinadab on the hill. And they consecrated his son Eleazar to have charge of the ark of the Lord. From the day that the ark was lodged at Kiriath-jearim, a long time passed, some twenty years, and all the house of Israel lamented after the Lord.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Do you want to know what cynicism looks like in our day? Have you ever seen de-motivational posters? You might have seen a motivational poster on the wall at the office. There’s a beautiful picture of a tree or a lion, a bold word like CHANGE or LEADERSHIP, and a pithy statement to inspire whoever passes by. De-motivational posters look the same until you get close enough to read the fine print. “DESPAIR: It’s always darkest just before it goes pitch black.” These posters remind us that cynicism can be clever, even comical, but in the end, it leaves us feeling dark and hopeless.
In the early chapters of 1 Samuel, the Israelites would be tempted to hang a de-motivational poster on the wall. These chapters feel like the darkest moment just before it goes pitch black. They have been soundly defeated by their enemies. The ark of God has been captured, and the glory of the Lord has departed with it. They struggle to imagine a more hopeless situation. Though the details are different, can we relate to a darkness that tempts us to despair? If we spend much of our time focusing on the decline of culture, the mess of politics, and the state of the church, we can easily become cynical. “Are we not being soundly defeated? Has the glory of the Lord departed?”
In an age of cynicism, in a moment that seems so dark, where do we find hope? 1 Samuel 5 reminds us that there is no hope in other gods. Though we turn to other things when we lose hope in the one true God, these other “gods” always turn out to be lifeless and worthless, just like Dagon. Hope grows as we lament turning to other gods who can never really love us, help us, or deliver us. As hard as it is, the Lord is kind to allow our idols to fall to the ground or crumble in our hands. When we see our Dagon, headless and handless, bowing before the Lord, we realize how silly our idols are. They have afflicted us, and only God can heal us. Hope also grows as we lament turning to ourselves. We may not place our hope in something or someone else; instead, we hope in our own ability to figure it out, make it work, and soldier on. But whether we try to manipulate God or move on from Him, the attempt to replace Him with ourselves is doomed to fail.
So what shall we do? The Israelites couldn’t deny the darkness of their times; neither can we. But what we do in response to the darkness is key. Will we hang a de-motivational poster on the wall and laugh to keep from crying…or will we learn to lament? Will we process the darkness alone (and grow more cynical) or will we bring the darkness into the Lord’s presence (and grow more hopeful)? When the ark of the Lord went to Kiriath-jearim, “all the house of Israel lamented after the Lord” for twenty years (1 Sam. 7:2). Many of us struggle to lament for twenty minutes! May the Lord give us courage to bring our doubts and our complaints into His presence. There and only there will we find the ability to lay down our weapons and trust in the One who won the battle for us. There and only there will we see the Light that shines in the darkness—even our own—and begin to hope that the darkness has not overcome it.
From the day that the ark was lodged at Kiriath-jearim, a long time passed, some twenty years, and all the house of Israel lamented after the Lord.
And Samuel said to all the house of Israel, "If you are returning to the Lord with all your heart, then put away the foreign gods and the Ashtaroth from among you and direct your heart to the Lord and serve him only, and he will deliver you out of the hand of the Philistines." So the people of Israel put away the Baals and the Ashtaroth, and they served the Lord only.
Then Samuel said, "Gather all Israel at Mizpah, and I will pray to the Lord for you." So they gathered at Mizpah and drew water and poured it out before the Lord and fasted on that day and said there, "We have sinned against the Lord." And Samuel judged the people of Israel at Mizpah. Now when the Philistines heard that the people of Israel had gathered at Mizpah, the lords of the Philistines went up against Israel. And when the people of Israel heard of it, they were afraid of the Philistines.
8And the people of Israel said to Samuel, "Do not cease to cry out to the Lord our God for us, that he may save us from the hand of the Philistines." 9So Samuel took a nursing lamb and offered it as a whole burnt offering to the Lord. And Samuel cried out to the Lord for Israel, and the Lord answered him. As Samuel was offering up the burnt offering, the Philistines drew near to attack Israel. But the Lord thundered with a mighty sound that day against the Philistines and threw them into confusion, and they were routed before Israel. And the men of Israel went out from Mizpah and pursued the Philistines and struck them, as far as below Beth-car.
Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen and called its name Ebenezer for he said, "Till now the Lord has helped us." So the Philistines were subdued and did not again enter the territory of Israel. And the hand of the Lord was against the Philistines all the days of Samuel.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The word is not usually used in polite company. In fact, the word is not usually used. Even in the daily tsunami of entertainment and news, of blogs and tweets, of posts and press releases, the word is avoided or not even known. Oh, there are close substitutes to be sure. We hear of “taking full responsibility,” of, “admitting to some of the allegations,” of, “cooperating fully with the investigation.” We even occasionally get to hear a genuine, heartfelt public apology. But no one ever seems to say, “I repent of my wrongdoing.” And, what would that really mean if someone did have the courage to say it? It might break the internet!
God’s word, however, is filled with calls to repent, to return to God and the things of God. And that’s the starting point. You see, repentance has at its core an understanding of God’s transcendence and His holiness. True repentance begins by admitting that there is a standard beyond ourselves, a truth that is true absolutely, a God who determines right and wrong based on His own character and not on public opinion polls. Repentance begins when we see again that God is God and we are not.
The people of Israel had to learn that lesson over and over, just like we do. They had assimilated into the culture of Canaan, including embracing the culture’s false gods and lifeless idols. Just like we do. God’s rebuke of His wayward people was to chastise them through the Philistines. To some, that may seem harsh or capricious. But God is clear. He will brook no rivals. His people will be about the business of reflecting His character, not replacing God’s glory with imitations. God Himself will tear down the idols.
And just like the Israelites, for us the most pernicious idol of all is found when we look in the mirror. In large ways and small ways, we all are prone to try to elbow God out of the way so we ourselves can be center stage in God’s world. But He’ll have none of it. We must confess and beg God to tear down whatever we worship in place of Him.
Then, empowered by God the Holy Spirit, and clinging to Jesus our Lord, we walk and work in a new way. Our purpose aligns with His when He makes us new. And until the Lord comes or calls, our lives are about His glory and not our own.
So whatever they may be, and however hidden they are, “with all your heart, then put away the foreign gods and the Ashtaroth from among you and direct your heart to the Lord and serve Him only, and He will deliver you out of the hand of the Philistines.”
When Samuel became old, he made his sons judges over Israel. The name of his firstborn son was Joel, and the name of his second, Abijah; they were judges in Beersheba. Yet his sons did not walk in his ways but turned aside after gain. They took bribes and perverted justice.
Then all the elders of Israel gathered together and came to Samuel at Ramah and said to him, "Behold, you are old and your sons do not walk in your ways. Now appoint for us a king to judge us like all the nations." But the thing displeased Samuel when they said, "Give us a king to judge us." And Samuel prayed to the Lord. And the Lord said to Samuel, "Obey the voice of the people in all that they say to you, for they have not rejected you, but they have rejected me from being king over them. According to all the deeds that they have done, from the day I brought them up out of Egypt even to this day, forsaking me and serving other gods, so they are also doing to you. Now then, obey their voice; only you shall solemnly warn them and show them the ways of the king who shall reign over them."
So Samuel told all the words of the Lord to the people who were asking for a king from him. He said, "These will be the ways of the king who will reign over you: he will take your sons and appoint them to his chariots and to be his horsemen and to run before his chariots.
And he will appoint for himself commanders of thousands and commanders of fifties, and some to plow his ground and to reap his harvest, and to make his implements of war and the equipment of his chariots. He will take your daughters to be perfumers and cooks and bakers. He will take the best of your fields and vineyards and olive orchards and give them to his servants. He will take the tenth of your grain and of your vineyards and give it to his officers and to his servants. He will take your male servants and female servants and the best of your young menSeptuagint cattle and your donkeys, and put them to his work. He will take the tenth of your flocks, and you shall be his slaves. And in that day you will cry out because of your king, whom you have chosen for yourselves, but the Lord will not answer you in that day."
But the people refused to obey the voice of Samuel. And they said, "No! But there shall be a king over us, that we also may be like all the nations, and that our king may judge us and go out before us and fight our battles." And when Samuel had heard all the words of the people, he repeated them in the ears of the Lord. And the Lord said to Samuel, "Obey their voice and make them a king." Samuel then said to the men of Israel, "Go every man to his city."
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
The opening of 1 Samuel 8 sounds familiar. When the passage was read this past Sunday, I thought: “Didn’t we just do this a few weeks ago, I know how this story goes: a leader has become old and sets his wicked sons up to follow in his footsteps, but God is working behind the scenes to prepare another man to take his place.”
The reader should remember that this was the exact environment that the LORD used to raise up Samuel (1 Samuel 2-3). However, this time when the elders looked around and saw the wickedness of the new judges, they wanted to take matters into their own hands. Either 1) they were not willing to wait to see what and how the LORD would provide. Or 2) they could not see what the LORD was doing, and maybe they forgot about the ways that he provided for them in the past. One timeline I found suggests that it had been nearly 50 years since the LORD graciously provided Samuel to the people in the place of Hophni and Phinehas. Either way, they wanted something visible, measurable, and comprehensible. They did not want to, or felt that it was unwise, to trust and wait. Thus, they chose their own king.
The desire of the elders for a king was not forbidden. Nevertheless, this desire was clearly a rejection of God being king over them (1 Samuel 8:7) and a lack of trust in His provision and promise. Moses prophetically established rules to govern a king for the young nation of Israel in Deuteronomy 17:14-20. Of note in that section is that the king is not to acquire many horses, wives, or silver, and he is to read the law of the LORD all of days of his life that he “may not be lifted up above his brothers.”
We know the LORD is sovereignly preparing a king after His own heart who will lead the people well, but this new king hasn’t been born yet. The elders were not willing to wait to see what the LORD would do and took matters into their own hands. The unwillingness to trust in the LORD results in great cost.
Through prayer, the LORD reveals to Samuel that the king they set up will take from the people. He will not follow the rules laid out by Moses: “he will take your sons… he will take your daughters… he will take the best of your fields… he will take the tenth of your grain… he will take your male servants… donkeys… he will take the tenth of your flocks.” Ultimately, Samuel says “and you shall be his slaves” (1 Samuel 8:17). If we put our trust in any ruler, power, or authority other than the sovereign king, it will enslave us.
There was a man of Benjamin whose name was Kish, the son of Abiel, son of Zeror, son of Becorath, son of Aphiah, a Benjaminite, a man of wealth. And he had a son whose name was Saul, a handsome young man. There was not a man among the people of Israel more handsome than he. From his shoulders upward he was taller than any of the people.
Now the donkeys of Kish, Saul's father, were lost. So Kish said to Saul his son, “Take one of the young men with you, and arise, go and look for the donkeys.” And he passed through the hill country of Ephraim and passed through the land of Shalishah, but they did not find them. And they passed through the land of Shaalim, but they were not there. Then they passed through the land of Benjamin, but did not find them.
When they came to the land of Zuph, Saul said to his servant who was with him, “Come, let us go back, lest my father cease to care about the donkeys and become anxious about us.” But he said to him, “Behold, there is a man of God in this city, and he is a man who is held in honor; all that he says comes true. So now let us go there. Perhaps he can tell us the way we should go.”
So they went up to the city. As they were entering the city, they saw Samuel coming out toward them on his way up to the high place.
Now the day before Saul came, the Lord had revealed to Samuel: “Tomorrow about this time I will send to you a man from the land of Benjamin, and you shall anoint him to be prince over my people Israel. He shall save my people from the hand of the Philistines. For I have seen my people, because their cry has come to me.”
Then Samuel took a flask of oil and poured it on his head dand kissed him and said, “Has not the LORD anointed you to be prince over ehis people Israel? And you shall reign over the people of the LORD and you will save them from the hand of their surrounding enemies.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Have you ever caught yourself saying, “It’s just another day at the office”? When we say that, we seem to imply that life can be mundane and significance hard to find. The narrative in 1 Samuel 9 and 10 challenges these assumptions. For Saul and his father Kish, it seems like just another day on the farm. Yet behind the scenes, the Lord is working to accomplish His grand purposes. For a moment, only He and Samuel know about it (1 Samuel 9:15-16). Saul and Kish only know that the donkeys have been lost. The Lord knows that the donkeys have been lost so that Israel’s new king may be found.
How do we relate to God’s providence? In the Westminster Larger Catechism, we read that “God’s works of providence are His most holy, wise, powerful preserving and governing all His creatures; ordering them, and all their actions, to His own glory.” We should slow down and think about that. A God who is perfectly holy, wise, and powerful preserves, governs, and orders all His creatures and all their actions for His glory. Do we believe that? All His creatures and all their actions—that includes you and me and everything in our lives. The Sovereign Lord knows every grain of sand and numbers every hair on our heads. God’s providence, which could create confusion, is meant to bring comfort. The Lord is powerful and personal enough, as one author says, “to magnify the minutiae of our lives into channels of mercy.” We plan our way, but the Lord directs our steps (Proverbs 16:9).
God’s providence should awaken us to the reality that every mundane moment is pregnant with possibility. Are we watching? Are we listening? When we run into someone at a store, when we get sick, when we wreck the car, when a door opens, when tragedy strikes, when it seems like a coincidence, how should we respond? We must decide: Are we walking through a minefield of random accidents, or are we walking through a story written by a God who loves us? In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis tackles this topic as it pertains to relationships.
In reality a few years’ difference in the dates of our births, a few more miles between certain houses, the choice of one university instead of another…the accident of a topic being raised or not raised at a first meeting—any of these chances might have kept us apart. But, for a Christian, there are, strictly speaking no chances. A secret master of ceremonies has been at work.
It wasn’t an accident that the donkeys got out that day (1 Samuel 9:3). It wasn’t an accident that “in those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered” (Luke 2:1). It wasn’t an accident that “Jesus, wearied as he was from the journey, was sitting beside the well” (John 4:6). It wasn’t an accident that Saul was on his way to Damascus (Acts 9:3). And it’s not an accident that the Lord has us right where we are today. When the secret master of ceremonies is at work, it’s never just another day at the office. May He give us eyes to see and hearts to trust His purposes.
Now Samuel called the people together to the Lord at Mizpah. And he said to the people of Israel, “Thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, ‘I brought up Israel out of Egypt, and I delivered you from the hand of the Egyptians and from the hand of all the kingdoms that were oppressing you.’ But today you have rejected your God, who saves you from all your calamities and your distresses, and you have said to him, ‘Set a king over us.’ Now therefore present yourselves before the Lord by your tribes and by your thousands.”
Then Samuel brought all the tribes of Israel near, and the tribe of Benjamin was taken by lot. He brought the tribe of Benjamin near by its clans, and the clan of the Matrites was taken by lot;[a] and Saul the son of Kish was taken by lot. But when they sought him, he could not be found. So they inquired again of the Lord, “Is there a man still to come?” and the Lord said, “Behold, he has hidden himself among the baggage.” Then they ran and took him from there. And when he stood among the people, he was taller than any of the people from his shoulders upward. And Samuel said to all the people, “Do you see him whom the Lord has chosen? There is none like him among all the people.” And all the people shouted, “Long live the king!”
Then Samuel told the people the rights and duties of the kingship, and he wrote them in a book and laid it up before the Lord. Then Samuel sent all the people away, each one to his home. Saul also went to his home at Gibeah, and with him went men of valor whose hearts God had touched. But some worthless fellows said, “How can this man save us?” And they despised him and brought him no present. But he held his peace.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
On Tuesday we had a significant election in America. Have you noticed how these political seasons tend to take on an apocalyptic tone? “Our” candidates are quickly exalted as saviors while “their” candidates are swiftly demonized. For some reason, elections seem to stir up our obsession with power. If we can’t have the power ourselves, we at least want to feel like we’re connected to it. So election nights bring us fascinating scenes of ultimate triumph and utter devastation, of dreams realized and hopes dashed. A whole new world is dawning (for some) while the world is ending (for others). But are any of us asking, “Why are we like this?”
On election night we didn’t have a live look-in on every campaign celebration. But we can be confident that every candidate who won stood before a crowd and reveled in their victory. Who would hide backstage when their name is announced in one of the biggest moments of their life? Well, Saul would. On the day he is introduced as the king of Israel, God’s anointed and the people’s choice is hiding among the baggage (1 Samuel 10:22). What a strange moment! The people want a king, God gives them a king, and the king is missing. The Lord reveals Saul’s location, and the people chase him down and drag him out. He is physically imposing, but reluctant. “There is none like him among all the people” (1 Samuel 10:24), but he is just a man. “Long live the king!” is still ringing in his ears when he goes home and faces the jeers: “How can this man save us?” (1 Samuel 10:27). Even though “worthless fellows” ask the question, they do have a point. What if we asked this question of our elected officials: “How can this man or woman save us?” People can make great kings and queens and public servants, but we all make lousy saviors. Saul was what the people wanted, but he was never going to be able to deliver what they needed. What is it that we really want, and do we realize that it will never deliver what we ultimately need? Demanding something other than God to satisfy our God-sized hunger is prelude to disappointment and destruction—for Saul and for us.
So what do we do? We need to ask the Lord how we are turning away from Him to find our only comfort elsewhere. Like Saul, our insecurity flows from trying to find our security where there is none. We need the reminder that the true King came, not because we wanted Him but because we needed Him. And when His name was called, He didn’t hide in the baggage; he stepped forward and carried His cross. We looked at Him and scoffed: “How can this man save us?” And though we didn’t deserve it, He lived and died and rose again to provide the answer. When we put our ultimate hope in an election or in anything else, we need to hear the first question of the Heidelberg Catechism. What is your only comfort in life and in death? As we consider the answer below, can we be honest about our own answers to the question? May the Lord comfort us with the reality that, no matter what, He will always reign. “Long live the KING!”
What is your only comfort in life and death?
That I belong—body and soul, in life and in death—not to myself, but to my faithful Savior, Jesus Christ, who at the cost of His own blood has fully paid for all my sins and has completely freed me from the dominion of the devil; that He protects me so well that without the will of my Father in heaven not a hair can fall from my head; indeed, that everything must fit His purpose for my salvation. Therefore, by His Holy Spirit, He also assures me of eternal life, and makes me wholeheartedly willing and ready from now on to live for Him.
Then Nahash the Ammonite went up and besieged Jabesh-gilead, and all the men of Jabesh said to Nahash, "Make a treaty with us, and we will serve you." But Nahash the Ammonite said to them, "On this condition I will make a treaty with you, that I gouge out all your right eyes, and thus bring disgrace on all Israel." The elders of Jabesh said to him, "Give us seven days' respite that we may send messengers through all the territory of Israel. Then, if there is no one to save us, we will give ourselves up to you." When the messengers came to Gibeah of Saul, they reported the matter in the ears of the people, and all the people wept aloud.
Now, behold, Saul was coming from the field behind the oxen. And Saul said, "What is wrong with the people, that they are weeping?" So they told him the news of the men of Jabesh. And the Spirit of God rushed upon Saul when he heard these words, and his anger was greatly kindled. He took a yoke of oxen and cut them in pieces and sent them throughout all the territory of Israel by the hand of messengers, saying, "Whoever does not come out after Saul and Samuel, so shall it be done to his oxen!" Then the dread of the Lord fell upon the people, and they came out as one man. When he mustered them at Bezek, the people of Israel were three hundred thousand, and the men of Judah thirty thousand.
And they said to the messengers who had come, "Thus shall you say to the men of Jabesh-gilead: 'Tomorrow, by the time the sun is hot, you shall have deliverance.'" When the messengers came and told the men of Jabesh, they were glad. Therefore the men of Jabesh said, "Tomorrow we will give ourselves up to you, and you may do to us whatever seems good to you." And the next day Saul put the people in three companies. And they came into the midst of the camp in the morning watch and struck down the Ammonites until the heat of the day. And those who survived were scattered, so that no two of them were left together.
Then the people said to Samuel, "Who is it that said, 'Shall Saul reign over us?' Bring the men, that we may put them to death." But Saul said, "Not a man shall be put to death this day, for today the Lord has worked salvation in Israel." Then Samuel said to the people, "Come, let us go to Gilgal and there renew the kingdom." So all the people went to Gilgal, and there they made Saul king before the Lord in Gilgal. There they sacrificed peace offerings before the Lord, and there Saul and all the men of Israel rejoiced greatly.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
It doesn't happen very often, but when it does, it produces equal parts confusion and sadness. In the rough and tumble world of an urban Trauma Center, it's especially inscrutable. The patient is usually a man who arrived by ambulance, or a loved one brought by anxious relatives. The labs are drawn, imaging studies performed, and the diagnosis clear. There's usually even a plan for treatment. And then it happens. The patient announces, "I'm leaving!" It's a stunner every time. Sure enough, after the explaining and the warning and the documenting, off he goes, "Against Medical Advice."
It's hard to watch. You know they need help, and even they know they need help. They will probably soon die. They are leaving the very place that has resources to care for them, and yet they will not receive that help. Why would that ever happen? Why would anyone refuse the rescue offered them?
When Saul came to rescue his kinsmen from the Ammonites, the account has a dramatic and happy ending. The Israelite town of Jabesh-gilead was surrounded. The diagnosis was straightforward. The condition of the townspeople was terminal unless they agreed to a horrible fate. There were only bad options. They could have an eye gouged out and live as maimed, conquered people, or fight in a battle they would certainly lose. So they cried out for rescue, for some unimaginable other way, for a hero.
The scripture is clear what happens next. Surprised by the whole affair himself, God's chosen leader, empowered by God's Holy Spirit, musters the people of Israel, and they destroy the feared and hated Ammonites. God saved the people who absolutely could not save themselves.
That same, steadfast, loving God offers the same kind of rescue today. Besieged and held captive by sin, by "the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions", no one can save themselves. So God has sent a hero, His only begotten Son. "The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost." (1 Timothy 1:15)
But the sad and inscrutable reality is that some who need rescue refuse. They seem glad to have heard the message of Jesus, even empowered a bit. They clearly know the therapy their soul desperately needs. And they announce in word and deed, "I'm leaving!"
If that's you, please don't go. Don’t choose death instead of life. Cling to Christ, and, "you shall have deliverance."
And when you saw that Nahash the king of the Ammonites came against you, you said to me, 'No, but a king shall reign over us,' when the Lord your God was your king. And now behold the king whom you have chosen, for whom you have asked; behold, the Lord has set a king over you. If you will fear the Lord and serve him and obey his voice and not rebel against the commandment of the Lord, and if both you and the king who reigns over you will follow the Lord your God, it will be well. But if you will not obey the voice of the Lord, but rebel against the commandment of the Lord, then the hand of the Lord will be against you and your king.Septuagint; Hebrew fathers Now therefore stand still and see this great thing that the Lord will do before your eyes. Is it not wheat harvest today? I will call upon the Lord, that he may send thunder and rain. And you shall know and see that your wickedness is great, which you have done in the sight of the Lord, in asking for yourselves a king." So Samuel called upon the Lord, and the Lord sent thunder and rain that day, and all the people greatly feared the Lord and Samuel.
And all the people said to Samuel, "Pray for your servants to the Lord your God, that we may not die, for we have added to all our sins this evil, to ask for ourselves a king." And Samuel said to the people, "Do not be afraid; you have done all this evil. Yet do not turn aside from following the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart. And do not turn aside after empty things that cannot profit or deliver, for they are empty. For the Lord will not forsake his people, for his great name's sake, because it has pleased the Lord to make you a people for himself. Moreover, as for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the Lord by ceasing to pray for you, and I will instruct you in the good and the right way. Only fear the Lord and serve him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you. But if you still do wickedly, you shall be swept away, both you and your king."
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
What does it take to be well? The usual suspects come to mind: a healthy diet, regular exercise, a good education, public safety, a vibrant economy. . . and fear? It may seem bizarre to our modern minds to consider fear as a precondition for well-being, but that is exactly what we encounter in this biblical narrative. “If you will fear the Lord and serve Him . . . and if both you and the king who reigns over you will follow the Lord your God, it will be well” (1 Samuel 12:14). It is the particularity of this fear that produces a paradoxical wellness.
A geopolitical crisis serves as the backdrop of this text, “Nahash the king of the Ammonites came against you” (1 Samuel 12:14). This is not the first time Israel had been in a pinch. Israel has a checkered history of slavery and deliverance, wandering and worship, capitulation and conquest, idolatry and obedience, forgetting and remembering. What is new is who they cry out to. Instead of crying out to God for deliverance, they demand from Samuel a king. God gave Israel what they wanted with Saul as king and even used him to deliver them from impending military disaster. Yet God condemns their path to “success” as evil (1 Samuel 12:20). Israel did not fear the Lord.
We live in a culture that is suffering from a severe lack of fear-the-Lord. You can be whatever you want to be. Work hard so that you can live life on your own terms. Be safe. Wealth will not make you happy, but you should try it for yourself anyway. These are the messages, sometimes explicit but mostly subtle, that we’re told by our parents, friends, teachers, and numerous other outlets. Apple is “selling” much more than an iPhone. What if our lack of wellness is actually rooted in a loss of fear—fear-the-Lord?
Fear-the-Lord is the reverent awe that God’s grandeur evokes in relationship. In the paradox of human communion with God, in fearing the Lord one finds oneself not afraid, finally secure in the pleasure of the One we were created to please. “For the Lord will not forsake His people, for His great name’s sake, because it has pleased the Lord to make you a people for Himself (1 Samuel 12:22). This particular fear and paradoxical wellness are born of the grace of God in Jesus Christ. Its source is grace, and its natural response is joyful obedience. The biblical words are serve and follow. This is true on the individual and the communal level, the personal and the public (1 Peter 2:9-10). Our personal fear-the-Lord in Jesus Christ has public consequences for the good of our neighbors. Structuring a business deal, caring for a child, designing a program, investing capital, and “retirement” are all in the mix. “Only fear the Lord and serve Him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things He has done for you” (1 Samuel 12:24). Jesus Christ is the reigning king for the good of the world. Fear Him unafraid.
To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Have you ever experienced the persistent inquiry of a child? My six year old daughter has many gifts and talents. Two of them are her passion for play and her ability to craft a plan to get there. For any good “fun-haver”, it takes two to tango. One day, I was working on my computer from home. Work time lapsed into dad time. After asking me multiple times to play, her vocal inquiry turned into action. She walked over, looked me in the eyes, shut the lid to my laptop and said, “It’s time to play now, Dad.”
Her desire to be with me (not just around me) was energized by that passion that turned into action. The same is true, and much more, with the God of our universe. In 2 Thessalonians 1:11-12, Paul prays that God would make them worthy of His calling and “fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by His power, so that the name of Jesus may be glorified” in them (v. 11)! God does this for us through His resolve and His energetic action to live for His Kingdom rather than our own. This is the definition of a generous life. What God has done for us, He now does in us and through us for others. When we come to faith in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit, our plans and desires and efforts are transformed, grown, and even changed to come more in line with the plans, desires, and efforts that God has for us.
Every day we wake up, you and I have two options: look upward (Colossians 3:1) and grow abundantly to be used by God to extend His kingdom or look inward and atrophy with the plans, desires, and efforts that we have in our own minds to extend our kingdom. The beauty of the gospel is that when we are saved by grace through faith and become children of God, we are not made into His robots or minions to simply do His bidding despite us. God utilizes our plans, desires, and efforts along with the gifts that He has given you and me to fulfill every desire we have for good and turn them into works of faith for God’s Kingdom (Psalm 37:4). God is in the business of changing selfish hearts into generous lives.
One way to be transformed is to do something that is incredibly difficult for us to do: Listen. Listen to your desires. Listen to God’s Word. And listen for the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Prayer is active listening. God cares about His glory and our good (1 Thessalonians 1:12)! God is patient and willing to give you soft promptings through His people and His Word, but He is also willing to shut the lid of your distracted life so that His desire for your good might prove to be glory for Christ. Are you living a generous life? Are you listening? Are you taking the time to press in to what God desires for your life to be used in the lives of others?
And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”[a]
When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Christmas these days is strange and wonderful. It’s strange that Christmas can make or break the year for many businesses. It’s wonderful that Christmas can bring together millions of families every year. It’s strange that Christmas transforms neighborhoods, shopping malls, and restaurants almost overnight. It’s wonderful that Christmas brings the beauty of trees, lights, and wreaths. It’s strange that Christmas affects millions of people who have little interest in Christ. It’s wonderful that Christmas seems to make everyone a little kinder and warmer for a month or so. It’s strange that people flock to malls and scour the internet looking for the perfect gift. It’s wonderful when a season of giving leads us to consider God’s plan to give us the ultimate Gift.
As strange and wonderful as Christmas can be in our culture, it doesn’t compare to the coming of Christ. It’s strange that an angel would appear to shepherds, unclean outcasts on the outskirts of town and the fringes of society. It’s wonderful that God would do this, so that no one would feel beyond the reach of His grace. It’s strange that the angel would say to the shepherds, “For unto you is born this day…a Savior.” It’s wonderful that God would give His greatest Gift, not just to Mary and Joseph, but to the shepherds, and by implication, to the world. It’s strange that the sign of this wonderful news would be a baby lying in a manger. It’s wonderful that when God became man, there were perhaps more animal than human witnesses. It’s strange that the King of Kings would take his first nap in a feeding trough, so far from the comforts of a palace. It’s strange that a baby being born would lead angels to sing, “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom He is pleased!” It’s wonderful that God Himself would be our peace, a peace that surpasses any temporal or geopolitical peace.
Have we adequately reckoned with the strange wonder of Christmas? In this season, the world invites us to come and see a thousand good things and miss the one thing that really matters. We’re tempted to think that getting this or giving that or displaying this or decorating that will somehow bring us peace and joy. All the distractions make it really hard to “come to Bethlehem and see Christ, whose birth the angels sing.” As we come and behold Christ, we are reminded that our worship is often misdirected. May we not let familiarity distract us from the strange wonder of Christmas! Who but Jesus is worthy of our coming and worshiping on bended knee? Who but Jesus can bring us the peace that we need with God? Who but Jesus can give us something, not just to come and see, but to go and tell? Brothers and sisters, during this Christmas season, fear not, for behold, the Lord has brought us good news of great joy. For unto us was born that day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. There’s nothing more strange or wonderful. Gloria, in excelsis Deo!
And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest,and on earth kpeace lamong those with whom he is pleased!”
When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
I may be the most famous person you’ve never heard of. At least in the world you come from, my story is well known. But not my name. In fact, it’s likely, at this time of year, every one of you has some sort of commemorative scene or book or statue that’s supposed to be… me. But after a couple of thousand years, a couple of billion people, and countless villains and heroes, it’s no wonder that time has erased the reality of that moment, of that morning, of …me.
I am a shepherd. And I know that as soon as I tell you that, your mind closes. You’ve heard it a hundred times. Your children and grandchildren have dressed in bath robes and played my part. You have “live nativity scenes” with someone who is supposed to be me, but it’s always a grown man with whiskers and a cup of hot chocolate. Time has erased the reality. But since I’m here, and you’re here, let’s chat for a while. It will be brief—you’ve much to do.
The way you would describe us, the way that best captures what our lives were really like, is that we were gypsies. Now I don’t mean racially, but culturally, we were gypsies. My family didn’t own the animals. We were hired by a landowner to watch his animals. Trouble is, the landowner, every landowner, assumed we stole them. Fact is, hunger drives you to do a lot of things you’d rather not do. And it’s not so much that we were out with the sheep on that night, as though the rest of the time we were in our houses. We were always out with the sheep. At least it’s true that we were always out. Sometimes there were no sheep. But we were always out.
And that’s the summary of it. We were out. The Roman folks thought we were thieves, or worse. And the Jewish folks thought we were unclean. In fact, they had a law that said because we stayed with animals that were used in their temple sacrifices, we couldn’t go into the temple. Our place was outside, in the women’s and Gentiles’ court. Well none of the shepherds that night were either. But it’s not really true to think of us as outcasts so much. To be an outcast, someone has to notice you, someone has to regard you if they plan to cast you out. We were really invisible, no named nobodies, with nothing to offer society except to protect the animals they valued more than us. Not outcasts; ignorable sub-humans.
And there we were, “out in the field, keeping watch over the flock by night.” What that means is that we were having an ordinary night in an ordinary way. The sheep and goats were accounted for, we had a small fire, and one of the other shepherds was standing up out by the edge of the animals. It was the most dangerous time, actually, between the dusk and the darkness. It’s the time when the wolves and the dogs and the wildcats are most active. They are hard to see in that half-darkness. They hunt silently, and then you hear the horrible sound of a lamb screaming as it’s carried into the desert. Then the silence comes again. I hate that time of day.
Everyone was huddled down. The fire was just embers, and honestly, I was already asleep. That’s why when it happened I thought it was sunrise. It’s the light I remember most. The light woke me before the sound. For just a few seconds it was that awkward neverland of thinking you’re dreaming about having a dream. But then came the sound. No way to describe it really. It was a voice of sorts; loud and beautiful and scary and joyful . And we understood it. It was the sound of talking, sort of. But more than talking. It’s really like the message went straight into us. Our ears and brains must’ve been hearing and thinking, but the message went straight in. And it said we shouldn’t be afraid! I remember thinking, “Too late!”
The sound, the voice, was coming from a man. But you know it wasn’t a man, and we knew then it wasn’t a man. He was huge, and he was regal, and he was, now don’t laugh, he was glowing. And when he said we shouldn’t be afraid, at that instant, in that moment, we weren’t. The fear just burned off, evaporated like the morning mist that hangs in the low spots of the desert. He told us about the baby and a manger and that the baby was the Messiah, Christ, the Lord. And he told us we should go find the baby. What he didn’t tell us was what to do when we found the baby. Then for a minute or two there were thousands upon thousands of …angels, I guess. They sang, all of them, all at once. And then they were gone. All at once.
It took us no time at all to get the camp secured and head into Bethlehem. But the next couple of hours were pretty rough. The town was absolutely packed with people, caravans, and animals. A bunch of shepherds rushing around in town at dawn looking into strangers’ cattle stalls were not exactly welcomed like messengers from heaven. We took more than one kick, a couple of pails from the innkeepers slop jars, and no small number of threats. We didn’t belong there, shepherd gypsies who live in the desert with the animals.
But we found him—all of the mangers, and all of the inns, and all of the people, and all of the threats, and all of the uncertainty, and all of everything completely vanished when my uncle turned around and whispered to us, “It’s him. He’s in here!” And so he was. Then his mother motioned for us all to come inside. No one else had done that. And as we squeezed in, I remember the smell. It smelled like hay and manure and wood and dust. It smelled like sheep and goats. It smelled like home. In His presence, it smelled like we belonged.
The baby was there all right and so were a few of the folks from the inn. And we didn’t wonder what to do. We took off our hats, got down on our knees, and we told the baby’s father and mother what had happened. And the most peculiar thing of that most peculiar day, was that they seemed to know we were coming. And they seemed relieved when we told them our story. Not surprised, but relieved. It’s as if we had confirmed a message they had received, and they welcomed us to confirm a message we had received.
Now what do we do? Well, we went back to camp. We went back to shepherding. We went back to our ordinary lives. But you must know, that everything had changed. Absolutely everything was new and fresh and filled with hope. The Messiah had come. To us! For us! Shepherds on the edge of town! God had chosen the very ones no one else even saw to tell the news of Messiah. To tell the news to the baby’s parents, in a cattle stall, in the presence of the King. We were unafraid.
I know what happened to that baby. I was actually with my family of shepherds years later on the edge of Jerusalem. It was dusk when I heard it. It was that haunting sound again. The sound of a lamb screaming, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?”
Merry Christmas!
O come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant,
O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem!
Come, and behold Him, born the King of angels!
Sing, choirs of angels; sing in exultation;
sing, all ye citizens of heav'n above!
Glory to God, all glory in the highest!
Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, born this happy morning;
Jesus, to Thee be all glory giv'n!
Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing!
O come, let us adore Him;
O come, let us adore Him;
O come, let us adore Him, Christ, the Lord!
Morgan is someone who loves seeing God’s beauty everywhere and talking about it. He is finishing his undergrad and aiming towards grad school to get better at seeing and talking about God, both out-loud and on paper. Texas has been his home here, and his family’s, for generations, though he would like to see the whole world. Morgan believes that food and colors and friends and family are down-payment signs from God that He is making all things new again.
The carol explicitly refers to angels twice—“Come and behold him / Born the King of angels” and “Sing, choir of angels”—and both cases are direct invitations to worship God.
We, as a fairly evangelical subculture, don’t normally incorporate thoughts about angels into our spiritual conversations or meditations. This is fine, for the most part, because we’re aiming to imitate the wisdom of Colossians 2.18 (“Let no one disqualify you, insisting of asceticism and worship of angels,” etc.). We try wisely and righteously to keep our focus on God himself—Father, Son, and Spirit.
But Hebrews 1 reveals that the the angelic realm has very much to do with the worship of God: the angels also are entirely consumed with the worship of the Triune God, though in this passage the focus is primarily on the Son. Through this, the Scriptures show us how everything in all creation is bowing towards its Creator, and this revelation leads us to imagine how “all things were created through Him and for Him,” and that “He is before all things, and in Him all things hold together” (Colossians 1.16-17). When John contemplates the mystery of the Incarnation—the crown jewel of this Advent season—he proclaims that “all things were made through Him, and without Him was not any thing made that was made” (John 1.3).
Hebrews 1 explores the implications of this mystery not only for creation, but also for salvation. There is the created angle: “His Son, whom He appointed the heir of all things, through whom also He created the world” and “He upholds the universe by the word of His power” (1.2-3). But, interestingly enough, the direct reference to angels is included after the clause describing Jesus’ saving work (1.3-4: “After making purification for sins,” etc.). They are only mentioned to show that Jesus is God and they are not.
Jesus’ divinity compels the loving praise of humans and angels. How easy it is to forget that God’s audience is larger than us! It is the whole of His molded, crafted, spoken-into-existence universe (cf. Genesis 1). This is the beauty of God’s creational diversity. He has made creatures whom we barely notice, though they engage with us often (Hebrews 13.2: “Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares”). Let us worship our God in a heavenly remembrance that His angels are gathering even greater glory to Him than we have realized.
The Hebrews preacher asks us an important (rhetorical) question: “Are [angels] they not ministering spirits sent out to serve for the sake of those who are to inherit salvation?” (1.14). The Holy Spirit confirms that this is so when we see how the angel Gabriel is the mouthpiece of God to the humble Mary, the one who would, by God’s grace, bear the Advent Son (Luke 1.26-38).
With His angels, “O come, let us adore Him.”
The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display his perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in him for eternal life. To the King of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
It was a bad idea from the beginning. The undergraduate degree required one more hour of Physical Education. But for my schedule, the class had to be offered at 8:00 a.m. on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. There was only one choice. Yep! I signed up for Water Safety and Lifesaving. It took exactly one class of jumping into that cold water, then being told to swim an uncountable number of laps right after a giant breakfast of biscuits and sausage gravy, for me to figure out, "This was a very bad idea." Somewhere between the last lap and the men's room, dropping out of college seemed very appealing.
At the end of the semester we had to demonstrate that we had learned something. We were each going to leap to "rescue" a volunteer hapless victim. Somebody needed saving! Well, it turned out that my hapless victim had decided to play the role of someone who fights being rescued. It happens. In the panic of drowning, victims often flail and kick against the very people trying to save them. We both survived the ordeal, I passed, and to this day am not particularly fond of swimming.
The meaning of Christmas begins with the reality that someone needs saving, a rescue is required. It's not primarily a sentimental sleigh bells or roasted chestnut kind of story. The "good news of great joy" proclaimed by the angel is that a Savior has come, someone to save those who need saving. When Joseph, Mary's fiancé, gets the word about naming the miracle baby, the angel of the Lord tells him, "You shall call His name Jesus, because He will save His people from their sins." And years later, when it's time for the Savior's baptism, the iconoclastic baptizer on the edge of town calls out to the crowd, "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!"
In our day, we don't talk much about the need for rescue, about the drowning in sin that all of us experience. We fight against that idea, and madly flail and kick. But the Word of God is clear, "there is no one righteous, not even one" and "all have sinned and fallen short of the Glory of God." All. That means me, and that means you. We don't need a little Christmas. We need our sins to be taken away and replaced with the righteousness of the rescuer.
And being rescued from sin takes exactly what we learned all those years ago in that frigid swimming pool. You cannot save yourself. Listen to the voice of the one sent to save you, He's calling out to you, stop striving. Relax into His embrace. He will save you, and cleanse you from all unrighteousness.
The saying is trustworthy and deserving of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the foremost. But I received mercy for this reason, that in me, as the foremost, Jesus Christ might display his perfect patience as an example to those who were to believe in him for eternal life. To the King of the ages, immortal, invisible, the only God, be honor and glory forever and ever. Amen.
1 Timothy 1:15-17
For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sake He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich.
As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. 18 They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, 19 thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
How would you describe the message of Christmas? The birth of Jesus is such a significant event that God’s word gives us many ways to comprehend the incomprehensible. The Word became flesh. The light shines in the darkness. The Savior is born. The promised Messiah has come. God has sent good news of great joy. In 2 Corinthians 8:9, Paul reaches into the language of riches and poverty to help us see another angle of the Incarnation. The Lord Jesus Christ, though He was rich, for our sake became poor, so that we through His poverty might become rich. If we understand the reality and gravity of sin, we should not be surprised that God is rich and we are poor. What separates Christianity from every other approach to life is the shocking statement that follows: Jesus Christ voluntary became poor so that we might become rich in Him. As the hymn highlights, our King was “rich beyond all splendor”, “God beyond all praising”, and “love beyond all telling”. But “all for love’s sake” He became poor. Do we see God as “rich beyond all splendor” and ourselves as poor by comparison?
We are like young children trying to grasp the monetary system. Children don’t really have a concept for currency. The difference between $1, $100, $10,000, and $1,000,000 is lost on them—which is why you should let them play with your wallet. We struggle to grasp God’s strange accounting. When we’re swimming in the world’s currency and values, we are fish out of water in the King’s economy. Did you know that a person making around $34,000 is in the top 1% of the richest people in the world? Our cultural obsession with worldly riches makes it difficult to appreciate how well many of us are doing. It also makes it difficult to see God’s true riches and our own poverty.
If Paul’s statement of the gospel in 2 Corinthians 8:9 rings hollow, we need the Holy Spirit to open our eyes. As the Lord graciously reveals our poverty to us, we can pray that His riches will appear all the more impressive to us, too. When we see His riches and our poverty, we also are prepared to be amazed by His love—that He would make Himself poor for our sake. Let’s slow down, take our time, and pray through the questions below. Perhaps one or two will stand out to us and warrant further reflection.
Investigate my life, O God,
find out everything about me;
Cross-examine and test me,
get a clear picture of what I’m about;
See for Yourself whether I’ve done anything wrong—
then guide me on the road to eternal life. (Psalm 139:23-24, The Message)
Lord, are we more impressed with earthly riches than Your riches?
Do we find our identity and value in what we have?
Show us our poverty apart from You.
Lord, are we more focused on material things than relationships?
Do we love work and success and stuff more than we love people?
Show us our poverty apart from You.
Lord, do we ever confess the sin of greed?
Are our lives more about greed or generosity?
Have you given us so much…and it’s still not enough?
Show us our poverty apart from You.
Lord, are we so satisfied with the security that money brings,
that we don’t realize that we depend on you for every meal and every breath?
Are we really successful in the world…and still unsatisfied?
Show us our poverty apart from You.
Lord, as you reveal our true poverty to us, make us poor in spirit. Nothing in our hands we bring; simply to Your cross we cling. We praise You for the riches of grace that are ours in Christ. Help us to see ourselves as You see us. Save us from a life of gaining the whole world and losing our soul. Help us to see the joy of following You, of making ourselves poor that others might become rich in You. May Your lavish generosity make us a generous people. Savior and King, we worship You!
Saul lived for one year and then became king, and when he had reigned for two years over Israel, Saul chose three thousand men of Israel. Two thousand were with Saul in Michmash and the hill country of Bethel, and a thousand were with Jonathan in Gibeah of Benjamin. The rest of the people he sent home, every man to his tent. Jonathan defeated the garrison of the Philistines that was at Geba, and the Philistines heard of it. And Saul blew the trumpet throughout all the land, saying, “Let the Hebrews hear.” And all Israel heard it said that Saul had defeated the garrison of the Philistines, and also that Israel had become a stench to the Philistines. And the people were called out to join Saul at Gilgal.
And the Philistines mustered to fight with Israel, thirty thousand chariots and six thousand horsemen and troops like the sand on the seashore in multitude. They came up and encamped in Michmash, to the east of Beth-aven. When the men of Israel saw that they were in trouble (for the people were hard pressed), the people hid themselves in caves and in holes and in rocks and in tombs and in cisterns, and some Hebrews crossed the fords of the Jordan to the land of Gad and Gilead. Saul was still at Gilgal, and all the people followed him trembling.
He waited seven days, the time appointed by Samuel. But Samuel did not come to Gilgal, and the people were scattering from him. So Saul said, “Bring the burnt offering here to me, and the peace offerings.” And he offered the burnt offering. As soon as he had finished offering the burnt offering, behold, Samuel came. And Saul went out to meet him and greet him. Samuel said, “What have you done?” And Saul said, “When I saw that the people were scattering from me, and that you did not come within the days appointed, and that the Philistines had mustered at Michmash, I said, ‘Now the Philistines will come down against me at Gilgal, and I have not sought the favor of the Lord.’ So I forced myself, and offered the burnt offering.” And Samuel said to Saul, “You have done foolishly. You have not kept the command of the Lord your God, with which he commanded you. For then the Lord would have established your kingdom over Israel forever. But now your kingdom shall not continue. The Lord has sought out a man after his own heart, and the Lord has commanded him to be prince over his people, because you have not kept what the Lord commanded you.” And Samuel arose and went up from Gilgal. The rest of the people went up after Saul to meet the army; they went up from Gilgal to Gibeah of Benjamin.
And Saul numbered the people who were present with him, about six hundred men.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Imagine living in another time and place. You and your family are citizens in a kingdom, and the king is a good man. You have food, clothing, and shelter. You feel safe. But one day, you look out the window, and foreign soldiers are marching down your street. Some on horseback, some on foot. You hear a language you don’t recognize. As you peer out the window, trying not to be seen, your heart races. Why are they here? What do they want? Should I fight? Should I run? Should I hide? Like King Saul, in a flash, you forget what you know and start to take matters into your own hands.
A version of this scene plays out in our lives on a regular basis. Along comes some threat to life as we know it, and an avalanche of fear buries us. For the Christian, fear tempts us to forget who we are and all that we have in Jesus Christ. Like an invading army, death, change, sickness, conflict, or anything can turn our lives upside down in a moment. As fear rises, we do well to ask ourselves: Where do I feel like I’m losing control or becoming powerless? Where am I tempted not to trust God and to take matters into my own hands? How is fear causing me to forget the Lord? Until we realize how much fear controls us, we will struggle to see the darkness of our hearts and the light of our Savior.
Have you noticed that children can be comfortable and terrified in the exact same space? The same place that is “home” when the lights are on can become a haunted house when it’s dark. With the flick of a switch, however, everything changes. “This is home. My fear of the dark is irrational.” Brothers and sisters in Christ, even when it seems dark, the kingdom of God is our home; and the King of kings, the Man with God’s own heart, is our King. As we look out the window, we see the kingdom of this world marching by with threats and invitations. When fear causes us to forget, we need to remember in the dark what we’ve seen in the light. How do we do that? We open God’s word and pray for the Holy Spirit to pierce the darkness. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6). Are we spending time in God’s word? When we do, are we expecting for the Lord to shine His light and scatter our darkness, to build our faith and conquer our fear? As we walk in the light, it becomes clearer and clearer: “The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is safe” (Proverbs 29:25).
And Samuel said,
"Has the Lord as great delight in burnt offerings and sacrifices,as in obeying the voice of the Lord?Behold, to obey is better than sacrifice,and to listen than the fat of rams. For rebellion is as the sin of divination,and presumption is as iniquity and idolatry.Because you have rejected the word of the Lord,he has also rejected you from being king."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
It's easiest to spot the distinction in children. But that's only because they haven't yet learned to disguise their insincerity. It's also easy to spot the same distinction in the first two kings of Israel. But that's only because the Scripture shows us their hearts.
In the pediatric version, the conversation goes like this:
Me: "Did you push your little sister?"
The young transgressor: (eyes downcast) "Yes sir."
Me: "Did you say you're sorry?"
The transgressor again: (eyes rolling, and mumbling in her direction) "Sor-RY!"
There is genuine regret, but not a drop of genuine repentance.
And so it was with Saul. He regretted his disobedience of God's clear command. He regretted Samuel's sentence. He regretted his bruised ego, and his loss of status, and his public rebuke. But as Saul will demonstrate throughout the rest of his life, that regret often only postpones repetition.
It's exactly the same for you and me. When we disobey the Lord, we often regret it deeply. But if we're honest, it's not so much our broken relationship with God, but the crumbling of our self-made kingdom that stings us. We regret the shame and sadness and loss. But we find ourselves caught in the Saul-cycle of trying to shore ourselves up, only to spiral further and further from the Lord's loving embrace.
King David understood true repentance. He was a deeply sinful man. He was confronted by a prophet and suffered humiliation. But David ran toward God, owned his own sin, and turned in humility for the Lord's healing redemption. It was the cold loneliness of estrangement from God that wounded David most poignantly. He cried out to be re-made, to be restored, to be clean again. In what may have been his lowest moment, King David lamented and repented,
Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your steadfast love;
according to your abundant mercy
blot out my transgressions.
Wash me thoroughly from my iniquity,
and cleanse me from my sin!
For I know my transgressions,
and my sin is ever before me.
Against you, you only, have I sinned
and done what is evil in your sight,
so that you may be justified in your words
and blameless in your judgment.
Behold, I was brought forth in iniquity,
and in sin did my mother conceive me.
Behold, you delight in truth in the inward being,
and you teach me wisdom in the secret heart.
Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean;
wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow.
Let me hear joy and gladness;
let the bones that you have broken rejoice.
Hide your face from my sins,
and blot out all my iniquities.
Create in me a clean heart, O God,
and renew a right spirit within me.
Cast me not away from your presence,
and take not your Holy Spirit from me.
Restore to me the joy of your salvation,
and uphold me with a willing spirit.
—Psalm 51:1-12
It's our story too. True repentance leads to redemption, because we hear the voice of our Savior calling us to confess, to turn from the sin-stained hiding we're so prone to, and to receive the Lord's kind forgiveness. We ache for a clean heart and a right spirit. We long to change, and to be changed.
And the Lord's breathtaking promise is that, like David, when we repent, he is faithful and just to cleanse us of all unrighteousness. He will change us. He will give us His joy. He will make us new.
Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift.
The Lord said to Samuel, "How long will you grieve over Saul, since I have rejected him from being king over Israel? Fill your horn with oil, and go. I will send you to Jesse the Bethlehemite, for I have provided for myself a king among his sons." And Samuel said, "How can I go? If Saul hears it, he will kill me." And the Lord said, "Take a heifer with you and say, 'I have come to sacrifice to the Lord.' And invite Jesse to the sacrifice, and I will show you what you shall do. And you shall anoint for me him whom I declare to you." Samuel did what the Lord commanded and came to Bethlehem. The elders of the city came to meet him trembling and said, "Do you come peaceably?" And he said, "Peaceably; I have come to sacrifice to the Lord. Consecrate yourselves, and come with me to the sacrifice." And he consecrated Jesse and his sons and invited them to the sacrifice.
When they came, he looked on Eliab and thought, "Surely the Lord's anointed is before him." But the Lord said to Samuel, "Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart."
Then Jesse called Abinadab and made him pass before Samuel. And he said, "Neither has the Lord chosen this one." Then Jesse made Shammah pass by. And he said, "Neither has the Lord chosen this one." And Jesse made seven of his sons pass before Samuel. And Samuel said to Jesse, "The Lord has not chosen these." Then Samuel said to Jesse, "Are all your sons here?" And he said, "There remains yet the youngest,Or smallest but behold, he is keeping the sheep." And Samuel said to Jesse, "Send and get him, for we will not sit down till he comes here." And he sent and brought him in. Now he was ruddy and had beautiful eyes and was handsome. And the Lord said, "Arise, anoint him, for this is he." Then Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers. And the Spirit of the Lord rushed upon David from that day forward. And Samuel rose up and went to Ramah.
Morgan is someone who loves seeing God’s beauty everywhere and talking about it. He is finishing his undergrad and aiming towards grad school to get better at seeing and talking about God, both out-loud and on paper. Texas has been his home here, and his family’s, for generations, though he would like to see the whole world. Morgan believes that food and colors and friends and family are down-payment signs from God that He is making all things new again.
Notice how the truest person in this scene is God. Samuel is at the brink of despair over the king who is no longer. It seems that his vision for God’s kingdom has been shattered, and there is no hope to replace the destruction. So he grieves. But the Lord meets him in his grief (brinking-on-despair) and tells him He has a plan. But Samuel’s doubt has not ceased; in fact, he blurts it out to the Lord: If Saul hears it, he will kill me. This is fear, the fear we all know when we are faced with the impossible. But the Lord provides even for Samuel’s fear by promising to lead him along the right path. Here we have a prophet who isn’t very courageous, much like Jonah.
The situation is very back and forth: God offers a solution, His servant pushes back in doubt, God offers a solution, etc. And God is very patient with people like that. Samuel has a vision also for the new king, since his vision for the old one didn’t work out. But God has a much better vision for the new king—and this text doesn’t even reveal all of that plan!—and He softly breaks it to Samuel by telling him tenderly, the Lord sees not as a man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.
Now we see a shift in Samuel’s heart: he no longer believes his eyes and the criteria for a king now goes deeper than mere appearance. The Lord is helping him to look on the heart of Jesse’s boys. Good-looking sons are no longer qualified just because of their looks. One by one, Samuel sets them aside. And look how he communicates that: The Lord has not chosen these. Samuel is finally admitting that it is all the Lord’s choice, because it is the Lord’s plan. And yet an odd thing happens: the man the Lord does choose is ruddy and had beautiful eyes and was handsome. David is just as visually appealing as the rest. So why was he chosen?
The Lord looked beyond David’s outward appearance and knew that he was “a man after God’s own heart.” What that means and what it doesn’t mean will make more sense as we move through the rest of David’s life. But for now, it’s important to note that, in the Lord’s eyes, outward appearance—whether desirable or not—should not be our primary focus. Like Samuel, we struggle to get beyond the surface in evaluating ourselves and others. How are we distracted by outward appearance? What would it mean for us to learn to look on the heart? It’s worth remembering that Jesus “had no form or majesty that we should look at Him, and no beauty that we should desire Him” (Isaiah 53:2). If we would know and love the Son of David, the true Man after God’s own heart, the Lord must open our eyes. Lord, help us to see as you see!
And the Philistine moved forward and came near to David, with his shield-bearer in front of him. And when the Philistine looked and saw David, he disdained him, for he was but a youth, ruddy and handsome in appearance. And the Philistine said to David, "Am I a dog, that you come to me with sticks?" And the Philistine cursed David by his gods. The Philistine said to David, "Come to me, and I will give your flesh to the birds of the air and to the beasts of the field." Then David said to the Philistine, "You come to me with a sword and with a spear and with a javelin, but I come to you in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom you have defied. This day the Lord will deliver you into my hand, and I will strike you down and cut off your head. And I will give the dead bodies of the host of the Philistines this day to the birds of the air and to the wild beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and that all this assembly may know that the Lord saves not with sword and spear. For the battle is the Lord's, and he will give you into our hand."
After a decade in professional ministry—serving for four years in the youth ministry of PCPC—Christen went corporate in April of 2018. She now manages and coaches real estate agents at Keller Williams Urban Dallas in Uptown. Christen continues to serve as a lay youth volunteer at PCPC and writes and speaks on a variety of topics such as theology, youth ministry, and the faith & work conversation.
Friends, may I be vulnerable with you? I’ve had some “Goliaths” in my life lately. It’s been unpleasant. Perhaps you can relate. There is not a violent army of Philistines encamped around me. There is no tall angry man yelling taunts my direction. My giants are proverbial, but they threaten me nonetheless. Upheaval in my living situation. Multiple relationships destroyed through brokenness or death. Mounting pressures at work. Physical exhaustion. Walking closely with friends in the midst of struggle. Discouragement about current events. Question marks about health. Spiritual battles. And—let’s be honest, I am often my OWN worst “giant”—my flesh staring me in the face, daring me to question God’s provision, second-guess His goodness, and make light of His gifts. These trials quickly become weapons in the hand of a very real enemy seeking to devour my soul.
From here, I would love to be able to tell you a great underdog story. We all love a good one—Remember the Titans, Chariots of Fire, Rudy. That is not what we have here. The story of David and Goliath is NOT an underdog story. Why? Because Goliath’s competition isn’t David. It’s God. GOLIATH is the underdog. In other words, this is 1916 Georgia Tech beating Cumberland College 222-0. This is F.D. Roosevelt’s 523 electoral college votes to Alf Landon’s 8 in 1936. The underdog gets slaughtered. We see it again in 2 Kings 6, when armies flee from the presence of Elisha as God reveals the hoard of angels at his back. There is no fair fight when it comes to God.
This understanding of the David and Goliath story does not diminish my “giants.” They are real. They cause pain. Rather, it puts them in perspective. Compared to me, the giants look menacing. Compared to God, the competition is a joke. David walked out to face Goliath without fear that day not because he knew who he was or even because he knew who Goliath was, but because he knew who his God was. Can you imagine facing our giants without Him? But imagine if we knew our God so well that our instinct would be not simply to put up with the presence of our Goliaths, but to rise up and face them with “power and love and a sound mind” (2 Tim 1:7).
In light of this, the core question of our existence inevitably becomes: what, then, does it mean to KNOW this God who is with us in our battles? In his famous classic, Knowing God, J. I. Packer states, “What makes life worthwhile is having a big enough objective, something which catches our imagination and lays hold of our allegiance, and this the Christian has in a way that no other person has. For what higher, more exalted, and more compelling goal can there be than to know God?” In response to the question, “how does one do this?” I would counter: how does anyone know anyone? We must immerse ourselves in the skill (keyword) of knowing another being deeply, then turn that practice upon the God of the universe.
As soon as he had finished speaking to Saul, the soul of Jonathan was knit to the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul. And Saul took him that day and would not let him return to his father's house. Then Jonathan made a covenant with David, because he loved him as his own soul. And Jonathan stripped himself of the robe that was on him and gave it to David, and his armor, and even his sword and his bow and his belt. And David went out and was successful wherever Saul sent him, so that Saul set him over the men of war. And this was good in the sight of all the people and also in the sight of Saul's servants.
As they were coming home, when David returned from striking down the Philistine, the women came out of all the cities of Israel, singing and dancing, to meet King Saul, with tambourines, with songs of joy, and with musical instruments. And the women sang to one another as they celebrated,
“Saul has struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands.”
And Saul was very angry, and this saying displeased him. He said, “They have ascribed to David ten thousands, and to me they have ascribed thousands, and what more can he have but the kingdom?” And Saul eyed David from that day on.
The next day a harmful spirit from God rushed upon Saul, and he raved within his house while David was playing the lyre, as he did day by day. Saul had his spear in his hand. And Saul hurled the spear, for he thought, “I will pin David to the wall.” But David evaded him twice.
Saul was afraid of David because the LORD was with him but had departed from Saul.
And Saul spoke to Jonathan his son and to all his servants, that they should kill David. But Jonathan, Saul's son, delighted much in David. And Jonathan told David, “Saul my father seeks to kill you. Therefore be on your guard in the morning. Stay in a secret place and hide yourself. And I will go out and stand beside my father in the field where you are, and I will speak to my father about you. And if I learn anything I will tell you.” And Jonathan spoke well of David to Saul his father and said to him, “Let not the king sin against his servant David, because he has not sinned against you, and because his deeds have brought good to you. For he took his life in his hand and he struck down the Philistine, and the LORD worked a great salvation for all Israel. You saw it, and rejoiced. Why then will you sin against innocent blood by killing David without cause?” And Saul listened to the voice of Jonathan. Saul swore, “As the LORD lives, he shall not be put to death.” And Jonathan called David, and Jonathan reported to him all these things. And Jonathan brought David to Saul, and he was in his presence as before.
Then Saul's anger was kindled against Jonathan, and he said to him, “You son of a perverse, rebellious woman, do I not know that you have chosen the son of Jesse to your own shame, and to the shame of your mother’s nakedness? For as long as the son of Jesse lives on the earth, neither you nor your kingdom shall be established. Therefore send and bring him to me, for he shall surely die.” Then Jonathan answered Saul his father, “Why should he be put to death? What has he done?” But Saul hurled his spear at him to strike him. So Jonathan knew that his father was determined to put David to death.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
If you’re a warrior king, wouldn’t you enjoy a song lyric that credits you with striking down thousands? Unless, of course, the next line mentions your rival striking down his ten thousands (1 Samuel 18:7). If you’re a troubled king, wouldn’t you be grateful for a skilled musician who play you back into your right mind? Unless, of course, that psalmist is your replacement and the man after God’s own heart. Jealousy is never a solitary tree growing in a field; it’s a beautiful tree growing in the shadow of an even more beautiful tree. C.S. Lewis reminds us that pride is “essentially competitive.” Shouldn’t we be content with our abilities, our resources, our ministry, and our relationships? Of course, until we see someone with more talent, more wealth, more fruitfulness, and more fulfilling relationships. Jealousy grows in the freshly plowed soil of wounded pride, when God doesn’t deliver what we think we deserve. And if we don’t dig up the bitter root, the insanity of sin grows like kudzu. We may not throw spears or send people into battle hoping they’ll fall by the sword, but just like Saul, we can fall into this downward spiral of pride, anger, fear, jealousy, and violence. How are pride and jealousy at work in our lives in this season? Where do we feel like we’re not getting what we deserve?
If we see ourselves in the sinful insanity of Saul, is there any hope for us? Jonathan, the crown prince and Saul’s son, shows us another way. If Saul’s eyes are fixed on himself and his rival, Jonathan’s eyes appear to be fixed on the true King, the God of Israel. Through eyes of faith, Jonathan sees what the Lord is doing in his father’s life and in David’s life. David is the chosen king of Israel, and rather than fight him, Jonathan embraces him. Jonathan’s choice to love and protect David costs him his shot at the throne and his relationship with his father. Why is Jonathan embracing his rival instead of eliminating him? He has the humility to see that life and the kingdom are not ultimately about him. Jonathan, with his sacrificial love and willingness to be cut off from his father, reminds us of another Son who came as King. Jesus Christ is the true and greater Jonathan. Though He was the King of kings, He did not press for His privileges or demand what He deserved. His humility is astounding. We didn’t understand what Jesus was doing, so we threw the spear at Him. He threatened our kingdom, so we tried to eliminate Him. But in dying on the cross, He was loving and protecting us—His enemies—that we might become His friends. Do we know the humble love of Jesus Christ? Is it striking down our pride and uprooting our jealousy? As we look at the world today, are we seeing through eyes of faith? Are we little kings and queens with sandcastle kingdoms, or are we beloved sons and daughters of the King who has come and is coming again?
When Saul returned from following the Philistines, he was told, "Behold, David is in the wilderness of Engedi." Then Saul took three thousand chosen men out of all Israel and went to seek David and his men in front of the Wildgoats' Rocks. And he came to the sheepfolds by the way, where there was a cave, and Saul went in to relieve himself. Now David and his men were sitting in the innermost parts of the cave. And the men of David said to him, "Here is the day of which the Lord said to you, 'Behold, I will give your enemy into your hand, and you shall do to him as it shall seem good to you.'" Then David arose and stealthily cut off a corner of Saul's robe. And afterward David's heart struck him, because he had cut off a corner of Saul's robe. He said to his men, "The Lord forbid that I should do this thing to my lord, the Lord's anointed, to put out my hand against him, seeing he is the Lord's anointed." So David persuaded his men with these words and did not permit them to attack Saul. And Saul rose up and left the cave and went on his way.
Afterward David also arose and went out of the cave, and called after Saul, "My lord the king!" And when Saul looked behind him, David bowed with his face to the earth and paid homage. And David said to Saul, "Why do you listen to the words of men who say, 'Behold, David seeks your harm'? Behold, this day your eyes have seen how the Lord gave you today into my hand in the cave. And some told me to kill you, but I spared you. I said, 'I will not put out my hand against my lord, for he is the Lord's anointed.'
See, my father, see the corner of your robe in my hand. For by the fact that I cut off the corner of your robe and did not kill you, you may know and see that there is no wrong or treason in my hands. I have not sinned against you, though you hunt my life to take it. May the Lord judge between me and you, may the Lord avenge me against you, but my hand shall not be against you. As the proverb of the ancients says, 'Out of the wicked comes wickedness.' But my hand shall not be against you. After whom has the king of Israel come out? After whom do you pursue? After a dead dog! After a flea! May the Lord therefore be judge and give sentence between me and you, and see to it and plead my cause and deliver me from your hand."
As soon as David had finished speaking these words to Saul, Saul said, "Is this your voice, my son David?" And Saul lifted up his voice and wept. He said to David, "You are more righteous than I, for you have repaid me good, whereas I have repaid you evil. And you have declared this day how you have dealt well with me, in that you did not kill me when the Lord put me into your hands. For if a man finds his enemy, will he let him go away safe? So may the Lord reward you with good for what you have done to me this day. And now, behold, I know that you shall surely be king, and that the kingdom of Israel shall be established in your hand.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
It would have been the kind of story old soldiers love to tell. They must’ve imagined the telling even as the story unfolded. Hidden in a cave, outmanned and out of steam, the army rested out of sight. Then they heard the noise, maybe even a conversation. It was the leader of the enemy. And there he stood, in the cave with them. No one dared speak. No one dared breathe. He couldn’t see them, with the sun at his back and the deep cloak of darkness shrouding them.
Then he put down his weapon and took off his clothes. He was in the cave, where he was sure he was safe. The soldiers wanted to scream. They wanted to attack. “It must be a God thing”, they thought, “him in here with us, unaccompanied and unarmed.” Can you imagine what they imagined? Maybe the thought of holding up Saul’s head on a pike, or making him scream from torture? Victory had been handed to them. “Do it David. He’s ours, then you become king, and we get to go home to tell the story. Do it!”
But David was a man after God’s own heart. And he already knew about the breathtaking wonder of fighting God’s way. He had a Philistine giant’s sword to remind him. God would give him the kingdom, and he would reign as God’s chosen, but it would be on God’s terms and timing. God had promised. This wasn’t it, and he knew it. He cut a piece of the robe from the disrobed king and watched him leave the open trap. And then David confessed.
David called to Saul. The kingdom was the Lord’s, and Saul was the Lord’s anointed. David had been brash and disrespectful even as he had shown mercy. He would not forsake The Lord. David, the humble, soon-to-be ruler, showed honor to the dishonorable king.
And that’s our story to tell. We have been spared by the Son of David. When we deserved death, life was given. When we deserved condemnation, forgiveness came. When we were enemies of God Almighty, Almighty God sent His son to bear the enemies’ torture. God has won our unimaginable victory in a breathtaking way.
"For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly. For one will scarcely die for a righteous person—though perhaps for a good person one would dare even to die—but God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Since, therefore, we have now been justified by his blood, much more shall we be saved by him from the wrath of God. For if while we were enemies we were reconciled to God by the death of his Son, much more, now that we are reconciled, shall we be saved by his life. More than that, we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation." —Romans 5:6-11
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Over the weekend, the Lord gave us the opportunity to focus on God’s generosity. Through three sermons, Tim Tinsley reminded us of God’s generous grace. If you want to listen to any of these messages, they are available HERE. Let’s consider some of what we heard and how the Lord might be calling us to respond.
We have a generous Creator.
In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Genesis 1:1
God has given us 2,000 different fruits and 20,000 vegetables; 3 trillion trees and 300 billion birds; more stars in the sky than grains of sand on the earth. The figures are staggering, but the real crown of God’s creation is humanity. A person made in the image of God is more beautiful than a million stars on a cloudless night. When we think about the world and our lives in it, are we moved to worship our generous God, Maker of heaven and earth?
We have a generous Redeemer.
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” John 3:16
Ever since Adam and Eve believed Satan’s lie, we’ve struggled with the serpentine suspicion that God is stingy. Have we ever thought our way was better than His? As sinners, we turn away from our generous Creator to worship and serve His creation. But amazingly, when we were at our worst, God in His generosity gave us His best. The Father sent His Son to redeem us from the curse of sin by becoming a curse for us on the cross. When we deserved death, Jesus Christ sacrificed everything to give us His life. Are we overwhelmed by the generous grace of our Redeemer?
We have a generous Provider.
And I am sure of this, that He who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ…. And my God will supply every need of yours according to His riches in glory in Christ Jesus. Philippians 1:6, 4:19
The apostle Paul is confident that God will provide for him and for the Philippians. He is sure that the same God who gave them grace to begin will give them grace to finish. Do we share this confidence in God’s generous provision? Does it lead us to a life of joyful gratitude and prayerful dependence? Does God’s provision build our confidence in ourselves or in Him?
God’s generous grace makes us generous people.
As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life. 1 Timothy 6:17-19
On Monday night, Tim reminded us that if we make around $48,000 a year, we are in the top 1% of the richest people in the world. When Paul tells Timothy how to encourage rich people, he’s talking about most—if not all—of us. Beyond financial resources, we all have time and talents entrusted to us by the Lord. Motivated by His generous grace, how will we respond? Let’s create some space to consider these questions and ask the Holy Spirit to search our hearts.
If we are rich, why do we not feel rich?
Have we defined what is “enough” for us?
If God has provided enough for us, why do we struggle to be content?
In what ways do we have a haughty spirit that makes us feel entitled?
How does the pressure to “upgrade” our life affect us?
How do we shift our hope from the Lord Jesus Christ to our wealth?
If we have more than enough, how does the Lord want us to relate to the surplus?
When we plan for our financial future, are we planning just for this world…or for eternity?
What joys might come as the Lord makes us a more generous people?
We long for an experience of God’s grace to us that leads to an overflow of God’s grace through us. Brothers and sisters, do we know the Lord who lavishes His grace on us in Christ? If we do, what kind of life should that generate?
For all the riches that we enjoy in this world, nothing compares to the riches that we have in Christ. As Tim closed on Monday night, He reminded us that we have been entrusted with the gospel. By God’s grace, someone shared it with us. By God’s grace, the Holy Spirit opened our eyes to see Jesus for who He is. And by God’s grace, we are called, not to horde it, but to share it with the world. Tim said:
“Seed that is still in the sack will rot. If you expect a crop, take the seed out of the sack and put it in the field. If you keep the seeds of the gospel in a sack in this church or in your home, it is irrational to think you’re going to have a crop. Get off of your bag of seeds, and spread the seeds of the gospel generously to everyone who has a pulse. And then expect a crop. Don’t sit on the bag of the gospel and expect a crop.”
Trusting that our God is a generous Creator, Redeemer, and Provider, are we confident that He will give us everything we need to live a generous life?
Now Samuel had died, and all Israel had mourned for him and buried him in Ramah, his own city. And Saul had put the mediums and the necromancers out of the land. The Philistines assembled and came and encamped at Shunem. And Saul gathered all Israel, and they encamped at Gilboa. When Saul saw the army of the Philistines, he was afraid, and his heart trembled greatly. And when Saul inquired of the Lord, the Lord did not answer him, either by dreams, or by Urim, or by prophets. Then Saul said to his servants, "Seek out for me a woman who is a medium, that I may go to her and inquire of her." And his servants said to him, "Behold, there is a medium at En-dor."
So Saul disguised himself and put on other garments and went, he and two men with him. And they came to the woman by night. And he said, "Divine for me by a spirit and bring up for me whomever I shall name to you." The woman said to him, "Surely you know what Saul has done, how he has cut off the mediums and the necromancers from the land. Why then are you laying a trap for my life to bring about my death?" But Saul swore to her by the Lord, "As the Lord lives, no punishment shall come upon you for this thing." Then the woman said, "Whom shall I bring up for you?" He said, "Bring up Samuel for me." When the woman saw Samuel, she cried out with a loud voice. And the woman said to Saul, "Why have you deceived me? You are Saul." The king said to her, "Do not be afraid. What do you see?" And the woman said to Saul, "I see a god coming up out of the earth."
He said to her, "What is his appearance?" And she said, "An old man is coming up, and he is wrapped in a robe." And Saul knew that it was Samuel, and he bowed with his face to the ground and paid homage.
Then Samuel said to Saul, "Why have you disturbed me by bringing me up?" Saul answered, "I am in great distress, for the Philistines are warring against me, and God has turned away from me and answers me no more, either by prophets or by dreams. Therefore I have summoned you to tell me what I shall do." And Samuel said, "Why then do you ask me, since the Lord has turned from you and become your enemy? The Lord has done to you as he spoke by me, for the Lord has torn the kingdom out of your hand and given it to your neighbor, David. Because you did not obey the voice of the Lord and did not carry out his fierce wrath against Amalek, therefore the Lord has done this thing to you this day. Moreover, the Lord will give Israel also with you into the hand of the Philistines, and tomorrow you and your sons shall be with me. The Lord will give the army of Israel also into the hand of the Philistines."
Then Saul fell at once full length on the ground, filled with fear because of the words of Samuel. And there was no strength in him, for he had eaten nothing all day and all night.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
The life of Saul can be summed up by thinking about diet fads. To lose weight and to stay healthy, all we need is exercise and a healthy diet. We all know it. More walking, fewer bear claws. Instead, we invent ways of trying to side step those methods to make “healthy” easier. My favorite is the vibrating platform. All you need to do (besides pay $350 or 10 easy payments of $35) is stand on a vibrating platform for 15 minutes a day, 3 days a week and the pounds will start falling off. But as the Mayo Clinic put it on their website, “comprehensive research about whole-body vibration is lacking.”
At the coronation of King Saul in 1 Samuel 12:14, Samuel said these words to Saul and to the the people of God: “If you will fear the Lord and serve and obey his voice and not rebel against the commandment of the Lord, and if both you and the king who reigns over you will follow the Lord your God, it will be well.” Saul knew full well what God required of him: Listen to God’s Word and obey what He said. It is God who saves, not chariots or horses or human effort. But as we see all throughout Saul’s reign, he did everything except those things. But why?
Listening to and obeying God, just like eating healthy and getting on a treadmill, are more difficult than the alternative methods that we come up with. We want the benefits of listening and obeying without having to do the hard work of listening and obeying. And we know where that method leads.
Saul, in 1 Samuel 28 knew that he was in trouble. God had stopped answering him according to any of the proper methods of communication (v. 6). He found himself surrounded by his enemies for the last time (v 4). Like old times, he sought out a medium (an ancient fortune teller) to bring up the one man in his circle who had listened to God, Samuel, to see what he should do about his situation (vv 8-16). Saul asked Samuel what was going to happen to him. Samuel’s response was, “The Lord has done to you as he spoke by me.” God stopped listening to Saul’s voice because Saul had stop listening to God’s.
God knew that our salvation could not be accomplished by taking the easy route. Sin and death are wicked enemies who are not defeated easily. It would take perfect obedience and a cruel death by execution. Jesus listened and obeyed because he knew we couldn’t. And now, all we have to do is give up our own efforts (and the latest spiritual fad), lean into that finished work of Christ, and call to God who hears us and wants to help us. God’s will for life is simple. Philippians 2:13-14 says, “Work out your salvation with fear and trembling, for it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure.” This method, when done in the community of God’s people, builds us up into Christ-likeness. Any other means leaves us flat on our face surrounded by enemies wishing we had just let God do what only God can do: save us and bring us near to Him.
Then all the tribes of Israel came to David at Hebron and said, “Behold, we are your bone and flesh. In times past, when Saul was king over us, it was you who led out and brought in Israel. And the Lord said to you, ‘You shall be shepherd of my people Israel, and you shall be prince over Israel.’” So all the elders of Israel came to the king at Hebron, and King David made a covenant with them at Hebron before the Lord, and they anointed David king over Israel. David was thirty years old when he began to reign, and he reigned forty years. At Hebron he reigned over Judah seven years and six months, and at Jerusalem he reigned over all Israel and Judah thirty-three years.
And David became greater and greater, for the Lord, the God of hosts, was with him. And Hiram king of Tyre sent messengers to David, and cedar trees, also carpenters and masons who built David a house. And David knew that the Lord had established him king over Israel, and that he had exalted his kingdom for the sake of his people Israel.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
Scripture tells us that prior to Saul’s assent as king, the story of Israel, God’s people, was an absolute mess. Any production company out of Hollywood that could try and portray the book of Judges would surely find their cinematic venture slapped with an NA-17 rating. Then along comes the monarch Saul. Saul’s reign is controlled chaos. The people of Israel have a king, but a sinful king. A king that becomes jealous, indignant, then bloodthirsty for a shepherd boy, yet a promised king, out the tribe of Judah named David. Saul’s demise and David’s ascension, as the first five chapters of 2 Samuel describe, bring fresh visions from the days of the judges. Progress – from judges to a monarch – has not made the times any better. We know this because the gruesomeness and misery are not spared from Saul and David’s story. And it has not been spared from our own. Sin has not slowly faded from the scene of the world, in fact its only gotten worse. Sin, ours and others, creates a complexity wondering what good can be found or what good can come from this broken and fallen world.
Then naturally the question arises, “Where is God in all of this?” This suffering, this brokenness, this pain. The answer is simple to articulate, hard to understand, and more importantly the answer is pregnant with a journey: God is in the midst working to redeem and make all things right.
What’s our response as God is busy making things right, redeeming the pain and suffering of a broken world? There are, perhaps, a few answers. But one that arises from our story is lament.
The tragic death of Saul and Jonathan comes to David at the beginning of 2 Samuel. Midway through chapter one, after David has dispensed justice, the imminent king laments (2 Sam. 1:17). Instead of jubilation for the demise of his enemy Saul, David is grief-stricken. Philosopher Nicholas Wolterstorff says that lament is “giving voice to the suffering that accompanies deep loss, whatever that loss may be.” David knew and felt the loss. He voiced that loss to God. Despite the deep pain that Saul caused David, David’s lament over Saul and Jonathan was filled with honor, love, and pain (2 Sam. 1:19-27).
In lament we name what ails our souls, bodies, and hearts. We cry out to God for deliverance, and then we wait. As the apostle Paul tells us our suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope (Romans 5:3-5). While we wait for deliverance, we hope. Hope: the deepest, gut-level aching and belief that the God who is making all things right will do so. We hope that God will hear our cries for deliverance and act, and if those cries are not answered, we trust, and we hope that those things will be made right and new in the age to come.
Sin, suffering, and lament are entirely appropriate for this season of Lent. We are reminded of our own frailty, but with a heightened anticipation for Easter morning. In the midst of suffering, while we lament, we also have hope because of what Jesus has accomplished.
Sally Lloyd-Jones in the Jesus Story Book Bible tells us of our hope:
Even though he knew he would suffer, God had a plan – a magnificent dream. One day, he would get his children back. One day, he would make the world their perfect home again. And one day, he would wipe away every tear from their eyes.
Before they left the garden, God whispered a promise to Adam and Eve: “It will not always be so! I will come to rescue you! And when I do, I’m going to do battle against the snake. I’ll get rid of the sin and the dark and the sadness you let in here. I’m coming back for you!” And he would. One day, God himself would come.
As we begin our journey towards Jerusalem for the next six weeks, let us lament for what pains us, what we are suffering, what grieves our hearts and souls. But let us also remember that what is will not always be. A King is coming to make all things new, all things right.
So come quickly Lord Jesus, come.
Now Elijah the Tishbite said to Ahab, "As the Lord, the God of Israel, lives, before whom I stand, there shall be neither dew nor rain these years, except by my word." And the word of the Lord came to him: "Depart from here and turn eastward and hide yourself by the brook Cherith, which is east of the Jordan. You shall drink from the brook, and I have commanded the ravens to feed you there." So he went and did according to the word of the Lord. He went and lived by the brook Cherith that is east of the Jordan. And the ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning, and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook. And after a while the brook dried up, because there was no rain in the land.
Then the word of the Lord came to him, "Arise, go to Zarephath, which belongs to Sidon, and dwell there. Behold, I have commanded a widow there to feed you." So he arose and went to Zarephath. And when he came to the gate of the city, behold, a widow was there gathering sticks. And he called to her and said, "Bring me a little water in a vessel, that I may drink." And as she was going to bring it, he called to her and said, "Bring me a morsel of bread in your hand." And she said, "As the Lord your God lives, I have nothing baked, only a handful of flour in a jar and a little oil in a jug. And now I am gathering a couple of sticks that I may go in and prepare it for myself and my son, that we may eat it and die." And Elijah said to her, "Do not fear; go and do as you have said. But first make me a little cake of it and bring it to me, and afterward make something for yourself and your son.
For thus says the Lord, the God of Israel, 'The jar of flour shall not be spent, and the jug of oil shall not be empty, until the day that the Lord sends rain upon the earth.'" And she went and did as Elijah said. And she and he and her household ate for many days. The jar of flour was not spent, neither did the jug of oil become empty, according to the word of the Lord that he spoke by Elijah.
After this the son of the woman, the mistress of the house, became ill. And his illness was so severe that there was no breath left in him. And she said to Elijah, "What have you against me, O man of God? You have come to me to bring my sin to remembrance and to cause the death of my son!" And he said to her, "Give me your son." And he took him from her arms and carried him up into the upper chamber where he lodged, and laid him on his own bed. And he cried to the Lord, "O Lord my God, have you brought calamity even upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by killing her son?" Then he stretched himself upon the child three times and cried to the Lord, "O Lord my God, let this child's life come into him again." 22And the Lord listened to the voice of Elijah. And the life of the child came into him again, and he revived. And Elijah took the child and brought him down from the upper chamber into the house and delivered him to his mother. And Elijah said, "See, your son lives." And the woman said to Elijah, "Now I know that you are a man of God, and that the word of the Lord in your mouth is truth."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Perhaps it was hypothermic hallucination or merely the fitful dreams of a frightened little boy. But maybe, just maybe, he's remembering exactly what really did happen. His parents had realized he was missing, lost in the woods. Panic-stricken, they notified the authorities, and friends had quickly joined the search. The agonizing hours of night yielded nothing. Rain turned to ice as fruitless day two wore on. The second night came. The little lad was still lost, and hope was freezing into grief.
Then on the second morning, tangled in thick brambles, just a few paces from the road, his whimpers alerted the search party. He was found and he was alive and he was well.
"What happened," they sobbed. "How did you stay out so long in this bitter cold?" And with the straightforward pluck common to 3-year-old boys, he explained that, "The bear kept me warm in the nights." He carefully explained to the joyful searchers that a large brown bear had cuddled him and kept him safe. A fantasy tale? Or a merciful gift of answered prayers for a lost, scared little boy.
The prophet Elijah was told by God to flee to enemy territory and hide out in the wilderness. He was also told that his provisions had already been taken care of. God had commanded the ravens to feed him. What? Why is that in the account? Why that detail?
The same thing happened again when God told Elijah it was time to get on into town. The famine had come, and there was Prophet work to do there. God had already arranged the details, down to a widow's cupboard. Elijah would dwell in the land of Sidon, with a starving widow and her sickly son. And in that small place, a place least expected, God would do a mighty work never before seen in human history. He would demonstrate His power and manifest His mercy in and through His servant Elijah. God was there, caring for the tiny household and managing the universe to bring glory to His name among the Sidonians. Elijah heard and obeyed the word of The Lord, as God demonstrated His heart for the lowly.
Centuries later, Peter would tell Jesus that some folks thought Jesus was Elijah, back from the dead. But Jesus confirmed the He was the Prophet that Elijah had pointed to, the Messiah that Elijah had foreshadowed.
That little fellow with the bear may have learned the song in Sunday School, the one about the short man and the Sycamore tree. But the song leaves out the pith of the account, the point of the story. God's mercy shines especially brightly in His care for the low, for the poor in spirit.
And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.” (Luke 19:8-10)
Whether with ravens, or endless oil, or a brown bear, or a word from a friend orchestrated before the foundation of the world, through the finished work of Christ, God is managing His universe to gather a people who will glorify His name.
When Ahab saw Elijah, Ahab said to him, “Is it you, you troubler of Israel?” And he answered, “I have not troubled Israel, but you have, and your father's house, because you have abandoned the commandments of the Lord and followed the Baals. Now therefore send and gather all Israel to me at Mount Carmel, and the 450 prophets of Baal and the 400 prophets of Asherah, who eat at Jezebel's table.” So Ahab sent to all the people of Israel and gathered the prophets together at Mount Carmel. And Elijah came near to all the people and said, “How long will you go limping between two different opinions? If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him.” And the people did not answer him a word. Then Elijah said to the people, “I, even I only, am left a prophet of the Lord, but Baal's prophets are 450 men. Let two bulls be given to us, and let them choose one bull for themselves and cut it in pieces and lay it on the wood, but put no fire to it. And I will prepare the other bull and lay it on the wood and put no fire to it. And you call upon the name of your god, and I will call upon the name of the Lord, and the God who answers by fire, he is God.” And all the people answered, “It is well spoken.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
I was once in a discipleship community led by an older man in our church, and one morning a friend of mine asked, “If you could stereotype our generation, what would you say?” He replied, “Your generation makes statements; you don’t ask questions.” Statements reveal what we think we know, but honest questions force us to admit that we might not know what we think. His comment revealed that my default setting in life is to think that I am right. Perhaps the things that we view as normal yet never question are the very things that should be questioned. This story of Elijah and the prophets of Baal centers on such a question: “How long will you go limping between two different opinions?”
Instead of trusting in the Lord, the people of Israel had conflated worship of the one, true God with the gods of their surrounding societies. Baal was believed to be a god that controlled the rains that were quite literally the lifeblood of an agrarian society. This was in direct contradiction to the grace of Israel’s God: “If you walk in my statutes and observe my commandments and do them, then I will give you your rains in their season, and the land shall yield its increase, and the trees of the field shall yield their fruit” (Leviticus 26:3-4). Elijah confronts the people of God with a choice: “If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal, then follow him” (v 21). The question is not if we will follow a god, but what god will we follow?
As creatures made to worship, we cannot not worship. From a street-level view, worship is whatever consumes our thoughts, controls our emotions, and directs our day-to-day actions. Ancient cultures may have carved their gods in wood and stone, but gods formed with professional degrees and bank accounts are no less idols. If Israel’s implication in idolatry was directly connected with their agricultural economy, how might Elijah’s question challenge our knowledge economy highly dependant on consumer capital? An idol can be any good thing that we trust in for a sense of significance or security. They offer us control but end up controlling us.
Make professional success your god, and you will never achieve enough. Make status and appearance your god, you will hide your insecurity behind clothes and cars. Make money your god, and you will be anxious of losing it and ever striving to make more. Make children or grandchildren your god, and you will be controlled by their happiness. Make religious performance your god, and there will be an abiding anxiety that you are not good enough. Every day is a choice: “If the Lord is God, follow him; but if Baal [insert success, relationships, money], then follow him” (v 21). God’s response to Elijah’s petition makes it clear beyond any shadow of a doubt that there are no other gods.
The one, true God encounters us in Jesus with a different question: “But who do you say that I am?” (Matthew 16:15). This is the God who did for us what we never could do for ourselves through the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. In receiving God’s grace, our lives now have an answer: “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life, and we have believed, and have come to know, that you are the Holy One of God” (John 6:68-69).
Ahab told Jezebel all that Elijah had done, and how he had killed all the prophets with the sword. Then Jezebel sent a messenger to Elijah, saying, “So may the gods do to me and more also, if I do not make your life as the life of one of them by this time tomorrow.” Then he was afraid, and he arose and ran for his life and came to Beersheba, which belongs to Judah, and left his servant there.
But he himself went a day's journey into the wilderness and came and sat down under a broom tree. And he asked that he might die, saying, “It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.” And he lay down and slept under a broom tree. And behold, an angel touched him and said to him, “Arise and eat.” And he looked, and behold, there was at his head a cake baked on hot stones and a jar of water. And he ate and drank and lay down again. And the angel of the Lord came again a second time and touched him and said, “Arise and eat, for the journey is too great for you.” And he arose and ate and drank, and went in the strength of that food forty days and forty nights to Horeb, the mount of God.
There he came to a cave and lodged in it. And behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and he said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He said, “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.” And he said, “Go out and stand on the mount before the Lord.” And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind tore the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind. And after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake. And after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire. And after the fire the sound of a low whisper. And when Elijah heard it, he wrapped his face in his cloak and went out and stood at the entrance of the cave. And behold, there came a voice to him and said, “What are you doing here, Elijah?” He said, “I have been very jealous for the Lord, the God of hosts. For the people of Israel have forsaken your covenant, thrown down your altars, and killed your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.” And the Lord said to him, “Go, return on your way to the wilderness of Damascus. And when you arrive, you shall anoint Hazael to be king over Syria. And Jehu the son of Nimshi you shall anoint to be king over Israel, and Elisha the son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah you shall anoint to be prophet in your place. And the one who escapes from the sword of Hazael shall Jehu put to death, and the one who escapes from the sword of Jehu shall Elisha put to death. Yet I will leave seven thousand in Israel, all the knees that have not bowed to Baal, and every mouth that has not kissed him.”
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
Have you ever felt overwhelmed by fear? Something very real has happened, or will happen, and you don’t know how you’ll be able to cope with the loss it will bring?
Elijah also had a very real reason to fear. He had provoked the most powerful woman in the kingdom on such a level that she made a vow to have him slaughtered within 24 hours. After spending years watching the degeneration of Israelite culture and pushing back, knowing that Jezebel would someday come for him, it had happened. So, very reasonably, Elijah ran. But, he ran in despair: “And he asked that he might die, saying ‘It is enough now, O Lord, take away my life, for I am no better than my fathers.’” (vs. 4).
The dramatics are familiar. In Jonah 4:3, after God relents and saves Nineveh, Jonah says, “Therefore now, O Lord, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” What would cause these two prophets, chosen by God, who had just witnessed magnificent displays of His power and mercy, to wish they were dead?
We all have selective memories. They’re what allow us to function after traumatic events and move forward in the face of great hardship, but like everything else, they suffer the curse of sin. Elijah was tired. He was scared. And he had allowed himself to forget that the same God who brought fire down on a mountain had a broader plan for His Kingdom. Both Elijah and Jonah were overwhelmed by the frustration of slogging away for God without seeing the results they hoped for – redemption for Elijah, destruction for Jonah – and even though they had just seen big things from God, their view of Him was small.
Their memories were wrong. And ours are regularly wrong. Despair creeps in when we lose sight of the overarching narrative of the Kingdom of God – that He is restoring all things, powerfully, faithfully, and mercifully.
David again gathered all the chosen men of Israel, thirty thousand. And David arose and went with all the people who were with him from Baale-judah to bring up from there the ark of God, which is called by the name of the Lord of hosts who sits enthroned on the cherubim. And they carried the ark of God on a new cart and brought it out of the house of Abinadab, which was on the hill. And Uzzah and Ahio, the sons of Abinadab, were driving the new cart, with the ark of God, and Ahio went before the ark.
And David and all the house of Israel were celebrating before the Lord, with songs and lyres and harps and tambourines and castanets and cymbals. And when they came to the threshing floor of Nacon, Uzzah put out his hand to the ark of God and took hold of it, for the oxen stumbled. And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzzah, and God struck him down there because of his error, and he died there beside the ark of God. And David was angry because the Lord had broken out against Uzzah. And that place is called Perez-uzzah to this day. And David was afraid of the Lord that day, and he said, “How can the ark of the Lord come to me?” So David was not willing to take the ark of the Lord into the city of David. But David took it aside to the house of Obed-edom the Gittite. And the ark of the Lord remained in the house of Obed-edom the Gittite three months, and the Lord blessed Obed-edom and all his household.
And it was told King David, “The Lord has blessed the household of Obed-edom and all that belongs to him, because of the ark of God.” So David went and brought up the ark of God from the house of Obed-edom to the city of David with rejoicing. And when those who bore the ark of the Lord had gone six steps, he sacrificed an ox and a fattened animal. And David danced before the Lord with all his might. And David was wearing a linen ephod. So David and all the house of Israel brought up the ark of the Lord with shouting and with the sound of the horn.
As the ark of the Lord came into the city of David, Michal the daughter of Saul looked out of the window and saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord, and she despised him in her heart. And they brought in the ark of the Lord and set it in its place, inside the tent that David had pitched for it. And David offered burnt offerings and peace offerings before the Lord. And when David had finished offering the burnt offerings and the peace offerings, he blessed the people in the name of the Lord of hosts and distributed among all the people, the whole multitude of Israel, both men and women, a cake of bread, a portion of meat, and a cake of raisins to each one. Then all the people departed, each to his house.
And David returned to bless his household. But Michal the daughter of Saul came out to meet David and said, “How the king of Israel honored himself today, uncovering himself today before the eyes of his servants' female servants, as one of the vulgar fellows shamelessly uncovers himself!” And David said to Michal, “It was before the Lord, who chose me above your father and above all his house, to appoint me as prince over Israel, the people of the Lord—and I will celebrate before the Lord. I will make myself yet more contemptible than this, and I will be abased in your eyes. But by the female servants of whom you have spoken, by them I shall be held in honor.” And Michal the daughter of Saul had no child to the day of her death.
A native of Texas, Jerry graduated from Dallas Baptist University with a degree in theology and biblical studies. He has been involved in cross-cultural ministry for most of his life, going back to his earliest and most formative years serving with Native Peoples in South Dakota. Jerry has also formally served in cross-cultural missions since 2001, including ministry in three low-income urban areas of Dallas. He has traveled to more nations than he can remember to serve alongside missionaries and indigenous believers. Jerry has been married to Kerry for 20 years. They have two daughters.
Arguably, one of the most important three sentences written over the past 100 years came in the opening line of a book published in 1993 by John Piper called, Let the Nations Be Glad.
“Missions is not the ultimate goal of the church. Worship is.
Missions exists because worship doesn’t.”
Piper will go on to make the case that all humans are worshipers but our worship is misdirected. The church’s mission is motivated first by a desire for all people to know the glory of their Creator because He alone is worthy of our awe and affections. All of the benefits of true joy and gladness flow from our worship being redirected toward the one and only God. “Worship, therefore, is the fuel and goal in missions”, Piper says. King David puts it this way in Psalm 67:3-4a:
“May the peoples praise you, God;
may all the peoples praise you.
May the nations be glad and sing for joy…”
God can have his cake and eat it too. He is 100% interested in His glory and fame while at the same time 100% interested in our fullness and joy. This is precisely the case that the Apostle Paul makes in Romans 15. The nations were not glad because we were separated from our only source of gladness. Yet, Jesus “came so that the Gentiles might give glory to God for his mercies to them.” How will the Gentiles know hope, joy, and peace? Paul says the source of these things is God. Romans 15:12-13a:
And in another place Isaiah said,
“The heir to David’s throne will come,
and he will rule over the Gentiles.
They will place their hope on him."
I pray that God, the source of hope,
will fill you completely with joy and peace
because you trust in him.
Directing our hearts toward our Creator is the only true and lasting source of gladness.
We saw this same order in 2 Samuel. David didn’t really dance until he kneeled. His worship at first was a lot like mine. It looked like worship on the outside but David did not have the order right. He was worshipping without awe. God’s glory is heavy. It wasn’t until David kneeled under the reality of God’s unique glory that he found true bounce in his step.
I don’t know about you, but I mostly want the joy without the awe, the peace without the glory, but that is not the order we see again and again in Scripture. The ark of the covenant represented the glory and provision of God and is a sign of the salvation to come through Jesus. In 2 Samuel 6:19 the people are blessed with a banquet from the Lord of hosts through the sacrifice of burnt offering. In John 6, Jesus, the Lamb of God, said, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry again. Whoever believes in me will never be thirsty.”
This is an important reminder for me this week. What am I putting my affection in that will never satisfy? Money? Approval? Satisfaction itself? Food? Theology?
Paul concludes in Romans 15:13b:
“Then you will overflow with confident hope
through the power of the Holy Spirit.”
Those who overflow with confident hope are those who place their awe in God. I want this, for the sake of God’s glory, and for the joy of the nations.
Now when the king lived in his house and the Lord had given him rest from all his surrounding enemies, the king said to Nathan the prophet, “See now, I dwell in a house of cedar, but the ark of God dwells in a tent.” And Nathan said to the king, “Go, do all that is in your heart, for the Lord is with you.”
But that same night the word of the Lord came to Nathan, “Go and tell my servant David, ‘Thus says the Lord: Would you build me a house to dwell in? I have not lived in a house since the day I brought up the people of Israel from Egypt to this day, but I have been moving about in a tent for my dwelling. In all places where I have moved with all the people of Israel, did I speak a word with any of the judges of Israel, whom I commanded to shepherd my people Israel, saying, “Why have you not built me a house of cedar?”’ Now, therefore, thus you shall say to my servant David, ‘Thus says the Lord of hosts, I took you from the pasture, from following the sheep, that you should be prince over my people Israel. And I have been with you wherever you went and have cut off all your enemies from before you. And I will make for you a great name, like the name of the great ones of the earth. And I will appoint a place for my people Israel and will plant them, so that they may dwell in their own place and be disturbed no more. And violent men shall afflict them no more, as formerly, from the time that I appointed judges over my people Israel. And I will give you rest from all your enemies. Moreover, the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring after you, who shall come from your body, and I will establish his kingdom. He shall build a house for my name, and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be to him a father, and he shall be to me a son. When he commits iniquity, I will discipline him with the rod of men, with the stripes of the sons of men, but my steadfast love will not depart from him, as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you. And your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me. Your throne shall be established forever.’” In accordance with all these words, and in accordance with all this vision, Nathan spoke to David.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Is God more interested in what we do for Him or in what He does for us? A world of religions basically teaches that we have to do our best and then hope that God will do the rest. The drive to do great things for God and the impulse to impress Him are deep within the human heart. But the story of Scripture confronts us again and again with pieces that don’t fit the puzzle of doing great things to earn God’s favor. This housing conversation between David and the Lord and in 2 Samuel 7 is one beautiful example.
Who could fault David for wanting to do something great for the Lord? Why shouldn’t he build a house for the Lord? In our accounting models, it makes sense. Imagine David sitting down to reflect on his situation:
The Lord’s greatness is unsearchable; I am just a man.
The Lord has delivered me again and again; now I am King of Israel.
I’m living in a palace, a house of cedar; the Lord lives in a tent.
I know what I’ll do…I’ll build the Lord a house!
The logic is watertight, right? “God has done all this; I should at least do this.” Even Nathan the prophet agrees with David’s building campaign. But then the word of the Lord comes, and David’s building project gets kicked down the road. As the Lord brings what He plans to do into the foreground, David’s grand design moves to the background. David wants to do something great for the Lord, but the Lord intends to do something for David and His people that could never be contained within four walls. The Lord’s promises to David are so great that only the Lord Himself could fulfill them. Jesus Christ, great David’s greater Son, came to fulfill God’s promises to David. Having conquered all of His people’s enemies, the Son of David will reign on His throne forever. Jesus brings the joy of His salvation to all who trust in what He has done, and He continues His great building project through His church, where every member is a living stone.
The next time we think the priority is doing something great for God, let’s remember the Lord’s promise to build David a house. The next time we look at Jesus and say, “You shall never wash my feet” (John 13:8), let’s remember the Lord’s plan to go to the cross. We worship a God who would rather dwell in tents with His people than live in a palace (2 Samuel 7:6-7). We worship a God who put on flesh and moved into the neighborhood (John 1:14). We worship a God who is building us up into a house in which He Himself dwells (Ephesians 2:22). We worship a God who has done for us what we could never do for ourselves. We will never outdo or out-build the Lord. But what might we do if we truly believed and received all that the Lord has done for us?
The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet him, crying out, "Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!" And Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, just as it is written,
"Fear not, daughter of Zion;behold, your king is coming,sitting on a donkey's colt!"
Tommy is Assistant Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church where he shepherds the Family Ministry. He has served in five different congregations before the Lord called him to PCPC in 2011. He is married to Priscilla, his wife of 21 years. They have four children, Austin, Elli, Lily and Judson.
1 in 128 billion. Every year the probability of creating a perfect bracket for the NCAA basketball championship tournament are at least 1 in 128 billion. We all know (painfully so) that no one has overcome those odds. We would love to predict the future. There are massive amounts of resources that corporations and individuals expend in an attempt to forecast the future. Sabermetrics, game theory, probability theory or other fields in mathematics are vexing to predict the outcomes of uncertain events. Humans have advanced significantly over the centuries but no has come close to a perfect bracket.
What are the odds that a person could fulfill the entire Mosaic Law? The answer is easy, zero. It is impossible. But you already knew the answer. Likewise, you know that Jesus flawlessly satisfy the Law and lived the perfect life. He is The One! What is impossible for man is possible with God.
The Lord God almighty did not simply predict the future, He ordained it. One example of how our sovereign Lord governs over all is the way He revealed Jesus in the Old Testament. The Messianic prophecies that prepared His people for the coming of The Christ are astounding. These are not predictions but pre-written history.
During Holy Week, our church featured sermons from a few Psalms that clearly revealed Christ. It is amazing how Jesus fulfilled every Messianic prophecy. Just consider a few.
• He would be born in Bethlehem of Judah (Micah 5:2).
• He would be born of a virgin (Isaiah 7:14).
• He would be called “Wonderful Counselor,” “Mighty God,” “Everlasting Father,” “Prince of Peace,” and would possess an everlasting kingdom (Isaiah 9:6-7).
• He would enter Jerusalem on a donkey (Zechariah 9:9)
• He would cleanse the temple (Psalms 69:9)
He would be the Stone builders rejected (Psalms 118:22-23)
• He would be betrayed by a friend (Psalm 41:9) for 30 pieces of silver and the money would be used to purchase the potter’s field (Zechariah 11:12-13)
• Many profound specifics of Christ’s life and crucifixion are revealed in Isaiah 53 and Psalm 22 and 88.
• God would resurrect His son and not allow Him to suffer decay (Psalm 16:8-11).
There are well over a 100 Messianic prophecies that Christ fulfilled in His mere 33 years on this earth. All of these prophecies were written centuries before He was born in a stable. Scholars and scientist say it is a mathematical impossibility for anyone to personally fulfill even half of these prophecies. As you might expect there are many that scoff at all of these Messianic prophecies. Ironically, even the scoffer’s actions are foretold in Psalm 22 and Isaiah 53:3.
The time has come to let go of your dreams of a perfect bracket and fall on your knees and worship your perfect Savior. This Easter celebrate that He is Risen just like He promised. Celebrate the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!” If you do this, the odds are great that you will never be disappointed!
Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge.
I say to the LORD, “You are my Lord;
I have no good apart from you.”
As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones,
in whom is all my delight.
The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply;
their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out
or take their names on my lips.
The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.
I bless the LORD who gives me counsel;
in the night also my heart instructs me.
I have set the LORD always before me;
because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.
Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;
my flesh also dwells secure.
For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
or let your holy one see corruption.
You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“This is what I wanted. Why am I not satisfied?” These are the words of the champion holding the trophy but still feeling empty; of the businessman signing the deal but struggling to celebrate; of the student making straight A’s but failing life; of the young adult finding someone to date but still feeling alone. These are the words of our hearts running after other gods but finding our sorrows multiplying. There is an obvious sorrow that multiplies when our wayward hearts lead us into self-destructive habits, crippling addictions, and broken relationships. But there’s a subtler sorrow that multiplies when everything seems to be going well. Many of us are running hard and actually catching what we want. There’s a thrill to the chase—a thrill that sometimes keeps us from being honest about our quiet desperation. When we consider the author of Psalm 16, the heart of the psalm becomes even more amazing. Because King David had what we want: power, position, pleasure, privilege, possessions. The man who said, “I have no good apart from You,” had a lot of good things going for him. The man who said, “You are my chosen portion,” had a lot from which to choose. The one who had everything we want actually wanted something else. How do we explain that?
If we believe that our hearts are idol-making factories, we shouldn’t be surprised that we run after other gods and experience multiplying sorrows. We should be surprised if we ever experience anything different! When Peter stands up in Acts 2 and quotes Psalm 16, he is telling the world that God has done something so significant that everything is now different. Jesus’ death and resurrection were not simply things that happened to Him. In a mysterious but real sense, Jesus’ death and resurrection happened to us, too, if we are in Christ. The resurrection means that Jesus has conquered sin and death, the greatest culprits in our multiplying sorrows. The resurrection means that Jesus has begun to make all things new, including us and our pursuit of joy. On Easter, we can stand in the empty tomb and read Psalm 16 with the risen Christ.
We need a refuge that is safe, and we can pray, “Preserve me, O God, for in You I take refuge” (Psalm 16:1). And we can ask, “Lord, how are we looking for security in insecure things?
We need a supreme treasure, and we can declare, “You are My Lord; I have no good apart from You” (Psalm 16:2). And we can ask, “Lord, can we really say that? If not, why not?”
We need a sovereign Lord, and can we pray, “The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup; You hold my lot” (Psalm 16:5). And we can ask, “Lord, why do we try and why do we want to control things?”
We need a most trusted counselor, and we can declare, “I bless the LORD who gives me counsel… You make known to me the path of life; in Your presence is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore” (Psalm 16:7, 11). And we can ask, “Lord, do we know that joy?”
Resurrected pleasure means that we can sing: “My heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices; my flesh also dwells secure” (Psalm 16:9). Resurrected pleasure means that we can finally say, “You are what I want, and I am completely satisfied.” Does the world see in us a joy that only the resurrection can explain?
Psalm 16
1 Preserve me, O God, for in you I take refuge.
2 I say to the LORD, “You are my Lord;
I have no good apart from you.”
3 As for the saints in the land, they are the excellent ones,
in whom is all my delight.
4 The sorrows of those who run after another god shall multiply;
their drink offerings of blood I will not pour out
or take their names on my lips.
5 The LORD is my chosen portion and my cup;
you hold my lot.
6 The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;
indeed, I have a beautiful inheritance.
7 I bless the LORD who gives me counsel;
in the night also my heart instructs me.
8 I have set the LORD always before me;
because he is at my right hand, I shall not be shaken.
9 Therefore my heart is glad, and my whole being rejoices;
my flesh also dwells secure.
10 For you will not abandon my soul to Sheol,
or let your holy one see corruption.
11 You make known to me the path of life;
in your presence there is fullness of joy;
at your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
In the spring of the year, the time when kings go out to battle, David sent Joab, and his servants with him, and all Israel. And they ravaged the Ammonites and besieged Rabbah. But David remained at Jerusalem.
It happened, late one afternoon, when David arose from his couch and was walking on the roof of the king’s house, that he saw from the roof a woman bathing; and the woman was very beautiful. And David sent and inquired about the woman. And one said, “Is not this Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?”
Morgan is someone who loves seeing God’s beauty everywhere and talking about it. He is finishing his undergrad and aiming towards grad school to get better at seeing and talking about God, both out-loud and on paper. Texas has been his home here, and his family’s, for generations, though he would like to see the whole world. Morgan believes that food and colors and friends and family are down-payment signs from God that He is making all things new again.
The Gospel according to Matthew opens with a genealogy where Jesus is called “the son of David, the son of Abraham” (Matthew 1:1). In this same genealogy David is subtly described as “David the king,” and then as “the father of Solomon by the wife of Uriah” (Matthew 1:6).
Here we have a paradox. David is named king. We know from the story so far that David was a much better replacement for Saul as king. We also see the testimony of the psalmists building quite a large consensus that David is the Lord’s favored recipient of an eternal covenant and promises which come along. There was a palpable Jewish consciousness that David not only represented the ideal king, but ultimately pointed towards that ideal king who was to finally come into their history, as God had promised them.
But David is also named as one who had a child by another man’s wife. This instance alone means he could never be, for Israel, the ideal king they longed for. David was a warrior-king. But he didn’t go to battle this time. This was not an exclusively physical action. It was primarily a matter of the heart. And that is really what makes a king.
What happened in his heart on the roof? Whatever it specifically was, it happened not in the morning, but in the afternoon, which implies he was not busy with another task but probably dozing or even sleeping. He then lounges about on the roof. After that, the events descend rather rapidly into darkness.
The apostle Peter says to “be sober-minded” and to “be watchful” (1 Peter 5:8). David is neither. He then exhorts the church to “resist the devil” (5:9). The apostle James commands the same—“resist the devil”—promising that, if we do, “he will flee from you” (James 4:7). The practical reason David falls is that he did not resist the devil, and so the devil did not flee from him.
Jesus, on the other hand, was led by the Spirit directly into the wilderness for the express purpose of handling the oppressive weight of temptation (Luke 4:1-2), and he did not fall. Why? Because he resisted the devil. Peter connects the idea of resisting with the idea of being “firm in your faith” (1 Peter 5:9). We are told elsewhere that Jesus is full of faith (Hebrews 12:2; Romans 3:22). Jesus’ resistance was intimately bound up with the words of God—really an eating of his Father’s words (Matthew 4:4). Righteously aggressive with the adversary, Jesus finally tells him to go away (“Be gone, Satan!”) and connects this command to the following command from his Father: to love the Lord your God and serve him only. And “then the devil left him” (4:11), fled him. So the promise of James and the exhortation of Peter find their "Yes" in Jesus (2 Corinthians1:20).
We are told to “put on the Lord Jesus Christ” because, without him, we, just like David, will certainly fail to “make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires” (Romans 13:14). But, conversely, “if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (8:13). “If we are faithless, he remains faithful” (2 Timothy 2:13). “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” (Romans 8:1).
And the LORD sent Nathan to David. He came to him and said to him, “There were two men in a certain city, the one rich and the other poor. The rich man had very many flocks and herds, but the poor man had nothing but one little ewe lamb, which he had bought. And he brought it up, and it grew up with him and with his children. It used to eat of his morsel and drink from his cup and lie in his arms, and it was like a daughter to him. Now there came a traveler to the rich man, and he was unwilling to take one of his own flock or herd to prepare for the guest who had come to him, but he took the poor man's lamb and prepared it for the man who had come to him.” Then David’s anger was greatly kindled against the man, and he said to Nathan, “As the LORD lives, the man who has done this deserves to die, and he shall restore the lamb fourfold, because he did this thing, and because he had no pity.”
Nathan said to David, “You are the man! Thus says the LORD, the God of Israel, ‘I anointed you king over Israel, and I delivered you out of the hand of Saul. And I gave you your master's house and your master’s wives into your arms and gave you the house of Israel and of Judah. And if this were too little, I would add to you as much more. Why have you despised the word of the LORD, to do what is evil in His sight? You have struck down Uriah the Hittite with the sword and have taken his wife to be your wife and have killed him with the sword of the Ammonites. Now therefore the sword shall never depart from your house, because you have despised me and have taken the wife of Uriah the Hittite to be your wife.’ Thus says the LORD, ‘Behold, I will raise up evil against you out of your own house. And I will take your wives before your eyes and give them to your neighbor, and he shall lie with your wives in the sight of this sun. For you did it secretly, but I will do this thing before all Israel and before the sun.’” David said to Nathan, “I have sinned against the LORD.” And Nathan said to David, “The LORD also has put away your sin; you shall not die. Nevertheless, because by this deed you have utterly scorned the LORD, the child who is born to you shall die.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Think of 2 Samuel 11 and 12 as two portraits hanging side by side in a gallery. The first is a devastating, gut-wrenching portrait of sin, and the second is a breathtaking, soul-stirring portrait of grace. These pictures are so different—why would anyone hang these pictures next to each other? In a strange, beautiful way, they seem to belong together. Sin seems less horrifying without the portrait of grace, and grace seems less glorious without the portrait of sin. So what do we discover as we study these two portraits in David’s life and in our own?
Grace is God pursuing us in the midst of our sin. “And the Lord sent Nathan to David” (2 Samuel 12:1). In chapter 11, all we see is David sending, using, and manipulating people for his own selfish ends. The Lord appears to be absent, and David appears to get away with it. “But the thing that David had done displeased the Lord” (2 Sam. 11:27). When we sin, God’s silence does not mean His absence. He comes after us. He breaks in. He sends someone to bring the word that cuts like a surgeon’s knife to hurt so that it can heal. Do we welcome God’s gracious pursuit? Where would we be if the Lord never interrupted?
Grace is God revealing the depth of our sin to us. “Why have you despised the word of the Lord, to do what is evil in His sight?” (2 Sam. 12:9, 10). In chapter 11, all we see is David doing wrong and trying to cover his tracks. We can’t see his heart, but the Lord does. Of course David has broken the law, but the deeper problem is a broken love. Sin is more than dysfunctional behavior; it is disordered love. When we should be loving God supremely and loving our neighbor as ourselves, we are loving ourselves supremely and harming our neighbor. We are despising the word of the Lord, and therefore we are despising the Lord of the word. If we don’t realize the depth of our problem, we will never appreciate the wonder of God’s remedy. Are we able to say, “I am the man (or woman) who has despised the word of the Lord”? Do we know our sin well enough to know our need for His grace?
Grace is God giving us nothing less than Himself when we deserve nothing less than judgment. In chapter 11, all we see is David playing God and living like the Lord doesn’t exist. With his self-righteous response to Nathan’s story, David effectively condemns himself. “As the Lord lives, the man who has done this deserves to die” (2 Sam. 12:5). Though we’re inconsistent in applying it, we all have a standard of justice that knows what such treachery deserves. Yet when we deserve nothing less than judgment, God gives us nothing less than Himself. How can this be? That must’ve been David’s question, and it should be ours. How can we, who have done what is evil in God’s sight, somehow become righteous in His sight? Ultimately, the only answer is the cross of Jesus Christ, where the graciousness of grace overwhelmed the sinfulness of sin, where the Lord Himself suffered what we deserve in order that we might enjoy what He deserves.
Oh Lord, be gracious to us today. We welcome your life-interrupting, sin-revealing grace. We know what we deserve, and so we cast ourselves upon Jesus. By Your grace, send Nathan to us, and send us like Nathan to others. Show us how we have despised You, and create in us a heart that loves You. May we never lose the wonder that, by Your grace, You have put away our sin and given us Yourself.
And behold, the Cushite came, and the Cushite said, "Good news for my lord the king! For the Lord has delivered you this day from the hand of all who rose up against you." The king said to the Cushite, "Is it well with the young man Absalom?" And the Cushite answered, "May the enemies of my lord the king and all who rise up against you for evil be like that young man."
And the king was deeply moved and went up to the chamber over the gate and wept. And as he went, he said, "O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! Would I had died instead of you, O Absalom, my son, my son!"
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The "favorites" lists come out about this time every year. There's Elijah and Isaiah. Eli and Levi make the lists, and so do James and Jude. Aaron and Thomas, Ezra and Benjamin are in the top fifty for 2019. And of course, we all know Marks and Lukes and Matthews and Davids. I have recently even met a young man named Moses. Bible-based baby names, even these days, grace boy bassinets far and wide.
But not a single list offers the name Absalom. Maybe there are a few out there, but far fewer than there should be. You see, all of us reflect the man Absalom. All of us are rebel sons who lead an insurrection in our own souls.
We are Absalom in our discontent. Dissatisfied with God's provisions, we scheme for more. We lust for those things forbidden. Our heart rebels. Yet God's Word teaches us,
But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. (1 Timothy 6:6-9)
We are Absalom in our anger. Somehow, in the siren song of the insurrection, we hear that we've been cheated. And we fume. Seething anger characterizes our outlook on all we see, particularly when we look upon our heavenly father. "He could've made a change.", we think. "He could've altered the outcome, or changed the wind, or given me what I demand." Like Absalom, our anger drives us to be slanderous and sinister.
We are Absalom in our fear. We live our lives in the shadow-stained half-light of the fear of man, the fear of the future, the fear of the past. So we reject the very one who promises joy, and proclaims peace. But then our rebellion does nothing to lighten the load of terror.
Indeed, we all are Absalom, armed and dangerous, and headed for destruction.
But unlike Absalom, we have a Father who intervenes before the battle is lost. For we are adopted sons of the Most High God. And God, in His mercy, sent His only begotten son to take the punishment for the rebels. His son was suspended on the tree of shame, and bore the thrust of the enemy's spear. The perfect son, who knew no sin, accomplished the work to bring peace into the chaos of rebellion. In Christ, our battle is over, the victory is won.
So we, Absaloms all, may put down our treasonous weapons of discontent, and anger, and fear. And we can, with God's blessing and empowerment, be found in league with the perfectly loyal Son of God.
And David spoke to the Lord the words of this song on the day when the Lord delivered him from the hand of all his enemies, and from the hand of Saul. He said,
“The Lord is my rock and my fortress and my deliverer,
my God, my rock, in whom I take refuge,
my shield, and the horn of my salvation,
my stronghold and my refuge,
my savior; you save me from violence.
I call upon the Lord, who is worthy to be praised,
and I am saved from my enemies.
“For the waves of death encompassed me,
the torrents of destruction assailed me;
the cords of Sheol entangled me;
the snares of death confronted me.
“In my distress I called upon the Lord;
to my God I called.
From his temple he heard my voice,
and my cry came to his ears.
“Then the earth reeled and rocked;
the foundations of the heavens trembled
and quaked, because he was angry.
Smoke went up from his nostrils,
and devouring fire from his mouth;
glowing coals flamed forth from him.
He bowed the heavens and came down;
thick darkness was under his feet.
He rode on a cherub and flew;
he was seen on the wings of the wind.
He made darkness around him his canopy,
thick clouds, a gathering of water.
Out of the brightness before him
coals of fire flamed forth.
The Lord thundered from heaven,
and the Most High uttered his voice.
And he sent out arrows and scattered them;
lightning, and routed them.
Then the channels of the sea were seen;
the foundations of the world were laid bare,
at the rebuke of the Lord,
at the blast of the breath of his nostrils.
“He sent from on high, he took me;
he drew me out of many waters.
He rescued me from my strong enemy,
from those who hated me,
for they were too mighty for me.
They confronted me in the day of my calamity,
but the Lord was my support.
He brought me out into a broad place;
he rescued me, because he delighted in me.
After a decade in professional ministry—serving for four years in the youth ministry of PCPC—Christen went corporate in April of 2018. She now manages and coaches real estate agents at Keller Williams Urban Dallas in Uptown. Christen continues to serve as a lay youth volunteer at PCPC and writes and speaks on a variety of topics such as theology, youth ministry, and the faith & work conversation.
Our friends in the Scriptures often responded to their circumstances through song or psalm. Read 2 Samuel 22. Read Psalm 51. Read 1 Samuel 2:1-10. Read Revelation 5:9-10. Perhaps this is an instinct built into the hearts and souls of many members of the human race. Not everyone responds in song, but many do. We sing about heartbreak, triumph, confusion, injustice, cries of despair, dreams of the future, prayers to God, stories that need to be told, strong emotions, responses of worship, etc.
As Christians, we have the gift of a host of spiritual disciplines: silence, journaling, retreat, prayer, scripture memory, immersion in nature, fasting, etc. Each discipline grants us a new/fresh lens through which to understand and experience God. The same can be said of art forms such as poetry, songwriting, dance, painting, drawing, etc. if used as a discipline to connect with God. Have you explored these lately?
Were you to write a song or a poem about your circumstances as they are right now, what would it sound like? What might that it read like? Perhaps:
He is my constant.
The Lord loves so faithfully…
I take it for granted.
Here I am:
Fickle-hearted.
Bull-headed.
Charging straight for a wall.
(all the while arguing: “that is not a wall.”)
I would have abandoned me long ago.
I would have abandoned me long ago.
But
There He sees His greatest opportunity.
My worst exposes His best.
I, the expert wanderer; He, the expert “Stayer.”
Professional quality staying power, really.
5 stars.
Unparalleled.
And for what?
What’s in it for Him? Exactly what does He have to gain?
He gets what He fights for every time!
He gets me.
What’s more, He gets Himself:
Most satisfied and pleased when HE IS who HE IS.
How odd.
How odd that the greatest gift to us and Himself is
Himself.
He literally showers Himself all over us, and we are transformed.
He deluged Himself upon the Israelites,
Full-force in his forgiveness like the ocean
As they tossed listlessly between their lovers.
He gushed upon Peter.
Once driven from the scene, now driven to his knees.
The denier who left
Left wondering: “How can it be?”
He burst forth on the cross.
He could have left.
(Arguably) should have left.
Stayed.
Stayed.
Kept staying.
Until it was finished.
Until His heart...........
He broke forth upon the church.
Arrived in flame and spread like wildfire.
Hurled His heat & light to the corners of the earth,
Consuming sin, shame, chains.
And like a tempest of love, He rages on.
He pours out Himself, and we are transformed.
Transformed to what?
Why, ourselves, of course.
How different I am
Since the day He found me.
Oh what shall I become
When I see Him as He is?
“Beloved, we are God’s children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is.” - 1 John 3:2
But David's heart struck him after he had numbered the people. And David said to the Lord, "I have sinned greatly in what I have done. But now, O Lord, please take away the iniquity of your servant, for I have done very foolishly." And when David arose in the morning, the word of the Lord came to the prophet Gad, David's seer, saying, "Go and say to David, 'Thus says the Lord, Three things I offerOr hold over you. Choose one of them, that I may do it to you.'" So Gad came to David and told him, and said to him, "Shall three years of famine come to you in your land? Or will you flee three months before your foes while they pursue you? Or shall there be three days' pestilence in your land? Now consider, and decide what answer I shall return to him who sent me."
Then David said to Gad, "I am in great distress. Let us fall into the hand of the Lord, for his mercy is great; but let me not fall into the hand of man."
So the Lord sent a pestilence on Israel from the morning until the appointed time. And there died of the people from Dan to Beersheba 70,000 men. And when the angel stretched out his hand toward Jerusalem to destroy it, the Lord relented from the calamity and said to the angel who was working destruction among the people, "It is enough; now stay your hand." And the angel of the Lord was by the threshing floor of Araunah the Jebusite. Then David spoke to the Lord when he saw the angel who was striking the people, and said, "Behold, I have sinned, and I have done wickedly. But these sheep, what have they done? Please let your hand be against me and against my father's house."
After a decade in professional ministry—serving for four years in the youth ministry of PCPC—Christen went corporate in April of 2018. She now manages and coaches real estate agents at Keller Williams Urban Dallas in Uptown. Christen continues to serve as a lay youth volunteer at PCPC and writes and speaks on a variety of topics such as theology, youth ministry, and the faith & work conversation.
Nine months and twenty days. That’s how long it took for Joab, the commander of the army, to get a headcount of all able-bodied warriors throughout Israel and Judah. Nine months and twenty days. That’s how long David deluded himself into thinking that disobeying God was a good idea.
We, the readers, don’t know why this particular census was a sin. There are many other instances throughout Scripture in which God commands that a census be taken. In one case, Joab—the same commander of the army as above—sins by failing to complete a census (1 Chronicles 27:24). So we know from other passages that censuses aren’t inherently evil. What was so wrong with this one? For some reason, the author chooses to withhold details, but we do know David’s sin was quite serious. We can measure its gravity by the seriousness of the consequences. Israel and Judah lost 70,000 men in a day. In God’s kingdom, the punishment always fits the crime. When we live in delusion, the consequences of our choices must serve as a backwards lens through which to understand reality. Oh that we might obtain that lens in advance. (Lord, hear our prayer.)
In David’s case, the reality of his sin hit him the day the reports came back. As soon as he had the numbers in his hands, “his heart struck him.” He pleaded to God, “I have sinned greatly…please take away the iniquity of your servant, for I have done very foolishly.” Here’s the question: where was that thought nine months and nineteen days ago? While Joab and his pals were saddling up their horses and packing their granola to head out of town, what was on David’s mind? When they were five months in, weary from living out of suitcases and being parted from their families, what was David doing?
If David was anything like most of humans, he was doing some combination of the following: congratulating himself on such a good idea, fixating on the pros while minimizing the cons, listening only to those who agree with him, role-playing how it will feel to get what he wants, dousing his conviction with distractions and uppers, proof-texting things God said to him in other contexts to convince himself of God’s approval, moving at a fast pace to avoid downtime for reflection, getting reassurance from his yes-men, etc.
What’s the longest you’ve gone in minimizing your sin? It’s not a contest. After all, some of our blindspots won’t fully see the light until judgment day. On that day, our hearts will truly “strike us.” And by the grace of God, we will also be struck in a whole new way by the love of Christ, who absorbed our punishment in our stead.
But what can we do today? How can we spend as little time as possible in delusion? Consider doing some internal work. Make the effort to connect your emotions to a healthy fear of walking in delusion. When we fear walking in the darkness more than we fear exposure to the light, we foster an environment that welcomes the transforming work of God. We find ourselves doing just the opposite of minimizing behavior: we doubt our desires and instincts, we seek out unbiased counsel, we give proper weight to both pros and cons, we set boundaries on our fantasies, we sit still and listen, and most importantly, we read Scripture for what God says rather than what we want it to say. May we, together, find that our sojourns in the land of delusion get shorter and shorter.
“Even youths shall faint and be weary,
and young men shall fall exhausted;
but they who wait for the LORD shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not grow weary;
they shall walk and not faint.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Life in the middle is hard. Have you ever thought about that? Beginnings are exciting and hopeful. Endings are satisfying and joyful. But the middle? Often the middle is just hard. Our English language supports the argument. Here’s what life in the middle sounds like:
“I woke up in the middle of the night.”
“Times are hard for the middle class.”
“We need to cut out the middle man.”
“Our middle child is having trouble.”
“Middle age is no fun.”
“The Middle Ages were so dark.”
“We can’t find the middle ground.”
“I block out most of what happened in middle school.”
“My car broke down in the middle of the highway.”
“We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
There’s an idiom that describes life in the middle: caught between a rock and a hard place. That’s how we feel in the middle. At the beginning the path is clear. At the end, we know we made it. But in the middle of life’s woods, two roads diverge, and we’re faced with hard choices.
As a church, we find ourselves in the middle of the school year, in the middle of (a balmy) winter, in the middle of our Sojourn theme. How’s the journey for you? Perhaps the excitement of launching “Sojourn: Toward an Enduring City” has given way to boredom and weariness. These are understandable reactions to being in the middle. The excitement of beginning wears off, and we get bored. The exhilaration of running hard goes away, and we get tired. The resolve to finish well erodes, and we just try to survive. Our sojourn this year is a microcosm of our life as believers. The real question is: If you’re a Christian, how are you living in the middle—in the middle of your conversion and your homecoming, in the middle of Christ’s First and Second Coming?
Isaiah 40 offers comfort and hope for those living in the middle. The end of the chapter acknowledges what we’re up against as sojourners, but it also reminds us where to find the resources to carry on. In a sense, we should not be surprised if we’re tired. “Even youths shall faint and be weary, and young men shall fall exhausted.” If the youthful and strong among us burn out in the middle, that’s bad news for all of our strategies to be good enough, smart enough, fast enough, and strong enough to make it on our own. In the middle, being self-sufficient is insufficient. In fact, the more we believe in our own wisdom and strength, the more likely we are to grow weary and faint. Why? Because there is only One who does not faint or grow weary, and you and I are not He.
Have you not known? Have you not heard?
The LORD is the everlasting God,
the Creator of the ends of the earth.
He does not faint or grow weary;
His understanding is unsearchable.
Isaiah 40:28
Weary traveler, do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the one who never wears down in the middle. He is the one who understands the way when nothing makes sense. The middle of nowhere is not nowhere to Him. Life in the middle requires ears that hear and eyes that see. We need to hear the Word of God reminding us who He is and who we are (and who we’re not). We need to see with Spirit-opened eyes that we are not wise or powerful in ourselves, but He is. As He opens our ears and eyes, we realize that the way up is the way down. “He gives power to the faint, and to Him who has no might He increases strength” (Isaiah 40:29). So will we acknowledge our weariness and confess our weakness? Life in the middle humbles us and breaks us down, but the Lord intends to meet us there and build us up in Christ. There is invincible hope for those who look to Him in the middle:
They who wait on for the LORD shall renew their strength;
they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
they shall walk and not faint.
You might say, “I’ve heard these verses before, but how can I really know that God is with me in the middle of my journey?” Forgive me the Sunday school reply, but the answer is one name: Jesus. The Alpha and the Omega left heaven and entered the middle of history. Jesus inserted Himself in the middle of our mess. He walked our roads, healed our sick, and confronted our sin. He came to be the Mediator—the Man in the middle—between a holy God and a sinful people. And to do that He died on a cross, in the middle of two thieves, to pay our debt and to make us His treasured possession. Jesus grew weary, became faint, and laid down His life so that we might live this sojourn in His resurrected power. In Jesus Christ, we have His joy in a new beginning, His hope in a glorious ending, and His grace for life in the middle.
O the deep, deep love of Jesus,
Vast, unmeasured, boundless, free!
Rolling as a mighty ocean
In its fullness over me!
Underneath me, all around me,
Is the current of Thy love
Leading onward, leading homeward to Thy glorious rest above!
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Consider the depth of the ocean. In its deepest parts it is unsearchable. Even with advanced technology, there are mysteries in the depths below. There are creatures that exist down below the surface of the sea that mankind knows very little about—their creation, it seems, solely for the glory of the Creator. The deeper one goes below the rolling waves and shimmering sunshine, daylight disappears and a deep, black vastness sets in. It is dark. It is chilly. It is mysterious and without bounds. Though I have never been lost at sea, I can only imagine the overwhelming sense of being far from land and encompassed by ocean. The miles of sea—in every direction, including below—must seem unmeasured and incomprehensible.
In Matthew 14, Jesus joins His disciples in the middle of the night, walking on water. The disciples are making their way across the sea without Jesus, when suddenly He appears above the waves and through the wind. The Creator of the vastness below was walking above the current. In a moment of boldness, Peter stepped out of the safety of the boat and onto the waves. As he walked, with his eyes fixed on Jesus, he progressed closer and closer. And then the unmeasured might around him—wind and water and waves—consumed his thoughts and shifted his eyes off of Jesus. In a moment, he began to sink. The depth below could only be mastered by the One who fashioned it.
The timeless hymn O the Deep, Deep Love of Jesus paints a beautiful comparison between the mighty ocean and the love of Jesus for us. It is humbling to consider the depths of the unknown ocean and then to ponder the unmeasured love of Jesus. Despite our sin, despite our inability to know our own need for grace, the love of Jesus is vast, unmeasured, and boundless. And only by the dying love of Jesus are we set free.
Not a day goes by without hearing the groans of our hurting and broken world. It is as global as human trafficking and terrorist attacks and as local as broken homes and mental illness. This world needs to know the love of Jesus that has no bounds and no end to its depth. A glimpse of the news these days is hard to stomach. At moments, I want to turn off the newscast and push the angst of the aching world to the back of my mind. Yet to do so—to ignore the aching and desperate pleas of a broken world—would be a foolish attempt to avoid what is real and raw. Evil exists on our globe, in our country, even in our homes and families. Like me, are you tempted at times to feel like the enemy is winning? Oh that we would together be reminded of the infinitely greater and vastly deeper love of Jesus! The same Jesus, who measures the depth of the ocean in His hand, has already won victory over our hurt.
William Langland was an author in the 1300s. He beautifully penned these words. “But all the wickedness in the world which men might do and think is no more to the mercy of God than a live coal dropped in the sea.” A live coal—hot and red—is no match to the vast ocean below. Neither is the wickedness and hurt of our world compared to the deep, deep love of Jesus.
For you have not come to what may be touched, a blazing fire and darkness and gloom and a tempest and the sound of a trumpet and a voice whose words made the hearers beg that no further messages be spoken to them. For they could not endure the order that was given, “If even a beast touches the mountain, it shall be stoned...” But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem… Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire.
Joshua Keller, a native Kansan and graduate of Kansas State University, lives in Austin, Texas, where he serves as Youth Pastor to All Saints Presbyterian Church. He graduated from Dallas Theological Seminary during which he spent some time working at PCPC in the Youth Ministry.
He and his wife Erin have three children, Elliotte, Oliver, and Adelaide, and one faithful dog, Ike.
At a youth conference that we attend every spring, we close the weekend off singing “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks.” The song situates the singers on Jordan’s banks looking off into the Promise Land. Each verse abounds with the beauty and delight of that healthful land, and then rapturously repeats in the chorus that we are bound for that promised land.
Once after singing that song, a thoughtful kid mused to me that the song seemed outrageously presumptuous. How could we be so confident, even arrogant, at being bound for that promised land? The answer is here in Hebrews and the word hope.
It’s a powerful word, the same way an unopened box on the top shelf of a cabinet is powerful. Anything could be in that box—just imagine! And look at what we wrap into hope–joy, desire, happiness, goodness, change, peace, delight, safety. And whatever we think will give us the above we make the shelf for our box of hope. In fact, the only thing that slows our hope is her cousin, a tempering word dropped at the end of a comma. “This week, I’ll get that box,” we say, then add, “hopefully.” Ah! That word of sudden uncertainty slouching around the horizon like a spoiling cloud. But what else can you do in a sin-crushed world? Dark clouds live beyond every horizon. Hopes are hardly realized. But that it isn’t how the Bible talks about hope. Hope in God’s Word is, as some kid rightly said, outrageously presumptuous.
Hebrews 12.22 perfectly captures the biblical idea of hope through these four words: But you have come...
The book of Hebrews has been arguing consistently up to chapter 12, that Christ is not only superior to the Old Covenant, but that He is what the entire Old Covenant was pointing toward. And now at the climactic and poetic finish in chapter 12, the entire Old Covenant is summarized in that frightful moment from Exodus 19 when the nation of Israel stood before Mt. Sinai and God came down upon the mountain in fire and smoke, with a loud trumpet, and deafening peals of thunder. At that moment the consistent refrain (announced three times) was do not touch, or else God in His holiness will break out against you. It wasn’t exactly reassuring.
Still God took His people from Sinai into Canaan, the land of promise and rest. There a holy city was built and a temple was created for God to dwell in with His people. Yet they did not have rest. That temple was destroyed. That kingdom was shaken to the ground. Canaan cracked under the weight of sin. They still needed something better. They still needed to know God’s rest. They still needed a better, heavenly city. They needed a kingdom which would never shake. And if that was what the people of God hoped for, have always hoped for, Christ made that hope an expectation.
The writer of Hebrews is emphatic. You will not come to the city of the Living God, hopefully. In Christ, you have come. Christ, to whom you belong by faith and by baptism, has taken you there. He has brought that rest. He has secured your sacrifice in the heavenly temple before God’s very throne. He has ushered in a Kingdom which will never be shaken, a Kingdom where the fire of God burns eternally, over all, through all, and in all—consuming but not destroying. He has brought us to the expected and eventual city.
And for us in Christ, that should change everything. The recipients of this letter were going through a time of suffering, but they could endure it, precisely because they hoped expectantly. Or as Hebrews 10:34 says, “You joyfully accepted the plundering of your property, since you knew that you yourselves had a better possession and an abiding one.” If there is a more challenging verse to our current cultural angst, I don’t know it.
Are you fearful for yourself, for these United States, for the liberty of Christians in the next generation? Never forget: you have already come in Christ to a land without anxiety, to the Kingdom which never falters, to a city of perfect freedom. Are you so fixed on heaven, that the pains of earth cannot cripple you?
As W.H. Auden said,
He is the Truth.
Seek Him in the Kingdom of Anxiety;
You will come to a great city that has expected your return for years.1
Because of Christ, we have an expectant hope, and an expected and eventual city to which we are bound, and will not fail to find. Live in that Hope. Live in that expectation. Fear not.
1 W. H. Auden “For the Time Being: A Christmas Oratorio”
Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
This command is very difficult. I know because it presented itself to me in my own kitchen during my first year of marriage. I made it home early one day and thought to myself, “I’m going to clean the entire kitchen and even wipe down the countertops for my wife (emphasis important).” She had a late meeting and would not be home for a couple hours so I got to work. I started by properly placing everything on the countertops in the appropriate cabinet location. I then moved to the dirty dishes in the sink only to realize I first had to remove all the clean dishes from inside the dishwasher so the dirty ones might find proper storage for a bubble bath. At this point the kitchen by all outwards appearances looked very clean, but I knew this was my chance to shine. So I went above-and-beyond and swept the floor and, with towel and cleaner in hand, wiped down all the countertops. I even shined the sink. Boy did it sparkle. It was complete. I stood back and surveyed my spotless masterpiece and knew that she would be so pleased to find I had cleaned the entire kitchen for her (emphasis still important). I triumphantly awaited her arrival.
She arrived home after a long day’s work, walked through the door into the kitchen, and placed her purse and workbag on the freshly cleaned countertop. No comment was made. She then went to the cupboard to retrieve a clean cup so that she could draw a glass of water from our refrigerator door. Still no comment. I sat patiently, holding my words in the back of my throat, waiting for her to detox from the day and finally survey the Brent-tastic scene. She finally made a comment. But not the one I expected.
“Brent, is there a reason you forgot to bring the trash can in? I don’t want to sound mean but it’s been a really long day and I almost hit it with my car when I pulled in the driveway.” WHAT?! How dare she! Was she so blind that she could not see I expended 10x the effort on the kitchen that it would have taken to wheel the trash can down the driveway?! Could she not take a few steps, turn around, and see that Mr. Clean made a visit to her favorite room in our house, her kitchen?! I couldn’t hold it in any longer. In a spew of wounded self-pity I recounted the blood, sweat and toil it took for me to clean the kitchen for her after a long day’s work of my own. I asked why she couldn’t just be grateful I had taken the time to try and serve her. I told her I would not get the trashcan until she would at least recognize that I tried to do something nice for her. And she very smoothly and gently spoke words to me that pierced my insides like a knife through hot butter: “Did you clean the kitchen for me or for you?”
Like a gong, Paul’s words reverberated in my mind: “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit…” She was right. I cleaned the kitchen for me, not for her. I did my good deed in hopes to receive praise, reward, and accolade for me. I was trying to climb the husband-ladder. I was serving myself by serving her. That’s not love. Love serves the other for the sake of the other. Love isn’t selfish. Love is humble. Love is self-forgetful, even self-sacrificing. How do I know?
It’s how Christ loved us. It’s the next several verses of this same chapter. He is the supreme example of self-forgetfulness for the sake of love. He took the form of a servant for you and me. He bore our cross and carried our curse for us. And Paul tells us to have His mind as we go about our doings for others—to do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility to count others as more significant that ourselves.
1 Clap your hands, all peoples!
Shout to God with loud songs of joy!
2 For the Lord, the Most High, is to be feared,
a great King over all the earth.
8 God reigns over the nations;
God sits on His holy throne.
Erin Golangco served at PCPC as the Director of Small Groups. She is a graduate of the University of Oklahoma, and she will soon graduate from Covenant Theological Seminary. She is married to Paul, and they have two daughters.
Empty hands clap better!
1 Clap your hands, all peoples! Shout to God with loud songs of joy!
The Psalmist calls the people together to clap their hands and shout joyous praise to God. It is a corporate call. This is one of the wonderful things about Sunday worship. The praise of the Lord is magnified when we praise Him together, as one Church and one body with one voice.
But often our praise is fettered due to selfish preoccupation. Even on Sunday, do we feel freedom to sing with a loud voice, or is our song subdued as we are concerned about what we sound like, or distracted by the person next to us, or mentally overwhelmed, rehearsing all the days' worries rather than rehearsing the goodness and steadfast love of the Lord?
If our hands are full of burden and our fists are clenched with that which we seek to control, how then are we to clap our hands? And how do we shout to God with loud songs of joy when our mouths are full of anxious words that stem from anxious thoughts (or proud, angry, insecure, etc)?
We gain freedom when we empty our hands of cares, control and future concerns before His throne. Our thoughts can be trained so that our mouths sing praise. God is with us; He loves us. We have limitless reason to praise Him. We not only have His faithfulness in our lives that invites praise, but we have all of Scripture as a hymnbook, meant to inform our thoughts and instruct our hearts in worship.
Fear of God begets praise.
2 For the LORD, the Most High, is to be feared, a great King over all the earth.
We praise God because we fear Him. Biblical fear produces holy terror and awe-inspiring love in us, if we rightly view God as He has revealed Himself.
However we often wrongly conceive God's character. We see Him not as He is—glorious and commanding, steadfast, and loving—but in small and powerless terms. A.W. Tozer observes:
"…Left to ourselves we tend immediately to reduce God to manageable terms...we want a God we can in some measure control...We need the feeling of security that comes from knowing what God is like, and what He is like is of course a composite of all the religious pictures we have seen, all the best people we have known or heard about, and all the sublime ideas we have entertained."
But is that how God is revealed Himself to us in Scripture? A low concept of God does little to stir up worship; instead, it breeds a casual indifference to Him and His commands, entitlement to our wants and desires, and enforces a stubborn pride.
To fear God is to behold His glory. The face of Jesus shines such that the brightest of days is shamed. When the beloved disciple saw Christ, he fell down as though dead in awe at the sight of Jesus' holiness (Revelation 1:17). This is our God. Scripture declares that God is not within our control, but a mighty God, ruling over all creation, whose majesty causes us to bow before Him as He is "high and lifted up, who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy, [who says] I dwell in the high and holy place, and also with him who is of a contrite and lowly spirit" (Isaiah 57:15).
In the midst of a culture of wealth, status, self-sufficiency, and cushion on every side, do we feel our neediness against the backdrop of His holiness? Or is the very barrenness of our souls deceptively imperceptible due to the many layers of insulation we keep around us as we try to control our lives? When was the last time you sat still before Him in awe?
He is seated. It is finished. His holy throne is over all.
8 God reigns over the nations; God sits on His holy throne.
As we behold Him, He transforms us (2 Corinthians 3:18). We see Jesus seated on the throne. His seat reminds us that His finished work on the cross and His resurrection completely paid for sin and gives saving life to all who call on Jesus in faith (Hebrews 1:3, Romans 10:13). His throne endures forever and is over all nations and all things. It is a holy throne, a throne of grace. And all that is ordered from His throne for us is good as He is trustworthy and true.
We can worship Him because we know Him and His great saving, rescuing, enduring love. The love of God frees us from self-love and cultural comfort to praise and obey Him. We can say, in conformity to Christ's example, “not my will, but Yours be done” (Luke 22:42).
As we lay down our agenda and plans before His throne, we gain the gift of empty hands so that we may more freely and fully praise His holy name. We can follow Him where ever He leads us, singing along the way in joyful refrain, “Thy way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be; Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me” (Bonar). We surrender our lives to the risen, reigning King, Jesus Christ, the conquering One who loved us and gave Himself for us (Galatians 2:20).
He is on the Throne. We are not. Amen!
Now the rabble that was among them had a strong craving. And the people of Israel also wept again and said, “Oh that we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt that cost nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
In the passage above we find God’s people well on their way to the Promised Land. Between their experience of God’s presence at Sinai, and on the cusp of entering into Canaan, we have a few stories, which are a portal into the kind of people God calls His own. Led by their taste buds and stomachs, the Israelites are aching for something else other than manna. Manna was the daily reminder for God’s people that He would provide as He promised. But for the Israelite diet, it had become boring to taste, obnoxious at sight, and repulsive knowing that the next meal would be the same. Perhaps visions of succulent lamb, fresh fish, sweet melons, and robust herbs flooded their minds while they munched away on manna every day, three times a day, with no break to the culinary monotony. God’s people had had enough, and the dreams of food that “cost nothing” actually broke out into conversations and audible complaints towards Moses and then, God.
“What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of life?” Have you ever heard such a phrase? Spoken it yourself or hidden such a thought in the depths of your soul? I believe we find ourselves thinking or saying such things in the midst of hurt, whether mild or great. Once the thoughts begin, it can be hard to shut down. The wheels in our minds turn and we envision a better life. We explore those thoughts–“This is not how life should be,” become, “I hate my life right now,” soon followed by, “God screwed this up when He took me down this road.” Between the place of pain and healing, a few pitfalls are ever present along the journey. And the pitfalls, make no mistake, are deadly. Pitfalls such as self-pity, bitterness, resentment, envy, and rage are likely, however envy is the most dangerous. Envy seems harmless, but left unchecked, gives way to isolation and darkness.
Envy wants to kill your soul. Envy has us look around and see what everyone else possesses or is in the process of attaining. Paychecks, cars, notoriety, significant others, homes, jobs, friends and social esteem. Envy is a balance ledger that always has us looking at the assets in someone else’s column and always seeing the shortcomings in our own. Envy has us thinking what it would be like to be someone else, and when that happens the consequences almost at once are severe. The mere taste for some fish, a few vegetables and a couple of roots have the Israelites wishing they were still slaves beaten under the Egyptian sun while they created centers of power and control, for a wicked ruler. The Israelites in this story wish to rewind the clock, and to be their former selves. The envy of their previous life has driven them to madness. Who would dare enter into a life of slavery for a few moments of pleasure?
Christian philosopher Jeff Cook notes that exile is always a result of envy. This cause and effect has been at the center of human history and began with our first parents. Adam and Eve envied that which alone was God’s. They pursued what they thought was a better life by another route, and in doing so Adam and Eve were exiled along with every person born away from God and the life He desired for His creatures. In our story, the Israelites envied part of their former life; interestingly enough their sin has given them a selective memory. Ironically, the Israelites wish to enter back into exile, to leave God in the desert and return to Egypt. Instead of letting His people head back to their own destruction, God in some ways gives them exactly what they want and it kills them (Numbers 11:33). Envy operates under the notion that we know better than God, and that is misery.
What delivers us from envy? Gratitude is the place to start, but is not the end. Gratitude is and can be a discipline, as Henri Nouwen says, “It [gratitude] is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.” Gratitude is not always spontaneous, but can be a measured response to all of life simply because everything we receive in life–great and small–is a gift (1 Corinthians 4:7). Nouwen goes on to say that gratitude can be a conscious choice even when we are hurting, when we do not feel like being grateful and our hearts are full of resentment. To practice gratitude is a choice. But gratitude is a response, or posture, to something even greater: trust. Trust, the confidence that God will keep His promises, is a hard thing. In their travels to the Promised Land it was probably a hard reality to look around and see barrenness, but only to hear that a land of milk and honey would soon be found. In the middle of a desert, little to sustain life and little sign of it, God was calling His people to trust Him because over the horizon was a life far greater and better for them. But instead of trusting the promises of God, the Israelites, and we too, believe the lie. The lie that God has withheld something better from us, the lie that God did not get our lives right, the lie that God truly does not love us. To believe the lie keeps us in the darkness, to believe the lie keeps us in exile, to believe the lie keeps us away from God.
This is certainly never the end! In our own exile, just as in the Israelite exile, God brings His people back to Himself. God actively searches, rescues and restores His people to the joy of life He knows we need. God sends His Son to tell us that the life we truly want, we truly need, the abundant life is not one in which God withholds, but freely gives us through Jesus Christ.
Sources
Cook, Jeff. Seven: The Deadly Sins and the Beatitudes. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 2008.
Nouwen, Henri. The Return of the Prodigal Son. Image Books: New York, 1994.
“In everything, therefore, treat people the same way you want them to treat you, for this is the Law and the Prophets."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The memory is probably emblazoned most vividly onto the collective consciousness of baby boomers. Hollywood westerns filled imaginations and fueled endless renditions of cattle rustlers, horse chases, and men who apparently never missed with a Colt .45 revolver. Even today, the theme song from Bonanza sparks nostalgia among the middling bunch who count themselves not yet old but emphatically no longer young.
In almost every television series of that genre—and in no small number of movies—some nefarious villain in what we might call a counterfeit scam would dupe the good guys. After the requisite horse chase and gun battle, the punch line would be delivered. Cello music and a close-up would signal the impending denouement. “Why Marshal, that there is fool’s gold! It’s worthless.” They’d been had. All the effort was for something that looked valuable but really was only a bag of shiny rocks.
Near the end of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus makes a remarkable statement. It is so often referenced and so well known that even non-believers can quote The Golden Rule. And while it makes for a memorable sound bite, we often substitute a different idea entirely for what the Lord really meant. And we, like the hapless marshal, have struggled to gain value from the wrong gold—from the fool’s gold of selfishness masquerading as biblical truth.
If we are honest, do we not often apply this profound summary of scriptural teaching as though what it really says is, “Do unto others so that they will do unto you?” We read the text and behave as though the Lord is pointing to some divinely ordained quid pro quo, and so our motives become self-serving and self-seeking. When the “others” do not come through on the bargain, we puff up with pride or anger. Both are worthless to grow in righteousness.
Well, how do we unlock the treasure chest of Matthew 7:12? What is the real gold of the Golden Rule? What is the key?
Notice how the verse begins. The Lord says, “So…” That means the Golden Rule is a conclusion. It is the finish to what has just been said. And what is that?
Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him! Matthew 7: 7-11
The gold of the rule is that those who abide in Christ have all they need from their Heavenly Father. And because of that, we are free to love those around us with a love that has no hidden agenda and no fear. We love because we have first been loved, and it is in the very “doing unto others” part that the Gospel in us shines out from us.
So indeed, whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them because you have received the treasure of God’s love in Christ. The true gold is already yours.
What gain has the worker from his toil? I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, He has put eternity into man's heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end. I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil—this is God's gift to man.
Chad is originally from Tennessee, and a graduate of the University of Tennessee. He earned his Master's degree from Covenant Seminary (St. Louis, MO) and served for several years as RUF Campus Minister at Southern Methodist University before becoming a Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has recently accepted the call to be the Senior Pastor at Covenant Presbyterian Church in Nashville.
Work is frustrating.
“What gain has the worker from his toil?”
The word for “toil” in the Hebrew here covers more than simply work. It suggests intensive labor, trouble, and even suffering. In other words, the assumption imbedded in this introductory question is that our work is fundamentally broken.
Experientially, this probably comes as no surprise. We know that work is frustrating. Even when our work is going well, we never quite feel at rest in it. The Bible tells us that our work is frustrating because it’s cursed. It tells us that because of our rebellion at the dawn of time, God declared, “Through painful toil you will eat…all the days of your life” (Gen. 3:17).
In other words, no matter your task list this morning, or what new job offers soon come your way, or what profession you ultimately choose, you will not like all your work some days or some of your work all days. It is not true, as the old saying goes, that if you find a job you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.
According to the Bible, even the best job, the best career, the most compatible work is inherently frustrating and painful. And there’s no easy answer for it. We cannot dodge the frustration.
We are part of the problem.
“I have seen the business that God has given to the children of man to be busy with. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also, he has put eternity into man’s heart, yet so that he cannot find out what God has done from beginning to end.”
This is a confusing section, but here is a basic paraphrase:
It seems that most of what God has given us to do is busywork. Much of our work seems dull, trivial, and perhaps even pointless. But God is beautifying it all—yes, even spreadsheets, e-mail exchanges, and loads of laundry. All of our work belongs to Him and lives on connected to the glory of His eternal purposes. However, God has left us in the dark. Limited by time and yet longing for eternity, we cannot see how the two dimensions are joined. God has hidden the details of how our daily work connects to enduring beauty and significance.
The implicit moral imperative, then, is that we must work in faith, trusting God with what we cannot see. We must do all of our work in light of God’s promise to make it beautiful, resisting the urge to move through life as though our work and worship are unrelated. Just because the connection is hidden does not mean that it’s absent.
God is at work in our work.
God takes broken work and broken workers and sanctifies them both, making them beautiful in time. What does this mean for us?
1. Enjoy your work as a gift, not as a god.
“I perceived that there is nothing better for them than to be joyful and to do good as long as they live; also that everyone should eat and drink and take pleasure in all his toil – this is God’s gift to man.”
Your work is God’s grace to you. It is not a distraction from what you’re really supposed to be doing, nor is it simply a means for increased wealth or leisure.
But consider what often happens to the gifts God gives us. Instead of receiving them as gifts, we idolize them as gods. For example, we end up belonging to our work instead of our work belonging to us.
Only the good news of Jesus has the power to change this relationship significantly. In Christ, we are no longer the summary of our own work. Instead, we become the summary of Jesus’ work. In Christ, we are no longer defined by our performance but by His performance. The Bible tells us that we are either defined by our work or by God’s grace, and it is only by God’s grace that we can actually enjoy our work as a gift and not a measuring stick of our self-worth.
We are called to enjoy our work, but we can only begin to do so if the work of Christ is the place of deepest identity for us. Our worth must be rooted in His love for us, not in our own performance, even for Him.
2. Do your work well. Take care of the gift.
“…be joyful and do good.”
Doing good means that there is a moral component to your work. You are responsible, not for knowing how your work connects to God’s purposes, but for doing your work well— faithfully, lovingly, and competently.
The next time you are tempted to complain about your work, thank God for it instead. Treat it as a gift. Do it as well as you can.
3. Trust that God will make your work beautiful in its time.
Once again, this is the message from our passage. God takes the glorious ruins of our hearts and our hands, the tedium of our lives, and He forms it into beauty.
If you don’t think this is possible for you and your work, then consider the cross. The cross was the climax of Jesus’ work. It was His purpose, what He came to do. And yet, the cross is nothing less than an instrument of failure and death.
But God turns it into something beautiful.
If God can turn an instrument of failure and death into a piece of jewelry now, and into the center of His Kingdom for all eternity, then He can do something significant for your ordinary work today. He can make your work beautiful in its time. Enjoy it. Do it well. Do it in faith. Do it with thanksgiving.
“…praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
I was sitting in the barber's chair getting my hair cut when Operation Desert Storm began in 1991. I knew that a war had begun in Iraq because I was watching it on TV. It was that strange combination of razor-sharp scissors and laser-guided bombs. I watched with fascination as cameras on fighter jets and missiles captured the destruction of various targets on the opening night of the war.
Technology has changed the way we experience war, but not war's primary strategies. What were those pilots trying to accomplish at the beginning of the war? The news anchors told us that the first objective was undermining and destroying the Iraqi army's communication system. And the reason is obvious: if units can’t communicate with each other, if soldiers are cut off from their commanding officers, they can’t fight effectively. War is so intense that constant communication is essential. Both sides in a conflict want to cut off their enemy's lines of communication.
In Ephesians 6, Paul makes it clear that we are in a battle. "For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places" (6:12). Because of the intensity of this spiritual battle Paul reminds us that our own weapons are not sufficient for the fight. "Therefore take up the whole armor of God, that you may be able to withstand in the evil day" (6:13).
But how do we stay aware of this battle? And how do we take up the armor of God? We can easily forget the final words of Paul's battle plan. He writes that Christians should be "praying at all times in the Spirit, with all prayer and supplication" (Eph 6:18). Prayer is not the pastime of some spiritual elite; it is the privilege of every believer in Jesus Christ. And that privilege was hard won: Jesus lived, died, and rose again so that his people would enjoy an unbreakable union with him and perpetual access to him. Prayer is our vital line of communication to the Lord himself. In the midst of the battle of our life, how are these lines of communication holding up?
I recently reread C.S. Lewis' Screwtape Letters. This fictional work is framed around the concept of an established demon (Screwtape) writing letters to a novice (Wormwood) explaining how to tempt patients (humans) and keep them from the Enemy (God). Not surprisingly, prayer is a theme to which Screwtape often returns. “The best thing," he writes, "where it is possible, is to keep the patient from the serious intention of praying altogether." Satan's attacks are like laser-guided bombs aimed at our communion with God in prayer. Should we be surprised that prayer can be more duty than delight, more struggle than strength?
Technology has changed the way we experience spiritual warfare, but not the war's primary strategies. There was a time when smart phones and social media weren't the things keeping us from prayer, and there will be a day when they are replaced with something else. But the struggle is always the same: the Lord invites us to a life of prayer in his presence, and the enemy will do whatever he can to keep us from that life. Samuel Chadwick writes, “The one concern of the devil is to keep Christians from praying. He fears nothing from prayerless studies, prayerless work and prayerless religion. He laughs at our toil, mocks at our wisdom, but he trembles when we pray.” Have you ever considered what it might look like or sound like to pray prayers that make the devil tremble?
The good news is that prayerlessness should never get the last word in a Christian's life. The key to the battle is not trying harder to win a fight that’s too big for us. The key is looking to Jesus, who has already lived the perfect life of prayer and defeated the devil decisively. As we look to Jesus, we are reminded that the Holy Spirit indwells believers so that the power and presence of Christ are not just a nice idea, but a lived reality. In Christ, we have everything we need to protect the lines of communication that are essential for the battle of the Christian life. And as we grow in prayer, the Lord intends to bless our communion with him and build his kingdom at the same time.
Where are we in relationship to this battle? Are we oblivious, not even realizing there's a battle raging all around us? Are we sitting in a barber's chair, not sure whether to be entertained or terrified by what's unfolding before our eyes? Or are we engaged, connected to our King through what John Piper has called “the wartime walkie-talkie” of prayer? Are we more and more aware of the Lord’s overarching victory and continuous provision as we wrestle in prayer? Or have we left the front and gone AWOL? "No soldier gets entangled in civilian pursuits, since his aim is to please the one who enlisted him" (2 Timothy 2:4). As the battle rages, do we know the Prince of Peace? Do we know that when we come to him and say, “Lord, teach us to pray,” he gives us an answer, and he even gives us himself?
But Moses said, “The people among whom I am number six hundred thousand on foot, and you have said, ‘I will give them meat, that they may eat a whole month!’ Shall flocks and herds be slaughtered for them, and be enough for them? Or shall all the fish of the sea be gathered together for them, and be enough for them?” And the Lord said to Moses, “Is the Lord's hand shortened? Now you shall see whether My word will come true for you or not.”
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Several weeks ago, my wife and I took our two-year-old daughter to the beach for the first time since she’s been able to walk. I was not sure how she would respond to the sand and the waves. Excitement? Nervousness? Paralyzing fear? Some children are terrified by the vastness of the ocean, its waves, and the creatures that live in it (thanks to Finding Nemo’s shark, Bruce, and the Little Mermaid’s villain, Ursula…among others) but not our little girl. Brynn loved the sand, the shells, the waves; she was virtually fearless. She was even strangely fond of the recurrent birds circling overhead, waiting for her small hands to fumble goldfish or PB&J or yogurt-covered raisins. At one point, she demanded I try to catch a bird. Being a good father, I obliged. I’m sure you can imagine the scene—a barefoot father running back and forth leaping in the air with outstretched arms, trying to grab a bird as my daughter giggled, demanded another try, pointed, and giggled again. She couldn’t understand why the birds were so hard for me to capture. They were just out of my reach. How do you explain our physiological differences except to say that Dad’s arms were too short? She wanted a bird, but my arms couldn’t make it happen. I was willing but clearly unable.
This disconnect is similar to Israel’s situation in the wilderness except “Dad” is quite different. Never before that day had Brynn seen her father catch a bird. My arms had always been too short. But Israel! O Israel! She had witnessed her Father exceedingly willing and abundantly able to provide. She had witnessed the strength and length of His arms through the plagues, at the shore of the sea, with the manna falling from the sky in the wilderness. Time and time again, His arm proved long enough and swift enough and strong enough to deliver them and provide. And every time, the provisions were exceedingly above what they imagined. Every insurmountable foe—whether it be Pharaoh or hunger—had been surmounted. Yet here they are again—led by their deliverer Moses—questioning the power and reach of God. Can His arms provide what His people need?
There is a similar story in the New Testament about Jesus feeding more people than any reasonable person (or disciple) would think possible to feed. Five loaves and two fish for 5,000 men, not including women and children? Impossible. Again the question resounds: can His arms provide what His people need? And yet we are told as the wait staff cleared the tables that “they all ate and were satisfied, and they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over” (Matthew 14:20).
Of course His arms can provide what His people need. Bread from the sky? Meat in the wilderness? Bread and fish for thousands? Not a problem for our God; His arm is long, and His heart is wide. Satisfaction for your starving soul? Yes! His arm is able and wiling for you, today.
What might be troubling you this day? Do not let life make your God into a feeble father trying to capture birds with shortened arms. Instead, be aware that our trials are temporary and His arms permanent. We doubt, grumble, and question, but God’s arm is not too short; neither has it been shortened. His outstretched arms can provide what His people need. His outstretched arms have provided what His people needed most. His arms bore our sins on the tree so that we might die and yet exceedingly and abundantly live. His arms suffered the curse of sin for us that we might exceedingly and abundantly inherit the promise of blessing. His arms burst the bonds of death and the gates of hell that we might exceedingly and abundantly taste newness of life. Though our perspective tends to be shortsighted, His arms never fail to be out-stretched.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers.
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And they went to a place called Gethsemane. And He said to His disciples, “Sit here while I pray.” And He took with Him Peter and James and John, and began to be greatly distressed and troubled. And He said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death. Remain here and watch.” And going a little farther, He fell on the ground and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from Him. And He said, “Abba, Father, all things are possible for You. Remove this cup from Me. Yet not what I will, but what You will.” And He came and found them sleeping, and He said to Peter, “Simon, are you asleep? Could you not watch one hour? Watch and pray that you may not enter into temptation. The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.” And again He went away and prayed, saying the same words. And again He came and found them sleeping, for their eyes were very heavy, and they did not know what to answer Him. And He came the third time and said to them, “Are you still sleeping and taking your rest? It is enough; the hour has come. The Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners. Rise, let us be going; see, My betrayer is at hand.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
How would we trace the story of urgency in Peter’s life? We could follow him from the shores of the sea, where he labored to catch fish, to the roads of Caesarea Philippi, where he passionately declared, “You are the Christ!” (Matthew 16:16). We could follow him from the Garden of Gethsemane, where he tried to thwart Jesus’ plan, to the streets of Jerusalem, where he told the religious leaders, “We cannot but speak of what we have seen and heard” (Acts 4:20). We could follow him from the moment that he laid down his nets to the moment that he laid down his life. Through all the ups and downs, we would see a man who learned that “the end of all things is at hand,” a man who invites us to “be self-controlled and sober-minded” for the sake of our prayers (1 Peter 4:7).
Peter was passionate, but passion can be misdirected. Like Peter, our urgency is often tainted by self-interest and self-preservation. But by God’s grace, passion can also be redirected. As He did in Peter’s life, the Lord wakes us up to the glory of His person and purposes. Our self-centered urgency begins to fall asleep as a Christ-centered passion awakens. If urgency reflects priority, Peter’s life reminds us that the Lord is always realigning our priorities to reflect the centrality of Jesus Christ and His mission. The question is: Are we open to that kind of process, to having our priorities challenged and changed?
If we traced the story of urgency in our own lives, what would we see? How do our priorities shine through in our sense of urgency (or lack thereof)? Are we awake to the glory of Christ and the priority of knowing Him and making Him known? Or are we distracted by the urgency of good but not ultimate concerns: finishing school, doing our job, finding a spouse, maintaining a home, caring for children or parents? Have secondary concerns so consumed us that we are numb to our primary calling to abide in Christ? As we nod off into a spiritual slumber, do we even recognize the voice of the tempter? Brothers and sisters, watch and pray. Consider the One who resolved to go to the cross, even as His best friends fell asleep. Remember the One who rose from the grave, even as His best friends lost hope. Remember the One who is coming again, even when we lose our urgency. Jesus knows our struggle and loves us. Jesus prays for us and has the power to awaken us. Watch and pray.
Kari received her Master’s in Biblical Counseling from Dallas Theological Seminary in 1997 and spent four years in private practice as a counselor. She has been the Director of PCPC Women for the past 15 years, where she loves serving women of all ages and and stages of life. Kari loves being with family and friends, and while God has given her many talents, "accessorizing" is certainly close to the top of that list.
Not long ago at a family gathering, I happened upon an endless version of the game “Peek a Boo” with a toddler. Over and over and OVER again I put a scarf over her little head and said, “Where did Lucy go?” Then I’d yank the scarf off to her gleeful shrieks and reply, “There she is!” The giggles and the fun lasted for longer than I thought possible for a game to continue with a baby.
What made Lucy giggle so profusely as she participated in this game is that she was learning something called “object permanence”. It is the developmental process that allows children to understand that an object continues to exist when it can’t be seen, touched or heard. Prior to this stage, in the first few months of a baby’s life, they think when an object is “out of sight”, in their minds, it ceases to exist! So when Lucy couldn’t see me, she just thought in her tiny toddler mind, “she’s not gone, she’s right there and boy howdy that is hilarious!”
Object permanence is very important because it gives us the ability to understand that objects that we may have never seen in our lives actually exist. For example, I’ve never been to France nor seen the Eiffel Tower, but I know that it exists even though I’ve never physically seen it. Throughout our childhoods as we become adults, object permanence moves from the physical to the abstract as we gain more experience with the world around us. And, by God’s grace, it lays the foundation in our brains to develop faith in the triune God. We can know, by faith, the One who we have not seen physically, but we can be sure He is with us. In Christ, He is our ultimate permanent object. Some of my favorite verses that teach us this truth are:
“My presence will go with you and I will give you rest.” (Exodus 33:14)
“Just as I as I was with Moses, so I will be with you.” (Joshua 1:5)
“Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I feel from Your presence? If I ascend to heaven, You are there; If I make my bed in Sheol, behold, You are there.” (Psalm 139:8-9)
“…I am with you always, even to the end of the age.” (Matthew 28:20b)
“I will never leave you nor forsake you.” (Hebrews 13:5b)
Yet, the reality of my life and I would suspect yours too, is that sometimes, I don’t feel God is near. Loneliness creeps in and I feel left out, forgotten, marginalized. For years, I thought my experience with loneliness was because of my singleness. Yet I know now, that loneliness comes to those surrounded by family and people that love them too. It could be your particular loneliness comes from being in a difficult marriage, struggling with a chronic illness or perhaps a stressful career that really, so it seems, no one really understands your world. It seems to me that the summer heat this time of year just seems to exasperate the notion, “Who really cares?” and “Does God really care?” “Does He know I’m feeling alone and forgotten; just an extra player in this game of life?” We end up feeling like a toddler with a scarf over our heads wondering “Where is God in my dark aloneness?”
Loneliness tempts us to find comfort by escaping through activity, or shutting yourself off from the world or drowning our sorrows in food or drink, or my personal favorite: cruising the mall on Saturday nights. It’s easy to give in to despair and resentment, to stop reading the Bible or praying. But none of these leads us to lasting peace. What does lead to peace is something Amy Carmichael wrote about in her poem, “For In Acceptance Lieth Peace”. Our loneliness may not go away, but it can be accepted as God’s will for today and that turns it into something beautiful.
Recently I had an ugly bout with loneliness, all of my familiar temptations to doubt and escape swirled around me. I did not feel God’s presence. All I felt was the dread that the loneliness had returned and that it would only get worse in the days ahead. By God’s grace, I know now that I have to practice His presence. So, I opened my Bible and read it, listening for the Word He had for me. It came! I prayed and thanked the Lord for being the One who would never leave me or forsake me. He gave me peace. The very next day God sent me a surprise of His love in the mail, something only He could do in His perfect timing. It was a quarterly magazine from the seminary from which I graduated. On the back was a graphic of a tree, rooted in Christ Jesus, with its branches filled with names of single men and women who have furthered God’s Kingdom throughout church history. To my utter amazement, in the far right branch I saw my name. Underneath the graphic was written the verse, “Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother.” (Mark 3:35). God was shouting clearly to me, “Kari, I love you, I’ve got you right where I want you, now let’s move on…we’ve got more to do here.” I giggled! He’s not out of sight, He’s present. He is our ultimate permanent object!
Therefore, as you received Christ Jesus the Lord, so walk in Him, rooted and built up in Him and established in the faith, just as you were taught, abounding in thanksgiving.
See to it that no one takes you captive by philosophy and empty deceit, according to human tradition, according to the elemental spirits of the world, and not according to Christ. For in Him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in Him, who is the Head of all rule and authority.
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
Dietrich Bonfoeffer wrote that, “Christianity means community through Jesus Christ and in Jesus Christ.”1 The Church of Jesus Christ is a community of believers united together as they are united to Christ. Christian community is only intelligible in so much as it is founded in the blood of Christ, “that a Christian needs others because of Jesus Christ.”2 What this means is that I am called to be in community with other believers in Christ Jesus because we are mutually united to the same Christ Jesus. The same Christ that dwells in me also dwells in my Christian brothers and sisters. In this sense, my personal redemption is not personal at all, but rather shared in our mutual comm-union with Christ.
The concept of our mutual comm-union with Christ is central to Paul’s understanding of the Gospel and the Christian life. Paul uses the phrase “in Christ” over 100 times in the New Testament to describe the community of Christ and our union with Him. And in many ways, this is the central theme of Paul’s letter to the Colossians. In Colossians 2:9-10, Paul says, “For in Him the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily, and you have been filled in Him, who is the Head of all rule and authority.” In these verses alone, there is so much encouragement for the community of Christ. First, we notice that in Christ dwells “the fullness of deity.” Simply put, God is found completely and wholly in the bodily person of Christ. All the attributes and abilities of God then are complete and full in Christ’s character and ability. For the Church of Christ, this mirrored image means that Jesus is to be esteemed above all others; He alone is Savior and God. He is to be worshipped and honored, and the whole of our lives should be completely oriented around Him. Ultimately, we cannot fully know God apart from our knowledge of Jesus Christ.
Next, Paul goes on to say that we ourselves have been filled in Christ. This directly speaks to our union with Christ as He dwells fully in us. All that He has in His provision and resources as the manifestation of God is now ours also. Therefore, the Church of Jesus Christ is never wanting for anything as our only true satisfaction is found solely in the fullness of Christ that fills each and every one of us who is united with Him.
Lastly, Paul tells us that Christ is the “Head of all rule and authority” over the Church. The concept of Christ’s headship is essential to our understanding of community in Christ for, “it may be said that no aspect of Christ’s relationship to the church looms larger in Holy Writ than the fact that He is its Head.”3 There are two primary aspects to Christ’s headship over the Church: His authority over the Church and His provision for the Church as His own Body.
With regards to authority, Christ is to be exalted as King of Kings and Lord of Lords over the Church. That is to say, Christ is our King, and we are His subjects. We pledge our allegiance to Him and to no other. He governs His Church through the authority of His Word and Spirit. This concept was the battle cry of the reformers who sought to appropriately align the authority of the Church under the authority of Christ by His governance through the Word. Paul clarifies in Ephesians 2:20 that the Church is “built on the foundation of the apostles and the prophets, Christ Jesus Himself being the cornerstone.” The true Church of Jesus Christ is found where His word is faithfully preached as authoritative and sufficient for instructing the whole of Christian life.
With regards to provision, Christ is the organic builder of the Church. Christ is the Head, and the Church is the body. This aspect is later described in Colossians 2:19, that the Church should hold fast to Christ, the Head, “from whom the whole body, nourished and knit together through its joints and ligaments, grows with a growth that is from God.” There is an intimate connection between Christ and His Church; this is our union with Christ. There is no life for the Church outside of Jesus Christ. In fact, it can be said without reservation that the Church cannot truly exist apart from Jesus Christ.4 He is its architect, its builder, and its sustainer. He is the architect in the sense that the Church is His vision and His design. He is the builder in the sense that the Church is founded and formed by the work of Christ. It is not made with brick and mortar but with the body and the blood of Jesus. And He is the sustainer in the sense that the Church finds all provision and continued existence in the perpetual mediation of Christ as our Savior and High Priest.
As Jesus says in the Gospel of John 15:5, “I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in Me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing.”
Endnotes:
1 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, Trans. By John W. Doberstein (San Francisco: Haper Collins, 1954) 21.
2 Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Life Together, 21.
3 R. B. Kuiper, The Glorious Body of Christ (Carlise: Banner of Truth Trust, 1967) 91.
4 R. B. Kuiper, The Glorious Body of Christ. 94.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation.
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
For two millennia, the Christian Church has wrestled with its place in culture. Over the years, many Christians have held to a sectarian view of the Church. Sectarians believe that culture is hostile to the purity of the Church and should be avoided. This type of Christianity is marked by the strict boundaries often seen in fundamentalism. Others have understood the relationship between Church and culture to be quite the opposite. Syncretists believe that the Church should be accommodating to culture. In their view, there is no separation between the sacred and the secular. The Emergent church movement has most recently exhibited this kind of thinking. Emergent or fundamentalist, syncretist or sectarian, it is clear that the tense relationship between the Church and culture remains just as relevant now as was 2,000 years ago.
I have found 1 Peter tremendously helpful in my own life as I struggle to live as a Christian in a changing culture. Vital to Peter’s understanding of Christian living in the midst of culture is the notion that the Church is a people. Peter writes in verse 9 of chapter 2, “But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of His own possession.” Peter’s description of the Church is astounding. Drawing from a host of Old Testament references, Peter ascribes terminology to the Church that was once reserved for Israel, God’s chosen people.
In 1 Peter 2:9, Peter first describes the Church as “a chosen race.” Taken from Isaiah 43:20, the word “race” refers to a people of common ancestry. Within the context of Isaiah, that ancestry is the line of Abraham, the people of Israel. But, within the context of 1 Peter 2:9, that ancestry is attributed to Jesus Christ. To be a Christian is to be a part of a new race, a new people of God.
Peter then goes on to describe the Church as “a royal priesthood” and a “holy nation.” These phrases are taken from Exodus 19:6. The phrase “royal priesthood” identifies the Church as a community of priests who now devote their lives and their service to the true King, Jesus Christ. The phrase “holy nation” describes the Church as a community that has been set apart to live differently in the way they conduct themselves. This distinction is rooted in Peter’s earlier command in 1 Peter 1:14-18, “As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as He who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct.”
The last phrase Peter uses to describe the Church in verse 9 is “a people of His own possession.” While similar wording can be found in both Exodus 19:5 (a proper people) and Isaiah 43:21 (My people whom I have acquired), this phrase is most intimately linked with Peter’s words in verse 10, “Once you were not a people, but now you are God’s people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.” Verse 10 is the capstone in Peter’s description of the Church of Jesus Christ. In verse 9, Peter ascribes the attributes of Israel to the Church. In verse 10, Peter implies that the Church is a fulfillment of the ancient prophecy found in Hosea 2:23, “And I will have mercy on No Mercy, and I will say to Not My People, ‘You are My people’; and he shall say, ‘You are my God.’” This is what is so amazing about the Church of Jesus Christ. We are faithless adulterers who constantly turn our backs on God, yet He is faithful where we are faithless. He sent the Bridegroom, Jesus Christ, to redeem His bride, the Church.
Of all the ways the Church is described in 1 Peter 2, perhaps the most pivotal is found in verse 11. Peter writes, “Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul.” Peter refers to the Church as “sojourners” and “exiles.” Peter is essentially saying that to be Christian is to be different. So different, in fact, that Christians are like foreigners who have taken up residence as refugees in society. Yet how are we to understand the difference between Church and culture? Our identity as Christians in a secular culture is rooted in our union with Christ. We are sojourners because Jesus Christ was the ultimate sojourner. We are exiles because He was the ultimate exile among His own people, who rejected Him and condemned Him to die on the cross. It was He who was the real Chosen One, the ultimate Royal Priest, the true Holy One. As a people united with Christ, the Church then is a chosen race, a royal priest hood, and a holy nation. Our Christian difference is found only in our identity with Jesus Christ: our serving found in His servanthood, our suffering found in His suffering, our hope found in His death and resurrection. Redeemed, we are sojourners in a culture in need of redemption.
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time he may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on him, because he cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to his eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
God rested. Let’s slow down for a second. GOD…rested. One more time. God…RESTED. Have we ever wondered “Why?” Why would God rest after finishing the work of creation (Genesis 1:31-2:3)? Almighty God rested to rejoice in the goodness of all that He had made. That would be reason enough, but what if there’s more? What if God didn’t rest because He needed it, but because He knew that we would? At creation, God established a rhythm of work and rest for our good. When Moses shared Genesis and Exodus with the Israelites—freshly delivered from slavery in Egypt—they would have jumped for joy to learn about a day of rest. Why does God’s gift of rest not seem like a gift to many of us? Rest forces us to pause from the work that often defines us. It invites us to be a human being instead of a human doing. Rest knocks us off the throne and asks us to consider Who should really be there.
Do we rest? At the beginning of a new season, many of us already feel it—the pace quickening, the anxiety growing, the exhaustion coming. We think we’re falling behind if we can’t do everything and be everywhere. The temptation is to work harder and to do better. Friends, can we see the impact of this battle in our lives? Do we remember that we have an enemy who is real, who “prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour” (1 Peter 5:8). Do we realize that we are someone? God’s word consistently reminds us that a spiritual battle is never won with human strength. Translation: Our work and our weapons are not going to win this war. So what will? It sounds crazy, but here’s the answer: rest. Peter says, “Humble yourselves under the mighty hand of God” (1 Peter 5:6). James says, “Submit yourselves…to God” (James 4:7). Both writers highlight a strategy that seems counterintuitive. In order to move forward, we need to slow down. In order to get up for this fight, we need to get down on our knees.
Christians bear that name because they rest in the finished work of Jesus Christ. Christianity is not first about what we will do for Christ. It is first about what He has done for us in His life, death, and resurrection. Christianity is not about us trying to win the victory. It is about what Christ has done—“It is finished!”—to win the victory for us. So often our struggles in the Christian life flow from trying to work for something that is already ours in Christ. His care is ours in Christ (1 Peter 5:7). A secure identity is ours in Christ. The fellowship of believers throughout the world is ours in Christ (1 Peter 5:9). His grace to restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish us is ours in Christ (1 Peter 5:10). His nearness is ours in Christ (James 4:8).
Do we rest? As another season dawns, the Lord invites us to rest in the finished work of Christ. How do we do that? When we spend time alone with the Lord in His Word and prayer; when we gather with His people in corporate worship; when we come to table; when we connect with other Christians to grow in grace. As we rest in Christ together, He will form us more and more in His image, and He will give us grace to stand firm and resist the devil (1 Peter 5:9; James 4:7). Rest, resist, repeat.
Lord, as we start another fall, we humble ourselves under Your mighty hand, and we cast all our anxieties on You, because You care for us. Give us grace to rest in You together, to resist the devil together, and to learn to repeat this rhythm together. As we rest in You, make us steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, for we know that in You, our labor is not in vain.
Long ago, at many times and in many ways, God spoke to our fathers by the prophets, but in these last days he has spoken to us by his Son, whom he appointed the heir of all things, through whom also he created the world.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
How do you get to know someone? These days, we might be prone to give an answer akin to, "Well, we hang out." A seemingly antiquated answer would be the familiar response of, "I would spend time with them." But if we parse those thoughts a bit, what we actually do to get to know someone is to listen carefully as they speak, and watch carefully how they behave. We would know them through their conversations and their actions. Hanging out or spending time or "doing life together" always involves this double observation of words and deeds.
It is precisely this truth that begins the sermon that is the Book of Hebrews. God wants to be known. He is neither hidden nor silent. And he knows us so well that he gives us exactly what we need to know him. He acts in observable, powerful, memorable ways and he speaks in a language we can understand.
But here's the remarkable thing about God's communication. His actions and His words are always consistent. Unlike you and me, God's words and deeds are never at odds with one another. God's works and God's words are eternally true and eternally inseparable.
God spoke creation, and that tells of His glory. God acted to bring the Israelites out of Egypt. God spoke His law to Moses, and acted to make His name known among the nations. God gave His message to His prophets that they would tell of the wonders of His love. The book of Hebrews starts by reminding us of these truths.
And then, right there at the beginning of the sermon, we learn something breathtaking. From eternity past for eternity to come, the central truth of God's communication to all of humanity is Jesus Christ. Everything that God had said and done before was preparing for the clear, resounding word and deed message that Christ is the agent of creation and the Lord of creation. Hebrews tells us that Christ is the center point of history, the consummation of God's speaking and acting, and the way that we know God most fully.
What does that mean for you and me today, when we seek to know God and our inboxes are filled with newsfeeds about black holes and warps of the time/space continuum? When we hear of wars and rumors of wars, of cyclones and cyber attacks, of splitting atoms and splicing DNA?
It means come to Jesus. Rest in Him, because knowing Jesus is how we get to know God best. And we understand the creation much, much better when we know the Creator.
He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. For by him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things were created through him and for him. And he is before all things, and in him all things hold together. And he is the head of the body, the church. He is the beginning, the firstborn from the dead, that in everything he might be preeminent. For in him all the fullness of God was pleased to dwell, and through him to reconcile to himself all things, whether on earth or in heaven, making peace by the blood of his cross.
Colossians 1: 15-20
He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Most of us are familiar with the saying, “Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.” This proverb has been circulated for well over a century, and is attributed to Lord Acton, but the idea behind it is as ancient as humanity itself. While this narrative may be true for most humans entrusted with power, the book of Hebrews reminds us that it is absolutely not true for Jesus.
Hebrews begins by affirming that Jesus has absolute power. The author describes Jesus as the Son of God, the heir of all things, the creator of the world, the radiance of the glory of God, the exact imprint of God’s nature, the one who upholds the universe by the word of His power, the one who sits at the right hand of God, and the one who is superior to angels (Hebrews 1:2-4). Taken together, these descriptions not only reveal Jesus as having absolute power over humanity and earthly powers, but over everything in the visible universe and in the invisible spiritual realm. Indeed, there is nothing outside of Jesus’ absolute power.
With such a strong opening, we might assume the book of Hebrews would go on to give threatening commands for us to fear, obey, and honor this divinely authoritative and sovereign Jesus. Perhaps the author would recount how Jesus will use His power to subdue and finally defeat all of His and our enemies on the last day. But that is not the picture of Jesus that Hebrews emphasizes and celebrates.
The amazing thing Hebrews reveals about Jesus is that He used His absolute power not to exalt Himself, but to humble Himself; not to provoke us to fear Him, but to convince us to trust Him. The author tells us Jesus used His absolute power in shockingly selfless ways.
• Jesus used His absolute power to enter into His creation, being made “lower than the angels…so that by the grace of God He might taste death for everyone (Hebrews 2:9).”
• Jesus used His absolute power to be “made like His brothers in every respect…to make propitiation for the sins of the people” (Hebrews 2:17).”
• Jesus used His absolute power to become “a great high priest” who is able to sympathize with our weaknesses so that we could “draw near to the throne of grace (Hebrews 4:14-16).”
• Jesus used His absolute power to become the one who “endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God (Hebrews 12:2).”
While absolute, the power Jesus possesses was never corrupt and never selfish; it was always perfect and self-sacrificial. Jesus’ great power is a gracious power.
What does this mean for us?
It means we can be confident that nothing is outside of Jesus’ gracious power. There is nothing on earth or in heaven, nothing visible or invisible, nothing material or spiritual, nothing past, present, or future over which Jesus does not exercise absolute power. And when the circumstances of life are difficult, disorienting, and disappointing for us, we can rest in the reality of Jesus’ absolute power.
And it means we can be comforted that Jesus’ gracious power is a force for our good. In response to our sin, Jesus has not cast us off in judgement; in His grace He offered Himself as our perfect and permanent sacrifice (Hebrews 9:26). And in response to our weakness, Jesus has not scoffed in superiority; in His grace, He sympathizes and offers help at His “throne of grace (4:16).”
So today, and every day, let us be a people who look to Jesus our powerful King and gracious Savior, who in joy endured the cross for us (Hebrews 12:1-2).
Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution, how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation?
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
What would it be like to hear for the first time—to experience the original revolution of interpreting pressurized time (sound is pressure over time in the form of a wave) as audible meaning? The memory is lost to the mystery of life in the womb for most, but it is a remarkable transformation witnessed by a few. “Hearing” by Ryan O’Neal is a beautiful song inspired by the overwhelming wonder those with cochlear implants experience at hearing sound for the first time. This composition awakens the imagination to the transformative energy of hearing that most of us take for granted. Likewise, the writer of Hebrews amplifies the power deep-listening gives for attuning our lives to the magnificence of Jesus—“We must pay much closer attention to what we have heard” (Hebrews 2:1).
What have we heard? The author of Hebrews proclaims that there is a God who has spoken powerfully through His Son, Jesus (Hebrews 1:1-4). The call is to listen deeply to the greatness of the salvation secured by Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection. Eugene Peterson echoes this with his words, “Preaching is proclamation, God’s word revealed in Jesus, but only when it gets embedded in conversation, in a listening ear and responding tongue, does it become gospel.” Therefore, paying attention is the acquired posture for living in an active relationship with Jesus in daily life amidst the subtle current toward apathy and rip tide of sin.
We must pay much closer attention to God than the inner chatter of ourselves or the outer shouts of the news, marketing, and entertainment. Our technological society with its smart phones and social media subversively teaches us to listen with our eyes and fingertips as much as with our ears. We do not need leave the world to listen to God (though a silent retreat can help), but we enter into the world through our work and relationships prayerfully attentive to God’s voice. Even the word vocation comes from the Latin word vocare meaning to call. Vocation then is not just a job to get a paycheck, but a life lived in response to what we have heard from the one who calls.
I had teacher onetime who said, “One of the greatest gifts we can give someone is their story back . . . you have to listen to do that.” Listening is a gracious skill acquired over time through God’s word (the Bible), with his people (the church), in delighted relationship (prayer), and loving service (obedience). The gift of life with God now and forever is by living confidence (faith) in the remarkable love of God revealed in Jesus. We must pay much closer attention to what we have heard in the Gospel to experience the transformative power hearing gives for life in relationship with Jesus.
Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution, how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation?
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Drifting is subtle. The driver just glances at her phone, not realizing that in two seconds she could be colliding with oncoming traffic. The college freshmen just wants to be accepted, not imagining that in two months he could be doing things that would have shocked him two years ago. At first, drifting is subtle, but eventually it is surprising. “That will never happen to me!” gives way to “How did I end up here?” Drifting is like auto-pilot, but one day we wake up and scream, “Who’s flying this thing?” Drifting is like the Lazy River, but one day we wake up and wonder, “Where’s this current taking me?” By the time we wake up, we’re often far from home.
Drifting is serious. What’s true when we’re in the car or on the campus is just as true when we are in Christ. In Hebrews 2:1 we read, “Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it.” The Lord Jesus Christ “is the radiance of the glory of God” (Hebrews 1:2) and has done everything necessary to save His people, and yet we can still neglect “such a great salvation” (Hebrews 2:3). If the Lord is calling us to pay much closer attention to what we have heard, how can we do that? What would it look like for our intensity to match the danger of drifting away?
As God’s people, we need to realize the crisis. When we hear God’s warning sirens, we can’t be like those who hear of a great storm and ignore the threat. Waking up to the danger means asking the Lord to reveal to us the subtle ways that we are drifting. When we are drifting away from meaningful time in God’s word, from vital connection to the body of Christ, and from living for His kingdom, we are drifting somewhere. So where are we drifting? To what communities are we turning to find a place to belong? To what “gospels” are we turning to find life and salvation? And what kingdoms are we building? Drifting doesn’t feel like a crisis. An obsession with family or school or work or sports or possessions or influence doesn’t feel dangerous. But it is these things—often some of the best things in our lives—that cause us to drift away from Jesus Christ. And since they’re so good, we hardly notice.
If the Holy Spirit helps us to realize the crisis, the next step is simple: run to Christ. We run to Jesus with full confidence that He will graciously receive us and gradually renovate us. We run to Jesus by seeking to abide in Him each day, by opening His word and praying that He would help us to live in it and under it. We run to Jesus by seeking to live openly and honestly with His people. We demonstrate our dependence on Him by welcoming people into our lives who can help us pay much closer attention and not drift away. As we own our need for other people, we also discover that they actually need us, too. We run to Jesus by reminding ourselves that we don’t exist to build our own kingdom, but to extend His! The most impressive of our kingdoms is a sandcastle compared to the kingdom that Jesus is building. He longs to free us from fear and to welcome us into a life much bigger and better. “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the kingdom” (Luke 12:32).
How are we tempted to drift away this week? By God’s grace, how will we pay much closer attention to what we have heard? With confidence in His love for us, we can be honest about the crisis we’re facing. With confidence in His power within us, we can run to Him and rest in such a great salvation.
Therefore we must pay much closer attention to what we have heard, lest we drift away from it. For since the message declared by angels proved to be reliable, and every transgression or disobedience received a just retribution, how shall we escape if we neglect such a great salvation? It was declared at first by the Lord, and it was attested to us by those who heard, while God also bore witness by signs and wonders and various miracles and by gifts of the Holy Spirit distributed according to his will.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The signs are always there. Usually there are even red flags sticking out of the top. When the drowning victim is found, it's clear that he must have walked right past. Surely he must have seen the signs with the red flags and the big letters. "DANGER! RIPTIDES! SWIM AT YOUR OWN RISK."
Riptides are those nearly invisible, sinister currents that flow away from the seashore. They are too forceful to swim against, to outrun, or to dive under. The victims become exhausted, trapped in the current, and silently sink below the waves. They drift into open water, only to wash ashore later somewhere along the beach. Tens of thousands of vacationers are rescued every year, but more than one hundred aren't. And then come the questions, muttered through the anguish of tears and turmoil. "Why did he go in there? Why did he try it?"
The sermon that we know as The Book of Hebrews warns us about the dangers of drifting away to our spiritual death. The preacher makes clear that there are signs and witnesses and warnings that we must heed. And we must pay even closer attention if we find ourselves pulled away by things we barely see.
The riptide of culture sometimes drowns even those who have known the fellowship of the church. Paul tells Timothy , "For Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica." (2 Timothy 4:10a) For us, the cultural undertow pulling against the things of Christ often endangers us before we realize how far we have drifted.
The riptide of acceptance can exhaust our efforts to be on guard. We long to swim with everyone else, to be known as part of the crowd, or to be the leader of the crowd. We reason, "These people are so nice, so well respected, I'll paddle about with them for a bit." And then you find yourself adrift, far from your spiritual moorings.
The riptide of wealth is perhaps the most dangerous of all. Jesus explicitly warned of it. "Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” (Matthew 19:24) And Paul had stern warnings as well, like signs with red flags, "But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs." (1 Timothy 6:9-10)
So in the whelming flood, what can be done? What must we do? We must cry out to the Lord. It is the promise of Scripture that he can hear our cries above the crash of the waves. He can reach us in the surf, and in his embrace we rest and are carried to safety. He can rescue us. He can save. And it's always true that those who really understand how they were rescued, how they were pulled from certain doom, are always more careful, always more alert near the dangers of the sea.
For it was not to angels that God subjected the world to come, of which we are speaking. It has been testified somewhere,
“What is man, that you are mindful of him,
or the son of man, that you care for him?
You made him for a little while lower than the angels;
you have crowned him with glory and honor,
putting everything in subjection under his feet.”
Now in putting everything in subjection to him, he left nothing outside his control. At present, we do not yet see everything in subjection to him. But we see him who for a little while was made lower than the angels, namely Jesus, crowned with glory and honor because of the suffering of death, so that by the grace of God he might taste death for everyone.
For it was fitting that he, for whom and by whom all things exist, in bringing many sons to glory, should make the founder of their salvation perfect through suffering.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Glory is the dazzling brilliance love gives in adoring relationship. It engulfed me at the sight of my bride walking through the church doors on our wedding day and overwhelmed me at the birth of our children. At these moments the veil between heaven and earth pulled back just enough for a glimpse of God’s deeper reality that engulfs the world we see. The writer of Hebrews pulls back the curtain further to let in the light of the the blazing granduer of God in Jesus who has died, is risen, and will come again to restore his people and place to glory.
The text evokes the glorious origin of creation and human beings by quoting from a delighted praise found in Psalm 8. This psalm poses the question: “What is a human being?” The answer is remarkable: “You made him a little lower than God and crowned him with glory and honor” (v. 5). Genesis 1-2 reveals that all human beings are made in the image of God and given kingly authority to administer God’s rule and priestly responsibility to mediate his blessing (Genesis 1:28, 2:15). “Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. . . . So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created them male and female” (Gen 1:26–27, ESV). Being made in the image of God, the imago dei, is the astounding truth that in all the glory of the heavens and the earth God uniquely cares for human beings (Psalm 8:4). Personhood is the craftsmanship of God’s life evoking artistry.
The beauty of this reality poses a serious challenge in light of experience. Clearly something has gone terribly wrong such that what human beings and the world were created to be is not what they have become—“we do not yet see everything in subjection to him” (Hebrews 1:8). The betrayal of basic trust in God’s goodness is the cancerous condition of human beings in broken relationship with God, one another, and creation. Injustice, violence, and fear run rampant in blatant and subtle ways. If we are honest, the evil we so clearly see “out there” (culture) can be found “in here” (the heart). We look in the present to Jesus by faith who was coronated with glory and honor because of the suffering of death (Hebrews 2:9). As the rising sun meets the darkest night so the radiance of the glory of God entered the darkness of death and illuminated a new day in risen glory.
Our vocation is the way of Jesus in long-suffering love with hope of glory beyond all comparison. C. S. Lewis states, “Meanwhile the cross comes before the crown and tomorrow is a Monday morning. A cleft has opened in the pitiless walls of the world, and we are invited to follow our great Captain inside. The following Him is, of course, the essential point.” We live into this daily tension by doing what needs to be done with the character, knowledge, and skill we have today in the Spirit’s power with confidence in God’s glorious kingdom. Jesus, the man fully alive, entered death on the cross that we may by confidence in Him become a living glory to God now and always.
For he who sanctifies and those who are sanctified all have one source. That is why he is not ashamed to call them brothers...
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Of the many things that help deepen relational bonds with other people, a shared experience is one of the most powerful. For children and youth, relational bonds are often deepened through the shared experience being in the same class at school, or playing on the same team, or going on the same mission trip. For adults, relational bonds are often deepened through the shared experience of going to the same college, working in the same vocational field, or participating in the same small group.
But those common, everyday instances of shared experience pale in comparison to the more intense, immersive shared experience of suffering. Consider the bond formed by cancer patients in a treatment room, or by soldiers in battle, or a family gathered bedside in the moment of death. The shared experience of suffering is a strong relational adhesive, powerfully bonding those who endure it together.
Compared to other historic faiths, the Christian faith is unique in suggesting that human beings have a shared experience with God. In Hebrews 2, the author highlights how God the Son, Jesus Christ, voluntarily and humbly condescended to enter the shared experience of being a human being. In being made “a little lower than the angels” (Psalm 8:5; Hebrews 2:9), Jesus is not merely above us, but with us; not merely with us, but like us; and not merely like us in general, but like us in every way. What a wonder that Jesus knows what it is to live in a body, to learn, to sleep, to be in a family, to work, to pray, and to experience all that it means to be human! Even while we were not physically present with Jesus during the days of His earthly incarnation, this shared experience nevertheless establishes a deep and powerful relational bond with our Savior. This bond enables Him to be merciful and faithful in His relationship to us (Hebrews 2:17), and it enables us to be confident and intimate in our relationship to Him (Hebrews 4:16).
But our shared experience with God goes deeper than the experience of being human. In Hebrews 2, the author repeatedly and dramatically reminds us that the ultimate purpose of Jesus being human: redemptive suffering. Just as no experience of humanity is complete without the experience of suffering, so too Jesus’ experience of humanity included the sharing of our experience of suffering. He shared our experience of suffering spiritual and moral temptation (Hebrews 2:18), and ultimately He shared our experience of suffering physical death (Hebrews 2:9). But Jesus did not share in our experience of suffering merely to “taste our sadness” (as Charles Wesley put it in his hymn, “Come Thou Long Expected Jesus”). Jesus shared in our experience of suffering to our terminate our sadness. As the author of Hebrews put it, He chose to “taste death for everyone” in order to defeat Satan and redeem us as His people (Hebrews 2:9-10).
In the end, our shared experience with Jesus does not merely provide a strong relational adhesive, bonding our hearts to His and given us a sense of consolation that God knows us. Those are powerful truth to be sure, but the truths run even deeper. Our shared experience with Jesus does not merely provide a strong relational adhesive, but an unbreakable spiritual union that is perfect and permanent. In being made like us, Jesus has restored us to the Triune God now and forevermore. And so we love Him not only because He is like us; we love Him because He has first loved us by suffering for us.
I love Thee because Thou hast first loved me,
And purchased my pardon on Calvary’s tree;
I love Thee for wearing the thorns on Thy brow;
If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus ‘tis now.
William Featherstone, “My Jesus, I Love Thee” (1864)
He brought me out into a broad place;
He rescued me, because He delighted in me.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Either my wife is really good at rescuing animals, or they are really good at finding her. Scarcely a month goes by that Ann doesn’t come home with the latest Story of Rescue: Animal Edition. It’s uncanny. Once she stopped traffic on a busy residential street in Dallas to form a team and corral a dog. Another time she rescued a bird from impending doom. And there was just last week when Ann found a kitten trembling against the curb several streets from our house. As far as Ann could tell, someone dumped this kitten. No one in the area recognized him. His paws were pristine as if he had been inside. There he was, left for dead, and there was Ann, ready to rescue. Little did the kitten know that being found by Ann is like winning the lost animal lottery.
We spent a couple days looking for the kitten’s original owner and pursuing a loving home for him. As outside options fell through, inside our house the situation was changing. Ann was crazy about the kitten, our son Will couldn’t stop saying “Hi, kitty cat!” and I even started to like him. (Our dog wasn’t so sure about the whole thing.) Long story short, we decided to keep the kitten. Milo is ours now, and though animal rescues are not the biggest thing going on in the world today, this story has given me a window into the great story that shapes our lives as Christians.
In Psalm 18, David remembers the perilous place he was in: “The cords of death encompassed me; the torrents of destruction assailed me” (v. 4). King Saul was out to get David, and his life was hanging in the balance. Sometimes on the run, sometimes confined, David could always sense the danger Saul posed. But the Psalms remind us that David always knew that he could cry out to the Lord, and the Lord would answer. David writes, “He brought me out into a broad place; He rescued me, because He delighted in me” (v. 19). The reality of the Lord’s rescue usually gets the headlines, but I want to focus on the rest of the story. What does it mean to live as one who has been rescued?
When the Lord rescues us, we find ourselves living in a new world, even if our circumstances don’t really change. From a life of running or a life of confinement, the Lord brings us out into a broad place. The walls were caving in on us, but now the air seems fresher and the skies bluer. We experience a new atmosphere, but also a new affection. We are in danger of missing the wonder of our redemption when we focus on the what of the cross without remembering the why. If we ask, “What did Jesus do to rescue us?” we can answer that question. We might even be proud of our answers. But ask, “Why did Jesus do it?” and our words fail. We struggle to get to the bottom of it. Why? “Because He loved me.” Why? “Because He delighted in me.” Why? “Because that’s just the way God is.” Why? “I don’t know, but isn’t it amazing?”
Since we rescued Milo the kitten, I’ve loved watching his response. He has every reason to be terrified—past trauma, strange people, new house, energetic toddler, and suspicious canine—but from the moment Ann brought him home, Milo has been comfortable. He was probably hours away from getting hit by a car or taken by a coyote, but now he is in a whole new atmosphere. He’ll play like a kitten, but then he just wants to curl up on someone’s lap. I’ve seen plenty of cats. I know they can be into themselves, but Milo seems different. He wants to be where we are. He has an affection that just makes me wonder: Does he realize the distance between where he was and where he is now? Does he know he was rescued? He looks out our back door when it’s open, but he has no interest in going out there. Does he remember his old life and have no desire to go back? Maybe I just want to think that. Maybe it helps me justify keeping a kitten. Regardless of what Milo knows, I love the story. Whenever I see him, I remember that he was rescued. We rescued him because we delighted in him and wanted him to be ours.
If you don’t like cats, this story surely sounds crazy and impractical. But remember—this really isn’t about cats. Milo’s story reminds me of the great story. There’s a God who rescues people because He delights in them, because He wants them to be His. How crazy and impractical does that sound? Through the work of Christ, the Father rescues us from a death we deserve and adopts us into a family better than our wildest dreams. “He rescued me.” Is that your story? “He brought me out into a broad place?” Is that your atmosphere? “He delighted in me.” Do you know His affection? And if you do, don’t you want the Lord to use you to bring His rescue to others?
“Travelin’ man, travelin’ man, got no home, got no plan;
just an old worn out heart in my hand.
Travelin’ man, travelin’ man, I’ll get there any way I can.
I’m just an uninspired, tired-out travelin’ man.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Those lonesome lyrics are from a little-known Stevie Wonder tune crooning about traveling. And there are others. In fact, we could probably all participate in a lengthy “sing-off,” and come up with scores of songs about wandering, or traveling, or moving on. You know you know them. Take a second right now and sing one out loud. It’ll surprise the folks around you! Even Johnny Cash penned such a lyric.
I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
I'm traveling in this world of woe
Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger
In that fair land to which I go
I'm going there to see my Father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home
The Scriptures speak often of the same theme, the same journey, the same longing. There is something in us that longs for home, longs for rest. Yet we live together “in this world of woe” knowing that the home we seek still lies ahead of us, still beckons us on. In his letter to his churches in the days of increasing Roman persecution, Peter calls believers to live out their identity as travelers, as sojourners.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation. 1 Peter 2: 9-12
Now if we think about it, every journey has three parts. There has to be a leaving, a departure. Then, there’s that part in the middle, the “On the Road Again” part. (Go ahead, sing it!) And at last, the getting there.
This is the lyric of salvation. In His mercy, God calls us to leave. He said that very specifically to Abraham, remember? Then, He called His people out of Egypt. And Jesus called those Galilean fishermen to leave the lives they had known for generations, and things would never be the same. He calls us the same way. Jesus calls us to leave the old ways of trusting in ourselves, of surrounding ourselves with sinfulness, of doing it “My Way.”
The Lord also calls those who are His to travel well, by traveling with Him. In every case, the promise of God is the presence of God. Before God tells Abraham about the Promised Land, He tells him to begin the journey. The Israelites were called first into the desert to assemble in the presence of God. God led them there; He sojourned with them. So He does with us. We live our lives in the presence of a merciful heavenly Father who dwells among His people as we travel onward.
And we too, united with the faithful saints of old, look toward that destination at journey’s end. We seek to live faith-filled lives now, always remembering that we travel toward a place of enduring rest. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. (Hebrews 13:14)
And so we journey on. We do not wander aimlessly; we do not journey in vain. But in Christ, led by the same Holy God that was seen as a pillar of fire, we travel onward toward the place prepared.
And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:2-4
That’s where we’re headed. Thanks be to God!
Therefore, as the Holy Spirit says,
“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion,
on the day of testing in the wilderness,
where your fathers put me to the test
and saw my works for forty years.
Therefore I was provoked with that generation,
and said, ‘They always go astray in their heart;
they have not known my ways.’
As I swore in my wrath,
‘They shall not enter my rest.’”
Take care, brothers, lest there be in any of you an evil, unbelieving heart, leading you to fall away from the living God. But exhort one another every day, as long as it is called “today,” that none of you may be hardened by the deceitfulness of sin. For we have come to share in Christ, if indeed we hold our original confidence firm to the end. As it is said,
“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts as in the rebellion.”
For who were those who heard and yet rebelled? Was it not all those who left Egypt led by Moses? And with whom was he provoked for forty years? Was it not with those who sinned, whose bodies fell in the wilderness? And to whom did he swear that they would not enter his rest, but to those who were disobedient? So we see that they were unable to enter because of unbelief.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
“Listen to my voice!” “Listen to it!” These were the words shouted as darkness surrounded me. It was a last-minute decision by my father to take me and my younger brother hunting late one afternoon. This was not abnormal for our family to go late in the day; deer can be quite active at dusk. My father had placed me and my younger brother at different spots on the large tract of hunting land to improve our chances of bringing home a deer. Before my father left me, he instructed that he would come for me at some point so, “Do not leave or move until I come back.” As afternoon became evening and the sun continued to sink deeper and deeper into the earth, I wondered, “Where he is?” and “Has he forgotten about me?” As a young boy in the wilderness and surrounded by pitch-black darkness, anxiety and fear abounded.
The author of Hebrews, a pastor who is very concerned for the souls of his congregation, shares with his people a warning from long ago. A church of Jewish people would be intimately aware and knowledgeable about their history as God’s people. A history filled with disobedience and rebellion against God, but a past filled with God’s deliverance of His people. The nation of Israel stood on the edge of entry into the Promised Land. They had endured so much, but only because the God who brought them through the wilderness had delivered them from their trials. As they stood looking at a land of milk and honey, one final test stood before them: a land filled with mighty warriors and great cities inhabited the land, would God help His people conquer these inhabitants? Essentially, would God keep His promise? In a fit of angst, fear, and ultimately disbelief, Israel did not trust God’s Word and would rather return to Egypt. Their disbelief led to more wandering in the wilderness. Despite evidence of God’s provision and protection in the past, Israel’s disbelief was their condemnation. They refused to listen and believe God’s Word.
The pastor sees an eerie similarity between the history of the Israelites and his congregation. The pastor’s congregation is on the precipice of rebellion. They have come to be deceived by sinfulness. Instead of harkening to God’s Word and trusting God’s promises, this congregation is tempted to return to old ways and patterns of religiosity from their past. The author of Hebrews warns his church to not commit the same error as their forefathers: do not turn back, do not harden their hearts to God’s Word, but have confidence in God’s Word and His promises.
And, yet, this is our own temptation. Do I really trust God? Is His Word trustworthy? This was the assault that the Serpent launched in the Garden at Adam and Eve, “Did God really say?” The attack was a questioning and undermining of God’s Word. What Adam and Eve, the nation of Israel, the house church in the book of Hebrews, and we today struggle to believe is that God is faithful and true. Rather than having confidence in Him and remembering His works, our hearts are prone to illusions of safety, comfort, satisfaction in lesser things whether they are people, possessions, jobs or career goals, education, social status, or schools. The act to place our confidence in anything other than God is rebellion. And the continual, willful act hardens our hearts to the sensitivity of the sin.
The author of Hebrews pleads with his congregation to not only listen out for God’s voice, but to trust it and obey it. Any disobedience – ultimately disbelief – that persists creates a callousness encapsulating the heart from the tender prick of God’s Word. It is grace to hear His voice and to respond, and to disobey is a long, slow death – a hardening of the heart. As struggles, trials, and temptations stand before us, the question remains, will we trust that God is true and faithful? Will God preserve me in the midst of my struggle and pain? Or will I look for someone or something else to relieve me of the struggle, pain, and hurt? Will I hear and respond to God’s Word in faith? Or, will I remain determined to outsource my salvation?
As darkness continued to loom around me, off in the distance I heard dried leaves crunching and fallen branches snapping. My fear surged even more. “Was it a deer? A coyote?” I wondered. But then, to my delight and relief, my father’s voice rang out, “Are you there? Are you okay? I’m here now.” “Yes, I’m here!” I replied. My father then issued instructions: “Walk towards me. Listen to my voice! Listen to it!” As he continued to call out, I began to take careful steps towards my father’s location. Each time his voice rang out in the cold night air and with each step, my fear and anxiety subsided. He had come for me, he had kept his word, and when I was in his presence, I felt, and knew, that I was where I was supposed to be, and I was safe at last.
Therefore, while the promise of entering his rest still stands, let us fear lest any of you should seem to have failed to reach it. For good news came to us just as to them, but the message they heard did not benefit them, because they were not united by faith with those who listened. For we who have believed enter that rest, as he has said,
“As I swore in my wrath,
‘They shall not enter my rest,’”
although his works were finished from the foundation of the world. For he has somewhere spoken of the seventh day in this way: “And God rested on the seventh day from all his works.” And again in this passage he said,
“They shall not enter my rest.”
Since therefore it remains for some to enter it, and those who formerly received the good news failed to enter because of disobedience, again he appoints a certain day, “Today,” saying through David so long afterward, in the words already quoted,
“Today, if you hear his voice,
do not harden your hearts.”
For if Joshua had given them rest, God[b] would not have spoken of another day later on. So then, there remains a Sabbath rest for the people of God, for whoever has entered God's rest has also rested from his works as God did from his.
Let us therefore strive to enter that rest, so that no one may fall by the same sort of disobedience.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
As the reverberating squall of our newborn daughter filled the hospital room, my wife gently responded with comforting tenderness, “Hi baby. Momma’s here. I love you.” The voice of motherly affection once muffled by the womb met our daughter’s freshly minted ears with distinct clarity. I witnessed in wonder our daughter stop crying as she looked in recognition toward her mother. This kind of security a newborn child has in her mother’s care is like a signpost to the deep soul rest basic trust gives in God’s loving presence. Hebrews 4:1-11 is an invitation to enter in.
The text preaches from Psalm 95 to give a warning and encouragement to those who have heard of the remarkably good news of Jesus’s death and resurrection (Hebrews 1:1-3). Like Israel in the wilderness, there remains the danger of disbelief. God powerfully delivered the Israelite people from slavery in Egypt yet disbelief lead to disobedience and disobedience to death—“They shall not enter my rest” (Hebrews 3:11). Are our temptations that different?
I have noticed in my social circles a common response to “How are you?” is “Good but busy.” Why is that? Certainly there are many good and necessary responsibilites to give attention to in daily life, but might our ceasless activities reveal a deeper issue? I believe much of our busyness is laziness turned inside out. It is the frantic attempt to fill an unconsious void of purpose and identity through restless doing. In our culture of stressful workism and anxious productivity, one day of rest in seven is a counter-cultural act of freedom in grace. While Israel failed to enter the blessing of God’s promises, there still remains a Sabbath rest for those with confidence in Jesus (Hebrews 4:3, 9-10).
The deep well-being of God’s loving presence is a personal invitation with cosmic scope. Sabbath rest is the culmination of creation (Genesis 2:1-3) and the glorious future of the new heavens and new earth (Revelation 21:1-8). We enter God’s rest in the present not merely for me-myself-and-I but for the sake of the world. In a book titled Keeping the Sabbath Wholly, Marva Dawn states, “A great benefit of Sabbath keeping is that we learn to let God take care of us—not by becoming passive and lazy, but in the freedom of giving up our feeble attempts to be God in our own lives.” We can participate in good work with God on Monday in homes, offices, workshops, fields, hospitals, and classrooms because of the God-work we receive on Sunday. Rest is always personal but never merely private.
The ceasless wars, sicknesses, and death that plague our world leaves us longing for the true rest that can only be found in the one who said, “It is finished” (John 19:30). Jesus says, “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and lowly in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28-30). Only those who believe in Him can receive a calm and quieted soul in security. The childlike freedom to play, imagine, create, laugh, dance, and learn is given as the fruit of trust. Even when suffering comes, we are free to cry in Jesus’s loving embrace. Rest then is God’s gracious invitation to become like a child finally secure in the pleasure of the one we were created to please. As our ancestor in the faith Augustine prays, “Our hearts are restless until they rest in you.”
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone.
You have multiplied the nation;
you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
as with joy at the harvest,
as they are glad when they divide the spoil.
For the yoke of his burden,
and the staff for his shoulder,
the rod of his oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian.
For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult
and every garment rolled in blood
will be burned as fuel for the fire.
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Where would we be without the rest of the story?
“A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away.” Without the rest of the story, we’re lost in space, wondering how the drama in a distant galaxy has anything to do with us.
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Without the rest of the story, we’re left hanging, wondering why it was so good and so bad.
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood.” Without the rest of the story, we’re stuck at the crossroads, not sure where the paths lead and why we would choose one or the other.
Without the rest of the story, we have a setting, but not a story.
Imagine where we would be without the rest of the story in Scripture. A favored son is sold by his brothers into slavery in Egypt. The people of God cry out for rescue from the oppression of Pharaoh. A shepherd boy walks out to the battlefield to confront a giant. The Lord sends His people into exile in a foreign land. After speaking through His prophets for centuries, the Lord goes silent. If this were all we had, how depressing would the Scriptures be?
Christmas is the dawn of the rest of the story. For those suffering injustice, the Lord appears “to proclaim the year of [His] favor”. For those wasting away in their chains, He comes “to set at liberty those who are oppressed” (Luke 4:18). For those overwhelmed by the size of their enemies, the Lord arrives as a Champion. For those who feel far off, He draws near. And for those feeling the Lord’s silence, the Word became flesh and dwelt among us (John 1:14). The rest of the story begins in a humble manger in a modest town, but it doesn’t end there. The story unfolds like a series of mountain ranges. Just when we think we’ve reached one summit, we catch a glimpse of another mountain…and another…and another. From the manger…to the dusty roads of Palestine…to a rugged cross…to an empty tomb…to an ascension, an enthronement, and the sending of the Spirit. The track of redemption runs through the centuries, all the way to us. And if we believe what the Lord says, the rest of the story—the part we’ve yet to experience—is enough to render the sufferings of this present moment a “light momentary affliction” (2 Corinthians 4:17).
For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son…
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Have you ever wondered why most of us love the Christmas season as children, but find it more difficult when we “grow up”? The child’s hope and imagination seem powerless against the cynicism and boredom of adulthood. How many of us have thought, “Christmas used to be so meaningful and magical, but I know too much about my family or this world to get back to that place”? Knowing what we know about ourselves and this world, can we still love Christmas?
Why do most of us love the thought of caring for hard people and places in our world…but struggle to sustain that passion when we actually go? Our heart for the orphan in Africa or the slave in India burns until we get our hands dirty. We run toward a dying world, but when we see the devastation first hand, we often want to run away. Knowing what we know about the realities of injustice and the challenges of change, can we still love people when it’s hard?
Why do most of us want deep relationships…but have trouble building and maintaining them? Can we know the depths of someone’s heart and still love them? Can we let someone know and love us?
In his book Visions of Vocation, Steven Garber writes, “To know the world and still love it? There is not a more difficult task that human beings face.” If you think about the scenarios above, Garber’s analysis fits. We love Christmas with a child-like naiveté, but the more we know about ourselves, our families and this world, the more difficult that love becomes. We love the mission of God, but the more we know about the obstacles, the more we struggle to love. We love relationships from a distance, but knowing and being known makes real intimacy a terrifying proposition. To know anything and still love it is incredibly hard.
So we’re stuck. I think that if you love me, there’s no way that you could know me. And if you know me, there’s no way that you could love me. So if the Bible claims that God loves us, He must not really know us, right? The Lord doesn’t know what it’s like to live in this world. To be human. To know and still love in the midst of this mess. If not for Christmas, that might be a fair accusation. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son.” The Gift of all gifts was God giving us Himself. Christmas means that God has come…to know and love us, to be known and loved by us. Christmas means that God’s love is more than an idea or an emotion. God refused to love us from a distance. The Triune God loved us so much that the Father sent the Son to embody that love on earth. So we can never accuse God of not knowing what it’s like to be human. Christmas means that God Himself has addressed the challenge of knowing and still loving.
Steven Garber asks, “How do we see what is awful and still engage, still enter in? How can we have our eyes open to reality and understand that we are more implicated, for love’s sake, for what we see?” The answer, quite simply, starts with the Incarnation. The Lord saw what was awful in us and in the world and still engaged. What the Lord knew perfectly from heaven, He came to know experientially on earth. Jesus had His eyes open to reality and was willing to get involved, for love’s sake, to right the wrongs in the world that He made, the world that we broke. When Jesus saw us—with all our injustice, alienation, sin, and death—He did not run away. No, He ran toward us, and one day He walked toward the cross to die in our place.
If the whole story does not shock or amaze us, we’ve missed it. Jesus knows perfectly and loves perfectly. He knows you perfectly and loves you perfectly. I can’t tell you why Jesus, knowing all that He knows, still loves us. All I can do is point you to the cross, the greatest demonstration of that love. Jesus left His home to come and die in order to bring us home to God. Christmas means that God wants to know us and love us as His friends and family.
If we have been known and loved like that, it changes us. We can face the challenges of the Christmas season in our culture and still engage. We can go into our neighborhoods, this city, and the world and not shrink back from what we see. We can learn to be in relationships that reflect the reality of the gospel in our lives. Why? Because the Lord Jesus Christ knows us and still loves us. He doesn’t turn away from what He knows. For love’s sake, He enters into the great work of redeeming us. And as His people, we have the privilege of being involved in that ongoing work of redemption. The baby in the manger reminds us that God knows the world and still loves it. How might your life share that good news with the world this Christmas?
And when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they brought Him up to Jerusalem to present Him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, ‘Every male who first opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord’) and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the Law of the Lord, ‘a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.’ Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple, and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for Him according to the custom of the Law, he took Him up in his arms and blessed God and said,
“Lord, now You are letting Your servant depart in peace,
according to Your word;
for my eyes have seen Your salvation
that You have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and for glory to Your people Israel.”
And His father and His mother marveled at what was said about Him. And Simeon blessed them and said to Mary His mother, ‘Behold, this child is appointed for the fall and rising of many in Israel, and for a sign that is opposed (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), so that thoughts from many hearts may be revealed.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Imagine being Simeon that day. The Lord has revealed to you that you will not see death until you see His Christ. The Spirit leads you to the temple, and you are fully awake. You hear the sound of God’s Law being read, and you smell the aroma of sacrifices being offered. Suddenly you see a young couple walk in with their baby. And you know He is the One. You move towards the weary parents and take the Child up in your arms. He’s not walking or talking or sleeping through the night, but you know that He is the Savior of the world. Your Savior. After all the waiting, You hold your Hope in your hands. Now you are ready to depart in peace, for your eyes have seen the Lord’s salvation.
Simeon holds his Hope in his hands. What are we holding in our hands? What do we long to hold? The answer to these questions often shows up around a little word we hardly notice. It’s the word “just”. Maybe you’ve said:
“I just wish life were easier…”
“If I could just get into that job…”
“If I could just make a little more money…”
“If I could just get out of this job and retire…”
“If I could just get these people to like me…”
“If I could just find the right person…”
“If I could just get my kids to behave…”
“If I could just ______ (fill-in-the-blank).”
Our “just” gives away our real hopes and dreams. It reveals our functional god, whether it is comfort, possessions, success, marriage, or appearance. What is the crown in your counterfeit kingdom? What is the meaning in life that doesn’t really give life? If we are ultimately waiting for that, we are not really waiting for Jesus. Our hope is in something else. When the Hope of all the earth arrives, He exposes all other hopes and dreams for what they are. The conflict of Christmas means that Jesus has come to expose our sin but also to offer Himself as a true and better hope.
On this wondrous day—perhaps within earshot of temple sacrifices—Simeon warns Mary that her baby will be a sign opposed. Jesus Christ and those connected to Him will suffer. On the cross Jesus would hang as the ultimate demonstration that we oppose God, but that “sign” would also be the ultimate demonstration that God loves us. Jesus paid the price for all our godless hopes and dreams. Now he offers us the joy, not of holding Him, but of being held.
Are you holding so much that you can’t experience being held in His grip? Don’t miss God’s grace in the passage. The Spirit leads Simeon to embrace a life of waiting for the Christ. The Spirit opens his eyes to see Jesus for who He truly is. Friends, put no hope in your ability to fix your waiting or hoping problems. Put your hope in the same God who worked mightily in Simeon!
For what are you waiting? If you get it this year, will you finally have peace? Will you be ready to depart like Simeon? There’s only one Hope that will never let us down…that is truly worth the wait. Only One is worthy of our “just.” May our heart’s cry be, “Just Jesus. Just Jesus.”
And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the quarreling of the people of Israel, and because they tested the LORD by saying, “Is the LORD among us or not?”
Paul Goebel, Associate Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, hails from Waco, Texas. While he bleeds maroon and white, Paul is not just any Aggie. Paul graduated Cum Laude in Psychology. Where to next? The Ministry, of course! Our man of the cloth received his M.Div from Westminster Theological Seminary in Philadelphia and found his call at PCPC. Paul and his beautiful bride, Jenni, are parents to three adorable young girls, Anne Elise, Margaret, and Georgia.
There is nothing more basic to the Christian experience than faith and doubt. It is a dichotomy that informs our Christian understanding and piety, and it can drive us to a deeper posture of worship or a greater sense of despair. John Calvin wrote of faith and doubt,
When we inculcate that faith ought to be certain and secure, we conceive not of a certainty attended with no doubt, or of a security interrupted by no anxiety; but we rather affirm that believers have a perpetual conflict with their own diffidence, and are far from placing their consciences in a placid calm, never disturbed by any storms. (The Institutes of the Christian Religion, Vol 1. III:II:17)
What does Calvin mean by this? Simply put, that the normal Christian life is filled with little doubts that accompany our faith. The frequent storms of this life—our circumstances, our mistakes, and our sins—give us pause. But sometimes this momentary doubt lingers beyond a simple pause. Doubt gives rise to panic; panic gives rise to bitterness; and bitterness gives rise to complete and utter faithlessness. At the center of this kind of faithlessness is the ultimate fear that God is no longer present in our lives. On this side of heaven our lives are accustomed with great tragedy. And while some tragedies affect us directly and others affect us indirectly, all tragedies affect us personally. When I learned of the recent shooting in Newtown, Connecticut, my heart was filled with a mix of numbness, anger, sadness, and fear. And like so many people, these emotions led me to ask a question that is wrapped up in both faith and doubt: God where are you? The people of God have asked this question throughout biblical history.
Where is God? This is the question of doubt posed by the wandering people of Israel in Exodus 17:7: “Is the LORD among us or not?” Is God present? Is God still with us? In Exodus 17, the Bible records that the Israelites were camped in the middle of the wilderness with no water. They were tired. They were thirsty. They were filled with doubt. Their concern over their thirst caused them to question God’s provision and to ultimately question God’s presence. So they grumbled and they questioned God Himself. Their momentary doubts had become indefinite faithlessness. The final question posed at the end of verse 7 is the main theme of their story: “Is the LORD among us or not?” This question reveals the Israelites’ underlying doubt about the presence of God—a doubt that would eventually metastasize into the idolatry of the golden calf in Exodus 32. In this way, Exodus 17 is one passage in a grander narrative detailing a rebellion born of doubt in the face of the faithful presence of God. Moreover, Exodus 17 explains our own story of rebellion and it echoes our own questions of doubt. Is it not true that when faced with our own fears and doubts, we so often ask, “Is the Lord among us?”
This Christmas, we must remember that God has provided the answer to our questions of doubt. His answer is Jesus Christ. William Propp wrote that, “the question posed in Exodus 17:7 is answered by the Incarnation: Jesus is Emmanuel, ‘God-is-with-us’” (Exodus 1–18, p. 606). “Is the Lord among us or not?” This faithless question of the Israelites has been faithfully answered in the Person of Jesus Christ. Jesus is God incarnate. His name is Emmanuel, which means “God with us.” In Exodus 17:6, God commanded Moses to strike the rock with his staff and streams of water flowed in the desert. Ultimately, this is not a story about the faithlessness of God’s people, but a story about the faithfulness of God as it points to the greater Moses, Jesus Christ. In 1 Corinthians 10:1-4, Paul writes:
For I want you to know, brothers, that our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ.
Paul identified the rock that Moses struck as Christ, and urged the Corinthians neither to grumble nor put Christ to the test as the Israelites did when they doubted God in the wilderness. Jesus Christ is the Rock from which the waters of rescue flow. This revelation that Jesus is the Rock from Exodus 17 is seen by His own words in John 7:37–38: “If anyone thirsts, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, ‘Out of his heart will flow rivers of living water.’” In this way Jesus, who is God with us, is both our rescue and our provision. The Rock was Christ in that He was struck for our iniquities and bore the rod of judgment for our rebellion. The Rock was Christ in that He conquered death and rose again so that all who believe in Him would be given living water. In the person and work of Jesus Christ, God is for us what He was for the people in the wilderness—a faithfully present Savior for a faithless and rebellious people. He has answered our questions of doubt once and for all. Where is God? God is with us. For He sent His only Son Jesus Christ to take on flesh, to know our pain, and to die that we might live.
Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
For every high priest chosen from among men is appointed to act on behalf of men in relation to God, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. He can deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is beset with weakness. Because of this he is obligated to offer sacrifice for his own sins just as he does for those of the people. And no one takes this honor for himself, but only when called by God, just as Aaron was.
So also Christ did not exalt himself to be made a high priest, but was appointed by him who said to him,
“You are my Son,
today I have begotten you”;
as he says also in another place,
“You are a priest forever,
after the order of Melchizedek.”
In the days of his flesh, Jesus[a] offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence. Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. And being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him, being designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
It’s a new year…and a new decade…and “2020” sounds so much better than “2019”. Are we excited? If we’re honest, our response to a new year is often mixed. Some of us are motivated—who doesn’t welcome a fresh start? Some of us are annoyed, like the elementary student trying to figure out why she has to write a different year at the top of her paper. Some of us are anxious because we’ve tried making resolutions many times, and we never hit the target. From exhilaration to apathy, the dynamics that come with a new year are fascinating. When the sun sets on December 31 and rises on January 1, why does it feel like more than one day has passed? Why does it feel so weighty and leave us feeling so wanting?
A new year accentuates the “gaps” in our lives, the areas where we feel the distance between what is and what should be. We feel it when we step on the scale. We feel it when we log in and see our account balance. We feel it when we notice the absence of deep friendships. We feel it when we do that again. We feel it when we can’t remember our last significant time alone with the Lord. We feel it when we walk out our door and look down the street and when we turn on the TV and look around the world. What are we going to do about all these gaps? New Year’s culture packages and repackages the same strategy: make a resolution, recommit, try harder. The assumption: If we coach ourselves or find someone to coach us hard enough, we will close the gaps. And yet here we are again. It’s a new year…and a new decade. Why are we not excited?
The author of Hebrews gives us glorious good news. As helpful as coaches are, Jesus Christ is not our coach. He is our great High Priest. Jesus is not the football coach who never played the game barking orders at his players in the trenches. No, He is our great High Priest, who sympathizes with our weaknesses (Heb. 4:15). He has been in the trenches, and He experienced temptation that we will never know, and yet He stood firm. Jesus is not the cycling coach calling us to strain every muscle fiber while he rides in a comfortable car behind us. No, He is our great High Priest, who came as the greatest sacrifice the world would ever see. Unlike other priests, He didn’t offer sacrifices for His own sins (Heb. 5:3). He offered Himself—His own blood—as the sacrifice for the sins of His people. Jesus is not the trainer yelling at us as we try to set a new personal record lifting a stack of weights. No, He is our great High Priest, who took the greatest weight upon Himself on the cross. And why would He do that? Because He loved us. He didn’t want us to be crushed by the weight of our sins and our own self-hatred. He wanted to set us free to sing and dance as the beloved children of God. If we are united with Him by faith, is that our posture as we welcome a new year?
Since Jesus is our great High Priest, “let us hold fast our confession” (Heb. 4:14). Let us not tire of preaching to ourselves and to one another that our hope is not in ourselves, but in His sin-slaying, shame-shaming, death-defeating, gap-closing, forever-finished work. Let us hold fast to the reality that, united with Him, the Lord sees us as clothed, covered, and righteous in His sight. The God of all grace has closed the most important gap. So how should we understand the gaps that still exist in our lives? They are reminders that we are already new creations in Christ, but not yet what we will be in glory. They are reminders that God is calling us to become, not who we’re not, but who we are. He’s calling us to work out the implications of such a great salvation, for He Himself is working in us by His Spirit. The gaps are reminders that we always need Him. So as we begin another year, let us draw near to His throne of grace with confidence, trusting that the one who sits on the throne is not a coach but a Priest. He loved us and gave Himself for us. He sympathizes with our weakness. He prays for us. Since we have a great High Priest who closes the gaps, shouldn’t we be confident that we will receive mercy and find grace to help in our time of need?
About this we have much to say, and it is hard to explain, since you have become dull of hearing. For though by this time you ought to be teachers, you need someone to teach you again the basic principles of the oracles of God. You need milk, not solid food, for everyone who lives on milk is unskilled in the word of righteousness, since he is a child. But solid food is for the mature, for those who have their powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
The book of Hebrews contains some of the deepest and most nuanced theology in the New Testament. To be honest, it can be a hard book to read and understand! But Hebrews was written to a group of Christians for a strikingly simple and practical reason: these Christians had a problem.
But like many problems, their problem was not obvious to them. It was not something that was happening to them from the outside. Rather, their problem was something happening in them that would only be recognized if their pastor, like a skilled physician, helped them see both the symptom and the root of their problem.
From the beginning of the letter to its climax, the pastor identifies the symptom of their problem as this: they had a low view of Jesus Christ. While they trusted in Jesus, He was not the primary feature of their faith; He had become peripheral in their eyes. This is why the pastor opens his letter with such a captivating and exuberant description of Jesus as “the heir of all things (1:2)” and as “the radiance of the glory of God (1:3).” And this is why the climax of the letter is the pastor’s exhortation for them to be “looking to Jesus, the author and perfecter of your faith (12:2).” These dramatic statements are meant to transform their low view of Jesus into an appropriately high and lofty view of Jesus.
But why, precisely, did these early Christians have a low view of Jesus? What had distracted them, confused them, or numbed them to the power, beauty, and centrality of Jesus Christ in redemption and in their lives?
Throughout this letter, the pastor identifies the root of their problem as this: they were not hearing God’s Word. They were exposed to it and were hearing it with their ears, but they were not understanding it rightly with their minds, believing it rightly with their hearts, or responding to it rightly with their lives. This is why Hebrews is filled with extended quotations from the Old Testament. This is why the pastor repeatedly employs the command of Pslam 95:7, “Today, if you hear His voice, do not harden your hearts (3:7; 3:15; 4:7).” And this is why the pastor rebukes these Christians saying, “you have become dull of hearing (5:11).” The faith of these Christians was eroding because they were failing to hear God’s Word as they should.
Of course, this problem is not unique to the original recipients of the book of Hebrews. For as long as God has been speaking, His people have had problems hearing. We are highly forgetful, highly distractable, and highly inattentive creatures. And the consequence for our dull hearing is severe. The consequence is not merely knowing a little less about the Bible and its stories. The severe consequence is that we too may find ourselves with a low view of Jesus Christ. We too may be a people whose faith, hope, and love for Jesus has grown lukewarm. We too may be Christians whose light does not shine brightly before men, and who do very little to glorify our Father in heaven.
May it not be so for us! May we be a church diligent in hearing God’s Word. May we be a church delighted in the wonder and glory of Jesus Christ. And may we be a church who for the joy set before us proclaim the glories of Jesus in the Word to a world desperate to hear.
Therefore let us leave the elementary doctrine of Christ and go on to maturity, not laying again a foundation of repentance from dead works and of faith toward God, and of instruction about washings, the laying on of hands, the resurrection of the dead, and eternal judgment. And this we will do if God permits. For it is impossible, in the case of those who have once been enlightened, who have tasted the heavenly gift, and have shared in the Holy Spirit, and have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the powers of the age to come, and then have fallen away, to restore them again to repentance, since they are crucifying once again the Son of God to their own harm and holding Him up to contempt. For land that has drunk the rain that often falls on it, and produces a crop useful to those for those sake it is cultivated, receives a blessing from God. But if it bears thorns and thistles, it is worthless and near to being cursed, and its end is to be burned.
Though we speak in this way, yet in your case, beloved, we feel sure of better things—things that belong to salvation. For God is not unjust so as to overlook your work and the love that you have shown for His name in serving the saints, as you still do. And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
The way we respond to warnings reveals a lot about us. So when we hear a terrifying word like the one in Hebrews 6, how do we respond? It’s natural for us to bristle. The baby boy crawls near the electrical outlet, suddenly deaf to his mother’s cry, “Don’t touch that!” The teenage girl grabs the keys and heads for the door, rolling her eyes as her father pleads, “Honey, don’t text and drive.” In a humorous but poignant song called “Having Kids,” Dave Barnes writes,
Sometimes they’re little angels
Then they’re Genghis Khan
They think that they know everything
Then they can’t get their pants back on
We’re all capable of a “childish” response to warnings. We’re annoyed that other people think they know what’s best for us. If this is a troubling way to respond to human warnings, it’s a terrifying way to respond to divine warnings. The world partied while Noah built a boat in the middle of the desert (Matt. 24:38; Heb. 11:7). Lot’s wife looked back at the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah (Gen. 19:26). Pharaoh was playing games while the Lord was sending plagues (Exod. 5:2, 7:23). Why do we prefer to go our own way and pay the consequences instead of heeding God’s warning and avoiding the pain? Scripture has much to say about this prideful posture, but few verses knock us down as quickly as Proverbs 14:12—“There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way to death.”
What would a mature response to a warning look like? It begins with a change of perspective that only the Holy Spirit can bring. Our primary focus shifts from ourselves to the Lord. We remember that He is “the radiance of the glory of God,” “the exact imprint of His nature”, and “He upholds the universe by the word of His power” (Heb. 1:3). We remember that He is a high priest who sympathizes with our weaknesses and who offers us mercy and grace in our time of need (Heb. 4:15-16). When we remember His perfect holiness, infinite wisdom, and everlasting love, we hear His warnings differently. As the Lord turns our eyes to Him, we no longer ask, “Can you believe that the Lord would give me such a warning?!” No, with grateful hearts we pray, “Lord, You love me and want the best for me. Change my heart, and help me to respond.”
The intensity of a warning corresponds directly to the danger of ignoring it. That’s why parents remain calm when their children don’t eat their vegetables, but they run and raise their voices when the same children wander too close to the street. When Jesus says, “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven,” He is giving a terrifying warning that makes perfect sense in light of what is at stake (Matt. 7:21). There is no greater danger than spurning the Lord’s offer of life and salvation. The Lord’s warnings are like smelling salts to wake us up to reality. He desires for us to “go on to maturity”, to be like a well-watered land that bears much fruit (Heb. 6:1, 7). Like leaves on a tree, our growth is not the source of our life in Christ; it is the evidence of it. If there is no evidence of Christ’s life in us, isn’t He gracious to give us strong warnings? A mature response understands the heart behind the warning. The Lord wants us to be earnest so that we will have “the full assurance of hope until the end,” so that we will not “be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises” (Heb. 6:11-12). Friends, today if we hear His voice, may we not harden our hearts.
And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises.
For when God made a promise to Abraham, since he had no one greater by whom to swear, he swore by himself, saying, “Surely I will bless you and multiply you.” And thus Abraham, having patiently waited, obtained the promise. For people swear by something greater than themselves, and in all their disputes an oath is final for confirmation. So when God desired to show more convincingly to the heirs of the promise the unchangeable character of his purpose, he guaranteed it with an oath, so that by two unchangeable things, in which it is impossible for God to lie, we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf, having become a high priest forever after the order of Melchizedek.
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
There is no doubt that in this section of Hebrews we are being reminded of the certainty of God’s promises. But what is the point of reminding us of the promises of God? Why does the author of this sermon go to great lengths to remind us of the certainty of these promises? Is it so that we might believe them? What is the point of “a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul”? Is it only so we can have peace and comfort in the gospel?
One of my favorite promises of God in the Old Testament comes in 1 Samuel 16. In 1 Samuel 15 the Lord rejects Saul as king, but He does not remove him. Instead, the Lord sends Samuel out to anoint a new king. After examining Jesse’s children Samuel anoints David:
And the Lord said, “Arise, anoint him, for this is he.” 13 Then Samuel took the horn of oil and anointed him in the midst of his brothers. And the Spirit of the Lord rushed upon David from that day forward. (1 Sam 16)
The promise is made to David that he will be king. He has the anointing of the Lord. Think about that promise from God. He was told by God’s true prophet he would be king of Israel one day.
Given a deep trust in the promises of the sovereign king of the universe, you can see how David could walk out confidently in front of the giant Goliath. Goliath might be big and he might be scary, but he cannot thwart the promises of God. In other words, David can go to battle with Goliath knowing that he will live to be king someday. Why? Because the true and living God made a promise to David. Some giant isn’t going to kill him and stop it. Knowing and trusting the promise of God allows David to live faithfully when the rest of Israel could not.
The context of Hebrews 6 tells us that the whole point about the promises of God is so that we may not be sluggish:
11 And we desire each one of you to show the same earnestness to have the full assurance of hope until the end, 12 so that you may not be sluggish, but imitators of those who through faith and patience inherit the promises. (Heb 6)
God’s grace is amazing and his promises are a wonderful encouragement, but neither God’s grace nor His promises are meant merely to comfort us or pacify our anxieties-that would be cheap and selfish grace. Selfish because it places us at the center. And cheap because it misses the full bounty of God’s blessing and call. God’s grace and God’s promises are meant to spur us on.
We have the anchor for our soul so that we may not be sluggish. At the very least this means that as we come to know and trust the promises of God, we should examine how each specific promise is calling us to act faithfully in this moment. By doing so, we will experience the assurance that Hebrews is talking about. Or as Calvin says in his Institutes “Only if we walk in the beauty of God’s law do we become sure of our adoption as children of the father.”
This makes Jesus the guarantor of a better covenant.
The former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office, but he holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever.
Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them.
For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens. He has no need, like those high priests, to offer sacrifices daily, first for his own sins and then for those of the people, since he did this once for all when he offered up himself. For the law appoints men in their weakness as high priests, but the word of the oath, which came later than the law, appoints a Son who has been made perfect forever.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
The fourth Thursday in November every year happens to be one of my favorite holidays. Families, friends, neighbors, and acquaintances gather around a table for a delicious meal of turkey, dressing, gravy, cranberry sauce, mash potatoes, and pumpkin pie. The menu for every Thanksgiving meal in America varies, but one thing remains: the first helping is never the most filling. While the first pass on the Thanksgiving dishes lends itself to larger portions and a variety of delectables, one generally finds his or herself eventually going back for another round. The first helping isn’t always the best, complete, or perfect. A second helping is needed.1
The writer of Hebrews tells the reader about Melchizedek, a priest of the Most-High God and a king of righteousness and peace. Melchizedek, a priest not from the lineage of Levi, is a forerunner of the better Priest to come. Jesus Christ, the final and better Priest-King, ministers and reigns with righteousness and peace for His people for eternity.
While Melchizedek is a positive example, the writer of Hebrews also reminds the reader that he is not the only priest in the Old Testament. The former priests that originate from the tribe of Levi have a reputation that is less than stellar. Each of those priests have come and gone since death prevented them from doing their priestly duties for all time. They were plagued by their own sin, and with needs and struggles of their own, and unable to perfectly, completely perform their priestly duties. The first priests were not the best, complete, and perfect priests. There was a better Priest to come: Jesus Christ our High Priest, who now is seated with God the Father in all glory. Our High Priest was not only the offeror of the sacrifice, but He was the sacrifice Himself. The sacrifices of lambs and goats under the Law were first, but they were not the best, complete, or perfect. The constant offering of sacrifices would never end until Jesus Himself was the offering for our sin. The second sacrifice was better. Jesus Christ was the best, complete, and perfect offering.
In our day and time, we are consumed with being first or having something first. “If you’re not first, you’re last” so we are told by Reese Bobby. Not being first, means you are a loser, a runner-up, and never able to fully enjoy the victory. But the Bible turns worldly-wisdom and desires on its head. The better option came later, not first. The better Priest, King, and Sacrifice would come many years later after the first of those kinds. And our hearts desire for what is best, we long to have our appetites and longings satisfied and constantly seek out first options that are usually disappointments. Consider Jesus Christ, the better, more complete, perfect and best. Only in Jesus will our longings, desires, and satisfaction be ultimately fulfilled.
___
1This illustration is inspired from “Please, Help Yourself to Seconds” by D. Jeffrey Bingham, Dallas Theological Seminary Chapel. https://voice.dts.edu/chapel/please-help-yourself-to-seconds-d-jeffrey-bingham/
Therefore, brothers, since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that He opened for us through the curtain, that is, through His flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean from an evil conscience and our bodies washed with pure water. Let us hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful. And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works, and not neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another, and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Access. Do we have it? That’s a question that shapes our lives every day. Lack of access presents us with challenges. When we don’t have access to food, clothing, or shelter, we’re vulnerable. When we don’t have access to enjoyable and meaningful work, we’re discouraged. When we don’t have access to a group of friends, we’re lonely. On the other side, access changes our lives significantly. Imagine being the first person in your family to have access to a college education. Think about being given access to the locker room to meet your favorite player after the game. Consider the benefit of having lifelong access to loving parents. Imagine being part of a people group who finally receives access to the word of God in your own language. What should we think about someone who, when granted such access, refuses to draw near?
“I’m not going to college.”
“I don’t want to be in the locker room with my favorite player.”
“I don’t need my parents.”
“I don’t care about the word of God.”
Who shrinks back when granted life-changing access? That’s insane.
Remember, the author of Hebrews is shepherding people overwhelmed with the fear of a culture antagonistic toward their faith in Christ. As the cost of following Jesus becomes real, the prospect of cutting bait becomes more attractive. Are we ever overwhelmed by the darkness around us? Are we ever tempted to drift away (Heb 2:1), to harden our hearts (Heb. 3:7), and to “stay on the bottle” (Heb. 5:12)? When we feel these dynamics, we can be encouraged that we’re not alone. (Just read Hebrews.) But we also need to feel the urgency of these warnings. We’re basically saying, in different ways, “Lord, You’re calling me to draw near, but I think I’ll stay over here.” In the midst of fear and doubt and distraction, the Lord reminds us that we have access to Him. “Since we have confidence to enter the holy places by the blood of Jesus, by the new and living way that He opened for us through the curtain, that is, through His flesh, and since we have a great priest over the house of God, let us draw near” (Heb. 10:19-22).
Together, we draw near and remind ourselves of what Jesus has done for us, shedding His own blood that we might be washed clean and welcomed into His presence. Every Sunday is a glorious reminder that we, as the bride of Christ, have been given intimate access to the Lover of our souls. Do we realize that drawing near to God is a community project? Together, we “hold fast the confession of our hope without wavering, for He who promised is faithful” (Heb. 10:23). The enemy can pick us off one by one when we’re isolated, but when we’re united, we help one another remember our hope and His faithfulness. Do we realize that holding fast is a community project? Together, we “stir up one another to love and good works” (Heb. 10:24). A solitary spoon can only do so much stirring, but we’re a church full of spoons! Do we realize that stirring one another up is a community project?
By faith we have access to the Lord Jesus Christ…and to one another. If we’re neglecting to meet together, that looks like insanity. But if we’re drawing near, we will be eager to encourage one another, and all the more as we see the Day drawing near. Are we asking the Holy Spirit to give us courage to draw near, to hold fast, and to stir one another up?
For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence,
for my hope is from Him.
He only is my rock and my salvation,
my fortress; I shall not be shaken.
On God rests my salvation and my glory;
my mighty rock, my refuge is God.
Trust in Him at all times, O people;
pour out your heart before Him;
God is a refuge for us.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
I don’t mean quiet. We can achieve, tolerate, and even enjoy quiet. We love to go on a quiet run away from the noisy world and its worries. We love to take a long, peaceful walk by the lake. We love the idea of a quiet hike in the Rockies with nothing but the chirping of a bird or the scampering of a squirrel to break the stillness. We love the idea of a quiet autumn morning on the back porch with a cup of coffee and a favorite book or weekend newspaper. We can tolerate—and even enjoy—quiet. But silence is difficult. Quiet is the whispering wind; silence is the muggy absence of it. Quiet often creates peace; silence creates anxiety. Quiet requires seeking and discovering; silence requires waiting and surrender. Silence is empty. Silence is worrying. Silence is uncontrollable. Silence is a vacuous. Silence suggests a noise or voice is desired and expected but isn’t coming. Silence suggests the absence of something capable of responding. A desire unmet. An invitation unrequited. There is a relational feel (or absence) to silence. Silence is difficult.
In our lives, God sometimes feels quiet. That is tolerable, or if we lean in to listen and discover, even enjoyable. But it’s a whole other thing when God feels silent. What do we need when we sense God is silent with us? An ANSWER! To our request. To our issue. To our problem. To our doubt. Right? No. An answer isn’t enough. It’s too temporary and too small. It’s not worth placing your hope in. It won’t last and might not lead to what you hope it will lead to. New requests arise. New doubts surface. New issues emerge. New pain develops. God may graciously answer our requests, but we won’t find peace in the waiting until our hope is Him. That’s what the psalmist is proclaiming to his own soul, and that’s what we must re-preach to ourselves time and time again:
“For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for your hope is from Him.”
If you are growing bitter or resentful waiting in silence, it might be because you are still waiting on the wrong thing. You have misguided hope. Your desire for an answer has become your beginning and your end. So God lets you wait because He knows what you ultimately need is not an answer, but Him. He is the answer. You just aren’t convinced of it yet. Your answer is still more important than Him. Only painful silence could be so convincing. An answer simply won’t do. He won’t let you settle for less. He quietly, with bridled power and steadfast love (see end of Psalm 62), guides you through silence to a hope unfailing—a rock, a fortress, and a refuge for your soul. If ever you feel utterly alone in the waiting, find company and comfort in Another whose desperate cry was unresolved, whose question was left unanswered in His hour of need:
“My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?”
The Lord Jesus. He already asked the question you struggle with in the silence. How did He endure such painful silence? He delighted above all things in the Father. So should you and I. Our Rock. Our Salvation. Our Fortress. Our Refuge. Our hope is from Him. Cling to Him, O my soul.
“Trust Him at all times, pour out your heart before Him. God is a refuge for us.”
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Every time our church celebrates the Lord’s Supper, we hear these beautiful words: “These are the gifts of God for you, the people of God.” The gifts are the bread and the cup; tangible symbols pointing to the reality of God’s saving love for us in Jesus Christ crucified. To those who know the depth of their sin and who feel the weaknesses of their faith, these gifts of God provide relief and stability. These gifts also motivate various responses from us, such as worship, evangelism, and obedience. But there is another response that we too often miss: service.
In a way, all of us like service; we like to be served, and we even like the idea of serving others. But few if any of us are naturally inclined to the actual task of serving others. So we may have felt some internal resistance when heard these words on Sunday, “As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another (1 Peter 4:10).”
Sin and the culture of self we sojourn within may threaten to draw us inward, but the gospel of Jesus Christ always drives us outward. Embracing God’s gift to us in Jesus is the key to extending our gifts to serve one another. When we understand and believe Jesus came not to be served by us but to serve us by breaking his body and shedding his blood on the cross, the Holy Spirit initiates a radical reorientation in us. Our old resistance to serving one another shrinks, and our new desire to serve one another grows. That reorientation is not instant or perfect, but it is steady reality in the Christian. As Donald Whitney testifies, “One of the clearest indications that a person has truly believed the gospel of Jesus is that their selfish desire to be served is overcome by a Christlike desire to serve.”
While our spiritual gifts and avenues of service to one another may vary, our central motivation to extend them in service to others is always the same: Jesus Christ – the gift of God for us, the people of God. May we feed on Him our hearts by faith this week, and may we grow to be a people who serve one another in love and gratitude.
Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by it the people of old received their commendation.
These all died in faith, not having received the things promised, but having seen them and greeted them from afar, and having acknowledged that they were strangers and exiles on the earth. For people who speak thus make it clear that they are seeking a homeland. If they had been thinking of that land from which they had gone out, they would have had opportunity to return. But as it is, they desire a better country, that is, a heavenly one. Therefore God is not ashamed to be called their God, for He has prepared for them a city.
And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Everyone has a faith. Depending on our context, we hear about Christians and non-Christians, believers and unbelievers, the religious and the “nones”. But in reality, we all have a faith. We all put our trust in something or someone. The Old Testament version of this statement is Psalm 20:7 – “Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the LORD our God.” In the ancient world, a king (and his subjects) could easily put their trust in the power of their army. These days, chariots and horses don’t inspire the same confidence, but some trust in money and some in pleasure; some trust in career and some in family; some trust in politics and some in science; some trust in other people and some in themselves. A number of questions can help identify the real object of our faith. What defines us? In what are we trusting? Where are we looking for salvation? In what are we placing our hope?
We all have a faith, and that faith inevitably shapes the way we live. When we put our trust in money, our life becomes about acquiring, enjoying, and protecting the things we love. When we put our trust in other people, our life becomes about pleasing the people we value. The problem is, other objects of faith ultimately fail us because they can’t deliver what they promise. They’re like a chair that looks like it can hold us, but it cracks when we sit on it. We’re tempted to put our trust in things we can see and touch, but the Lord reminds us that “faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen” (Hebrews 11:1). We try to find our life and make our home in this world, but the Lord reminds us that we are “strangers and exiles on the earth” (Hebrews 11:13).
Faith in Christ is altogether different. Though we can’t see Him with our physical eyes, Jesus is the only one who can bear the weight of our trust. He alone can save, and He alone can satisfy hearts longing for life and purpose. In the world, things get done by human wisdom, effort, and resources. But in the kingdom of God, things get done by faith. Hebrews 11 reminds us that God commended the men and women of the Old Testament, not for their works, but for their faith. As they looked away from themselves and put their trust in the Lord, He worked out His redemption in their lives and times. But that was then, this is now, we might think. They lived before and we live after Christ’s incarnation, so what can we learn from them? This chapter responds, “A lot.” Their life of faith thousands of years ago is an example of authentic faith that still speaks today. Though they died, through their faith, they still speak (Hebrews 11:4). Are we listening?
Do we believe that without faith it is impossible to please God? Do we trust that He rewards those who seek Him (Hebrews 11:6)? Are we content with the world as we know it, or do we long for a better country? Do we trust that God is not ashamed to be called our God, for He has prepared a city for us (Hebrews 11:16)? Do we consider “the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures” of this world (Hebrews 11:26)? Friends, we all have a faith, and we all live by that faith. But only faith in Christ has “the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” This great cloud of witnesses poses the question: Will we walk by faith or by sight?
Therefore, since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight, and sin which clings so closely, and let us run with endurance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus, the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider Him who endured from sinners such hostility against Himself, so that you may not grow weary or fainthearted.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Have you ever witnessed the phenomenon of preschool soccer? Imagine being from another country—or another world—and you’ve never seen “football”. What would you think as you watch this amoeba-like mass of tiny humans in oversized uniforms orbit around a small sphere with black and white hexagons? And what would you think about the full-sized humans standing outside the chalked rectangle, yelling and clapping as if the fate of civilization is at stake? It’s a fascinating scene: athletes running and competing, parents standing and cheering, victory and defeat hanging in the balance, orange slices and Capri Suns standing by. Suddenly, your attention is drawn to a couple players who are not part of the ball-chasing blob. These kids are standing, not running; filled with fear, not joy. They have tears, not smiles, on their faces. The whole thing is too much for them. They don’t want to run; they just want to run away. If the Christian life is something like that, can we relate? Are we running, or do we just want to run away?
The author of Hebrews tells his fearful people that the Christian life is a race, and He calls them to run. The questions for us are: How are we running? And how would the Lord have us run differently? Let’s remind ourselves of a few truths about the race and ask ourselves a few piercing questions.
The Lord calls us to run together. We are “surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses”, and we are called to be part of the body of Christ. We are not the solitary athlete staring down a lonely 26.2 miles. We are the children of God, filled with His Spirit, running with His people. Does our life in Christ feel like a solo race? If so, we need to be reminded of the cloud of witnesses who have gone before us and the people of God around us.
The Lord calls us to run without chains. We need to “lay aside every weight” and “sin which clings so closely”. We’ve seen the football players and strong men who run hooked up to weights and sleds and trucks. But that’s either a training strategy or a test of strength. In the Christian life, we can’t run well with the burden of weights and sins. What are these things in our lives, and what would it look like to lay them aside?
The Lord calls us to run with endurance the race that is set before us. Like any road race, the course is marked out for us. What a comfort that our sovereign Lord knows every step in front of us, even if we can’t see all the cones. The call to run with endurance is a reminder that following Jesus is not a sprint or a workout or a seasonal dieting plan. It’s a lifelong race of counting the cost and staying the course. Does our Christian life feel more of an occasional sprint or jog? How do we recapture the necessary intensity and find the endurance to continue?
The Lord calls us to run with our eyes fixed on Jesus. What happens when we’re running and we turn our head to the side for too long? We run off the road, fall down, or crash into someone else. “Looking to Jesus” is a phrase that fits every activity of the Christian life. We’re reading God’s word…praying…worshiping…resting…making disciples…seeking justice…loving our neighbor…building up the body…extending the kingdom…looking to Jesus. Looking to Jesus, we find everything we need to run the race as the Lord has called us. Looking to Jesus, we see that He is the founder and perfecter of our faith. He brought us into this race by His grace, and He will faithfully help us to win it. Looking to Jesus, we see that He finished His own race. For the joy that was set before Him, He endured the cross. Looking to Jesus, we see that He endured such hostility from sinners, so that we may not grow weary or fainthearted.
The race often seems like too much for us. We want to stand around and not run. We’re filled with fear, not joy. But when everything around us calls us to run away, will we look to Jesus? Will we see Him seated at the right hand of God, enthroned to intercede for us and to give us everything we need for the race? Looking to Jesus, let us run!
For though we walk in the flesh, we are not waging war according to the flesh. For the weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds. We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
“We’ve never seen anything like this.” That’s what we’re hearing again and again in the midst of the Coronavirus outbreak. As cases of COVID-19 spread around the world, we are witnessing the unprecedented responses of governments, schools, and businesses. Even the sports world, which often provides a diversion in the midst of pain and tragedy, has sent most players home. We all feel it in different ways. Over 100,000 people around the world are feeling the reality of testing positive for the virus, and many more are fearful about contracting it. Medical professionals prepare for a scenario that no health care system could handle. Investors despair over the market crashing. Employees wonder how they will pay the bills and put food on the table. Parents rack their brains for activities to fill a spring break that appears to be indefinite. An unprecedented crisis leads to unprecedented levels of anxiety and fear. But must it? How should the children of God respond?
Every Thought Captive is a devotional that our church began sending out nearly 10 years ago. Whether you’re a new or old subscriber, perhaps it’s helpful to remember the origin of the phrase. In 2 Corinthians 10:3-5, the apostle Paul shares his perspective on the war of life. If we question Paul’s credentials to speak into this kind of moment in history, we can just reread 2 Corinthians 11:23-29. Paul was imprisoned, beaten, and “often near death”, and that’s just a brief summary. Paul reminds us that we’re not “waging war” the same way the world does. “The weapons of our warfare are not of the flesh but have divine power to destroy strongholds.” Worldly weapons can take out walls and buildings and people, but they are powerless against fear, anxiety, and unbelief. Instead, the Lord calls us to a more subversive spiritual campaign: “We destroy arguments and every lofty opinion raised against the knowledge of God, and take every thought captive to obey Christ.” The sinful mind is a factory of unbelief, and every rogue thought that refuses to submit to the lordship of Jesus Christ threatens to enslave us. The battle begins with our minds, and the call is to take every thought captive to Christ.
In the weeks ahead, we plan to share a devotional every day. We hope that the Holy Spirit will use these entries to equip us for the fight. When fearful thoughts rise as we think about COVID-19 in our own city, we want to take that thought captive. We remember that He is the sovereign King who loves us, and that perfect love casts out fear (1 John 4:18). When selfish thoughts rise as we go to the store and are tempted to buy more than we need, we want to take that thought captive. We remember that we are not the only person in the community, and Jesus is the Bread of Life who is faithful to give us our daily bread (John 6:35; Matthew 6:11). When bitter thoughts rise as we think about giving up our freedoms to protect our neighbors from the spread of the disease, we want to take that thought captive. We remember that He gave up the freedom and comfort of heaven to come to earth, to deny Himself, and to die on a cross to save us (John 10:10-11). In His life, death, and resurrection, we have more than enough resources for a little self-isolation or social distancing (Philippians 2:3-11).
Finally, when anxious thoughts rise and turn us inward, we want to take that thought captive to obey Christ. We remember that the church is not a building, but a people. We are the light of Christ and the body of Christ on earth (Matthew 5:14; 1 Corinthians 12:27). Though we may not be gathering together physically on Sundays, the Lord is with us, and He is calling us and keeping us at home. In a world that never slows down, COVID-19 is grinding everything to a halt. We can fuss and fret, or we can fight with all the power the Spirit supplies. Who needs our prayers? Who needs a phone call? Which neighbors are vulnerable and need our help? As people look out for themselves, how can we demonstrate the sacrificial love of Jesus? It’s true: we’ve never seen anything like this, but imagine what the Lord sees. What a beautiful opportunity for us to take every thought captive and to be the church of Jesus Christ!
When He suffered, He did not threaten,
but continued entrusting Himself to Him who judges justly.”
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Second to the Bible, the most published Christian book in history is one which most Christians today have never heard of. The book is The Pilgrim’s Progress, written in the 1760’s by a poor English preacher named John Bunyan. It is allegorical quest-story about a man’s conversion to faith in Jesus Christ, and his pilgrim journey towards his heavenly home. Like Bunyan, who wrote the story while in prison for preaching, the main character experienced both profound joy and suffering during his journey.
One of the most severe seasons of suffering in the story comes when Christian walks through the Valley of the Shadow of Death (while written in Old English, the allegorical aspect of the book is very straightforward). Bunyan introduces readers to the place with these words,
The valley itself is as dark as pitch; we also saw there the hobgoblins, satyrs, and dragons of the pit; we heard also in that Valley a continual howling and yelling, as of a people under unutterable misery, who there sat bound in affliction and irons; and over that Valley hangs the discouraging clouds of confusion. Death also doth always spread his wings over it. In a word, it is every whit dreadful, being utterly without order.1
Striking in Bunyan’s description is how disorienting and chaotic the Valley seems. Those who have experienced evil, misery, affliction, and the threat of death can all bear witness to the accuracy of Bunyan’s words. Many of us can attest that to the fact that suffering inflicts a confusion that can be paralyzing, lonely, and downright scary.
In the midst of the darkness, Christian is reoriented by doing two things: praying out loud (to drown out the evil sounds around him), and reciting Bible verses (because it was too dark to read his Bible). While they sound a bit cliché and pious at first, these were the desperate acts of a man turning to God for order in the chaos, for light in the darkness, and for hope in the shadow of hell.
Is there a word to describe this gritty, personal trust?
Theologically, it falls under the category of faith. The classic Protestant definition of faith has three aspects: knowledge (notitia), assent (assensus), and trust (fiducia). For instance, a person with true and healthy faith not only understands that Jesus claimed to be the Savior of sinners, but agrees that Jesus actually is the Savior of sinners, and trusts that Jesus is their Savior from their sin. It is that third and most personal aspect of faith that Christian exemplified most in the Valley of the Shadow of Death; he took what he knew to be true, and leaned into it with all of his heart. But somehow, the word “faith” doesn’t seem to do justice to Christian’s bold dependence on God.
In his letter to suffering Christians, Peter uses the word entrusting to describe our approach to God in the midst of confusion and danger. In the New Testament, the language of entrusting is the language of stewardship: the responsibility to care for something belonging to another. In the Gospels, Jesus uses this word in to refer to a master entrusting his servants with his possessions (Matthew 24:14; Luke 12:48; Luke 16:11). In his letters, Paul uses this word to refer to God entrusting us with His words (Romans 3:2; Galatians 2:7; 1 Timothy 6:20). But in his letter, Peter uses the word entrusting to describe how we give God stewardship over our very lives. Yes, God already rules over our lives; but when we entrust ourselves to Him we acknowledge our deep and personal trust in God’s rule.
In 1 Peter 2:23, Peter uses Jesus as our example for entrusting ourselves to God. He says, “When He was reviled, He did not revile in return; when He suffered, He did not threaten, but continued entrusting Himself to Him who judges justly.” In the evil and confusion of suffering, Jesus did not merely believe in His Father; He actively entrusted Himself to His Father. While this inward attitude and trust is invisible at its core, it expressed itself in Jesus’ life in ways similar to Christian in The Pilgrim’s Progress – in prayer, and in dependence on God’s Word. These two things are expressed together poignantly in Jesus’ last words, “Into Your hands I commit My spirit (Luke 23:46; Psalm 31:5).”
While the circumstances of our suffering may be different from Jesus’ life, from Bunyan’s life, and even from Christian’s life, we too are called to entrust ourselves into the hands of our Heavenly Father. Our God is a faithful and trustworthy steward, and He will rule our lives with perfect wisdom and goodness. And so as Peter says in his conclusion, “Therefore let those who suffer according to God’s will entrust their souls to a faithful Creator while doing good (1 Peter 4:19).”
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1John Bunyan, The Pilgrim’s Progress (Minneapolis: Desiring God, 2014), p. 68.
Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me,
for in You my soul takes refuge;
in the shadow of Your wings I will take refuge,
till the storms of destruction pass by.
I cry out to God Most High,
to God who fulfills His purpose for me.
He will send from heaven and save me;
He will put to shame him who tramples on me.
God will send out His steadfast love and His faithfulness!
My soul is in the midst of lions;
I lie down amid fiery beasts—
the children of man, whose teeth are spears and arrows,
whose tongues are sharp swords.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!
Let Your glory be over all the earth!
They set a net for my steps;
my soul was bowed down.
They dug a pit in my way,
but they have fallen into it themselves.
My heart is steadfast, O God,
my heart is steadfast!
I will sing and make melody!
Awake, my glory!
Awake, O harp and lyre!
I will awake the dawn!
I will give thanks to You, O Lord, among the peoples;
I will sing praises to You among the nations.
For Your steadfast love is great to the heavens,
Your faithfulness to the clouds.
Be exalted, O God, above the heavens!
Let Your glory be over all the earth!
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Psalm 57 wasn’t written in a vacuum. This prayerful song rises from a real person and a certain moment in time. As you read the passage, imagine being David. The Lord has told you that you will be the king of Israel. You’re thrilled by the prospect, but the succession plan has all kinds of kinks in it. The old king (Saul) is not excited about the transition and would rather kill you than give up his job. So here you are, the Lord’s anointed, running from a man obsessed with your death, hiding in a cave. When you think about the threats around you, you can say “my soul is in the midst of lions” (Psalm 57:4). But from the lion’s den, a note of confidence rings. You declare to God, “In You my soul takes refuge” (Psalm 57:1). The threat of destruction is constant, yet you feel safely hidden in the shadow of God’s wings. You know your soul’s refuge.
In Psalm 57, the Lord commends to us the benefits of making Him our refuge. Like David, we live in a moment with real dangers, and we cannot help but seek refuge somewhere. Just in the past month, we have lived beneath the gathering clouds of political turmoil, racial division, natural disasters, and nuclear war. If the external threats were not enough, we face the perpetual conflict with sin that clings so closely (Hebrews 12:1). We feel the pull to find refuge in possessions, pleasures, politics, places, and people. But none of these compares to the security and strength we find in the Lord Jesus Christ. The hymn reminds us, “On Christ the solid Rock I stand, all other ground is sinking sand.” As our soul takes refuge in Christ, we begin to see every other shelter for what it is: fragile and faulty, unable to withstand the storm. When we see that our makeshift refuge is like a cardboard dwelling in a hurricane, will we forsake it? Only in Christ do we have a shelter stronger than the wages of sin and the waves of life. There are countless blessings that flow from the security of being hidden in Christ. Even in the dark caves of life, the Lord gives us confidence that He will fulfill His purpose for us (Psalm 57:2). Because Jesus has overcome the darkness and destruction of the cross, we know that He is working all things together for our good and His glory. With this confidence, we can sing with David in the cave and with Paul in prison. The song of a steadfast heart pleases us, but it also perplexes those who have yet to make the Lord their refuge. When saints sing through their suffering, the worth of Christ is on full display.
If we have made the Lord our refuge, what kind of joy should be evident in our lives? For we know that in Christ we are loved, and nothing—not sickness, not persecution, not war, not even death—can separate us from His love. Storms are here, and storms are coming. But we have a refuge full of mercy, strength, faithfulness, and love. A refuge sovereign and eternal. He is Jesus Christ, the God man sent from heaven, the risen Lord who reigns in heaven, the returning King who promises to make all things new. As the battle rages, can we sing the song of our soul’s refuge?
He is the radiance of the glory of God and the exact imprint of his nature, and he upholds the universe by the word of his power. After making purification for sins, he sat down at the right hand of the Majesty on high, having become as much superior to angels as the name he has inherited is more excellent than theirs.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Most of us are familiar with the saying, “Power corrupts; absolute power corrupts absolutely.” This proverb has been circulated for well over a century, and is attributed to Lord Acton, but the idea behind it is as ancient as humanity itself. While this narrative may be true for most humans entrusted with power, the book of Hebrews reminds us that it is absolutely not true for Jesus.
Hebrews begins by affirming that Jesus has absolute power. The author describes Jesus as the Son of God, the heir of all things, the creator of the world, the radiance of the glory of God, the exact imprint of God’s nature, the one who upholds the universe by the word of His power, the one who sits at the right hand of God, and the one who is superior to angels (Hebrews 1:2-4). Taken together, these descriptions not only reveal Jesus as having absolute power over humanity and earthly powers, but over everything in the visible universe and in the invisible spiritual realm. Indeed, there is nothing outside of Jesus’ absolute power.
With such a strong opening, we might assume the book of Hebrews would go on to give threatening commands for us to fear, obey, and honor this divinely authoritative and sovereign Jesus. Perhaps the author would recount how Jesus will use His power to subdue and finally defeat all of His and our enemies on the last day. But that is not the picture of Jesus that Hebrews emphasizes and celebrates.
The amazing thing Hebrews reveals about Jesus is that He used His absolute power not to exalt Himself, but to humble Himself; not to provoke us to fear Him, but to convince us to trust Him. The author tells us Jesus used His absolute power in shockingly selfless ways.
• Jesus used His absolute power to enter into His creation, being made “lower than the angels…so that by the grace of God He might taste death for everyone (Hebrews 2:9).”
• Jesus used His absolute power to be “made like His brothers in every respect…to make propitiation for the sins of the people” (Hebrews 2:17).”
• Jesus used His absolute power to become “a great high priest” who is able to sympathize with our weaknesses so that we could “draw near to the throne of grace (Hebrews 4:14-16).”
• Jesus used His absolute power to become the one who “endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God (Hebrews 12:2).”
While absolute, the power Jesus possesses was never corrupt and never selfish; it was always perfect and self-sacrificial. Jesus’ great power is a gracious power.
What does this mean for us?
It means we can be confident that nothing is outside of Jesus’ gracious power. There is nothing on earth or in heaven, nothing visible or invisible, nothing material or spiritual, nothing past, present, or future over which Jesus does not exercise absolute power. And when the circumstances of life are difficult, disorienting, and disappointing for us, we can rest in the reality of Jesus’ absolute power.
And it means we can be comforted that Jesus’ gracious power is a force for our good. In response to our sin, Jesus has not cast us off in judgement; in His grace He offered Himself as our perfect and permanent sacrifice (Hebrews 9:26). And in response to our weakness, Jesus has not scoffed in superiority; in His grace, He sympathizes and offers help at His “throne of grace (4:16).”
So today, and every day, let us be a people who look to Jesus our powerful King and gracious Savior, who in joy endured the cross for us (Hebrews 12:1-2).
The Spirit lifted me up and took me away, and I went in bitterness in the heat of my spirit, the hand of the Lord being strong upon me. And I came to the exiles at Tel-abib, who were dwelling by the Chebar canal, and I sat where they were dwelling. And I sat there overwhelmed among them seven days.
Tricia is an Indiana farm girl trying to make her way in the big city. She served as a communications specialist for PCPC. She now is a full-time mom of three and serves as an events photographer in the Metroplex. She enjoys painting, drawing, and devising plans with her husband to escape to the mountains.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
I try to be careful about attributing my feelings as an acceptable interpretation of scripture. But as an imaginative and empathetic person, I often wonder at the inner thoughts that must have been bouncing around in the heads of the prophets. I believe words are used very purposefully in the Bible, and I can’t help but linger on the picture of an overwhelmed Ezekiel.
To set the stage, Ezekiel had just had the heavens opened to him with visions of awesome cherubim and the glory of the Lord in what appears to be a pre-incarnated Jesus on a sapphire throne. God presents Ezekiel with a scroll containing His “words of lamentation and mourning and woe” over the rebellion and idolatry of Israel. Ezekiel is then charged with presenting this message of judgment to the hard-hearted Israelites under the Babylonian exile.
This grand vision is laid before Ezekiel and then he is plopped back by the river where he started. The word overwhelmed seems a bit of an understatement. It can’t possibly capture all the emotions that must have been there! Overwhelmed in this context has also been translated as astonished or in deep distress with an emphasis on silence. The seven days reflect a period of mourning. Perhaps he mourned over the sad condition his people were in, and above all, at the dreadful things he had to deliver to them. Perhaps he was mourning what his past had been and how everything would now be dramatically different. In that one word, we get a glimpse of this prophet’s humanity, and perhaps it points to Ezekiel’s heart before God called him.
Before his visions, Ezekiel was an exiled priest, a sojourner in a foreign land. Is it not possible that he felt abandoned by God, wondering how to be a priest to a seemingly forsaken people entrenched in idolatry? Israel had been swept away from the land they ought to have been enjoying as God’s chosen people in covenant blessing. Was God faithful to His people, to His promises? Where was God now in the midst of exile, uncertainty, and Israel’s faithlessness? What was Ezekiel supposed to do now?
Surrounded by this darkness, Ezekiel is called to pull an about-face in vocation. All his life, he had trained to be a priest. His entire career was to represent the people to God and bring their repentance to the Lord. Suddenly, God called him to the role of prophet where he would represent God to the people, bringing His judgment to a displaced Israel for their lack of repentance. His former life was gone and the future was even more unknown than before.
Seasons of our lives can lead to once solid edifices crumbling around us, leaving us with more questions than answers. Who am I? Do I even know who God is anymore? All that I thought I knew seems to turn to ash. This new perspective of God weighs heavily on my soul and seems incongruent to everything I thought I knew. What will happen to me now?
I have often been overwhelmed when confronted with my mistaken perceptions of God. I have gone through periods of my life thinking or hoping God was one way, only to have the Holy Spirit shatter that illusion. I tend to build the foundations of my life on my perceptions of God rather than God Himself. It shouldn’t be a surprise when that foundation crumbles and I painfully fall onto the true bedrock of God’s glorious personhood; a personhood more majestic than I could ever envision.
In the midst of the tumultuous darkness of Ezekiel’s circumstances and perceptions, the radiance of God was enthroned. It was the rainbow parting the clouds after the storm. Israel’s political and spiritual crisis was put into its proper perspective when Ezekiel saw God for who He truly was. Israel was not forsaken in Babylon but was deeply loved by God. Ezekiel was no longer exiled but at the center of the Lord’s plan to bring Israel back into the covenant. God lifted Ezekiel’s eyes beyond his present situation and former identity to the throne of God’s glory; a glory more dazzling than anything imaginable. And on that throne was man–a man that would shatter everyone’s perceptions of God.
How do we perceive God? How do we perceive our circumstances in light of our knowledge of God’s character? Are we overwhelmed by our earthly troubles or the magnificence of the Almighty God? Where are our eyes as we sojourn through this exiled land? Look to the Son of Man enthroned. He will shatter your perceptions and give you a new vision of God.
“Travelin’ man, travelin’ man, got no home, got no plan;
just an old worn out heart in my hand.
Travelin’ man, travelin’ man, I’ll get there any way I can.
I’m just an uninspired, tired-out travelin’ man.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Those lonesome lyrics are from a little-known Stevie Wonder tune crooning about traveling. And there are others. In fact, we could probably all participate in a lengthy “sing-off,” and come up with scores of songs about wandering, or traveling, or moving on. You know you know them. Take a second right now and sing one out loud. It’ll surprise the folks around you! Even Johnny Cash penned such a lyric.
I'm just a poor wayfaring stranger
I'm traveling in this world of woe
Yet there's no sickness, toil nor danger
In that fair land to which I go
I'm going there to see my Father
I'm going there no more to roam
I'm only going over Jordan
I'm only going over home
The Scriptures speak often of the same theme, the same journey, the same longing. There is something in us that longs for home, longs for rest. Yet we live together “in this world of woe” knowing that the home we seek still lies ahead of us, still beckons us on. In his letter to his churches in the days of increasing Roman persecution, Peter calls believers to live out their identity as travelers, as sojourners.
But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for His own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of Him who called you out of darkness into His marvelous light. Once you were not a people, but now you are God's people; once you had not received mercy, but now you have received mercy.
Beloved, I urge you as sojourners and exiles to abstain from the passions of the flesh, which wage war against your soul. Keep your conduct among the Gentiles honorable, so that when they speak against you as evildoers, they may see your good deeds and glorify God on the day of visitation. 1 Peter 2: 9-12
Now if we think about it, every journey has three parts. There has to be a leaving, a departure. Then, there’s that part in the middle, the “On the Road Again” part. (Go ahead, sing it!) And at last, the getting there.
This is the lyric of salvation. In His mercy, God calls us to leave. He said that very specifically to Abraham, remember? Then, He called His people out of Egypt. And Jesus called those Galilean fishermen to leave the lives they had known for generations, and things would never be the same. He calls us the same way. Jesus calls us to leave the old ways of trusting in ourselves, of surrounding ourselves with sinfulness, of doing it “My Way.”
The Lord also calls those who are His to travel well, by traveling with Him. In every case, the promise of God is the presence of God. Before God tells Abraham about the Promised Land, He tells him to begin the journey. The Israelites were called first into the desert to assemble in the presence of God. God led them there; He sojourned with them. So He does with us. We live our lives in the presence of a merciful heavenly Father who dwells among His people as we travel onward.
And we too, united with the faithful saints of old, look toward that destination at journey’s end. We seek to live faith-filled lives now, always remembering that we travel toward a place of enduring rest. For here we have no lasting city, but we seek the city that is to come. (Hebrews 13:14)
And so we journey on. We do not wander aimlessly; we do not journey in vain. But in Christ, led by the same Holy God that was seen as a pillar of fire, we travel onward toward the place prepared.
And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God himself will be with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away. Revelation 21:2-4
That’s where we’re headed. Thanks be to God!
There was a certain man of Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim whose name was Elkanah the son of Jeroham, son of Elihu, son of Tohu, son of Zuph, an Ephrathite. He had two wives. The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. And Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.
Now this man used to go up year by year from his city to worship and to sacrifice to the Lord of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the Lord. On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and daughters. But to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. And her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. And Elkanah, her husband, said to her, "Hannah, why do you weep? And why do you not eat? And why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?"
After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly.
And she vowed a vow and said, "O Lord of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head."
As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was speaking in her heart; only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli took her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her, "How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you." But Hannah answered, "No, my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation." Then Eli answered, "Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him." And she said, "Let your servant find favor in your eyes." Then the woman went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad.
They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord; then they went back to their house at Ramah. And Elkanah knew Hannah his wife, and the Lord remembered her. And in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Samuel, for she said, "I have asked for him from the Lord."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
The students chuckled as the professor walked into the room. Did he not notice what was happening with his shirt? As they watched him make his way to the podium, they had trouble containing their amusement. How could such a brilliant man fail to button his shirt correctly? As the professor addressed the class, he acknowledged the issue with the shirt. He had put the first button into the second button hole. “You see, if you don’t start in the right place, you’ll never end up in the right place.” A simple mistake at the beginning can result in great embarrassment by the end. Sometimes, the only way to fix the problem is to start all over again.
The beginning of 1 Samuel gives us an opportunity to ask, “What is our starting point?” We often start with something that feels like a strength in our lives. We have this or we’ve done that or we’re good at this or we know them. These things give us a sense of value and power. They combat our creeping sense of inadequacy. What we don’t usually realize—until it’s too late—is that starting with ourselves is like missing the first button on our shirt. We never genuinely start with God until we finish starting with ourselves. We don’t want to come to the end of ourselves because we fear there will be nothing there. We refuse to admit our inability because we think we can do this. Maybe we can. But in the most crucial areas, we can’t.
“God’s tendency is to make our total inability his starting point.” This statement from Dale Ralph Davis is evident when we zoom in on the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel 1 and when we zoom out on the whole story of redemption. Here, a barren woman, devastated by her circumstances, has come to the end of herself. Her safety nets have been shredded. She has no fallback options. But here, in the place of utter desperation, the song of God’s rescue rings out. Our total inability is the prelude to the symphony of God’s sufficiency. In blessing barren Hannah with a child, the Lord again reveals the pattern of His redemption. In our hopelessness, the Lord gives birth to hope. In our despair, the Lord gives birth to joy. Salvation is nothing less than God doing the impossible, bringing life out of death. Who but God could turn a dead end into a fountain of life? If that’s the way the Lord works, why do we spend so much energy trying to avoid His starting point? Next time we button our shirt, we should remember: If we don’t start in the right place, we’ll never end up in the right place. Lord, help us to be honest about our inability and to be bold in crying out for Your grace!
Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Spring has never been my favorite season. Growing up in south Texas, spring simply felt like an add-on to summer and attending college in Nebraska, an add-on to winter.
But the other day while on a walk, I noticed the green buds on the trees and felt such delight—and not just in the beauty of the freshly sprouted leaves, but in the fact that Spring once again did come. It’s something that we humans have no control over, yet we can trust that year after year plants will produce new growth. Winter won’t last forever; spring will come.
It’s an elementary truth, and yet it somehow felt profound this year. Yes, the meteorological seasons have changed, but so has the season in our lives. We as a world have found ourselves in a season of struggle—a season of fear, uncertainty, and unrest. A season where we see deep sickness, sorrow, and fear around us and can’t help but wonder when God will relieve us of these pains.
But then we see the budding trees and freshly sprouting flowers, and remember the truth: God is at work. He is bringing new life, even in the midst of sorrow in our world. Isn’t that the beautiful juxtaposition of it all? We are in a literal season of newness and growth and a season of life that contains sickness and pain.
In these times, we look to His Word for assurance. It is there that we are reminded of His omniscience, omnipotence, and omnipresence. We’re reminded of His love and compassion for us. We’re reminded that we have a Savior who can sympathize with our sorrows. And finally, we are reminded that He is producing in us something new—a new faith; a new perseverance; a new perspective; a new hope. Isaiah 43:19 says, “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”
We can trust God with the uncertainties of life because He’s the same God who allows spring to come each year. Surely the God who is in charge of the seasons—of the redemption of fruitless plants after the cold and harsh winter months—will oversee the seasons of struggle in our lives as well. We can trust the God of the seasons.
...casting all our anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
The word has been sterilized by overuse. We have lawn care, pet care, elder care, automotive care, hair care, and health care. And those are just the offerings that scream from the sideline of Dallas Central artery. There's so much care in the air that when we hear that God cares for us, we sometimes react with a bored, heard-it-all before shrug.
Yet scripture teaches us in poetry, prose, and proverb that the abiding story of humanity is God caring for His people. From that eerily quiet morning in Eden to the descent of the New Jerusalem, God's Word proclaims God's care for His vice-regents. That central truth plays out throughout history, and throughout the individual lives that make up history. Remember Abraham and Joseph. Think about Moses and Daniel and Job. Hear Paul and Peter and Mary and Martha recount the experiences of God's care for them.
In the grand sweep of God's dealings with mankind, He has shown His care in three profound ways. God's care for His people is powerful. He rules His creation for His glory and our good. And that good can be felt in a caressing breeze or heard in the whisper of a summer rain. Sometime just think about the amazing gift you enjoy when the sweet tang of the orange moistens your mouth. And that's to say nothing of the defeat of Egypt or Assyria or Babylon or Rome. It's to say everything about the defeat of death. God cares powerfully.
God's care for His people is personal. Do you remember the story of Samuel? A little kid asleep in the temple heard God Almighty call him by name. He called Samuel by his name. You see, God could be powerful, like an earthly ruler, who cares deeply for people but doesn't know them at all. But that's not God's way. Jesus spoke forthrightly about our Heavenly Father caring for us in personal, intimate detail. He knows you and cares for you—by name.
Finally, God's care for you is present. Think of all the times in the Bible when God declares that He will be with His people. And that's amazing, isn't it? Because God's care could be powerful, and even personal, and still be aloof. But God traveled with Abraham and Moses. God stayed with Job in his struggle. God came to a cattle barn in a backwater town to be with the sinners whose souls He would rescue.
It is God's very character to care powerfully and personally and presently for His people. And for those who are in Christ Jesus, that is God's eternal, here-and-now promise "because He cares for you."
And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience—among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
No one likes interruptions, right? The knock on the door when we’re deep in thought. The urgent call when a deadline is looming. The crisis that breaks when we’re already sinking. We see interruptions as an inconvenience—at best. But what if we’re blind? What if we haven’t taken time to cultivate a robust theology of interruption? Because when the Lord is at work, it is always an interruption. When God interrupts…
• He creates the heavens and the earth and humanity (Genesis 1).
• He pursues Adam and Eve and asks, “Where are you?” (Genesis 3:9).
• He promises to crush the serpent’s head (Genesis 3:15).
• He sacrifices an animal to provide Adam and Eve with clothing (Genesis 3:21).
• He confronts Cain after murdering Abel (Genesis 4).
• He judges the world and saves Noah through the ark and the flood (Genesis 6-8).
• He calls an old, infertile man to be the beginning of a nation (Genesis 12:1-3).
• He counts Abram as righteous for his faith (Genesis 15:6).
• He stops him from sacrificing Isaac and provides a ram (Genesis 22).
• He wrestles with Jacob and changes his name to Israel (Genesis 32).
• He raises Joseph from slavery to prominence in Egypt (Genesis 37-50).
And these are just a few examples from the first book of the Bible. We see interruptions; God sees the unfolding of His perfect, sovereign plans. Where would we be without these holy interruptions? In Ephesians 2, Paul tells us. We would still be dead in our sin, following the devil, living in the passions of our flesh, by nature children of wrath. Are we still sure that we don’t like interruptions? The gospel is the earthshaking message that God interrupts and changes everything for people who are without hope and without Him (Ephesians 2:13). But God, these are the words that signal holy interruption. The world is falling apart, but God. People are perishing, but God. We were dead, “but God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us…made us alive together with Christ”.
For many people the Coronavirus pandemic is the greatest interruption of our lives. The question is: How will God’s people view it? What if we remember that when God interrupts, He often does His most amazing work? What if we see this season as more than an inconvenience? What if we see it as a holy invitation to see what God is doing, to be shaped by His Spirit, and to serve those in need? This is a really challenging season, but God…
Henri Nouwen, who left the glory of Ivy League academia to work among profoundly disabled people, asked, “What if our interruptions are in fact opportunities?” If we get beyond the inconveniences, what opportunities might we see to extend the love of Christ? Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who returned to Nazi Germany to suffer with the persecuted church, wrote, “We must be ready to allow ourselves to be interrupted by God.” If we get beyond the noise and frustration, what word might the Lord speak to us?
We don’t like the knock on the door, but what if the Lord is the one knocking (Revelation 3:20)? We don’t like the urgent call, but what if the Lord is the one calling us to see, to stop, and to show mercy to those in need (Luke 10:25-37)? We don’t like the crisis, but what if this is a decisive moment for us as the family of God?
Lord, help us to receive this profound interruption as an invitation from Your sovereign, loving hands. We long to draw near, to see what You are doing, and to join You in Your work. May this moment not be wasted in our lives and in Your church. As you interrupt, accomplish Your redemptive purposes. By Your almighty power, stop the spread of this virus. And by Your amazing grace, spread the knowledge of Your glory around the world.
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
There is a story about a schoolboy who was asked what he thought God was like. He replied that, as far as he could make out, God was "The sort of person who is always snooping round to see if anyone is enjoying himself and then trying to stop it." And I am afraid that is the sort of idea that the word Morality raises in a good many people's minds: something that interferes, something that stops you having a good time. In reality, moral rules are directions for running the human machine. Every moral rule is there to prevent a breakdown, or a strain, or a friction, in the running of that machine. That is why these rules at first seem to be constantly interfering with our natural inclinations. When you are being taught how to use any machine, the instructor keeps on saying, "No, don't do it like that," because, of course, there are all sorts of things that look all right and seem to you the natural way of treating the machine, but do not really work.
- C. S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
Blessed is the man
who walks not in the counsel of the wicked,
nor stands in the way of sinners,
nor sits in the seat of scoffers;
but his delight is in the law of the LORD,
and on his law he meditates day and night.
He is like a tree
planted by streams of water
that yields its fruit in its season,
and its leaf does not wither.
In all that he does, he prospers.
The wicked are not so,
but are like chaff that the wind drives away.
Therefore the wicked will not stand in the judgment,
nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous;
for the LORD knows the way of the righteous,
but the way of the wicked will perish.'
- Psalm 1:1-6
The psalter opens with a contrast between the way of righteous and with the way wicked (vs 6). It is a contrast of visions for running the human machine, and it is ultimately about which way will lead to a happily running machine—fewer breakdowns, less strain, and less friction.
As the psalm unfolds the righteous are described like fruitful trees (vs 3), while the wicked are like chaff (v 4). The way of righteousness is rooted, it is watered, it has access to nutrients, and it is fruitful. The way of the righteous is blessed, it is well run, and in the end it is happy.
The way of the wicked is the opposite. Chaff (vs 4) is the scaly protective casing of the seeds of cereal grains. So, the way of the wicked is blown and tossed by the wind, it is dry, and it is does not have life or fruit.
What if life does not feel blessed? What if your way feels dry? What if it appears fruitless? What do you do when life feels more like being blown and tossed than a firmly planted tree?
In this psalm we are reminded of a truth and given two calls to action. First, the truth: “the Lord knows the way of the righteous” (vs 6). The word “know” can imply very intimate knowledge of a person. We cannot forget that God is intimately concerned with the path of the righteous. He knows the journey you are on, and He cares. None of the twists or turns surprise Him.
But that journey comes with calls to action. There are directions for running the human machine along this path. Verse 1 calls for separation from the way of the wicked. You cannot walk down both paths at the same time. The second call is impossible without the first. There is so much noise that the righteous must create space by a degree of separation to meditate on the law of God (vs 2).
What we need is to meditate on God’s law. This is especially true when there is breakdown, or a strain, or a friction. It is true in a moment of crisis, when we are panicking, when there is fear of a pandemic, or when there is troubling financial news.
Meditating on God’s law will tell us how the human machine ought to run. It will not be easy at first and it will go against common wisdom and even your own feelings about the way things ought to be.
Ultimately, it will drive us to love God, and that will make us happy.
When early Christians were called followers of the way, they were not merely being described by their belief structure or system of doctrine, they were identified by the way they lived their life. It was a way of life aligned with the way life is supposed to be and that led to happiness and joy even during difficult times.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
It happens every time. And it doesn't seem to matter when or where the catastrophe occurs. Frightened American inquisitors flooded houses of faith after September 11, 2001. The Japanese tsunami of 2011 produced the same kind of result half a world away. When that Siloam tower fell and killed 18 unsuspecting workmen, the questions were just as poignant and just as pointed (Luke 13:1-5). The entire book of Job wrestles with the topic. And today, when daily news travels at the speed of electrons, hundreds of thousands of people are seeking real answers to life's big questions every single day. Are you ready?
Someday soon, you may hear someone say something like, "You're real religious, aren't you? Well, what do you think about...?" Or maybe, "How did you even stay sane, sequestered away...?" And the Gospel of Jesus shines like a glorious beacon to burn away the dark shroud of fear and uncertainty. Are you ready?
The promise of Scripture is that the Holy Spirit will supply you with the right words at the right time. So even today, begin to pray for those words. And pray specifically for unbelieving friends whom you will see again at work or the gym or your favorite Thai eatery. Pray without ceasing for your voice to be the voice of the Gospel.
Prepare. Prepare a clear, brief, and real Gospel message. That's the kind of message Peter spoke to the hecklers in Acts 2. Paul tells Timothy to focus the same way in his preaching. The Gospel is about Jesus. Before it's a complex theological construct, it's about Jesus. The Bible is about Jesus. And in the Bible, Jesus tells the truth about who He is and why that matters. So the presentation of the Gospel is not salesmanship or sleight of hand. It's talking about God's plan to bring healing between God and His people. Prayerfully prepare your heart and mind so you can listen well and speak that truth in love.
Practice. I mean, what better thing to rehearse while you're distancing socially? You're not practicing a dance routine or a speech. You are putting the Gospel at the forefront of your own spirit, so that when the Lord sends someone to you with questions, you have a few clear thoughts ready to go.
The Lord allows His people to be the message-bearers for the most important message in all of human history. Pray about your part in that. Prepare to speak of your own journey of faith. And practice a bit. You will indeed be ready.
Now who is there to harm you if you are zealous for what is good? But even if you should suffer for righteousness' sake, you will be blessed. Have no fear of them, nor be troubled, but in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect, having a good conscience, so that, when you are slandered, those who revile your good behavior in Christ may be put to shame.
1 Peter 3:13-16
Now the rabble that was among them had a strong craving. And the people of Israel also wept again and said, “Oh that we had meat to eat! We remember the fish we ate in Egypt that cost nothing, the cucumbers, the melons, the leeks, the onions, and the garlic. But now our strength is dried up, and there is nothing at all but this manna to look at.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
In the passage above we find God’s people well on their way to the Promised Land. Between their experience of God’s presence at Sinai, and on the cusp of entering into Canaan, we have a few stories, which are a portal into the kind of people God calls His own. Led by their taste buds and stomachs, the Israelites are aching for something else other than manna. Manna was the daily reminder for God’s people that He would provide as He promised. But for the Israelite diet, it had become boring to taste, obnoxious at sight, and repulsive knowing that the next meal would be the same. Perhaps visions of succulent lamb, fresh fish, sweet melons, and robust herbs flooded their minds while they munched away on manna every day, three times a day, with no break to the culinary monotony. God’s people had had enough, and the dreams of food that “cost nothing” actually broke out into conversations and audible complaints towards Moses and then, God.
“What I wouldn’t give to have that kind of life?” Have you ever heard such a phrase? Spoken it yourself or hidden such a thought in the depths of your soul? I believe we find ourselves thinking or saying such things in the midst of hurt, whether mild or great. Once the thoughts begin, it can be hard to shut down. The wheels in our minds turn and we envision a better life. We explore those thoughts–“This is not how life should be,” become, “I hate my life right now,” soon followed by, “God screwed this up when He took me down this road.” Between the place of pain and healing, a few pitfalls are ever present along the journey. And the pitfalls, make no mistake, are deadly. Pitfalls such as self-pity, bitterness, resentment, envy, and rage are likely, however envy is the most dangerous. Envy seems harmless, but left unchecked, gives way to isolation and darkness.
Envy wants to kill your soul. Envy has us look around and see what everyone else possesses or is in the process of attaining. Paychecks, cars, notoriety, significant others, homes, jobs, friends and social esteem. Envy is a balance ledger that always has us looking at the assets in someone else’s column and always seeing the shortcomings in our own. Envy has us thinking what it would be like to be someone else, and when that happens the consequences almost at once are severe. The mere taste for some fish, a few vegetables and a couple of roots have the Israelites wishing they were still slaves beaten under the Egyptian sun while they created centers of power and control, for a wicked ruler. The Israelites in this story wish to rewind the clock, and to be their former selves. The envy of their previous life has driven them to madness. Who would dare enter into a life of slavery for a few moments of pleasure?
Christian philosopher Jeff Cook notes that exile is always a result of envy. This cause and effect has been at the center of human history and began with our first parents. Adam and Eve envied that which alone was God’s. They pursued what they thought was a better life by another route, and in doing so Adam and Eve were exiled along with every person born away from God and the life He desired for His creatures. In our story, the Israelites envied part of their former life; interestingly enough their sin has given them a selective memory. Ironically, the Israelites wish to enter back into exile, to leave God in the desert and return to Egypt. Instead of letting His people head back to their own destruction, God in some ways gives them exactly what they want and it kills them (Numbers 11:33). Envy operates under the notion that we know better than God, and that is misery.
What delivers us from envy? Gratitude is the place to start, but is not the end. Gratitude is and can be a discipline, as Henri Nouwen says, “It [gratitude] is the explicit effort to acknowledge that all I am and have is given to me as a gift of love, a gift to be celebrated with joy.” Gratitude is not always spontaneous, but can be a measured response to all of life simply because everything we receive in life–great and small–is a gift (1 Corinthians 4:7). Nouwen goes on to say that gratitude can be a conscious choice even when we are hurting, when we do not feel like being grateful and our hearts are full of resentment. To practice gratitude is a choice. But gratitude is a response, or posture, to something even greater: trust. Trust, the confidence that God will keep His promises, is a hard thing. In their travels to the Promised Land it was probably a hard reality to look around and see barrenness, but only to hear that a land of milk and honey would soon be found. In the middle of a desert, little to sustain life and little sign of it, God was calling His people to trust Him because over the horizon was a life far greater and better for them. But instead of trusting the promises of God, the Israelites, and we too, believe the lie. The lie that God has withheld something better from us, the lie that God did not get our lives right, the lie that God truly does not love us. To believe the lie keeps us in the darkness, to believe the lie keeps us in exile, to believe the lie keeps us away from God.
This is certainly never the end! In our own exile, just as in the Israelite exile, God brings His people back to Himself. God actively searches, rescues and restores His people to the joy of life He knows we need. God sends His Son to tell us that the life we truly want, we truly need, the abundant life is not one in which God withholds, but freely gives us through Jesus Christ.
Sources
Cook, Jeff. Seven: The Deadly Sins and the Beatitudes. Zondervan: Grand Rapids, 2008.
Nouwen, Henri. The Return of the Prodigal Son. Image Books: New York, 1994.
To this end we always pray for you, that our God may make you worthy of his calling and may fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by his power, so that the name of our Lord Jesus may be glorified in you, and you in him, according to the grace of our God and the Lord Jesus Christ.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Have you ever experienced the persistent inquiry of a child? My six year old daughter has many gifts and talents. Two of them are her passion for play and her ability to craft a plan to get there. For any good “fun-haver”, it takes two to tango. One day, I was working on my computer from home. Work time lapsed into dad time. After asking me multiple times to play, her vocal inquiry turned into action. She walked over, looked me in the eyes, shut the lid to my laptop and said, “It’s time to play now, Dad.”
Her desire to be with me (not just around me) was energized by that passion that turned into action. The same is true, and much more, with the God of our universe. In 2 Thessalonians 1:11-12, Paul prays that God would make them worthy of His calling and “fulfill every resolve for good and every work of faith by His power, so that the name of Jesus may be glorified” in them (v. 11)! God does this for us through His resolve and His energetic action to live for His Kingdom rather than our own. This is the definition of a generous life. What God has done for us, He now does in us and through us for others. When we come to faith in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit, our plans and desires and efforts are transformed, grown, and even changed to come more in line with the plans, desires, and efforts that God has for us.
Every day we wake up, you and I have two options: look upward (Colossians 3:1) and grow abundantly to be used by God to extend His kingdom or look inward and atrophy with the plans, desires, and efforts that we have in our own minds to extend our kingdom. The beauty of the gospel is that when we are saved by grace through faith and become children of God, we are not made into His robots or minions to simply do His bidding despite us. God utilizes our plans, desires, and efforts along with the gifts that He has given you and me to fulfill every desire we have for good and turn them into works of faith for God’s Kingdom (Psalm 37:4). God is in the business of changing selfish hearts into generous lives.
One way to be transformed is to do something that is incredibly difficult for us to do: Listen. Listen to your desires. Listen to God’s Word. And listen for the promptings of the Holy Spirit. Prayer is active listening. God cares about His glory and our good (1 Thessalonians 1:12)! God is patient and willing to give you soft promptings through His people and His Word, but He is also willing to shut the lid of your distracted life so that His desire for your good might prove to be glory for Christ. Are you living a generous life? Are you listening? Are you taking the time to press in to what God desires for your life to be used in the lives of others?
There was a certain man of Ramathaim-zophim of the hill country of Ephraim whose name was Elkanah the son of Jeroham, son of Elihu, son of Tohu, son of Zuph, an Ephrathite. He had two wives. The name of the one was Hannah, and the name of the other, Peninnah. And Peninnah had children, but Hannah had no children.
Now this man used to go up year by year from his city to worship and to sacrifice to the Lord of hosts at Shiloh, where the two sons of Eli, Hophni and Phinehas, were priests of the Lord. On the day when Elkanah sacrificed, he would give portions to Peninnah his wife and to all her sons and daughters. But to Hannah he gave a double portion, because he loved her, though the Lord had closed her womb. And her rival used to provoke her grievously to irritate her, because the Lord had closed her womb. So it went on year by year. As often as she went up to the house of the Lord, she used to provoke her. Therefore Hannah wept and would not eat. And Elkanah, her husband, said to her, "Hannah, why do you weep? And why do you not eat? And why is your heart sad? Am I not more to you than ten sons?"
After they had eaten and drunk in Shiloh, Hannah rose. Now Eli the priest was sitting on the seat beside the doorpost of the temple of the Lord. She was deeply distressed and prayed to the Lord and wept bitterly.
And she vowed a vow and said, "O Lord of hosts, if you will indeed look on the affliction of your servant and remember me and not forget your servant, but will give to your servant a son, then I will give him to the Lord all the days of his life, and no razor shall touch his head."
As she continued praying before the Lord, Eli observed her mouth. Hannah was speaking in her heart; only her lips moved, and her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli took her to be a drunken woman. And Eli said to her, "How long will you go on being drunk? Put your wine away from you." But Hannah answered, "No, my lord, I am a woman troubled in spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor strong drink, but I have been pouring out my soul before the Lord. Do not regard your servant as a worthless woman, for all along I have been speaking out of my great anxiety and vexation." Then Eli answered, "Go in peace, and the God of Israel grant your petition that you have made to him." And she said, "Let your servant find favor in your eyes." Then the woman went her way and ate, and her face was no longer sad.
They rose early in the morning and worshiped before the Lord; then they went back to their house at Ramah. And Elkanah knew Hannah his wife, and the Lord remembered her. And in due time Hannah conceived and bore a son, and she called his name Samuel, for she said, "I have asked for him from the Lord."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
The students chuckled as the professor walked into the room. Did he not notice what was happening with his shirt? As they watched him make his way to the podium, they had trouble containing their amusement. How could such a brilliant man fail to button his shirt correctly? As the professor addressed the class, he acknowledged the issue with the shirt. He had put the first button into the second button hole. “You see, if you don’t start in the right place, you’ll never end up in the right place.” A simple mistake at the beginning can result in great embarrassment by the end. Sometimes, the only way to fix the problem is to start all over again.
The beginning of 1 Samuel gives us an opportunity to ask, “What is our starting point?” We often start with something that feels like a strength in our lives. We have this or we’ve done that or we’re good at this or we know them. These things give us a sense of value and power. They combat our creeping sense of inadequacy. What we don’t usually realize—until it’s too late—is that starting with ourselves is like missing the first button on our shirt. We never genuinely start with God until we finish starting with ourselves. We don’t want to come to the end of ourselves because we fear there will be nothing there. We refuse to admit our inability because we think we can do this. Maybe we can. But in the most crucial areas, we can’t.
“God’s tendency is to make our total inability his starting point.” This statement from Dale Ralph Davis is evident when we zoom in on the story of Hannah in 1 Samuel 1 and when we zoom out on the whole story of redemption. Here, a barren woman, devastated by her circumstances, has come to the end of herself. Her safety nets have been shredded. She has no fallback options. But here, in the place of utter desperation, the song of God’s rescue rings out. Our total inability is the prelude to the symphony of God’s sufficiency. In blessing barren Hannah with a child, the Lord again reveals the pattern of His redemption. In our hopelessness, the Lord gives birth to hope. In our despair, the Lord gives birth to joy. Salvation is nothing less than God doing the impossible, bringing life out of death. Who but God could turn a dead end into a fountain of life? If that’s the way the Lord works, why do we spend so much energy trying to avoid His starting point? Next time we button our shirt, we should remember: If we don’t start in the right place, we’ll never end up in the right place. Lord, help us to be honest about our inability and to be bold in crying out for Your grace!
I waited patiently for the LORD; He inclined to me and heard my cry. He drew me up from the pit of destruction, out of the miry bog, and set my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure. He put a new song in my mouth, a song of praise to our God. Many will see and fear, and put their trust in the LORD. Blessed is the man who makes the LORD his trust, who does not turn to the proud, to those who go astray after a lie! You have multiplied, O LORD my God, Your wondrous deeds and Your thoughts toward us; none can compare with You! I will proclaim and tell of them, yet they are more than can be told.
As for You, O LORD, You will not restrain Your mercy from me; Your steadfast love and Your faithfulness will ever preserve me! For evils have encompassed me beyond number; my iniquities have overtaken me, and I cannot see; they are more than the hairs of my head; my heart fails me.
But may all who seek You rejoice and be glad in You; may those who love Your salvation say continually, “Great is the LORD!” As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my Help and my Deliverer; do not delay, O my God!
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Has the world ever been so stuck? Millions of people are stuck at home, wondering when they’ll be able to leave the house and return to normal life. Some of us are stuck alone, longing for fellowship with others. Some of us are stuck with spouses and children, wondering if spring break will ever end—and why teachers don’t make a lot more money. Churches are stuck, longing to gather the Lord’s people, grappling with the strange reality that, in this moment, loving our neighbors seems to mean staying at least six feet away from them. Government officials are stuck, trying to stop the spread of a virus they can’t see, wanting to lift restrictions that have brought the economy to its knees. Doctors and nurses are stuck in hospitals, trying to help patients, but lacking the necessary supplies to care for them and protect themselves. And of course, hundreds of thousands of people are stuck with COVID-19, wondering if and when they will feel better.
So how do we get unstuck? There’s a famous statement that many Christians believe: “The Lord helps those who help themselves.” Many of us have been successful getting ourselves out of tough spots. But this feels like a new kind of stuck, where we don’t have what it takes to make it out on our own. Interestingly, Charles Spurgeon turned the famous quotation on its head: “God helps those who cannot help themselves.” This perspective doesn’t fit our radical individualism, but it does fit the narrative of Scripture. The truth is, when we believe that we can help ourselves, we don’t look for the Lord’s help. We still think we can pull ourselves out of “the pit of destruction” and “the miry bog” (Psalm 40:2). But when we come to the end of ourselves and realize that there’s no way to get ourselves unstuck, we finally own our desperation and cry out for rescue. We see this in Psalm 40 when we compare what David does and what the Lord does. All David does is wait patiently for the Lord (Psalm 40:1). The Lord inclines to him, hears his cry, draws him up, sets his feet upon a rock, and puts a new song in his mouth (Psalm 40:1-3). Like all of us, David was a sinner who needed a Savior, and the Lord brought him to a place where he could say: “As for me, I am poor and needy, but the Lord takes thought for me. You are my Help and my Deliverer; do not delay, O my God!” (Psalm 40:17). The Lord is the Savior of the stuck.
As we enter another week of isolation, what does it look like to wait patiently for the Lord? It means to acknowledge that we are stuck and there’s nothing we can do to get unstuck. It means to cry out to the Lord because He alone is our Deliverer, and our life in Him is a story of deliverance past, present, and future. It means to turn our eyes from our present circumstances to His present help. It means to remember that nearly 2,000 years ago Jesus was stuck on a cross and in a tomb…and to worship Him because these very moments which seemed like death and defeat were the dawn of life and victory. It means to anticipate something beautiful because the Lord has a perfect track record of bringing glory out of destruction. It means to sing a new song, because the world is listening, and people need to hear “a song of praise to our God” (Psalm 40:3). If the world has never been so stuck, perhaps we have never had such an opportunity. Are we praying that “many will see and fear, and put their trust in the Lord” (Psalm 40:3)?
I lift my eyes up to the hills. From where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth. He will not let your foot be moved; He who keeps you will not slumber.
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
I found a few mosquitoes outside the front door of my home last week. I am no entomologist, but it seemed too soon to greet those unwanted guests from their winter rest. I despise those little creatures. When I look at them I question the very purpose of their existence, and when they look at me all they see is a Thanksgiving feast. And perhaps the most disconcerting thought of all is this fact: when you see one mosquito, you are certain droves are soon to follow. Mosquitoes do not dwell in isolation—where there is one there is sure to be another and another and another.
Doesn’t it feel like bad news comes in droves, too? Some periods of life seem this way. For many in my area the last few months have felt this way. One initial piece of bad news opened the door for another and another and another. And though we might intellectualize it and remind ourselves that we know all of this is a result of the Fall—that with sin came the curse of death and all ugly things conjoined with it—if we are honest with ourselves it feels overwhelming and drains our bodies of energy, of perspective, and possibly even of hope.
Psalm 121 speaks to this sort of situation. It is a pilgrim psalm of hope. As the people/pilgrims traveled on their journey, often they had to pass through dangerous and remote desert regions and sometimes through unfriendly territory. There would be general unrest and fear of enemies, of starvation, of desolation, or at the least, of uncertainty. That being the case, the pilgrim bands would post sentries on the hills around their encampment when they rested for the night. The people needing comfort would look up to the hills toward the posted guards and be reassured that all was presently okay. Though their circumstances were dreary or uncertain, they were currently being guarded. But ultimately this wasn’t enough. They needed more than armed watchmen. They needed a sure defense to find true comfort and rest. So they recalled and rehearsed their true source of help—the God who never sleeps guarded their tents.
This psalm of hope prompts those in distress to do the following:
Remember to look up. When times grow dreary, our situation can quickly become the sole focus of our thoughts, our hearts, and our eyes. Resultantly, hopelessness saturates our lives. But if we remember to look up, we can find our Source of help. The direction of our eyes will help determine the direction of our hearts. Lift your eyes to the hills until your heart joins in tandem.
Rehearse your Source of help. I love the question posed in this psalm: “Where does my help come from?” Have you ever voiced that question amidst a desperate situation? It’s a great and necessary question. Our “help comes from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.” We need to remember to look up, but we also need to rehearse to whom we are looking. It is not a simple sentry or watchman, but the Creator God who made heaven and earth. None is greater than He.
Recall the sovereignty and attentiveness of our God. This psalm not only points to God’s power but also to the promise of His presence. He gives personal attention to His people. He is the powerful Helper who made all the heavens and all the earth, and He is the God of Israel who will not let your foot be moved. His attentiveness is unfailing for His people. I think we often feel that God is ignoring us—as if He might be asleep on the job. This verse promotes the opposite. He does not slumber. He is ceaselessly attentive. He is personal. He is “my help” according to the psalmist.
When in the middle of a string of difficult events, look up, rehearse your Source of help, and recall the sovereignty and attentiveness of our God. He who keeps you will not slumber. Lift up your eyes heavenward and leave them there until your heart joins and you find comfort and rest in the God who never sleeps.
The man Elkanah and all his house went up to offer to the Lord the yearly sacrifice and to pay his vow. But Hannah did not go up, for she said to her husband, "As soon as the child is weaned, I will bring him, so that he may appear in the presence of the Lord and dwell there forever." Elkanah her husband said to her, "Do what seems best to you; wait until you have weaned him; only, may the Lord establish his word." So the woman remained and nursed her son until she weaned him. And when she had weaned him, she took him up with her, along with a three-year-old bull, an ephah of flour, and a skin of wine, and she brought him to the house of the Lord at Shiloh. And the child was young.
Then they slaughtered the bull, and they brought the child to Eli. And she said, "Oh, my lord! As you live, my lord, I am the woman who was standing here in your presence, praying to the Lord. For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him. Therefore I have lent him to the Lord. As long as he lives, he is lent to the Lord."
And he worshiped the Lord there.
And Hannah prayed and said,
"My heart exults in the Lord; my horn is exalted in the Lord. My mouth derides my enemies,because I rejoice in your salvation.
"There is none holy like the Lord; there is none besides you;there is no rock like our God. Talk no more so very proudly, let not arrogance come from your mouth; for the Lord is a God of knowledge, and by him actions are weighed. The bows of the mighty are broken, but the feeble bind on strength.
Those who were full have hired themselves out for bread, but those who were hungry have ceased to hunger. The barren has borne seven, but she who has many children is forlorn. The Lord kills and brings to life; he brings down to Sheol and raises up. The Lord makes poor and makes rich; he brings low and he exalts. He raises up the poor from the dust; he lifts the needy from the ash heap to make them sit with princes and inherit a seat of honor. For the pillars of the earth are the Lord's, and on them he has set the world.
"He will guard the feet of his faithful ones, but the wicked shall be cut off in darkness, for not by might shall a man prevail. The adversaries of the Lord shall be broken to pieces; against them he will thunder in heaven. The Lord will judge the ends of the earth; he will give strength to his king and exalt the power of his anointed."
Then Elkanah went home to Ramah. And the boy ministered to the Lord in the presence of Eli the priest.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
They are so much alike they are sometimes mistaken for twins. Everyone confuses them. And it's no wonder. They frequently travel together and even seem to make a point to show up at exactly the same time. Helplessness and hopelessness are nearly indistinguishable, and for the unredeemed, usually inseparable.
Like me, you have probably entertained both. You found yourself in some situation or relationship that seemed utterly futile, completely out of your control, and careening headlong toward despondency. Remember that? But that sense of utter helplessness didn't remain neutral. It wasn't sterile and contained. Pretty soon, the twin terror of loss of hope crept in. "Well, what's the use," we say, "nothing I do seems to make a bit of difference." And then we utter the mantra of our hopeless age, "Well, whatever!" We're undone by our helpless estate. Hope is gone.
But Hannah, Samuel's mom, knew the better way, the way of the redeemed. She traveled with helplessness, but knew that hopelessness mustn't join in the journey. And where did she go, this woman with deep faith and bone-crushing sadness? She went to God Almighty. She knew the eternal truth that rings throughout all of scripture. God is at work, always and everywhere. And for those who know Him, that work shines most brightly when we finally come to the end of ourselves.
Think of the stories! A man from Ur with a settled history and an extended family is told to leave all that and take off for who knows where. A young boy is sold into slavery by his own brothers. A petulant missionary finds himself in the belly of a fish, and an erudite Roman citizen sings praises chained to the floor of a filthy dungeon. The stories are legion, and the stories are true. They teach us again and again that our pernicious belief that we are in control is folly. They teach us to draw near to God.
Think of the disciples. They watched helplessly as their leader was accused, arrested, and led away to execution. There was nothing they could do. Then he breathed his last, and his lifeless, broken body was hurriedly hustled into a borrowed grave. Darkness was coming. Darkness had won. Helpless and hopeless, the fearful disciples hid out.
And then, in the central event of all of human history, the eternal torrent of hope washed over creation like a tidal wave. "He is alive!", they cried. Indeed, HE IS ALIVE. In Christ, there is "strength for today and bright hope for tomorrow."
So when you hear yourself sighing, "Well, I've done all I can do, I guess there's nothing left but to pray", remember Hannah. Remember all the others. And remember that chained, helpless, hope-filled Rabbi who reminds us all.
But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-10
For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, several guys on the PCPC Youth staff drive to a house near the church to work out, but this isn’t your typical workout. This is a combination of Crossfit and our friend, Drew. We call it Drossfit. Drew, in his inordinate, yet humble strength, has graciously offered up his time and energy to help us (we will call us “the less strong ones”) get into shape. One thing I have come to realize about Drew is that he likes phrases like “muscle confusion” and “muscle failure.” I find that I enjoy them less so. However, he says that this is what makes us actually get stronger. The concept is simple: do a certain exercise until you are unable to do it, fail, so that next time you will be able to do more.
[Insert Spiritual Connection here]. The Christian life is like Drossfit. Before you get stronger and more like Christ, you must experience weakness, failure, and even death. You have to come to the end of yourself. It is in this failure that you actually succeed and become stronger. But rather than a garage workout, God uses all of life and its many circumstances to point out our weaknesses in order to strengthen us. God’s method of making us stronger is making us more like His Son, by the power of His Spirit. Jesus’ life wasn’t an American Dream success story. It was birth in a barn, a life of functional homelessness (Luke 9:58), and death by Roman crucifixion. Paul says in Philippians 1:21 that “to live is Christ and to die is gain.” What? How does that make sense, Paul? Elsewhere, Paul says similar things like in 2 Corinthians 12–here Paul is experiencing some sort of physical (or spiritual) ailment that he calls his “thorn in the flesh.” Three times Paul asks for it be taken away. Who wouldn’t think that if they were Paul, that God would want to “bless” him in this way by taking away his pain? It would have made him “more effective” in his missionary journeys, right? But what happens with Paul’s thorn in his flesh? Does God take it away? No, he doesn’t. God says loud and clear, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness”(v. 9). God’s grace is the strength we need to endure weakness, to experience “muscle failure” through what the Bible calls trial, tribulation, cross-bearing, and suffering.
But in America, in Dallas, TX, we miss this often. We hear words like “to live is Christ and to die is gain” and “my power is made perfect in weakness” and gloss over them as spiritual platitudes to be “sought after.” But when it doesn’t match up with how we want to live our lives, we dismiss them altogether. We follow God when we feel good, but we really struggle to follow God in our weakness, pain, and persecution, when our lives actually look like Jesus’ life. John Calvin warns against this way of thinking in his Institutes: “Why then should we exempt ourselves from that condition to which Christ our Head behooved to submit (namely learning obedience through suffering); especially since he submitted on our account (italics added), that he might in his own person exhibit a model of patience.”
Here is the real problem. Our rebellion against God doesn’t always look like outright treason. But it is rebellion nonetheless. I realized a while back that if you switch two words in Philippians 1:21, it painted a more accurate picture of how we choose to live. My version of Philippians 1:21 reads, “To live is gain, and to die is Christ.” It’s subtle, but very different. I look at Jesus. I thank Him that I get to go to heaven when I die. But then I go about my business of pursuing my kingdom, filled with my treasure, and then I stamp “blessed” on my prosperity-driven gospel that really is no gospel at all.
Before you get on board the guilt train, feel bad for a little while, then get off and go on living how you lived before, begin by asking yourself a few questions:
1. Do I fully understand how much Jesus Christ loves me, even in my failure?
2. Am I willing to set aside my agenda, my worldview of success through my own strength, and submit myself to God’s plan of “power through weakness, trial, suffering, and pain?”
3. And am I willing to look to the bloody cross and the empty tomb for strength and the power of the Holy Spirit as I take up my cross and follow Jesus?
Fortunately for us, when we fail, when we sin, God’s grace is sufficient. AMEN? And even in the weakness of our own sin, God’s power is made perfect, and we are made stronger in Christ. As Paul Tripp says in his book Instruments in the Redeemer’s Hands, “The good news of the kingdom is not freedom from hardship, suffering and loss. It is the news of a Redeemer who has come to rescue me from myself.”
May Jesus Christ, who knows what it means to suffer as you do, yet without sin, rescue you, one day, one trial, and one test at a time through the power of the Holy Spirit as you see the Day drawing near. And may the strength given to you flow from your trials to help others in His body and this city to know Christ’s sufferings and the power of His resurrection!
I lift up my eyes to the hills.
From where does my help come?
My help comes from the Lord,
who made heaven and earth.
He will not let your foot be moved;
he who keeps you will not slumber.
Behold, he who keeps Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
The Lord is your keeper;
the Lord is your shade on your right hand.
The sun shall not strike you by day,
nor the moon by night.
The Lord will keep you from all evil;
he will keep your life.
The Lord will keep
your going out and your coming in
from this time forth and forevermore.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
In these times of Covid-19, the news of the sick and dying flood in from around the world while many of us wait sheltered in place. Medical providers and first responders work under intense pressure at the risk of their own health even as their loved ones anxiously wait at home. A friend is quarantined after giving birth longing for the day when she and her husband can share their daughter with family and friends. Another is furloughed without pay. Others find their long hoped for wedding day no longer possible choosing to marry with no guests. Small business owners face closure, and long-termed disciplined investors find their strategies unraveling in days. With so much suffering and uncertainty, from where does our help come? Psalm 121 is a prayer for such a time as this.
On the precarious journey to worship in Jersalem, the psalmist opens with a survey of the landscape: “I lift up my eyes to the hills.” The daunting conditions at hand—shakey foot paths, exhaustion, dangers by day and night—lead the pilgrim to ask, “From where does my help come?” Though the dangers are real, the psalmist answers with confidence in the One God, maker of heaven and earth, who is relentless in keeping His people.
The Hebrew word shamar meaning to keep, guard, watch over, and attend to carefully is repeated six times through the psalm:
The cosmic creator of heaven and earth is personally attentive in ceasless care of His people. And yet, how can we sing this song in the psalmist’s key in our own time? God walked the path to Jerusalem in person to keep His loving purposes for His people.
Luke 9:51 says that Jesus set his eyes to go to Jerusalem where he was rejected and betrayed that in Him our foot might not be moved. He was struck by day and night that we might be ultimately safe in His presence. Jesus suffered Roman crucifixion, died, and rose from the dead in victory over evil that we might be kept now and always. Though we remain vulnerable to troubles in the already but not yet of God’s Kingdom, we are never alone. Jesus says,
“But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in my name, he will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid.” (John 14:26-28).
Our Christian vocation in a world of suffering and uncertainty is to live by the Spirit as a people of surprising hope. Though we weep in suffering, the Father’s attentive care answers our cry. Though we doubt in the face of uncertainty, Jesus’s faithfulness secures our feet. Though dangers are present by day and night, the Holy Spirit keeps us in God’s loving presence. Whether in sickness or in health, on the frontlines or at home, may we sing this song in these times and become a living answer to What is your only hope in life and death?
That I am not my own,
but belong with body and soul,
both in life and in death,
to my faithful Saviour Jesus Christ.
He has fully paid for all my sins
with his precious blood,
and has set me free
from all the power of the devil.
He also preserves me in such a way
that without the will of my heavenly Father
not a hair can fall from my head;
indeed, all things must work together
for my salvation.
Therefore, by his Holy Spirit
he also assures me
of eternal life
and makes me heartily willing and ready
from now on to live for him.
(Heidelberg Catechism)
And they compelled a passerby, Simon of Cyrene, who was coming in from the country, the father of Alexander and Rufus, to carry His cross. And they brought Him to the place called Golgotha (which means Place of a Skull). And they offered Him wine mixed with myrrh, but He did not take it. And they crucified Him and divided His garments among them, casting lots for them, to decide what each should take. And it was the third hour when they crucified Him. And the inscription of the charge against Him read, “The King of the Jews.” And with Him they crucified two robbers, one on His right and one on His left. And those who passed by derided Him, wagging their heads and saying, “Aha! You who would destroy the temple and rebuild it in three days, save yourself, and come down from the cross!” So also the chief priests with the scribes mocked Him to one another, saying, “He saved others; He cannot save Himself. Let the Christ, the King of Israel, come down now from the cross that we may see and believe.” Those who were crucified with Him also reviled him.
And when the sixth hour had come, there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried with a loud voice, “Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani?” which means, “My God, my God, why have You forsaken Me?” And some of the bystanders hearing it said, “Behold, He is calling Elijah.” And someone ran and filled a sponge with sour wine, put it on a reed and gave it to Him to drink, saying, “Wait, let us see whether Elijah will come to take Him down.” And Jesus uttered a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain of the temple was torn in two, from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood facing Him, saw that in this way He breathed His last, he said, “Truly this man was the Son of God!”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
The city had exploded. Filled to overflowing with Passover pilgrims, twitchy Roman soldiers and no small number of hucksters and hangers-on, Jerusalem was tight and tense. The smells and sounds were overwhelming. Foreign foods hawked by street vendors mixed and mingled with the soon-to-be-sacrificed sheep and goats and doves. Dust of the desert hung in the air with the din of Hebrew, Greek, Aramaic and Latin. And in the whispered exchanges of families and friends, there was talk of revolution. Maybe this would be the year!
He had arrived at the beginning of the week. Everyone knew who He was, and most had hopes of who He would become. The miracle working healer from Galilee had ridden into town. But He wasn't on a steed or a camel-He rode in on a donkey, and a small one at that. And the crowd had gone crazy. He was here! At last! "Hosanna!" they shouted. "Hail to the King of the Jews!" they cried. And in the super-charged atmosphere of the Holy City of Zion, it was as if heat- lighting had struck the stubble of desiccated dreams and burst into flame.
Rome was ready. Rome was practiced. More than a century before in the same region of the world, Rome had snuffed out the Maccabeans and their foolish notions of independence. The Sanhedrin and priests were ready. There would be no backwater, no-name Messiah from the wrong part of the land. They were in no mood for another pretender, another "peoples' choice" priest. And mostly, there would be no disruption of the status quo. The whole idea was preposterous. This itinerant, homeless hack with no training or pedigree would not be allowed to undermine the autonomy that Rome had finally granted. Passover would see a sacrifice all right; but it would be a sacrifice to the idols of Pax Romana and the illusion of power.
So the deal was struck. It was expensive, maybe even over-priced, but worth thirty pieces to guarantee they got the right man. An inside job from a sensible traitor who could be bought, it proved to be just as easy as it was costly. And the plan was perfect. With some help from the garrison, away from the crowds, surrounded only by his rag-tag band of idiot fishermen, the would-be Messiah would be grabbed. If Herod needed peace and the priests needed quiet, if the crowd wanted spectacle and the Passover called for blood, when darkness fell, so would He.
The plan worked like a charm. Or more truthfully, like a charmer was behind the plan. Soon He would feel the lashes and the spittle, the thorns and the spikes. Soon He would hang, stripped and bloodied, lifted up for all to see. Soon He would look into his mother's eyes for the last time. There was no escape now for this brazen pretender.
Then the once adoring crowd mocked Him. Will you? When the pressure to conform presses you to deny?
Then the soldiers of Rome mocked Him. Will you? When you can get a laugh or advance a career?
Then the passers-by mocked Him. Will you? When your demands of God are thwarted and unmet?
Then the religious leaders mocked Him. Will you? When your self-righteousness is shown to be rags?
Then the dying criminal mocked Him. Will you? When the pretense of your life is at last stripped away?
He cried out to God, this God-forsaken King. And then He said clearly, with strength and resolve, "It is finished." Then He bowed his head and died.
Who has believed what he has heard from us? And to whom has the arm of the LORD been revealed? For He grew up before Him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; He had no form or majesty that we should look at Him, and no beauty that we should desire Him. He was despised and rejected by men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces. He was despised, and we esteemed Him not. Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows; yet we esteemed Him stricken, smitten by God, and afflicted. But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned-every one-to his own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all. He was oppressed, and He was afflicted, yet He opened not His mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so He opened not his mouth. By oppression and judgment He was taken away; and as for His generation, who considered that He was cut off out of the land of the living, stricken for the transgression of my people? And they made His grave with the wicked and with a rich man in His death, although He had done no violence, and there was no deceit in His mouth.
-Isaiah 53: 1-9
Solus Christus. Amen.
For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven…
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
I walked along the lingering line of the ocean earlier this spring. The water had a chilly bite to it—proof that the winter months were just freshly behind us. The coast was quiet, as most of the spring breakers wouldn’t arrive for weeks. As I walked, I watched the ocean crash. It was a rough tide. The waves collided with an irregular rhythm, not the melody of ebb and flow, ebb and flow, ebb and flow. It was a wild ocean, full of splashing, mist, and power. I kept strolling, amazed at how the Creator can hold back the might of a wild tide with a simple, sandy line.
Then my feet brushed up against something tucked in the sand. As I looked down I was surprised to find a perfect, whole sand dollar. These are rare little sea treasures—even on days when the ocean is calm and tranquil. It seemed like a paradox. How could something so fragile and delicate come from such harsh conditions?
My little beach-find that morning was a glimmer of hope for a weary soul. I needed to remember that beauty can come from rough places. I needed the reminder that the Lord delights in the impossible and can sustain fragile things through harsh conditions. That simple moment, with sandy toes and a sand dollar in hand, gave me hope.
The Lord brings beauty from ashes (Isaiah 61:3). Many times, beholding this great work is like watching the spring unfold. During the cold months of winter, the earth seems to fall asleep beneath frosty temperatures, short days and (depending on where you live) winter conditions of snow and ice. But as spring approaches, creation begins to stir beneath the chill. Tiny buds appear on the tips of bleak tree branches. Grass shoots pop through the gray ground. And the sunshine seems to crack through misty skies and muted landscapes. Life breaks through and begins to grow. Color bursts into the palette once again. Beauty from ashes.
There are seasons of life that feel as bleak and cold as winter. I found myself in that kind of season as I walked the beach. But oh! To behold the beauty and miracle of a fragile shell—perfectly (and surprisingly) preserved. I couldn’t help but think, “Lord, if You can do that with a sand dollar in these rough waters, then You can bring me through this season, too.” It gave me hope for spring.
Still, our darkest seasons and darkest days cannot compare to the day our Savior died on the cross—for me and for you. The earth appeared to break and grieve beneath the chill of our rebellion. The Sun of Righteousness appeared to be extinguished. But God was doing something that no physical eye could see. For a world trapped in cold and darkness, the Lord was bringing life out of death. On the third day, spring came as Christ rose victoriously from the grave—for me and for you.
My friend, consider the spring! Look around you. Life is stirring. The Lord brings beauty from unexpected and improbable places. What beauty might He bring out of this season in your life?
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
We are all in the business of Kingdom building. Subconsciously or intentionally, we spend our days creating, building, and fluffing our kingdom of self. We fill our little kingdoms with the things we love and the accolades we receive, and often we hope it will support the weight of our desires. And yet our small kingdoms cannot withstand the pressure. We desperately need a bigger, better Kingdom. This is exactly why Jesus came.
With the unpredictable weather in Texas, we have become proficient tent builders. One by one, we haul the dining room table chairs into the master bedroom. Using the bed and chairs as the perfect boundaries, we canopy the room in blankets. We drape my old high school t-shirt blanket as the tent’s roof—proudly displaying every club, prom, and football season. We spread out a beach towel for the floor and stack pillows to make walls—impenetrable borders until our playful dog storms the fort. Will likes to take his favorite things into the tent. One basketball, baseball, and football at a time, he is creating his perfect little kingdom.
One afternoon in particular, we built a fort. Will—a busy almost-two-year-old—was just having a rough afternoon, and eventually it ended in a meltdown. He wasn’t feeling well, he was tired, and quickly he retreated tearfully to his tent. After a couple of minutes, I noticed that his crying hadn’t calmed, and he was lying with his little face buried in the beach towel. He needed to be lifted out of his despair—he couldn’t do it himself. I bent down and dipped my head under the blanket, crawling towards my melted toddler. Even in his upset state, he didn’t resist as I scooped him up and into my lap. His head was warm and his tears streaked my shirt, but I held him close. He needed someone to come into his tent kingdom and lift him out.
In that moment, I was overwhelmed by the clarity of the Gospel in the most average of days. There is a Celtic saying that talks about a “thin place.” This particular phrase describes a place where the veil between heaven and earth is particularly “thin,” so much so that one is able to catch a glimpse of eternity. In a “thin place,” for a moment in time, heaven and earth seem as one. It’s an incredibly beautiful thought for us as believers. For me, I can think of no thinner place than the edge of the mighty sea. However, the mundane—the normal activity of day-to-day life—has become a beautiful thin place as well. It’s not the ocean’s roar, but it’s equally as staggering. Will is no different than his mama. On a day when I doubt the Lord’s goodness to me, I desperately need someone to crawl into my tent and rescue me from my own meltdown.
The great news of Easter is that Jesus came for me. He came for you. He came for the world that He created. Breaking into our world of self-made kingdoms, the Kingdom of God overwhelmed our brokenness. “Though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross” (Philippians 2:6-8). The Lord Jesus—in all His divinity—bent down and crawled into our t-shirt blanket tents. Despite our unreasonable state and lingering mess, He came. Into our small kingdoms, He moved in to save us from ourselves. Our despair and self-created chaos did not deter heaven’s grace. It knocked down our pillow walls and stooped low to give us hope.
As I sat with Will in his tent, I caught a glimpse of the Lord’s dying love for me. Easter is the most staggering, beautiful picture of our mess-turned-clean state. Our Savior lives and reigns at the Father’s right hand today, but He also lived and reigned in our broken, needy world so that we could have life. Our little kingdoms cannot withstand our deepest need, and they don’t have to. Heaven’s Kingdom accomplished all that we need and more on the cross.
At Christmas, we celebrate the coming King—a Savior who stooped low and left the brilliance of heaven for the muck and mire of this world. At Easter, we rejoice that He came, lived, died, and then rose. Heaven crawled into our t-shirt blanket tents and, in His infinite grace and mercy, pulled us out that we may truly live.
Then came the day of Unleavened Bread, on which the Passover lamb had to be sacrificed. So Jesus sent Peter and John, saying, "Go and prepare the Passover for us, that we may eat it." They said to Him, "Where will you have us prepare it?" He said to them, "Behold, when you have entered the city, a man carrying a jar of water will meet you. Follow him into the house that he enters and tell the master of the house, 'The Teacher says to you, Where is the guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?' And he will show you a large upper room furnished; prepare it there." And they went and found it just as He had told them, and they prepared the Passover.
And when the hour came, He reclined at table, and the apostles with Him. And He said to them, "I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God." And He took a cup, and when He had given thanks He said, "Take this, and divide it among yourselves. For I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes." And He took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is My body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of Me." And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in My blood. But behold, the hand of him who betrays Me is with Me on the table. For the Son of Man goes as it has been determined, but woe to that man by whom He is betrayed!" And they began to question one another, which of them it could be who was going to do this.
A dispute also arose among them, as to which of them was to be regarded as the greatest.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
One of my fondest childhood memories were the Sunday lunches at my grandparents' house after church. In the small fifteen hundred square foot house gathered my immediate family, uncles, aunts, and cousins too. But the guest list did not end there, no, in fact other relatives would join us-second, third, and fifth cousins twice-removed, friends from church, and other family friends. Anyone who knew my grandparents knew there was a place on Sunday afternoons for them where they would be welcomed by hearty food, warm smiles, and lots of laughter. They were truly generous hosts who earnestly wanted any and all to come for a meal and fellowship.
The text from this past Sunday's sermon brings us to a climatic point in Scripture. Up and to this point, Jesus has spoken about His impending death and resurrection, yet the disciples are, at different times, confused, perplexed, or enraged about what He says. They cannot quite understand the true meaning of Jesus's words. Before Jesus is to endure the agonies of the cross and rise from the dead, He gathers His closest friends for one last, intimate meal. For them it was once in a lifetime experience, but for Jesus, the Earnest Host, it was not unfamiliar territory. If we go back to Genesis 1-3, the Earnest Host lays out a bounty of good for our first parents, Adam and Eve. However, the meal has parameters; no partaking of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. And yet we know both Adam and Eve disobey God, partake of the fruit, and the Earnest Host is incredibly furious and offended. Fellowship is cut-off. Relationship is broken between the Earnest Host and His image bearers. Rather than never to offer another feast again, the Old Testament teases us with portraits of a grand feast that is to come, where God will be reconciled to His image bearers and His Creation so that they may enjoy Him forever. Whether is it with Melchizedek king of Salem (Genesis 14:18), or the offerings in the Mosaic Law that included both feasts and sacrificial offerings (Leviticus 16, 23), there is something more to the Story that continually builds to this moment in the Upper Room.
In the Upper Room, the significance of moment and the meal is still muddled for the disciples. While Jesus spells out, at least to us, the apparent reality of what is to come both physically and spiritually in His crucifixion, speculation and one-up-manship break out among the disciples. The Earnest Host, again, lays out a bounty, a feast to partake, and the moment is lost in self-absorption. But this feast in the Upper Room is not the end; it points to a greater feast to come. This greater feast will happen in the Age to Come, where all the redeemed will gather with our God for forever (Rev. 19:6-9; 21:1-4). God will welcome communion and host His redeemed image bearers for a party of delight in Himself. God earnestly seeks out His people for that feast (Luke 19:10). Until that glorious day, we continue to gather at the Lord's Table to proclaim His death and look for His return.
We can have confidence that the Earnest Host will make a great feast for His people again, and this time there will be no interruptions, no self-absorption, no one-up-manship. There will be no end to His feast either. This feast will be about the enjoyment of our God for forever. As the prophet Isaiah wrote,
On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples
a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine,
of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined.
And He will swallow up on this mountain
the covering that is cast over all peoples,
the veil that is spread over all nations.
He will swallow up death forever;
and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces,
and the reproach of His people He will take away from all the earth,
for the Lord has spoken. (Isaiah 25:6-8)
For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when He was betrayed took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it, and said, “This is my body, which is for you. Do this in remembrance of Me.” In the same way also He took the cup, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in My blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.” For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Who is missing at your table? Around the world, so many of us are keenly aware of the people who are absent. Because of COVID-19, we can’t travel to be with family and friends. Even if we live in the same neighborhood, we’ve been advised to shelter at home. So millions of tables around the world are missing people who are normally present. Some are healthy but isolated in another place; others are sick and isolated in hospitals. This reality leaves us with a deep ache, because at its best, the table is the heart of the home. The table is the place where life is shared, with all its tears and laughter, joy and pain. The table is the place where love is cultivated, where strangers become friends and friends become family. The table is the place where we are fed, both physically and spiritually. When someone is missing from our table, there’s a void. We long to be together, to embrace, and to enjoy fellowship again. I wonder: has the world ever been so united in its longing to gather? As we wait for the storm of this pandemic to pass, what do we do with this ache?
What if we turn our introspective question into a prayer? What if we stop asking, “Who is missing at our table?” and instead ask, “Lord, who is missing at Your table?” On Maundy Thursday, the church remembers the night Jesus washed His disciples’ feet…and ate the Passover with them…and told them, “This is My body…. This cup is the new covenant in My blood. Do this…in remembrance of Me.” Maundy comes from the Latin word meaning “commandment”, because on this night Jesus gave His disciples a new commandment, to love one another as He had loved them (John 13:34-35). It’s not a coincidence that these events happened around a table in an upper room in Jerusalem, “the city that kills the prophets” (Matthew 23:37). Everything that unfolded around the table on Thursday was a picture of the love that would be demonstrated and poured out on a cross on Friday. The Lord Jesus Christ was the True Passover, the Lamb of God, and the Bread of Life. On Good Friday Jesus would give His life so that those who come to Him would find “food that endures to eternal life” (John 6:27). And on that Thursday, no one was missing at the Lord’s table, not even Judas.
For nearly two thousand years, Christians have come to the Lord’s Table. We have tasted the bread and drunk the cup. We have done this in remembrance of Him, and we have proclaimed His death while aching for His return. For two millennia the Lord has invited the church to His table, and in a sense, no one has been missing. That makes this moment in church history particularly poignant. For so many churches, we are missing at the Lord’s Table. We have streaming worship services and online meetings, but we can’t gather and partake of the Lord’s Supper. Our hearts ache, but what about the Lord? I can’t pretend to know how He experiences this moment, but I know that on that Thursday night He told His beloved disciples, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer” (Luke 22:15). If He longed to commune with His disciples during Holy Week, mustn’t He long to commune with us still? What if the Lord doesn’t intend to heal this ache? What if instead He wants to share it with us? What if He longs for us even more than we long for Him? What if He wants to stir our longing during this season so that when we gather again, we will know the joy of our union with Christ like never before? What if He is teaching us to be satisfied in the Bread of Life alone (John 6:35)? What if He is taking us deeper into the wonder of being branches abiding in the Vine (John 15:5)? What if this holy hunger is another foretaste of the marriage supper of the Lamb (Revelation 19:9)?
“Who is missing at your table?” May that question stir our longing for the Day when the Lord will dwell with us, and we will be His people, and He Himself will be with us as our God. On that day, He will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things will have passed away (Revelation 21:3-5). On that day, none of His people will be missing at His Table. And we will share His life, rejoice in His love, and feast forever.
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!
But this I call to mind,
and therefore I have hope:
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is Your faithfulness.
“The LORD is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in Him.”
The LORD is good to those who wait for Him,
to the soul who seeks Him.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
There’s a reason Lamentations 3:21-25 sounds familiar. This passage speaks of the Lord’s mercies in an unforgettable way: “His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning.” If we haven’t heard these verses, we’ve probably sung them. The hymn “Great Is Thy Faithfulness” rises from this text. These five verses may be familiar, but the rest of the book is likely not. The dictionary helps us understand why. When we look up lament, we read: “a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.” We’re drawn to joyful worship, passionate preaching, authentic fellowship, and sacrificial service. But lament? Who wants to attend the evening of lament at church? Lamentations is the passionate expression of grief as God’s people wrestle with the destruction of their homeland. In an age of options, who could blame us for wanting to change the channel? But the language of lament is not unusual in the Bible; it just feels unusual in our time and place. We can’t read the Psalms for long without running into a lament, but what do we do when we stumble upon one? Do we enter into the darkness, or do we run ahead looking for light? The hope of Lamentations 3:21-25 is deeply connected to a moment of lament. We should ask ourselves: Would passages like these reach so high if their roots weren’t planted so deeply in the soil of sadness? And if not, what does that mean for us if we choose superficial joy over the deeper joy that comes on the other side of lament?
When he lost his son in a hiking accident, philosopher Nicholas Wolterstorff penned a lament. In the midst of his devastation, he wrote, “Every lament is a love song.” God’s people lamented because they loved Jerusalem and they loved the Lord, and they feared they had lost both. If we allow ourselves to go there, what would be our lament? Where could we sing the song of love lost? In relationships with friends or family, could we lament what we’ve said or left unsaid? Could we lament the distance we feel because we’ve failed to spend time or seek reconciliation? In our work, could we lament the choices that we’ve made when we were blown by the winds of wrong motives to places that we desired…until we got there? Could we lament the wasted hours, days, and opportunities? In our relationship with God, could we lament the sin that clings so closely, the moments when we do what we hate and hate what we do? Could we lament the sluggishness of hearts that are prone to wander, even after we’ve experienced more of the mercies of God?
I ask because I sense that many of us do not know how to lament. We hear Jesus saying, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted,” and we think, “That’s great for the sad mourning people out there somewhere.” Many of us are second-hand mourners. Lament is biography, not autobiography. I ask because I fear, as long as that is the case, the comfort of the Gospel will be biography, not autobiography. We become people handing out flyers to places we’ve never been, inviting others to experience the life-changing love of Christ when we are too afraid to go there ourselves. I ask because I know that we’re tempted to waste our lives chasing the next new thing, when only Jesus is big enough to satisfy our longing. I ask because only Christ can make all things new, but we’re tempted to choose the old that we know over the new that we don’t.
The only way to new life in Christ is to confront the lamentable devastation of what is old. With brutal honesty, the author of Lamentations brings his lament before the Lord. And it’s there, in the smoldering ashes of devastation, that something new happens. The poet gives us a vital practice: calling things to mind. When difficulty comes, we cannot avoid remembering or preaching some kind of message to ourselves. So will we listen to the voice of hopelessness, or will we call to mind the voice of God? Will we yield to the darkness, or will we remind ourselves of the Light who shines in the darkness? When all the signs suggest otherwise, we preach to ourselves that the steadfast love of the Lord never ceases. When we think that we’ve exhausted His forgiveness, we call to mind that His mercies never come to an end. When we fear that we’ll be forsaken, we declare, “Great is His faithfulness.” When nothing else satisfies, we proclaim, “The Lord is my portion.” By His grace, we learn to wait on the Lord…and to lament. We follow Jesus, who is the pattern and power of our altogether new life. In the middle of our efforts to avoid difficulty, can we see Jesus waiting, lamenting, and suffering? He seems to know that the way to new is not around but through. So what does He see that we don’t? On the other side of lament, there is joy. On the other side of death, there is resurrection. On the other side of old, there is new. There is much to lament, but this we call to mind, and therefore we have hope.
Now it happened that as He was praying alone, the disciples were with Him. And He asked them, “Who do the crowds say that I am?” And they answered, “John the Baptist. But others say, Elijah, and others, that one of the prophets of old has risen.” Then He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” And Peter answered, “The Christ of God.” And He strictly charged and commanded them to tell this to no one, saying, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” And He said to all, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
On the wall in my office hangs a small brown paper bag. It’s ordinary in most ways, and it had the very practical purpose of carrying my lunch one day about a year ago. But this bag is special to me because of what a friend wrote on it: “Discernment is not seeing the difference between good and bad; it is seeing the difference between good and almost good.” Attributed to the famous preacher Charles Spurgeon, this statement is more than a pithy proverb about a healthy diet. It has become a regular warning of how we are susceptible to a slow, often imperceptible drift towards mediocrity in the Christian life.
There are countless “almost good” things we can give our time and attention to as Christians. If an author, activity, or initiative relates to God or the Bible, it is fairly easy to believe they are acceptable. But just like not all that is edible is nutritious, not all that is acceptable is good. The Apostle Paul put it this way, “All things are lawful for me, but not all things are helpful” (1 Corinthians 6:12). So for Paul, and for us, the question should not be, “Is this acceptable?” Rather, the question should be, “Is this helpful?” Or, better still, “Is this good?”
There are several good things that nourish us in the Christian life. In our tradition, we emphasize the “means of grace”: the Word, sacraments (Baptism and the Lord’s Supper), and prayer. But arrange those on a Venn diagram, and their common focus is the superfood of the Christian life: Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Paul made that the priority of His ministry to the Church, saying, “I resolved to know nothing among you but Jesus Christ and Him crucified” (1 Corinthians 1:2). This was not a rhetorical flourish or simplistic philosophy of ministry; rather, this was Paul’s clear-sighted conviction that this is the bullseye of the Christian life. While other truths and practices matter, none is so central or so good as this.
There are countless reasons why Jesus Christ and Him crucified is the central focus and hope of the Christian life, but for now, consider just three.
First, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually awakens us to the depths of our sinfulness and the heights of God’s holiness. By nature, we tend to minimize the problem of our guilt and have a hard time even imagining a being who is perfect. But our sin was so great and God’s holiness so perfect, that only a pure sacrifice in blood could provide atonement to bridge the once impassable gap. And in “the precious blood of Christ like that of a lamb without blemish or spot” (1 Peter 1:19), that sacrifice has been made for us.
Second, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually refreshes us with God’s self-sacrificial love for us. Make no mistake, God was never obligated to atone for our sins; His holiness and justice could have been satisfied simply by punishing and condemning us. But as John 3:16 famously celebrates, “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” And as 1 John 3:16 later echoes, “By this we know love: that He laid down His life for us.”
Third, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually empowers us to be people of hope. Once hopeless slaves to sin, we have been set free and united to Jesus Christ. Our lives are no longer ruled by darkness, but bursting with the bright hope of obeying God from the heart and walking paths of righteousness for His name’s sake (Psalm 23:3; Romans 6:17-18). What is more, we also live in hope that the curse of death that once hung over us has been swallowed up in Christ’s victory on the cross, and will be forever removed from us at His return (Isaiah 25:7-8; 1 Corinthians 15:54-55). “Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57)!
The world may see Christ and His cross as a weak or foolish thing. But to us it is the power of God. To us it is the greatest good. To us, every other good thing is merely, “almost good.”
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Like many families, our family typically spends a fair amount of time and energy preparing for Easter Sunday, or as our church calls it, Resurrection Sunday. Some of our preparations center on the message of Jesus’ death and resurrection: meditating on the biblical account of the events, doing the “resurrection eggs” activity with our three young children, and attending —or in this case viewing—special worship services. Some of our preparations in the past have centered on our celebration of Jesus’ death and resurrection: planning a big meal, laying out special clothes, and stuffing eggs with candy for our egg hunt. Admittedly, it’s a bit different this year with all the social distancing but, we’ll do our best. Recently I have realized that our family spends almost no time and energy responding to Resurrection Sunday. The following week, we mostly return to the same old routines and inward concerns of everyday life. Considering how the first Christians responded to the resurrection, this response seems at least inconsistent, if not disobedient.
Think for a moment of how the disciples responded to the resurrection. Beyond the initial confusion and excitement, the resurrection gave them a new identity and mission: to be witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection. Luke says the risen Jesus appeared to them and “opened their minds to understand the Scriptures, and said to them, ‘Thus it is written, that the Christ should suffer and on the third day rise from the dead, and that repentance and forgiveness of sins should be proclaimed in His name to all nations, beginning in Jerusalem. You are witnesses of these things” (Luke 24:45-48). Rather than keeping the good news of His death and resurrection to themselves, Jesus told His disciples to be witnesses of those things to all nations.
In the opening chapters of Acts, Peter repeatedly affirmed this new identity and mission to be witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection. In Acts 1:22, when seeking a replacement for Judas, Peter tells the other disciples, “One of these men must become with us a witness to His resurrection.” In his sermon at Pentecost, Peter tells the Jews of Jerusalem, “This Jesus God raised up, and of that we all are witnesses” (Acts 2:32). Shortly afterwards, Peter tells the people of Jerusalem, “You killed the Author of life, whom God raised from the dead. To this we are witnesses” (Acts 3:15). And finally, before the council of the Sadducees, Peter said, “The God of our fathers raised Jesus, whom you killed by hanging Him on a tree…and we are witnesses to these things” (Acts 2:30-32).
Not only did Peter and the apostles talk about being witnesses to Jesus’ resurrection, they bore witness to Jesus’ resurrection in their evangelistic preaching. Nearly half of Peter’s sermon at Pentecost concerned Jesus’ resurrection (Acts 2:24-32). In Acts 4:33, Luke says, “And with great power the apostles were given their testimony to the resurrection of the Lord Jesus, and grace was upon them all.” And Paul preached at length about the resurrection of Jesus, both to the Jews (Acts 13:29-39) and to the Gentiles (Acts 17:30-32).
Why was Jesus’ resurrection so central to the witness of the first Christians? First, the resurrection completed Jesus’ work of redemption. As Paul says, if Jesus did not rise from the dead, our faith is vain, and we are still in our sins (1 Corinthians 15:17). But because He rose from the dead, we are justified (Romans 4:25). Second, the resurrection confirmed Jesus’ identity. His resurrection declared Him to be the Son of God (Romans 1:4) and the Savior from sin (1 Timothy 3:16). And third, the resurrection compels people to respond to Jesus and His Gospel. As a public, historical event, the resurrection cannot be ignored; one must either deny it (Matthew 28:11-15) or believe it (Romans 10:9).
Responding to the resurrection in a biblical way not only means believing in Jesus for our own salvation, but witnessing about Jesus to all nations. And our witnessing about Jesus will be incomplete if we do not witness to Jesus’s resurrection as the first Christians did.
I will be the first to admit that to witness to Jesus’s resurrection before unbelievers is not easy. The logistics are even more challenging during these days of social distancing. Being a witness requires boldness, because some may reject what we have to say. Unlike Jesus’ loving care or moral example to us, His physical resurrection from death is an idea that’s tough to swallow for many. And as it did for Paul, proclaiming the resurrection may bring mockery (Acts 17:32) and, in extreme circumstances, perhaps even threats of death (Acts 23:6-12).
But to witness to Jesus’ resurrection is never fruitless; God will bless our witness and cause even the most unlikely hearers to accept the risen Jesus as their Lord and Savior (Acts 13:42-43). At the end of his glorious chapter about physical resurrection of believers, Paul writes, “Therefore, my beloved, brothers, be steadfast, immovable, always abounding in the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1 Corinthians 15:58). In light of the resurrection of Jesus Christ and His victory over our own sin and death, Paul says we can be steadfast and immovable witnesses. Like the first Christians, may we as a church, as families, and as individuals be found responding to the resurrection as witnesses, knowing that in the Lord, our labor is not in vain.
Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Who is your favorite hero? Is it Captain America with his ethics of steel and his shield of proto-Adamantium? Is it Gandalf with his beard of glory and his wizardly wisdom? Is it Corrie Ten Boom with her devoted sense of justice and her commitment to extend grace?
Heroes are awesome. We admire them. We dress up as them at Halloween. We want to be like them. But there’s a problem. We’re usually not the hero, even though some of us think we are. Why is that? The reason is pride, that tincture of sin and self-exaltation that infects us all. True heroes forget themselves and live for the needs of another. In the greatest stories, the hero dies that others might live. When we take an honest look in the mirror, we’re usually more like a helpless citizen or deceitful villain.
Today is the Monday after Easter. Day one after the most glorious weekend in human history, when the crucified Savior burst forth from the tomb to conquer sin and death completely. How are we feeling today? Did Eastertide come and go without us giving it much thought? Or were we gripped this year by the fear of COVID-19 knocking at our door?
Imagine the emotions Peter feels in the days following the resurrection. He remembers his once valiant attempt to unite himself to the suffering of his Master: “I will lay my life down for you” (John 13:37). Then his mind races to the courtyard, when the high priest’s servant girl pressed him about his association with Jesus. “I do not know him!” Peter cried three times. He can still hear the rooster’s and see the look on Jesus’s face. Even after encountering the empty tomb, Peter wonders if Jesus is done with him. Filled with guilt, Peter does what many of us do when we’re sad; he goes fishing (John 21). And Jesus does what he always does with His sheep who follow Him one minute and deny Him the next…Jesus pursues Peter. At the Sea of Tiberias, Jesus performs an encore of a miracle that Peter would remember from the early days of his relationship with Jesus.
“Children, do you have any fish?” Jesus asks.
The embarrassed pro anglers hang their heads: “No.”
“Cast the net on the right side of the boat, and you will find some.”
The haul of fish is so overwhelming, Peter and friends can’t bring it in. And the revelation of the risen Christ is so overwhelming, Peter throws himself into the sea and does his best 100-meter freestyle. Once on shore, Peter and the disciples enjoy a breakfast prepared by the resurrected Jesus. And after breakfast, in one of the most vivid and moving scenes in all of the Gospels, Jesus graciously restores Peter with a three-fold call to confession, to love Him, and to feed His sheep. And this scene of restoration closes with the words that bookend Peter’s life and ministry: “Follow Me.”
Following Jesus is not about trying to be the hero. It actually starts by admitting that we’re not. The Monday after Easter is a moment to remember all the ways we’ve failed our God…and to revel in the glory of our crucified and risen Savior. We’re not groveling in shame; we’re clinging to the righteousness Christ offers to us through His finished work. As the Holy Spirit applies what Jesus did for us, He changes our desires so that living for Christ becomes more important than living for the praise of others. We long for Christ to live in us and through us. We want to serve others as Christ has served us, not to be the hero, but to be a witness to the power of the resurrection. The same Jesus who restored Peter after all of his failures is the Jesus who meets us in our failures and says, “Do you love Me? Follow Me.” An older Peter gives us words to encourage our hearts on this Monday after Easter. May we prepare our minds for action; and being sober-minded, may we set our hope fully on the grace that will be brought to us at the revelation of Jesus Christ (1 Peter 1:13). We have just celebrated something marvelous. Peter reminds us that something even more wonderful is coming, when the real Hero comes again.
The Lord is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The Lord is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?
When evildoers assail me
to eat up my flesh,
my adversaries and foes,
it is they who stumble and fall.
Though an army encamp against me,
my heart shall not fear;
though war arise against me,
yet I will be confident.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
One of the things I love about the Bible is how honest it is. It doesn’t act like life is easier and cleaner that it is, and it doesn’t try to hide the flaws and weaknesses of people we often regard as “heroes.” The Bible also isn’t afraid to make enormous promises and claims about Who God is. It fleshes out what happens when those enormous promises and claims meet real people in real life. This encourages me because it means the gospel isn’t just something we talk and sing about on Sunday mornings, but it is a life-changing power that meets us in every single minute, situation, place, struggle, joy, and relationship on Monday through Saturday. That includes the present Coronavirus situation that we are in.
While this season of a pandemic uniquely causes and brings out the fear and anxiety in our hearts, if we’re being honest, there’s something about human nature that naturally struggles with fear and insecurity. These types of extreme experiences just magnify and even reveal it.
I recently was on a one-month sabbatical, and one of the realizations I came to when I finally slowed down and quieted all the normal noise and busyness of life is that I struggle with fear more than I think I do. This can look like fear of rejection, fear of failure, fear of the future, and so on. Studies show that our society is far more anxious and worried than ever before. Additionally, as a middle school minister, research also shows that teenagers are more stressed than at any other time in history, but my observation is that it has become so ingrained in our culture that they often just see a high-stress and high-fear life as their normal scenario!
Thankfully, God gives us a precious gift that meets us where we are in Psalm 27. I want to mention two truths from Psalm 27:1-3 that will hopefully encourage and re-orient us in this season that we find ourselves in:
(1) In a time of fear and uncertainty, David starts with God. During this pandemic, it is tempting for me to start with the news, what others are saying, where my own logic takes me, and many other places. Not that those things do not have their place, but David reminds me that the place my mind needs to be dwelling the most is God Himself. A.W. Tozer once wrote, “What comes into our minds when we think about God is the most important thing about us.” Because God is David’s light (his source of guidance and direction), salvation (his savior, rescuer, and deliverer), the stronghold of his life (his shelter and refuge), David claims that he does not have to live in fear. Instead of meditating on the news, my own logic, or what others are saying, real peace is found in meditating on Who God is and what He’s done.
(2) In a time of fear and uncertainty, David applies his theology to his life. David doesn’t just keep these truths about God in a church, Bible study, or in his mind. Instead, he takes them with him into his daily life. In verses 2 and 3, he applies the truths about God in verse 1 to real situations in his life, situations that are very difficult. We need to be asking the same thing that David did: how does what I know about Who God is apply to my specific instances of fear today?
The truth is that we will all experience fear and uncertainty, and we are all looking for help and for a remedy. What this psalm reminds us is that when we know God’s character, that is the remedy we need and the remedy that increases our confidence in God’s care, the ultimate expression of which is seen on the cross: when the all-powerful, completely sovereign God demonstrated His love for sinners like you and me (Romans 5:8). “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all, how will he not also with him graciously give us all things?” (Romans 8:32).
The LORD spoke to Moses on Mount Sinai, saying, “Speak to the people of Israel and say to them, When you come into the land that I give you, the land shall keep a Sabbath to the LORD. For six years you shall sow your field, and for six years you shall prune your vineyard and gather in its fruits, but in the seventh year there shall be a Sabbath of solemn rest for the land, a Sabbath to the LORD. You shall not sow your field or prune your vineyard. You shall not reap what grows of itself in your harvest, or gather the grapes of your undressed vine. It shall be a year of solemn rest for the land. The Sabbath of the land shall provide food for you, for yourself and for your male and female slaves and for your hired worker and the sojourner who lives with you, and for your cattle and for the wild animals that are in your land: all its yield shall be for food.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
It's probably already crossed your mind. How could it not? There are hundreds of news articles every day. And, given our community-based solitary confinement, you may actually be checking those hundreds of articles hundreds of times. What else are you going to do? Working from home just isn't the same as just working. The ordinary rhythms of life have been put on hold, recalibrated. We are in an unprecedented global pause.
This shared season, though, is not an unprecedented idea. You may have already begun to think of it that way. This is a time of slowing down, of refocusing priorities, of concentrating on eternal things. These are the realities of Sabbath. And Sabbath is a reflection of God's very character.
When God spoke His commandments to Moses, that one about keeping a Sabbath included a clear explanation. (Exodus 20:8-11) We rest because God rested. He didn't need to, but His people do. And in several follow-up conversations, God makes it clear that His people are to reflect His character in the land of promise, in its culture and its horticulture.
Now think about that for a second. If you are a self-respecting, self-feeding agrarian citizen, and you get the message to "take a year off," how does that strike you? Apparently it struck the Israelites the same way, because there's no good evidence that they ever actually implemented the Sabbath year.
But three important things are worth noting, and they might just be just right right now. First, the Sabbath is "to the Lord." God says so twice in seven verses. The stepping away from the routines of life in order to remember, worship, and honor God is the very point of Sabbath, and a clear distinguishing characteristic of the people of God.
Secondly, these verses in Leviticus remind us that God is in control of His creation. So much of our scurrying about is about trying to control the future. Sabbath reminds us that we are called to walk with the Lord one day at a time and one step at a time. "Give us this day our daily bread.", we are taught to pray. The Lord God holds the future and is actually already there.
Thirdly, Sabbath is not merely self-centered private quiet time. In Exodus, when God first explains the year of the Sabbath, (Exodus 23:10-13) He says that the land and the poor and the animals are all part of its design. God cares about all of those, and Sabbath reminds us to care as well.
Maybe you've noticed the recent news articles that describe some completely unexpected effects of the current viral pestilence. The smog is clearing. The people in Northern India can see the Himalayan mountains for the first time in fifty years. It's also clearing in Los Angeles. The wild animals are returning to the National Parks in America. And even the crust of the Earth is more still, making seismologists adjust their instruments while checking for earthquakes.
It may just be that God Almighty is showing all the Earth, and the people in all the Earth, that Sabbath still matters.
The earth is the LORD's and the fullness thereof,
the world and those who dwell therein,
for he has founded it upon the seas
and established it upon the rivers.
-Psalm 24:1-2
That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. But their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?” And they stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, named Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” And he said to them, “What things?” And they said to him, “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things happened. Moreover, some women of our company amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning, and when they did not find his body, they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see.” And he said to them, “O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.
So they drew near to the village to which they were going. He acted as if he were going farther, but they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
As we sat at the table for dinner one evening, my two-year-old daughter unexpectedly shouted “Da’key! Hoo’zanna!” to announce to my wife and me her own toddler retelling of “the message.” With grinning faces and attentive ears, the conversation went something like this:
-“Yes, Ellie. Jesus rode into Jerusalem on a donkey and the people shouted, ‘Hosanna.’”
-“Cuck-a-doo!”
-“The rooster crowed three times?”
- “Yesh! G’shush.”
-“Jesus?”
-“Yesh!”
-“What about Jesus?”
-“Cross.”
-“Yes, Ellie. Jesus died on the cross.”
-“Toomb emp’ee!”
-“Yes! Jesus rose from the dead. Where is Jesus?”
Without missing a beat, my daughter turned her head slightly to the right and pointed over her shoulder proclaiming, “He’s w’ite day’er.” My wife and I laughed at first thinking, “Oh, that’s cute,” but my daughter’s imaginative story telling pointed to an affectionate truth that later brought me to tears in joy—He is right there. At another dinner table on the first Easter, Jesus’ friends realized just how true this is.
In Luke 24, two of Jesus’ disciples are deep in conversation on the way to Emmaus as a fellow traveler joins their company. When the stranger asks what they are talking about, they stop dead in their tracks in sadness (v. 17). How could he not know about what had happened? They were disillusioned in sorrow at the brutal execution of their dearest friend. After hundreds of years of foreign domination and religious corruption, they had hoped that Jesus was the one who would finally set things right, throw off Roman rule, and establish God’s good and loving run of all things. And yet, this prophet who taught them what God is like, this servant who healed the sick and oppressed, this friend who kept company with the low-lifes and left-outs, the one who welcomed children into his arms, fed the hungry, raised the dead, opened the eyes of the blind, and washed dirt-grimed feet—this Jesus—was rejected, crucified, dead, and buried. Though they had heard the perplexing news of an empty tomb that morning, the lifeless body of Jesus hanging on the cross remained freshly seared in the disciples’ hearts and minds. Under such crushing defeat, what else could they say to this curious traveler other than, “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel” (v. 21)?
In a surprising turn, the stranger on the road replies with a fresh retelling of the “old, old story” of God’s loving purposes to save the world through His people Israel: “And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them all the Scriptures the things concerning himself” (v. 27). As they share a meal together later that day, the disciples’ guest takes on the role of host: “he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them” (v. 30). In this gracious act, “their eyes were opened, and they recognized him” (31). The disciples saw that their longed-for hope had come true in a remarkably unexpected yet now powerfully revealed way in the presence of the risen Jesus.
When Adam and Eve rejected God’s loving goodness in the Garden, their eyes were opened, and they hid in shame (Genesis 3:7). Our ongoing story ever since has been thorns and thistles, sin and death, within God’s glorious yet groaning creation (Romans 8:18-23). On the road to Emmaus, Jesus revealed that all of God’s mighty acts of love and wise ordering in history as told in the Scriptures have come to their climax in the suffering, death, and resurrection of Jesus. Now eyes are opened once again, but this time there is an “enormous explosion of joy” (Lesslie Newbigin’s words). “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” (v. 32).
God’s victory over evil is won, the new day has dawned, and we are invited to follow our Savior in. We are called into the story by the Spirit taking up the vocation to tell “what happened on the road” through our ordinary lives and labor, words and deeds. Though the way may be dark today—particularly so in these times of sickness, isolation, and death—the resurrection lights the path and illuminates that coming day when everything sad will come untrue. May we join that fellowship of the burning heart entwining together suffering and joy, sorrow and celebration, in the name of Jesus that the world might know that He is right there.
And He said to His disciples, “Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat, nor about your body, what you will put on. For life is more than food, and the body more than clothing."
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
When I was about seven years old, my family and I were at Pine Cove Family Camp for the first time. It was the best place for families. The kids got to hang out with awesome counselors during the day while our parents attended seminars with amazing speakers and simply enjoyed fellowship without the maniacal children clawing at their pant legs. It was a place of true shalom for every member of the family. The first morning there I found myself without an appetite, and before the end of breakfast, I was in tears saying, “I don’t want to go to day camp!” What was my problem? I was anxious. Even though all peace and happiness lay ahead of me, I couldn’t get over the fact that I wasn’t going to be with my parents for eight hours.
Fast forward to fourth grade. I had a poetry recital for my English class. Once again, I felt nauseous and didn’t want to go, but this time I faked being sick to avoid having to deliver my sonnet by Longfellow.
Fast forward again to September 16, 2012, at Presbyterian Hospital in Dallas. Our first child, Stella Elizabeth Stimson, had just been born at 2:21 pm. However, within about 10 minutes, the doctors and nurses realized there was a problem. Stella was struggling to breathe. Before we knew it, we were having a conversation with the NICU head nurse about Stella having an infection in her lungs. She was headed to the NICU to run more tests. They told us to go to our room and wait for a phone call. Anxiety loomed like a storm cloud ready to rain down panic at any moment!
Think about your story, your life. What makes you anxious? The word for anxious in this passage from Luke comes from a root word meaning part or division. Ultimately, to be anxious could be translated to be divided or to have many cares. Right before this famous command in Luke 12:22, a man approaches Jesus demanding that his brother “divide the inheritance” with him; again, divide comes from the same word as to be anxious. What’s the point? When we are anxious, our attention, our faith, our affections are divided among many things.
This division of affection occurs because of one fundamental problem—not believing that God is good and will provide. Jesus, like a good pastor, goes on in Luke 12:24-28 to give two metaphors to demonstrate His point. When we get anxious, Jesus wants us to think about birds and flowers. “Consider the ravens, they neither sow nor reap…of how much more value are you than they! …Consider the lilies, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin… but if God so clothes the grass, which is alive today, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, how much more will He clothe you, O you of little faith!” God created us to be in fellowship with Him, perfectly trusting Him to provide our every need as He did for Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, but our human condition, as passed down from our first father and mother, is to be tempted to question God’s goodness and provision. When we do this, we take matters into our own hands and usurp God by providing what we think we need. This practice is the root of sin, which is the root of anxiety.
So when Jesus commands us not to be anxious, are we supposed to just pull ourselves up by our bootstraps, memorize Luke 12, and never be anxious again? Jesus continues with this: “Fear not, little flock, for it is your Father’s good pleasure to give you the Kingdom.” God doesn’t just command things of us and then wait for us to keep our end of the deal. He provides the plan and the means to carry out that plan. And we know this because of the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. Christ was tempted in every way that we are, yet He did not sin.
In Gethsemane, Jesus is filled with anxiety about what is to come. He cries out, “Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me.” Jesus’ statement to His Father is more of a request. Jesus was not just fully God, but fully human. He knew the pain and agony He was about to experience both physically and spiritually. If there was another way, Jesus wanted that. But where your humanity and mine would have failed, as mine has over and over throughout my life, Jesus’ prevailed in the statement of faith tacked on to this request, “Nevertheless, not My will, but Yours, be done.”
God desires that we not be anxious. Why? Because He wants us to live for Him in His Kingdom that He is providing for us rather than worrying about our own kingdom and how we will provide for ourselves. Do you believe that God will provide your daily needs? Are you living for His Kingdom or yours? What are you anxious about right now? Jesus declares that God cares about the birds and the flowers, but how much more does He care about you, those made in His image? He cares so much that He was willing to lay down His life because of our sin and lack of faith so that we would know the extent God is willing to go to to care for His flock. Peter, the man who denied Jesus because of his anxiety over his own well-being, writes, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God, that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you.” (1 Peter 5:6-7)
As I looked,
thrones were placed,
and the Ancient of Days took his seat;
his clothing was white as snow,
and the hair of his head like pure wool;
his throne was fiery flames;
its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued
and came out from before him;
a thousand thousands served him,
and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him;
the court sat in judgment,
and the books were opened.
I saw in the night visions,
and behold, with the clouds of heaven
there came one like a son of man,
and he came to the Ancient of Days
and was presented before him.
And to him was given dominion
and glory and a kingdom,
that all peoples, nations, and languages
should serve him;
his dominion is an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away,
and his kingdom one
that shall not be destroyed.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
He was a prisoner of war. Overrun by the conquering army, his homeland lay in ruins, but God Almighty majestically orchestrated the defeat and deportation of Daniel. For in the land of the enemy, God prophetically proclaims His eternal victory.
In Babylon, Daniel has a vision of judgment. God Himself is seated on the throne, and fire goes out before Him. Fire to cleanse and to purify. Before Him are standing 10,000 times 10,000 as the book of judgment is opened. Then the clouds of heaven descend into the throne room, and one “like a son of man” is presented before God. He is the perfect man, God's perfect image bearer, and He is given dominion and glory. All people from every land serve this Son of Man. Forever. But what do the visions mean, and who is this one who is “like a son of man?”
Hundreds of years later, a most remarkable thing happens. A virgin pregnant teenager from a backwater town in Israel has a baby while she is travelling for legal reasons. And people proclaim the birth of this baby. Visitors show up from far away eastern lands to present gifts. People who have never met this man are amazed by Him, and healed by Him, and fall down to worship Him. And He teaches them about Himself, reminding them of that long-ago vision of the captured prophet. “For as the Father has life in Himself, so He has granted the Son also to have life in Himself. And He has given Him authority to execute judgment, because He is the Son of Man.” (John 5:26-27)
Jesus is the very One of whom Daniel spoke. He is the One to whom God has granted all authority in heaven and on earth. He is the only begotten Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. And He is alive! And His Kingdom is eternal.
This is the glorious truth of the resurrection. This is the foundational teaching of the early church. But the resurrection means more than a long-ago astounding event. It means that today Jesus, the Son of Man, is reigning. And it means that He will return. He will indeed return to “judge the quick and the dead.”
“Then I saw a great white throne and Him who was seated on it. From His presence earth and sky fled away, and no place was found for them. And I saw the dead, great and small, standing before the throne, and books were opened. Then another book was opened, which is the book of life. And the dead were judged by what was written in the books, according to what they had done.” (Revelation 20:11-12)
Today as you read this, are you His? Where is your name in that book? May the Lord bless you with full assurance of His love for you today, and may you rejoice that, being found in Christ, the King of Glory knows your name. Forever.
“The Spirit and the Bride say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who hears say, ‘Come.’ And let the one who is thirsty come; let the one who desires take the water of life without price.” (Revelation 22:17)
Amen and amen!
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word throughout the week. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Tish Harrison Warren’s book Liturgy of the Ordinary recounts a shocking study from The University of Virginia on boredom. In this study, participants sat alone in a room without technology or additional distractions, with the exception of a button that claimed it would shock them if pushed. The study showed that 2/3 of male participants and ¼ of female participants willingly decided to shock themselves rather than sit in silence during the fifteen-minute study.
I was appalled at the stupidity of the participants upon hearing about the study a few years ago; now, well over a month into quarantine, I’m starting to get it. I, like so many of you, have recently become well acquainted with the feeling of boredom.
Our days have begun to look more mundane. We’re confined to our homes. We are yearning for connection in what feels like “lesser ways,” such as Zoom and phone calls, while busying ourselves with what feels like “lesser tasks,” such as doing the laundry or making a meal for our family. We are bored over the ordinary of our daily lives, and if we are being honest with ourselves, we are also discontent.
But then I am reminded of Ecclesiastes 2:24-26, which says: “There is nothing better for a person than that he should eat and drink and find enjoyment in his toil. This also, I saw, is from the hand of God, for apart from Him who can eat or who can have enjoyment? For to the one who pleases Him God has given wisdom and knowledge and joy, but to the sinner He has given the business of gathering and collecting, only to give to one who pleases God. This also is vanity and a striving after wind.”
I receive from that passage that my mission as a follower of God has not changed, even if my “toils” have. Through diligence in a strange work-from-home schedule, through the way I treat my family and neighbors, and yes, even through menial tasks such as the laundry, I can find joy in God when I recognize Him as the Giver of the gifts in my life. In other words, my mission to “glorify God and enjoy Him forever” remains constant, regardless of the season of life. As 1 Timothy 6:6 says, “Godliness with contentment is great gain.”
It is in these moments of boredom and discontent we can take comfort in looking to the life of Jesus. Jesus chose a life of humility during His 33 earthly years by having an ordinary job, in an ordinary town, while being surrounded by ordinary people. Friends, there is nothing wrong with God calling you to the ordinary. Take heart in remembering that God is teaching you, refining you, and making you more into His image through your faithfulness in these small, ordinary moments.
“I will take you to be my people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians.”
Andrea Stimson serves with Redemption Group Ministry and is married to Danny Stimson, who currently serves as High School Director at PCPC. Andrea spends most of her time chasing around her two daughters, Stella and Lila, as well as doing calligraphy.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word throughout the week. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
When I attended Redemption Groups at PCPC, it took me all of five minutes to realize that each person who comes in the door struggles. Each one of us has multiple ways in which we love something or someone else more than Christ. Each one of us has moments of despair when we look back and realize that there are even issues that we struggled with today that we were struggling with ten years ago. Change comes painfully slowly a good deal of the time. I have been a believer since I was a small child, and still I waver between faith and rebellion–between freedom and slavery. Will I value the thoughts and opinions of others today above God's? Will I crave, no, need the “well done” from that client? From my husband? (Will I put off writing this devotional out of fear of how others will perceive me?) When change comes slowly and when I find myself again in need of forgiveness, where do I find hope for lasting change?
The Israelites cry out to God in their affliction again and again under the rule of Egypt. The glory they had enjoyed during the days of Joseph are long forgotten, and the people of Israel are tired and weary. When Moses returns to Egypt insisting that the Lord hears their cries and sees their affliction, they struggle to believe change is certain. Immediately, Pharaoh refuses to relent and let the people go. He increases their burdens and tightens his grip even harder, leaving Israel worse off than before. The Israelites feel hopeless. Circumstances are not changing. The enemy is still at large. Will God come through? God responds, “I will take you to be My people, and I will be your God, and you shall know that I am the Lord your God who has brought you out from under the burdens of the Egyptians (Ex. 6:7). Although the people are powerless to change, God declares that He is determined and able to claim them as His own beloved possession. He will deliver them. God is the only hope for lasting change.
As we read on in Exodus, God does deliver His people in mighty, powerful ways and safely brings the Israelites out of Egypt. He fulfills His promise to give them a new land and to be near them. He frees them from bondage and calls them His own. But the story gets sticky again, and again, and again as Israel frequently returns to its old patterns. They forsake God's laws, worship idols, and prove themselves at many points to be faithless. But God stays with them, forgiving and disciplining them as He reiterates His promises to them. When they are faithless, He is faithful. Eventually their hardened hearts land them enslaved to a foreign people all over again. And all over again, they cry out to the Lord in their misery.
It is not so hard to relate to Israel's story. How many times have I seen the Lord move in my life? How many times have I cried out to God for forgiveness for fearing someone else more than my Lord? How many times have I returned to my old patterns of living? Wait, is this Israel's story or mine? Or yours? If it is our story, we need a hope for lasting change. We need someone who is stronger than our own ability, smarter than our enemy, so committed to loving us when we fail, and who can actually change us.
In John's account of the Gospel, he focuses in on Christ's resurrection. John shares this lovely moment with Mary who comes to the tomb looking for the body of Jesus only to find Him missing (John 20:11-18). She stoops in to look and sees two men sitting there, but no Jesus. All her hopes were placed on Jesus. She sacrificed much to follow Him these last few years and is now grief stricken that her hope is gone. Mary hears a voice behind her, presumably there all along, asking her why she weeps so. Mary turns to see the risen Jesus standing there, speaking with her, but does not recognize Him. She mistakes Him for the gardener and only realizes it is Christ after He says her name. Or does she mistake Him? Is it not fitting that the God, who promised all those years ago (from as early as the fall) that He had a plan to rescue His people and make them His own, would be walking in a garden, fully alive and new, pleased to be near Mary and talk with her? Again, He proves Himself to be the God who hears His people in their distress: “Woman, why are you weeping?” Again, He proves Himself able to overcome any obstacle, this time death itself. Again, He proves Himself THE HOPE for lasting change, this time for good.
Jesus is the only one able enough, wise enough, long-suffering enough, powerful enough, just enough, and good enough to be our hope for lasting change. When I am faithless, I do not need to fear whether or not God will finally decide to throw in the towel. We do not need to wonder if we are a lost cause. Jesus proved once and for all that our futures are certain. We are new. Do I believe this? Do you? Echoing the promise given to Israel, Jesus leaves Mary (and us!) with this assurance, “Go to My brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God.”
You make known to me the path of life;
in Your presence there is fullness of joy;
at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word throughout the week. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Working with college students forced me to get in a time machine and ask myself, “What did I learn in college?” One lesson that stands out is a simple phrase: Jesus is joy. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10). Jesus’ famous words are familiar to many people. I think I memorized that verse in high school, but I didn’t start to understand it until my college years. Where are you looking for life and joy right now? If that quest seems frustrating, do you ever ask yourself, “Why?”
When I stepped onto Duke’s campus as a freshman, I thought I knew where I would find joy during my college years. Duke basketball had a great program, and the prospects of a national championship were great. (We got one my junior year.) College was a whole new world of relationships, and the thought of meeting a special someone was exciting. (That never worked out during college.) Being far from home was a little scary, but it also offered the joys of independence and freedom. (I eventually had to learn how to do laundry.) In four years, I found some joy in sports, relationships, and parentless freedom, but the big lesson about joy I never saw coming.
I went to college as a Christian, but I didn’t understand that following Jesus could (and should) be a joyful endeavor. I knew that Jesus was God and that I should worship Him. I knew that He was King and that I should submit to Him. I knew that He was Savior and that I should trust Him. I knew that He was Friend and that I should walk with Him. What I didn’t fully grasp yet—what I’m still trying to work out today—is that Jesus is life and that I should enjoy Him.
Jesus is ______. What would you put in that blank if you were honest? Jesus is…boring? Irrelevant? No fun? Did you think to say, “Jesus is joy?” Like many college students, I thought that God’s glory and my joy were at cross purposes. If God was all about His glory and I was all about being happy, I had a choice to make, right? I could either follow Jesus and be miserable, or I could do what I wanted and be happy.
In those years, the Lord taught me that God’s great design and my deepest longings were not opposed to one another. A pastor named John Piper messed me up—in a good way—with his book Desiring God. His vision statement for his life and ministry gets right to the heart of the matter: “God is most glorified in us when we are most satisfied in Him.” Piper simply found a different way to say what children have been learning from the Westminster Shorter Catechism for centuries. “What is the chief end of man?” “Man’s chief end is to glorify God and to enjoy Him forever.” Glorifying God and enjoying Him forever come together in the Christian life. We “glorify” whatever satisfies our souls, whether that’s a relationship, a sport, a meal, or success. And if that is true, then God gets the most glory when we find our ultimate joy in Him.
Why does this matter? During college, I started to see that my sinful desires had me looking for joy where it could not be found. I would taste a bit here or there, but apart from Christ, the search for joy was an endless exercise in futility. Much of what happens on campus, and everywhere else, is a picture of insanity—we return again and again to look for life in places where it can’t be found. We turn to the good gifts of God, but we try to enjoy them apart from Him. Trading God for His gifts is the recipe for idolatry and unhappiness, but Christ’s redeeming love brings us back to Him. He gives us a new heart to know Him, a heart that declares, “You make known to me the path of life; in Your presence there is fullness of joy; at Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.”
David says that God makes known to him the path of life. In other words, left to ourselves, we will never find the path. We will go on digging in the desert for water that’s not there. But God’s Word teaches us that Jesus has come into our wasteland, and He has made streams flow in the desert (Isaiah 35:6). Why would He come to earth to taste our sadness? Why would He subject Himself to the pain of the cross? The Bible answers, “For the joy that was set before Him” (Hebrews 12:2). What joy could Jesus find in the cross? It was the joy of glorifying His Father, the joy of obeying His will, and the joy of purchasing a people—a people who would know and show that Jesus is joy.
And when you saw that Nahash the king of the Ammonites came against you, you said to me, 'No, but a king shall reign over us,' when the Lord your God was your king. And now behold the king whom you have chosen, for whom you have asked; behold, the Lord has set a king over you. If you will fear the Lord and serve him and obey his voice and not rebel against the commandment of the Lord, and if both you and the king who reigns over you will follow the Lord your God, it will be well. But if you will not obey the voice of the Lord, but rebel against the commandment of the Lord, then the hand of the Lord will be against you and your king.Septuagint; Hebrew fathers Now therefore stand still and see this great thing that the Lord will do before your eyes. Is it not wheat harvest today? I will call upon the Lord, that he may send thunder and rain. And you shall know and see that your wickedness is great, which you have done in the sight of the Lord, in asking for yourselves a king." So Samuel called upon the Lord, and the Lord sent thunder and rain that day, and all the people greatly feared the Lord and Samuel.
And all the people said to Samuel, "Pray for your servants to the Lord your God, that we may not die, for we have added to all our sins this evil, to ask for ourselves a king." And Samuel said to the people, "Do not be afraid; you have done all this evil. Yet do not turn aside from following the Lord, but serve the Lord with all your heart. And do not turn aside after empty things that cannot profit or deliver, for they are empty. For the Lord will not forsake his people, for his great name's sake, because it has pleased the Lord to make you a people for himself. Moreover, as for me, far be it from me that I should sin against the Lord by ceasing to pray for you, and I will instruct you in the good and the right way. Only fear the Lord and serve him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things he has done for you. But if you still do wickedly, you shall be swept away, both you and your king."
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word throughout the week. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
What does it take to be well? The usual suspects come to mind: a healthy diet, regular exercise, a good education, public safety, a vibrant economy. . . and fear? It may seem bizarre to our modern minds to consider fear as a precondition for well-being, but that is exactly what we encounter in this biblical narrative. “If you will fear the Lord and serve Him . . . and if both you and the king who reigns over you will follow the Lord your God, it will be well” (1 Samuel 12:14). It is the particularity of this fear that produces a paradoxical wellness.
A geopolitical crisis serves as the backdrop of this text, “Nahash the king of the Ammonites came against you” (1 Samuel 12:14). This is not the first time Israel had been in a pinch. Israel has a checkered history of slavery and deliverance, wandering and worship, capitulation and conquest, idolatry and obedience, forgetting and remembering. What is new is who they cry out to. Instead of crying out to God for deliverance, they demand from Samuel a king. God gave Israel what they wanted with Saul as king and even used him to deliver them from impending military disaster. Yet God condemns their path to “success” as evil (1 Samuel 12:20). Israel did not fear the Lord.
We live in a culture that is suffering from a severe lack of fear-the-Lord. You can be whatever you want to be. Work hard so that you can live life on your own terms. Be safe. Wealth will not make you happy, but you should try it for yourself anyway. These are the messages, sometimes explicit but mostly subtle, that we’re told by our parents, friends, teachers, and numerous other outlets. Apple is “selling” much more than an iPhone. What if our lack of wellness is actually rooted in a loss of fear—fear-the-Lord?
Fear-the-Lord is the reverent awe that God’s grandeur evokes in relationship. In the paradox of human communion with God, in fearing the Lord one finds oneself not afraid, finally secure in the pleasure of the One we were created to please. “For the Lord will not forsake His people, for His great name’s sake, because it has pleased the Lord to make you a people for Himself (1 Samuel 12:22). This particular fear and paradoxical wellness are born of the grace of God in Jesus Christ. Its source is grace, and its natural response is joyful obedience. The biblical words are serve and follow. This is true on the individual and the communal level, the personal and the public (1 Peter 2:9-10). Our personal fear-the-Lord in Jesus Christ has public consequences for the good of our neighbors. Structuring a business deal, caring for a child, designing a program, investing capital, and “retirement” are all in the mix. “Only fear the Lord and serve Him faithfully with all your heart. For consider what great things He has done for you” (1 Samuel 12:24). Jesus Christ is the reigning king for the good of the world. Fear Him unafraid.
For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies.
For in this hope we were saved. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
For a pregnant woman, groaning is not difficult. It’s the default. Her groans reflect a simple reality: she is not satisfied with the way things are, and she longs for what is yet to come. For nine months, a pregnant woman lives with the tension between a painful present and a joyful future. In Romans 8, Paul reminds us that pregnant women are not alone in their groaning. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies (vv. 22-23). Ever since the Fall, groaning has been the default for creation. It should be the default for humanity. But for many, it’s not.
Why do we not groan? We don’t groan because we lose touch with the way things are. We turn away and pretend that slavery, addiction, racism, and violence are not crushing realities in this broken world. We don’t groan because we’re comfortable enough in this world that we don’t long for another. In the words of C.S. Lewis, we are “like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased.” We don’t groan because we forget all that the Lord has promised that is still yet to come. In the midst of all that’s old and broken, we struggle to imagine how God could make all things new (Revelation 21:5). We don’t groan because the desire for our little kingdom eclipses the desire for “Your kingdom come”. Actually, we never really stop groaning. Godly groaning simply morphs into selfish complaining about our circumstances.
If pregnancy is so difficult, so full of groaning, why do women go through with it? Among many answers to that question, consider one: the joy of holding her child is both the reason behind and the fulfillment of all the groaning. When a mother is finally united with her child, it is an indescribable joy. We must remember this, especially when we’re tempted to choose an easier life free from groaning. If life in Christ is so full of groaning, why would we go through with it? We press on because we are not satisfied with the mess or the mud pies, and we long for what is yet to come. We press on for the joy of seeing the Lord Jesus Christ face to face. We press on for the joy of gathering around the throne with His redeemed people from every tribe and nation. We press on because when we are finally united with the Lord, it will be the fulfillment of all our groaning…and His. We press on because we are His beloved children, pregnant with hope.
One thing have I asked of the Lord,
that will I seek after:
that I may dwell in the house of the Lord
all the days of my life,
to gaze upon the beauty of the Lord
and to inquire in his temple.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you daily encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
When I was growing up, I used to watch a show on Nickelodeon called “The Fairly OddParents.” The premise of the show is that Timmy Turner, a teenager, was given two fairy godparents (Cosmo and Wanda). Most of the episodes centered around Timmy making a wish that he thought would enhance his teenage life in some way but the wish going terribly wrong. The rest of the episode, then, would be about him trying to get out of the mess that his own fulfilled wish created. The humbling truth is that sometimes the things that we want most in life actually are the things that will cause us the most problems.
If you could have anything you wanted right now, what would it be? In John 1:38, this is essentially the first question Jesus asks His would-be disciples. He asks them, “What are you seeking?” Many commentators explain that John would often write on two levels throughout his gospel: the surface level and the deeper level. In this case, Jesus is wanting His followers to not only tell Him who or what they are looking for on the surface level, but on a deeper level, to also reflect on what they truly want in life. I would argue that this question is repeatedly foundational in following Jesus. So, what are you seeking? What do you want most in life?
As Christians in Dallas, we probably know how we should answer those questions, but if you’re like me, in our normal, busy lives, it’s easy to drift from seeking God to seeking many other things. These things are not necessarily bad things as they can be good gifts from a good God for our enjoyment, but there is a difference between enjoying one of these gifts in a way that leads me to worship the Giver and worshipping the gift over the Giver (Solomon develops this theme in Ecclesiastes). Sometimes difficult seasons reveal where we have turned “good things” into “God-things” and can help clarify what truly matters, what is truly valuable, and what is truly reliable.
Earlier in Psalm 27, it's established that David was dealing with a time of fear and uncertainty, so we can learn some things from him as we navigate our own current season of fear and uncertainty. In Psalm 27:4, we learn this principle: In a time of fear and uncertainty, David clarifies and simplifies his true treasure. In verse 4, David says that there is “one thing” that he seeks. As a poet, he describes this one thing in three ways:
1. To “dwell in the house of the Lord”: He hungers to be with God; to linger in God’s presence; to soak himself in God.
2. To “gaze upon the beauty of the Lord”: This is sensory language. It means to look upon steadily or intently, especially in admiration or delight. David does not see God as boring or routine, but as heart-affecting and delightful! To paraphrase Tim Keller, he has moved to see God as beautiful, not just useful.
3. To “inquire in his temple”: Another word for “inquire” would be “meditate.” He doesn’t just want to hear the truth, but he wants to think deeply about it and how it relates to his life.
In summary, David just wants to be with God! He is demonstrating that God Himself is the Greatest Treasure. Similarly, we have an opportunity in this season to embrace God Himself as our Greatest Treasure, not just to settle for knowing some things about Him, but to embrace the precious invitation of truly knowing Him for ourselves. When that happens, things of this world will become less attractive to us, and it will change what we desire the most. I recently had a conversation with an 8th grader in one of my Bible studies who told me, “The closer that I’ve gotten to God during this season, the less appealing worldly temptations have become to me.” A lot of us believe that the way to grow in the Christian life is to do more, try harder, and behave better. However, the Bible presents a different picture: it describes that the way to grow is to see how amazing, glorious, and beautiful Jesus and his love in the gospel are. The more we see and truly sense how beautiful and delightful God is, the more we will change at the heart-level, and that in turn affects everything in our lives. In the 1800’s, Thomas Chalmers wrote, “The love of the world cannot be expunged by a mere demonstration of the world’s worthlessness. But may it not be supplanted by the love of that which is more worthy than itself?” In this season, may God graciously grant us both the head-knowledge and the heart-sense that He is a better treasure and trust than anything else.
Give thanks to the LORD, for He is good,
for His steadfast love endures forever.
Give thanks to the God of gods,
for His steadfast love endures forever.
Give thanks to the Lord of lords,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
to Him who alone does great wonders,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
to Him who by understanding made the heavens,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
to Him who spread out the earth above the waters,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
to Him who made the great lights,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
the sun to rule over the day,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
the moon and stars to rule over the night,
for His steadfast love endures forever;
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
There's more to the stories than just peddling plastic action figures or dressing up pre-school princesses in tulle and tiaras. Long before Mr. Disney and his crew had a "Magic Kingdom," folks all over the world knew of Briar Rose and Belle and the Fairy Godmother. In fact, the earliest rendition of the Cinderella story comes from Greek theater sometime between 4 BC and 28 AD. Sleeping Beauty nodded off over 400 years ago, and that's the same time Belle first fell for her Beast. Yet even the modern renditions like Shrek and The Little Mermaid and Snow White proclaim the same universal message, the same deep-seated belief of humanity— true love changes us.
Love that's real and pursuing and fierce will awaken our hearts. That kind of love will change us from a scullery maid into a princess, from a beast to a prince. It will make us alive. It will make us new.
But those stories are dim reflections of the real story of that kind of love. It's that kind of transforming love that runs like a golden thread through the entire tapestry of Scripture. You see, God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit have shared that kind of love from before time. And when we are in Christ, we are invited into that relationship, invited to receive that kind of love. (John 17:24-26)
God's love is steadfast. That means it's strong. His love is not whimsical or capricious or transient. And He loves you steadfastly in Christ. Nothing in all creation will separate you from the love of God in Christ Jesus.
God's love is enduring. No matter where you've come from and no matter how fickle you may be, in Christ God will love you. He will search you out, He will find you. And He will love you in a pandemic, or a layoff, or a cancer. Fiercely.
God's love is forever. And so much more than just, "happily ever after," in Christ our eternal peace with God is secured. The future is known and begins right now. Even death does not change that. (Romans 8:35-39)
So, the real questions for us, for me and for you today, are not simply, "Do you believe in Jesus? or "Do you assent to the truths of the Bible?" The real question is, "Will you let God's steadfast, enduring, forever love change you?" God loves you, sinner. And His love will change you. His love will make you new.
For God so loved the world, that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send His Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him. (John 3:16-17)
As a deer pants for flowing streams,
so pants my soul for you, O God.
My soul thirsts for God,
for the living God.
When shall I come and appear before God?
My tears have been my food
day and night,
while they say to me all the day long,
“Where is your God?”
These things I remember,
as I pour out my soul:
how I would go with the throng
and lead them in procession to the house of God
with glad shouts and songs of praise,
a multitude keeping festival.
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God.
My soul is cast down within me;
therefore I remember you
from the land of Jordan and of Hermon,
from Mount Mizar.
Deep calls to deep
at the roar of your waterfalls;
all your breakers and your waves
have gone over me.
By day the Lord commands his steadfast love,
and at night his song is with me,
a prayer to the God of my life.
I say to God, my rock:
“Why have you forgotten me?
Why do I go mourning
because of the oppression of the enemy?”
As with a deadly wound in my bones,
my adversaries taunt me,
while they say to me all the day long,
“Where is your God?”
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God.
Send Out Your Light and Your Truth
Vindicate me, O God, and defend my cause
against an ungodly people,
from the deceitful and unjust man
deliver me!
For you are the God in whom I take refuge;
why have you rejected me?
Why do I go about mourning
because of the oppression of the enemy?
Send out your light and your truth;
let them lead me;
let them bring me to your holy hill
and to your dwelling!
Then I will go to the altar of God,
to God my exceeding joy,
and I will praise you with the lyre,
O God, my God.
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise him,
my salvation and my God.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
After over eight weeks of sheltering in place, the turmoil of these times has a way of getting to us one way or another. While some have enjoyed a slower pace of life and extended time with loved ones (Thanks be to God!), many are stretched to unprecedented extremes. All of us have questions in search of an answer. Psalms 42-43 lead us in praying our questions and emotions honestly to discover the hope for our present darkness.
Together, Psalm 42-43 form a unified prayer with three stanzas each ending with the refrain:
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
And why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise
Him,
My salvation and my God.
The prayer covers seven different gut-wrenchingly honest questions, four of which are repeated for a total of 13.
• When shall I come and appear before God? (1x)
• Where is your God? (2x)
• Why are you cast down, O my soul? (3x)
• Why are you in turmoil within me? (3x)
• Why have you forgotten me? (1x)
• Why do I go mourning because of the oppression of the enemy? (2x)
• Why have your rejected me? (1x)
Psalm 42 opens with longing for the life-giving stream of God’s presence. Like saltwater to one stranded at sea, tears only exacerbate the thirst as haunting accusations linger, “Where is your God” (v. 3)? Even the joyful memory of worshipping with the people of God deepens the depression (v. 4). Despite all this, the refrain draws the swirl of emotions to a dramatic point: “Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him, My salvation and my God” (v. 5-6).
As the psalmist’s attention turns—“My soul is cast down within me, therefore I remember you” (v. 6)—the cascading roar of majestic waterfalls and the mysterious power of the ocean’s billows point to the creator and sustainer of all things (v. 7). The Lord is intimately active in life-saving love. “By day the Lord commands his steadfast love, and at night his song is with me” (v. 8). This is not a passive “love ya” but a personally passionate: “I love you. I am coming after you. I am relentless.” But it does not always feel that way. With one breath the psalmist confesses the rock-solid security of God’s character, “God, my rock,” and with the next he cries out, “Why have you forgotten me” (v. 9)? Like a wound through the heart and to the bone, the taunting voices keep questioning God’s presence (v. 10).
As the refrain points once again to hope, Psalm 43 launches with three prayers in rapid procession—vindicate, defend, and deliver me! Enemies to the way of grace come in many forms—perhaps most are not immediately recognizable—but they share a few things in common: ungodly, deceptive, and unjust (v. 1). Out of the dark night of the soul, the prayer gathers to a greatness:
Send out your light and your truth; let them lead me; let them bring me to your holy hill and to your dwelling! Then I will go to the altar of God, to God my exceeding joy, and I will praise you with the lyre, O God, my God (v. 3-4).
The light of dawn has broken into the darkness. This prayer came in the flesh when Jesus walked onto the scene: “The people dwelling in darkness have seen a great light, and for those dwelling in the region and shadow of death, on them a light has dawned” (Matthew 4:16).
God sent His light and truth out through the one on the cross who said, “I thirst,” and cried out, “Why have you forsaken me?” Out of the darkness of death, Jesus walked into the glorious brightness of resurrection dawn. Those who hope in Jesus as “my salvation and my God” are like reflective mirrors of God’s radiant love. When we honestly pray our questions and longings, hope in suffering, trust in God—advance healing, beauty, truth, and justice in the name of Jesus—the light shines. The resurrection illuminates our present darkness in light of the day when we are finally and fully lead to the dwelling place of God (Revelation 21). In Jesus, every thirst shall be quenched, every hunger satisfied, every tear wiped away, every accusation hushed, every cast down heart lifted, every forgotten one found, every rejected one welcomed in, and every wound healed. Hope in God, for our lives shall become an eternal glory of gladness.
Saul lived for one year and then became king, and when he had reigned for two years over Israel, Saul chose three thousand men of Israel. Two thousand were with Saul in Michmash and the hill country of Bethel, and a thousand were with Jonathan in Gibeah of Benjamin. The rest of the people he sent home, every man to his tent. Jonathan defeated the garrison of the Philistines that was at Geba, and the Philistines heard of it. And Saul blew the trumpet throughout all the land, saying, “Let the Hebrews hear.” And all Israel heard it said that Saul had defeated the garrison of the Philistines, and also that Israel had become a stench to the Philistines. And the people were called out to join Saul at Gilgal.
And the Philistines mustered to fight with Israel, thirty thousand chariots and six thousand horsemen and troops like the sand on the seashore in multitude. They came up and encamped in Michmash, to the east of Beth-aven. When the men of Israel saw that they were in trouble (for the people were hard pressed), the people hid themselves in caves and in holes and in rocks and in tombs and in cisterns, and some Hebrews crossed the fords of the Jordan to the land of Gad and Gilead. Saul was still at Gilgal, and all the people followed him trembling.
He waited seven days, the time appointed by Samuel. But Samuel did not come to Gilgal, and the people were scattering from him. So Saul said, “Bring the burnt offering here to me, and the peace offerings.” And he offered the burnt offering. As soon as he had finished offering the burnt offering, behold, Samuel came. And Saul went out to meet him and greet him. Samuel said, “What have you done?” And Saul said, “When I saw that the people were scattering from me, and that you did not come within the days appointed, and that the Philistines had mustered at Michmash, I said, ‘Now the Philistines will come down against me at Gilgal, and I have not sought the favor of the Lord.’ So I forced myself, and offered the burnt offering.” And Samuel said to Saul, “You have done foolishly. You have not kept the command of the Lord your God, with which he commanded you. For then the Lord would have established your kingdom over Israel forever. But now your kingdom shall not continue. The Lord has sought out a man after his own heart, and the Lord has commanded him to be prince over his people, because you have not kept what the Lord commanded you.” And Samuel arose and went up from Gilgal. The rest of the people went up after Saul to meet the army; they went up from Gilgal to Gibeah of Benjamin.
And Saul numbered the people who were present with him, about six hundred men.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Imagine living in another time and place. You and your family are citizens in a kingdom, and the king is a good man. You have food, clothing, and shelter. You feel safe. But one day, you look out the window, and foreign soldiers are marching down your street. Some on horseback, some on foot. You hear a language you don’t recognize. As you peer out the window, trying not to be seen, your heart races. Why are they here? What do they want? Should I fight? Should I run? Should I hide? Like King Saul, in a flash, you forget what you know and start to take matters into your own hands.
A version of this scene plays out in our lives on a regular basis. Along comes some threat to life as we know it, and an avalanche of fear buries us. For the Christian, fear tempts us to forget who we are and all that we have in Jesus Christ. Like an invading army, death, change, sickness, conflict, or anything can turn our lives upside down in a moment. As fear rises, we do well to ask ourselves: Where do I feel like I’m losing control or becoming powerless? Where am I tempted not to trust God and to take matters into my own hands? How is fear causing me to forget the Lord? Until we realize how much fear controls us, we will struggle to see the darkness of our hearts and the light of our Savior.
Have you noticed that children can be comfortable and terrified in the exact same space? The same place that is “home” when the lights are on can become a haunted house when it’s dark. With the flick of a switch, however, everything changes. “This is home. My fear of the dark is irrational.” Brothers and sisters in Christ, even when it seems dark, the kingdom of God is our home; and the King of kings, the Man with God’s own heart, is our King. As we look out the window, we see the kingdom of this world marching by with threats and invitations. When fear causes us to forget, we need to remember in the dark what we’ve seen in the light. How do we do that? We open God’s word and pray for the Holy Spirit to pierce the darkness. “For God, who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ” (2 Corinthians 4:6). Are we spending time in God’s word? When we do, are we expecting for the Lord to shine His light and scatter our darkness, to build our faith and conquer our fear? As we walk in the light, it becomes clearer and clearer: “The fear of man lays a snare, but whoever trusts in the LORD is safe” (Proverbs 29:25).
Cry aloud; do not hold back;
lift up your voice like a trumpet;
declare to my people their transgression,
to the house of Jacob their sins.
Yet they seek me daily
and delight to know my ways,
as if they were a nation that did righteousness
and did not forsake the judgment of their God;
they ask of me righteous judgments;
they delight to draw near to God.
‘Why have we fasted, and you see it not?
Why have we humbled ourselves, and you take no knowledge of it?’
Behold, in the day of your fast you seek your own pleasure,
and oppress all your workers.
Behold, you fast only to quarrel and to fight
and to hit with a wicked fist.
Fasting like yours this day
will not make your voice to be heard on high.
Is such the fast that I choose,
a day for a person to humble himself?
Is it to bow down his head like a reed,
and to spread sackcloth and ashes under him?
Will you call this a fast,
and a day acceptable to the Lord?
“Is not this the fast that I choose:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free,
and to break every yoke?
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
“What’s going on here?
Well, essentially God is telling the Israelites
that they’ve been selfish in their practice
of what we nowadays call ‘spiritual disciplines.’”
—Kyle David Bennett
Our sin is insidious. Satan knows how to twist the good things of God, like spiritual disciplines, and we unwittingly follow along. According to Isaiah 58, the Israelites were trying to love God, they were trying to follow the pattern of life He laid out for them, but God sees their attempt to love and follow Him as a transgression and a sin.
I am no better than the Israelites in many of my spiritual practices. On days when I fast, I tend to break the fast when I reenter my home after work. On those days, I’ll often spend the spare moments of the day praying for a group of people or a set of issues removed from me. When I walk through the door of my home, I encounter a new set of people running in circles right in front of me (they are currently 6, 4, and 1). The heightened spiritual sensitivity I cultivated throughout the day fails me as I walk right past the chaos to the pantry. The love for God that I thought I was seeking doesn’t shine through in my interactions with my children. It is not a fast in accordance with God’s command if it does not affect my relationship with my neighbor. It is not a spiritual discipline that deepens my relationship with God if it does not change the way I relate to the people around me.
Many of us have been taught to see the classic disciplines of our faith—Bible reading, prayer, fasting, etc.—as means of growing and developing our personal relationship with Christ, of knowing Him at a deeper level. We’ve been taught not to turn these disciplines into laws that, when kept, place God in our debt.
That is all true—as far as it goes. The spiritual disciplines are a means of growing our relationship with Christ. But if Isaiah 58 has something to teach us, it invites us to see the danger in seeing the spiritual disciplines as nothing more than a means of developing our personal relationship with Christ. It almost sounds wrong to say it, but that framework is insufficient. The problem is not a personal relationship with God. The problem is emphasizing that in a way that reinforces our selfishness. At the core of sin is selfishness, and in our selfishness we often fail to see the implications of how we are living. In Isaiah 58, the Lord paints a portrait of a people who were really good at spiritual practices and really bad at loving their neighbors. The spiritual disciplines were not bringing the kind of life transformation the Lord intended.
When Christ was asked which is the greatest commandment, He replied, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments” (Matt 22:37-40). There is a very close relationship between our love for God and our love for our neighbor. John adds: “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen” (1 John 4:20).
As we think about the disciplines of our faith, we must see them as God sees them. They should be opportunities to train us:
to loose the bonds of wickedness,
to undo the straps of the yoke,
to let the oppressed go free.
In the first book, O Theophilus, I have dealt with all that Jesus began to do and teach, until the day when He was taken up, after He had given commands through the Holy Spirit to the apostles whom He had chosen. He presented Himself alive to them after His suffering by many proofs, appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God.
And while staying with them He ordered them not to depart from Jerusalem, but to wait for the promise of the Father, which, He said, “you heard from Me; for John baptized with water, but you will be baptized with the Holy Spirit not many days from now.”
So when they had come together, they asked Him, “Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?” He said to them, “It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by His own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be My witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.”
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
They seem to be a rite of passage for becoming a youth pastor. Or maybe it's a merit badge for middle school interns. But the Friday night, church gymnasium lock-in has winnowed out more than a few. Hardly ever is there an Adult Seniors lock-in. It's equally predictable that at some point between "lights out" and "Praise The Lord, it's over", someone will roll out a ghost story. We can't help ourselves. We're captivated by the murky mysteries beyond what we can see. Most years, Americans buy more Ouija boards than Monopoly games, and in the United Kingdom there were recent fears of a shortage at Christmas.
It's no wonder there is often confusion and even consternation when Scripture speaks of the Holy Spirit. The third person of the Trinity is even commonly called the Holy Ghost in many traditions. But in the months between the Lord's passion and His ascension, Jesus promises that the Holy Spirit will come upon all believers, and lead the expansion of the Kingdom of God until Jesus returns. On the night in which He was betrayed, Jesus explained the Holy Spirit to the disciples. Then He reminds them again before He leaves. Luke mentions the Holy Spirit three times in the first eight verses of his second volume.
So what is the role of God the Holy Spirit in the life of the believer and the expansion of the church? It seems that, said most simply, the Holy Spirit proclaims the gospel.
First, He proclaims the gospel to us. It is the work of the Holy Spirit to open the eyes of unbelief so that a soul sees the Savior. The calling from death to life is by the power of the Holy Spirit based on Christ's finished work. It is by grace alone through the power of the Holy Spirit that any of us can be born again.
The Holy Spirit also proclaims the gospel in us. It is the Spirit's work, through the means of grace, that we grow up into the fullness of Christ. The Spirit holds us fast that we may abide in Jesus.
And then, it is the Holy Spirit proclaiming the gospel through us that advances the Church to every tribe and every tongue, until the end of the age.
Those frightened fisherman gathered in the upper room would live the rest of their lives remembering their Lord's words. So can we, because of the help from the Helper.
These things I have spoken to you while I am still with you. But the Helper, the Holy Spirit, whom the Father will send in My name, He will teach you all things and bring to your remembrance all that I have said to you. Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid (John 14:25-27).
See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
If you could be called anything, what would it be? I’m not talking about all the things you’ve been called that you’d rather forget. If you could have your wish, what would you want to be called? Rich? Smart? Funny? Athletic? Beautiful? Talented? Successful? Husband? Wife? Mother? Father? We could make a long list of roles, achievements, and attributes that we’d love to have attached to our name. “What would you want to be called?” is a question that strikes at the heart of who we are. What is our primary identity?
In 1 John 3:1, John exclaims about the greatness of the Father’s love for us. How do we know how great that love is? Exhibit A is this reality: “that we should be called children of God.” Christians have a Father who loves them so much that He sent His Son to do everything necessary so that they would be called His children. That good news leaves John head-scratching and word-searching. God has poured out His love on His people in such a way that it completely redefines who they are. As much as we hear about being God’s children, sometimes it’s hard to make this identity stick. Have you ever wondered, “Why?”
Our identity can be slippery during transitions in life. Since being ordained in February, I’ve enjoyed new opportunities to preach and teach, to assist in corporate worship, and to officiate weddings. I love serving in these ways, but the new contexts have also revealed hidden pockets of fear and anxiety. We think our identity is secure in Christ, but then a transition reveals how easy it is to define ourselves by our performance. Do we just want to get comfortable in these contexts so that we’re not anxious, or do we want to be so secure in Christ that our identity doesn’t rise and fall with each “performance?”
Our identity can also be slippery because sin distorts how we see and what we want. What the Lord has to say about us in His Word doesn’t seem as valuable as the identity that we can construct for ourselves. And so our Christian identity often means less to us than some counterfeit identity. If we want our identity as God’s children to stick, part of the challenge is learning to see these replacement identities for what they are: incomplete, unsatisfying, and fragile. If we want to be called something other than “child of God,” that identity may work for us for a time. But sooner or later, the counterfeits fail us. They leave us feeling incomplete, unsatisfied, and fragile.
So we need to expose the counterfeits, but we also need to rehearse the significance of the real thing. What would it look like to embrace being called children of God? John Eagan writes:
The heart of it is this: make the Lord and His immense love for you constitutive of your personal worth. Define yourself radically as one beloved by God. God’s love for you and His choice of you constitute your worth. Accept that, and let it become the most important thing in your life.
What’s not to love about that? On the surface, nothing. I want my identity to flow from the Lord and His immense love for me. I want to define myself radically as one beloved by God. But in order to enjoy that, I have to humble myself. I have to give up the charade of trying on counterfeit identities and making a name for myself. I have to embrace the reality: “Nothing in my hand I bring; simply to Thy cross I cling.” Do we really realize how difficult that is?
I imagine myself with my hands full of little pieces of paper. On each piece of paper is a word or phrase that represents an aspect of my identity. If the Lord asked me, “What’s all that? What are all those pieces of paper?” I would say, “This is who I am. This is what people call me.” How do you think Jesus would respond? What if He asked me to drop all of the paper—to let it all go—so that he could write “Child of God” on my hands? Are my hands too full to receive the redefining love of Christ? Are yours?
By His lavish grace, the Father makes orphans His sons and daughters. Is that your story? Being a father is teaching me a lot about being a child of God. As a proud father, I could easily brag about all the things that my son can do, but I love how none of that seems to matters to him right now. He’s too busy enjoying being my son to get wrapped up in the silly identity games that we “grown ups” play. He calls me “Daddy,” and whenever I’m home, he just wants to be together. So whether we dig, mow, chase, draw, wrestle, or read, as long as we’re together, he’s happy. He is the child of a loving father, and that is more than enough for him. As you reflect on the love of the Father in calling us His children, is that enough for you?
Since we have such a hope, we are very bold, not like Moses, who would put a veil over his face so that the Israelites might not gaze at the outcome of what was being brought to an end. But their minds were hardened. For to this day, when they read the old covenant, that same veil remains unlifted, because only through Christ is it taken away. Yes, to this day whenever Moses is read a veil lies over their hearts.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
It felt like "Bandits Only" day at the local grocery-- not a soul in the place without a mask. And it's not just the masks, but the downcast eyes and hustle past that made the search for table carrots truly surreal. Some of the folks were recognizable because they always work the same aisle. With those kind helpers, you could tell they were smiling. But with everyone else, the squint and worry in the eyes seemed to communicate fear, or worse. The place was lonely, isolated in a crowd. Yet this peculiar, anonymous grocery shopping was really just an outward and visible representation of what is all too often an inward and sad reality. Which mask are you wearing today?
The respectability mask is maybe the most common. We know the reality of our shame. And we can never seem to escape our heart's sinful murmurings. So on goes the mask. We hope that if everyone can be made to believe we're "really nice," we'll somehow actually change ourselves. Maybe we can finally become someone we painfully want to be, but know behind our mask that we really aren't.
Similar but more sinister is the religiosity mask. With this mask on snugly, we manage to veil the seething anger that characterizes our thought life. Our religion hides the hurts that enflame our rage. Faith is replaced by weaponized traditions, masking the desperate sense that real peace and heart-joy are myths. At least they never ring true for us. But with enough of the right lingo and chest-out bravado, no one will ever really know.
Yet the glorious promise of scripture is that in Christ, we can finally breathe. The fearful hiding can end. The Lord knows us already, loves us eternally, and works in us continually. God's Word teaches us that by abiding in Jesus, His glory makes the masks meaningless. And in the letter to the Corinthians we read a remarkable truth. The Lord is transforming us. And when at last we see Him "with unveiled faces", we really are changed. We really have become new creations. No need for a mask at all. We bear the likeness of our Savior!
It may be that wearing a surgical mask is no longer just for surgeons. Humanity may be masked from now on. But the Lord Jesus beckons us to come to Him, to rest in Him, and to behold His glory. Then He will gently reach toward us, and with a tenderness unimaginable, take the masks away.
But when one turns to the Lord, the veil is removed. Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.
As in one body we have many members, and the members do not all have the same function, so we, though many are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.”
Kari received her Master’s in Biblical Counseling from Dallas Theological Seminary in 1997 and spent four years in private practice as a counselor. She has been the Director of PCPC Women for the past 15 years, where she loves serving women of all ages and and stages of life. Kari loves being with family and friends, and while God has given her many talents, "accessorizing" is certainly close to the top of that list.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
“Where two or three are gathered in My name, there am I among them.”
—Matthew 18:20
It is hard to believe that it has been ten weeks since our church has met together for corporate worship because of the coronavirus pandemic. Ten weeks we’ve missed singing the hymns of our faith together, strengthened by our one voice. Ten weeks of not getting to take communion together, getting to witness our family of God go forward, being reminded of our unity as one body of Christ, together. Ten weeks of missing even the sometimes dreaded “Greeting of Peace” when we enjoy a special word of encouragement, meet a new friend, or even enjoy big hug from someone you haven’t seen in a while. Our worship team and our pastors have done a heroic job of continuing our services online and the times of worship in our homes have been uniquely beautiful and rich. But it is certainly not the same. I don’t know about you, but I am homesick for our church family. I suspect you are too.
The first time I can remember feeling homesick was when I was 10 years old and attended a camp for a week away from my family. I can still remember that awful feeling, “these people don’t really know me and don’t really care about me.” I did not know any of the girls in my cabin and I never did find much joy in that camp experience. What I remember most is that glorious feeling of being united with my parents and siblings when I returned. There is nothing like being at home, surrounded by those who love you and know you.
For many in our church family it has been an extraordinary time of being with your loved ones and family members as you worship each Sunday via the internet. For others, Sundays have been worshipping by yourself, watching a screen, taking in a wonderful message but missing any sense of a church family. Regardless where you fall on this spectrum, not being together as a church family is hard for all of us.
Does not meeting together as a church body mean that God hasn’t been with us? That God isn’t using us? Certainly not! Jesus assures us in John 15 that as we abide in Him, He abides in us and the result is fruitful. But we are also told in Romans 12 that we are one body, best functioning as one, with all of our unique, individual gifts. Together we experience God nourishing us and growing us up to maturity in Him “until we all attain the unity of faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ (Ephesians 4:13)”. Christ is the head of His church (Colossians 1:18) and we are His bride (Ephesians 5:32). As mysterious that is, as His bride, we are a “she that is a we” – together! And I miss that part, being together, don’t you?
God has been doing amazing things through our church body during this pandemic. As I serve on the Covid-19 Response team I have witnessed the beauty of Christ through our church, giving away food to feed over 500 needy families, and some 600 first responders have been thanked and fed. And I have heard countless stories of what God is doing in and through so many of you as you have been Christ to your neighbors. What a joy to see God use us in these ways and I pray that this joy in generous giving and receiving only continues. And may God use this time of waiting to be together, in our homesickness, to revive His church as never before. So that when we do come together in our sanctuary once again, we will be in awe of all that God has done!
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
While talking to my mentor recently, we realized that we had the same irrationally scary nightmare from time to time. In such dreams, we would find ourselves at the end of a collegiate semester with the realization that we had completely forgotten to complete a registered course. What is hilarious about our similar fear is that: 1) neither of us had ever encountered such a situation; 2) we have both been college graduates for quite some time now.
Though that fear may seem silly and irrational, it is actually much more complex when you peel back the layers. Failing a college course would have obvious ramifications—wasting money, having to reschedule the class for a later date, etc. But more so, that fear is rooted in a worry of being seen as irresponsible or as someone with a poor work ethic. The underlying issue isn’t actually failure; it’s identity. Fear threatens to take from us the things we love and the things that we believe make us who we are. We’re rocked by fear of losing our identity.
And yet time and time again, I am reminded through Scripture that my identity can never be threatened because it’s unchanging: I am a beloved daughter of God. Period. Not a beloved daughter of God + wife. Not a beloved daughter of God + employee. I am simply His. And when He alone is the object of my identity, I find a different emotion in my life: peace.
“But you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for his own possession, that you may proclaim the excellencies of him who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light” -1 Peter 2:9
“No longer do I call you servants, for the servant does not know what his master is doing; but I have called you friends, for all that I have heard from my Father I have made known to you.”
-John 15:15“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.'” -Isaiah 43:1
“And it is God who establishes us with you in Christ, and has anointed us, and who has also put his seal on us and given us his Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee.” -2 Corinthians 1:21-22
“And when the woman saw that she was not hidden, she came trembling, and falling down before him declared in the presence of all the people why she had touched him, and how she had been immediately healed.” -Luke 8:47
I am the true vine and my Father is the vinedresser. Every branching in me that does not bear fruit he takes away, and every branch that does bear fruit he prunes, that it may bear more fruit. Already you are clean because of the word that I have spoken to you. Abide in me, and I in you.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
I will never forget the day as a young intern in my first pastoral job when I witnessed a young couple in my church receive the news that their young 2 year old son had died due to complications from a surgery to heal a delicate vein condition. Words cannot describe the anguish that filled the hospital room. But what was even more indescribable was how this couple, after a season of grief and mourning, was able to rise from the ashes of death and declare that despite all of the misery they had experienced, all the loss they had endured, they knew that God was good and that He had a purpose in all this, a plan to make known His love to the world through their story. What is the connection between pain and joy? Is it even possible to experience true happiness during and after a time of great trial or tribulation?
In His final hours with His disciples in the book of John, Jesus gives a simple metaphor. Jesus says that He is the vine. We are the branches. Now, I am no master of vineyard science, but, I recently discovered that a grape vine has branches growing out from the vine (surprise, surprise). These branches are what bud, flower, and eventually produce the grapes that a vinedresser needs in order to sell or use to produce wine. After the harvest season in late summer and early fall (for the Northern Hemisphere), the vinedresser goes through the vineyard and prunes the branches. This pruning process cuts back the length of the branch as well as cuts away other branches that have grown off of that branch. Why do this? Why not let those branches stay and produce more grapes? Unfortunately, that’s not how vines work. If you let branches grow and grow, you may produce more grapes, but those grapes will not be enjoyable at all, and eventually the vineyard would destroy itself. The only branches and the only vineyards that produce good fruit are those that have pruned branches connected directly to the vine. Hence the call to abide directly in the vine!
Pruning hurts. Pruning cuts off things in our life. Pruning is suffering. And pruning takes many forms, not just tragic loss. The root of this verb “prune” in John 15:2 means “to clean” which is the word John uses in 15:3 to describe the reason we are branches attached to the vine at all: because Jesus has already cleansed us. But this cleansing has an ongoing pruning process to it. The end goal of pruning and suffering, although it is painful, is our joy. The joy of God doing His work to make us more and more conformed to Christ. Tim Keller in his book about suffering says, “Jesus Christ suffered, not so that we would never suffer but so that when we suffer we would be like Him.”1 Every snip of the pruner’s sheers is deliberate, lovingly executed for this purpose: so we may be more like Christ and bear more fruit.
When Jesus told His disciples about the vine and the branches, He said His purpose in telling them all this was so that His joy would be in them, and that their joy would be full! Suffering and joy go hand in hand. Pruning, cutting back, and bearing fruit go together. Pain and hope are ingredients in the recipe of discipleship. Just ask any seasoned Christian how God has used pain and suffering to draw them nearer to Him. How is God pruning you in this season of your life? How might He turn this season of suffering and pruning into a joyous season of bearing fruit through the pain? The end goal is worth it: to be more like Christ and to come alongside others who are suffering! This is life in the “already but not yet kingdom” of our Lord Jesus Christ.
1Keller, Tim. Walking with God through Pain and Suffering. New York: Dutton Publishing Group. 181.
As we were going to the place of prayer, we were met by a slave girl who had a spirit of divination and brought her owners much gain by fortune-telling. She followed Paul and us, crying out, "These men are servants of the Most High God, who proclaim to you the way of salvation." And this she kept doing for many days. Paul, having become greatly annoyed, turned and said to the spirit, "I command you in the name of Jesus Christ to come out of her." And it came out that very hour.
But when her owners saw that their hope of gain was gone, they seized Paul and Silas and dragged them into the marketplace before the rulers. And when they had brought them to the magistrates, they said, "These men are Jews, and they are disturbing our city. They advocate customs that are not lawful for us as Romans to accept or practice." The crowd joined in attacking them, and the magistrates tore the garments off them and gave orders to beat them with rods. And when they had inflicted many blows upon them, they threw them into prison, ordering the jailer to keep them safely. Having received this order, he put them into the inner prison and fastened their feet in the stocks.
About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them, and suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened, and everyone's bonds were unfastened. When the jailer woke and saw that the prison doors were open, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself, supposing that the prisoners had escaped.
But Paul cried with a loud voice, "Do not harm yourself, for we are all here." And the jailer called for lights and rushed in, and trembling with fear he fell down before Paul and Silas. Then he brought them out and said, "Sirs, what must I do to be saved?" And they said, "Believe in the Lord Jesus, and you will be saved, you and your household." And they spoke the word of the Lord to him and to all who were in his house. And he took them the same hour of the night and washed their wounds; and he was baptized at once, he and all his family. Then he brought them up into his house and set food before them. And he rejoiced along with his entire household that he had believed in God.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Let's imagine for a moment that you are the composer, and it's time to pre-screen the film for which you've written the score. The hardest scene to craft was the "jail scene." The imagery is remarkable and chilling and raw. The prisoners are chained to one another and to iron rings in the stone floor of the near-dark dungeon. The director has asked the actor playing the jailer to cover his face with a cloth, to communicate the stench of the place. One of the prisoners pictured as the camera pans the cell is a rotting corpse. Now, cue music! And then your score swells with strains of, "Bless the Lord, Oh my soul, Oh my soul, worship His Holy Name!"
The producer wheels on you fiercely. He screams at you, "Are you crazy? This is a dungeon scene, in ancient Philippi! Did you even read the script!? There's an earthquake and a jail break and a near-suicide, you fool! What is praise music doing in this scene?!"
"Well sir," you answer, "the praise music is actually what the scene is about! Did YOU read the source document for the script?"
Then you get fired and he gets a Bible. Not a bad outcome to imagine.
Paul and Silas are singing praises in the middle of the night in the middle of the dungeon after a very long day that included interrogations and beatings. Singing-how can that possibly true?
Paul and Silas did not know they were about to be rescued from the dungeon of Philippi, but they did know they had already been rescued from the dungeon of hell. They were God's men on God's mission, and they sang the songs they had been singing all along: songs like the Psalms, praises like the songs of Moses and Mary. Or maybe they remembered and sang the lyrics of King David in that dark hole in Philippi.
The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom shall I fear?
The LORD is the stronghold of my life;
of whom shall I be afraid?
Psalm 27:1
These men knew the Lord and praised the Lord because that was their habit. For Paul, and for us, our circumstances are not the primary source of the joy in our hearts. It's the Lord dwelling richly in our hearts who teaches how to understand and manage our circumstances.
They also sang because they counted suffering for Christ's sake to be an honor, and evidence of their union with Jesus. They could have run away from that jail, or encouraged the jailer to kill himself by saying, "Go ahead! Your life's over anyway!" But instead, they proclaimed the truth that had saved them. And they baptized the jailer in the name of The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. They went into the dungeon as prisoners of the guard and came out as brothers of the guard! That's something worth singing about.
Later, Paul would write a letter to the church there in Philippi. The jailer may have heard it read aloud. He would have thought back about that night when the prisoners didn't run, and I bet he would have praised the Lord for that memory!
But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For His sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which comes through faith in Christ, the righteousness from God that depends on faith- that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and may share His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, that by any means possible I may attain the resurrection from the dead.
Philippians 3:7-11
Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
When we think of spiritual warfare, many of us might assume that Satan is after something dramatic: a scandalous sin, a psychological break, or a heretical conviction. But masquerading as an angel of light, Satan’s tactics and aims are typically more shrewd. What we may consider a mundane compromise is often the stuff of violent assault.
Consider the ways that Satan attacked Jesus with temptation in the wilderness. The first two means of temptation related to Jesus proving His deity and power. Satan said, “If you are the Son of God, command these stones to become loaves of bread,” and from the top of the temple, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down (Matthew 4:3,6).” Satan even quoted the Bible for rationale, making his temptations seem permissible, and perhaps even good.
In his classic, Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis suggests that Satan and his forces can do more damage to a Christian by twisting the truth than rejecting it altogether. Speaking of Jesus, the demon says, “We thus distract men’s minds from who He is, and what He did. We first make Him solely a teacher.” In other words, Lewis perceives that Satan may do us more harm by keeping a half-true version of Jesus before us than by convincing us that Jesus was a lunatic or liar.
It's been suggested that one of Satan’s greatest means of attack comes when he convinces us of the half-truth that we are unable to solve the problem of our guilt and sin. On the one hand, this is true: we aren’t able to solve this problem. But on the other hand, this is a hell-stained lie: Jesus has solved this problem and freely extends His victory to us. As the hymn-writer put it:
When Satan tempts me to despair and tells me of the guilt within,
Upward I look to see Him there, who made an end of all my sin.
Because the sinless Savior died, my sinful soul is counted free,
For God, the just, is satisfied, to look on Him and pardon me.
In the fog of warfare, how do we defend ourselves against attacks that we miss so easily? How do we keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith? Like Jesus, we must arm ourselves with the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God.
Oh, how I love your law! It is my meditation all the day.
Your commandment makes me wiser than my enemies, for it is ever with me
(Psalm 119:97-98).
While it may seem like a simple, even permissible compromise, we must not consider God’s Word peripheral to our spiritual security. It is the sword God has given us to battle against the schemes of Satan, and with it we, like Jesus, are wiser than our great Enemy.
"For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God."
"Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God."
Pat Hobin was born and raised in Dallas and has a Bachelors degree from University of Texas as well as a Masters in Counseling degree from Colorado Christian University. Pat served on the staff at Park Cities Presbyterian Church as the Single Adult Pastor in the early 90s and is currently serving as the Director of Counseling & Care. He is also an adjunct professor at Redeemer Seminary.
Pat has three grown daughters: Katherine (27), Sarah (25), and Grace (22).
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
It is absolutely staggering to think that through the work of Jesus, I become the righteousness of God. How can that be? The Greek word for righteousness actually means “in a broad sense: state of him who is as he ought to be, righteousness, the condition acceptable to God.” What an amazing reality to embrace! What gratitude wells up within my heart, for without the work of Jesus, my “condition” is completely unacceptable to God. So I now live with this reality at play in my life:
May we live in that truth and reality.
James often sparked some degree of controversy over the topic of “faith and works.” In James 2:18, he makes his point very clear: “But someone will say, ‘You have faith and I have works.’ Show me your faith apart from your works, and I will show you my faith by my works.” His message is that our “faith” will so move within us that we will do “works.” The works are not to bring about acceptability or salvation but instead come because we have such an understanding from where our acceptability comes.
The emphasis that James brings provides a great mirror for us to look at ourselves. His emphasis causes us to reevaluate life and how we live it. When we become the righteousness of God, as Paul said in his letter to the Corinthians, it would seem that we would then desire to live righteous lives. James is presenting the same point to us, and he admittedly does it in a direct manner. He talks about bridling the tongue, visiting orphans and widows in their affliction, keeping oneself unstained from the world, not showing partiality to people of wealth. If we interpret that doing these things gains us our righteousness, we are in serious error and completely miss James’s point. He is telling people who are the righteousness of God to live like people who are the righteousness of God.
If we are indeed up for living this way, then it is important for us to take a more serious look at James 1:20. He states clearly “the anger of man does not produce (achieve) the righteousness of God.” The verse is not a contradiction but instead an emphasis that there is a behavior that is consistent with the righteousness of God. Anger is not. We need that brought to our attention so that a righteous behavior can replace it.
As previously noted, James shared many other behaviors that should be evident if we are living out of the righteousness of God and if “faith and works” are at play. But is there any significance to the fact that anger is really the first behavior he addresses? Granted, in a way, they are all connected, but we have a great tendency to either dismiss or justify our anger; it is important for us to be clearly and directly reminded that “the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.” If that is true, and if you want to live out the righteousness of God, are you willing to take a look at anger?
James gives us a prescription for dealing with anger in our lives. Undoubtedly, we need the Holy Spirit to help us with that, but James says we are to be “quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger.” How is that an antidote for anger? It may seem overly simple, but in actuality, it is not. Being quick to hear is more than just listening. It often requires setting aside your agenda and preconceived thoughts to actually hear, which can lead to understanding. Instead, most of us are quick to speak and slow to hear, if we hear at all. The thought of being slow to anger never even shows up on our radar. What makes this even more difficult is that we are typically very successful in justifying our anger. Once justification is in place, we abdicate responsibility for our actions and behavior. We do not see it as detracting from the righteousness of God. Unfortunately, we see it as an appropriate response to the circumstances before us.
As we live out the wonderful reality of 2 Corinthians 5:21, may we also live out the reality of James 1:19-20. May we see the connection between the two passages. The righteous of God is our basis for “acceptability;” we want to live doing the things that “produce the righteousness of God.” Though there is definitely a righteous anger that even Christ displayed, the kind of anger James addresses does not produce the righteousness of God, no matter how we justify it. Instead, may we confess our tired and worn out justifications, and may we be “quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger.” That behavior, dear friends, is evidence of the righteousness of the God. Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.
But Moses said to the Lord, “Oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent, either in the past or since you have spoken to your servant, but I am slow of speech and of tongue.” Then the Lord said to him, “Who has made man's mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.” But he said, “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.”
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
It was January 1993 and the weather in Wichita Falls, Texas, was blizzard-esque. The temperature had dropped below freezing, the sleet and snow were falling, and the wind was blowing strong enough to sweep away anything under 100 pounds frozen wet. Game time for the Toy Bowl (the Superbowl of the Pop Warner football league) was 2:00 pm sharp that Saturday, and the gloomy weather carried with it a weight that only the game could surpass. The Benjamin Franklin Lions were taking on the Washington Jackson Leopards in what was touted as the “game of the year” for all football lovers age 11 and under. The Leopards were highly favored as the returning champs, but the Lions were a well-coached, disciplined team trying to oust this “football Pharaoh” from its throne. This game was certainly a game that would be talked about at lunch tables for the remainder of the 1993-1994 school year. I happened to play wide receiver for the Ben Franklin Lions as well as kickoff returner and punt returner. All that really means is I was halfway coordinated, could catch a football, and was really fast. My frame was less-than-intimidating, but my feet would make a grown man’s knees shake.
I remember waking up that Toy Bowl Saturday morning to my alarm clock, and instead of experiencing excitement, I had an overwhelming sense of fear. The weather was terrible! My hands would be frozen, and I would not be able to catch! I could not bear the idea of failing my team and my coach and my dad by dropping a pass or fumbling a punt or…even worse…getting tackled by guys twice my size when my whole body felt like an icicle! The thought of the possibility of failure and the certainty of pain was enough to inwardly paralyze me and strip any joy or excitement I had to play in what I decided should be deemed the Blizzard Bowl of Death. I was certain to fail and certain to hurt and certain to lose. The fear was paralyzing. As game time approached, I informed my coach that I would not be able to play that day. He looked shocked and perplexed but responded calmly, “Baker, give me one good reason why you can’t go?” I told him my feet hurt. I told him I couldn’t feel my hands. I told him we needed to run the ball a lot because it was going to be impossible for the quarterback to pass and impossible for me to catch a pass, punt, or kick. I told him I felt sickly. I told him I couldn’t do it. And to my surprise, after voicing brief disappointment, he conceded. I began the game on the sideline paralyzed by my own fear and consumed with my perceived weaknesses.
In the second quarter with the game close my coach grabbed my facemask and asked if I would simply go in for the next offensive series. He gave me a Churchill-ian pep talk about his confidence in me and his call of me and his desire to have me lead our Lions. He reminded me that I was equipped to play a special role and special part on this team and that’s why he had made me a captain at the beginning of the season. I initially responded with a refrain of excuses and reminded him of my weakness and inability, concluding with, “No thanks.” But he would not take “no” for an answer. He put me in. On the second play of the series, our quarterback called a hitch pass to me out wide on the left side of the field. I lined up shaking (but who wasn’t in this Blizzard Bowl of Death). I stared across the line and saw Pharaoh’s minions staring across at me. Uniformed in purple and black they looked like man-sized bruises, and I feared they wished to inflict the same on me. Every synapse of my brain informed me I should be on the sidelines, because the next few moments would result in certain failure, fumble, or pain, but to coach’s call I went against my judgment and stepped to the line. Our quarterback hiked the ball and threw it in my direction before I could gather my thoughts. Then my world changed that day. I caught it. I CAUGHT IT! Without a passing thought my feet took over, and 55 yards later I was celebrating in the end zone with my teammates—I evaded two tacklers and scored a touchdown! New warmth coursed through my body as I lined up for the kickoff. I saw Pharaoh and his Leopards in a completely different light. There was victory to be had, and I was going to be part of this 11-year-old army having it.
From that point forward I listened to my coach’s call and let my feet fly. No more excuses. No more paralysis or fear. Just the mission at hand. Three quarters later the Ben Franklin Lions triumphed victoriously with a snowball fight celebration at mid-field, having dethroned Pharaoh and defeated the unbeatable Leopards by 30 points as Toy Bowl Champs.
What is God calling you to do, and are you standing on the sidelines? If your immediate response is defensive or a list of excuses, fears, or weaknesses, you sound like Toy Bowl Brent or our forefather Moses in Exodus 4 (re-read the passage). And you’re missing out. There is nothing more fulfilling or joyful than the call of God on your life. There is a joy in surrender and participation that will never be reached in self-preservation and bench-warming. Get on the field!
What is your response to God’s call on your life? Some of you have been wrestling with God for months, maybe years with His invitation to you. What have you been saying to Him? Informing Him of your weakness or lack of giftedness? Justifying your fears? Brent told Coach he was too small and too cold and too afraid. Moses told God he was ineloquent and had a speech impediment. What are you saying? “I’m too ill-equipped.” “I don’t know enough to make any head way for the Kingdom.” “I could never live there, Lord!” “What will other people think if I really do that?” “I am not an eloquent person, so I can’t really teach.” “If only I were gifted like so-and-so.” All these echo our forefather Moses: “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.”
Be not afraid of the blizzard or the Leopards. Listen to the call of your Coach. Shakingly move forward to the line, catch the ball, and then let your feet fly. He calls you, for His glory, your joy, and the victory of His people. There is good news: God gladly employs and empowers stutterers to speak, the ineloquent to teach, excuse-makers to lead, and scaredy-cats to push back the darkness of Pharaoh and set His people free. Catch His call for your life and let your feet fly!
Passing alongside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew the brother of Simon casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you become fishers of men.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. And going on a little farther, he saw James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, who were in their boat mending the nets. And immediately he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired servants and followed him.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
I used to own a car that had a broken clock for a while. Every morning when I would get in the car, the clock would be reset to a random time that was never the same, yet always wrong. Sometimes it would tell me I was in England, while other times it would tell me I was in Australia, but it never would tell me I was in Dallas. Unless I deliberately took the time to reset the clock to the correct time, it would cause confusion for me.
If you’re like me, this season has caused confusion for you. Whether it’s a changed routine, uncertainty about the future, sad stories on the news seemingly every day, or cancelled plans, there are a lot of elements of this season that has knocked me off balance.
Like the concept of that car clock needing to be reset every morning to reflect the true time, Mark 1:17 has been a verse that has helped me “reset the clock of my heart” again every morning to reflect what is true. It is easy for our hearts to be swayed by the latest news, the uncertainty of the future, or the loudness of the moment (“the tyranny of the noise” as I’ve been calling it), but these things do not necessarily line up with timeless truth and unchanging gospel realities.
Mark 1:17 is in the context of the paragraph of Mark 1:16-20, in which Jesus calls his first disciples to follow him. This story, also recorded in Matthew 4:18-22, Luke 5:1-11, and John 1:35-51, is one of my favorite stories in the Bible because it conveys the essence of discipleship. A disciple is simply a learner, so everyone is a disciple of something. In Mark 1:17, Jesus offers a simple, yet powerful and life-changing call to His future disciples when He says, “Follow Me, and I will make you become fishers of men.” Commentators note that the content of this call applies to present day disciples as well. In this verse, I see two unchanging things that reset my heart daily during a confusing season with ever-changing circumstances:
(1) “Follow Me”: Whatever is going on in my life or in the country, I know one thing is for sure: Jesus wants my first concern every day to be His disciple. This is not a command to boring religion, but an invitation to fullness of life. Being a disciple of Jesus starts by being with Him and making His voice is the first voice I listen to and the voice I should stay in tune with diligently all day long. It is amazing the clarity that I experience when I begin the day from these two words, and how God consistently answers this prayer: “Lord, what does it look like to follow You today?”
(2) “I will make you become fishers of men”: There are a lot of things that I have no power to change, but one thing I know that I am called to participate in is impacting a few people’s lives and helping them take their next step with Jesus. I do not have the ability to change the country, but I do have the ability to disciple a few people at a time. It is interesting that success for Jesus was not about building big crowds but about building into people’s lives, and this should challenge the American church today. Making disciples is not just for people who work for churches; it’s for all Christians. Someone once told me that discipling people is just intentionally spending time with them in a relationship while having on your mind what is on the mind of Christ. Do you have a few people in your life who you are discipling? If not, what would it look like to make disciples of Jesus today? Like the point above, it is amazing how God answers this prayer every day: “Lord, who do you want me to love, serve, care about, and point to Jesus today and in this season?”
The disciples’ radical response is that “immediately they left their nets and followed Him” (Mark 1:18). How can we possibly live with that kind of reckless abandon and trust today when it might cause us to give up our own plans and even not know where we are being led? When we look at the Gospel, we see that in humility and love, Jesus Himself left the comfort of His Father’s throne to rescue us. As we reset our hearts with the Gospel, we will find it a joy to embrace the call to follow Him and to invite others into that joy. In a season of confusion, the clarity of this unchanging call is deeply comforting.
He left His Father's throne above,
So free, so infinite His grace;
Emptied Himself of all but love,
And bled for Adam's helpless race;
'Tis mercy all, immense and free;
For, O my God, it found out me.
Long my imprisoned spirit lay
Fast bound in sin and nature's night;
Thine eye diffused a quick'ning ray,
I woke, the dungeon flamed with light;
My chains fell off, my heart was free;
I rose, went forth and followed Thee.
So if there is any encouragement in Christ, any comfort from love, any participation in the Spirit, any affection and sympathy, complete my joy by being of the same mind, having the same love, being in full accord and of one mind. Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. Therefore God has highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, so that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every tongue confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
In 1960, a child psychiatrist by the name of Robert Coles observed the life of a six-year-old African American girl named Ruby Bridges from New Orleans. While white protesters lined the street decrying integration, Coles watched and waited for Ruby to show signs of trauma but never saw any. Years later, Coles recollected a conversation with Ruby during this time:
- “Ruby, your teacher told me today that you were talking to those people on the street.”
- “Doctor, I told her I wasn’t talking to the people.”
- “So who were you talking to Ruby?”
- “I told her I was talking to God.”
- “Why were you praying to God?”
- “I was praying for the people on the street.”
- “Why were you doing that Ruby?”
- “Because I wanted to pray for them.”
- “Why would you want to pray for those people?”
- “Well don’t you think they need praying for? I pray for them every morning, and I pray for them every afternoon when I go home.”
- “Ruby, those people are so mean to you, and they are so nasty to you. You must have some other feelings toward them besides wanting to pray for them.”
- “I just keep praying for them, and I hope God will be good to them.”
- “What do you say in the prayer Ruby?”
- “I always say the same thing.”
- “What’s that Ruby?”
- “Well I always say, ‘Please Dear God forgive them because they don’t know what they’re doing.’”
As a young girl from a poor family with parents that did not know how to read or write, Ruby had received the humble strength of Christ to encounter evil in love. We would do well to pay attention to the humility she emulated in the way of Jesus.
Paul’s letter to the Philippians centers on the humble vocation of Jesus Christ who though he was equal with God did not exploit that equality for His own benefit (2:6). Instead, Jesus entered into human vulnerability as a servant faithful all the way to death on a cross (2:7-8). Jesus said, “For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many” (Mark 10:45). In a grand reversal of Adam’s prideful disobedience which led to death, Jesus willingly sacrificed his life in humble obedience and rose in victory over death. The great king over the whole of creation is the suffering servant worthy of all praise (2:8-11). Humility is the mark of a life in Christ’s way.
In a letter to a young man looking for guidance, Augustine replied:
To [Christ] . . . I desire you to submit yourself with unreserved piety, and I wish you to prepare for yourself no other way of seizing and holding the truth than that which has been prepared by Him who, as God, saw the weakness of our goings. In that way the first part is humility; the second, humility; the third, humility: and this I would continue to repeat as often as you might ask direction.
Humility is not thinking less of yourself. A truly humble person has an accurate self-assessment. Humility is looking beyond yourself to God and finding the freedom to think of others in the deep security of His loving presence. It is the life-giving choice to seek the well-being of others before yourself (2:3-4).
When asked who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven, Jesus invited a child to come over to him and said, “Truly, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew 18:1-4). Perhaps a child like Ruby Bridges has much to teach us in the way of Christ’s greatness in humility and love.
But Moses said, “The people among whom I am number six hundred thousand on foot, and you have said, ‘I will give them meat, that they may eat a whole month!’ Shall flocks and herds be slaughtered for them, and be enough for them? Or shall all the fish of the sea be gathered together for them, and be enough for them?” And the Lord said to Moses, “Is the Lord's hand shortened? Now you shall see whether My word will come true for you or not.”
Brent was born and raised in Wichita Falls, TX. He professed faith in Christ as a child after hearing his father present the Gospel at church. He is a graduate of Texas A&M University earning a BBA in marketing. At the end of his senior year of college, Brent began working with high school students at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, TX. He served as the pastor to youth/families at PCPC. He is now an Associate Pastor at All Saints Presbyterian Church in Austin, TX. He earned his MDiv from Westminster Theological Seminary. Brent is married to Alison, and they have two children, a daughter Brynn Eleanor and a son Davis Scott.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Some time ago, my wife and I took our then two-year-old daughter to the beach for the first time since she’d been able to walk. I was not sure how she would respond to the sand and the waves. Excitement? Nervousness? Paralyzing fear? Some children are terrified by the vastness of the ocean, its waves, and the creatures that live in it (thanks to Finding Nemo’s shark, Bruce, and the Little Mermaid’s villain, Ursula…among others) but not our little girl. Brynn loved the sand, the shells, the waves; she was virtually fearless. She was even strangely fond of the recurrent birds circling overhead, waiting for her small hands to fumble goldfish or PB&J or yogurt-covered raisins. At one point, she demanded I try to catch a bird. Being a good father, I obliged. I’m sure you can imagine the scene—a barefoot father running back and forth leaping in the air with outstretched arms, trying to grab a bird as my daughter giggled, demanded another try, pointed, and giggled again. She couldn’t understand why the birds were so hard for me to capture. They were just out of my reach. How do you explain our physiological differences except to say that Dad’s arms were too short? She wanted a bird, but my arms couldn’t make it happen. I was willing but clearly unable.
This disconnect is similar to Israel’s situation in the wilderness except “Dad” is quite different. Never before that day had Brynn seen her father catch a bird. My arms had always been too short. But Israel! O Israel! She had witnessed her Father exceedingly willing and abundantly able to provide. She had witnessed the strength and length of His arms through the plagues, at the shore of the sea, with the manna falling from the sky in the wilderness. Time and time again, His arm proved long enough and swift enough and strong enough to deliver them and provide. And every time, the provisions were exceedingly above what they imagined. Every insurmountable foe—whether it be Pharaoh or hunger—had been surmounted. Yet here they are again—led by their deliverer Moses—questioning the power and reach of God. Can His arms provide what His people need?
There is a similar story in the New Testament about Jesus feeding more people than any reasonable person (or disciple) would think possible to feed. Five loaves and two fish for 5,000 men, not including women and children? Impossible. Again the question resounds: can His arms provide what His people need? And yet we are told as the wait staff cleared the tables that “they all ate and were satisfied, and they took up twelve baskets full of the broken pieces left over” (Matthew 14:20).
Of course His arms can provide what His people need. Bread from the sky? Meat in the wilderness? Bread and fish for thousands? Not a problem for our God; His arm is long, and His heart is wide. Satisfaction for your starving soul? Yes! His arm is able and wiling for you, today.
What might be troubling you this day? Do not let life make your God into a feeble father trying to capture birds with shortened arms. Instead, be aware that our trials are temporary and His arms permanent. We doubt, grumble, and question, but God’s arm is not too short; neither has it been shortened. His outstretched arms can provide what His people need. His outstretched arms have provided what His people needed most. His arms bore our sins on the tree so that we might die and yet exceedingly and abundantly live. His arms suffered the curse of sin for us that we might exceedingly and abundantly inherit the promise of blessing. His arms burst the bonds of death and the gates of hell that we might exceedingly and abundantly taste newness of life. Though our perspective tends to be shortsighted, His arms never fail to be out-stretched.
When God saw what they did, how they turned from their evil way, God relented of the disaster that He had said He would do to them, and He did not do it.
But it displeased Jonah exceedingly, and he was angry. And he prayed to the LORD and said, “O Lord, is not this what I said when I was yet in my country? That is why I made haste to flee to Tarshish; for I knew that You are a gracious God and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love, and relenting from disaster. Therefore now, O LORD, please take my life from me, for it is better for me to die than to live.” And the LORD said, “Do you do well to be angry?”
Jonah went out of the city and sat to the east of the city and made a booth for himself there. He sat under it in the shade, till he should see what would become of the city. Now the LORD God appointed a plant and made it come up over Jonah, that it might be a shade over his head, to save him from his discomfort. So Jonah was exceedingly glad because of the plant. But when dawn came up the next day, God appointed a worm that attacked the plant, so that it withered. When the sun rose, God appointed a scorching east wind, and the sun beat down on the head of Jonah so that he was faint. And he asked that he might die and said, “It is better for me to die than to live.” But God said to Jonah, “Do you do well to be angry for the plant?” And he said, “Yes, I do well to be angry, angry enough to die.” And the LORD said, “You pity the plant, for which you did not labor, nor did you make it grow, which came into being in a night and perished in a night. And should not I pity Nineveh, that great city, in which there are more than 120,000 persons who do not know their right hand from their left, and also much cattle?”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Dear PCPC family, as we suspend our normal church activities for the sake of loving our neighbors and limiting the spread of COVID-19, we want to encourage one another to continue to abide in Christ and extend His Kingdom. As long as our abilities to gather and shepherd our people are limited, we want to send you encouragement from God’s Word. We pray that the Holy Spirit will use these devotionals to remind us to trust our sovereign King, to rest in the Gospel, and to be the church for such a time as this.
Jonah, what if things had gone differently? What if you had gone willingly when the Lord called? What if you hadn’t turned and run in the opposite direction?
What if you had thought differently about the people of Nineveh? Instead of seeing enemies who didn’t share your religion, nationality, or politics, what if you saw people who shared your own flesh and blood? What if you saw sinners—no better or worse than you—hopeless without the same mercy that God Himself had showed you?
What if you had rejoiced when your enemies turned from their evil ways? What if you had shared the angels’ joy over one sinner who repents (Luke 15:10)? What if God’s being “gracious and merciful, slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love,” was the greatest news, not just for you and yours, but for “them”? What if you had remembered that, from God’s perspective, we were all “them.”
What if you had been more concerned about the lost than your own comforts? What if countless sinners facing eternal discomfort had moved you more than the loss of your own temporal comfort? What if you had pitied people more than a plant?
Jonah, we’re encouraged by your failings. In the mirror of your life, we see all the ways that we fall short. We have been unhappy missionaries trudging through an unwanted mission, but it doesn’t end there. We have also been encouraged by God’s relentless pursuit, not just of the Ninevites, but of you. God’s grace to you reminds us that He is not finished with us yet, and for some strange reason, He still wants to use us to share the good news of His love with the world.
Jonah, what if? What if you had gone joyfully and loved your enemies and laid down your life for them? What if you had chosen their salvation over your security and rejoiced in their repentance? If you had done that—if we could do that—we wouldn’t need Jesus. And so we thank God for you, Jonah. You have given us the most important reminder: No matter how well we do in responding to God’s call to go, our hope is always in Jesus Christ. When the Father called, He went. When confronted with His enemies, He loved us and gave Himself for us. When the choice was His life or ours, He went to the cross. And now He reigns in power and pours out His Spirit so that we can be His body on earth.
Jonah, we live in the tension between being just like you and being just like Jesus. We want to know what happened after Jonah 4. Did you finally “get it”? Did you discover God’s heart for missions? If we’re honest, we’re tempted to wonder about that and ignore the disconnects in our own lives. Perhaps if we could talk, you would turn the tables on us. Perhaps you would invite us to read this letter again and ask ourselves the same questions.
Maybe you would ask: “Church, by God’s grace, what if you thought about the mission of God differently?”
And you, who once were alienated and hostile in mind, doing evil deeds, He has now reconciled in His body of flesh by His death, in order to present you holy and blameless and above reproach before Him.
-Colossians 1:21-22
All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation.
-2 Corinthians 5:18-19
Tracy worked as PCPC's Ministry Leader of Urban Missions before moving back to Houston to be near family. We pray you find her words from 2016 meaningful and encouraging.
This devotional was written soon after the Dallas Police Shootings in 2016 and its message rings true today during this time of racial tension. We pray you find encouragement within these words. "Though there is pain—it comes with promise."
Reposted from July 29, 2016
We see the need of reconciliation throughout the globe both internationally and locally. This is no small or painless thing. The world’s narrative shows cultures pitted against one another. I am only for you if you are on my side or in my culture and don’t offend me. Somehow the world’s solution—peaceful coexistence and acceptance—feels shallow and unrealistic, but why? Could the cause and solution be even deeper? In Colossians 1:21, we see that we are not merely indifferent to God, but actively alienated and hostile. Our enmity towards God has us at odds with His world, including other individuals, and ultimately with ourselves. We are enemies in need of reconciliation to God, His creation, and each other.
One story that illustrates enemy reconciliation comes from C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. Edmund Pevensie was a boy that you just wanted to put in time out. He was beyond rude to his baby sister as well as defiant and rebellious in other circumstances. When entering into the land of Narnia on his own, through his greedy self-centeredness, he betrayed his siblings to the White Witch for more candy. Sometimes it’s hard to read about his actions without wrinkling your nose in displeasure. Yet, though he is firmly encamped with the enemy against the good King Aslan, he is rescued out of the darkness and into Aslan’s camp, much to his relief. When the White Witch lawfully claims Edmund’s life due to his status as a traitor, Aslan gives his innocent life to be sacrificed in place of guilty Edmund, fulfilling the law and reconciling Edmund. In this allegory, we readers realize that we, in fact, are Edmund. We were enemies of the Kingdom of God but rescued and reconciled through Christ’s death and resurrection.
Thankfully, Christ did not look upon us as just rule breakers and offenders unworthy of reconciliation. He didn’t treat us as the enemies that we were. He looked at you and me as beloved, made in His image, and He died a painful death on our behalf on the cross. He bridged the chasm and turned enemies into beloved children. But, beloved, at what cost?
Consider this as we are ministers of reconciliation here and now, in Dallas, Texas and wherever we go. Do we count the cost, or are we afraid of the potential pain of being entrusted with this ministry? It would be easy to try to practice this reconciliation ministry at a distance, through vague statements among like-minded company, Facebook solidarity, and email forwards. Who wants to enter into the discomfort of difficult conversations or one-on-one relationships, especially with someone we may consider an enemy? It would be more convenient to ignore someone outside of our circle or easier to hold even mild disdain for someone who operates through a different cultural lens.
Yet we are not just reconciled to God through Christ. Period. End of story. We are now His ambassadors tasked with the mission of reconciliation. No one made in the image of God is past the hope of rescue and reconciliation. We are called to take up our cross and to experience the discomfort and even pain of strained relationships. We are called to purposeful, perhaps awkward conversations; faithful listening filled with compassion and empathy; and to the vulnerability of loving the alienated and the enemy with bold and softened hearts. God is using us to bring people to Himself, by His Spirit. We may feel alien in some contexts and crave the comfort of the familiar. However the familiar and safe does not reflect the reality that our present situation is not our home. We can take courage, because of Christ’s reconciling work; we will one day be home with Him and can endure the stormy call to the present. The hymn, “On Jordan’s Stormy Banks” reminds us of where we are and the promise of our future.
On Jordan’s stormy banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.
I am bound for the Promised Land,
I am bound for the Promised Land;
So through the pain of Christ’s reconciliation and the ministry of reconciliation to which we are called: Though there is pain—it comes with promise.
So for now, by Christ, in Christ we ask and act:
O come, Desire of nations, bind
In one the hearts of all mankind;
Bid Thou our sad divisions cease,
And be Thyself our King of Peace.
Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“What’s your story?” It’s a simple enough question, but put your toe in that water, and it’s deeper than you thought. How would we tell the story of our lives? How would we tell the story of the last few months? Who’s the main character? Who’s the villain? What’s the tension? What’s the resolution? We all have a story, and whether we’re aware of it or not, we’re all living inside a story that is shaping our lives. But how do we identify the defining story of our lives? James gives us one investigative tool: consider how we respond to trials. We forget how strange God’s word can be, and then we read James 1:2 – “Count it all joy…when you meet trials of various kinds.” What kind of story would lead us to be joyful in the midst of trials?
In recent months, we have experienced isolation, unemployment, cancellations, frustrations, racial injustice, social unrest, disease, and death. It’s a grim list. The six months of 2020 have brought a decade’s worth of trials. And many people are at the breaking point. Some pine for 2019 (which had its share of challenges, too). Some charge ahead to reclaim some semblance of life as we knew it. And some spiral down into anxiety and anger. It’s not easy to count it all joy in the midst of a pandemic and everything else.
Trials squeeze us, and like sponges, whatever is in us can’t help but come out. Trials reveal us, and what we see isn’t always pretty. The prevailing story in the West in recent decades has been the quest for material prosperity. Economic growth has brought many benefits around the globe, but there is a strange dynamic in America and elsewhere. Greater wealth has not delivered greater joy. Studies show that the wealthiest people often feel the tension most acutely. The story of the American Dream has failed to deliver the happy ending that it promised, but we keep diving back into it hoping it will turn out differently this time. The story that tells us that we were made to earn, consume, and repeat, is driving us deeper and deeper into isolation and dissatisfaction. When worldly success and comfort are the goals, trials and pain are naturally the enemies. So of course we can’t “count it all joy” in 2020, right? We have been wired to flee from undesirable circumstances. Before we do that again, would we have the courage to challenge the story that has formed us into this kind of people?
The Lord invites us into a story that is not ultimately about us. He is the main character. We are not. As our Creator, He knows what is best for us. As our Redeemer, He lived, died, and rose again to destroy our sin and restore our relationship with Him. The story of the Bible isn’t about God fulfilling all of our selfish desires. It’s the story of God doing everything necessary to make us and all things new. It’s the story of the Lord freeing us from our idols and refashioning us in His image, so that we can become everything that He intended for us to be…in Him. But here’s the catch. For some reason, in His infinite wisdom, our loving God has chosen to do this most beautiful work through difficulty, trials, and suffering. We don’t need to give examples from the Bible. Every character would tell the same story, and it’s never clearer than in the life of Jesus Christ Himself.
So what’s our story, and why does it matter? If our story is the gospel of Jesus Christ, everything changes. Resting in what He did for us, we no longer live for ourselves but for Him who for our sake died and was raised (2 Corinthians 5:15). Our goals are no longer achieving prosperity and avoiding pain. Our goals are conformity to Christ and being His ambassadors in the ministry of reconciliation He has entrusted to us (2 Corinthians 5:18-21). So when we encounter trials of various kinds, we can count it all joy, because we know that the Lord is using the difficulty to accomplish His purposes for His glory. Oh, don’t we feel the need for the Lord to make us steadfast, that we may one day be “perfect and complete, lacking in nothing” (James 1:4)? Our feet are firmly planted when we realize that no one can rewrite the glorious ending of the story, and nothing can separate us from the love of God. We will never count it all joy unless God’s story is becoming our story. But if it is, we will begin to look as strange as James sounds. But doesn’t the world need to see something different right now? Doesn’t the world need a better story?
Now those who were scattered because of the persecution that arose over Stephen traveled as far as Phoenicia and Cyprus and Antioch, speaking the word to no one except Jews. But there were some of them, men of Cyprus and Cyrene, who on coming to Antioch spoke to the Hellenists also, preaching the Lord Jesus. And the hand of the Lord was with them, and a great number who believed turned to the Lord. The report of this came to the ears of the church in Jerusalem, and they sent Barnabas to Antioch. When he came and saw the grace of God, he was glad, and he exhorted them all to remain faithful to the Lord with steadfast purpose, for he was a good man, full of the Holy Spirit and of faith. And a great many people were added to the Lord.
Dr. Julian Russell has been an urban ministry practitioner for more than 30 years. In 1994, Julian enrolled in Reformed Theological Seminary in Orlando, Fla., and while a full-time student, Julian began a church plant in Orlando. In the spring of 1997, he was asked to prayerfully consider relocating to Memphis, TN, to plant a PCA church in the third poorest zip code in the United States. Ten years later, Julian left Memphis to pursue God’s call to serve at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas. He is now a PCPC Home Church Missionary to his beloved Nassau in the Bahamas. Dr. Julian and Christiana Russell presently serve as the Team Leaders for MTW Bahamas.
Julian earned his Doctor of Ministry and his Masters in Theology in Biblical and Pastoral Theology at Covenant Theological Seminary, St. Louis, MO. He completed his Masters in Divinity at Reformed Theological Seminary.
Differences between cultures often produce unpleasant experiences. When culturally diverse people rub against each other, rest assured, friction is generated. Friction within the church is an inevitable by-product when Christians come together. How will God’s people handle this cultural friction that could easily divide, distort, and destroy the body-witness of the church? Answer: The Lord has key individuals in place. The same Jesus who turned common water into fine wine, who turned common fisherman into world-changers,–is still at work, transforming regular folk into extraordinary people–bridge-people.
In Acts 11:19-24, the Lord used persecutions to move His church toward making disciples of every ethnic group. Many believed the Gospel and became converted. One such place was Antioch, some 300 miles north of Jerusalem. Antioch had become a very diverse center at the time of Christ. Richard Longenecker described it as “a melting pot of Western and Eastern cultures, where Greek and Roman traditions, mingled with Semitic, Arab, and Persian influences.”
The church at Antioch became a vibrant, multi-ethnic congregation that exhibited levels of Christian transformation that radically impacted that region. This new community believed that they fully belonged to the one people of God, despite their ethnic and cultural differences. We cannot imagine the tension that Jewish Christians must have felt about Gentiles believing the Gospel. Christopher Wright observes: “The powerful message that brought hope and joy to diverse Gentile communities brought shock and anger to some of Paul’s fellow Jews.” The church at Jerusalem didn’t seem prepared for this fruitful inclusion of Gentiles.
Barnabas played a key role in the church at Antioch. He was commissioned as the right person for the task. After all, Barnabas had demonstrated a keen ability to flourish in the Gentile-dominant world of Cyprus. He was also a generous man and demonstrated his giftedness in shaping others. Most importantly, he was filled with the Holy Spirit. This young church needed sound teaching, so Barnabas placed “the needs of the church before his own advancement and self-glorification." As an official representative of the established church, Barnabas was probably one its most significant figures. Yet this confident bridge-person was willing to open the “circle of leadership” to include the highly trained Paul.
The church has always been a counter-cultural phenomenon. That’s why its members are urged to become equipped and enabled to withstand “the corrosive acids of a culture” that does not know Jesus. The Lord worked so mightily at Antioch that onlookers referred to this multi-ethnic congregation as “Christians” for the first time. And it all happened in a Gentile-dominated, morally corrupt city! They were no longer Gentile Christians or Jewish Christians. They were simply “Christian” to the glory of God!
Acts 11:27-30 is a fitting end to this section of the cross-cultural expansion of the church. Here, Christians at Antioch began a food-drive to support their Jewish brothers and sisters in Christ. James Boice comments: “As far as I know, this is the first charitable act of this nature in all recorded history–one race of people collecting money to help another people.” This is a telltale sign that Jews and Gentiles–people from polar opposite parts of the spectrum–had become one within the church, the Body of Christ. What a glimpse of the true church–a collection of dissimilar people! This expression of the church was empowered by the Holy Spirit and energized to take the reconciling Gospel to all people, everywhere! The true church has not been called to philosophize about a future world but to demonstrate the working of the coming Kingdom within this present evil age.
How will the people of God, enabled by the Spirit of God, handle the friction that could easily divide, distort, and destroy the body-witness of the church of the Lord Jesus Christ? I urge you not look to “best practices,” especially to the efforts of the early church. Look to Holy Spirit-led “bridge-people” like Barnabas. Not only is Barnabas a great role model for the character that is recommended for cross-cultural leadership, his influence in the church at Antioch also serves as a goal for Christians in a very crucial way.
Jesus is the only “Builder” of His church; and He is building His church right in the middle of a world that is alienated from God and from each other. To borrow from Dr. Dianne Langberg, Jesus wants to take common people like you and me and make us extraordinary. Lord, please raise up more Barnabases!
And with many other words he bore witness and continued to exhort them, saying, “Save yourselves from this crooked generation.” So those who received his word were baptized, and there were added that day about three thousand souls. And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What’s so special about the church? People have asked that question—sincerely or sarcastically—for nearly two thousand years. When the church thrives, the wonder of that fellowship is like an oasis in a desert land. When the church flounders, the beauty of the fellowship becomes a mirage, promising much but delivering nothing. In the opening chapters of Acts we witness the work of the Spirit through the fellowship of the Lord’s people. This community wasn’t perfect, but in their fellowship we see the pattern and power of the Lord’s plan for His church. What’s so special about the fellowship?
The Center of the Fellowship. Every fellowship has a center, some cause or connection that unites its members. But the church is unique, because the fellowship is not rooted in college or career, nation or neighborhood, politics or possessions, recreation or race. The center of the fellowship is the Lord Jesus Christ. We are united by our shared faith in the One who lived, died, and rose again for us. We have tasted the surpassing worth of knowing Christ (Philippians 3:8), and being connected to Him radically re-centers our identity and community. We can’t overstate the importance of this point, because when anything peripheral replaces the center, we are in the orbit of idolatry. Our solar system doesn’t hold together without the sun at the center, and our fellowship breaks apart when we make anything other than Jesus the center. What is the functional center of our fellowship?
The Members of the Fellowship. In the world, people come together based on who they are and what they do. In the church, we come together based on who Jesus is and what He has done. In the fellowship, who we are and what we do is not ruined. It’s redeemed and relativized because now we are united with something (Someone!) so much bigger than ourselves. We are different stones coming together to build a spiritual house in which the Lord can dwell by His Spirit (Ephesians 2:19-22; 1 Peter 2:4-5). We are different members coming together to form the one body of Christ (Romans 12:4-5; 1 Corinthians 12:12). We are people from every tribe, language, and nation coming together to be the bride of Christ (Revelation 5:9-10, 19:6-9). Our churches don’t always reflect this spectacular unity in diversity, but rightly understood, we are the fellowship of natural enemies transformed into friends and family by the supernatural grace of God. When our world is coming apart at the seams, can people see in us a whole new way to be human?
The Quality of the Fellowship. The center of the fellowship is evident in Peter’s sermon in Acts 2. The members of the fellowship are united by the Spirit’s work at Pentecost and beyond. The result is a quality of fellowship that has captured the church’s imagination ever since. It’s a fellowship around the Word, as the people devote themselves to the apostles’ teaching. It’s a fellowship around the table, as they break bread and receive their food with glad and generous hearts. It’s a fellowship of worship, as they are filled with awe at what the Lord is doing. It’s a fellowship of generosity, as people voluntarily steward God’s resources to help others in need. It’s a fellowship of holiness, as they are conformed to the image of Christ to be a light in a dark world. It’s a fellowship of faith, hope, and ultimately, love. It’s a fellowship that doesn’t make sense apart from the reality of the risen Christ. Do we long for the world to be drawn to the church because of the quality of our fellowship?
What’s so special about the church? It’s the fellowship that we have with one another and with the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. It’s the fellowship for which we were made and for which we were redeemed by the blood of Christ. It’s the only fellowship that will not be broken by disaster, disease, and death. It’s a foretaste of what we will enjoy for eternity in the new heavens and the new earth. Who else can say these things?! Truly, it is THE fellowship. What would it look like for us to devote ourselves to the fellowship in such a time as this?
And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
As Coordinator for Youth Discipleship, I was asked: What would you ask God about, concerning youth ministry, if you knew He would answer you immediately?
My honest answer was: “How, Lord?”
• How do we reach students with the Gospel when we can’t meet them through Sunday school or youth events?
• How do we disciple students when we can’t meet in person for Bible studies?
• How do we send students into the world when it’s not safe to go anywhere?
Perhaps you can relate to such how questions in your life or personal areas of ministry as well.
It is not that God has not left us without any guidance. We know many things to be true:
• We know that our nature and mission do not change with our circumstances.
• We know that wilderness seasons are a part of God’s glorious design.
• We have learned to trust Scripture and the Holy Spirit’s guiding as we navigate uncertainty.
And yet in our sinful flesh, we still may not be satisfied. We desire to know the how’s behind our mission as His followers. And those holes in our understanding can lead to doubt, frustration, and apathy (this one is especially prevalent for me).
So, how do we face our unchanging mission when we don’t understand the how’s that accompany our situation?
The words from the following hymn have brought a lot of comfort to me:
Facing a task unfinished
That drives us to our knees
A need that, undiminished
Rebukes our slothful ease
We, who rejoice to know Thee
Renew before Thy throne
The solemn pledge we owe Thee
To go and make Thee known
(“Facing A Task Unfinished” by Getty Music)
We first go to our knees in prayer, and in those moments, our faith that God knows the answer to all of our how’s is renewed. And so, we go—praying for faithfulness this day as we face the many uncertainties in our lives. God’s Spirit and Word will lead.
He entered Jericho and was passing through. And behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was small in stature. So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was about to pass that way. And when Jesus came to the place, he looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried and came down and received him joyfully. And when they saw it, they all grumbled, “He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.” And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Recently, I got lost coming back from a road trip out of state. I arrived at the destination the week before with no problems without GPS. Impressive, I know. However, on the way back, I took a wrong turn on a major highway and did not realize it for about an hour. When I realized I was lost, I did not immediately admit my defeat. Instead, I plugged “home” into the GPS just to make sure, without my wife seeing of course. I had known something did not seem right well before an hour into my wrong turn, but I did not do anything about it. Why? Because I did not want to be wrong. To be wrong is to be weak. I should have trusted my gut. And I should have simply used my GPS. But that would have meant that I was not good enough to navigate myself.
In this past Sunday’s sermon text (Luke 19:1-10), we find out what Jesus’ mission is: to seek and to save the lost (19:10). But how does he do that? He does it by seeking us out, seeing us for who we really are, (weak, dead sinners), and receiving us despite all of that. In this passage we see Zacchaeus “seeking”, “seeing” and “receiving” Jesus in response. Zacchaeus seeks Jesus because he knows his life has not led to fulfillment. He is described by Luke as a “chief tax collector” and “rich”. As far as vocation goes, he had arrived. He had job security and a steady, high income stream. As Dan Iverson said Sunday, “Zacchaeus was rich. You would think he would be happy and fulfilled.” In nothing having found fulfillment, Zacchaeus realizes he needs to see Jesus. Zacchaeus’ physical shortness which disabled him from seeing Jesus is meant to drive home the fact that his inability to see Jesus was not merely physical. It was spiritual. In order to truly see, Zacchaeus had to admit that he wasn’t satisfied with his life. It had not measured up to his expectations. He was going in the wrong direction. And here Jesus was, coming in his direction. However, what Zaccheaus did not know was that his life was about to be set on a trajectory that would change him physically and spiritually forever. As Zacchaeus was seeking to see Jesus, Jesus was on a path of seeking to see Zacchaeus and to be received by him, both into his home and into his life. In being sought and seen by Jesus, Zacchaeus received Him with joy! His life was turned upside down. He immediately committed to giving half his stuff away and setting right all the ways he had cheated people out of money. Zacchaeus was not the only one lost and in need of redirection in this story. As Zacchaeus was receiving Jesus with joy, the crowds “grumbled.” Why? Because Jesus’ mission was not to seek and save those who sinned the least, but rather those who were willing to admit that they had nothing to give. They only had someone to receive.
Sometimes a good question is better than a good answer. In what ways are you seeking fulfillment and purpose apart from Jesus Christ? In what area of your life are you lost? Have you ever truly seen Jesus? The best way to begin to follow Jesus is to stop striving. Admit defeat. And allow yourself to be guided by Jesus to the path that leads to eternal life, the path that Jesus paved on his journey to the cross, to the tomb, and to His resurrection which conquered sin and death. As you and I seek to answer these heart questions this week, may we sing in our hearts the words of Sunday’s hymn, “Jesus what a strength in weakness! Let me hide myself in Him. Hallelujah what a Savior! Hallelujah what a Friend!”
“I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in Me through their word, that they may all be one, just as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, that they also may be in Us, so that the world may believe that You have sent Me. The glory that You have given Me I have given to them, that they may be one even as We are one, I in them and You in Me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that You sent Me and loved them even as You loved Me.”
And they devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and the fellowship, to the breaking of bread and the prayers. And awe came upon every soul, and many wonders and signs were being done through the apostles. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need. And day by day, attending the temple together and breaking bread in their homes, they received their food with glad and generous hearts, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Church, Jesus prayed for us. That may not sound surprising. “Of course Jesus prayed for us,” we might say. But we need to slow down for a minute. Hours away from the horrors of crucifixion, Jesus prayed for His closest friends and for those who would come to believe in Him through their word (John 17:20). In other words, Jesus prayed for us. John 17 opens this spectacular window into the fellowship of the Father and the Son. Not only do we find Jesus in prayer, but we find Him in prayer in one of the most stressful moments of His life. Is He asking to be rescued from the circumstances or delivered from the pain? No, He is praying for us. We should probably lean in and listen.
Notice the what of Jesus’ prayer for us. He prays that we “may all be one” as He and the Father are one. He prays for this astounding unity not once but three times. It’s the kind of unity in diversity and diversity in unity that doesn’t happen in this world. Left to ourselves, we tend to find division in diversity and unity in uniformity. And so we huddle up around certain connections that we share. In a sense, there’s nothing wrong with that. There’s just nothing particularly amazing about it. We would expect people to come together if they grew up in the same place, looked the same, cheered for the same team, and voted for the same party. But Jesus prays that we—His people from every corner of the earth—would be one…perfectly one. With such an ambitious request, Jesus tips His hand. Such oneness would only be possible if we were united in and through Christ and not some other cause or connection. Only He has the power to bring such different people together. Our oneness would demonstrate the supremacy of Christ in a world that always exalts the secondary over the primary.
So why would Jesus pray this for us? We may already feel the why, but Jesus defines it. He wants us to be one “that the world may believe” that the Father sent Him. Again, this is so important to Jesus that He repeats the request. When the church is one as Jesus intended, the result is a community that the world cannot explain in its own terms. People need an explanation for why those people love one another and do life together like that…and the explanation is Jesus Christ. Our Lord prayed that our fellowship would reflect the fellowship of the Trinity so that the world would be irresistibly drawn into the fellowship, too. If we don’t care about being united as the body of Christ, it would seem that we have abandoned a significant part of Jesus’ strategy to reach the world.
In Acts 2 we see the Holy Spirit’s power at work in and through a church united in Christ. The church’s life together when they’re gathered in Jerusalem and scattered in their neighborhoods is so different that people take notice. “And the Lord added to their number day by day those who were being saved” (Acts 2:47). In a season filled with social, political, and interpersonal tension, do we see a similar opportunity? We won’t all agree on how to respond to COVID-19 or racial injustice or another election. But can we agree on Jesus Christ being the Head of the church and the hope of the world? While the church is mostly scattered, what if we come together with our brothers and sisters in Christ in our neighborhoods? What if, in a world that whines, we are a church that shines? That’s where the Lord is leading us. How do we know? Because He prayed for us.
A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Last night as I tucked my son into bed, I picked up Max Lucado’s You Are Special. As I read the book to Will, I was drawn into the world of wooden people called Wemmicks, all carved by the same woodworker, Eli. Every day the Wemmicks move about their village sticking black dots and gold stars upon one another. The black dots are marks of shame, of not measuring up to the standard. The gold stars are badges of beauty, talent, and success. The blatant meritocracy was jarring for me. I would rather pretend that we’re not constantly comparing and competing. My heart hurt for Punchinello, the Wemmick who would only ever get black dots. But then he sees Lucia. She doesn’t have any dots or stars, and he wonders why. It’s not that the people don’t try to put dots and stars on her; they just don’t stick. Lucia tells Punchinello to visit Eli the woodcarver and figure out why that’s the case. To his shock, Punchinello learns that nothing sticks to Lucia because she believes that what Eli thinks about her is more important than what the other Wemmicks think. Eli invites Punchinello to return to the woodshop every day so that he can remember who he is.
At the end, I asked my son, “Will, do you understand what the story is saying?”
“No, I just want to go to sleep.”
One day it will make sense to Will. But last night, the message was for me: The more we trust the story of God’s love for us, the less we care about what the world thinks. The stickers only stick if we let them. When we don’t spend time with our Creator and Savior, we forget the Story, and other stories start to define us.
Imagine for a moment: What if the woman at the well never encountered Jesus? She wouldn’t know His initiating love, the love that seeks her out and calls her to worship Him. She wouldn’t know that Jesus is greater—greater than Jacob and his well; greater than the men to whom she had given her life. She wouldn’t have a true awareness of her sin, the desperation that makes the good news truly good. She wouldn’t know the salvation that turns her life upside down and gives her a holy purpose to share that story with everyone around her. If she never met Jesus, she would live the rest of her life defined by the wrong story, by the dots that stick to her.
What would happen if we “neglected meeting together, as is the habit of some” (Hebrews 10:25)? What if, because of busyness or sports or travel or a pandemic or a sluggish heart, we drifted away from corporate worship? We would plug ourselves into another story, and that story would shape us into the image of whatever counterfeit god it exalts. The dots and stars would stick, and we would let them stick. Do we see the power of story to shape us? What if Frodo never left the Shire? What if Lucy never went through the wardrobe? What if we drifted away from worshiping together as the people of God?
Brothers and sisters, do you understand what the story is saying?
In this season particularly, I pray that we won’t say, “No, I just want to go to sleep.”
And let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works,
not neglecting to meet together,
as is the habit of some,
but encouraging one another,
and all the more as you see the Day drawing near.
—Hebrews 10:24-25
He has told you, O man, what is good;
and what does the Lord require of you
but to do justice, and to love kindness,
and to walk humbly with your God?
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
In the Fall of 2016 I got sued. The person I hit sued me for “damages beyond my policy coverage.” Long story short, my insurance provider’s lawyers proved that there were not damages beyond my policy and the case was dismissed. What is crazier than being sued was I should not have had coverage in the first place. When I got a new vehicle about 6 months prior to the accident, I neglected to add my new vehicle to the policy. I functionally had the accident uninsured. My insurance provider granted coverage to cover this other person’s vehicle which later included lawyer fees and everything. It was the definition of grace to me! I should have had to deal with the lawsuit on my own, to pay my own debts that I deserved.
According to our passage this last Sunday in Micah 6:1-8, God has a lawsuit against his people. “Arise, plead your case before the mountains, and let the hills hear your voice” Micah 6:1 declares. The nation of Israel had betrayed God and turned their back on Him and worshiped idols and valued their wealth-building more than God (1:7; 2:2). They had forgotten and even neglected their salvation. This caused the people to be unjust and corrupt toward one another and the nations around them (3:9-11). Yet, they continued in their religious activity offering sacrifices and rituals before God “on Sunday” and neglecting him the rest of the week. God, through the prophet Micah, reminds his people that He saved them (6:4-5)! Their reproach of God and their fellow man reflected the fact that they had forgotten this. Saved people are grateful and not hateful. Their “religiosity” was proof that they were defining what was good, just, and kind rather than God. Doesn’t this so easily happen to us today? Micah 6:8 is a “bumper sticker verse.” It’s concise. It’s clear. It gives us something to do. But we need to remember its context as Pastor Davis pointed out this past Sunday. This clear, convicting call from Micah to the people of God was not a pithy sermon application that was recommended but maybe optional. It was a call to repent for a people who had turned their backs on God. And it’s the same for us today. When we forget what God has done for us, we neglect what God longs to do through us, namely doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly with our God.
I will never forget how my insurance company showed grace to me that day a few years back. It changed my life. And it fuels my view of extending grace to others today.
As Pastor Mark said Sunday, “Lovingkindness gives where no giving is required. It acts where no action is deserved. And it penetrates both attitude and action.” He went on to say that “what the world needs is not zealous flesh, but dependent people who are relying on their God who is just and kind and loves mercy to carry out the things that God calls us to through Micah.”
The call of Micah 6:8 is only possible when we trust in the God behind the call. In Christ, who underwent all injustice, unkindness and all pride for our salvation, we have everything we need for doing justice, loving kindness and walking humbly with our God. We simply need to remember that truth by faith faith and follow Christ where he leads us by His Spirit (Micah 7:7, Rom. 8:14-15). When we do that, Micah 6:8 will leave the bumper of our cars and overflow from the gratefulness of our hearts.
And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
And when you pray, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard for their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him. Pray then like this:
Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
In his class on the four gospels at Dallas Theological Seminary, Dr. Mark Bailey once made a point that I’ve never forgotten. Referencing Luke 11:1, he stated that one of the only times recorded in the gospels when the disciples ask Jesus to teach them to do something, it is to teach them how to pray. According to this verse, this request came right after they observed him praying. They could have asked the eternal, all-powerful, all-wise Son of God to teach them to do anything, and they asked him to instruct them in prayer. This is profound because it indicates that in watching Jesus live, they saw a connection between his attractive Kingdom life of love, joy, peace, power, and impact and his prayer life. Thus, they wanted to learn how to pray like him.
In the following verses in Luke 11, Jesus proceeds to give them a lesson on prayer (which is the same lesson on prayer that he gives in Matthew 6:5-13). Jesus, the Master Teacher and smartest man who ever lived, did not just give the disciples academic information on prayer, but an example of prayer that they never forgot and that has lived on through the centuries. It is so simple that a child can do it, yet so profound that a lifelong, mature follower of Jesus can never get to the bottom of its riches.
In his book, With Christ in the School of Prayer, Andrew Murray comments on the Lord’s Prayer and calls attention to how the prayer begins with the words, “Our Father in heaven” (Matthew 6:9). Murray writes, “The knowledge of God’s Father-love is the first and simplest, but also the last and highest lesson in the school of prayer.” He means that the knowledge that God is our loving, powerful, and wise Father is the soil in which our prayer lives grow, deepen, and yield the type of fruit that the disciples witnessed in Jesus.
There are two problems I see immediately for us today in regards to this: First, for those of us who have been in church a long time, we are way too familiar with the idea that God is our Heavenly Father that it doesn’t shock us and cause us to live with awe. We might even think we’re pretty good people who don’t need the gospel that badly. Let this sink in: solely because of what Jesus did for us (and nothing at all that we did for ourselves), the King and Creator of all things is also our loving Father Who cares for us every minute of every day and longs to live in a relationship with us. That is a life-changing reality that fuels our desire to talk to God and shapes how we talk to Him.
Second, by nature, we are addicted to our own morality, religion, and performance, so we wrongly believe that God sees us how we see ourselves and that He is just waiting to catch us doing something bad. That’s not a God we would want to pray to! However, that’s not how the Bible presents Him. In Jesus, God is the Friend of sinners Who knows everything about us and died for us anyway out of love. It is that loving God Who we get to live in a conversational relationship with each day. What a privilege and invitation!
So, let us soak in the truth that because of the gospel, the King and Creator of all things is now our loving, wise, and powerful Father Who wants to live in a conversational relationship with us. This knowledge is the foundation and fuel of all prayer. “Lord, teach us to pray” as we begin another season.
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
Tommy is Assistant Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church where he shepherds the Family Ministry. He has served in five different congregations before the Lord called him to PCPC in 2011. He is married to Priscilla, his wife of 21 years. They have four children, Austin, Elli, Lily and Judson.
Congratulations! If you are reading this article it means you have endured over 6 months of a global, historic pandemic. It is hard to define what our “new normal” is during this season but most of us feel restless, irritable, and tired. You may be one of the millions who are “zoomed out,” fighting off the “quarantine 15,” and have a beautiful collection of masks for every occasion. If you have children at home, then you are way too busy to read this article (we are praying for you).
As a result of God’s grace, we have made it to this point. Therefore, we must take time to reflect on all that our Lord is doing through this pandemic. What is the Lord revealing in and through you, our church family, and to The Church during COVID? “Don’t waste this pandemic” is a familiar exhortation from Pope Frances to John Piper. Let us encourage one another to not merely muddle through but rather to muse over what God is revealing to us through this pandemic.
Blaise Pascal knew the value of this. Pascal spent much of his life distracting himself from the weighty matters of God. But after God transformed his heart, this 17th century scientist, theologian, and philosopher made this observation, “All of humanity’s problems stem from man’s inability to sit quietly in a room alone.” Imagine what Pascal would say about us now with all our technology?
As you prayerfully ponder these questions, “in a room alone” you may become aware of some unwanted insights. A few examples from my own journal reveal many idols, selfishness, and a disturbing lack of love, to name a few. As we do life together in this pandemic, we see the darkness in others and in ourselves. We realize that we have more junk than we care to acknowledge but stop there. There are gifts around the corner.
The good news is that our Lord already knows everything about us. Psalm 139 is both comforting and unsettling about this reality. Let us rest again on the facts of the Gospel and how Christ has set us free to admit all our junk, sin, insecurities, anger, and more. We have Gospel freedom to be vulnerable like Brennan Manning, who said, “When I get honest, I admit I am a bundle of paradoxes. I believe and I doubt, I hope and get discouraged, I love and I hate, I feel bad about feeling good, I feel guilty about not feeling guilty. I am trusting and suspicious. I am honest and I still play games.” Likewise, we can agree with the shocking confession of the apostle Paul, “…for I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out” along with the rest his words at the end of Romans 7.
Allow me to jump to the conclusion of this spiritual assignment “in a room alone” with the Holy Spirit. As we bring it all out into the light, we will find areas of sin and junk, but we will discover the love of our Father and His profound mercy and grace. Likewise, we may find new insights, vision, and calling that has emerged from a season of suffering through this pandemic.
Hopefully, you will find the gospel freedom that Jack Miller summarized in his famous quote. “Cheer up: You're a worse sinner than you ever dared imagine, and you're more loved than you ever dared hope.”
For those of you who get stuck in the quagmire of shame and guilt like me, then I have one final encouragement from Robert M. M‘Cheyne who said, “For every one look at your sin take ten looks at Christ.” This fall our entire church body will be immersed in Christ through the Gospel of Mark. It’s exciting to know that God has appointed all children, youth, and adults in PCPC to take many looks at Christ this fall through the Gospel of Mark. Therefore, don’t waste this pandemic but embrace all that God has for you for “such a time as this.”
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee, proclaiming the Gospel of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
When a king comes to town, everything changes. Throughout history, rulers usually arrive in a new territory with a show of force. They announce their arrival by conquering or intimidating local citizens, and they bring the “good news” of their agenda for their new subjects. Kings speak of wanting the best for their people, but history is littered with tales of the powerful exalting themselves and preying upon the weak. Worldly kingdoms always have a transforming presence. Whoever reigns over us has the power to shape our lives for good or ill. Every king brings a message and a kingdom that paint a picture of the good life. When a king comes, it’s a decisive moment that demands a response.
Now imagine being a Jewish peasant living in Galilee around two thousand years ago. As you go about your back-breaking daily grind, you hear talk of a teacher who has come to the area. One afternoon, you see the crowds gathering, and you push just close enough to hear this man Jesus. He opens His mouth and declares, “The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel” (Mark 1:14-15). Where does your mind run? How does your heart race?
The time is fulfilled—Is this the moment that we’re going to be liberated from Rome? The Kingdom of God is at hand—Is this the End…the day of the Lord? Repent and believe in the Gospel—What’s the Gospel? Who is this man? He doesn’t look like the Messiah who is going to set us free from our enemies.
If we can enter into this scene, perhaps we’ll see that, for all of our progress, the world hasn’t changed much in two thousand years. The kings and queens may look different today, but there are still powerful forces—spiritual, political, cultural, technological—seeking to rule over us. It may be more about market share than military might, but it still feels like we’re subjects in a world that promises so much that it can’t deliver. And yet we struggle to break out of the never-ending cycle of building kingdoms and watching them crumble.
What if the Lord is giving us a moment—or a school year—to take a long look at the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God? As we study Mark’s Gospel, we’ll see that very few people understood Jesus when He walked the dusty roads of Galilee. But the King came, and He changed everything.
Most people missed it because He came with sandals, not swords. He came with good news that went beyond what our itching ears want to hear. He didn’t come to satisfy our physical appetites or play to our political ambitions. His Gospel addresses our deepest problem, the sin that separates us from God and fractures our relationship with self, others, and creation.
Most people missed it because He didn’t come to conquer, at least not like other kings. He didn’t advantage Himself by disadvantaging others. He didn’t come to be served, but to serve. He wasn’t about living His life but giving His life. He died that others might live. He didn’t have a crown, unless you count the one made of thorns. And we don’t remember His castle; we remember His cross.
Have we grappled with how astonishing the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the Kingdom of God are? Have we been freed from counterfeit gospels and sandcastle kingdoms to live in the transforming presence of the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ? Are our lives beginning to look strange like the One we call our King? We have eyes, but have we really seen Him? We have ears, but have we really heard Him? The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom is at hand. It’s a decisive moment that demands a response. Are we repenting and believing in the Gospel?
And calling the crowd to him with his disciples, he said to them, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
You can hit the bullseye in life and still miss the mark—if you are aimed at the wrong target.
Pastor and theologian Hans Byers asks a striking question of Christian discipleship along these lines: “What if I am missing it?” A disciple is anyone seeking to learn from and become like another. Education, training, mentorship, “woke,” leadership development, social media “influencers,” fashion trend-setters: all of this and more are forms of discipleship. The question then becomes what is the right target to aim at and how would I know? If God entered human history in the first century as a man named Jesus from Nazareth, died by execution on a Roman cross, and rose from the dead, then that must be the point to which all of life and all of history points. Jesus redirects our discipleship aim toward a way of life we were created for, a calling that is personal, sacrificial, and missional.
The first mark of Christian discipleship is that Jesus calls. God takes the first step, and we follow. When Jesus calls out to a few men at work in the fishing industry, they jump at the opportunity to get in on what He is up to (Mark 1:16-20). The invitation is inseparable from the Gospel: God’s good and loving purposes for the world have come to a head. God’s the true King running the world, and He is bound and determined to sort out the mess we have made of things and set it all right again. You are headed in the wrong direction so turn around and get in on God’s awe-inspiring, life-transforming work of redemption (Mark 1:14-15). Discipleship is not some optional add-on to the Gospel perhaps reserved for Sunday mornings and Wednesday nights or for really serious Christians. It is a calling to YOU.
The next point to see is that Christian discipleship is personal. The counter-cultural nature of this way of discipleship is illuminated by considering what Jesus does not say. He does not say, “Go study the Bible so that you will know all the right answers and make sure everyone else knows that you do too. Then the Kingdom will come.” He does not say, “Go ‘play the game’ to access power and privilege. Then the Kingdom will come.” He does not say, “Go to war against all the evil pagans suppressing the people of God. Then the Kingdom will come.” Jesus does not proclaim any of these strategies of discipleship although they were all available options—see the Pharisees, Sadducees, and the Zealots for prime examples. Instead, Jesus says, “Follow Me. . . .”
Later in the Gospel of Mark, we see that discipleship to Jesus is sacrificial. Jesus says, “If you want to come after me, you must take up your cross and follow me” (Mark 8:34). If you are hell-bent (literally) on running your life, than you will ruin your life. However, if you give up your life to Jesus, you will truly find it. For those of us who have been discipled in the gospel of pulling-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps, we can only get going in discipleship to Jesus when we finally realize that in matters that really matter we have no bootstraps to pull.
Lastly, discipleship to Jesus is missional: “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Mark 1:17). Discipleship involves following Jesus into the world where we learn to do what Jesus would do in the way in which He would do it for the well-being of others. As it says in Norman Maclean’s novella A River Runs Through It, “ You can’t catch fish if you don’t dare go where they are.” Transformed people on the heels of Jesus (disciples) in community (the church) learn to live as Christ would live in the lives that are theirs (discipleship) to make clear that God is in charge of the world for good and loving purposes and that all who will come are invited in on it (mission). If you seem to hit the bullseye but keep feeling as if you have missed the mark, than perhaps you should find a different target. The way of really living in this life and the one to come is the way of discipleship with eyes dead-set on Jesus.
The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
As it is written in Isaiah the prophet,
“Behold, I send my messenger before your face,
who will prepare your way,
the voice of one crying in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”
John appeared, baptizing in the wilderness and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And all the country of Judea and all Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel's hair and wore a leather belt around his waist and ate locusts and wild honey. And he preached, saying, “After me comes he who is mightier than I, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I have baptized you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Madeleine L’Engle tells the story of a man who had a small son he loved and wanted to protect from a naïve view of the world. He told his little boy that nobody can be trusted and demonstrated it with heartbreaking force.
One evening when the father came home, his son came running down the stairs to greet him, and the father stopped him at the landing. “Son,” he said, “Daddy has taught you that people are not to be trusted, hasn’t he?” “Yes, Daddy.” “You can’t trust anybody, can you?” “No, Daddy.” “But you can trust Daddy, can’t you?” “Oh, yes, Daddy.” The father then held out his arms and said, “Jump,” and the little boy jumped with absolute trust that his father’s arms were waiting for him. But the father stepped aside and let the little boy fall crashing to the floor. “You see,” he said to his son, “you must trust nobody.”
Our hearts cry out “No!” when we read this story because we long for the father to be the one person that the little boy can trust in a world full of lies.
As the curtain opens on the scene of the Gospel of Mark, hundreds of years of Israel’s rebellion against God and brutal domination by pagan foreign nations sets the backdrop. After four-hundred years of silence from God, can the Father of Israel’s word still be trusted? John’s emphatic “Yes!” sets the stage for the drama of God’s mighty acts of redemption to rise to a climax “as it is written. . . .” (Mark 1:1-2).
The Gospel of Mark thrusts us immediately in on the action with the dramatic fulfillment of prophecies spoken through Malachi (3:1) and Isaiah (40:3):
“Behold, I send my messenger before your face,
who will prepare your way,
the voice of one crying in the wilderness:
‘Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight,’”
John is not just any Jewish holy man claiming to have a word from the Lord. He is the prophet promised in advance to prepare the way for the coming true King of the world. John lays the road for God to walk to town in person.
Jesus’ cousin John is also an expert at object lessons. He shows up “baptizing in the wilderness and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins” in the Jordan River (Mark 1:4-5). John points to the new work God is getting ready to enact by returning to the place where Israel entered the promised land more than a thousand years earlier. The people flock to John confessing their sins and symbolically cross the Jordan once again through baptism. Though we may have a hard time picking up on it at first glance, even John’s clothes send a very specific message to any first-century Jew who knew their Bible: Elijah is back. Get ready. God is about to sort things out and set things right (2 Kings 1:8, Malachi 4:5-6). The epic true drama of God’s mission to renew His creation and redeem those who reflect His image has reached its climax.
John primes the people of God like a wick ready to be lit. The One on the way will baptize with the Holy Spirit, a heart-burning fire to ignite a light to the nations.
John’s task is to proclaim by word and deed that God the Father will keep His Word and catch His children in His loving arms; God’s children are headed in the wrong direction so turn around before it is too late; The Kingdom of God is coming—It is as close as the dusty feet in the sandals that just walked to the edge of the river (Mark 1:8-9).
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And when he came up out of the water, immediately he saw the heavens being torn open and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.’
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Seven months ago (and thankfully, pre-Covid), my husband and I were married. The weekend was beautiful and as special as one might expect. But one element of our wedding weekend was surprisingly touching for me: my fathers’ speech at the rehearsal dinner. He spoke of his love for me, he reminded me of God’s provision throughout my life, and he blessed the union that was about to take place. I wept as he spoke, knowing that I was his special and beloved daughter; my dad was very well pleased with me. Months later, I still find myself dwelling on his loving and affirming words. The blessing that I received that day mattered deeply and has affected the way I view myself as a believer and a wife.
On Sunday, we remembered the blessing that Jesus received from God the Father at the beginning of His earthly ministry. We read that after He was baptized, the Holy Spirit descended upon Him and God the Father spoke the following words: “You are my beloved Son; with you I am well pleased.” Tim Keller says of this moment, “When Jesus comes out of the water, the Father envelops Him and covers Him with words of love. …while the Spirit covers Him with power” ( Jesus the King, 2011, Keller). What a powerful picture of the commissioning of Jesus—that God Himself would speak a blessing over Him as He begins the work He was sent to do.
Let us also be reminded that we, too, have received a blessing from God because of Jesus Christ. We see through the gospels that Jesus took on the wrath of God for our sins—for our very souls. In a moment so dark and lonely upon the cross, Jesus was aware that God the Father had turned His face away. Jesus cries out, “My God, My God, Why have you forsaken me?” Christ was forsaken so we could be saved, and because of His sacrifice, we can receive through faith the spiritual blessing that Jesus had. As Ephesians 1:3 says, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places.”
Whatever challenges you may face this week, take heart in remembering that because of Christ, you have received a spiritual blessing; because of Christ, you are a son or daughter in whom the Father is very well pleased.
Now after John was arrested, Jesus came into Galilee, proclaiming the gospel of God, and saying, “The time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the gospel.”
Passing alongside the Sea of Galilee, he saw Simon and Andrew the brother of Simon casting a net into the sea, for they were fishermen. And Jesus said to them, “Follow me, and I will make you become fishers of men.” And immediately they left their nets and followed him. And going on a little farther, he saw James the son of Zebedee and John his brother, who were in their boat mending the nets. And immediately he called them, and they left their father Zebedee in the boat with the hired servants and followed him.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
When I was a freshman in high school, I joined the football team. I remember at my first practice as a wide receiver, a coach called a pass play in the huddle, and I had no idea what the play-call meant. I ran out onto the field and just helplessly ran straight ahead when the play started, looking ridiculous because I had not yet learned what the language meant. This is how it can feel to be in a church sometimes. We use church words like “salvation,” “faith,” “grace,” and even buzzwords like “community,” but we can actually have a hard time explaining what they mean. We can also take for granted that people even know what we’re talking about or that we’re even talking about the same thing to begin with. Another one of these words is “disciple,” which is a key word in the New Testament. What does it even mean to be a disciple?
A disciple is simply a learner, so everyone is a disciple of something. The question is not “am I a disciple?” but “who or what is discipling me?” In his book The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard says that being a disciple of Jesus is learning how Jesus would live your life if He were you. I love the simplicity and practicality of that statement. On Sunday, we were reminded that in Mark 1:14-20, Mark gives us a story that also illustrates what being a disciple of Jesus is all about.
In this passage, Jesus first proclaims His usual message of the good news of the Kingdom of God that is available to any type of person, no matter what they have done. He did not come to give a new list of rules to obey, but to announce that He came to win a battle that we could never win on our own. He then proceeds to invite a few ordinary fishermen to come follow Him in order to be with Him to learn to be like Him and to live on His mission. Here are three brief observations about the call to discipleship:
(1) The qualifications for being a disciple of Jesus: Jesus did not ask to see their resumes, and He did not ask them to reach a certain level of holiness and competency before they were invited to follow him. In fact, as the story progresses, we see that these men made a lot of mistakes and had a lot of misunderstandings! This should greatly comfort us today. Jesus does not value what our world values. He gladly selects people who might be looked over and who might not be the most talented or resourced by the world’s standards, but who are faithful, humble, available, and teachable.
(2) The priority of being a disciple of Jesus: Commentators throughout the years have taken the content of this call to apply to present day disciples as well. As such, note both the urgency and the primacy of the fishermen’s response to Jesus. They do not delay, and they let Jesus’ invitation to follow Him take importance over everything else. This is a natural response when we understand the treasure and riches of the Kingdom and being in a relationship with Jesus (see Matthew 13:44-46).
(3) The reason for being a disciple of Jesus: I have never read The Lord of the Rings trilogy, but I once learned of this poetic line from Tolkien: “The hands of the king are the hands of a healer, and so shall the rightful king be known.” In his gospel, Mark’s main argument is that Jesus is the King who came to take up His cross. Unlike so many earthly leaders, Jesus used His power in to heal us by dying on the cross. He is the rightful King who has healing and gracious hands. Because this is true, being His disciple is not about joyless rule-following in order to earn God’s acceptance, but an invitation to flourishing as a human being as a response to already having God’s unconditional acceptance. This changes everything!
This is where being and making disciples begins each day. In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis memorably states, “The Church exists for nothing else but to draw men into Christ, to make them little Christs. If they are not doing that, all the cathedrals, clergy, missions, sermons, even the Bible itself, are simply a waste of time.” Because Jesus is the King who lovingly took up a cross for sinners like us, the flourishing life is one of being His disciple and inviting others into the same.
And they went into Capernaum, and immediately on the Sabbath He entered the synagogue and was teaching. And they were astonished at His teaching, for He taught them as one who had authority, and not as the scribes. And immediately there was in their synagogue a man with an unclean spirit. And he cried out, “What have You to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have You come to destroy us? I know who You are—the Holy One of God.” But Jesus rebuked him, saying, “Be silent, and come out of him!” And the unclean spirit, convulsing him and crying out with a loud voice, came out of him.
And they were all amazed, so that they questioned among themselves, saying, “What is this? A new teaching with authority! He commands even the unclean spirits, and they obey Him.” And at once His fame spread everywhere throughout all the surrounding region of Galilee.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
We have an authority problem. Have you noticed? When we look around, we see people refusing to submit to all kinds of authority: government, doctors, teachers, coaches, parents, and the list could go on and on. Our authority problem runs deeper than our distaste for particular people. In our sin, we reject God’s authority and assert our own, which makes it difficult to embrace anyone else’s. Sin sets in motion a rebellion that seems impossible to interrupt. We try to be kings and queens of our own domain, but there are moments when we feel the tension. We tap the brake when we see a police car, even when we’re not speeding. We feel uncomfortable when we see a player yelling at his coach, even when we’re not playing. We laugh when the 3-year-old says, “You’re not in charge.” We laugh because he’s right. In the ultimate sense, we’re not in charge, and our refusal to accept that explains most of our problems.
Almost everyone in the synagogue on that Sabbath day had an authority problem, too. The religious leaders thought they were in charge of the people. The people thought they were in charge of their own lives. And the unclean spirit thought he was in charge of this poor man. But then Jesus “entered the synagogue and was teaching” (Mark 1:21). It didn’t take long for the people to notice that there was something different about this Man, “for He taught them as one who had authority, and not as the scribes” (Mark 1:22). They probably didn’t know it, but they weren’t just listening to a word from the Bible; they were listening to the Word Himself. They weren’t just hearing from an expert in the law; they were hearing from the One who came to fulfill it. Because of His authority, Jesus demanded a response. No one could remain neutral. The religious leaders would have to accept His authority or seek to destroy Him. The people would have to trust Him or reject Him. And the unclean spirit would have to come out of the man, for who can resist His will?
We all have an authority problem. Have we brought it to Jesus? Have we seen the folly of rejecting all authority but our own? Have we seen the sweetness of submitting to the Lord of lords and King of kings? We’re often impressed with ourselves. Has the Spirit impressed us with a vision of who Jesus is? Have we seen that the One who claims to have all authority in heaven and earth (Matthew 28:18) is the same One who laid down His life to redeem us? When was the last time we asked in wonder, “Who is this?” In this tumultuous moment in history, may we rest in the astonishing authority of Jesus Christ.
And immediately he left the synagogue and entered the house of Simon and Andrew, with James and John. Now Simon's mother-in-law lay ill with a fever, and immediately they told him about her. And he came and took her by the hand and lifted her up, and the fever left her, and she began to serve them.
That evening at sundown they brought to him all who were sick or oppressed by demons. And the whole city was gathered together at the door. And he healed many who were sick with various diseases, and cast out many demons. And he would not permit the demons to speak, because they knew him.
And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, he departed and went out to a desolate place, and there he prayed. And Simon and those who were with him searched for him, and they found him and said to him, “Everyone is looking for you.” And he said to them, “Let us go on to the next towns, that I may preach there also, for that is why I came out.” And he went throughout all Galilee, preaching in their synagogues and casting out demons.
And a leper came to him, imploring him, and kneeling said to him, “If you will, you can make me clean.” Moved with pity, he stretched out his hand and touched him and said to him, “I will; be clean.” And immediately the leprosy left him, and he was made clean. And Jesus sternly charged him and sent him away at once, and said to him, “See that you say nothing to anyone, but go, show yourself to the priest and offer for your cleansing what Moses commanded, for a proof to them.” But he went out and began to talk freely about it, and to spread the news, so that Jesus could no longer openly enter a town, but was out in desolate places, and people were coming to him from every quarter.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
The Norwegian teacher and author of the spiritual classic Prayer, Ole Hallesby (1879-1961) wrote, “The essence of faith is to come to Christ.” We see in Mark’s Gospel that Jesus came to us. We come to Jesus by prayer in helplessness and faith.
Notice these verbs in Mark 1:29-45: “And He came and took her by the hand and lifted her up” (1:31); “They brought to him all who were sick or oppressed by demons” (1:32); “And a leper came to him” (1:40); “People were coming to him from every quarter” (1:45). We see too that Jesus’ life is rooted in prayer—“And rising very early in the morning, while it was still dark, He departed and went out to a desolate place, and there He prayed” (1:35).
It is in this spirit, the Spirit of prayer, that I invite you to enter into Mark’s Gospel. Jesus has come. May this prayer be an invitation for you to come to Him.
Jesus, I come to you helpless.
Even as I say this, I confess that You have first come to me.
I cannot save myself.
I cannot fix myself.
I cannot make “it” right whatever “it” may be.
Take me by the hand and lift me up
that I may be well
and serve You with gladness and singleness of heart.
You have made me glad by your work;
at the works of your hands I sing for joy (Ps 92:4).
Jesus, healer of the sick and oppressed,
give me eyes to see beyond myself to the needs of others,
and grant me the compassionate courage
to bring them into your healing presence.
Teach me your way of intimate fellowship with the Father in prayer,
even as You free me from the relentless pressure of the needs of “everyone.”
Jesus, if you will, you can make me clean.
Open my heart to receive your compassion
and my ears to hear those life transforming words of grace:
“I will; be clean.”
Jesus: touch my mind, and it shall be well.
Jesus: touch my body, and it shall be well.
Jesus: touch my heart, and it shall be well.
O Lord, how I long for that day when all things shall be well.
You have delivered my soul from death
that I may walk before God in the light of life (Ps 56:13).
Because your steadfast love is better than life,
my lips will praise you (Ps 63:3).
May I obey you with joy
And become a living proof of the living God.
In the name of Jesus I pray. Amen.
And when he returned to Capernaum after some days, it was reported that he was at home. And many were gathered together, so that there was no more room, not even at the door. And he was preaching the word to them. And they came, bringing to him a paralytic carried by four men. And when they could not get near him because of the crowd, they removed the roof above him, and when they had made an opening, they let down the bed on which the paralytic lay. And when Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, “Son, your sins are forgiven.” Now some of the scribes were sitting there, questioning in their hearts, “Why does this man speak like that? He is blaspheming! Who can forgive sins but God alone?” And immediately Jesus, perceiving in his spirit that they thus questioned within themselves, said to them, “Why do you question these things in your hearts? Which is easier, to say to the paralytic, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or to say, ‘Rise, take up your bed and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—he said to the paralytic— “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed, and go home.” And he rose and immediately picked up his bed and went out before them all, so that they were all amazed and glorified God, saying, “We never saw anything like this!”
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
First century Jews saw humans as highly integrated beings. They were much less likely than we are to see a sharp distinction between the body and soul. In the Gospel of John, Jesus passes a man blind from birth, and His disciples ask, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” (9:2).
They lived in a world where physical brokenness and spiritual brokenness went hand in hand.
I think it is safe to assume that a similar belief was held by the scribes who were sitting and listening to Jesus’ preaching in this home in Capernaum. When the roof opened and a paralyzed man was let down by his four friends in front of Jesus while He was preaching, the scribes saw someone under the curse of sin. He was broken. The physical brokenness was an outward expression of spiritual brokenness. I suspect they were asking, “Who sinned that this man is paralyzed?” or maybe, “What sin deserved this?”
We know little about the content of Jesus’ preaching in Mark at this point (in Matthew, this story comes after the Sermon on the Mount). At this point in Mark, all we know is that he said, “The time is fulfilled, and the Kingdom of God is at hand; repent and believe in the Gospel” (Mark 1:15). Jesus’ message was a message about a kingdom, and it came with a call of repentance. Repentance, a turning from sin, is also a turn toward life in the Kingdom with all the spiritual, physical, social, and cultural healing that breaks in with God’s presence.
The whole audience knows that physical healing is needed, but Jesus wants them to understand His whole message. He is not merely a physician with the ability to heal the sick. He wants them to see the total healing offered in the Gospel. Thus, He gives us a glimpse of what life will be like in God’s presence when there is no more mourning, crying, or pain (Revelation 21:4). We must not forget that all of the signs and wonders recorded are included “so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in His name” (John 20:31).
The forgiveness of sins, the restoration of the paralytic to a right relationship with God, is merely the beginning.
In the flow of the story, we read that Jesus perceives the question of the scribes (vs 8). They wonder “Why does this man speak like that?” (vs 7).
We have the same challenge from the world today that Jesus faced from the scribes in this story. When we come with a message of the forgiveness of sins, as central as that is, often the dying world cannot hear it. They are saying, “Why is he talking like this?” “Surely this cannot be true.” “It is ridiculous.” If you are like me, you are tempted to throw your hands up and say, “Well, at least I am being faithful to the truth.” But that is not what we see modeled by Jesus in this story. Jesus perceives this challenge – a challenge that the message of grace by faith is easy to talk about. Or that this message might be a comfort to some poor wretched person, but many listening will not think that it applies to them. Thus, He responds by giving the crowd a glimpse of the total healing offered in the Gospel: “Rise, pick up your bed, and go home” (vs 11). At the outset of His ministry, Jesus wants the scribes to know that He has the authority to do this. The healing of the body confirms His message of healing the soul and the presence of the Kingdom of God– “But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins...” (vs 10)
It is the complete healing, the act of Jesus that restores this man’s ability to walk, that confirms Jesus’ message about the Kingdom and forgiveness. Without the demonstration of the breaking in of the Kingdom, we do not reach the climax of the story where “they were all amazed and glorified God” (vs 12).
Our call, as redeemed and restored Christians, as ambassadors of Christ and His Kingdom in this broken and dying world is to follow Jesus in both His message and method. We must experience and share the freedom of the cleansing forgiveness and healing offered in the Gospel.
As we process Jesus’ message and method, it should challenge us to ask what faithfulness to Christ looks like when we seek to carry others to Jesus. It should not merely stop at the proclamation of the truth, but it should be expressed in some amazing, God-glorifying concern for the whole person we seek to carry.
He went out again beside the sea, and all the crowd was coming to him, and he was teaching them. And as he passed by, he saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he rose and followed him.
And as he reclined at table in his house, many tax collectors and sinners were reclining with Jesus and his disciples, for there were many who followed him. And the scribes of the Pharisees, when they saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors, said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Recently I went to the dentist for the first time…in a while. I have a bad habit of avoiding dentists and doctors. Ultimately, I don’t want someone telling me that something is wrong with me or that I need to change something about my life. I want to live my life how I am living it, and I will ask for help if I really need it. However, as the ancient philosopher Socrates once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
One of the fruits of reading the gospels is that it gives us a fresh opportunity to have our unexamined or partially examined life of following God adjusted or even over-hauled. In Mark 2:13-17, Jesus calls a new disciple, Levi (aka Matthew the Gospel writer). Levi was a tax-collector. This means that he voluntarily signed himself up to be viewed as a social outcast by his own people as well as by the Roman ruling over Israel in exchange to “climb the corporate ladder” of financial gain.
The key to understanding this passage and applying it to our lives is for us to remember the exhortation from the apostle Paul in Romans 12:3: do not think of yourself more highly than you ought. Do not remove yourself from the story by assuming you are not like the antagonist of this narrative, the scribes. If there is someone in this world that you think is beyond the saving grace of Jesus (or at least doesn’t deserve it like you do) then you are a scribe of the Pharisees.
The purpose of this story is to show the heart of Jesus for the lost, the outcast, and the corporate sell out. We see Jesus not only calling the tax collector Levi to follow Him, but also hosting a dinner party with Him and his tax collector buddies. The people who get a seat at the table of King Jesus are not the most righteous, but rather the filthiest of sinners. Why? Because we are ALL the filthiest of sinners in need of a Savior. The problem is some of us have forgotten where we came from and are now pretty selective in who we think deserves this grace, as if it could be earned at all.
As Presbyterians, we are excellent at catechizing our children in the faith and sitting under the teaching of the Word of God. But the risk of having a sensitivity for precise doctrine is that our eyes can drift from the God whom the doctrine is about to the doctrine itself which is the cardinal sin of the Pharisees. This leads us to neglect those outside the walls of the church, those who do not know this doctrine, those who may be categorized as pagans or unbelievers. This is to avoid the sin of antinomianism (the law doesn’t matter). But then we exchange one sin for another: legalism (the law is all that matters). We may know a lot about mercy, but we can struggle to live out and extend that mercy to those who are different from us, even “more sinful” than us for fear of their sin rubbing off on us. Levi had forsaken the faith and was hanging out with a rough crowd of sinners. When Jesus comes on the scene He runs, not to the seemingly righteous, but rather to those sinners. Why? Because, when they have their sin exposed they see their need for a Savior. When religious people hear about sin and the need for a Savior, they assume the preacher or Jesus must be talking about someone else.
Essentially, the dust and the dirt must always exist. The dust and the dirt of sin-stained people (you and I and the lost in our city) coming through these doors like you and like me must never be forgotten. God is a transcendent and holy God who hates sin. However, we must not forget that He is also imminent, near, and willing to rub shoulders with our humanity. We see this in Genesis 2 as God the potter molds Adam out of the dust of the earth and in the Gospels as the God-man, Jesus Christ, takes on flesh to rescue us from the grip that sin and death have upon us because of our rebellion against Him. Let us not avoid the depth of this passage for our hearts (like I avoid the dentist); not wanting to have the sin of judgment and condemnation in our hearts exposed. As we have our Pharisee heart exposed by Jesus in this story as He loves on and calls Levi the tax collector, we need only look to Jesus’ final words in v. 17: Those who are well (which none are) have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.
Now John's disciples and the Pharisees were fasting. And people came and said to him, “Why do John's disciples and the disciples of the Pharisees fast, but your disciples do not fast?” And Jesus said to them, “Can the wedding guests fast while the bridegroom is with them? As long as they have the bridegroom with them, they cannot fast. The days will come when the bridegroom is taken away from them, and then they will fast in that day. No one sews a piece of unshrunk cloth on an old garment. If he does, the patch tears away from it, the new from the old, and a worse tear is made. And no one puts new wine into old wineskins. If he does, the wine will burst the skins—and the wine is destroyed, and so are the skins. But new wine is for fresh wineskins.”
One Sabbath he was going through the grainfields, and as they made their way, his disciples began to pluck heads of grain. And the Pharisees were saying to him, “Look, why are they doing what is not lawful on the Sabbath?” And he said to them, “Have you never read what David did, when he was in need and was hungry, he and those who were with him: how he entered the house of God, in the time of Abiathar the high priest, and ate the bread of the Presence, which it is not lawful for any but the priests to eat, and also gave it to those who were with him?” And he said to them, “The Sabbath was made for man, not man for the Sabbath. So the Son of Man is lord even of the Sabbath.”
Again he entered the synagogue, and a man was there with a withered hand. And they watched Jesus, to see whether he would heal him on the Sabbath, so that they might accuse him. And he said to the man with the withered hand, “Come here.” And he said to them, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?” But they were silent. And he looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart, and said to the man, “Stretch out your hand.” He stretched it out, and his hand was restored. The Pharisees went out and immediately held counsel with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
A newspaper headline this morning reads, “As votes are counted, Americans remain anxious.” Another states, “On an Election Day . . . a clash of competing visions of America, fear was the great uniter, and motivator.” Regardless of where one lands on the political spectrum, a common anxiety about what happens next and where our country is headed transcends the sharp boundary lines between clashing visions of what is good, right, and true. This is a point at which our contemporary situation makes contact with the controversies surrounding Jesus in the Gospel of Mark. Jesus challenges our anxious boundary lines and reveals the only way to restoration.
The first controversy in the sequence of events recorded in Mark 2:18-3:6 surrounds Jesus’ band of followers not fasting (2:18). While this may not seem overly controversial to our modern sensibilities, it was a serious break from the cultural norms of Jesus’ time and place. We do not know the particular occasion of this fast, but Zechariah 8:19 lists four reoccurring fasts in connection with the Babylonian destruction of Jerusalem. Though “back home” now for a few hundred years, the Jewish people still had plenty of reasons for fasting as a mood of exile persisted within Roman occupation. Fasting became a boundary line marking out the faithful Jews from their pagan oppressors. However, Jesus’ disciples did not fast because the feast had arrived. As the prophecy in Zechariah says, the fasts shall turn into “seasons of joy and gladness and cheerful feasts.” It will not do to try to tack God’s agenda on an old cloth or bottle it up in a rigid wineskin. Jesus did not come to abolish the old but to fulfill it (Matthew 5:17).
The following controversies both surround Jesus and the Sabbath. Keeping the Sabbath as commanded in Exodus 20:8-11 was at the heart of devotion to God. Jews looked back each week to God’s rest in creation—“rest” meaning God’s reign of peace where everything is as it should be, not simply doing nothing—and forward to the ultimate rest when God puts everything right finally and fully. Sabbath keeping was a serious boundary line that the Pharisees were particularly concerned to toe. In their minds, it separated those who are “in” and those who are “out” when God redeems Israel. Jesus challenged their deeply held convictions by reinterpreting the meaning and significance of Sabbath around the lordship of the “Son of Man,” a power-packed title carrying royal connotations (Daniel 7:13-14).
On another occasion, Jesus only heard crickets when He asked, “Is it lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill?” He looked at those in the Sabbath worship service with anger for their silence and grieved by the hardness of heart it revealed. The Biblical understanding of the heart is like a personal control center that directs thoughts, emotions, hopes, fears, and actions. “Keep vigilant watch over your heart;” the Proverbs say, “that’s where life starts” (MSG, Proverbs 4:23). The Pharisees’ hearts were diamond-hard (Zechariah 7:12). They knew how to keep the Sabbath, but they had painfully forgotten why. Jesus demonstrated the meaning of Sabbath by a powerful act of rest-oration.
However anxious the times may be, Jesus continues to say, “Come here.” We too can stretch out our hands withered with worry and open up our hardened hearts to be restored by faith. Answering this call will lead to conflict with competing visions of the world. Jesus’ best intentions led the Pharisees to dig in their heels and plan to destroy Him (3:6). Even so, Jesus willingly crossed the boundary lines—holding together the world’s deepest anxieties and greatest hopes on the cross—and rose as the Victor over sin and death. Only the love of the Father in union with Jesus and the motivation of the Spirit has the power to cast out all our fears and to fulfill our deepest longings for way the world should be. Though reasons remain for sorrow and fasting within the present kingdom of fear: God’s Kingdom of joyful feasting has arrived, and the day is coming when our King shall return. In that day, everything will be as it should be, and Sabbath rest will become the perpetual state.
The Pharisees went out and immediately held counsel with the Herodians against him, how to destroy him.
Jesus withdrew with his disciples to the sea, and a great crowd followed, from Galilee and Judea and Jerusalem and Idumea and from beyond the Jordan and from around Tyre and Sidon. When the great crowd heard all that he was doing, they came to him. And he told his disciples to have a boat ready for him because of the crowd, lest they crush him, for he had healed many, so that all who had diseases pressed around him to touch him. And whenever the unclean spirits saw him, they fell down before him and cried out, “You are the Son of God.” And he strictly ordered them not to make him known.
And he went up on the mountain and called to him those whom he desired, and they came to him. And he appointed twelve (whom he also named apostles) so that they might be with him and he might send them out to preach and have authority to cast out demons. He appointed the twelve: Simon (to whom he gave the name Peter); James the son of Zebedee and John the brother of James (to whom he gave the name Boanerges, that is, Sons of Thunder); Andrew, and Philip, and Bartholomew, and Matthew, and Thomas, and James the son of Alphaeus, and Thaddaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas Iscariot, who betrayed him.
Then he went home, and the crowd gathered again, so that they could not even eat. And when his family heard it, they went out to seize him, for they were saying, “He is out of his mind.”
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
When I was a senior in high school, I got to go to the Georgia vs. Alabama football game in Athens, Georgia. As I was walking towards the stadium before the game, I saw a huge crowd of people begin to follow someone. As I got closer, I realized that the person was PGA golfer Phil Mickelson. Fortunately, he had his security with him because once people realized who it was, they could not help but gravitate towards him.
We see a similar scene in Mark 3. Everything starts to get crazy after a healing miracle. So many people are following Jesus that He tells His disciples to prepare a boat, so the crowd does not crush Him! That speaks to how many people are coming to Jesus after this healing. He is gaining a reputation as someone who heals people of all types of diseases. Desperate, sick, weak sinners flock to Jesus because they know their desperate situations require a powerful yet loving deliverer.
We are all desperate whether we realize it or not. When the Bible describes humanity’s situation, it describes it as a desperate one because of sin. While this might look different for each of us, it applies to every single one of us. It does not matter how good of a person we think we might be externally. However, living in a society of wealth and comfort (especially on a global scale) can give us the illusion that we are secure and in control. Often it takes a crisis to reveal the desperation and weakness that was actually there all along.
The good news of the gospel is that Jesus meets our desperation with His deliverance, our weakness with His strength, our failure with His forgiveness. As Jack Miller once said, “Cheer up! You're a lot worse off than you think you are, but in Jesus, you're far more loved than you could have ever imagined.” Our response to Jesus will largely depend on how accurately we understand our level of desperation and Jesus’ power and love to deliver us. People who understand this live with joyful dependence on Jesus and gentle compassion towards others. Compared to how our world operates, this is upside-down.
What is also upside-down compared to how our world operates is that when these crowds surrounded Him, Jesus specifically chose twelve men to be with Him as His disciples. At this point in Mark, we begin to see that while Jesus had compassion on the crowds and was available to help them, His main focus was on living life with these twelve guys and teaching them. The crazy (and convicting) thing is that many churches and ministries today would not see Jesus’ ministry as a success! Let that sink in. With the opportunity for a flashy and loud ministry, Jesus instead chose to prioritize investing in a small number of relationships. This would probably seem like a failure in our entertainment, noise, and crowd-driven culture. However, history has proven that Jesus’ plan changed the world. And His plan was to deeply invest in these guys’ lives over about a 3-year period. After He ascended, they passed it on to others who did the same, and so on, leading all the way through history to you and me.
Thus, Mark invites us to redefine what it truly means to be well-off: being people who know their need, celebrate their Savior’s healing power and love, and pass on that love to others in the world. We live as His disciples and make disciples of others.
I love what is on the front page of PCPC’s order of worship each week. May we be a group of people who accept this invitation and offer it to others in our lives:
To all who are spiritually weary and seek rest;
to all who mourn and long for comfort;
to all who struggle and desire victory;
to all who sin and need a Savior;
to all who are strangers and want fellowship;
to all who hunger and thirst after righteousness;
and to all who will come, this church opens wide her doors and offers welcome in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.
And the scribes who came down from Jerusalem were saying, “He is possessed by Beelzebul,” and “by the prince of demons he casts out the demons.” And he called them to him and said to them in parables, “How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand, but is coming to an end. But no one can enter a strong man's house and plunder his goods, unless he first binds the strong man. Then indeed he may plunder his house.
“Truly, I say to you, all sins will be forgiven the children of man, and whatever blasphemies they utter, but whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin”— for they were saying, “He has an unclean spirit.”
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Between the ages of 8 and 10, I really wrestled with having security in my salvation. I remember riding home with my family from a church event and asking Jesus into my heart for what felt like the 20th time. I had been taught that Jesus saved me based on His grace alone through faith in Him. But I did not feel that. Why? I still sinned, and at times I felt far from God. So, I thought I needed to get saved again and again.
In the Gospel, Jesus' agenda was twofold: preach good news to sinners, and dethrone (mercifully) those who felt they weren't in need of saving in hopes that they would be saved. Those who were sinners came to Jesus for healing, restoration, and salvation. Those who had no need of saving were blind and deaf to Jesus and did everything they could to quiet, confuse, and eventually crucify Him to maintain their religious status quo.
In Mark 3:22, Mark informs us that the Pharisees are spreading rumors about Jesus. These rumors may have been similar to the political ads we witnessed this Fall: Politicians thrashing their opponents with all the dirt they could dig up. Jesus is getting called out here. The Pharisees, in their feeble attempt to confuse and distract, call Jesus a demon possessed demon exorcist. Oops. By attempting to disguise and distract, they get themselves into a logical pickle. I imagine Jesus furrowing His brow, cocking His head to the side, and saying what He says in verses 23-24, “How can Satan cast out Satan?” If the text ended here, Jesus could have just dropped the mic and moved to the next town. But Jesus takes the discussion to the next level. His agenda is to dethrone His opponents, but He does it differently than we would. We just want to put people in their place, but Jesus actually has empathy and love for His enemies. His brilliant self-defense moves into a dire warning that gives us the infamous description of the unforgivable sin. By ascribing Satanic activity to Jesus’ ministry, the Pharisees are committing blasphemy against God Himself, namely the Holy Spirit. Jesus tolerates the quibbling about how to interpret the law and how to observe the Sabbath, but He draws the line at spreading lies about what God is doing to save people.
Jesus is here to set people free from sin. He says in verse 26, "All sins will be forgiven the children of man…" And He means all sin. As Paul says in Romans 8:38-39, "nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus." So, is Jesus contradicting Himself in the next breath when He says, "whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit never has forgiveness, but is guilty of an eternal sin?" Jesus is not talking about a sin that you can commit that will cause you to go from being saved to not being saved. This is what I needed to know as a child. Jesus is talking about why someone would not be saved at all. The only sin that makes a person unsavable is his or her unwillingness to be saved by Jesus – their wholehearted rejection of who Jesus is and what He does. As Eugene Peterson translates Mark 3:28-29 in The Message, "If you persist in your slanders against God's Holy Spirit, you are repudiating the very One who forgives, sawing off the branch on which you're sitting, severing by your own perversity all connection with the One who forgives."
Jesus' warning levels the playing field. All sin can and will be forgiven if you will repent and believe the Gospel. But if you do not repent and believe the Gospel of Jesus Christ, then you are a blasphemer, as guilty as someone who calls Jesus Satan. The goal here is not to parse out when sin is blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, but to look to Jesus and to realize that He is not this God in the sky who says, "You better prove that you love Me." The criminal next to Jesus on His own cross cries, "We are receiving the due reward of our deeds, but this Man has done nothing wrong… Jesus, remember me when You are coming into Your kingdom." When Jesus hears this statement, does He respond by saying, "You have spent your whole life sinning and running from me. I don't accept you." No! He lovingly acknowledges this sinner's faith and responds, "Truly, I say to you, today you will be with Me in paradise." The other criminal mocks Jesus by saying, "Save Yourself and us!" and Jesus leaves him in his rebellion. Jesus desires for all who are weary to come to Him no matter when or what. So come. Come and sing this hymn today:
O to grace how great a debtor daily I’m constrained to be;
Let Thy goodness like a fetter bind my wandering heart to Thee.
Prone to wander—Lord, I feel it—prone to leave the God I love:
Here’s my heart, O take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.
Again he began to teach beside the sea. And a very large crowd gathered about him, so that he got into a boat and sat in it on the sea, and the whole crowd was beside the sea on the land. And he was teaching them many things in parables, and in his teaching he said to them: “Listen! Behold, a sower went out to sow. And as he sowed, some seed fell along the path, and the birds came and devoured it. Other seed fell on rocky ground, where it did not have much soil, and immediately it sprang up, since it had no depth of soil. And when the sun rose, it was scorched, and since it had no root, it withered away. Other seed fell among thorns, and the thorns grew up and choked it, and it yielded no grain. And other seeds fell into good soil and produced grain, growing up and increasing and yielding thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.” And he said, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”
And when he was alone, those around him with the twelve asked him about the parables. And he said to them, “To you has been given the secret of the kingdom of God, but for those outside everything is in parables, so that
“‘they may indeed see but not perceive,
and may indeed hear but not understand,
lest they should turn and be forgiven.’”
And he said to them, “Do you not understand this parable? How then will you understand all the parables? The sower sows the word. And these are the ones along the path, where the word is sown: when they hear, Satan immediately comes and takes away the word that is sown in them. And these are the ones sown on rocky ground: the ones who, when they hear the word, immediately receive it with joy. And they have no root in themselves, but endure for a while; then, when tribulation or persecution arises on account of the word, immediately they fall away. And others are the ones sown among thorns. They are those who hear the word, but the cares of the world and the deceitfulness of riches and the desires for other things enter in and choke the word, and it proves unfruitful. But those that were sown on the good soil are the ones who hear the word and accept it and bear fruit, thirtyfold and sixtyfold and a hundredfold.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Heavenly Father,
In this Thanksgiving season we pause to reflect on how we have responded to Your Word this year. You are the Sower, and You are always at work. We are the soil, and Your Word has fallen upon us again like seed. Your love is everlasting, and Your faithfulness is perfect; still, we struggle to give thanks in all circumstances. The challenges of this year have disrupted and stretched us, and the fruit that has been borne in our lives is not all good. Holy Spirit, would You shine Your light in our hearts and help us to see what You are doing? Would You plant Your Word deeply in us, that we might be like trees planted by streams of water?
Lord, we confess that we have been like the hard soil on the path. We have heard Your Word, and yet it feels like it goes in one ear and out the other. In the midst of our affliction, You have spoken words of comfort and perspective, and we have missed them. We have listened without hearing and read without understanding. We know that Satan delights to snatch away the seed before it even has a chance to take root. Father, break up the hard soil so that we can hear Your words of life.
Lord, we also confess that we have been like the shallow soil on rocky ground. We have heard Your Word, and we have experienced a spurt of growth. But we lack roots, and when the storm comes, we have been unable to endure. Father, this whole year has felt like a storm, and our relational, professional, medical, and cultural challenges have pushed us to throw in the towel. Lord, You do not faint or grow weary. Lift our drooping hands and strengthen our weak knees. Help us to believe that in the shattering You are shaping us into the image of Your Son. Lord, deepen our shallow soil and give us roots that hold.
Lord, we also see evidence that we have been like the thorny soil. We think that we can have it all, with one foot firmly planted in Christ and the other in the world. But our overcrowded hearts preach the truth: we can only serve one master. The weed of worldliness, the deceitfulness of riches, and the desire for other things have choked out Your Word and made us unfruitful. Our lives have been more panic than peace, more fear than faith, more selfishness than self-control. Our love has grown cold. Lord Jesus, expose our idols and replace them with Yourself. Give us the simplicity of knowing that one thing is necessary. Pull the weeds and prune the thorns that we might prepare You room.
Lord, we could never make ourselves good soil. And so, we thank You for being the Gardener who comes to break up, deepen, weed, and cultivate our hearts. In Your life, we see a perfect picture of a heart inclined to the words of Your Father. In Your death, we see the perfect sacrifice for our hearts that go astray from Your Word. And in Your resurrection, we find the perfect power for the new life we need. Lord, do Your recreating work in us, and make us good soil. May our lives bear fruit for Your glory. You are the Lord of the harvest, and we long for the day when You will gather us and every one of Your people together for the great feast. And so, we rejoice in Your Word, and we give You thanks, for You have promised, and You will surely do it.
In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
I asked my three-year-old daughter the other day, “What did the angel say to Mary?” in the hope of turning her attention to the Advent season. She replied, “Don’t be afraid. You will have a baby.” I smiled affectionately in recognition of her answer and asked another question, “What did the angel say to the shepherds?” I continue to ponder what she said next, “Don’t be afraid. Go to the baby.” With all the fear that grips our world today—fear of sickness during these days of pandemic; fear of where the country is headed politically, socially, and morally; fear for the economy; fear for the well-being of children and grandchildren; fear of loneliness; fear of failure; fear of growing old and being forgotten—these words strike like a match in the dark, flickering the warm glow of hope. “For to us a child is born . . . and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor” (Isaiah 9:6).
At a point in Israel’s history when the state of fear was such that the “people shook as the trees of the forest before the wind,” Isaiah proclaimed, “Do not fear” (Isaiah 7:2-4, 8:12). The prophet saw through the severe threats surrounding the nation to the reality of God’s redemptive work in history and declared that a child would come who would be called Wonderful Counselor. This was not merely a therapeutic “It’s going to be okay.” Isaiah spoke of a historical fact-in-the-flesh who would set all things right in a world corrupted by sin and death.
After hundreds of years of devastation and longing for the people of Israel, a young woman named Mary gave birth to a little boy in a village on the outskirts of Jerusalem. Swaddled and resting in a feeding trough lay the child Isaiah spoke of: Wonderful Counselor, God with us, Jesus. I do not know any more about what it was like on the first Christmas than the few details the Bible tells us, but I have known the overwhelming love that casts out fear, even for just a moment, at the sight of a newborn child.
The arrival of a baby is one of the most joyful and fearful experiences of life. All the long months of pregnancy swell to a tsunami of anticipation with hope and fear at its crest. The strenuous labor; waiting in what feels like timelessness; the first sight of head, eyes, and ears; tiny fingers clenched atop flailing arms; small legs and feet; holding your breath even as you shout on the inside, “Cry! Please, baby, cry!” —the wave crashes to shore in overwhelming joy, and tears flow like a river at the quivering shrill of lungs set free. “Hi, baby. Mommy loves you. Daddy loves you.” It is but a small, momentary glimpse of the wonders of Jesus, the baby in the manger who became the Savior of the world.
Jesus proclaimed the good news of God’s loving rule of the world. He healed the sick and set the oppressed free. He was ultimately rejected, betrayed, and killed as just another tragic warning of what happens to those who mess with the powers that be. Yet, the Advent of the cradle and the cross proclaims, “Don’t be afraid” through the coronation of the King. Jesus’s bodily resurrection was the decisive victory over death, and we are called to follow Him in faith as we wait for the second coming of our King. In that Advent, the wonders of God’s counsel will make the world over in peace, justice, and righteousness as the waters cover the sea (Isaiah 11:9). Even so, come, Lord Jesus!
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
We can measure the power of many things, but we cannot measure the power of God. God is able to do anything He wills.
What is true power? The first of many definitions in Webster says power is the “ability to act or produce an effect.” What is the hallmark of God’s power? Is it not God’s ability to cast out a legion of unclean spirits with His words, or to calm a storm by simply saying “Peace! Be still!” Six times in the first chapter of the Bible God spoke and it was so. His words call things into being, separate one entity from another, form and fill. God’s words are reality themselves.
Power is the ability to define and shape reality. It can come from a parent or employer. Reality can be defined by a mentor or a bully. In God’s case, He speaks reality into existence. As creatures made in His image, He lets us join in this activity. At the very outset, God let Adam name His creation (Genesis 2:19). God could have given Adam a dictionary, but He did not. He let Adam speak a name where there was none, and He called it good.
The way that we mirror God’s power with our words shows at least one way that we bear the divine image. These words can be highly redemptive or highly destructive. This is one reason we need to be mindful of whom we are listening to.
Perhaps the reason something seemingly as benign as gossip is listed next to murder in Romans 1 is because gossip spreads a false reality that cannot be undone. Once I’ve heard so-and-so is a cheat, even if it is not true, it is very difficult to clear his name in my mind.
Nevertheless, we can also define reality in redemptive ways for others. When a friend sees your joy in a difficult circumstance, your neighbor sees peace during a trial, or your coworker observes an inexplicable act of generosity, you can redefine reality for them. The actions are the scratch on the chalkboard that causes them to stop, but your words have the power to define what they saw and turn their world upside down. In Mark, Jesus tells the man with the unclean spirit “Go home to your friends and tell them how much the Lord has done for you, and how he has had mercy on you.” (Mark 5:19). The man could go and tell people all sorts of things when asked about his new freedom. Jesus encourages him to use his power to make clear with his words what God made clear with his very own.
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Recently as I read through Isaiah 9, the following verse struck me deeply: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.” In years past, I’ve found this verse to be profound, but it has never felt as relatable to me as it did this year (and I would guess that many of you feel the same).
We’ve been brought to our knees this year. Though the darkness of the world has always existed, we feel the depths of the hurt, brokenness, and sin in new and heartbreaking ways. We see it in the world, and we also see it in ourselves. The darkness is real, but as we observe this season of advent, let us remind ourselves that the light is real too.
As believers, we know that the “great light” of Jesus has changed everything for us:
This story of great light coming to the world changes everything for us as believers and gives us hope amidst the darkness of this age. But let us not forget that this season of advent should also be in anticipation of Jesus’ return. As Hebrews 9:28 says, “So Christ, having been offered once to bear the sins of many, will appear a second time, not to deal with sin but to save those who are eagerly waiting for him.” And so, we wait, and we faithfully work, doing what God has called us to for this season and knowing that Jesus will come again one day to make all things new.
This Christmas may the great light of Jesus’ birth and the hope of His impending return outshine the darkness in our world and bring you to a posture of praise.
Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, born this happy morning;
Jesus, to Thee be all glory giv’n;
Word of the Father, now in flesh appearing;
O come, let us adore Him,
O come, let us adore Him,
O come, let us adore Him, Christ, the Lord!
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given; and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called ... Prince of Peace.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
In the holiday classic, Home Alone, we find a young boy by the name of Kevin McAllister mistakenly left behind by his parents and family as they head off to Europe for Christmas vacation. Kevin rejoices at the prospect initially, enjoying all the things he has been told he could not do. But as the story progresses, Kevin finds himself defending his home from a duo of intruders: the Wet Bandits. With great ingenuity, Kevin schemes and plots to make sure the robbers understand they have picked the wrong house. In the end, the Wet Bandits are apprehended but only after having to endure tests of the worst kind. While the victory was satisfying for Kevin, the peace was palpable when he was reunited with his mother and family at the very end.
In the opening pages of Scripture, we find all creation in full harmony with its Creator. The crown of God’s creation, Adam and Eve, enjoyed uninterrupted communion with Him. The world – the whole cosmos – was idyllic. The biblical writers described this as shalom. At face value, we take this as peace, but in the Bible, it has much more depth. Shalom is the “webbing together of God, humans, and all creation in justice, fulfillment, and delight.”1 It was not an armistice between co-existing entities or some distant deity and creatures. Shalom was a state of affairs where the needs and desires of all creation were rightly ordered, and joyful wonder and delight was found in its Creator and Savior.2
But the devious Serpent wanted a different world. The wily beast set a trap, and our first parents ultimately disobeyed God. And at that moment, an intruder barged in on God’s good creation. Unlike young Kevin in Home Alone, there were no crafty devices to repel the intruder. Sin crossed the threshold of creation, and not one thing was left intact or untouched. Everything God created was spoiled, ruined, broken, and marred by sin. Not only was enmity between God and man present, but the cosmos was at war within itself and with its Creator. There was no shalom; there was no peace. As the words from O Holy Night describe it, “long lay the world in sin and error pining.”
The world was now dark, turned in on itself, and at war. As humanity trudged on in its new direction, God gave the Prophets visions of a new, future reality. One that echoed Eden but was different and better. The visions and promises of Isaiah paint such a world where human wickedness was punished and righteousness prevailed, a land where valleys were made high and mountain tops made low, crooked paths made straight, where lamb and wolf lie down with one another, where God’s image-bearers would gather around a table and have their appetites filled, and where pain, sin, and death would be no more. It was a knitting together of all God’s creation in perfect harmony with its Creator and one another once again. But the only possibility was the God, who established shalom in the first place, would have to re-establish it Himself. So, a Child would be born of a virgin, a Son given, and on His shoulders the government – the Kingdom of God – would rest. He would be called the Prince of Peace.
“A thrill of hope the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn” the songwriter tells us. With Jesus’ birth, the plan to make all things right took a real and dramatic step as God said it would from the beginning (Gen. 3:15; Eph. 1:4; Rev. 13:8). The Prince of Peace steps into the broken world He created to re-order it, to restore it, and to make shalom. It was not merely détente with a chaotic, belligerent creation, but a full-on embrace and heightened restoration of all things where God’s image-bearers would be sons and daughters of the King and part of a royal priesthood, but only “by making peace through His blood, shed on the cross” (Col. 1:19-22; 1 John 3:1; 1 Peter 2:9). In Jesus’s Incarnation, death, resurrection, and now ascension, has the Light broken through the darkness and shalom advances upon a sinful, wild creation. And now we await His second Advent, where shalom will be fully restored.
As we live between the two Advents, our world is still helplessly at war with God and itself. One only needs to look at social media, a newspaper, or a news program to see such evidence. We as Christians are caught up in it too. Are we helpless in between the two Advents? Is the peace the Prince promises presently preoccupied? Where or who do we turn to while the nations rage? Ever so briefly, I want to propose we look to the Prince of Peace, and specifically at His humility.
The season of Advent gives us the opportunity to ponder with great awe, God becoming man. Paul tells us in Philippians, Christ demonstrated His humility in coming to dwell with us and His submission to the cross so we could be reconciled to God. If Christ is the example of humility, the opposite is a person full of pride. Pride, some might say, was the first sin in the universe, and is, as Augustine would observe, the chief mark of the unconverted. Pride is indignant at the wound the ego might incur. Pride breeds anger, envy, and resentment towards any so-called offender who might wound the ego. Pride is the cataract for self-awareness and introspection. It doesn’t allow a person to acknowledge their short-comings, failures, or sins. It doesn’t promote repentance or allow a person to make amends for the wrongs done. Pride is part and parcel of why creation is in upheaval, groaning for its day of redemption. On the other hand, humility does the opposite of pride. Humility leads us to self-denial, sacrifice, and restoration – all chief traits we see in the life of the Prince of Peace, Jesus Christ. And until He returns to make all things right, peace be with you.
1. Cornelius Plantinga, Not The Way It’s Supposed To Be: A Breviary of Sin. (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans Publishing Company, 1995), 10.
2. Ibid.
He entered Jericho and was passing through. And behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was small in stature. So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was about to pass the way. And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried and came down and received Him joyfully. And when they saw it, they all grumbled, “He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.” And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Due to the holidays, today's devotional is a repost from a previous year. We hope you enjoy it, and find it to be as relevant today as it was then. We will resume sending new devotionals next week, and pray that they continue to be a blessing to you throught the coming year.
How far are you willing to go to see something great? Have you made the trek to the Grand Canyon or another national park? Have you climbed a high mountain? Have you seen the sun rise over the ocean? Have you stood before a majestic waterfall and felt its power? Have you gone across the country for your favorite band or team? Have you hopped on a plane to surprise someone you love? Maybe you haven’t seen or done some of these things, but the mere mention of them stirs your desire. Most of us aren’t content with a postcard from the Grand Canyon. We want to go. We want to see. And when we see something great and glorious, it changes us. The life that made sense suddenly feels inadequate. The priorities that seemed right suddenly appear trivial. Sometimes we see something that changes everything. Or like Zacchaeus, we see Someone who changes everything.
Imagine what Zacchaeus had seen. He was not just a tax collector. He was the chief tax collector, and he was rich. He had tasted the pleasures of power and wealth. He had seen the best that the world had to offer, yet he was still looking. “He was seeking to see who Jesus was.” But Zacchaeus had two problems: he wasn’t popular, and he wasn’t tall. The crowds that followed Jesus were not kind to vertically challenged tax collectors. But Zacchaeus was willing to go far to see something great. The little tax man ran ahead of the crowds. He found a low-hanging branch and started to climb. He ignored the shame for a shot—a shot to see Jesus. Zacchaeus was looking for Jesus, but he suddenly realized that Jesus was looking for him. The seeker had been sought; the lost had been found. Seeing Jesus changed the way Zacchaeus saw everything else. Everything that had been great for Zacchaeus faded in the presence of the glory of Christ. Zacchaeus’ use of power was no longer desirable, but despicable. His hoarding of wealth was no longer gratifying, but gross. In a moment, by the power of God, Zacchaeus was becoming a new person in Christ. That radical transformation quickly overflowed into a new commitment to radical generosity. Zacchaeus had hurt others by taking, but now he would help others by giving. All because he saw Jesus, and he knew that Jesus had seen and loved him.
Perhaps we’ve gone to great lengths to see something beautiful at some point in our lives. But how far are we willing to go to see Jesus? When we’ve seen the best the world has to offer, and we’re still looking, will we seek to see Jesus? Do we realize that the crowd around us—no matter who they are—can make it difficult to see Him for who He really is? What would it look like for us to get above the crowd and see Jesus? As much as we would love to control the process, Jesus flips the script. He makes the first move. He comes to our place. He sees us, and if we really see Him, He must have opened our eyes. So before we think about extending ourselves, we must consider how Jesus extended Himself. How far did Jesus go to see the greatest sight—the glory of God in the joy of His redeemed people? He left His home so that we would be brought home to God. He was torn so that we would be mended. He was poured out so that we would be filled. He was disfigured so that we would be beautiful. He was hated so that we would be loved. He closed His eyes in death so that we would open our eyes and share in His resurrection life. Have we seen this Jesus? If we have, it should be our joy to extend ourselves in new ways. How far are we willing to go to see something great? To see Jesus and to help others see Him? Will we stop and climb above the crowd? Will we look and listen for Jesus in His Word? And will we follow wherever He leads?
When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down:
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
Therefore, knowing the fear of the Lord, we persuade others. But what we are is known to God, and I hope it is known also to your conscience. We are not commending ourselves to you again but giving you cause to boast about us, so that you may be able to answer those who boast about outward appearance and not about what is in the heart. For if we are beside ourselves, it is for God; if we are in our right mind, it is for you. For the love of Christ controls us, because we have concluded this: that one has died for all, therefore all have died; and he died for all, that those who live might no longer live for themselves but for him who for their sake died and was raised.
From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to himself, not counting their trespasses against them, and entrusting to us the message of reconciliation. Therefore, we are ambassadors for Christ, God making his appeal through us. We implore you on behalf of Christ, be reconciled to God. For our sake he made him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in him we might become the righteousness of God.
Working together with him, then, we appeal to you not to receive the grace of God in vain. For he says,
“In a favorable time I listened to you, and in a day of salvation I have helped you.”
Behold, now is the favorable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
As we begin 2021, we find ourselves in one of the most anticipated years in recent memory. After the challenges of 2020, people around the world are eager for something new and different. While the world often focuses on circumstantial change, the Lord has given us everything we need to seek the kind of new that brings real and lasting change. In 2 Corinthians 5 and 6, Paul teaches us that in Christ we have a different message (the gospel of Jesus Christ) that makes us different people (new creations) on a different mission (being ambassadors for Christ).
Here are three short prayers that invite the Lord to make us new this year.
“May the love of Christ control us.”
Last year revealed how little control we actually have. Governments and institutions tried to control people in the midst of a pandemic. We tried to control what we could as fear and frustration boiled over. In 2020, fear, hatred, and self-preservation were in the driver’s seat for many. Sin is selfishness, and it twists us to claim the control that only the Sovereign Lord has. But Paul shows us a better way. Those who are in Christ know the One who came, lived, died, and rose again. He died so that those who live in Him might no longer live for themselves, but for Him. In this new year, may the Gospel of Jesus Christ be the primary message of our lives. As we lean into the greatest good news, may Christ’s love for us control us.
“May we become who we are.”
Like a sponge, when we’re squeezed, whatever is inside comes out. Last year squeezed us, and the revelations were not always pretty. The world is always calling us to be something, do something, earn something, and prove ourselves. We need to become who we’re not. But in Christ, we’re called to become who we are. If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come, and we are new creations in Him (2 Cor. 5:17). We already enjoy the assurance of His love, forgiveness, and presence. We already have a new heart, new eyes, and a new mission. The Christian life is not about becoming something we’re not; it’s about growing up in the fullness of what we already have in Him. We don’t live for Christ to earn His acceptance; we live for Christ because we already have it. As we unpack all that we have in Christ already, may we become who we are in Him.
“May we be ambassadors for Christ.”
The world feels like a constant war between millions of little kings and queens. With people pushing their own agendas, conflict is unavoidable. Yet someone has said, “There’s always room for servants,” and that’s what Christians are called to be. We are not the king or queen; we worship the King of Kings. We are ambassadors for Christ, and that calling reframes our life’s mission. We don’t have our own message; we are carrying the greatest message in history. We don’t live for ourselves; we are living for Him and His Kingdom. And we don’t have the power in ourselves; we are filled with His Spirit to fulfill His calling. The world’s empty messages produce empty people on empty missions. But in Christ, the gospel creates new people on a new mission for the reconciliation of the world. How is the Lord calling us to be His ambassadors today?
“New” in the world always has a time stamp, but “new” in Christ never expires. As the world grows old around us, may we cling to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the evergreen news of His saving love. That’s the kind of new we should want this year, the kind that would make us trees planted by streams of water, that yield their fruit in season and whose leaves do not wither (Psalm 1:3).
Praise the LORD!
Oh give thanks to the LORD, for he is good,
for his steadfast love endures forever!
Who can utter the mighty deeds of the LORD,
or declare all his praise?
Blessed are they who observe justice,
who do righteousness at all times!
Remember me, O LORD, when you show favor to your people;
help me when you save them,
that I may look upon the prosperity of your chosen ones,
that I may rejoice in the gladness of your nation,
that I may glory with your inheritance.
Both we and our fathers have sinned;
we have committed iniquity; we have done wickedness.
Our fathers, when they were in Egypt,
did not consider your wondrous works;
they did not remember the abundance of your steadfast love,
but rebelled by the sea, at the Red Sea.
Yet he saved them for his name's sake,
that he might make known his mighty power.
He rebuked the Red Sea, and it became dry,
and he led them through the deep as through a desert.
So he saved them from the hand of the foe
and redeemed them from the power of the enemy.
And the waters covered their adversaries;
not one of them was left.
Then they believed his words;
they sang his praise.
But they soon forgot his works;
they did not wait for his counsel.
But they had a wanton craving in the wilderness,
and put God to the test in the desert;
he gave them what they asked,
but sent a wasting disease among them.
When men in the camp were jealous of Moses
and Aaron, the holy one of the LORD,
the earth opened and swallowed up Dathan,
and covered the company of Abiram.
Fire also broke out in their company;
the flame burned up the wicked.
They made a calf in Horeb
and worshiped a metal image.
They exchanged the glory of God
for the image of an ox that eats grass.
They forgot God, their Savior,
who had done great things in Egypt,
wondrous works in the land of Ham,
and awesome deeds by the Red Sea.
Therefore he said he would destroy them—
had not Moses, his chosen one,
stood in the breach before him,
to turn away his wrath from destroying them.
Then they despised the pleasant land,
having no faith in his promise.
They murmured in their tents,
and did not obey the voice of the LORD.
Therefore he raised his hand and swore to them
that he would make them fall in the wilderness,
and would make their offspring fall among the nations,
scattering them among the lands.
Then they yoked themselves to the Baal of Peor,
and ate sacrifices offered to the dead;
they provoked the LORD to anger with their deeds,
and a plague broke out among them.
Then Phinehas stood up and intervened,
and the plague was stayed.
And that was counted to him as righteousness
from generation to generation forever.
They angered him at the waters of Meribah,
and it went ill with Moses on their account,
for they made his spirit bitter,
and he spoke rashly with his lips.
They did not destroy the peoples,
as the LORD commanded them,
but they mixed with the nations
and learned to do as they did.
They served their idols,
which became a snare to them.
They sacrificed their sons
and their daughters to the demons;
they poured out innocent blood,
the blood of their sons and daughters,
whom they sacrificed to the idols of Canaan,
and the land was polluted with blood.
Thus they became unclean by their acts,
and played the whore in their deeds.
Then the anger of the LORD was kindled against his people,
and he abhorred his heritage;
he gave them into the hand of the nations,
so that those who hated them ruled over them.
Their enemies oppressed them,
and they were brought into subjection under their power.
Many times he delivered them,
but they were rebellious in their purposes
and were brought low through their iniquity.
Nevertheless, he looked upon their distress,
when he heard their cry.
For their sake he remembered his covenant,
and relented according to the abundance of his steadfast love.
He caused them to be pitied
by all those who held them captive.
Save us, O LORD our God,
and gather us from among the nations,
that we may give thanks to your holy name
and glory in your praise.
Blessed be the LORD, the God of Israel,
from everlasting to everlasting!
And let all the people say, “Amen!”
Praise the LORD!
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
During the ravaging storm of the Holocaust, the French village of Le Chambon was, in the words of one Jewish woman, “the rainbow.” This small community of Christians risked their lives in the imitation of Christ by offering refuge for hundreds of Jews, many of whom were children, fleeing from Nazi controlled Europe. Author Philip Hallie wept when he first discovered a short article on what happened in Le Chambon and describes returning to the story, “And to my surprise, again the spear, again the tears, again the frantic, painful pleasure that spills into the mind when a deep, deep need is being satisfied, or when a deep wound is starting to heal. . . . Those involuntary tears had been an expression of moral praise, praise pressed out of my whole personality like the juice of a grape.” A celebration of goodness amid great darkness such as this is a witness to the piercing praise of God’s relentless love in Psalm 106.
This Psalm is a prayer through the story of God’s wonderous works of salvation in response to His people’s rebellion, bookended by the words “praise the LORD.” The opening praise and petition quickly turns to a reflection on the people of God’s tragic past: insurrection, selfishness, political and religious jealousy, bellyaching and griping, angry outbursts, cultural assimilation and corruption, even the monstrous murder of their own children. For all this, a dementia of the soul is at its root: “They did not remember the abundance of your steadfast love.”
In forgetting God, “They exchanged the glory of God for the image of an ox that eats grass.” It is tempting to think, “That’s ridiculous! How could they be so ignorant?” But if we first take the log out of our own eyes, we might see things a bit differently. We too “soon forget” the relentless love of God revealed in Jesus and trade in the “radiance of the glory of God” (Hebrews 1:3) for self-serving pleasure and power. Our culture teaches us that when things do not go our way, we should grab life by the horns (pun intended) and make things work out the way we want. Take control. Get to the top. Win at all costs. All will be right in the world when our side is in control. Right? Wrong. Lies have consequences, personally and publicly, and they destroy relationships all the way to death, foremost with God and finally with ourselves, everyone, and everything.
Even though we are prone to forget, God remembers His unbreakable promise of redeeming love: “For their sake he remembered his covenant, and relented according to the abundance of his steadfast love.” The prophet Isaiah compares God’s gracious memory to that of a mother, “Can a woman forget her nursing child? . . . Even these may forget, yet I will not forget you” (Isaiah 49:15). God’s long-suffering love answers our deepest distress through the life, death, and bodily resurrection of Jesus. To the criminal’s cry on the cross—“remember me when you come into your kingdom”—Jesus says, “Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise” (Luke 23:42-43). In Him alone, we are saved from the heinous power of evil and set free to celebrate God’s astonishing goodness through a grateful life of justice and righteousness.
When we see our sin through the love sown by the heart of our Savior, then tears of praise may pierce our present darkness and heal our deepest wounds. As Madeleine L’ Engle writes, “We draw people to Christ not by loudly discrediting what they believe, by telling them how wrong they are and how right we are, but by showing them a light that is so lovely that they want with all their hearts to know the source of it.” May that be true of you and of me. Amen.
And when Jesus had crossed again in the boat to the other side, a great crowd gathered about him, and he was beside the sea. Then came one of the rulers of the synagogue, Jairus by name, and seeing him, he fell at his feet and implored him earnestly, saying, “My little daughter is at the point of death. Come and lay your hands on her, so that she may be made well and live.” And he went with him.
And a great crowd followed him and thronged about him. And there was a woman who had had a discharge of blood for twelve years, and who had suffered much under many physicians, and had spent all that she had, and was no better but rather grew worse. She had heard the reports about Jesus and came up behind him in the crowd and touched his garment. For she said, “If I touch even his garments, I will be made well.” And immediately the flow of blood dried up, and she felt in her body that she was healed of her disease. And Jesus, perceiving in himself that power had gone out from him, immediately turned about in the crowd and said, “Who touched my garments?” And his disciples said to him, “You see the crowd pressing around you, and yet you say, ‘Who touched me?’” And he looked around to see who had done it. But the woman, knowing what had happened to her, came in fear and trembling and fell down before him and told him the whole truth. And he said to her, “Daughter, your faith has made you well; go in peace, and be healed of your disease.”
While he was still speaking, there came from the ruler's house some who said, “Your daughter is dead. Why trouble the Teacher any further?” But overhearing what they said, Jesus said to the ruler of the synagogue, “Do not fear, only believe.” And he allowed no one to follow him except Peter and James and John the brother of James. They came to the house of the ruler of the synagogue, and Jesus saw a commotion, people weeping and wailing loudly. And when he had entered, he said to them, “Why are you making a commotion and weeping? The child is not dead but sleeping.” And they laughed at him. But he put them all outside and took the child's father and mother and those who were with him and went in where the child was. Taking her by the hand he said to her, “Talitha cumi,” which means, “Little girl, I say to you, arise.” And immediately the girl got up and began walking (for she was twelve years of age), and they were immediately overcome with amazement. And he strictly charged them that no one should know this, and told them to give her something to eat.
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Have you ever wondered if Jesus loves you? I know I have. When we encounter death and disease it causes us to question the goodness and presence of God.
In Mark 5:21-43, we witness several layers of God’s kingdom agenda and ministry. First, we see that Jesus cares about individual people. Jairus, this “ruler of the synagogue”, had a twelve-year-old daughter who was so sick that she was “at the point of death.” Nothing but a miracle would keep her from dying. Jesus allowed this father’s begging request to direct Him down that day’s path of ministry. What a relief! Jesus cares about those who are sick and dying!
As the story moves along, tension builds as we see Jesus also cares for more people than just Jairus and his daughter. As Jesus journeyed toward Jairus’ home, another chronic need crossed His path. A woman with a “discharge of blood” (likely a menstrual flow that would not stop) saw her opportunity to be healed. She reached out to touch Jesus’ robe. Why did she do that instead of falling at Jesus’ feet like Jairus? Shame and uncleanness would have caused her to shy away from seeing Jesus. She also likely could not stand the thought of another failed healing attempt. After she touched Jesus’ garment, immediately His healing power flowed from Him into her to cure her incessant flow of blood. This stopped Jesus in His tracks. What is He going to do? Will He be angry? Will He just move on? He has a little girl to heal. As Jesus’ attention shifts from Jairus’ daughter toward this ailing woman, we see that Jesus is willing to have His attention diverted. But what about Jairus’ dying daughter?
In this narrative tension, we can see one final thing. Jesus’ ways are not our ways. Jesus knows and sees things beyond our comprehension. He is working with our sense of time (chronological) and God’s sense of time (cosmic). Jesus, who is fully human, experienced the limitation of chronological time. But being fully God, Jesus is also the alpha and the omega, the beginning and end of time simultaneously. He knew that chronologically it did not make sense for Him to stop to give attention to this bleeding woman. The crowd would have agreed. But He also knew cosmically, He could give this woman attention and actually heal two people in one day.
This must be known by us as we explore our own story and our own suffering, as we seek to reconcile that with who God is. Jesus cares about you and your suffering. Jesus knows what we are going through with Covid-19 and the countless other diseases taking lives. Jesus offers something that transcends physical healing, which is forgiveness of our ultimate ailment, sin, and eternal life beyond this one. This is why He died and rose again. This is the ultimate meaning behind these stories of healing. People do get healed which is amazing. But people also die which is devastating. God uses both for our good.
John quotes Jesus as saying, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live, and everyone who lives and believes in me shall never die. Do you believe this?” Well, do you? Might Jesus’ vision for our lives, which includes healing and death, also include a mysterious, sacramental healing that goes beyond this life? Reach out in faith and see. Fall at His feet and talk to Him. And when you do, He will say to you, “I say to you, ‘Arise.’” May it be so wherever God has you.
He went away from there and came to his hometown, and his disciples followed him. And on the Sabbath he began to teach in the synagogue, and many who heard him were astonished, saying, “Where did this man get these things? What is the wisdom given to him? How are such mighty works done by his hands? Is not this the carpenter, the son of Mary and brother of James and Joses and Judas and Simon? And are not his sisters here with us?” And they took offense at him. And Jesus said to them, “A prophet is not without honor, except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household.” And he could do no mighty work there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and healed them. And he marveled because of their unbelief.
And he went about among the villages teaching.
And he called the twelve and began to send them out two by two, and gave them authority over the unclean spirits. He charged them to take nothing for their journey except a staff—no bread, no bag, no money in their belts— but to wear sandals and not put on two tunics. And he said to them, “Whenever you enter a house, stay there until you depart from there. And if any place will not receive you and they will not listen to you, when you leave, shake off the dust that is on your feet as a testimony against them.” So they went out and proclaimed that people should repent. And they cast out many demons and anointed with oil many who were sick and healed them.
King Herod heard of it, for Jesus' name had become known. Some said, “John the Baptist has been raised from the dead. That is why these miraculous powers are at work in him.” But others said, “He is Elijah.” And others said, “He is a prophet, like one of the prophets of old.” But when Herod heard of it, he said, “John, whom I beheaded, has been raised.” For it was Herod who had sent and seized John and bound him in prison for the sake of Herodias, his brother Philip's wife, because he had married her. For John had been saying to Herod, “It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife.” And Herodias had a grudge against him and wanted to put him to death. But she could not, for Herod feared John, knowing that he was a righteous and holy man, and he kept him safe. When he heard him, he was greatly perplexed, and yet he heard him gladly.
But an opportunity came when Herod on his birthday gave a banquet for his nobles and military commanders and the leading men of Galilee. For when Herodias's daughter came in and danced, she pleased Herod and his guests. And the king said to the girl, “Ask me for whatever you wish, and I will give it to you.” And he vowed to her, “Whatever you ask me, I will give you, up to half of my kingdom.” And she went out and said to her mother, “For what should I ask?” And she said, “The head of John the Baptist.” And she came in immediately with haste to the king and asked, saying, “I want you to give me at once the head of John the Baptist on a platter.” And the king was exceedingly sorry, but because of his oaths and his guests he did not want to break his word to her. And immediately the king sent an executioner with orders to bring John's head. He went and beheaded him in the prison and brought his head on a platter and gave it to the girl, and the girl gave it to her mother. When his disciples heard of it, they came and took his body and laid it in a tomb.
The apostles returned to Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. And he said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves.
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Part of growing up is learning the valuable art of “omission,” and for the most part, this trait is a very good thing. For example, we omit words from our vocabulary that cause harm; we omit topics from our conversations that bring discomfort; we omit stories from our repertoire that embarrass or shame. Yes, omission can be a positive, healthy thing.
However, omission can also be a dangerous thing, particularly when it comes to the more challenging aspects of our Christian faith. One key example: the word persecution. It’s amazing how uncomfortable that word makes us feel. We often tip-toe around it or even pretend that it is an antiquated idea. And yet persecution in the life of a believer should be expected. Though we don’t know what form of persecution we will experience in our lifetime, we must take to heart the words in 2 Timothy 3:12: “Indeed, all who desire to live a godly life in Christ Jesus will be persecuted…” and Matthew 10:22: “…you will be hated by all for my name’s sake.”
Knowing that persecution will be a very real and humbling aspect of our lives, how then should we respond when we feel or see opposition to our faith?
1. We should rejoice.
“…We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame…” (Romans 5:3-5)
Though rejoicing in suffering does not come naturally to our human minds, we can have complete confidence—even joy—in knowing that God is using persecution and other forms of suffering for His glory and to further spread the gospel.
2. We should take comfort in knowing that Jesus can sympathize with our suffering.
“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief…” (Isaiah 53:3)
Elisabeth Elliot, a spiritual hero of mine, once said, “It’s He who was the Word before the foundation of the world, suffering as a lamb slain. And He has a lot up His sleeve that you and I haven’t the slightest idea about now. He’s told us enough so that we know suffering is never for nothing.” How reassuring it is to know that The Lamb who was Slain fully understands our suffering and reassures us that it is “never for nothing.”
3. We should look up.
“So when they had come together, they asked him, ‘Lord, will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?’ He said to them, ‘It is not for you to know times or seasons that the Father has fixed by his own authority. But you will receive power when the Holy Spirit has come upon you, and you will be my witnesses in Jerusalem and in all Judea and Samaria, and to the end of the earth.’ And when he had said these things, as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him out of their sight. And while they were gazing into heaven as he went, behold, two men stood by them in white robes, and said, ‘Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking into heaven? This Jesus, who was taken up from you into heaven, will come in the same way as you saw him go into heaven.’” (Acts 1:6-11)
One of my favorite parts of corporate worship comes right before the benediction. Our pastor will say, “look up and anticipate the day of the Lord’s return.” This comes from Acts 1, where we read of Jesus’ Ascension. When we “look up,” we mirror Jesus’ disciples as they watched Him rise into heaven, remembering what He had done and anticipating what He has yet to do. As we face persecution in our Christian walk, let us not forget to also “look up” as a way of remembering, anticipating, and taking comfort in His perfect plan.
The apostles returned to Jesus and told him all that they had done and taught. And he said to them, “Come away by yourselves to a desolate place and rest a while.” For many were coming and going, and they had no leisure even to eat. And they went away in the boat to a desolate place by themselves. Now many saw them going and recognized them, and they ran there on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When he went ashore he saw a great crowd, and he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. And he began to teach them many things. And when it grew late, his disciples came to him and said, “This is a desolate place, and the hour is now late. Send them away to go into the surrounding countryside and villages and buy themselves something to eat.” But he answered them, “You give them something to eat.” And they said to him, “Shall we go and buy two hundred denarii worth of bread and give it to them to eat?” And he said to them, “How many loaves do you have? Go and see.” And when they had found out, they said, “Five, and two fish.” Then he commanded them all to sit down in groups on the green grass. So they sat down in groups, by hundreds and by fifties. And taking the five loaves and the two fish, he looked up to heaven and said a blessing and broke the loaves and gave them to the disciples to set before the people. And he divided the two fish among them all. And they all ate and were satisfied. And they took up twelve baskets full of broken pieces and of the fish. And those who ate the loaves were five thousand men.
And he got into the boat with them, and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
I can imagine the disciples’ reaction when Jesus told them, “ You give them something to eat” (v. 37). In surveying the size of the crowd, they would have figured out pretty quickly that this was an impossible assignment. The best strategy they could come up with was to suggest buying two hundred denarii worth of bread to feed the massive crowd (some commentators say that this would be equal to a whole year’s wages for a laborer). This response reveals that they had not yet learned to depend on Jesus for their needs. Instead of seeking Him in humility and trusting in Him to provide, they figured out the cost of the food and inferred that they could not supply it.
What was Jesus after with them? He is the best teacher who has ever lived, and one of His teaching strategies was to put His disciples in real-life situations that could teach them long-lasting lessons that would not stick in the same way in a classroom. I see this unforgettable incident as teaching the disciples both lessons in ministry and lessons in Christology (the person and work of Christ). Here are two that stand out:
1. Ministry lesson: They learned a ministry lesson that they would never forget (which was later proven by their ministry in the Book of Acts): What you need for them, you get from Him. In other words, in and of themselves, they did not have the ability to meet the crowds’ needs. However, in Christ, they had more than enough to meet the people’s needs, as emphasized by Mark’s observation that every person ate and was satisfied and that there was food leftover (vv. 42-43). In a time when many churches and ministries in our society have a lot of worldly resources, it is easy to drift into depending on our own resources, strategies, programs, and abilities. When we do that, we will turn into pragmatists who reduce Jesus’ definition of success to things we actually can achieve in our strength (gathering and entertaining crowds) instead of depending on Him for something that we cannot achieve with our own abilities (being and making disciples). The Church is not in the business of self-improvement; the Church is in the business of seeing the dead raised to life. Only God can raise the dead to life, and He does so through people who are foolish enough in the world’s eyes to preach nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified (1 Corinthians 2:2).
2. Christology lesson: They also learned an unforgettable lesson about the person and purpose of Jesus. By putting the disciples in a desperate situation that revealed their inability, Jesus prepared them to see His ability. In not only cognitively knowing but tangibly experiencing their own lack, they were prepared to never forget Jesus’ abundance. While our surface-level problem might not be feeding like the disciples, we do experience the same root issue that they did: not trusting God’s provision. For example, control is a major idol of the human heart. It is more deeply cultivated in our context as we live in a culture that teaches us to believe that seeking control over our lives in a variety of ways (like our bank accounts, career achievement, approval of others, our children’s success, etc.) is the best way to live. If the past year has revealed anything, it’s that we’re not in control, and attempting to secure control is not the best way to live. I think that the collective experience of our lack of control is one of the reasons why we see such anger and anxiety in our culture today. Jesus offers a better way based on who He is. In Psalm 23:1, David says that because the Lord is his Shepherd, he does not lack anything. He has everything he needs. This is confirmed in both biblical examples and in historical testimonies of men and women who might have had extremely difficult life circumstances, but who experienced God Himself was enough. In this story, the disciples learned that Jesus is fully God and therefore has absolutely no lack whatsoever. The ESV Study Bible notes, “As God provided manna in the desert (Deuteronomy 8:3, 16), so Jesus provides food in a deserted place.” Therefore, this same Jesus who is fully God in power and abundance also has compassion for people who can do nothing for themselves and delights in taking care of them and Himself being their portion (v. 34), which He most fully demonstrated on the cross (Romans 5:8; Romans 8:32). Today, Jesus is teaching us the same lesson He taught His disciples, one that is more relevant than ever.
Immediately he made his disciples get into the boat and go before him to the other side, to Bethsaida, while he dismissed the crowd. And after he had taken leave of them, he went up on the mountain to pray. And when evening came, the boat was out on the sea, and he was alone on the land. And he saw that they were making headway painfully, for the wind was against them. And about the fourth watch of the night he came to them, walking on the sea. He meant to pass by them, but when they saw him walking on the sea they thought it was a ghost, and cried out, for they all saw him and were terrified. But immediately he spoke to them and said, “Take heart; it is I. Do not be afraid.” And he got into the boat with them, and the wind ceased. And they were utterly astounded, for they did not understand about the loaves, but their hearts were hardened.
When they had crossed over, they came to land at Gennesaret and moored to the shore. And when they got out of the boat, the people immediately recognized him and ran about the whole region and began to bring the sick people on their beds to wherever they heard he was. And wherever he came, in villages, cities, or countryside, they laid the sick in the marketplaces and implored him that they might touch even the fringe of his garment. And as many as touched it were made well.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
What could only seem like déjà vu from the past two decades happened yet again this past Sunday evening when Tom Brady, along with his teammates, won the Super Bowl. With his seventh title, I am reminded of his 60 Minutes interview in 2005 after Brady’s third Super Bowl title. Midway through his time with Steve Kroft, Brady muses, “Why do I have three Super Bowl rings, and still think there is something greater out there for me?...I reached my goal, my dream, my life, but there’s got to be more than this?” Upon hearing this shocking revelation, Kroft asks, “What’s the answer?” To which Brady quickly replies, “I wish I knew.”
At the end of Mark 6, we find Jesus quickly hurrying off His disciples into a boat and dismissing the crowd of over 5,000. After this episode, Jesus ascends a mountain for a time of prayer. In Scripture, mountains are symbolic for meeting with God. On Horeb, Moses saw the bush burning; and with Sinai, Moses and Elijah come face to face with God on separate occasions. Mountains also represent a refuge in times of trouble (cf. 1 Kings 19). And Mountains are not only a refuge for the saints of the Old Testament but for Jesus too. But why would Jesus need refuge?
From John’s account, we discover a fervor had taken over the crowd, and they wished to make Jesus king (John 6:15). Jesus perceiving their intention disrupts their plan. Rather than being swept up in a nationalistic coup, Jesus forcefully sends His disciples to the other side of the sea, and He retreats. How do you make a King more of a king? The crowd wishes to bestow an identity on Jesus that was not theirs to give. Jesus leans into His Father on the mountainside to be reminded of who He is and His mission. Each time in Mark’s Gospel, when Jesus encounters an impassioned crowd and great ministry activity, Jesus retreats to spend time alone with the Father (Mark 1:35-39; 6:45; 14:26-42). One could also suppose Jesus is exhausted from having to quell an unruly, passionate crowd and their fever pitch. And we must not forget that this takes place in the wilderness, and the wilderness is dangerous and full of temptations (cf. Mark 1:12).
The temptation faced was to take on an identity that is altogether something wholly outside of Jesus’ mission. Jesus came not as a Messiah-Warrior, ready to vanquish the enemies of Israel and establish David’s rule on Earth. Jesus comes as the Suffering-Servant ready to vanquish the enemies of Creation – sin, death, and Satan – through His death and resurrection. The unruly crowd wants an identity that Jesus will not concede. You and I face a similar temptation. We are surrounded by voices speaking of a way to shape our identity, and our own heart falls prey to the whispers. The question is, do we allow these voices to form us, or do we seek our identity in the God who made us and called us?
We are busy people. We fill our calendars with appointments, meetings, and social expectations galore. Our years are filled with plans, parties, and projects. Henri Nouwen is onto this when he writes in The Way of the Heart, “There is seldom a period in which we do not know what to do, and we move through life in such a distracted way that we do not even take the time and rest to wonder if any of the things we think, say, or do are worth thinking, saying, or doing. We simply go along with the many “musts” and “oughts” that have been handed on us, and we live with them as if they were an authentic translation of the Gospel of our Lord.”
Societal pressure combined with internal angst, whether it’s to fit in, to look competent, or put together – the “musts” and “oughts” – places us squarely in a situation to be tempted. Will the rousing of the crowd and our heart overwhelm us? Will we give in so we can be loved and belong? Or in these moments, do we run to our Refuge, our Strength, and the One who promised to be our ever-present help? Who or what are we allowing to shape our identity? Whoever it is, or whatever it is, it will either be for our ruin or our restoration.
It is a great mercy that Jesus has been to the wilderness and overcome it. Jesus is not leading us out of a place He Himself has never been. In Christ’s wilderness moment, He shows us and leads us to the place we should go: our Father (cf. Matthew 26:36-46). But we cannot go there alone. We would never take one step in the direction of God, never mind the desire to actually be in the presence of God, if it were not for Christ. In Jesus alone we find salvation for what ails our soul, our identity. In Jesus alone are we led into the presence of the Father (John 14:6). A Father whose tenderness and love for us is one in which before we call He answers, and while we speak, He hears us (Isaiah 65:24). A Father who looks upon us as He looks upon His Son Jesus.
It would be fascinating to know what Brady thinks now after seven titles. Is his question – “Is there more than this?” – more prevalent, or has it faded? A sure-handed entry into Canton (home of the Pro Football Hall of Fame), bequeathed as the Greatest Of All Time, and yet, is Tom Brady still in the wilderness wondering where or to whom to turn? The 2005 interview describes a restlessness in every human heart: who or what can fulfill me? It is a question of identity, or, “Who Am I?” That restless heart can only be soothed by Jesus Christ. The love, belonging, life, and peace we so desperately want are found in Jesus alone.
He went out again beside the sea, and all the crowd was coming to him, and he was teaching them. And as he passed by, he saw Levi the son of Alphaeus sitting at the tax booth, and he said to him, “Follow me.” And he rose and followed him.
And as he reclined at table in his house, many tax collectors and sinners were reclining with Jesus and his disciples, for there were many who followed him. And the scribes of the Pharisees, when they saw that he was eating with sinners and tax collectors, said to his disciples, “Why does he eat with tax collectors and sinners?” And when Jesus heard it, he said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”
Danny grew up in the greatest city in North America and the rest of the Earth, College Station, Texas. He attended Texas A&M University (insert key exclamatory word here) where he met his future wife, Andrea. After graduating from TAMU in 2008, they got married and spent a year in college ministry together before moving to Philadelphia, PA where Andrea pursued a Master’s Degree in Biblical Counseling at Westminster Seminary while he did youth and young adult ministry at a church there. They moved back to Dallas in 2012 where he continued in high school ministry. Their daughter, Stella, was born in September of that year and their second daughter, Lila, was born in 2017. Danny first served as the Middle School Director at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and has since moved to ministering to high school students. His favorite past times include: Jesus, drinking coffee, growing beards, reading theology, dating my wife, going to the park with my daughters, and drinking more coffee. He love youth ministry, selfies, ultimate Frisbee, and coffee. Yes, he said coffee again.
Due to the inclement weather, today's devotional is a repost. We hope you enjoy it and find it to be as relevant today as it was then. We will resume sending new devotionals next week and pray that they continue to be a blessing to you through the coming year.
Recently I went to the dentist for the first time…in a while. I have a bad habit of avoiding dentists and doctors. Ultimately, I don’t want someone telling me that something is wrong with me or that I need to change something about my life. I want to live my life how I am living it, and I will ask for help if I really need it. However, as the ancient philosopher Socrates once said, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”
One of the fruits of reading the gospels is that it gives us a fresh opportunity to have our unexamined or partially examined life of following God adjusted or even over-hauled. In Mark 2:13-17, Jesus calls a new disciple, Levi (aka Matthew the Gospel writer). Levi was a tax-collector. This means that he voluntarily signed himself up to be viewed as a social outcast by his own people as well as by the Roman ruling over Israel in exchange to “climb the corporate ladder” of financial gain.
The key to understanding this passage and applying it to our lives is for us to remember the exhortation from the apostle Paul in Romans 12:3: do not think of yourself more highly than you ought. Do not remove yourself from the story by assuming you are not like the antagonist of this narrative, the scribes. If there is someone in this world that you think is beyond the saving grace of Jesus (or at least doesn’t deserve it like you do) then you are a scribe of the Pharisees.
The purpose of this story is to show the heart of Jesus for the lost, the outcast, and the corporate sell out. We see Jesus not only calling the tax collector Levi to follow Him, but also hosting a dinner party with Him and his tax collector buddies. The people who get a seat at the table of King Jesus are not the most righteous, but rather the filthiest of sinners. Why? Because we are ALL the filthiest of sinners in need of a Savior. The problem is some of us have forgotten where we came from and are now pretty selective in who we think deserves this grace, as if it could be earned at all.
As Presbyterians, we are excellent at catechizing our children in the faith and sitting under the teaching of the Word of God. But the risk of having a sensitivity for precise doctrine is that our eyes can drift from the God whom the doctrine is about to the doctrine itself which is the cardinal sin of the Pharisees. This leads us to neglect those outside the walls of the church, those who do not know this doctrine, those who may be categorized as pagans or unbelievers. This is to avoid the sin of antinomianism (the law doesn’t matter). But then we exchange one sin for another: legalism (the law is all that matters). We may know a lot about mercy, but we can struggle to live out and extend that mercy to those who are different from us, even “more sinful” than us for fear of their sin rubbing off on us. Levi had forsaken the faith and was hanging out with a rough crowd of sinners. When Jesus comes on the scene He runs, not to the seemingly righteous, but rather to those sinners. Why? Because, when they have their sin exposed they see their need for a Savior. When religious people hear about sin and the need for a Savior, they assume the preacher or Jesus must be talking about someone else.
Essentially, the dust and the dirt must always exist. The dust and the dirt of sin-stained people (you and I and the lost in our city) coming through these doors like you and like me must never be forgotten. God is a transcendent and holy God who hates sin. However, we must not forget that He is also imminent, near, and willing to rub shoulders with our humanity. We see this in Genesis 2 as God the potter molds Adam out of the dust of the earth and in the Gospels as the God-man, Jesus Christ, takes on flesh to rescue us from the grip that sin and death have upon us because of our rebellion against Him. Let us not avoid the depth of this passage for our hearts (like I avoid the dentist); not wanting to have the sin of judgment and condemnation in our hearts exposed. As we have our Pharisee heart exposed by Jesus in this story as He loves on and calls Levi the tax collector, we need only look to Jesus’ final words in v. 17: Those who are well (which none are) have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.
Now when the Pharisees gathered to him, with some of the scribes who had come from Jerusalem, they saw that some of his disciples ate with hands that were defiled, that is, unwashed. (For the Pharisees and all the Jews do not eat unless they wash their hands properly, holding to the tradition of the elders, and when they come from the marketplace, they do not eat unless they wash. And there are many other traditions that they observe, such as the washing of cups and pots and copper vessels and dining couches.) And the Pharisees and the scribes asked him, “Why do your disciples not walk according to the tradition of the elders, but eat with defiled hands?” And he said to them, “Well did Isaiah prophesy of you hypocrites, as it is written,
“‘This people honors me with their lips,
but their heart is far from me;
in vain do they worship me,
teaching as doctrines the commandments of men.’
You leave the commandment of God and hold to the tradition of men.”
And he said to them, “You have a fine way of rejecting the commandment of God in order to establish your tradition! For Moses said, ‘Honor your father and your mother’; and, ‘Whoever reviles father or mother must surely die.’ But you say, ‘If a man tells his father or his mother, “Whatever you would have gained from me is Corban”’ (that is, given to God)— then you no longer permit him to do anything for his father or mother, thus making void the word of God by your tradition that you have handed down. And many such things you do.”
And he called the people to him again and said to them, “Hear me, all of you, and understand: There is nothing outside a person that by going into him can defile him, but the things that come out of a person are what defile him.” And when he had entered the house and left the people, his disciples asked him about the parable. And he said to them, “Then are you also without understanding? Do you not see that whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile him, since it enters not his heart but his stomach, and is expelled?” (Thus he declared all foods clean.) And he said, “What comes out of a person is what defiles him. For from within, out of the heart of man, come evil thoughts, sexual immorality, theft, murder, adultery, coveting, wickedness, deceit, sensuality, envy, slander, pride, foolishness. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
“Keep vigilant watch over your heart;” the Proverb says, “that’s where life starts” (MSG, Proverbs 4:23). It is common to hear (at least in the South) people say things like, “Bless your heart” and to think of the heart as merely our sentimental emotions, a personal Hallmark Channel. However, the Jewish understanding of the heart, indeed Jesus’s meaning, is far more serious. The heart is the central power station of our lives. It is the source that directs and energizes the whole of our lives through our thoughts, emotions, and actions. We do not simply think from our hearts or feel from our hearts—We live from our hearts. The problem is that the human heart is notoriously and unavoidably “off.”
Jesus quotes the prophet Isaiah to the “godly folks” of his day, “this people honors me with their lips, but their heart is far from me.” When it comes to matters that really matter, it is possible to talk out of both sides of our mouths. We can say one thing and really live another. The Pharisees believed they were good with God and on the “right side of history” because they remained distinct from non-Jews by their culturally acceptable practices. In first century Jewish culture, all this washing was as normal and expected as getting dressed up to go to church is today. Jesus challenges the belief underneath the norm and says, “What comes out of a person . . . from within, out of the heart” is the real dirt. If the mess is inside of us, then help must come from the outside.
We can have the most beautiful church, sublime music, and powerful preaching, but it is all a wash if we miss the why. The heart of the matter is God—to love Him, to enjoy Him, to celebrate His beautiful-loving-goodness, to show and tell the whole world with the whole of our lives who is really in charge. But this requires cardiac clean-up work only God can do:
I will sprinkle clean water on you, and you shall be clean from all your uncleannesses, and from all your idols I will cleanse you. And I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. And I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh. And I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes and be careful to obey my rules (Ezekiel 36:25-27).
The writer Frederick Buechner tells the story of when he was a young man, not yet a Christian, hearing George Buttrick preach: “Jesus is crowned again and again in the hearts of those who believe in him amidst confession and tears and great laughter.” Buechner says, “When the phrase ‘great laughter’ came out . . . some wall inside me crumbled. I remember I was just bowled over. I remember tears springing from my eyes. . . . Maybe it’s true, maybe it’s all too good to be anything but true that brings with it the laughter of relief and release. Yes, it’s true, and what a difference that makes.” Only God can heal our hearts, but we are personally involved. It is our confession, our tears, our prayer of laughter from a heart set free that is called to participate in Christ’s love going out to heal the heart of world.
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
Every winter, I both anticipate and dread one of my family’s holiday traditions: watching the movie It’s a Wonderful Life on Christmas Eve. The anticipation probably makes sense to you—the movie is a timeless Christmas film filled with memorable quotes and a downright heartwarming final scene where the protagonist is reminded that “No man is a failure who has friends.” But in order to get to the triumphant ending, you must first watch the main character get to a point of dark and unsolvable desperation—a desperation so raw and relatable that I often get uncomfortable watching it.
My guess is that you too are uncomfortable with the idea of being desperate. For many, it is a sign of weakness; for others, it points to a terrifying lack of control; still others may view it as a state of complete humiliation. Let’s face it: we do not feel comfortable with the idea of being uncomfortable, so we avoid the feeling of being desperate at all costs.
But, I cannot help but wonder if we, as believers, should actually be the most openly desperate people out there. Let’s reevaluate this idea of desperation through the story of the Syrophoenician woman in Mark 7:24-30…
“And from there he arose and went away to the region of Tyre and Sidon. And he entered a house and did not want anyone to know, yet he could not be hidden. But immediately a woman whose little daughter had an unclean spirit heard of him and came and fell down at his feet. Now the woman was a Gentile, a Syrophoenician by birth. And she begged him to cast the demon out of her daughter. And he said to her, ‘Let the children be fed first, for it is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs.’ But she answered him, ‘Yes, Lord; yet even the dogs under the table eat the children's crumbs.’ And he said to her, ‘For this statement you may go your way; the demon has left your daughter.’ And she went home and found the child lying in bed and the demon gone.”
What we see in this passage is a woman who was truly at her wit’s end. She was fearful, scared, and likely exhausted by her lack of a solution. And yet, we also see in this story that the woman was fully confident in Jesus’ ability to save. Though she was broken, hurting, and also a seemingly unworthy person, she believed that Jesus was who He said He was and that gave her hope—hope to go before Him in her desperate state and fall at the feet of Jesus.
You see, hope is the element that keeps desperation from becoming true despair. In Him, our fears are calmed, our problems have perspective, and our desperation moves from shameful to appropriate in light of our overwhelming need for His grace in our lives. We are desperate people, whether we like the idea of that or not. We are broken; we face problems; and, perhaps most detrimentally, we are constantly plagued with sin. In light of this, the most appropriate response is not leaning on self-sufficiency, but rather leaning on Christ, our solid rock and true salvation.
Today, whether you feel the desperation in your life or not, remember who you truly are—a broken and needy sinner. But in that realization, do not despair; for in Jesus, you are never without hope.
Then he returned from the region of Tyre and went through Sidon to the Sea of Galilee, in the region of the Decapolis. And they brought to him a man who was deaf and had a speech impediment, and they begged him to lay his hand on him. And taking him aside from the crowd privately, he put his fingers into his ears, and after spitting touched his tongue. And looking up to heaven, he sighed and said to him, “Ephphatha,” that is, “Be opened.” And his ears were opened, his tongue was released, and he spoke plainly. And Jesus charged them to tell no one. But the more he charged them, the more zealously they proclaimed it. And they were astonished beyond measure, saying, “He has done all things well. He even makes the deaf hear and the mute speak.”
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
When we read the Bible, a helpful practice is to read it imaginatively, meaning that in the narratives, we should put ourselves in the events and imagine what it would be like to have been there. We should especially do this if we’ve heard a passage before and think we already know it. In Mark 7:31-37, we find a great example to read imaginatively—when Jesus heals a deaf and mute man. If we read this event in this manner, I think we will end up like the crowd at the end: astonished beyond measure (v. 37). We might also see ourselves in this event in a way that shows why the passage is still deeply impactful for us today. As we consider the context of Mark, we see that Jesus is not only performing a miraculous physical healing (something that was indeed a very important aspect of His compassionate ministry). He is also making a point to His disciples, who were slow to understand His teaching. Since the feeding of the 5000 in Mark 6, Jesus began to intensify the revealing of His person and purpose to His disciples, yet they did not give much of a response. Where the man was physically deaf, they were spiritually deaf. Yet just as Jesus healed the physical deafness of the man, He was in the process of healing the spiritual deafness of His disciples (as Mark will soon show us). They had been around Jesus, but they had not truly been receptive to what He was showing them about who He was and why He came. The same thing can be true for us today.
A.W. Tozer once wrote, “I venture to suggest that the one vital quality which the great saints had in common was spiritual receptivity…Receptivity is not a single thing; it is a compound rather, a blending of several elements within the soul. It is an affinity for, a bent toward, a sympathetic response to, a desire to have…It is a gift of God, indeed, but one which must be recognized and cultivated as any other gift if it is to realize the purpose for which it was given” (emphasis added). As is the case in Mark’s gospel, Jesus must give the gift of spiritual receptivity, and we must cultivate it when we receive it. How do we do so?
As I am writing this, it is crazy to think that we are about a year removed from COVID shutdowns taking place. Especially during those first few months, I remember many leaders calling for a total reimagination of ministry. During that season, I was struck by something J.T. English, a pastor in Colorado, said at that time: “With all the hype around how different the church is going to be post-COVID, I'm not buying. We don't need fresh takes; we need to remember something ancient. The church is a creature of the Word sung, prayed, and preached. Always has been, always will be.” While some things change and some adaptations are certainly important, I believe that the Bible teaches and Christian history proves that the most important things stay the same: Jesus is alive and reigning, and He is at work in and through His Church as His Word is preached, read, prayed, taught, sung and taken into our daily lives and relationships. Consequently, we cultivate the gift of spiritual receptivity by corporately and individually being attentive to God’s Word over and over again, and by praising Him and praying to Him as a response. We do not devote to soaking ourselves in Scripture so that God will love us, but because He already does loves us.
In “The Expulsive Power of a New Affection,” a sermon given by Scottish pastor Thomas Chalmers about 200 years ago, Chalmers rhetorically asks, “The love of the world cannot be expunged by a mere demonstration of the world’s worthlessness. But may it not be supplanted by the love of that which is more worthy than itself?” Two centuries later, we live in a culture where it is a constant danger to have our spiritual receptivity dulled by worldly attractions, but the more worthy love is still Christ, who first loved us and gave Himself for our sins on the cross. As we live into our calling as a church to be a creature of the Word, like He did for the disciples, may God give us the gift of spiritual receptivity so that we would treasure Him more than anything else in this world, the only treasure that will never let us down.
And he said to them, “Do you not yet understand?”
Tommy is Assistant Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church where he shepherds the Family Ministry. He has served in five different congregations before the Lord called him to PCPC in 2011. He is married to Priscilla, his wife of 21 years. They have four children, Austin, Elli, Lily and Judson.
A thoughtful, engaging question is good for the soul. The way Jesus used questions was perfectly stunning. His questions can draw us closer to Him.
Recently, one of our pastors asked a challenging question right out of the gate. His sermon began with this: “Do you truly understand Jesus Christ?” That question is penetrating and unsettling. Our honest response to that question could change our lives. In order to feel its weight, let’s expand on the word understand by inserting the definition— Do you truly understand Jesus and are you thoroughly familiar with the character and propensities of Him and grasp the significant implications and importance of His life?
Now, how would you answer this question?
One way to answer is factually. However, we know that a few bits of information does not get to the heart of the question. It is the difference between knowing about Jesus and knowing Jesus. A fifth grader who has a relationship with Christ could give a correct answer this question, and yet the most brilliant philosopher in the world would probably provide a well-articulated but incorrect answer. How would you answer? Whatever we do with this question, please don’t minimize it or ignore it but wrestle with it. Better yet, bring it to Jesus.
I have great news for you. Jesus made it possible for you and me to honestly and accurately answer this question! He wants you to understand and even delight in Him. He initiated the relationship. The Gospel makes it possible for His people to be thoroughly familiar with His matchless character and propensities and grasp His unrivaled significance. Amazing!
The “Word became flesh and dwelt among us” not to play a game of cosmic Jeopardy but to redeem us, adopt us, and bring us into union with Him. The entire book of Hebrews reveals not only the supremacy of Christ but also the access He gives us to actually know Him. The character and heart of Jesus is revealed in the Gospel, “when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of works done by us in righteousness, but according to his own mercy, by the washing of regeneration and renewal of the Holy Spirit, whom he poured out on us richly through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that being justified by his grace we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life. (Titus 3:4-7).
None of us fully understand Jesus. To comprehend the wonder and awe of our Lord and Savior will take all of eternity. But for you and me today, the process of honestly answering this question is good for our souls. Furthermore, in Mark 8, Jesus has more questions. These questions that He asked His disciples in the 1st century are still relevant for His disciples in the 21st century. Here are just a few
1. Do you not yet perceive or understand?
2. Are your hearts hardened?
3. Having eyes do you not see, and having ears do you not hear?
4. Do you not remember?
As we walk toward the cross and the empty tomb during this season of Lent, let’s use these questions to care for our soul. Do not answer these on your own but invite the Holy Spirit into the process. Otherwise, it is just brain exercise. The goal is not to get an A on the test but rather to know, love, and enjoy Jesus now.
A final invitation to you. If you would like a friend to walk with you as you honestly wrestle with these or any other questions about God, then please contact me or any of the pastors at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. This is an open invitation.
And they came to Bethsaida. And some people brought to him a blind man and begged him to touch him. And he took the blind man by the hand and led him out of the village, and when he had spit on his eyes and laid his hands on him, he asked him, “Do you see anything?” And he looked up and said, “I see people, but they look like trees, walking.” Then Jesus laid his hands on his eyes again; and he opened his eyes, his sight was restored, and he saw everything clearly. And he sent him to his home, saying, “Do not even enter the village.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
In a chapter titled “Seeing” in Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, Annie Dillard recounts the story of a young woman blinded from birth who was one of the first people to receive safe cataract surgery.
She was overwhelmed by the world’s brightness after the operation and kept her eyes shut for two weeks. When the woman finally opened her eyes again, “the more she now directed her gaze upon everything about her, the more it could be seen how an expression of gratitude and astonishment overspread her features; she repeatedly exclaimed: ‘Oh God! How beautiful!’” I wonder at this young woman’s experience of seeing for the first time and remember the blind man Jesus healed with the touch of his hand.
Jesus asks the man, “Do you see anything?” It is a question worth considering. The eyes, in the Biblical sense, are more than a complex system of optical nerves and tissue. They are mirrors of the heart, and seeing is a matter of what we most deeply believe to be true. It is possible to have 20/20 vision and remain spiritually blind.
There is more to Jesus’ two-step healing of the blind man than first meets the eye. The man is healed in part and then in full to point to the two-fold revealing of who Jesus really is. Peter rightly confesses Jesus as the Christ (Mark 8:29), but the Christ that Peter sees at first is different than the Christ who sees Him. Jesus on the cross and in the resurrection is the spiritual cataract surgery that opens our eyes to “see everything clearly.”
When the eyes of our hearts are baptized by the Spirit, we see our lives in the world with bi-focal vision. Christ has died; Christ is risen; and we live with joy and sorrow as witnesses to Christ who will come again. The already, “Oh God! How beautiful!” of Christ’s Kingdom is held together with the not-yet, “Oh God! Why?” We throw away old sin habits, and live vigorously with God by looking to Jesus, “the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross’ (Hebrews 12:2). Even as we see in a mirror dimly now, there is a coming day when we shall see face to face (1 Corinthians 13:12). “That is the heart of my hopes by day and my dreams by night,” George MacDonald writes, “to behold the face of Jesus seems to me the one thing to be desired.”
So Jesus again said to them, “Truly, truly, I say to you, I am the Door of the sheep. All who came before Me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the Door. If anyone enters by Me, he will be saved and will go in and out and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly. I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Reprinted from April 7, 2017
If you know anything about sheep, you know that they’re not the most impressive members of the animal kingdom. They’re not particularly beautiful, smart, or fast; but at least they can’t defend themselves! We can process the sheep scouting report with little emotional attachment until we remember that we’re often compared to sheep in the Scriptures. Suddenly, it feels personal. We’re not particularly beautiful, smart, or fast. We are helpless on our own. Let’s just say the sheep metaphor is not meant to puff us up. So why does the Lord love this imagery? When we grasp the reality of our vulnerability as sheep, we begin to see the glory of having a Good Shepherd. We scratch and claw to prove our worth as sheep, and all the while our Good Shepherd offers us everything we need. Jesus becomes the beauty, wisdom, and security of His sheep.
So what is the connection between a shepherd and a door? Remember, sheep are vulnerable on every side. So a good shepherd is eager to find a location where his sheep are enclosed. Imagine a natural setting where a mountain forms a back wall, and trees and fences seal off the sides. But there still must be a door for the sheep to go in and out of that pasture. When Jesus claims that He is the Door of the sheep, we should imagine Him placing Himself in this most crucial passageway. The lost sheep must go through Him to find good pasture. The found sheep must go through Him to leave. And all the threats and dangers outside the fold must go through Him to touch His flock. Jesus is the Door, and we all must ask, “Am I inside or outside the Door?” Outside of Christ, we are lost sheep who do not recognize His voice, who look at death and call it life, who look at Life and call Him death. But in Christ, as we walk through the Door, we hear His voice, respond, and find abundant life. The Good Shepherd laid down His own life to rescue us from death and give us life. Through His death and resurrection, Jesus has stood in the gap and overcome every threat to our life in Him. Truly, the Lord is our Shepherd, and we want for nothing. He gives us rest in verdant pastures. He leads us to pure, clean waters. He restores our weary souls. And wherever we walk—even through the valley of the shadow—He is with us. Jesus is the Door to abundant life with God. Have you entered by Him?
There is only one Christ, but as C.S. Lewis says, we are “little Christs.” There is only one Good Shepherd, but we are sheep who have become mini-shepherds. Jesus is the Door, but God often uses us as a door through which other people walk to connect with Jesus Christ. Whom has the Lord used to help you to see Jesus? Who has been a “door” for you? There have been so many doors in my life. I think of Ann, Frank, Leith, Kim, Todd, Jason, John, Mac, Mark, Russ, and Brent (and the list could go on and on). The Lord brings people into our lives to share His love, to speak His Word, and to live His life before us so that we can see what it means to follow the Good Shepherd.
As we think about extending ourselves for the cause of Christ, we’re praying that the Lord will open new doors for fruitful ministry in our church. Making it easier for people to park and make it through the door matters. Providing adequate facilities for children, youth, and adult communities matters. Having more space for ministries that have reached capacity matters. But the people will always be more significant than the project. The flock will always mean more than the facility. If we don’t catch the vision of every believer being a new door through which others can connect with the Door, parking lots and buildings won’t make a difference. Left to ourselves, we’re not that impressive. We’re just sheep. But the Good Shepherd became a Lamb who was slain in order to bring us back into the fold. By His grace, we are His sheep who are becoming shepherds that reflect His sacrificial love for the lost. We are doors that open to the Door.
As you pray this week, stop, listen, and follow. Stop and think about Jesus’ claim: “I am the Door.” Have you entered by Him? Do you believe that a day in His courts is better than a thousand elsewhere? Listen to His voice: “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly.” Do you know abundant life in Christ? Do you long for others to taste that life? Follow where He leads: “I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in the tents of wickedness” (Psalm 84:10). Is your ambition to be a faithful member of the family of God? What if we are the most important new doors at our church?
He entered Jericho and was passing through. And behold, there was a man named Zacchaeus. He was a chief tax collector and was rich. And he was seeking to see who Jesus was, but on account of the crowd he could not, because he was small in stature. So he ran on ahead and climbed up into a sycamore tree to see him, for he was about to pass the way. And when Jesus came to the place, He looked up and said to him, “Zacchaeus, hurry and come down, for I must stay at your house today.” So he hurried and came down and received Him joyfully. And when they saw it, they all grumbled, “He has gone in to be the guest of a man who is a sinner.” And Zacchaeus stood and said to the Lord, “Behold, Lord, the half of my goods I give to the poor. And if I have defrauded anyone of anything, I restore it fourfold.” And Jesus said to him, “Today salvation has come to this house, since he also is a son of Abraham. For the Son of Man came to seek and to save the lost.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Reprinted from May 5, 2017
How far are you willing to go to see something great? Have you made the trek to the Grand Canyon or another national park? Have you climbed a high mountain? Have you seen the sun rise over the ocean? Have you stood before a majestic waterfall and felt its power? Have you gone across the country for your favorite band or team? Have you hopped on a plane to surprise someone you love? Maybe you haven’t seen or done some of these things, but the mere mention of them stirs your desire. Most of us aren’t content with a postcard from the Grand Canyon. We want to go. We want to see. And when we see something great and glorious, it changes us. The life that made sense suddenly feels inadequate. The priorities that seemed right suddenly appear trivial. Sometimes we see something that changes everything. Or like Zacchaeus, we see Someone who changes everything.
Imagine what Zacchaeus had seen. He was not just a tax collector. He was the chief tax collector, and he was rich. He had tasted the pleasures of power and wealth. He had seen the best that the world had to offer, yet he was still looking. “He was seeking to see who Jesus was.” But Zacchaeus had two problems: he wasn’t popular, and he wasn’t tall. The crowds that followed Jesus were not kind to vertically challenged tax collectors. But Zacchaeus was willing to go far to see something great. The little tax man ran ahead of the crowds. He found a low-hanging branch and started to climb. He ignored the shame for a shot—a shot to see Jesus. Zacchaeus was looking for Jesus, but he suddenly realized that Jesus was looking for him. The seeker had been sought; the lost had been found. Seeing Jesus changed the way Zacchaeus saw everything else. Everything that had been great for Zacchaeus faded in the presence of the glory of Christ. Zacchaeus’ use of power was no longer desirable, but despicable. His hoarding of wealth was no longer gratifying, but gross. In a moment, by the power of God, Zacchaeus was becoming a new person in Christ. That radical transformation quickly overflowed into a new commitment to radical generosity. Zacchaeus had hurt others by taking, but now he would help others by giving. All because he saw Jesus, and he knew that Jesus had seen and loved him.
Perhaps we’ve gone to great lengths to see something beautiful at some point in our lives. But how far are we willing to go to see Jesus? When we’ve seen the best the world has to offer, and we’re still looking, will we seek to see Jesus? Do we realize that the crowd around us—no matter who they are—can make it difficult to see Him for who He really is? What would it look like for us to get above the crowd and see Jesus? As much as we would love to control the process, Jesus flips the script. He makes the first move. He comes to our place. He sees us, and if we really see Him, He must have opened our eyes. So before we think about extending ourselves, we must consider how Jesus extended Himself. How far did Jesus go to see the greatest sight—the glory of God in the joy of His redeemed people? He left His home so that we would be brought home to God. He was torn so that we would be mended. He was poured out so that we would be filled. He was disfigured so that we would be beautiful. He was hated so that we would be loved. He closed His eyes in death so that we would open our eyes and share in His resurrection life. Have we seen this Jesus? If we have, it should be our joy to extend ourselves in new ways. How far are we willing to go to see something great? To see Jesus and to help others see Him? Will we stop and climb above the crowd? Will we look and listen for Jesus in His Word? And will we follow wherever He leads?
When I survey the wondrous cross on which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.
Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, save in the death of Christ my God:
All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His blood.
See from His head, His hands, His feet, sorrow and love flow mingled down:
Did e’er such love and sorrow meet, or thorns compose so rich a crown?
Were the whole realm of nature mine, that were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine, demands my soul, my life, my all.
A woman from Samaria came to draw water. Jesus said to her, “Give me a drink.” (For his disciples had gone away into the city to buy food.) The Samaritan woman said to him, “How is it that you, a Jew, ask for a drink from me, a woman of Samaria?” (For Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.) Jesus answered her, “If you knew the gift of God, and who it is that is saying to you, ‘Give me a drink,’ you would have asked him, and he would have given you living water.” The woman said to him, “Sir, you have nothing to draw water with, and the well is deep. Where do you get that living water? Are you greater than our father Jacob? He gave us the well and drank from it himself, as did his sons and his livestock.” Jesus said to her, “Everyone who drinks of this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” The woman said to him, “Sir, give me this water, so that I will not be thirsty or have to come here to draw water.”
Jesus said to her, “Go, call your husband, and come here.” The woman answered him, “I have no husband.” Jesus said to her, “You are right in saying, ‘I have no husband’; for you have had five husbands, and the one you now have is not your husband. What you have said is true.” The woman said to him, “Sir, I perceive that you are a prophet. Our fathers worshiped on this mountain, but you say that in Jerusalem is the place where people ought to worship.” Jesus said to her, “Woman, believe me, the hour is coming when neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem will you worship the Father. You worship what you do not know; we worship what we know, for salvation is from the Jews. But the hour is coming, and is now here, when the true worshipers will worship the Father in spirit and truth, for the Father is seeking such people to worship him. God is spirit, and those who worship him must worship in spirit and truth.” The woman said to him, “I know that Messiah is coming (he who is called Christ). When he comes, he will tell us all things.” Jesus said to her, “I who speak to you am he.”
Just then his disciples came back. They marveled that he was talking with a woman, but no one said, “What do you seek?” or, “Why are you talking with her?” So the woman left her water jar and went away into town and said to the people, “Come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?” They went out of the town and were coming to him.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Look up “connect” in the dictionary, and you’ll see definitions like to join, to link, to fasten together, to unite, to establish communication between. We all long to be connected, and we spend great energy to join ourselves to things that we think will bring us life: to people and possessions, to work and wisdom, to experiences and entertainment. The latest technology—from smartphones to internet to 5G networks—has empowered a kind of connection that the world has never known. But with all the advances, many of us feel more disconnected than ever. Where do you look for connection…and how’s it going?
The Samaritan woman in John 4 is not so different from us. She’s a sinner. She has sought life in things that haven’t delivered on their promise. She has some ideas about how life and God should “work”, but things haven’t played out as planned. So she’s just trying to make it through life. And on this day, she goes alone to draw water from a well in the mid-day heat. And that’s where she meets a Man who will change the course of her life. As much as we see ourselves in the woman at the well, it’s far more important to see Jesus Christ in this passage. So what do we learn about the Lord in this chapter?
Jesus pursues people we wouldn’t expect Him to pursue. He breaks through every barrier to meet this woman: cultural and religious barriers (Jew and Samaritan), gender barriers (male and female), moral barriers (Son of God and sinful person). She is not worthy of Him and she knows it (4:9), but that doesn’t stop Him. Jesus “had to pass through Samaria” (4:4), and that had to seems to be more about mission than maps. On the way from Jerusalem to Galilee, the typical Jew would cross the Jordan River twice to avoid Samaria. But not Jesus. He went this way for her. Do we realize that Jesus has broken through every barrier to connect with us? How do we respond when we learn that He is actually seeking us?
Jesus offers us life that we can hardly comprehend. The simple request for a drink becomes the doorway into a conversation about living water. Like the woman, we struggle to catch up to what Jesus is saying, but that doesn’t stop Him. All the wells from which we drink eventually run dry, but Jesus offers us living water. He Himself is the fountain of life and drinking of Him is salvation and soul-satisfaction. Have we tasted this living water? Have we come to find it better than a multitude of relationships, millions of dollars, and mansions on a hill? How do we respond when we learn that Jesus isn’t just seeking us but wants to give us life?
Jesus wants us to worship Him. An encounter with Him can feel like too much. He wants to tear down our idols and heal our broken places (“Go, call your husband”). When He puts His finger on the pain in our lives, it’s easier to run away. So we change the subject (“Sir, I perceive that You are a prophet.”). Or we try to argue finer points of theology (“Our fathers worshiped on this mountain.”). Or we say the right thing (“I know that Messiah is coming.”). We can all sound spiritual, seem orthodox, and look good, but that doesn’t stop Jesus. We can run, but we can’t outrun Him. Somehow He runs ahead and cuts us off. He tells us that worship is not ultimately about places and practices; it’s about a Person. The Father is seeking worshipers, and the Son has come to accomplish that mission. Our endless debates about worship dissolve in the presence of the Christ: “I who speak to you am He.”
If the Lord just wanted to talk with us, that would be something. To go beyond that and offer us living water is amazing. But to reveal that He wants us to worship Him…that is spectacular. Sin has separated us from God and bent our worship from the Creator to creation. But Jesus Christ came to destroy our sin and to restore our worship of the Living God. For the Samaritan woman and for us, He was willing to go to the cross that we might be connected to Him in a life of worship. For sin-starved souls, Jesus is living water now and forever.
Do you want to be connected to Christ in worship? Perhaps the better question is: How do you respond when you hear that He wants to be connected to you?
“I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me. The glory that you have given me I have given to them, that they may be one even as we are one, I in them and you in me, that they may become perfectly one, so that the world may know that you sent me and loved them even as you loved me. Father, I desire that they also, whom you have given me, may be with me where I am, to see my glory that you have given me because you loved me before the foundation of the world. O righteous Father, even though the world does not know you, I know you, and these know that you have sent me. I made known to them your name, and I will continue to make it known, that the love with which you have loved me may be in them, and I in them.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
We rarely notice when our bodies are working the way God designed them to work. We have many different parts and complex systems; yet for some reason we expect it all to work in concert. Our standard of unity for our physical bodies is high, a fact which becomes obvious when something breaks down. About a month ago I rolled my ankle in my parents’ driveway, and for weeks I noticed every time I took a step. The different parts of our bodies are deeply connected to one another. When something’s not right, we notice.
When Paul describes the church as the body of Christ, he is using this body metaphor to say something remarkable about the people of God. Every person who is in Christ is a different part; yet for some reason the Lord expects us to be vitally connected to one another. His standard of unity for His body is extraordinarily high. He prays that we would be “one”—and then “perfectly one”—in a way that reflects the oneness enjoyed by the Father and the Son (John 17:21, 23). In our experience, however, we often settle for a far lower standard of “unity”. We gather with Christians who are like us so we don’t have to work through any differences. We just try to get along, or we avoid the believers who annoy us. The unity that we enjoy in our churches—if we could even call it that—is often superficial and shallow. If we’re honest, we notice a lot of disease in the body. Pride, jealousy, greed, lust, and anger divide us and cause us to limp along and miss the wonder of being one body united in Jesus Christ. We see it…and the world sees it. The world is not impressed because in many ways the church looks no different from the world. So why would people believe that we have found something worthy of their attention?
Connecting to one another is more than gathering around the proverbial campfire and singing “Kumbaya”. Connecting to one another is living as the body of Christ united by “one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all” (Ephesians 4:6). Connecting to one another is working out our salvation as God works in us (Philippians 2:12-13), unpacking the glorious gospel of Jesus Christ that reconciles us to God and to one another (Ephesians 2:13-14). Connecting to one another is embracing the reality that Jesus is Lord, and everything else that unites and divides us must bow the knee to Him. Connecting to one another is seeking to know and love—and to be known and loved—as the Lord has known and loved us (Psalm 139:1; John 13:34-35). Connecting with one another is pursuing the oneness for which Jesus prayed and died, so that people in the world might see something they can’t explain.
When we think of connecting to one another like this, we realize that we often neglect this priority in our busy, productive, yet isolated lives (John 17:21-23). If we’re in Christ, we are the body of Christ, but we struggle to live like it. And we have an enemy who would love to keep it that way. When the Holy Spirit leads us to pray for oneness, to dig in, to be known, to reach across the world’s lines, to offer welcome, to love as Christ has loved us, Satan will shudder and the world will take notice. Because the world doesn’t have the desire or the resources to be one, but in Jesus Christ, we do. “We, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another” (Romans 12:5). We rarely notice when our bodies are working as they should, but the world can’t help but notice when the body of Christ is working as He designed it.
How is the Lord leading you to connect to other members of the body of Christ in this season? Does your life testify that you need others and they need you to live the Christian life? How are you seeking to make the big church smaller so that you and others can be known? If the only witness the world had was the oneness of your church, would that unity get their attention? Would it cause them to believe that the Father sent the Son to be the Savior of the world?
“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. … These things I have spoken to you, that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be full.”
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
I’m in the stage of life where all of my friends are having babies. As an “outsider looking in” on this stage, I’m constantly struck by how helpless infants truly are. They are glued to their parents, dependent on them for their every need. In addition to their dependence, babies, as we all know, aren’t the best communicators. They cannot tell you what they need or why they are uncomfortable; they simply cry out, hopeful that their adoring parents come to the rescue. And yet, slowly and subtly, you witness babies grow. They learn from their parents’ example and gradually pick up some tricks that help them become better communicators and more productive tiny humans. Babies lean wholly on their parents and glean from their examples, which in turn helps them become the people that God intended them to be.
Babies actually show us a beautiful picture of an abiding relationship with Christ. As little ones in the world constantly lean on their parents’ sturdy care, we too must be so dependent on God. We should look to Him in all we do; we should learn and grow from Jesus’ example in the Word; we should be quick to cry out to Him in moments of desperation. Like young infants, we must face the truth that apart from God, we can do nothing.
We know we need a dependent relationship with the Lord, but often we rebel against that idea, choosing self-sufficiency over reliance. Practically, this may look like: feeling too busy to spend time in prayer or God’s Word; going to God as a last resort when troubles arise; not stopping to talk to God about big life decisions. There are myriads of ways we choose self-sufficiency in our daily lives, but as believers, we must acknowledge the pride and foolishness in going that route. In the end, self-sufficiency will always fail us. But an even greater consequence, I would argue, is what we would miss out on by forsaking an abiding, dependent relationship with Christ: full joy.
Rankin Wilbourne wrote in his book “Union With Christ”: “It is a beautiful dance: our highest joy is found in God’s glory, and God is most glorified in us when we find our highest joy in him.”
When we abide with our Heavenly Father, we are reminded of His supreme glory, which is necessary to see Him, those around us, and ourselves as we ought. As we lean on His power and grow from Jesus’ example, we will find ultimate joy in His glory, and in turn, glorify Him through that joy.
Abiding is one of the greatest gifts we have as believers. Don’t let self-reliance keep you from the abundant joy that is promised through a thriving relationship with Him.
Beloved, let us love one another, for love is from God, and whoever loves has been born of God and knows God. Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. In this the love of God was made manifest among us, that God sent his only Son into the world, so that we might live through him. In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. Beloved, if God so loved us, we also ought to love one another. No one has ever seen God; if we love one another, God abides in us and his love is perfected in us.
By this we know that we abide in him and he in us, because he has given us of his Spirit. And we have seen and testify that the Father has sent his Son to be the Savior of the world. Whoever confesses that Jesus is the Son of God, God abides in him, and he in God. So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him. By this is love perfected with us, so that we may have confidence for the day of judgment, because as he is so also are we in this world. There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear. For fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not been perfected in love. We love because he first loved us. If anyone says, “I love God,” and hates his brother, he is a liar; for he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen. And this commandment we have from him: whoever loves God must also love his brother.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
When I worked at a summer camp in college, one of the most popular events each week for campers was when we took them to the ropes course. Every time, before they could do all of the fun things on the ropes course, a leader would give them a speech about how safe the equipment is. “These harnesses you’re wearing are so reliable, and these ropes that will be holding you can hold thousands of pounds!” The reason for presenting this evidence of security was to encourage campers that when they would climb up high, they could trust the equipment and not give into a fear of heights. Yet inevitably, every week, multiple campers would hear that speech, get to the top, and freak out! Admittedly, I have experienced the same thing.
This is because there is a difference between cognitively knowing that something is true and actually trusting it to be true. In a similar way, as Christians, we say that we know God loves us (and many of us have heard that since the time we were young children), but the way we live often contradicts what we say we believe. For example, our lives can be marked by constant worry or by not showing grace and forgiveness to difficult people. This happens even though we say we believe that the Creator and King over all things loves us and cares about us deeply.
So how do we trust and not just cognitively know that God loves us? Trust runs on the fuel of evidence, so when we steep our minds with the truth of the evidence of God’s love, our trust in Him grows in our hearts and is carried out into our lives.
This concept helps us understand what the Apostle John is doing in 1 John. He uses the word “love” 46 times in this short book, and 27 of those times are in this passage! In a passage filled with memorable language, John articulates a simple message: you are loved. In Christ, the Creator of everything and the only One whose opinion truly counts, loves you and delights in you. To fuel our trust in the love of God, John provides three concrete pieces of evidence of that love.
In a sermon on this passage, Ben Stuart, a pastor in Washington D.C., says that love sends, love sacrifices, and love stays.
1. Love sends (verses 7-9): The Father sent His son into the world. Out of love, Jesus was sent on a costly rescue mission (John 3:16-17; Luke 19:10). This is because love takes initiative. As we all know, if you love something or someone, you go after it.
2. Love sacrifices (verses 10-12): Jesus (the Son) was a sacrifice for our sins. The small stories of Hollywood tap into this theme all the time as our hearts deeply connect with the idea of someone sacrificing his or her life for someone else. Therefore, if you are struggling to know that you are loved by God, I encourage you to look at the cross and see a Savior who sacrificially took away God’s wrath toward you and me and turned it into favor instead (that’s what the word “propitiation” means in this passage). Knowing everything about us, even the things that we try to hide from others and even ourselves, Jesus did this for us while we were at our worst (Romans 5:8). As Robert Capon once said, “Jesus came to call sinners, not the pseudo-righteous. He came to raise the dead, not to buy drinks for the well behaved.”
3. Love stays (verses 13-15): The Holy Spirit lives in us. God promises that He will never leave us and will finish the work He started in us (Romans 8:31-39; Philippians 1:6). Human love leaves and abandons regularly, yet God’s love is as sure and stable as the most powerful anchor.
When we focus our attention on this evidence of God’s love for us, what effect does that have on us? People who know that they are loved by God live without fear (“perfect love casts out fear”) and love other people (“we love because He first loved us”). This is the proof that the love of God is in us as it’s a love that changes everything. Are you living with fear or with a lack of grace, patience, and forgiveness towards others? The remedy is not found in your strength, abilities, and effort, but in being molded by God’s love for you as most fully demonstrated in the Gospel.
Brennan Manning wrote, “My deepest awareness of myself is that I am deeply loved by Jesus Christ and I have done nothing to earn it or deserve it.” Is that your deepest awareness of yourself? Meditate on the evidence of God’s love in 1 John 4:7-21 until it is.
And when they saw him they worshiped him, but some doubted. And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
Tommy is Assistant Pastor at Park Cities Presbyterian Church where he shepherds the Family Ministry. He has served in five different congregations before the Lord called him to PCPC in 2011. He is married to Priscilla, his wife of 21 years. They have four children, Austin, Elli, Lily and Judson.
What does worship have to do with the Great Commission? If we are not careful, we can gloss right over verse 17 on the way to Matthew 28:18-20. As the disciples went up to see Jesus, note their reaction: “when they saw Him, they worshiped Him.” No one told the disciples, “Hey guys, here’s a tip, when you go up the mountain to see Jesus you should fall down and worship… it’s what respectable disciples do.” The disciples knew Jesus and their heart-response to Him was unprompted worship.
We know that the high calling of the Great Commission is for all Christians. Likewise, the context of disciple making is in authentic relationships. We see the love and intimacy that Christ has with all that followed Him. “He loved them to the end” (John 13). The same is true for His beloved disciples today. In our current, harried world, we must be careful to never reduce discipleship to a task, a goal, a formula, or a thing we “do at church.” Many have wisely noted that disciples are “handmade” and not mass produced. Discipleship is not transactional but relational. Ultimately, gospel-centered discipleship propels us to worship.
The disciples reveal to us the means and the ends of discipleship. This includes those followers who doubted, struggled, and dropped the ball. There is no perfect disciple and no flawless way to made disciples. But the long and merciful road of authentic discipleship is bursting forth in worship and awe. The goal is not power, comfort, success, or big cathedrals but God-glorifying worship. Remember John Piper’s profound insight on this goal? He said, “Missions is not the ultimate goal of the church. Worship is! Missions exists because worship doesn’t.” Just let that quote sink in.
Worship is our response to our glorious Lord and Redeemer revealing Himself to us. We are totally dependent on God to worship God. Take a fresh look at the Westminster Confession of Faith, Chapter XXI. Luther says, “To Know God is to Worship God”. Discipleship should be wary of the growing disciples who know about God but don’t know and worship God. Those who encounter God are never the same. Remember the prophet Isaiah’s traumatic experience recorded in Isaiah 6? Look at the prophet’s response to the Lord’s revelation, “Here I am! Send me.”
The Great Commission is grounded, sustained, fueled, and ultimately ends in worship. There are many faithful disciples in the Church who urge us to understand this.
“God wants worshipers before workers; indeed, the only acceptable workers are those who have learned the lost art of worship. . .. The very stones would praise him if the need arose and a thousand legions of angels would leap to do his will.
—A.W. Tozer (1897-1963)
“I believe that if we are to be and to do for others what God means us to be and to do, we must not let adoration and worship slip into second place, for it is the central service asked by God of human souls; and its neglect is responsible for much lack of spiritual depth and power. Perhaps we may find here the reason why we so often run dry. We do not give time enough to what makes for depth, and so we are shallow; a wind, quite a little wind, can ruffle our surface; a little hot sun, and all the moisture in us evaporates. It should not be so.”
—Amy Carmichael (1867-1951)
“Worship is meant to so enthrall you with God’s grace that you want to be an instrument of that grace in the lives of others”
—Paul Tripp
In these challenging days let us encourage one another to abide with Jesus first. Let our hearts rest in and receive from Christ. Let us respond to God in worship and awe daily. Then go and teaching others to do the same. As you disciple others remember the promise from Jesus, “I am with you always, to the end of the age.”
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What if we knew we only had a little more time? How would we live differently? That kind of question has stirred hearts for thousands of years. And people have expressed their sense of urgency in different ways. Moses prays in Psalm 90:12, “So teach us to number our days that we may get a heart of wisdom.” Paul exhorts us in Ephesians 5:15-16, “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise, making the best use of the time, because the days are evil.” Peter reminds us, “The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers” (1 Peter 4:7). Are we living like our days are numbered…like the days are evil…like the end is at hand?
I remember the beginning of my senior year in college. I looked around and saw people living for themselves and missing opportunities to use their platform to bless others. I knew I was nearing the end of a significant season in my life, and I didn’t want to waste it. I had noble intentions, but I also had a problem. My desire to extend myself to the fullest for the Lord was producing more anxiety than joy, more exhaustion than energy. Just a few weeks into my campaign to “change the world”, I was on the verge of burnout. Over breakfast a wise mentor reminded me that the calling was no different than any other year. Day by day (and moment by moment), the Lord was calling me to find my life in His love…and then to share His love with others. I had the sense of urgency; I just didn’t know how to channel it. I needed a word from an older Peter, the same apostle whose youthful intensity often got him in trouble.
In light of Christ’s certain return, Peter commands us to pray and to love. The thought that we’re running out of time can be terrifying. And if we’re honest, we lack the power to do what we long to do. Prayer is the answer to both fear and powerlessness, so Peter calls for self-control and sober minds so that we can pray. In the chaos of life, are we following our Savior in seeking the quiet, lonely places where we can be alone with God? When we bring our helplessness to the Lord in prayer, we find that His grace is sufficient for us, for His power is made perfect in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9-10). Prayer rarely seems productive, but it’s the most important part of the work. And even here, Jesus leads the way, “since He always lives to make intercession” for us (Hebrews 7:25). We say we want to extend Christ, but are we moving forward on our knees?
When we’re still in the Lord’s presence, listening to His Word and Spirit, the mission becomes clear. Above all, we’re called to love one another earnestly (1 Peter 4:8). The Lord consistently raises love for Himself and for others to the preeminent place in the Christian life (Deuteronomy 6:4-5; Matthew 22:34-40; 1 Corinthians 13:13). God is love (1 John 4:16), and the glory of His love is most evident in Christ’s sacrifice on the cross for sinners who do not deserve it (Romans 5:8; 1 John 4:10). In our urgency, we think the lost world needs a lot of things. But are we convinced that, more than anything, people need to see the love of Christ, and that starts with the way we stretch and strain to love one another? Do we remember that our most impressive spiritual gifts and acts are a “noisy gong” or a “clanging cymbal” if we have not love (1 Corinthians 13:1-3)?
It’s easy to lose our heads about extending Christ. It’s easy to bypass connecting and abiding as we race off to extend. But we don’t want to hand out flyers to places that we’ve never been. The Lord is calling us to walk in the ancient paths of prayer and love. This is not the way of the world, but this is the way of the church. This is the way to draw near to God as He draws near to us. This is the way to find the urgency that only comes from being close to the One who came and is coming again. This is the way to extend Christ when we only have a little more time. And in light of eternity…that’s the reality for all of us.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Kat served as the Co-Ministry Leader of the High School Ministry at PCPC and is passionate about students knowing the love of their Creator. Kat is a proud graduate of the University of Nebraska where she studied Communications and English. When not hanging out with 9th-12th graders, you can find Kat reading a good book, going on a walk with her husband, or chatting with a friend over coffee.
As someone who has worked on PCPC youth staff for quite a few years, I’ve had the privilege of helping hire many two-year residents to work on our middle school and high school teams. In a recent interview with a hopeful new employee, the interviewee asked me what I thought made a strong resident. My answer was easy: an abiding relationship with God and a desire to be “all-in.” Rightfully so, the interviewee asked me to expound on what I meant by being “all-in,” to which I told him we needed people who had a passion for youth ministry, who were devoted to prayer, and who would sacrifice their time and efforts to serve the congregation to the best of their ability because, after all, it’s only a two-year program and time is of the essence.
The interviewee accepted this answer and moved on, but I did not. I started to feel convicted, wondering if I was as “all-in” as I could be in my current role. Truth be told, I quickly reconciled the feeling with the fact that I, as a permanent staff member, was not on a two-year time crunch; I even reassured myself by thinking, “coasting is normal and healthy in long-term ministry.” But, I’m here to tell you that I was wrong to have had that mindset, not only as someone who works in full-time vocational ministry, but also as a Christian who believes Jesus is coming back soon.
1 Peter 4 reminds us that we are people with a mission, a purpose, and a deadline. We are to rest along the way and lean wholly on Jesus, but we are never told to “coast” through Christianity. In fact, I would argue that believers should be the most “all-in” humans alive.
However, let me be honest with you: often when I read 1 Peter 4 I feel unable or even unworthy to live such a faithful, servant-hearted, and fervent life. Why? Well, because I’m deeply aware of my own weaknesses and failures. I long to live an “all-in” life for Jesus, and yet, I fail Him oh-so-often. Is my effort even worth it, I wonder?
In these moments of insecurity, I’m reminded of the very man who penned the Scripture we are studying: Simon Peter. You probably remember that Peter was not only one of Jesus’ disciples during His earthly ministry, but he was also one of Jesus’ best friends. We know that Peter left all that he had to follow Christ—very much a prime example of being “all-in”—but we also know that Peter did not always faithfully serve the Lord. Yet how amazing that even after Peter’s denial, the risen Christ comes to him, asking “Peter, do you love me?” and allowing Peter another chance to be “all-in.” Russ Ramsey of Christ Presbyterian Church in Nashville said, “That Jesus would love a man like Simon Peter bodes well us, for you and for me. …It is not our record of righteousness that matters; it is Jesus’.” We, too, are “Peters.” We fail Jesus, but we love Him and we continually try to follow Him, even in our weaknesses. Let us be a people who are quick to look to Christ’s righteousness, not our own, and strive to be imperfect, but faithful servants of Jesus each and every day.
And Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea Philippi. And on the way he asked his disciples, “Who do people say that I am?” And they told him, “John the Baptist; and others say, Elijah; and others, one of the prophets.” And he asked them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Christ.” And he strictly charged them to tell no one about him.
And he began to teach them that the Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes and be killed, and after three days rise again. And he said this plainly. And Peter took him aside and began to rebuke him. But turning and seeing his disciples, he rebuked Peter and said, “Get behind me, Satan! For you are not setting your mind on the things of God, but on the things of man.”
And calling the crowd to him with his disciples, he said to them, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospel's will save it. For what does it profit a man to gain the whole world and forfeit his soul? For what can a man give in return for his soul? For whoever is ashamed of me and of my words in this adulterous and sinful generation, of him will the Son of Man also be ashamed when he comes in the glory of his Father with the holy angels.”
And he said to them, “Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God after it has come with power.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Peter and his friends longed for the kingdom of God. The Jewish people had been sitting in silence for hundreds of years, waiting for the Lord to speak a decisive word and fulfill His promises. They had endured centuries of being on the wrong side of foreign occupations. They were eagerly awaiting a kingdom of love, joy, peace, and righteousness. They were ready for vengeance and victory, for the year of the Lord’s favor and all that it would mean. The only problem? They wanted the kingdom so badly that their vision of what it was and how it would come had been distorted. This becomes clear in Mark 8 as Jesus talks with His disciples in Caesarea Philippi.
Jesus knows the lofty expectations; He hears the buzzing crowds. So walking through a regional hub of idolatry, Jesus asks His closest friends, “Who do people that I am?” The disciples quickly parrot the popular answers. But what other people say about Jesus is never enough, so He digs deeper. “But who do you say that I am?” And Peter answers, “You are the Christ.” The Christ…the Messiah…the KING. Peter expects a coronation, but he gets a gag order. The disciples expect a great fight, but Jesus taps into their great fear. Jesus is the Christ, and He is ushering in the kingdom, but it’s nothing like they expected. They don’t have a category for a king who would “suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and the chief priests and the scribes and be killed, and after three days rise again” (Mark 8:31). [NOTE: The end of that verse has a very happy ending, but the beginning was so jarring that the disciples apparently missed it.] Peter then takes the Christ aside and rebukes Him, because apparently Peter’s vision of the kingdom is more important than the King’s.
We long for the kingdom of God. I don’t just mean people in churches. Everybody longs for the kingdom of God. When relationships are fractured, we long for the love and restoration of the kingdom. When violence destroys a community, we long for the peace of the kingdom. When another election cycle comes around, we long for the righteous rule of the kingdom. When a pandemic races around the world, we long for the healing of the kingdom. When we’re crushed beneath the weight of life, we long for the joy of the kingdom. When anything is not the way it’s supposed to be, we long for the shalom of the kingdom. The only problem? We want the kingdom so badly that our vision has been distorted. As sparks fly upward, we want the kingdom without the King. But there is no kingdom without the Christ, and there is no Christ without the cross. This theological statement is intensely practical. We can ask ourselves, “What aspects of the kingdom are we pursuing without the King?” “Why do we want the perks of the kingdom more than the Person of the King?”
For centuries, Christian churches have been built in the shape of a cross. Cruciform sanctuaries are a visible reminder that at the center of our worship is a King who was crucified. I imagine church leaders and architects never wanted us to forget the message of the cross, the wisdom of God which is always foolishness to the world (1 Corinthians 1:18). The cross is the ultimate symbol of an upside-down kingdom where death is the way to life and losing our lives is the way to gaining them. Even though Jesus has set the pattern of death and resurrection for all of His followers, we still dream of wearing the crown without bearing the cross. Many of our problems flow from this cross-less distortion of Christianity. We simply don’t want our lives to be cruciform.
This is not an easy message to hear. It wasn’t easy for Peter nearly two thousand years ago. It’s not easy for us in 2021. But how did God show His love for us? While we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8). The way of the kingdom is the way of the cross, and Jesus invites anyone who would come after Him to follow Him on the road to Calvary. As strange as it sounds, this is the Life that ushered in the kingdom, and this is the life that unites us with Christ in His death and resurrection. We can’t preach to ourselves enough: it’s in losing that we win; it’s in humbling ourselves that we are exalted; it’s in dying that we rise. If we want to extend the transforming presence of the kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ, we don’t need a lot of the stuff we often prioritize. We need the Spirit to strengthen us to deny ourselves, to take up our cross, and to follow Jesus in His life of costly love. Then people might see that the King and His kingdom are more beautiful than they ever imagined.
And he said to them, “Truly, I say to you, there are some standing here who will not taste death until they see the kingdom of God after it has come with power.”
And after six days Jesus took with him Peter and James and John, and led them up a high mountain by themselves. And he was transfigured before them, and his clothes became radiant, intensely white, as no one on earth could bleach them. And there appeared to them Elijah with Moses, and they were talking with Jesus. And Peter said to Jesus, “Rabbi, it is good that we are here. Let us make three tents, one for you and one for Moses and one for Elijah.” For he did not know what to say, for they were terrified. And a cloud overshadowed them, and a voice came out of the cloud, “This is my beloved Son; listen to him.” And suddenly, looking around, they no longer saw anyone with them but Jesus only.
And as they were coming down the mountain, he charged them to tell no one what they had seen, until the Son of Man had risen from the dead. So they kept the matter to themselves, questioning what this rising from the dead might mean. And they asked him, “Why do the scribes say that first Elijah must come?” And he said to them, “Elijah does come first to restore all things. And how is it written of the Son of Man that he should suffer many things and be treated with contempt? But I tell you that Elijah has come, and they did to him whatever they pleased, as it is written of him.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
“The first task of a Christian is to listen.”
—Skip Ryan
God of heaven and earth, I come to hear You say of Jesus, “This is my beloved Son; listen to Him” (Mark 9:7). But how can I listen if you do not first open the ear of my heart? Yes, Lord, open the ear of my heart. Make me to be as your servant Samuel who prayed, “Speak Lord, for your servant is listening” (1 Samuel 3:9-10). Make me to be as your servant Mary who prayed, “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). Give me ears to truly listen to Jesus say, “If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake and the gospels will save it” (Mark 8:34-35).
Teach me, Lord Jesus, the meaning of your suffering, rejection, death, and resurrection so that I may live for Your sake and the gospel. Give me a true vision for following You that pierces the facade of false spirituality and secularism that is so pervasive in the world. Please do not let me gain the whole world, or even what is socially acceptable, and lose myself. Keep me from assuming that real power and success is only achieved in the ways the world says it is. Let me see and follow Jesus as He really is.
Transfigure the very core of who I am and what I most deeply want—my heart—to be receptive and responsive to the Truth of the whole world and all of history as it is revealed in Jesus Christ. Illuminate the way I think, my personality, my purpose in life, and all that I hold dear in the transforming light of Jesus’ face. Turn my eyes to Jesus, “the founder and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy that was set before Him endured the cross” (Hebrews 12:2).
I will die—keep this clarifying reality before me today—but in Jesus, my Lord and my God, I will live forever. With You, dear God, I am truly safe. My pride is not safe; my selfish desires are not safe; my assumptions about what life is all about are not safe. But I am safe for You made me and loved me. O death where is your sting? Christ is the Victor! Yes, indeed! There is now nothing that can separate me from God’s love.
In the name of Jesus, Amen.
And when they came to the disciples, they saw a great crowd around them, and scribes arguing with them. And immediately all the crowd, when they saw him, were greatly amazed and ran up to him and greeted him. And he asked them, “What are you arguing about with them?” And someone from the crowd answered him, “Teacher, I brought my son to you, for he has a spirit that makes him mute. And whenever it seizes him, it throws him down, and he foams and grinds his teeth and becomes rigid. So I asked your disciples to cast it out, and they were not able.” And he answered them, “O faithless generation, how long am I to be with you? How long am I to bear with you? Bring him to me.” And they brought the boy to him. And when the spirit saw him, immediately it convulsed the boy, and he fell on the ground and rolled about, foaming at the mouth. And Jesus asked his father, “How long has this been happening to him?” And he said, “From childhood. And it has often cast him into fire and into water, to destroy him. But if you can do anything, have compassion on us and help us.” And Jesus said to him, “‘If you can’! All things are possible for one who believes.” Immediately the father of the child cried out and said, “I believe; help my unbelief!” And when Jesus saw that a crowd came running together, he rebuked the unclean spirit, saying to it, “You mute and deaf spirit, I command you, come out of him and never enter him again.” And after crying out and convulsing him terribly, it came out, and the boy was like a corpse, so that most of them said, “He is dead.” But Jesus took him by the hand and lifted him up, and he arose. And when he had entered the house, his disciples asked him privately, “Why could we not cast it out?” And he said to them, “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
My Lord and my God, I come to admire You this morning and gladly greet You. Jesus, let me hear Your question directed to me, “What are You arguing about with them?”
Lord, I admit that I argue about many things, often in my inner thoughts. I catch myself arguing with figments of my imagination. I project words and motives on others. Forgive me for words I have spoken out of an argumentative spirit and grant me more and more self-control. Renovate my character into humble gentleness and turn my inner arguments into prayer.
But what about the arguments outside of me? It is deeply troubling to see those who identify with You, Lord Jesus, viciously argue with others we are called to love. Forgive us for seeking to destroy our neighbors with words in the hiddenness of our inner thoughts, in the privacy of our own homes, in social media posts, and personal confrontations. You know, O Lord, that I am capable of the same. Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner. “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy,” but You came that we may have life as it is really meant to be—filled up with faith, hope, and love.
“Have compassion on us and help us.” Have compassion on me and help me. Yes, Lord, all things are possible for the one who believes.
I believe; help my unbelief!
I believe; help my unbelief!
I believe; help my unbelief!
Cast out every evil influence in me, in the Church, and in Your good creation. Help me to listen to and obey Your words, “This kind cannot be driven out by anything but prayer.”
You took this dead boy by the hand and lifted him up, and he rose. Evil men took You by the hand and lifted You up nailed to a cross, and You rose from the dead. Even though I will die and lose all that is precious in this life, I trust that You will take me by the hand and lift me up, and I too will rise. Give me more and more of the indestructible life within Your unrelenting, reconciling love. Make me humbly confident of the day when You will cast out every evil in this world, never to enter again, and make all things new. I believe; help my unbelief!
In the name of Jesus, I pray. Amen.
They went on from there and passed through Galilee. And he did not want anyone to know, for he was teaching his disciples, saying to them, “The Son of Man is going to be delivered into the hands of men, and they will kill him. And when he is killed, after three days he will rise.” But they did not understand the saying, and were afraid to ask him. And they came to Capernaum. And when he was in the house he asked them, “What were you discussing on the way?” But they kept silent, for on the way they had argued with one another about who was the greatest. And he sat down and called the twelve. And he said to them, “If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all.” And he took a child and put him in the midst of them, and taking him in his arms, he said to them, “Whoever receives one such child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not me but him who sent me.”
And they were bringing children to him that he might touch them, and the disciples rebuked them. But when Jesus saw it, he was indignant and said to them, “Let the children come to me; do not hinder them, for to such belongs the kingdom of God. Truly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God like a child shall not enter it.” And he took them in his arms and blessed them, laying his hands on them.
Austin Ariail served as the Director of Children's Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He has over 15 years of experience working with children and youth in churches in South Carolina and Texas. He enjoys spending time with his wife and two precious, little girls as well as following South Carolina Gamecock sports.
In the 1991 cinematic classic, Hook, we find the tale of years gone by for The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up, Peter Pan. The story tells us that Peter eventually left Neverland, did in fact grow up, and became someone altogether different than Peter Pan: Peter Banning, the busy lawyer with a wife, kids, and career. With some conjuring, Captain James Hook kidnaps Peter’s kids and compels him back to Neverland for one final, epic duel. As the story unfolds, Captain Hook comes face to face with adult Peter, but Peter is hardly recognizable to Captain Hook. Not just because his physical features have changed, but Peter has wholly changed. The charisma and the ability to fly and fight is gone! Mystified by adult Peter, Captain Hook deliberates an explanation. Smee, the clumsy second mate, offers a rather candid answer. “He’s Peter Pan, all right, Captain. He’s just been away from Neverland so long, his mind’s been junk-tified. He’s forgotten everything.”
In Mark 9, the instruction that Jesus shares with His disciples is straightforward: to be first, one must become last and a servant to all. To drive home the point, and culturally in a very blunt way, Jesus places a child center-stage and then pulls the child to himself with the admonition: receiving a child in my name receives me, and whoever receives me, receives not only me but the Father. But in Mark 10, we find the disciples’ minds to have been junk-tified. They have forgotten everything Jesus told them about the Kingdom of God only a chapter earlier.
The child not only represents the disposition one must have to receive and enter God’s Kingdom, but it also signifies the operation of God’s Kingdom. The way up is down, to be first is to be the last, and the way to enter the kingdom is not through achievement but humility and nothingness. What better way to demonstrate to the disciples, and to us, than a child. A child is the par excellence emissary in the Kingdom of God. And yet the disciples rebuke the parents for hassling Jesus with children in Mark 10:13. The disciples’ indignation towards the parents and children was met with a more intense indignation from Christ. Christ’s response mirrors the tenant owner in Mark 12:1-12.
It seems easy to point out the folly of the disciples. “How could they forget so soon?” What has junk-tified their minds, clouded it, between chapters 9 and 10? Christ has shared what it means to receive the Kingdom of God, and the disciples are no less than us. We too are junk-tified and miss how children show us how to receive the Kingdom of God. We forget that to be great, one must be the least and servant of all.
A child is an affront to notions of proficiency and usefulness; their hearts, minds, and souls have not quite been junk-tified. A child has not quite entered the race for significance in large, grand ways. A child has a lot to offer in terms of what they need, but very, very little in terms of solutions or practicality. A child receives much, and regarding transactional terms, has little to give. And this is the point of Christ’s words: to receive a child is to receive God’s representative and one must operate like a child when it comes to entering God’s Kingdom. To enter God’s Kingdom is a matter of receiving, not asserting or taking. The Apostle Paul writing to the church at Corinth asks, “What do you have that you did not receive?” The answer is obvious: nothing. To enter God’s Kingdom is not a matter of any person doing, it’s utterly impossible. It is about receiving the work Christ has done for us (Mk. 9:31).
To live on the basis of receiving can be a hard thing for any adult because it removes proficiency, sufficiency, displays of competency, and power. Any adult has had years to fine tune these habits—we condition ourselves through years of trials, education, activities, and résumés. We offer the best version, or at least what we think is the best version, of ourselves with the hope to be found significant, worthy, or great. And this is what it means to junk-tify our hearts and souls and completely miss the Kingdom of God. The child is the paradox for our lives. To receive a child in our presence reminds us to be childlike, to lay aside our penchant for proficiency and to become humble and willing to receive what God has done.
And as he was setting out on his journey, a man ran up and knelt before him and asked him, “Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” And Jesus said to him, “Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: ‘Do not murder, Do not commit adultery, Do not steal, Do not bear false witness, Do not defraud, Honor your father and mother.’” And he said to him, “Teacher, all these I have kept from my youth.” And Jesus, looking at him, loved him, and said to him, “You lack one thing: go, sell all that you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” Disheartened by the saying, he went away sorrowful, for he had great possessions.
And Jesus looked around and said to his disciples, “How difficult it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” And the disciples were amazed at his words. But Jesus said to them again, “Children, how difficult it is to enter the kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich person to enter the kingdom of God.” And they were exceedingly astonished, and said to him, “Then who can be saved?” Jesus looked at them and said, “With man it is impossible, but not with God. For all things are possible with God.” Peter began to say to him, “See, we have left everything and followed you.” Jesus said, “Truly, I say to you, there is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time, houses and brothers and sisters and mothers and children and lands, with persecutions, and in the age to come eternal life. But many who are first will be last, and the last first.”
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
In Psalm 119:162, the psalmist declares, “I rejoice at your word like one who finds great spoil.” God’s Word is like an endless treasure chest in which we can spend our whole lives digging. This is especially true of the seemingly “familiar” stories and verses. As Dallas Willard reminds us, “Familiarity breeds unfamiliarity,” so we are wise to look at every verse and story with an excitement about how God might apply His Word to our lives even if it’s a section of Scripture that we have heard many times before. This well-known interaction between Jesus and the so-called “rich young ruler” is one such example. As I look at this passage, here are five life-changing understandings from this short and well-known interaction:
(1) Being rich and popular won’t satisfy us. The young man is morally, socially, and financially wealthy, yet his initial question to Jesus indicates that deep within him, he feels like something is missing. The experiences of current celebrities like Tom Brady (who in a 60 Minutes interview wondered if there was anything “more than this”) Madonna (who admitted that fame was a never-ending quest to “be somebody because I felt like a nobody”), Jim Carrey (who stated, “I think everybody should get rich and famous and do everything they ever dreamed of so they can see that it's not the answer”), and Drake (who asks in one of his songs, “Is there more to life than digits and bankin’ accounts?”) align with the biblical truth that being rich and popular will not satisfy the deep desires of the human heart.
(2) We can be extremely religious and still be extremely far from Jesus. In verse 20, the young man shows us that he is confident in his religious performance. In today’s context, he would have been someone who followed all the rules, had a “good Christian” reputation, and never missed church and Bible studies. However, despite his religious devotion, he is lacking a joy-producing, life-changing, purpose-directing relationship with the only source of Living Water (John 7:37-39). The same thing can be true for many of us today as we can easily mistake religious externals for a dynamic relationship with Jesus that radically alters us from the inside-out. It can also be true for us if the basis of our confidence in our relationship with God is our own goodness instead of Jesus’ goodness on our behalf.
(3) The greatest problem in the universe is not moral failure or bad behavior. It’s a failure to love, honor, and know God. This story points us to the biblical reality that humanity’s core problem is not a behavior-problem; it’s a love-problem. Sin is not so much behavior as it is a heart condition that leads to behavior (Romans 1:18-32). This understanding of humanity’s core problem drastically affects where we believe the solution is found—it’s not found in telling people to behave better; it’s found in a heart transformation that only God can accomplish.
(4) To paraphrase Tim Keller, Christianity isn’t something you can add; rather, it’s a relationship that changes everything you have. A relationship with Jesus is not like adding a painting to your house; it’s like totally tearing down and rebuilding the house. Discipleship is about a total transformation.
(5) There is only one way to avoid the deceptive trap of wealth and status that is so prevalent in our culture: look at the ultimate rich young ruler who made the ultimate sacrifice on the cross to save us. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9). Over time, this is what happens when we fix our eyes on Jesus, the greatest treasure who became our great savior:
“Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full, in his wonderful face
And the things of earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of his glory and grace.”
And they were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them. And they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. And taking the twelve again, he began to tell them what was to happen to him, saying, “See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and deliver him over to the Gentiles. And they will mock him and spit on him, and flog him and kill him. And after three days he will rise.”
And James and John, the sons of Zebedee, came up to him and said to him, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you.” And he said to them, “What do you want me to do for you?” And they said to him, “Grant us to sit, one at your right hand and one at your left, in your glory.” Jesus said to them, “You do not know what you are asking. Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or to be baptized with the baptism with which I am baptized?” And they said to him, “We are able.” And Jesus said to them, “The cup that I drink you will drink, and with the baptism with which I am baptized, you will be baptized, but to sit at my right hand or at my left is not mine to grant, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared.” And when the ten heard it, they began to be indignant at James and John. And Jesus called them to him and said to them, “You know that those who are considered rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them. But it shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be slave of all. For even the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”
And they came to Jericho. And as he was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a great crowd, Bartimaeus, a blind beggar, the son of Timaeus, was sitting by the roadside. And when he heard that it was Jesus of Nazareth, he began to cry out and say, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!” And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent. But he cried out all the more, “Son of David, have mercy on me!” And Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.” And they called the blind man, saying to him, “Take heart. Get up; he is calling you.” And throwing off his cloak, he sprang up and came to Jesus. And Jesus said to him, “What do you want me to do for you?” And the blind man said to him, “Rabbi, let me recover my sight.” And Jesus said to him, “Go your way; your faith has made you well.” And immediately he recovered his sight and followed him on the way.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
James and John are two of Jesus’ closest friends, and they approach Him with a clear agenda. They say, “Teacher, we want you to do for us whatever we ask of you” (Mark 10:35). I wonder if they’re terrified or excited when Jesus responds, “What do you want Me to do for you?” (Mark 10:36). When Jesus asks a question, we should take notice. He’s not looking for information; He’s revealing hearts.
“What do you want Me to do for you?” This is a significant question, especially on the lips of the Lord of lords. If we zoom out on Mark 10, this question helps us see the tapestry that Mark is weaving. Let’s walk through this chapter and ask, “What do people want?”
In Mark 10:2, the Pharisees come to talk with Jesus. They’re the religious professionals. Surely they want to know Jesus, right? The text says that they come to test Jesus with a question on divorce. Jesus answers their question, but it turns out they’re more interested in trapping Him than getting an answer. The Pharisees want to be right more than they want to follow Jesus.
In verse 13, people are bringing children to Jesus, and the disciples are with Him. Surely Jesus’s disciples would love children like He does, right? But the disciples rebuke the people for bringing their children to Jesus. Being part of Jesus’ traveling ministry team is a big deal, and there’s no time for children. The disciples want to be important more than they want to follow Jesus.
In verse 17, a rich young man comes up to Jesus. He wants to know what he has to do to inherit eternal life. After a little back and forth, Jesus tells the man that he lacks one thing: He needs to sell all that he has, give to the poor, and come follow Him. The rich man wants to hear from Jesus, but this is simply too much. The rich man wants to be wealthy more than he wants to follow Jesus. He walks away sad.
These people all have an agenda when they come to Jesus. They have eyes, but they can’t see Him. They have ears but they can’t hear Him. They try to squeeze him into their mold. They want to be right and important and wealthy. This is greatness for them, and they hope Jesus can help them get it. Because that’s what they really want.
In the middle of this mess, we see Jesus. If we ask, “What’s important to you, Jesus? What is greatness in Your eyes? What do You want?”, and He answers. In Mark 10:33 Jesus shares His agenda. He is going to Jerusalem to be delivered over to the religious leaders, to be condemned, to suffer, to die, and to rise again.
While people are preoccupied with living their life, Jesus is focused on giving His. The contrast is striking. Then James and John show up with their request…right after Jesus predicts His death. They should know His heart and character, but they’re clueless. This is not “Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done.” This is “My kingdom come, my will be done.” James and John want to be powerful more than they want to follow Jesus. And Jesus gives them the response no one wants to hear when they ask a question: “You do not know what you are asking” (Mark 10:38).
What do we really want? If we’re honest, many times we want to be right, important, wealthy, and powerful more than we want to follow Jesus. We bring these agendas to Jesus expecting him to give us what we want. The Bible has a word for these things that we want more than Jesus: idols. Idols are functional gods that occupy the throne that only the Lord deserves. Our idols fuel agendas that conflict with Jesus’ mission.
Can we relate? “Jesus, I want to follow you, but…I want to be great…I want to win the argument…I want a role that feels important, where my gifts are honored. I want to be financially comfortable.”
In the middle of this mess, we see Jesus. He’s different. He’s not interested in greatness as the world defines it. Everyone is racing to the top, but Jesus is racing to the bottom. Next to the pride of the Pharisees, the disciples, the rich man, James, and John, Mark shows us the humility of Christ. He came not to be served, but to serve (Mark 10:42-45).
The good news is even more amazing when we consider that Jesus had everything we’re chasing! He was right, but He allowed Himself to be wrong—to become sin—to make us right with Him. He was important, but He laid down His life and died a criminal’s death to lift us up. He was wealthy, but He became poor so that through his poverty we might become rich. And He was powerful, but He handed Himself over to death in order to defeat the powers that hold us in bondage.
Jesus asks piercing questions to reveal what’s in our hearts and to bring His transforming presence to bear on what He finds. He graciously reveals our idols, tears them down, and replaces them with Himself. As the Holy Spirit changes us, being right with God starts to matter more than being right in the argument. Being important as a child of God starts to matter more than being important in ministry. Having riches in Christ starts to matter more than being wealthy in this world. And knowing God’s power at work within us starts to matter more than having power in the world or in the church.
You know who “gets it” in Mark 10? Not the Pharisees. Not the disciples. Not the rich young man. Not James and John.
You know who gets it? Children (Mark 10:13-16). They simply come to Jesus and receive his blessing. They just want Jesus.
You know who gets it? A blind man (Mark 10:46-52). He cries out, even when people rebuke him and try to silence him. He knows he is broken, and he knows who can help. He just wants Jesus.
Children and Bartimaeus. They’re the only ones who leave their agendas behind and come to Jesus. That’s a picture of faith. We bring our helplessness to Jesus, and we trust that He loves us and knows what we need.
When we hear Jesus asking, “What do you want me to do for you?”, how should we respond?
Lord, help us to come to You like children, without pretense. Give us confidence that You will embrace us and grace to rest in the wonder of being Your children.
Lord, help us to come to You like Bartimaeus. Help us to feel our desperation and cry out for Your mercy. Jesus, have mercy on us! Let us recover our sight.
Lord, help us to want You more than we want anyone or anything else. Give us a new affection for You that outshines everything else.
Lord, give us eyes to see. Dying to self is really losing what will never satisfy and gaining YOU, the source of all life and joy. We do believe; help our unbelief!
And they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold and those who bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. And he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. And he was teaching them and saying to them, “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers.” And the chief priests and the scribes heard it and were seeking a way to destroy him, for they feared him, because all the crowd was astonished at his teaching.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Just as the mood surrounding Jesus had reached a fever pitch, he entered Jerusalem and turned the world upside down. The very place made for God to dwell with His people, the architectural symbol of the way the world was made to be, the ancient wonder that pointed to the way the world will be, the fountainhead for God’s blessings to flow as far as the curse is found: Jesus denounced as a den of robbers. What is going on?
The key word here is lēstēs—robbers, plunderers, brigands. Years prior, the prophet Jeremiah warned Israel about believing that the temple placed the people on the ‘right side of history’—“This is the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord”—without pursuing the purpose for which it existed (Jeremiah 7:4). The house of prayer for all nations (Isaiah 56:7) had become a religiously sanctioned wall of separation between the (Jews) and the outsiders (gentiles and the poor), where the former were puffed up and the later swindled. “Has this house, which is called by my name, become a den of robbers in your eyes? Behold, I myself have seen it, declares the Lord” (Jeremiah 7:11). God visited the temple in person and saw exploitation in His own name. Jesus’ response was a fiery “No!” to this evil.
It is often assumed that God’s love is somehow in conflict with His wrath. How can a good and loving God also be fiercely angry? It took first-hand experience with the devastating cruelty of war in the former Yugoslavia for the Croatian theologian Miroslav Volf to see the good news of God’s wrath. He says, “Though I used to complain about the indecency of the idea of God’s wrath, I came to think that I would have to rebel against a God who wasn’t wrathful at the sight of the world’s evil. God isn’t wrathful in spite of being love. God is wrathful because God is love.” Jesus’ anger in the temple is the force of God’s love in the face of evil.
The poet Steve Turner says, “History repeats itself. / Has to. / No-one listens.” The religious leaders did not listen to Jesus’ severe mercy and sought a way to destroy Him. Not long after, He was nailed to a cross, died, and was buried. Later history tells us that Roman forces marched into Jerusalem in AD 70 and destroyed the Jewish temple. History repeats itself. Has to. And yet, the difference between the two destructions makes all the difference. Jesus conquered death and rose bodily from the grave. He is the true king of the whole world, the true temple builder, the true light of that glorious dawn radiating in the eastern sky. His light illuminates the rubble of history wrecked by sin with the hope that evil will not win, the dead in Christ will rise to new life in a renewed world, and all shall be well forever and ever. By grace, some do listen and say, “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!”
On the following day, when they came from Bethany, he was hungry. And seeing in the distance a fig tree in leaf, he went to see if he could find anything on it. When he came to it, he found nothing but leaves, for it was not the season for figs. And he said to it, “May no one ever eat fruit from you again.” And his disciples heard it.
And they came to Jerusalem. And he entered the temple and began to drive out those who sold and those who bought in the temple, and he overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold pigeons. 16 And he would not allow anyone to carry anything through the temple. And he was teaching them and saying to them, “Is it not written, ‘My house shall be called a house of prayer for all the nations’? But you have made it a den of robbers.” And the chief priests and the scribes heard it and were seeking a way to destroy him, for they feared him, because all the crowd was astonished at his teaching. And when evening came they went out of the city.
As they passed by in the morning, they saw the fig tree withered away to its roots. And Peter remembered and said to him, “Rabbi, look! The fig tree that you cursed has withered.” And Jesus answered them, “Have faith in God. Truly, I say to you, whoever says to this mountain, ‘Be taken up and thrown into the sea,’ and does not doubt in his heart, but believes that what he says will come to pass, it will be done for him. Therefore I tell you, whatever you ask in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours. And whenever you stand praying, forgive, if you have anything against anyone, so that your Father also who is in heaven may forgive you your trespasses.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
On the day following the fanfare of His arrival in Jerusalem, Jesus cursed a fig tree. It is a curious detail, to be sure. Why should He care about a fig tree with so much in front of Him? Jesus was indeed hungry; however, He has a way of turning the table of our expectations with seemingly mundane things. “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.”
The fig tree is charged with meaning that stretches all the way back to the Garden of Eden. Adam and Eve—God’s image bearing stewards of creation—fell for the terrible lie that it would be better to know good and evil for themselves than to know, trust, and love God. They were ashamed and covered themselves with fig leaves (Genesis 3:6-7). In time, the evil in the garden metastasized to worship in the temple such that the prophet Jeremiah said, “Everyone is greedy for unjust gain; from prophet to priest, everyone deals falsely” (Jeremiah 8:10). And yet, “They were not at all ashamed; they did not know how to blush” (Jeremiah 8:12).
By the time Jesus walked into the temple, “there are no grapes on the vine, nor figs on the fig tree; even the leaves are withered” (Jeremiah 8:13). The official religious leaders at the top (the priests) and the de-facto moral authorities on the ground (the Pharisees) were involved in an elaborate worship system centered on the temple. The place for God to dwell was used to accrue power, privilege, and prestige through the extortion of the very people God intended to bless. For all its architectural splendor and religious pomp-and-circumstance, the Jerusalem temple and its system of worship was corrupt, condemned, and ready for destruction. Jesus turned the fig tree—fruitless, cursed, and withered to its roots—into a dramatically subversive sign of the kingdom of God.
The one who cursed the fig tree is the very man who hung a few days later cursed on a tree. Jesus was cursed on the cross so that the blessing of the Spirit of life might flow to those who “have faith in God” (Galatians 3:13-14, Mark 11:22). “Though the fig tree should not blossom,” the prophet says, “yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation” (Habakkuk 3:17, 18).
Now it happened that as He was praying alone, the disciples were with Him. And He asked them, “Who do the crowds say that I am?” And they answered, “John the Baptist. But others say, Elijah, and others, that one of the prophets of old has risen.” Then He said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” And Peter answered, “The Christ of God.” And He strictly charged and commanded them to tell this to no one, saying, “The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” And He said to all, “If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will save it. For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world and loses or forfeits himself?
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Republisehd from August 18, 2017
On the wall in my office hangs a small brown paper bag. It’s ordinary in most ways, and it had the very practical purpose of carrying my lunch one day about a year ago. But this bag is special to me because of what a friend wrote on it: “Discernment is not seeing the difference between good and bad; it is seeing the difference between good and almost good.” Attributed to the famous preacher Charles Spurgeon, this statement is more than a pithy proverb about a healthy diet. It has become a regular warning of how we are susceptible to a slow, often imperceptible drift towards mediocrity in the Christian life.
There are countless “almost good” things we can give our time and attention to as Christians. If an author, activity, or initiative relates to God or the Bible, it is fairly easy to believe they are acceptable. But just like not all that is edible is nutritious, not all that is acceptable is good. The Apostle Paul put it this way, “All things are lawful for me, but not all things are helpful” (1 Corinthians 6:12). So for Paul, and for us, the question should not be, “Is this acceptable?” Rather, the question should be, “Is this helpful?” Or, better still, “Is this good?”
There are several good things that nourish us in the Christian life. In our tradition, we emphasize the “means of grace”: the Word, sacraments (Baptism and the Lord’s Supper), and prayer. But arrange those on a Venn diagram, and their common focus is the superfood of the Christian life: Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Paul made that the priority of His ministry to the Church, saying, “I resolved to know nothing among you but Jesus Christ and Him crucified” (1 Corinthians 1:2). This was not a rhetorical flourish or simplistic philosophy of ministry; rather, this was Paul’s clear-sighted conviction that this is the bullseye of the Christian life. While other truths and practices matter, none is so central or so good as this.
There are countless reasons why Jesus Christ and Him crucified is the central focus and hope of the Christian life, but for now, consider just three.
First, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually awakens us to the depths of our sinfulness and the heights of God’s holiness. By nature, we tend to minimize the problem of our guilt and have a hard time even imagining a being who is perfect. But our sin was so great and God’s holiness so perfect, that only a pure sacrifice in blood could provide atonement to bridge the once impassable gap. And in “the precious blood of Christ like that of a lamb without blemish or spot” (1 Peter 1:19), that sacrifice has been made for us.
Second, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually refreshes us with God’s self-sacrificial love for us. Make no mistake, God was never obligated to atone for our sins; His holiness and justice could have been satisfied simply by punishing and condemning us. But as John 3:16 famously celebrates, “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have eternal life.” And as 1 John 3:16 later echoes, “By this we know love: that He laid down His life for us.”
Third, the message of Jesus Christ and Him crucified continually empowers us to be people of hope. Once hopeless slaves to sin, we have been set free and united to Jesus Christ. Our lives are no longer ruled by darkness, but bursting with the bright hope of obeying God from the heart and walking paths of righteousness for His name’s sake (Psalm 23:3; Romans 6:17-18). What is more, we also live in hope that the curse of death that once hung over us has been swallowed up in Christ’s victory on the cross, and will be forever removed from us at His return (Isaiah 25:7-8; 1 Corinthians 15:54-55). “Thanks be to God who gives us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ” (1 Corinthians 15:57)!
The world may see Christ and His cross as a weak or foolish thing. But to us it is the power of God. To us it is the greatest good. To us, every other good thing is merely, “almost good.”
And one of the scribes came up and heard them disputing with one another, and seeing that he answered them well, asked him, “Which commandment is the most important of all?” Jesus answered, “The most important is, ‘Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’ The second is this: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no other commandment greater than these.” And the scribe said to him, “You are right, Teacher. You have truly said that he is one, and there is no other besides him. And to love him with all the heart and with all the understanding and with all the strength, and to love one's neighbor as oneself, is much more than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices.” And when Jesus saw that he answered wisely, he said to him, “You are not far from the kingdom of God.” And after that no one dared to ask him any more questions.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
My wife and I were headed back to Dallas when we stopped by the nursing home in Nacogdoches to see my grandparents. “We’ll just visit for a minute,” I thought, “then get on the road.” My grandfather laid in bed with my grandmother by his side. We kept company with them for a little while before saying our usual goodbyes, “Bye, PawPaw. Bye, MawMaw. We love you.” “A’ight. Y’all be safe,” I imagine my grandmother said. As we started to leave, my grandfather looked at me and said, “I love you, Baby.” Those were the last words I ever heard PawPaw say. Why is it that they mean so much to me now? I think the reason is that love is the meaning of life.
When asked which commandment is the most important, Jesus replied, “Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.” (Mark 12: 29-30). Jesus quoted the Shema, literally meaning “hear,” from Deuteronomy 6:4-5. The God whose love spoke the world into existence called His loved ones to love. If loving God is the most important commandment, Jesus says the second is this: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself” (Mark 12:31). The problem is that we do not love God with all of our heart, soul, mind, and strength, and we all suffer the consequences.
In a world that strips love of any real depth and bends it out of shape, “the best translation of love,” Madeleine L’Engle writes, “is the name of Jesus, and that will tell us everything about love we need to know.” God so loved the world that He sent Jesus to suffer the wounds of our broken love. His death on the cross revealed the breadth and length and height and depth of God’s love that defeated death on the third day. “We love because He first loved us” (1 John 4:19). Look around. See the people in your life. Really see them. The love of God revealed in Jesus is the power for their well-being.
Wendell Berry writes:
There is no marrying
in Heaven, and I submit; even so, I would like
to know my wife again, both of us young again,
and I remembering always how I loved her
when she was old. I would like to know
my children again, all my family, all my dear ones,
to see, to hear, to hold, more carefully
than before, to study them lingeringly as one
studies old verses, committing them to heart
forever.
The poet’s longing is a clue to the meaning of life revealed in the love of Jesus Christ. We are made to be loved by God and to love God, to see, to hear, to hold our neighbor in the love of Jesus Christ for He has committed us to heart forever.
Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Let’s be honest: while every passage of the Bible is equally inspired, not every passage is equally clear. And for two thousand years, casual readers and scholarly interpreters have unanimously agreed that Mark 13:1-37 is one of those less clear passages. Along with it’s parallels in Matthew 24:1-51 and Luke 21:5-36, this a long, complex, and sometimes hard to believe passage. There are shocking announcements (v. 2), uncomfortable warnings (vv. 6-13), prophetic allusions (vv. 14), confusing predictions (vv. 15-27), and unexplained parables (vv. 28 and 34). If you are looking for a quick sound-byte of inspiration or guidance for your next morning devotional time, you just might want to look elsewhere.
But for all its challenges, this passage is a precious gift to us, and if you mine it faithfully you will discover unending riches of truth. One of those riches is found in Mark 13:31 where Jesus says, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.” This verse is a precious reminder that all that Jesus says in this passage, even though it is sometimes hard to believe, is trustworthy and true. His words have not passed away, but have been fulfilled already. And His words will not pass away, but will be fulfilled in the age to come.
In His excellent book, Taking God at His Word, PCA pastor Kevin DeYoung reminds us of this as he writes, “We do not follow myths. We are not interested in stories with a nice moral to them. We are not helped by hoping in spiritual possibilities which we know to be historically impossible. These things in the gospel story happened. God predicted them. He fulfilled them. He inspired the written record of them. Therefore we ought to believe them (Kevin DeYoung, Taking God at His Word, pp. 40-41).”
We cannot understand all that is now or will be for us as God’s people. God simply has not told us everything. But what God has said is more sure and lasting than any experience, relationship, accomplishment, or possession. And what Jesus has told us about His return is even more sure and lasting than the light of the sun, moon, and stars. And so while we see through a glass darkly now, we live in the promise that Christ will return and we will see Him then face to face. Until that day, we rest on His unchanging grace and His Word which will never, ever pass away.
And immediately the rooster crowed a second time. And Peter remembered how Jesus had said to him, “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.” And he broke down and wept.
Blake Schwarz leads the faith and work ministry of PCPC, and serves as the director of The Pegasus Institute. The Institute runs intensive cohorts designed to help Christians dive deeply into theology and apply it in the world around them. Blake met his wife, Julia Flowers Schwarz, while attending Wake Forest University and went on to receive his Masters of Divinity degree from Reformed Theological Seminary. He is currently working on DMin focused on the intersection of faith and economics and what it takes for a city to thrive. Julia and Blake have three children, and they spend most of their free time enjoying them.
“The entire Christian life should be one of repentance.” — Martin Luther
In looking at the stories of Judas and Peter toward the end of the Gospel of Mark (Mark 14:43-72), one notes their respective denials of Christ and attempts to return to him. These lives highlight the difference between Godly grief vs worldly grief. But how do we know with any degree of certainty that our grief over our sin and repentance are Godly? Bonhoeffer answers this for us in Life Together:
In confession a man breaks through to certainty. Why is it that it is often easier for us to confess our sins to God than to a brother? God is holy and sinless, He is a just judge of evil and the enemy of all disobedience. But a brother is sinful as we are. He knows from his own experience the dark night of secret sin. Why should we not find it easier to go to a brother than to the holy God? But if we do, we must ask ourselves whether we have not often been deceiving ourselves with our confession of sin to God, whether we have not rather been confessing our sins to ourselves and also granting ourselves absolution. And is not the reason perhaps for our countless relapses and the feebleness of our Christian obedience to be found precisely in the fact that we are living on self-forgiveness and not a real forgiveness? Self-forgiveness can never lead to a breach with sin; this can be accomplished only by the judging and pardoning Word of God itself.
Who can give us the certainty that, in the confession and the forgiveness of our sins, we are not dealing with ourselves but with the living God? God gives us this certainty through our brother. Our brother breaks the circle of self-deception. A man who confesses his sins in the presence of a brother knows that he is no longer alone with himself; he experiences the presence of God in the reality of the other person. As long as I am by myself in the confession of my sins everything remains in the dark, but in the presence of a brother the sin has to be brought into the light. But since the sin must come to light some time, it is better that it happens today between me and my brother, rather than on the last day in the piercing light of the final judgment. It is a mercy that we can confess our sins to a brother. Such grace spares us the terrors of the last judgment.
Our brother has been given me that even here and now I may be made certain through him of the reality of God in His judgment and His grace. As the open confession of my sins to a brother insures me against self-deception, so, too, the assurance of forgiveness becomes fully certain to me only when it is spoken by a brother in the name of God. Mutual, brotherly confession is given to us by God in order that we may be sure of divine forgiveness.
But it is precisely for the sake of this certainty that confession should deal with concrete sins. People usually are satisfied when they make a general confession. But one experiences the utter perdition and corruption of human nature, in so far as this ever enters into experience at all, when one sees his own specific sins. Self-examination on the basis of all Ten Commandments will therefore be the right preparation for confession. Otherwise it might happen that one could still be a hypocrite even in confessing to a brother and thus miss the good of the confession. Jesus dealt with people whose sins were obvious, with publicans and harlots. They knew why they needed forgiveness, and they received it as forgiveness of their specific sins. Blind Bartimaeus was asked by Jesus: What do you want me to do for you? Before confession we must have a clear answer to this question. In confession we, too, receive the forgiveness of the particular sins which are here brought to light, and by this very token the forgiveness of all our sins, known and unknown.
Does all this mean that confession to a brother is a divine law? No, confession is not a law, it is an offer of divine help for the sinner. It is possible that a person may by God's grace break through to certainty, new life, the Cross, and fellowship without benefit of confession to a brother. It is possible that a person may never know what it is to doubt his own forgiveness and despair of his own confession of sin, that he may be given everything in his own private confession to God. We have spoken here for those who cannot make this assertion. Luther himself was one of those for whom the Christian life was unthinkable without mutual, brotherly confession. In the Large Catechism he said: "Therefore when I admonish you to confession I am admonishing you to be a Christian." Those who, despite all their seeking and trying, cannot find the great joy of fellowship, the Cross, the new life, and certainty should be shown the blessing that God offers us in mutual confession. Confession is within the liberty of the Christian. Who can refuse, without suffering loss, a help that God has deemed it necessary to offer?
One of the primary means God has given to assure us the grief we feel when we deny Christ is Godly and not worldly is our Christian brother. Avail yourself of this means of grace by confessing to your brother this week, and note the liberation that comes from true repentance.
Incline your ear, O Lord, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
Preserve my life, for I am godly;
save your servant, who trusts in you—you are my God.
Be gracious to me, O Lord,
for to you do I cry all the day.
Gladden the soul of your servant,
for to you, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.
For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving,
abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.
Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer;
listen to my plea for grace.
In the day of my trouble I call upon you,
for you answer me.
There is none like you among the gods, O Lord,
nor are there any works like yours.
All the nations you have made shall come
and worship before you, O Lord,
and shall glorify your name.
For you are great and do wondrous things;
you alone are God.
Teach me your way, O Lord,
that I may walk in your truth;
unite my heart to fear your name.
give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart,
and I will glorify your name forever.
For great is your steadfast love toward me;
you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.
O God, insolent men have risen up against me;
a band of ruthless men seeks my life,
and they do not set you before them.
But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.
Turn to me and be gracious to me;
give your strength to your servant,
and save the son of your maidservant.
Show me a sign of your favor,
that those who hate me may see and be put to shame
because you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
I remember the day I asked Ann to marry me. There was a joy that seemed invincible, like my heart was going to explode. There were surely some difficult things happening in the world that day, but nothing could touch the joy of being with her. To some degree, we’ve all had that experience. The joy could have been rooted in a person or a place or a possession or a performance. Someone or something became a source of joy that nothing could eclipse. But even the most joyful experiences on earth have a time stamp. So we wear ourselves out chasing the next thing, or we become disillusioned and quit the search. In the middle of our confusion the Lord says, “Be joyful always” (1 Thessalonians 5:18). And we’re thinking, “Lord, that sounds great, but how?”
The secret to invincible joy is found in the relationship between glory and gladness. The joy of being engaged to Ann “glorified” her. To find such satisfaction in her made her look great. In a similar way, we declare the worth and glory of all kinds of things all the time. The joy we find in a car or a guitar, in a meal or a deal, in a gemstone or an iPhone, in a house or a spouse—that joy “glorifies” the person or thing that captures our affection. In one sense, there’s nothing wrong with this. The Lord created us as beings who glorify and enjoy. In another sense, this is the root of what’s wrong with us. Our sinful hearts are prone to worship the creation and ignore the Creator. We take good things and turn them into ultimate things. We worship the gift, not the Giver. When we find our deepest joys in creation, we fail to give God the glory He deserves, and eventually the joy runs out.
If this sounds like a dark story, it is. We have settled for the finite and turned away from the Infinite. We have sold our hearts to other lovers and scorned the Lover of our souls. We have worshiped the rays of light and turned away from the Sun. When we feel the darkness, we cry with David, I am poor and needy. Save Your servant. Be gracious to me, O Lord (Psalm 86:1-3). And the Lord hears our cry. He is good and forgiving, abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon Him (Psalm 86:5). Jesus laid down His life for those who didn’t glorify or enjoy Him. He went to the cross to pay the price for our sin, and He rose from the grave to give us a new heart. The new heart declares, There is none like You among the gods, O Lord, nor are there any works like Yours. For You are great and do wondrous things. I give thanks to You, O Lord my God, with my whole heart, and I will glorify Your name forever (Psalm 86:8,10,12).
By God’s grace, have we found what David found? A joy that is invincible? A presence that eclipses everything else? A well that never runs dry? If we know Jesus Christ, we begin to understand the call to “be joyful always”. For in Him we have a source of joy unlike any other. Our joy in Him brings Him glory and overflows in a life of praise that invites others to find life in His name.
In his Reflections on the Psalms, C.S. Lewis summarizes this connection between glory and gladness.
I think we delight to praise what we enjoy because the praise not merely expresses but completes the enjoyment; it is its appointed consummation. It is not out of compliment that lovers keep on telling one another how beautiful they are; the delight is incomplete till it is expressed. It is frustrating to have discovered a new author and not to be able to tell anyone how good he is; to come suddenly, at the turn of the road, upon some mountain valley of unexpected grandeur and then have to keep silent because the people with you care for it no more than for a tin can in the ditch; to hear a good joke and find no one to share it with…. The Scotch catechism says that man’s chief end is ‘to glorify God and enjoy Him forever.’ But we shall then know that these are the same thing. Fully to enjoy is to glorify. In commanding us to glorify Him, God is inviting us to enjoy Him.
Do we hear the invitation? Do we want our souls to be happy in Him? Let us pray together: Gladden the souls of Your servants, for to You, O Lord, do we lift up our souls.
Incline your ear, O Lord, and answer me,
for I am poor and needy.
Preserve my life, for I am godly;
save your servant, who trusts in you—you are my God.
Be gracious to me, O Lord,
for to you do I cry all the day.
Gladden the soul of your servant,
for to you, O Lord, do I lift up my soul.
For you, O Lord, are good and forgiving,
abounding in steadfast love to all who call upon you.
Give ear, O Lord, to my prayer;
listen to my plea for grace.
In the day of my trouble I call upon you,
for you answer me.
There is none like you among the gods, O Lord,
nor are there any works like yours.
All the nations you have made shall come
and worship before you, O Lord,
and shall glorify your name.
For you are great and do wondrous things;
you alone are God.
Teach me your way, O Lord,
that I may walk in your truth;
unite my heart to fear your name.
give thanks to you, O Lord my God, with my whole heart,
and I will glorify your name forever.
For great is your steadfast love toward me;
you have delivered my soul from the depths of Sheol.
O God, insolent men have risen up against me;
a band of ruthless men seeks my life,
and they do not set you before them.
But you, O Lord, are a God merciful and gracious,
slow to anger and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness.
Turn to me and be gracious to me;
give your strength to your servant,
and save the son of your maidservant.
Show me a sign of your favor,
that those who hate me may see and be put to shame
because you, Lord, have helped me and comforted me.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
One of the problems in our immediate cultural context of Dallas is what I call the “irrelevant view” of Christianity. What I mean by this is the common view, whether subtle or explicit, that Christianity is only relevant when a person dies, but not for the day-to-day “on-the-ground” issues of real life. This is one of the reasons why there can be a disconnect between what we do on Sunday mornings and how we live the rest of the week. In The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard calls this a “gospel of sin management.”
In Psalm 86, David demonstrates a completely different view of a relationship with God as the most relevant thing to real life today. In verse 14, he says that enemies are attacking him. This is a real-life example of feeling like life is out of control. For us, it might not be “ruthless people trying to kill” us, but there are plenty of things that can make life feel out of control: relational problems, jobs, financial issues, sickness, a pandemic, and wayward children, just to name a few. Like we often do, David feels weak, vulnerable, and helpless. How does he respond to this?
For the entire psalm, he preaches to himself reminders of who God is and what He’s like. Tim Keller notes that “he often calls God ‘Lord,’ the Hebrew word Adonai, meaning ‘sovereign.’” In other words, David is filling his mind and heart with the truth that God is in control of all things. Far from being irrelevant to our daily lives, this is as relevant as it gets!
We tend to do idiotic actions, live anxious lives, and turn to things that won’t actually solve our problems when we drift from who God is. Additionally, David declares that this God who is in control of everything is also “forgiving and good, abounding in love to all who call to you” (v. 5). The ultimate proof of this is the cross, the place where God’s sovereignty and love met as He provided His only Son Jesus to forgive every single sin of any person who would come to Him in faith.
In a world where life can often feel out of control, what could be more comforting, empowering, and life-shaping than intimately knowing a God who is both in control of everything and full of love for weak sinners and sufferers? Christianity, then, drastically changes our past, future, and present. Fellowship with the triune God is the highest good, greatest joy, and strongest fortress in the realities of day-to-day life.
Thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon: Build houses and live in them; plant gardens and eat their produce. Take wives and have sons and daughters; take wives for your sons, and give your daughters in marriage, that they may bear sons and daughters; multiply there, and do not decrease. But seek the welfare of the city where I have sent you into exile, and pray to the Lord on its behalf, for in its welfare you will find your welfare.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Imagine being an exile in Babylon. You’re far from home. Far from the temple (which Nebuchadnezzar destroyed). Far from everything familiar and precious. How can you not feel far from God? Sitting there in the sadness, you receive a letter from the prophet Jeremiah. (Remember him? Not the most popular guy in Judah.) The letter begins: “Thus says the LORD of hosts, the God of Israel, to all the exiles whom I have sent into exile from Jerusalem to Babylon.” How does that land on your heavy heart? “Lord, you sent me here to be an exile in Babylon?”
As we begin our study of the book of Daniel, we do well to consider the cultural climate that Daniel and his friends inhabit. The letter in Jeremiah 29 is God’s Word to His people living in exile. It reflects His will for His people to live faithfully in a faithless world. Though we live over 2,500 years later, the connections are striking. We’ve all heard or said something about the state of our world, nation, city, schools, and churches. Our hearts are heavy as we see the drift of a culture that worships idols instead of the true God. What if the Lord told us that He has “sent” us to live as exiles in this place? If that sounds dramatic, remember that one of Jesus’ closest friends addressed us as “sojourners and exiles” (1 Peter 2:11). What if we have more in common with God’s people in Babylon than we thought?
As exiles in a strange land, we’re prone to respond in one of two ways. Some of us are tempted to avoid the culture. We form our own Christian version of everything, keep ourselves pure, and hang on as the world burns around us. It’s an understandable strategy if we’re focused on the holiness of God and the temptations of the world. We can be distinct—not “of the world”—but we avoid the world that needs to see the light of Christ. On the other side, some of us are tempted to assimilate into the culture. We conform and enter into life in this strange place. It’s an understandable strategy if we’re focused on the mission of God and the needs of the world. We can be present—“in the world”—but we’re no different from the world that needs to see the light of Christ.
In Jeremiah 29, we’re presented with another option. The Lord does not call us to avoid the culture or to assimilate into it. He calls us to live faithfully in a faithless world. When we’re tempted to put life on hold, the Lord tells us to build houses and plant gardens, to get married and have children (Jeremiah 29:5-6). When we’re tempted to cultivate bitterness and cast judgment, the Lord calls us to seek the welfare of the city where He has sent us…and to pray for it (29:7). When we’re tempted to doubt that He is in control, He reminds us that He has a good plan for us, and a future and a hope are part of it (29:11). When we’re tempted to conclude that He doesn’t hear us, He promises that when we call upon Him and come and pray to Him, He will (29:12). And when we’re tempted to believe that He has abandoned us, He promises to be found by us when we seek Him (29:13-14).
If we feel like exiles today, how do the Lord’s words land on our heavy hearts? If it all sounds too good to be true, we need to remember Jesus Christ. None of us has been sent from the glory of heaven to the dust of earth. None of us has been able to resist the temptation to avoid or to assimilate. None of us has been in the world but not of the world as God intended. None of us has suffered as an innocent man nailed to a cross. But Jesus faithfully came, resisted temptation, lived a life of perfect holiness and love, and died the death that we deserve. Jesus, the Son of Man (Daniel 7:13), has gone before us in living faithfully in a faithless world. He did it, not to bring us home from Babylon to Jerusalem after 70 years, but to bring us home to God forever. As we wrestle with what it means to be faithful in a faithless world, we need to remember His faithfulness past, present, and future. This exile is not forever. While we’re here, the Lord has great purpose for us. And one day soon, He will bring us home to the new heaven and the new earth. Take heart, friends. Cultures and kingdoms rise and fall, but Jesus Christ is King of kings and Lord of lords, and His kingdom shall not be destroyed (Daniel 7:14).
In the third year of the reign of Jehoiakim king of Judah, Nebuchadnezzar king of Babylon came to Jerusalem and besieged it. And the Lord gave Jehoiakim king of Judah into his hand, with some of the vessels of the house of God. And he brought them to the land of Shinar, to the house of his god, and placed the vessels in the treasury of his god. Then the king commanded Ashpenaz, his chief eunuch, to bring some of the people of Israel, both of the royal family and of the nobility, youths without blemish, of good appearance and skillful in all wisdom, endowed with knowledge, understanding learning, and competent to stand in the king's palace, and to teach them the literature and language of the Chaldeans. The king assigned them a daily portion of the food that the king ate, and of the wine that he drank. They were to be educated for three years, and at the end of that time they were to stand before the king. Among these were Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah of the tribe of Judah. And the chief of the eunuchs gave them names: Daniel he called Belteshazzar, Hananiah he called Shadrach, Mishael he called Meshach, and Azariah he called Abednego.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
I was twelve when the planes crashed into the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. A child then, I still feel that wound we share as Americans twenty years later. Life goes on though. We wake up and go to work. We change diapers and play with grandchildren. We worship and go to soccer practice. Busyness blurs our memory. We forget. Then the first cool breeze after summer blows. Some image flashes on TV. A catch of breath, the welling of tears—we remember. We remain in a union of grief, struggling to make sense of terror and devastation. Vicktor Frankl, a survivor of the Nazi concentration camps, concluded his classic Man’s Search for Meaning with these words: “We have come to know man as he really is. After all, man is that being who invented the gas chambers of Auschwitz; however, he is also that being who entered those gas chambers upright, with the Lord’s Prayer or the Shema Yisrael on his lips.” How do we make sense of this? Daniel offers us a clue.
Daniel was an attractive, smart young Jewish man who lived during the devastating crisis of Judah’s exile. He was one of the elite people chosen for advanced training in Babylonian culture, prepared for service to the pagan king and empire. Israel had failed its vocation to be a blessing to the world, and Daniel lived amidst the ensuing curse. “Because you did not serve the Lord your God with joyfulness and gladness of heart, because of the abundance of all things, therefore you shall serve your enemies whom the Lord will send against you, in hunger and thirst, in nakedness, and lacking everything” (Deuteronomy 28:47-48). Even so, Daniel’s identity was thoroughly rooted in God’s righteous rule over human history. His name literally means “God is my judge.”
After 9/11, we can extend Frankl’s words to say man is that being who hijacked airplanes to kill; however, he is also that being, like Todd Beamer, who prayed the Lord’s Prayer and Psalm 23 before attempting to reclaim Flight 93 from terrorists. On the twenty-year anniversary, Lisa Beamer spoke at Wheaton College in honor of her deceased husband. “Todd loved his life, but he knew that his life was much more than his 32 years on this earth. His soul was secure, even when his body wasn’t, because Jesus was his Savior.” She added, “The core of healthy human identity is a thorough rooting in God’s goodness and in His greatness . . . The balance of both is a core identity that produces healthy and useful humanity in any place, at any time, under any circumstance.”
Daniel’s identity was thoroughly rooted in God’s goodness and His greatness. He trusted in the righteous judge of human history despite the devasting circumstances he lived through. As God’s purpose in human history reached its climax, “Christ redeemed us from the curse of the law by becoming a curse for us—for it is written, ‘Cursed is everyone who is hanged on a tree’” (Galatians 3:13). He was stripped naked, lacking everything, and cried out on the cross, “I thirst” (Philippians 2:7, Matthew 27:38, John 19:28). In Christ, the curse of sin and human terror is transformed by the God who gave His only begotten Son (John 3:16). There lies the deep meaning that transcends even the most devastating circumstances, as mysterious as that is to us now, and will one day make all things new.
But Daniel resolved that he would not defile himself with the king's food, or with the wine that he drank. Therefore he asked the chief of the eunuchs to allow him not to defile himself. And God gave Daniel favor and compassion in the sight of the chief of the eunuchs, and the chief of the eunuchs said to Daniel, “I fear my lord the king, who assigned your food and your drink; for why should he see that you were in worse condition than the youths who are of your own age? So you would endanger my head with the king.” Then Daniel said to the steward whom the chief of the eunuchs had assigned over Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, “Test your servants for ten days; let us be given vegetables to eat and water to drink. Then let our appearance and the appearance of the youths who eat the king's food be observed by you, and deal with your servants according to what you see.” So he listened to them in this matter, and tested them for ten days. At the end of ten days it was seen that they were better in appearance and fatter in flesh than all the youths who ate the king's food. So the steward took away their food and the wine they were to drink, and gave them vegetables.
As for these four youths, God gave them learning and skill in all literature and wisdom, and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams. At the end of the time, when the king had commanded that they should be brought in, the chief of the eunuchs brought them in before Nebuchadnezzar. And the king spoke with them, and among all of them none was found like Daniel, Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah. Therefore they stood before the king. And in every matter of wisdom and understanding about which the king inquired of them, he found them ten times better than all the magicians and enchanters that were in all his kingdom. And Daniel was there until the first year of King Cyrus.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
For Daniel and others taken into exile in Babylon, it was a moment of profound disruption. If we want a window into the range of emotion that the exiles felt, we can read Psalm 137: “How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?” (137:4). Daniel surely felt such emotion, but he didn’t yield to despair. “Daniel resolved that he would not defile himself” (Daniel 1:8). He asked his supervisor for permission not to eat the king’s food or drink the king’s wine. His confidence in his sovereign Lord inspired the kind of resolve that shines like a flood light on a dark night. Daniel drew a line in the sand, and God gave Daniel favor and compassion in the eyes of his pagan lords.
We forget that Daniel and his friends were probably teenagers when they were uprooted from their home and carried away to Babylon. Their lives remind us of Paul’s exhortation to a younger Timothy: “Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity” (1 Timothy 4:12). When he was around the age of 20, pastor and theologian Jonathan Edwards (1703-1758) wrote 70 resolutions, which he reviewed on a weekly basis for the rest of his life. Many of us know Edwards as the fire and brimstone preacher who wrote “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”, but he was so much more. His resolutions reflect the heart that the Lord gave him at an early age. He longed to redeem the time and to glorify the Lord in all things. Consider just a few of the 70 resolutions:
1. Resolved, that I will do whatsoever I think to be most to God’s glory, and my own good, profit and pleasure, in the whole of my duration, without any consideration of the time, whether now, or never so many myriad’s of ages hence. Resolved to do whatever I think to be my duty and most for the good and advantage of mankind in general. Resolved to do this, whatever difficulties I meet with, how many soever and how great soever.
6. Resolved, to live with all my might, while I do live.
7. Resolved, never to do anything, which I should be afraid to do, if it were the last hour of my life.
25. Resolved, to examine carefully, and constantly, what that one thing in me is, which causes me in the least to doubt of the love of God; and to direct all my forces against it.
28. Resolved, to study the Scriptures so steadily, constantly and frequently, as that I may find, and plainly perceive myself to grow in the knowledge of the same.
43. Resolved, never henceforward, till I die, to act as if I were any way my own, but entirely and altogether God’s.
It’s easy to misunderstand Edwards’ resolutions. We say, “You’re creating a new law, a new measuring stick for real believers!” People who heard about Daniel refusing to defile himself may have accused him of similar things. In reality, this kind of resolve is not the root; it’s the fruit of a relationship with the Lord. Like Daniel and Jonathan Edwards, we don’t start with resolutions. We always start with the Lord. As we behold the glory of Christ, we are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another (2 Cor. 3:18). Daniel and Jonathan Edwards were not perfect in their resolve, but Jesus was. In His days on earth, He resolved not to defile Himself in any way, and after living a perfect life, He “set His face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 2:51). If we put Edwards’ resolutions on the lips of Jesus, we hear a beautiful expression of His joyful, perfect obedience in our place. There is no resolve like the resolve of Jesus Christ to finish the work His Father gave Him to do (John 17:4). With our eyes fixed on Him, how is the Lord leading us to live? Do we believe that He will give us everything we need?
As we resolve to live for Christ, may we remember the preface to Edwards’ Resolutions: Being sensible that I am unable to do anything without God’s help, I do humbly entreat Him by His grace to enable me to keep these resolutions, so far as they are agreeable to His will, for Christ’s sake. Amen.
In the second year of the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, Nebuchadnezzar had dreams; his spirit was troubled, and his sleep left him. Then the king commanded that the magicians, the enchanters, the sorcerers, and the Chaldeans be summoned to tell the king his dreams. So they came in and stood before the king. And the king said to them, “I had a dream, and my spirit is troubled to know the dream.” Then the Chaldeans said to the king in Aramaic, “O king, live forever! Tell your servants the dream, and we will show the interpretation.” The king answered and said to the Chaldeans, “The word from me is firm: if you do not make known to me the dream and its interpretation, you shall be torn limb from limb, and your houses shall be laid in ruins. But if you show the dream and its interpretation, you shall receive from me gifts and rewards and great honor. Therefore show me the dream and its interpretation.” They answered a second time and said, “Let the king tell his servants the dream, and we will show its interpretation.” The king answered and said, “I know with certainty that you are trying to gain time, because you see that the word from me is firm— if you do not make the dream known to me, there is but one sentence for you. You have agreed to speak lying and corrupt words before me till the times change. Therefore tell me the dream, and I shall know that you can show me its interpretation.” The Chaldeans answered the king and said, “There is not a man on earth who can meet the king’s demand, for no great and powerful king has asked such a thing of any magician or enchanter or Chaldean. The thing that the king asks is difficult, and no one can show it to the king except the gods, whose dwelling is not with flesh.”
Because of this the king was angry and very furious, and commanded that all the wise men of Babylon be destroyed. So the decree went out, and the wise men were about to be killed; and they sought Daniel and his companions, to kill them. Then Daniel replied with prudence and discretion to Arioch, the captain of the king’s guard, who had gone out to kill the wise men of Babylon. He declared to Arioch, the king’s captain, “Why is the decree of the king so urgent?” Then Arioch made the matter known to Daniel. And Daniel went in and requested the king to appoint him a time, that he might show the interpretation to the king.
Then Daniel went to his house and made the matter known to Hananiah, Mishael, and Azariah, his companions, and told them to seek mercy from the God of heaven concerning this mystery, so that Daniel and his companions might not be destroyed with the rest of the wise men of Babylon. Then the mystery was revealed to Daniel in a vision of the night. Then Daniel blessed the God of heaven. Daniel answered and said:
“Blessed be the name of God forever and ever,
to whom belong wisdom and might.
He changes times and seasons;
he removes kings and sets up kings;
he gives wisdom to the wise
and knowledge to those who have understanding;
he reveals deep and hidden things;
he knows what is in the darkness,
and the light dwells with him.
To you, O God of my fathers,
I give thanks and praise,
for you have given me wisdom and might,
and have now made known to me what we asked of you,
for you have made known to us the king’s matter.”
Therefore Daniel went in to Arioch, whom the king had appointed to destroy the wise men of Babylon. He went and said thus to him: “Do not destroy the wise men of Babylon; bring me in before the king, and I will show the king the interpretation.”
Then Arioch brought in Daniel before the king in haste and said thus to him: “I have found among the exiles from Judah a man who will make known to the king the interpretation.” The king declared to Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar, “Are you able to make known to me the dream that I have seen and its interpretation?” Daniel answered the king and said, “No wise men, enchanters, magicians, or astrologers can show to the king the mystery that the king has asked, but there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries, and he has made known to King Nebuchadnezzar what will be in the latter days. Your dream and the visions of your head as you lay in bed are these: To you, O king, as you lay in bed came thoughts of what would be after this, and he who reveals mysteries made known to you what is to be. But as for me, this mystery has been revealed to me, not because of any wisdom that I have more than all the living, but in order that the interpretation may be made known to the king, and that you may know the thoughts of your mind.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Daniel and his friends were in crisis. When the troubled Nebuchadnezzar’s wise men could not tell him his dream and its meaning, the king exploded in anger and decreed the death of the wise men, including Daniel and his friends (Daniel 2:1, 12-13). As Arioch, the executioner, approached Daniel and his friends, a choice had to be made.
In times of crisis, we face a critical choice: will we panic or pray? Will we crumble in fear and panic about what seems inevitable? Or will we bow in faith and pray for what seems impossible? To panic would be natural and reasonable. Whether by ax, gallows, or sword, life was literally on the line. To pray would be supernatural, and in the eyes of the world, totally unreasonable. How could Daniel’s prayers possibly undo what had already been decreed or overpower the mightiest of kings?
In his excellent book, A Praying Life, Paul Miller describes how cynicism about prayer is perhaps the greatest challenge for Christians today. He writes, “Cynicism kills hope. The world of the cynic is fixed and immovable; the cynic believes we are swept along by forces greater than we are. Dreaming feels like so much foolishness. Risk becomes intolerable. Prayer feels pointless as if we are talking to the wind. Why set ourselves and God up for failure?” When our days are fraught with illness, financial needs, relational turmoil, and dozens of unanswerable questions, it is all too easy to bend to the spirit of the age and lose sight of God’s ultimate power.
If I were in Daniel’s shoes and facing an executioner, I imagine the weakness of my faith might only produce a prayer like, “God, let it be quick!” But Daniel does not surrender to panic, and his prayer is not a meager request for comfort. Empowered by the Holy Spirit, Daniel and his friends pray a bold prayer: for God to spare their lives by revealing the king’s dream to them. And sure enough, the God of heaven answers their prayer!
Daniel’s prayer is one of hundreds of similar prayers in God’s Word. When God’s people are in crisis, He compels them to pray. Even Jesus, facing the crisis of His betrayal, arrest, scourging, and death, prayed amid His crisis (Matthew 26:38-40). But the hero is never the one who prays; the hero is the God who provides. Listen to Daniel’s joyful response to God’s provision: “To you, O God of my fathers, I give thanks and praise, for you have given me wisdom and might, and have now made known to me what we asked of You, for You have made known to us the king’s matter (Daniel 2:23)!”
Are you facing a crisis today? God’s Word calls you not to panic but to pray. Pray boldly for God to provide whatever it is you lack. God’s answer and provision may not come as quickly or clearly as it did for Daniel, but as your Heavenly Father, He will answer. And He will always provide.
“You saw, O king, and behold, a great image. This image, mighty and of exceeding brightness, stood before you, and its appearance was frightening. The head of this image was of fine gold, its chest and arms of silver, its middle and thighs of bronze, its legs of iron, its feet partly of iron and partly of clay. As you looked, a stone was cut out by no human hand, and it struck the image on its feet of iron and clay, and broke them in pieces. Then the iron, the clay, the bronze, the silver, and the gold, all together were broken in pieces, and became like the chaff of the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away, so that not a trace of them could be found. But the stone that struck the image became a great mountain and filled the whole earth.
“This was the dream. Now we will tell the king its interpretation. You, O king, the king of kings, to whom the God of heaven has given the kingdom, the power, and the might, and the glory, and into whose hand he has given, wherever they dwell, the children of man, the beasts of the field, and the birds of the heavens, making you rule over them all—you are the head of gold. Another kingdom inferior to you shall arise after you, and yet a third kingdom of bronze, which shall rule over all the earth. And there shall be a fourth kingdom, strong as iron, because iron breaks to pieces and shatters all things. And like iron that crushes, it shall break and crush all these. And as you saw the feet and toes, partly of potter's clay and partly of iron, it shall be a divided kingdom, but some of the firmness of iron shall be in it, just as you saw iron mixed with the soft clay. And as the toes of the feet were partly iron and partly clay, so the kingdom shall be partly strong and partly brittle. As you saw the iron mixed with soft clay, so they will mix with one another in marriage, but they will not hold together, just as iron does not mix with clay. And in the days of those kings the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed, nor shall the kingdom be left to another people. It shall break in pieces all these kingdoms and bring them to an end, and it shall stand forever, just as you saw that a stone was cut from a mountain by no human hand, and that it broke in pieces the iron, the bronze, the clay, the silver, and the gold. A great God has made known to the king what shall be after this. The dream is certain, and its interpretation sure.”
Then King Nebuchadnezzar fell upon his face and paid homage to Daniel, and commanded that an offering and incense be offered up to him. The king answered and said to Daniel, “Truly, your God is God of gods and Lord of kings, and a revealer of mysteries, for you have been able to reveal this mystery.” Then the king gave Daniel high honors and many great gifts, and made him ruler over the whole province of Babylon and chief prefect over all the wise men of Babylon. Daniel made a request of the king, and he appointed Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego over the affairs of the province of Babylon. But Daniel remained at the king's court.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Over the past year, I have listened to friends and family members worry about the moral and political state of our culture. I do not blame them; I have my own worries. But I noticed that each one of them concluded with something to the effect of a shoulder shrugging, “Well, what can you do?” Perhaps what we are looking for is older than we know and found in a place we might not expect. Let’s consider Daniel’s answer in ancient Babylon.
By way of background, Daniel was caught in the middle of a cultural disaster. The nation of Judah had fallen to the Babylonian empire, the bitter fruit of a long infidelity to the I AM of Israel, the one true God. As a sharp young Jewish man, Daniel was deported to Babylon and forced to serve the foreign government. The Babylonians knew that a “mind is a terrible thing to waste.” Trained in the leading thought of the ancient world, Daniel was as excellent an advisor to the king as he was faithful to God.
Daniel 2 records a mysterious dream that Daniel interprets for the king. His ability is not due to any wisdom he had more than others but a gift of mercy from God (2:30). However much evidence there was to the contrary, Daniel explained that the Babylonian king’s power would fail; not might, not could, it was certain and sure (2:45). Other powerful kingdoms would rise and fall after him, but “the God of heaven will set up a kingdom that shall never be destroyed” (2:44). Daniel witnessed to the reality of God’s sovereign rule of human history and pointed forward to the decisive world-changing event that would subvert and overwhelm all other kingdoms.
Beyond all wisdom of the ancient world and ours as well—the gods do not dwell with flesh (2:11)—the God of heaven entered human history to establish an indestructible kingdom. “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us . . .” (John 1:14). Jesus’s death on the cross and bodily resurrection is the decisive world-changing event that interprets and redeems all our most perplexing problems, personally and publicly. However dark the times, and indeed certain points in history seem almost pitch black, the Kingdom of God is the reality undergirding, permeating, and transcending the present world in advance of filling the whole earth. Jesus Christ is the true world leader, the true world changer, and those who have come to Him in faith are witnesses to a whole new way of living in Him now and forever. A Christian’s appointed task is neither worry nor culture war but humble service in prayer. Every labor of love in Christ, however seemingly small or mundane, from changing diapers to changing public policy and all the varied tasks in between, is charged with the potential of “thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven.”
King Nebuchadnezzar made an image of gold, whose height was sixty cubits and its breadth six cubits. He set it up on the plain of Dura, in the province of Babylon. Then King Nebuchadnezzar sent to gather the satraps, the prefects, and the governors, the counselors, the treasurers, the justices, the magistrates, and all the officials of the provinces to come to the dedication of the image that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. Then the satraps, the prefects, and the governors, the counselors, the treasurers, the justices, the magistrates, and all the officials of the provinces gathered for the dedication of the image that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up. And they stood before the image that Nebuchadnezzar had set up. And the herald proclaimed aloud, “You are commanded, O peoples, nations, and languages, that when you hear the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, bagpipe, and every kind of music, you are to fall down and worship the golden image that King Nebuchadnezzar has set up. And whoever does not fall down and worship shall immediately be cast into a burning fiery furnace.” Therefore, as soon as all the peoples heard the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, bagpipe, and every kind of music, all the peoples, nations, and languages fell down and worshiped the golden image that King Nebuchadnezzar had set up.
Therefore at that time certain Chaldeans came forward and maliciously accused the Jews. They declared to King Nebuchadnezzar, “O king, live forever! You, O king, have made a decree, that every man who hears the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, bagpipe, and every kind of music, shall fall down and worship the golden image. And whoever does not fall down and worship shall be cast into a burning fiery furnace. There are certain Jews whom you have appointed over the affairs of the province of Babylon: Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. These men, O king, pay no attention to you; they do not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.”
Then Nebuchadnezzar in furious rage commanded that Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego be brought. So they brought these men before the king. Nebuchadnezzar answered and said to them, “Is it true, O Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, that you do not serve my gods or worship the golden image that I have set up? Now if you are ready when you hear the sound of the horn, pipe, lyre, trigon, harp, bagpipe, and every kind of music, to fall down and worship the image that I have made, well and good. But if you do not worship, you shall immediately be cast into a burning fiery furnace. And who is the god who will deliver you out of my hands?”
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego answered and said to the king, “O Nebuchadnezzar, we have no need to answer you in this matter. If this be so, our God whom we serve is able to deliver us from the burning fiery furnace, and he will deliver us out of your hand, O king. But if not, be it known to you, O king, that we will not serve your gods or worship the golden image that you have set up.”
Then Nebuchadnezzar was filled with fury, and the expression of his face was changed against Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. He ordered the furnace heated seven times more than it was usually heated. And he ordered some of the mighty men of his army to bind Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, and to cast them into the burning fiery furnace. Then these men were bound in their cloaks, their tunics, their hats, and their other garments, and they were thrown into the burning fiery furnace. Because the king's order was urgent and the furnace overheated, the flame of the fire killed those men who took up Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. And these three men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, fell bound into the burning fiery furnace.
Then King Nebuchadnezzar was astonished and rose up in haste. He declared to his counselors, “Did we not cast three men bound into the fire?” They answered and said to the king, “True, O king.” He answered and said, “But I see four men unbound, walking in the midst of the fire, and they are not hurt; and the appearance of the fourth is like a son of the gods.”
Then Nebuchadnezzar came near to the door of the burning fiery furnace; he declared, “Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, servants of the Most High God, come out, and come here!” Then Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego came out from the fire. And the satraps, the prefects, the governors, and the king's counselors gathered together and saw that the fire had not had any power over the bodies of those men. The hair of their heads was not singed, their cloaks were not harmed, and no smell of fire had come upon them. Nebuchadnezzar answered and said, “Blessed be the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, who has sent his angel and delivered his servants, who trusted in him, and set aside the king's command, and yielded up their bodies rather than serve and worship any god except their own God. Therefore I make a decree: Any people, nation, or language that speaks anything against the God of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego shall be torn limb from limb, and their houses laid in ruins, for there is no other god who is able to rescue in this way.” Then the king promoted Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the province of Babylon.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The unexpected had happened. For more than a century, the fearful development was unprecedented. But sometime during the night, fanned by blustery winds and fed by desiccated timber, the conflagration had leapt across the continental divide. Now it was incinerating its way downhill threatening the towns along the Colorado front range. The Big Thompson forest fire was out of control.
We had received the mandatory immediate evacuation order from the Sherriff's office, but then sat motionless on Main Street. The traffic stretched for miles in front of us. The fire was three miles behind and moving toward us faster than we were moving ahead. We were trapped, with the very real possibility that we would soon be burned to death in our automobile.
Of all the horrible memories from that horrifying day, one of the most poignant is the pungency of the acrid air that permeated everything. We reached safety, but quickly realized that the smell of smoke clung to us. Not until many days later and multiple washings did we remove the olfactory reminder of our escape.
The book of Daniel makes specific note that when God delivered three faithful young men from the flames of Nebuchadnezzar's furnace, not even the smell of fire had come upon them. There is much to learn in this familiar miracle of God's rescue of Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego.
First, God rescues His people completely. There was no "almost" or "not quite" for the young men. The one true God was able to rescue, and He willed to rescue in the moment of the fire. God acted, the men didn't help Him, and as the flames surrounded them, the Israelites knew that God was with them in the furnace. So it is with us. Our God is a mighty God, who never leaves us nor forsakes us, and He will bring to completion what He has begun in us.
Secondly, Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego were rescued visibly. They were transformed from men sentenced to death into living breathing testimonies of God's power, mercy and grace. And that transformation produced observable change. They should have died, but were delivered victorious over death. By God's grace alone, in Christ we are to "let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven." (Matthew 5:17) The believer in Jesus Christ makes God's Word and God's rescue visible to the astounded, watching world.
Finally, God rescued those three men so that He alone would be glorified, He alone would be worshipped. Nebuchadnezzar had audaciously declared himself to be a god, with the power over life and death. He had demanded worship and required obsequious praise. But the God of creation, the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, God the Father is a jealous God, who will not brook pretenders. The triune God alone is to receive worship, and even pagan Nebuchadnezzar came to recognize his own ridiculous pretense. "The chief end of man is to glorify God and enjoy Him forever."
Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. (1 Timothy 1:15) And everyone who is saved from the flames through the finished work of Christ is rescued completely, and visibly, and to the glory of God alone.
King Nebuchadnezzar to all peoples, nations, and languages, that dwell in all the earth: Peace be multiplied to you! It has seemed good to me to show the signs and wonders that the Most High God has done for me.
How great are his signs,
how mighty his wonders!
His kingdom is an everlasting kingdom,
and his dominion endures from generation to generation.
I, Nebuchadnezzar, was at ease in my house and prospering in my palace. I saw a dream that made me afraid. As I lay in bed the fancies and the visions of my head alarmed me. So I made a decree that all the wise men of Babylon should be brought before me, that they might make known to me the interpretation of the dream. Then the magicians, the enchanters, the Chaldeans, and the astrologers came in, and I told them the dream, but they could not make known to me its interpretation. At last Daniel came in before me—he who was named Belteshazzar after the name of my god, and in whom is the spirit of the holy gods—and I told him the dream, saying, “O Belteshazzar, chief of the magicians, because I know that the spirit of the holy gods is in you and that no mystery is too difficult for you, tell me the visions of my dream that I saw and their interpretation. The visions of my head as I lay in bed were these: I saw, and behold, a tree in the midst of the earth, and its height was great. The tree grew and became strong, and its top reached to heaven, and it was visible to the end of the whole earth. Its leaves were beautiful and its fruit abundant, and in it was food for all. The beasts of the field found shade under it, and the birds of the heavens lived in its branches, and all flesh was fed from it.
“I saw in the visions of my head as I lay in bed, and behold, a watcher, a holy one, came down from heaven. He proclaimed aloud and said thus: ‘Chop down the tree and lop off its branches, strip off its leaves and scatter its fruit. Let the beasts flee from under it and the birds from its branches. But leave the stump of its roots in the earth, bound with a band of iron and bronze, amid the tender grass of the field. Let him be wet with the dew of heaven. Let his portion be with the beasts in the grass of the earth. Let his mind be changed from a man's, and let a beast's mind be given to him; and let seven periods of time pass over him. The sentence is by the decree of the watchers, the decision by the word of the holy ones, to the end that the living may know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will and sets over it the lowliest of men.’ This dream I, King Nebuchadnezzar, saw. And you, O Belteshazzar, tell me the interpretation, because all the wise men of my kingdom are not able to make known to me the interpretation, but you are able, for the spirit of the holy gods is in you.”
Then Daniel, whose name was Belteshazzar, was dismayed for a while, and his thoughts alarmed him. The king answered and said, “Belteshazzar, let not the dream or the interpretation alarm you.” Belteshazzar answered and said, “My lord, may the dream be for those who hate you and its interpretation for your enemies! The tree you saw, which grew and became strong, so that its top reached to heaven, and it was visible to the end of the whole earth, whose leaves were beautiful and its fruit abundant, and in which was food for all, under which beasts of the field found shade, and in whose branches the birds of the heavens lived— it is you, O king, who have grown and become strong. Your greatness has grown and reaches to heaven, and your dominion to the ends of the earth. And because the king saw a watcher, a holy one, coming down from heaven and saying, ‘Chop down the tree and destroy it, but leave the stump of its roots in the earth, bound with a band of iron and bronze, in the tender grass of the field, and let him be wet with the dew of heaven, and let his portion be with the beasts of the field, till seven periods of time pass over him,’ this is the interpretation, O king: It is a decree of the Most High, which has come upon my lord the king, that you shall be driven from among men, and your dwelling shall be with the beasts of the field. You shall be made to eat grass like an ox, and you shall be wet with the dew of heaven, and seven periods of time shall pass over you, till you know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will. And as it was commanded to leave the stump of the roots of the tree, your kingdom shall be confirmed for you from the time that you know that Heaven rules. Therefore, O king, let my counsel be acceptable to you: break off your sins by practicing righteousness, and your iniquities by showing mercy to the oppressed, that there may perhaps be a lengthening of your prosperity.”
All this came upon King Nebuchadnezzar. At the end of twelve months he was walking on the roof of the royal palace of Babylon, and the king answered and said, “Is not this great Babylon, which I have built by my mighty power as a royal residence and for the glory of my majesty?” While the words were still in the king's mouth, there fell a voice from heaven, “O King Nebuchadnezzar, to you it is spoken: The kingdom has departed from you, and you shall be driven from among men, and your dwelling shall be with the beasts of the field. And you shall be made to eat grass like an ox, and seven periods of time shall pass over you, until you know that the Most High rules the kingdom of men and gives it to whom he will.” Immediately the word was fulfilled against Nebuchadnezzar. He was driven from among men and ate grass like an ox, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven till his hair grew as long as eagles' feathers, and his nails were like birds' claws.
At the end of the days I, Nebuchadnezzar, lifted my eyes to heaven, and my reason returned to me, and I blessed the Most High, and praised and honored him who lives forever,
for his dominion is an everlasting dominion,
and his kingdom endures from generation to generation;
all the inhabitants of the earth are accounted as nothing,
and he does according to his will among the host of heaven
and among the inhabitants of the earth;
and none can stay his hand
or say to him, “What have you done?”
At the same time my reason returned to me, and for the glory of my kingdom, my majesty and splendor returned to me. My counselors and my lords sought me, and I was established in my kingdom, and still more greatness was added to me. Now I, Nebuchadnezzar, praise and extol and honor the King of heaven, for all his works are right and his ways are just; and those who walk in pride he is able to humble.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
We live in a society that constantly tells us to focus on ourselves: how we’re doing, how we look, how we compare with others, what others think about us, what we want, what we deserve, what we don’t have, and so on. Whether it’s advertisements, social media, entertainment, or messages from influential leaders, the DNA of our society is to focus on self, with destructive consequences as an excessive and unhealthy obsession with self leads to pride, insecurity, anxiety, sadness, hurt relationships, and more.
However, this issue is not unique to our time and place; it is part of the human condition. In Daniel 4, King Nebuchadnezzar, the most powerful person in the world at that time, has a dream about a huge tree that touches the heavens yet is ordered to be cut down, and he does not understand it. Due to the wisdom imparted to him by God, Daniel is the only official able to interpret the dream, and he interprets the tree as symbolizing Nebuchadnezzar and his pride as he focuses on his own power and status. Out of love and mercy to someone who has done nothing to deserve it, God offers him an opportunity to turn from his pride and acknowledge Him as the one true sovereign King over all things.
In the dream, the image of the tree extending to the heavens evokes memories of the Tower of Babel in Genesis 11, emphasizing that human pride, selfishness, and self-focus always end in disaster. While Nebuchadnezzar initially boasts of his power after this dream, God graciously humbles him, leading this Pagan ruler to praise and honor God as the eternal King who reigns forever.
Bible scholar Thomas Constable states that the main lesson of this chapter is God’s sovereignty over the greatest human sovereign in the world, which implies that wisdom looks like humbly submitting to God’s Kingship. However, Romans 1 explains that the foolishness of sin results in human pride and, consequently, a failure to recognize and honor God for His supremacy and sovereignty. This means that the greatest problem in the universe in Daniel’s time, Paul’s time, and our time today is not mere moral failure or bad behavior, but a failure to honor, love, and know God for who He is as revealed in His Word. When this happens, it always leads to idolatry: trusting in things lesser than Jesus (including self) for significance, love, purpose, and security, things that cannot ultimately deliver what they promise.
The good news is that many years later, Jesus would come to us as both a powerful King and a humble Servant. At His name, every knee will bow and tongue confess that He is Lord, the one who also humbled Himself by becoming a servant who was obedient to death on the cross (Philippians 2:6-11). In Mark 4:30-32, Jesus picks up on this imagery of a tree growing (as trees regularly symbolize kingdoms in the Bible), and He says that His kingdom will start as a small mustard seed yet will one day grow to become the largest of plants with such big branches that birds can come and rest in its shade. Unlike worldly leaders and kingdoms that are often defined by human power and pride, Jesus’ kingdom is marked by using His power to provide gentleness, humility, love, and care for people of all backgrounds, nations, sins, and weaknesses so that they might experience rest, peace, and joy under His rule and reign. The Dutch theologian Herman Bavinck says, “It is Christ, not us, who gathers, rules, and protects His Church.” In a world that often seems chaotic and confusing, Jesus is in charge, and that is good news for people like us who need a Ruler who is both deeply compassionate and infinitely powerful. The best and wisest way to live, therefore, is to center our lives around the true King by loving Him and loving others as He invites us to experience true human flourishing instead of living for our own little fleeting kingdoms that are neither satisfying nor sustainable.
King Belshazzar made a great feast for a thousand of his lords and drank wine in front of the thousand.
Belshazzar, when he tasted the wine, commanded that the vessels of gold and of silver that Nebuchadnezzar his father had taken out of the temple in Jerusalem be brought, that the king and his lords, his wives, and his concubines might drink from them. Then they brought in the golden vessels that had been taken out of the temple, the house of God in Jerusalem, and the king and his lords, his wives, and his concubines drank from them. They drank wine and praised the gods of gold and silver, bronze, iron, wood, and stone.
Immediately the fingers of a human hand appeared and wrote on the plaster of the wall of the king's palace, opposite the lampstand. And the king saw the hand as it wrote. Then the king's color changed, and his thoughts alarmed him; his limbs gave way, and his knees knocked together. The king called loudly to bring in the enchanters, the Chaldeans, and the astrologers. The king declared to the wise men of Babylon, “Whoever reads this writing, and shows me its interpretation, shall be clothed with purple and have a chain of gold around his neck and shall be the third ruler in the kingdom.” Then all the king's wise men came in, but they could not read the writing or make known to the king the interpretation. Then King Belshazzar was greatly alarmed, and his color changed, and his lords were perplexed.
Then Daniel was brought in before the king. The king answered and said to Daniel, “You are that Daniel, one of the exiles of Judah, whom the king my father brought from Judah. I have heard of you that the spirit of the gods is in you, and that light and understanding and excellent wisdom are found in you. Now the wise men, the enchanters, have been brought in before me to read this writing and make known to me its interpretation, but they could not show the interpretation of the matter. But I have heard that you can give interpretations and solve problems. Now if you can read the writing and make known to me its interpretation, you shall be clothed with purple and have a chain of gold around your neck and shall be the third ruler in the kingdom.”
Then Daniel answered and said before the king, “Let your gifts be for yourself, and give your rewards to another. Nevertheless, I will read the writing to the king and make known to him the interpretation. O king, the Most High God gave Nebuchadnezzar your father kingship and greatness and glory and majesty. And because of the greatness that he gave him, all peoples, nations, and languages trembled and feared before him. Whom he would, he killed, and whom he would, he kept alive; whom he would, he raised up, and whom he would, he humbled. But when his heart was lifted up and his spirit was hardened so that he dealt proudly, he was brought down from his kingly throne, and his glory was taken from him. He was driven from among the children of mankind, and his mind was made like that of a beast, and his dwelling was with the wild donkeys. He was fed grass like an ox, and his body was wet with the dew of heaven, until he knew that the Most High God rules the kingdom of mankind and sets over it whom he will. And you his son, Belshazzar, have not humbled your heart, though you knew all this, but you have lifted up yourself against the Lord of heaven. And the vessels of his house have been brought in before you, and you and your lords, your wives, and your concubines have drunk wine from them. And you have praised the gods of silver and gold, of bronze, iron, wood, and stone, which do not see or hear or know, but the God in whose hand is your breath, and whose are all your ways, you have not honored.
“Then from his presence the hand was sent, and this writing was inscribed. And this is the writing that was inscribed: Mene, Mene, Tekel, and Parsin. This is the interpretation of the matter: Mene, God has numbered the days of your kingdom and brought it to an end; Tekel, you have been weighed in the balances and found wanting; Peres, your kingdom is divided and given to the Medes and Persians.”
Then Belshazzar gave the command, and Daniel was clothed with purple, a chain of gold was put around his neck, and a proclamation was made about him, that he should be the third ruler in the kingdom.
That very night Belshazzar the Chaldean king was killed. And Darius the Mede received the kingdom, being about sixty-two years old.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What would we do if we knew that our days were numbered? In Daniel 5, we see a picture of one of our options. King Belshazzar, likely aware of the imminent threat of an invading empire, throws a party for a thousand of his most important friends (Daniel 5:1). The feast is a display of Belshazzar’s glorious lifestyle of wealth, power, food, drink, and sex. Some would applaud Belshazzar. He’s “living life to the fullest” and “going out with a bang”. He’s following the adage: “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die.” When we know that our days are numbered, we tend to grasp for all the glory we can get.
The problem is, the glories of this world are only shadow glories. The real, substantial glory is the glory of God. He is the Giver of every good and perfect gift (James 1:17). Because we have a glorious and generous Creator, there is a measure of glory in wealth, power, food, drink, and sex. But when we chase and possess His good gifts without giving thanks and worshiping Him, we run from the Light and live in the shadows. The significance that we find in shadow glories seems so solid...until we see the writing on the wall (Daniel 5:5-6). Like Belshazzar, in a moment we go from feeling powerful with friends reveling in pleasure…to feeling powerless with knees knocking in fear. We don’t understand what’s happening; we can’t read the writing on the wall. But whatever it means, we know it’s not good.
There is a message for us in Daniel’s interpretation of the writing on the wall. The first word God wrote on the wall was MENE, which means, “God has numbered the days of your kingdom and brought it to an end” (Daniel 5:26). What if we knew that our days were numbered? The Lord tells us in His word that they are (Psalm 139:16). It was true for Belshazzar, and it’s true for us. We’re foolish to think that we can go on forever chasing shadow glories and ignoring the God “to whom we must give account” (Hebrews 4:13). This jarring revelation is also an invitation to trust in the One who offers us life beyond the fleeting pleasures of this world. In His presence is fullness of joy, and at the right hand of the King of Kings are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11). Has the Lord given us eyes to see that the glories of this world cannot compare with the glory of Christ? If we have time to read these words, the Lord has given us time to turn away from our sin and to turn to Christ.
The second word God wrote on the wall was TEKEL, which means, “You have been weighed in the balances and found wanting” (Daniel 5:27). Like Belshazzar, we want a life that feels significant and weighty. But without God, our significance is insignificant, our weight is weightless. Placed on the scales opposite the weight of His glory, we are light as a feather. In the balances, we go up (Psalm 62:9). We “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified by His grace as a gift, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus” (Romans 3:23-24). Has the Lord opened our eyes to the horror of our sin so that we can see the glory of our Savior? Only in Him are we not found wanting. No, in Christ we are justified and adopted; buried, raised, and glorified; graced and loved beyond our wildest dreams. In Him we are being transformed “from one degree of glory to another” (2 Corinthians 3:18). Instead of stealing His glory, now we revel in it and share it with others. The world is always inviting us to a feast of stolen glory. Church, is our life together inviting the world to the real Feast?
It pleased Darius to set over the kingdom 120 satraps, to be throughout the whole kingdom; and over them three high officials, of whom Daniel was one, to whom these satraps should give account, so that the king might suffer no loss. Then this Daniel became distinguished above all the other high officials and satraps, because an excellent spirit was in him. And the king planned to set him over the whole kingdom. Then the high officials and the satraps sought to find a ground for complaint against Daniel with regard to the kingdom, but they could find no ground for complaint or any fault, because he was faithful, and no error or fault was found in him. Then these men said, “We shall not find any ground for complaint against this Daniel unless we find it in connection with the law of his God.”
Then these high officials and satraps came by agreement to the king and said to him, “O King Darius, live forever! All the high officials of the kingdom, the prefects and the satraps, the counselors and the governors are agreed that the king should establish an ordinance and enforce an injunction, that whoever makes petition to any god or man for thirty days, except to you, O king, shall be cast into the den of lions. Now, O king, establish the injunction and sign the document, so that it cannot be changed, according to the law of the Medes and the Persians, which cannot be revoked.” Therefore King Darius signed the document and injunction.
When Daniel knew that the document had been signed, he went to his house where he had windows in his upper chamber open toward Jerusalem. He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
As I read the story of Daniel in the Bible the other morning, I asked myself, “How do we live well over the long haul in a world the wants to eat us alive?” Then I thought, “Well that’s a bit dramatic . . . a world that wants to eat us alive. Really?” But I think if we pay careful attention to the life of Daniel and our lives in the world, we shall see that the stakes are high for us as they were for Daniel. We may not literally face a lion’s den for our faith; however, the world, the flesh, and the devil are after what we will worship, seeking to kill, steal, and destroy.
In an address at Kenyon College, the American author David Foster Wallace described worship as the default-setting that drives our choices. He says,
"In the day-to-day trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice we get is what to worship. . . . pretty much anything else you worship [other than a gracious higher power] will eat you alive [emphasis mine]. If you worship money and things—if they are where you tap real meaning in life—then you will never have enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your own body and beauty and sexual allure, and you will always feel ugly, and when time and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally plant you. . . . Worship power, you will feel weak and afraid, and you will need ever more power over others to keep the fear at bay. Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid, a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. And so on."
After nearly seventy years of exile, Daniel had become the type of person whose default-setting was to worship the one true God, regardless of circumstances. He is a witness to the life-giving power of faith lived out day after day, year after year, forming an identity deeply rooted in God. A teacher once shared a quote with me by the British novelist and philosopher Iris Murdoch who said, “At crucial moments of choice, most of the business of choosing is already over.” At Daniel’s crucial moment of choice, “He got down on his knees three times a day and prayed and gave thanks before his God, as he had done previously” (6:10).
But if we only look at Daniel, we will miss the point. As we look through a window, not merely to see a glass pane but to see through it to a wider world beyond the frame, we must look through Daniel to see his God. This is the one true God who entered history in the person of Jesus the Messiah. This is the God who fell on His face to pray at a crucial moment of choice and chose the cross. Jesus was killed, conquered death, and now calls us live well over the long haul in this world by total confidence in Him. By His Spirit dwelling within us, we can become the type of people who live well through small, ordinary acts of humility, trust, and thankfulness, day after day, year after year, at any time, in any place, under any circumstance, no matter what.
Then the king, when he heard these words, was much distressed and set his mind to deliver Daniel. And he labored till the sun went down to rescue him. Then these men came by agreement to the king and said to the king, “Know, O king, that it is a law of the Medes and Persians that no injunction or ordinance that the king establishes can be changed.”
Then the king commanded, and Daniel was brought and cast into the den of lions. The king declared to Daniel, “May your God, whom you serve continually, deliver you!” And a stone was brought and laid on the mouth of the den, and the king sealed it with his own signet and with the signet of his lords, that nothing might be changed concerning Daniel. Then the king went to his palace and spent the night fasting; no diversions were brought to him, and sleep fled from him.
Then, at break of day, the king arose and went in haste to the den of lions. As he came near to the den where Daniel was, he cried out in a tone of anguish. The king declared to Daniel, “O Daniel, servant of the living God, has your God, whom you serve continually, been able to deliver you from the lions?” Then Daniel said to the king, “O king, live forever! My God sent his angel and shut the lions' mouths, and they have not harmed me, because I was found blameless before him; and also before you, O king, I have done no harm.” Then the king was exceedingly glad, and commanded that Daniel be taken up out of the den. So Daniel was taken up out of the den, and no kind of harm was found on him, because he had trusted in his God.
David is a graduate of Texas A&M University—Corpus Christi where he holds a BBA in Management, as well as a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary—Houston. He lives in Dallas with his wife, Robyn. He's looking to plant a church in the Uptown area.
This is perhaps the most well-known passage of the Old Testament. It’s taught in Sunday Schools each Sunday to students of all ages, usually under the moniker of “Dare to be a Daniel.” We can learn from Daniel how to stand fast in the faith, and by trusting God, we too can pass unharmed in the lions’ dens of our own lives. But that’s not the point of this narrative…
Our story picks up in the thick of a conspiracy against Daniel, with the king being used as an unwitting pawn. It would seem as though Daniel had quite the reputation for integrity and service in the land of his captivity, and doubtless, had caused quite a stir among the native Babylonian royal advisers. Being savvy to the laws and customs of the time, they hoodwink Darius into making what was seemingly an innocent proclamation – but one that not even the king himself would be able to reverse – targeting Daniel. Once Daniel was found to have been in violation of such an edict, the gig was up. The king knew his advisors had pulled a fast one on him. He’d been duped. Powerless, he called for Daniel. In some of the most remorseful words recorded by Daniel, Darius commends him to his God as he is cast into the lions' den. One can almost hear in Darius’ voice the recall of the story passed down of how God had rescued the three Hebrew children from the fire his predecessor, Nebuchadnezzar, had thrown them into. Surely, if the Hebrew God could do that, He could safeguard Daniel from the lions…. The stone was rolled over the den, Darius sealed it with his signet, and headed home to the palace, taking it all in.
The text reads at daybreak, he arose “in haste” to head to the den to see what had become of Daniel. He had the stone rolled away, and in perturbation, called out to Daniel. Doubtless to his shock as well as those around, Daniel called back! He declared the angel of the Lord was with him during the night, and the lions’ mouths stayed shut! The text says that Darius was “exceedingly glad” and straightway had Daniel taken up out of the den!
Now, the history of the church is riddled with those who trusted God and were thrown into the lions’ den. Ignatius of Antioch was marched from Syria to Rome only to be tossed, and ripped apart by wild beasts. Refusing deliverance he said, “Now I begin to be a disciple. I care for nothing, of visible or invisible things, so that I may but win Christ. Let fire and the cross, let the companies of wild beasts, let breaking of bones and tearing of limbs, let the grinding of the whole body, and all the malice of the devil, come upon me; be it so, only may I win Christ Jesus!” And even when he was sentenced to be thrown to the beasts, he spoke, "I am the wheat of Christ: I am going to be ground with the teeth of wild beasts, that I may be found pure bread." History further recounts of Blandina, of Lyon, France, during the persecution of Marcus Aurelius Antonius, who when bound and tossed to the lions, was in such earnest prayer, the lions refused to touch her.
In our western Evangelical minds, we tend to commodify faith, treating it like it’s the Force from Star Wars – if we have it, we can manipulate God into shaping outcomes in our favor. After all, did not God honor Daniel’s faith in delivering him from the lions? Well, not exactly. You see, the faith of Daniel did not determine the outcome – the faith of Daniel was that the outcome did not matter. Whether he was torn apart by lions or whether they left him alone that night – he was going to trust the Lord either way. Ultimately, what this passage is about is not Daniel – he is but a mere agent. This story is about a sovereign God – a God who can deliver youths from the fire; a God who can preserve the lives of His faithful servants, without regard to conspiracies against them; a God who can shut the mouths of lions; a God who can reverse captivity; a God who is faithful to His Word. This is what those contemporary to the times it was written would have taken away from this passage, and this is likewise what we should take away as well. We serve a sovereign God who can and will do anything!
In the first year of Belshazzar king of Babylon, Daniel saw a dream and visions of his head as he lay in his bed. Then he wrote down the dream and told the sum of the matter. Daniel declared, “I saw in my vision by night, and behold, the four winds of heaven were stirring up the great sea. And four great beasts came up out of the sea, different from one another. The first was like a lion and had eagles' wings. Then as I looked its wings were plucked off, and it was lifted up from the ground and made to stand on two feet like a man, and the mind of a man was given to it. And behold, another beast, a second one, like a bear. It was raised up on one side. It had three ribs in its mouth between its teeth; and it was told, ‘Arise, devour much flesh.’ After this I looked, and behold, another, like a leopard, with four wings of a bird on its back. And the beast had four heads, and dominion was given to it. After this I saw in the night visions, and behold, a fourth beast, terrifying and dreadful and exceedingly strong. It had great iron teeth; it devoured and broke in pieces and stamped what was left with its feet. It was different from all the beasts that were before it, and it had ten horns. I considered the horns, and behold, there came up among them another horn, a little one, before which three of the first horns were plucked up by the roots. And behold, in this horn were eyes like the eyes of a man, and a mouth speaking great things.
“As I looked,
thrones were placed,
and the Ancient of Days took his seat;
his clothing was white as snow,
and the hair of his head like pure wool;
his throne was fiery flames;
its wheels were burning fire.
A stream of fire issued
and came out from before him;
a thousand thousands served him,
and ten thousand times ten thousand stood before him;
the court sat in judgment,
and the books were opened.
“I looked then because of the sound of the great words that the horn was speaking. And as I looked, the beast was killed, and its body destroyed and given over to be burned with fire. As for the rest of the beasts, their dominion was taken away, but their lives were prolonged for a season and a time.
“I saw in the night visions,
and behold, with the clouds of heaven
there came one like a son of man,
and he came to the Ancient of Days
and was presented before him.
And to him was given dominion
and glory and a kingdom,
that all peoples, nations, and languages
should serve him;
his dominion is an everlasting dominion,
which shall not pass away,
and his kingdom one
that shall not be destroyed.
“As for me, Daniel, my spirit within me was anxious, and the visions of my head alarmed me. I approached one of those who stood there and asked him the truth concerning all this. So he told me and made known to me the interpretation of the things. ‘These four great beasts are four kings who shall arise out of the earth. But the saints of the Most High shall receive the kingdom and possess the kingdom forever, forever and ever.’
“Then I desired to know the truth about the fourth beast, which was different from all the rest, exceedingly terrifying, with its teeth of iron and claws of bronze, and which devoured and broke in pieces and stamped what was left with its feet, and about the ten horns that were on its head, and the other horn that came up and before which three of them fell, the horn that had eyes and a mouth that spoke great things, and that seemed greater than its companions. As I looked, this horn made war with the saints and prevailed over them, until the Ancient of Days came, and judgment was given for the saints of the Most High, and the time came when the saints possessed the kingdom.
“Thus he said: ‘As for the fourth beast,
there shall be a fourth kingdom on earth,
which shall be different from all the kingdoms,
and it shall devour the whole earth,
and trample it down, and break it to pieces.
As for the ten horns,
out of this kingdom ten kings shall arise,
and another shall arise after them;
he shall be different from the former ones,
and shall put down three kings.
He shall speak words against the Most High,
and shall wear out the saints of the Most High,
and shall think to change the times and the law;
and they shall be given into his hand
for a time, times, and half a time.
But the court shall sit in judgment,
and his dominion shall be taken away,
to be consumed and destroyed to the end.
And the kingdom and the dominion
and the greatness of the kingdoms under the whole heaven
shall be given to the people of the saints of the Most High;
his kingdom shall be an everlasting kingdom,
and all dominions shall serve and obey him.’
“Here is the end of the matter. As for me, Daniel, my thoughts greatly alarmed me, and my color changed, but I kept the matter in my heart.”
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
In Daniel 7 we are told that as Daniel lay in his bed he saw a dream and visions of four unique beasts. These beasts were dreadful, terrifying, confusing and they each presented a threat to mankind. In verse 15 Daniel is honest and says these visions made his spirit anxious and alarmed him. When Daniel asks for the meaning of these beasts he is told that they represent four kings, the last of which will “devour the whole earth,” break the world into pieces, and speak against the Lord. He will wage war against and persecute the Lord’s people, and for a time, they will be given into this king’s hand. You can imagine why this news alarmed Daniel.
But the vision doesn’t end there. Daniel is told that this will not last forever. The Ancient of Days, YHWH the Lord, will sit on His throne and hold court. The books will be opened, and judgment will be passed. The beast will lose all authority, be slain, and his kingdom destroyed. And then one “like the Son of Man” will come and to Him will be given “dominion and glory and a kingdom” that will never be destroyed. This kingdom will be given to God’s people and will be theirs for all eternity. Never again will the people of God be crushed or ruled by the terrifying beasts of the world.
While the exact interpretation of who these kings are and when they will rule are unknown to us, this passage is still extremely applicable to us today. Scripture tells us that throughout time there will be kings, powers, and authorities that will rise up, that are worldly and not of God. Some will be very wicked and evil. And some will even wage war against God’s people, speaking against them, and overpowering them at times. As we look at the news today and the world around us, we can easily see that we are surrounded by “beasts.” These beasts come in various forms but they are also dreadful, terrifying, confusing, and present a threat to mankind. Like Daniel, when we see these things in our world we are highly alarmed, saddened, angry, and anxious.
As believers we are not exempt from facing the beasts of this world and the emotions they produce within us. However, what these visions show us is that we must view what is happening in our world with the end in mind. We don’t just see what is happening right in front of us, but we also see what is to come, what has been promised to us by God throughout scripture. God will sit on the throne and judge the earth. All “beasts” will lose their authority and be slain and destroyed. Jesus will return and He will have dominion and power over all creation forever. His kingdom will be given to God’s people, and it will never be taken away from us. No matter what happens in the world and culture around us, we live in the reality that it will all come to an end, the lies will be revealed and truth will be known. All rulers and leaders will lose their authority and be replaced by the One True King.
Are you stuck in one part of the story forgetting what is to come? Are you filled with anxiety over what is going on in our world today? When the culture we live in and the news alarm you and create anxiety in your spirit, you must make a choice to live with the end in mind. Remember that the troubles we face today are temporary and in the end God will make all things right. This world is not our home, we are strangers and aliens, and so we live not for the things of this world but for what is to come. So we must fix our eyes on Jesus and renew our minds daily with His truth which gives us hope. We live knowing that God will overcome the world and His kingdom will last forever.
In the first year of Darius the son of Ahasuerus, by descent a Mede, who was made king over the realm of the Chaldeans— in the first year of his reign, I, Daniel, perceived in the books the number of years that, according to the word of the Lord to Jeremiah the prophet, must pass before the end of the desolations of Jerusalem, namely, seventy years.
Then I turned my face to the Lord God, seeking him by prayer and pleas for mercy with fasting and sackcloth and ashes. I prayed to the Lord my God and made confession, saying, “O Lord, the great and awesome God, who keeps covenant and steadfast love with those who love him and keep his commandments, we have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled, turning aside from your commandments and rules. We have not listened to your servants the prophets, who spoke in your name to our kings, our princes, and our fathers, and to all the people of the land. To you, O Lord, belongs righteousness, but to us open shame, as at this day, to the men of Judah, to the inhabitants of Jerusalem, and to all Israel, those who are near and those who are far away, in all the lands to which you have driven them, because of the treachery that they have committed against you. To us, O Lord, belongs open shame, to our kings, to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against you. To the Lord our God belong mercy and forgiveness, for we have rebelled against him and have not obeyed the voice of the Lord our God by walking in his laws, which he set before us by his servants the prophets. All Israel has transgressed your law and turned aside, refusing to obey your voice. And the curse and oath that are written in the Law of Moses the servant of God have been poured out upon us, because we have sinned against him. He has confirmed his words, which he spoke against us and against our rulers who ruled us, by bringing upon us a great calamity. For under the whole heaven there has not been done anything like what has been done against Jerusalem. As it is written in the Law of Moses, all this calamity has come upon us; yet we have not entreated the favor of the Lord our God, turning from our iniquities and gaining insight by your truth. Therefore the Lord has kept ready the calamity and has brought it upon us, for the Lord our God is righteous in all the works that he has done, and we have not obeyed his voice. And now, O Lord our God, who brought your people out of the land of Egypt with a mighty hand, and have made a name for yourself, as at this day, we have sinned, we have done wickedly.
“O Lord, according to all your righteous acts, let your anger and your wrath turn away from your city Jerusalem, your holy hill, because for our sins, and for the iniquities of our fathers, Jerusalem and your people have become a byword among all who are around us. Now therefore, O our God, listen to the prayer of your servant and to his pleas for mercy, and for your own sake, O Lord, make your face to shine upon your sanctuary, which is desolate. O my God, incline your ear and hear. Open your eyes and see our desolations, and the city that is called by your name. For we do not present our pleas before you because of our righteousness, but because of your great mercy. O Lord, hear; O Lord, forgive. O Lord, pay attention and act. Delay not, for your own sake, O my God, because your city and your people are called by your name.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
If we’ve ever felt like we had to wait a long time—for a birthday, the first day of summer break, a driver’s license, a job, a relationship, a child, an answered prayer—we’re not alone. The Bible is full of men and women who waited, not weeks or months or years, but decades and even centuries to see God’s promises come to fruition. When Daniel prays, “O Lord, delay not” (Daniel 9:19), he joins Abraham, Sarah, Joseph, Moses, David, and countless saints who could have made the same plea. We want the answers right here and now, yet the Lord continues to work out His purposes on a global scale across millennia. In the school of discipleship, one of the Lord’s main teaching tools is waiting. The Lord enrolled Daniel in this course at an early age, and Daniel has much to teach us about waiting for the Lord, whose will and timing are perfect. When Daniel perceives that his people’s exile will come to an end after seventy years, it doesn’t lead him to despair, but to prayer (Daniel 9:2-3). His prayer focuses on God’s faithfulness and the people’s unfaithfulness. After pouring out his heart, Daniel concludes, “O Lord, hear; O Lord, forgive. O Lord, pay attention and act. Delay not, for Your own sake, O my God, because Your city and Your people are called by Your name” (Daniel 9:19).
As we enter Advent, it’s helpful to remember that the word means “coming” or “arrival”. We live in the tension between two comings. We joyfully remember Christ’s first coming, and we longingly wait for His second. Before the Incarnation, God’s people questioned His timing and struggled to wait. “But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth His Son” (Galatians 4:4). What seemed like an unacceptable delay was the Lord’s perfect timing. After two thousand years, how are we doing with the waiting?
Daniel’s cry is a gift to us because we can see more than the prophet could. Daniel prays, “O Lord, hear, pay attention and act,” and we know that the Lord has answered. He heard the Israelites groaning in slavery in Egypt; He heard Daniel groaning in exile in Babylon; and He hears us groaning in a world bruised and broken by the Fall. The coming of Christ is the greatest proof that the Lord has heard, paid attention, and acted. Daniel prays, “O Lord, forgive,” and we know that the Lord has answered. The faithful, righteous Lord lived, died, and rose again for His sinful people. Have we truly felt the power of the assurance of pardon we hear on Sundays: “Friends, believe the good news: in Jesus Christ we are forgiven”? Finally, Daniel prays, “Delay not, for Your own sake,” and we know—as strange as it seems to our finite minds—that the Lord has not delayed. As Peter writes, “Do not overlook this one fact, beloved, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day. The Lord is not slow to fulfill His promise as some count slowness, but is patient toward you, not wishing that any should perish, but that all should reach repentance” (2 Peter 3:8-9).
This Advent we can pray, “O Lord, hear, forgive, pay attention, act, delay not.” And we can know that He has answered us and will answer us. He may not answer when or how we expect. He will answer for the sake of His glory, and that is ultimately for our good. As we wait, are we resting in our faithful God, the One who came and will come again?
While I was speaking and praying, confessing my sin and the sin of my people Israel, and presenting my plea before the Lord my God for the holy hill of my God, while I was speaking in prayer, the man Gabriel, whom I had seen in the vision at the first, came to me in swift flight at the time of the evening sacrifice. He made me understand, speaking with me and saying, “O Daniel, I have now come out to give you insight and understanding. At the beginning of your pleas for mercy a word went out, and I have come to tell it to you, for you are greatly loved. Therefore consider the word and understand the vision.
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
In the first year of the reign of King Darius, the same year, presumably, that Daniel was cast into the lion’s den, Daniel, an old man, read the words of the prophet Jeremiah and saw that God had promised an end to the captivity of Israel after seventy years. The seventy years were over; the time was complete. Daniel prayed, and God answered to fulfill His word.
Daniel’s prayer is twofold. He concludes his prayer as we would expect, petitioning God on behalf of the exiles to fulfill the word which He spoke to Jeremiah, and pleads, “O Lord, pay attention and act. Delay not, for your own sake, O my God, because your city and your people are called by your name.” What a bold prayer! Are we so bold as to tell God to pay attention to us and act? But how did Daniel begin his prayer? He begins with repentance. Daniel recognizes that all the curses for breaking the covenant (spelled out in Deuteronomy 28:15-68) had come upon them: God had given them into the hands of their enemies and had scattered them, just as He had promised. Daniel’s first words confess his sin: “we have sinned and done wrong and acted wickedly and rebelled” (Daniel 9:5). Do we begin our prayers with such abject penitence? Daniel’s confession and his supplication alike recognize God’s faithfulness to His promises. He promised to visit His people in judgment for their sin; He also promised steadfast love and faithfulness when they repented and sought Him with all their heart.
God’s promises began from the very beginning of creation: God spoke to Adam and Eve saying that if they ate of the fruit of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, they would surely die. And God fulfilled His word of judgment: the wages of sin is death. After the Fall, however, God promised salvation, saying to the serpent,
I will put enmity between you and the woman,
and between your offspring and her offspring;
he shall bruise your head,
and you shall bruise his heel” (Genesis 3:15).
Daniel prayed for redemption for the people of Israel, and forgiveness for their sins. In Genesis we find the first promise of the coming Savior. Like Israel’s captivity in Babylon, man’s captivity to sin has an end. “Rejoice! Emmanuel shall come to thee, O Israel.” Those who witnessed the coming of Christ perceived this and praised God for fulfilling His word. Mary responds in song to the angel Gabriel’s message to her:
“He has helped his servant Israel,
in remembrance of his mercy,
as He spoke to our fathers,
to Abraham and to his offspring forever” (Luke 1:54-55).
Likewise, Zechariah, after the birth of John the Baptist, exclaimed,
“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has visited and redeemed his people
and has raised up a horn of salvation for us
in the house of his servant David,
as he spoke by the mouth of his holy prophets from of old” (Luke 1:68-70)
And finally, Simeon, when Jesus was presented at the temple, blessed God and said:
“Lord, now you are letting your servant depart in peace,
according to your word;
for my eyes have seen your salvation
that you have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and for glory to your people Israel” (Luke 2:29-32).
Just as God first promises the coming of Jesus at the beginning of Scripture, He promises His return at the Bible’s end: “Behold, I am coming soon” (Revelation 22:20). Jesus has come, God’s Son sent forth, born to redeem us, and He will return. He will dwell with us, and we will be His people, and God Himself will be with us as our God. He will wipe away every tear from our eyes, and death will be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things will have passed away (Revelation 21:3-4).
The wages of sin is death, but the gift of God in Christ Jesus is eternal life. May we confess our sins with Daniel’s humility, and may we pray for Christ’s return as fervently as Daniel prayed for God to fulfill His promise. “Amen! Come, Lord Jesus!”
Yea, amen! let all adore thee,
High on thine eternal throne;
Savior, take the pow'r and glory,
Claim the kingdom for thine own:
O come quickly, O come quickly;
Alleluia! come, Lord, come.
(“Lo, He Comes with Clouds, Descending,” by Charles Wesley)
“Seventy weeks are decreed about your people and your holy city, to finish the transgression, to put an end to sin, and to atone for iniquity, to bring in everlasting righteousness, to seal both vision and prophet, and to anoint a most holy place. Know therefore and understand that from the going out of the word to restore and build Jerusalem to the coming of an anointed one, a prince, there shall be seven weeks. Then for sixty-two weeks it shall be built again with squares and moat, but in a troubled time. And after the sixty-two weeks, an anointed one shall be cut off and shall have nothing. And the people of the prince who is to come shall destroy the city and the sanctuary. Its end shall come with a flood, and to the end there shall be war. Desolations are decreed. And he shall make a strong covenant with many for one week, and for half of the week he shall put an end to sacrifice and offering. And on the wing of abominations shall come one who makes desolate, until the decreed end is poured out on the desolator.”
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
The recent disastrous tornados in 6 states remind us of our vulnerability; all we can do in such storms is seek shelter in the most secure structure we can find and trust God for His protection.
In Daniel 9 we find the prophet’s prayer for God’s mercy and forgiveness after His people’s 70 years of captivity. God’s angel Gabriel came immediately in response, with one of the most profound and emphatic prophecies of future events in the Old Testament. Along with a reminder that he was “greatly loved,” Gabriel told Daniel to “understand the vision.” And now we wish we could fully understand it! How did Daniel interpret these lines? How are we to apply this schematic for the future?
God answered Daniel’s petitions within a mysterious and yet definite structure. It was a structure of 7s, 70s, and 62s, posing difficulty for us today. Yet there the phrases stand, with clear and structural precision. The Lord’s message to the prophet—and to all His people—is not merely a reassuring “it’s all going to work out, trust me,” but also revelation of an unfolding and certain pattern. Gabriel said, “Seventy weeks are decreed about your people and your holy city,” the very subjects of Daniel’s prayer.
Daniel asked for forgiveness, and the angel said transgression would be finished, sin ended, iniquity atoned for, and everlasting righteousness brought in. A most holy place would be anointed, or consecrated, but in a much more transcendent way, perhaps, than Daniel could have imagined.
Scholars have labored, mostly in vain, to match dates of Persian decrees about Jerusalem with the arrival and the crucifixion of Jesus, who is certainly the “Anointed One” who came among His people: God Incarnate, the Word made flesh, the very presence of God Himself among human beings, born in an animal stall, and bringing the temple to walking, talking life. He would be “cut off,” put to a terrible death, suffer His people’s judgment on the cross, and bring for those who trust in Him the end of sin’s control. His own righteousness is credited to believers—and ultimately will be our full experience with Him eternally, when desolations and the desolater are ended, in His own perfect place.
What about the numbers? Perhaps, as if we are looking at a great cathedral, we should step back and see in Daniel 9 a majestic structure. Though we can’t work out the numbers or even all the identities within the vision, we can understand that in the heart of this massive edifice is the Redeemer and His saving work. In this structure is life and security, and so we bow before Him.
Ancient structures like the Church of the Nativity in Bethlehem and the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul stand after many centuries, places of both fervent worship and defiant desecration. Here in Daniel 9 is a divinely drafted living structure, within which God’s will is progressively done, and within which His people find the peace of forgiveness and His renewing presence. As in those ancient cathedrals, enemies may still invade and wreak havoc—but even their evil devastation becomes the instrument of Christ’s triumph.
The details may elude us, but the great message does not. Sin will not prevail because of God’s redemption, won by Messiah the King with His life, death, and resurrection. Although even sudden “desolations” come, we are always secure with Him. We can be with Him in His holy city forever. His message assures us; because we, like Daniel, are greatly loved.
In the third year of Cyrus king of Persia a word was revealed to Daniel, who was named Belteshazzar. And the word was true, and it was a great conflict. And he understood the word and had understanding of the vision.
In those days I, Daniel, was mourning for three weeks. I ate no delicacies, no meat or wine entered my mouth, nor did I anoint myself at all, for the full three weeks. On the twenty-fourth day of the first month, as I was standing on the bank of the great river (that is, the Tigris) I lifted up my eyes and looked, and behold, a man clothed in linen, with a belt of fine gold from Uphaz around his waist. His body was like beryl, his face like the appearance of lightning, his eyes like flaming torches, his arms and legs like the gleam of burnished bronze, and the sound of his words like the sound of a multitude. And I, Daniel, alone saw the vision, for the men who were with me did not see the vision, but a great trembling fell upon them, and they fled to hide themselves. So I was left alone and saw this great vision, and no strength was left in me. My radiant appearance was fearfully changed, and I retained no strength. Then I heard the sound of his words, and as I heard the sound of his words, I fell on my face in deep sleep with my face to the ground.
And behold, a hand touched me and set me trembling on my hands and knees. And he said to me, “O Daniel, man greatly loved, understand the words that I speak to you, and stand upright, for now I have been sent to you.” And when he had spoken this word to me, I stood up trembling. Then he said to me, “Fear not, Daniel, for from the first day that you set your heart to understand and humbled yourself before your God, your words have been heard, and I have come because of your words. The prince of the kingdom of Persia withstood me twenty-one days, but Michael, one of the chief princes, came to help me, for I was left there with the kings of Persia, and came to make you understand what is to happen to your people in the latter days. For the vision is for days yet to come.”
When he had spoken to me according to these words, I turned my face toward the ground and was mute. And behold, one in the likeness of the children of man touched my lips. Then I opened my mouth and spoke. I said to him who stood before me, “O my lord, by reason of the vision pains have come upon me, and I retain no strength. How can my lord's servant talk with my lord? For now no strength remains in me, and no breath is left in me.”
Again one having the appearance of a man touched me and strengthened me. And he said, “O man greatly loved, fear not, peace be with you; be strong and of good courage.” And as he spoke to me, I was strengthened and said, “Let my lord speak, for you have strengthened me.”
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
One of the top 5 worldwide grossing movies of 2019 was Spider-Man: Far From Home. In one of the movie’s key scenes Quentin Beck, a holographic-illusions specialist, uses technology to project virtual illusions to try to deceive Peter Parker’s (aka Spider-Man’s) perception of reality. In the scene, Peter wrestles with whether what he is seeing is real or not, and the point is this: what Peter sees with his eyes doesn’t tell the full story; there is more to see that he isn’t seeing in the moment (Beck behind the scenes projecting the false images). His ability to “see beyond” what is immediately apparent to him will of course determine his ability to accurately perceive reality, and therefore see and be in the world in a way that will lead to his flourishing.
In a spiritual sense, this happens to us today as well. If you turn on the TV or open a newspaper, what do you see? Based on what is directly visible, what is most important? Who is most important and powerful? How do people make sense of the world?
In Daniel’s time (the sixth century BC), what God’s people would have seen was the powerful Babylonian empire and king, persecution at the hand of this kingdom, and the exile due to forsaking the Lord which would have led to much sadness and discouragement.
In Daniel 10, Daniel is mourning the difficult situation of his people. As he reflects on what is immediately visible to him an angelic messenger appears for the purpose of showing him (and us) more to the story. Daniel has his view from below, but he is going to receive a view from above that will give him a new perspective on what he sees from below. What the heavenly visitor reveals to Daniel is that the conflicts he sees on earth reflect intense spiritual conflicts that he cannot see.
When Daniel hears how powerful the evil spiritual forces are, he is overwhelmed by weakness to the point of being speechless on the ground. He is even more desperate than he originally thought! Yet in that moment, the angelic messenger strengthens him by reminding him that he is “greatly loved” by God so that he may live with peace, strength, and courage (v. 19). The Gospel Transformation Study Bible calls the angel’s touch “a highly symbolic expression of gracious care” as these touches graciously empower Daniel to stand and speak, and to experience God’s love, peace, and strength. Furthermore, in its context, the book of Daniel ultimately points toward Jesus the Messiah who alone wins the spiritual battle that we cannot win for ourselves and is present with us today while we live in this world.
We often feel like Daniel in that the circumstances, events, and people immediately before us can produce fear, anxiety, desperation, and even despair. Our own sin and decisions in life can even do the same. Yet in the potent words of Robert Capon, “Lostness, deadness, uselessness, and nothingness are God’s cup of tea.” When we, like Daniel, get knocked flat on our backs because of discouragements outside of us or the sin inside of us, we are in the perfect position for the Holy Spirit to give us the vision of a deeper reality: while our sin and situations are desperate problems (maybe even more so than we think), they are no match for our crucified Savior who loves us, gave Himself for us, and is reigning and ruling over all things for His glory and our good as He is intimately present with us today (Galatians 2:20, Romans 5:8, Romans 8:28-30). Like Daniel, knowing that the King of all things greatly loves us (which for us was ultimately demonstrated on the cross) is what fuels peace, stability, and clarity as we live in a world in which a spiritual battle is taking place.
Similar to what Daniel learned, Isaac Watts taught the Church to root themselves in this reality especially during this time of year:
“He rules the world with truth and grace
And makes the nations prove
The glories of His righteousness
And wonders of His love”
“And as for me, in the first year of Darius the Mede, I stood up to confirm and strengthen him.
“And now I will show you the truth. Behold, three more kings shall arise in Persia, and a fourth shall be far richer than all of them. And when he has become strong through his riches, he shall stir up all against the kingdom of Greece. Then a mighty king shall arise, who shall rule with great dominion and do as he wills. And as soon as he has arisen, his kingdom shall be broken and divided toward the four winds of heaven, but not to his posterity, nor according to the authority with which he ruled, for his kingdom shall be plucked up and go to others besides these.
“Then the king of the south shall be strong, but one of his princes shall be stronger than he and shall rule, and his authority shall be a great authority. After some years they shall make an alliance, and the daughter of the king of the south shall come to the king of the north to make an agreement. But she shall not retain the strength of her arm, and he and his arm shall not endure, but she shall be given up, and her attendants, he who fathered her, and he who supported her in those times.
“And from a branch from her roots one shall arise in his place. He shall come against the army and enter the fortress of the king of the north, and he shall deal with them and shall prevail. He shall also carry off to Egypt their gods with their metal images and their precious vessels of silver and gold, and for some years he shall refrain from attacking the king of the north. Then the latter shall come into the realm of the king of the south but shall return to his own land.
“His sons shall wage war and assemble a multitude of great forces, which shall keep coming and overflow and pass through, and again shall carry the war as far as his fortress. Then the king of the south, moved with rage, shall come out and fight against the king of the north. And he shall raise a great multitude, but it shall be given into his hand. And when the multitude is taken away, his heart shall be exalted, and he shall cast down tens of thousands, but he shall not prevail. For the king of the north shall again raise a multitude, greater than the first. And after some years he shall come on with a great army and abundant supplies.
“In those times many shall rise against the king of the south, and the violent among your own people shall lift themselves up in order to fulfill the vision, but they shall fail. Then the king of the north shall come and throw up siegeworks and take a well-fortified city. And the forces of the south shall not stand, or even his best troops, for there shall be no strength to stand. But he who comes against him shall do as he wills, and none shall stand before him. And he shall stand in the glorious land, with destruction in his hand. He shall set his face to come with the strength of his whole kingdom, and he shall bring terms of an agreement and perform them. He shall give him the daughter of women to destroy the kingdom, but it shall not stand or be to his advantage. Afterward he shall turn his face to the coastlands and shall capture many of them, but a commander shall put an end to his insolence. Indeed, he shall turn his insolence back upon him. Then he shall turn his face back toward the fortresses of his own land, but he shall stumble and fall, and shall not be found.
“Then shall arise in his place one who shall send an exactor of tribute for the glory of the kingdom. But within a few days he shall be broken, neither in anger nor in battle. In his place shall arise a contemptible person to whom royal majesty has not been given. He shall come in without warning and obtain the kingdom by flatteries. Armies shall be utterly swept away before him and broken, even the prince of the covenant. And from the time that an alliance is made with him he shall act deceitfully, and he shall become strong with a small people. Without warning he shall come into the richest parts of the province, and he shall do what neither his fathers nor his fathers' fathers have done, scattering among them plunder, spoil, and goods. He shall devise plans against strongholds, but only for a time. And he shall stir up his power and his heart against the king of the south with a great army. And the king of the south shall wage war with an exceedingly great and mighty army, but he shall not stand, for plots shall be devised against him. Even those who eat his food shall break him. His army shall be swept away, and many shall fall down slain. And as for the two kings, their hearts shall be bent on doing evil. They shall speak lies at the same table, but to no avail, for the end is yet to be at the time appointed. And he shall return to his land with great wealth, but his heart shall be set against the holy covenant. And he shall work his will and return to his own land.
“At the time appointed he shall return and come into the south, but it shall not be this time as it was before. For ships of Kittim shall come against him, and he shall be afraid and withdraw, and shall turn back and be enraged and take action against the holy covenant. He shall turn back and pay attention to those who forsake the holy covenant. Forces from him shall appear and profane the temple and fortress, and shall take away the regular burnt offering. And they shall set up the abomination that makes desolate. He shall seduce with flattery those who violate the covenant, but the people who know their God shall stand firm and take action. And the wise among the people shall make many understand, though for some days they shall stumble by sword and flame, by captivity and plunder. When they stumble, they shall receive a little help. And many shall join themselves to them with flattery, and some of the wise shall stumble, so that they may be refined, purified, and made white, until the time of the end, for it still awaits the appointed time.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
I reflect on Daniel’s vision this morning on a day the church calls Epiphany. The name comes from a Greek word meaning “manifestation or appearance.” January 6 is appointed each year as a celebration of the appearance of Jesus Christ as the Savior of the world. It seems fitting to reflect on Daniel’s great and terrible vision on this day and the days that follow for it tells of the land of deep darkness the world has and will walk into which Christ, the great light of the world, has shown (Isaiah 9:2).
Daniel’s vision continues from chapter ten with the succession of power in the Persian empire to a fourth king “far richer than all of them” (11:2). Biblical scholars and historians identify this king to be Xerxes. A description of the rise of the Greek empire follows through the remarkably successful, albeit short-lived, reign of Alexander the Great (11:2-4). Much of the remaining vision details geopolitics and power grabs between entrenched superpowers of the ancient world. With Ptolemy rulers in Egypt (the south) and Seleucid rulers in Syria (the north), the people of God would be caught in the middle, shot from both sides.
Then “a contemptable person whom royal majesty has not been given” appears (11:21) This is Antiochus IV, the self-proclaimed Antiochus Epiphanies (“God made manifest”). We know from history that this tyrant desecrated the Jewish temple by sacrificing a pig on the alter and slaughtered infants, not to mention other atrocities. For all Antiochus Epiphanies’ abominations that make desolate, the vision sees further still. Bryan Chapell suggests, “Antiochus Epiphanies is a lens by which we are able to see and understand great evil that persecutes, profanes, and seduces. Antiochus becomes a prototype of all that is ‘antichrist’ to show us the pattern or the ‘spirit of the antichrist’ (cf. 1 John 2:18; 4:3) in every age that will culminate in greatest evil before the end of all ages.” The vision sets the stage for a great deliverer to arise (12:1-2).
Arise, shine, for your light has come,
and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you (Isaiah 60:1).
Even in the world at its worst, even when all hope seems lost, even when we face horrendous evil and suffering: there is an appearing “who abolished death and brought life and immortality to light through the gospel (2 Timothy 1:9-10). For all its terror and foretelling, Daniel’s vision leads us to that great Epiphany, Jesus Christ, who makes our lives sing, “Heart of my own heart, whatever befall / Still be my vision, O Ruler of all.”
Forces from him shall appear and profane the temple and fortress, and shall take away the regular burnt offering. And they shall set up the abomination that makes desolate. He shall seduce with flattery those who violate the covenant, but the people who know their God shall stand firm and take action.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
We are prone to prophesy. We can’t keep from it. Now of course, we don’t always call it that. We disguise our ravenous desire to know the future with more sterilized terms like financial forecasting, weather prediction, or even stock market analysis. But truly, it’s as if we are constantly straining our vision and craning our necks to predict what will one day happen. The trouble is, we have no real ability to say with certainty what will happen because we have no certain ability to control what will happen. And that’s exactly why Biblical prophecy often seems so very compelling and often so very inscrutable.
The Lord God Almighty does control what will happen. He has both the ability and the authority to effect the future. So, when His prophets like Moses, Isaiah, and Daniel speak on God’s behalf about what God will do, God will surely do it. About that we can indeed be certain.
God’s prophetic words are gifts to His people. He speaks in order to teach us His ways and to guide us in our ways. Very broadly, God’s prophets tell His people, “Don’t be surprised!”; “Don’t be fooled!” and “Don’t be frightened!” Remember how Jesus, on the night in which he was betrayed, told the wearied and worried disciples,
Behold, the hour is coming, indeed it has come, when you will be scattered, each to his own home, and will leave me alone. Yet I am not alone, for the Father is with me. I have said these things to you, that in me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world.” (John 16:32-33)
That’s the same sort of message Daniel received six centuries before.
Again, one having the appearance of a man touched me and strengthened me. And he said, “O man greatly loved, fear not, peace be with you; be strong and of good courage.” And as he spoke to me, I was strengthened and said, “Let my lord speak, for you have strengthened me.” (Daniel 10:18-19)
Daniel has a vision of a man with a message. That message is about the future, and about how God’s people ought to think about the future. The message was terrifying. It was a message about what God would do, a message about the rise and fall of nations, about wars and rumors of wars, and about God’s certain control of everything that would occur. Daniel was shown the future in an unveiled way, and it shook him to his core.
There was going to come a pretender to the throne, a flatterer who would conquer by guile and subterfuge. And one of his most powerful weapons would be the deceit of the people of God, the people of the covenant. Then in the middle of the vision, as if to emphasize the centrality of the message, Daniel hears,
Forces from him shall appear and profane the temple and fortress and shall take away the regular burnt offering. And they shall set up the abomination that makes desolate. He shall seduce with flattery those who violate the covenant, but the people who know their God shall stand firm and take action. (Daniel 11:31-32)
What does that mean? What does that mean for us? How do we “stand firm and take action?” Well, it’s the same prophetic message. We, as “people who know their God” must be on guard, we must be careful not to be fooled by flattery or seduced to violate God’s covenant. We are to live faithful, vigilant lives.
Then we stand firm by standing in Christ. We are not surprised by trials or persecutions, and we do not live frightened lives as though the world is spinning out of control. By the promise of the Lord and the power of the Spirit, we live knowing the certain future of Christ’s glorious return and eternal reign. Jesus said,
“But in those days, after that tribulation, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. And then they will see the Son of Man coming in clouds with great power and glory. And then he will send out the angels and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. (Mark 13:24-27)
Come quickly Lord Jesus! Amen.
“At that time shall arise Michael, the great prince who has charge of your people. And there shall be a time of trouble, such as never has been since there was a nation till that time. But at that time your people shall be delivered, everyone whose name shall be found written in the book. And many of those who sleep in the dust of the earth shall awake, some to everlasting life, and some to shame and everlasting contempt. And those who are wise shall shine like the brightness of the sky above; and those who turn many to righteousness, like the stars forever and ever. But you, Daniel, shut up the words and seal the book, until the time of the end. Many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall increase.”
David is a graduate of Texas A&M University—Corpus Christi where he holds a BBA in Management, as well as a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary—Houston. He lives in Dallas with his wife, Robyn. He's looking to plant a church in the Uptown area.
What a wonderful time we’ve had in the book of Daniel! As we wind down this series there are a couple over-arching themes that encompass the book that I’d like to address here; valuable lessons that we can glean which will help us to see God more clearly, bringing us closer to Him in adoration and worship, framing how we are to posture ourselves in this life. By the time we get to this passage, Daniel is an old man, probably in his 90’s, who has lived the vast majority of his life as a stranger in a strange land. He’s lived through, and been part of, monumental historical Biblical events: Being carried off into captivity; having the Temple destroyed; being conspired against at the highest levels; spending the night with lions and living to tell about it; having multiple encounters with angels; receiving direct revelation from the Lord; seeing the leader of the known world lose his mind (only to later regain it after confessing the Lord of Heaven and earth); living through the rebuilding of the Temple; seeing his people return from captivity; and living through four different empires. Throughout a lifelong captivity, he remains blameless – toward God as well as his captors - and one lesson we can learn from the life of Daniel is how to walk in wisdom as the minority in a lost world and still be faithful to the Lord. He never decried the evil of his captors, or cursed them in their sin, rather he faithfully executed his civil duty while walking in boldness and confidence in the Lord. By contrast, the current political climate that dominates Western Evangelicalism would have us believe that in order for us to have influence in our country and in the world, we must be in control. (If we cannot be in control, then we must align ourselves with those with whom we have “shared values”; those whose “worldviews” most closely resemble our own.) All across the fruited plain we decry no longer being the majority, and that the America of today no longer reflects the America our parents grew up in – that as people are becoming more emboldened to publicly live out their sin, the veneer of Christian values once broadly expressed in popular culture has effectively eroded away. Today, if one identifies as an Evangelical Christian, then they are truly in the minority. Friends, this is nothing to bemoan, nor is it anything new. The greater reality is that those effectively called and regenerated by the Holy Spirit and name the name of Christ have been, and always will be, the minority. The life of Daniel upends the notion that in order for us to be influential, we must have the majority. Daniel lived almost his entire life serving at the highest levels of administration in godless, pagan empires. Yet, in the fear of the Lord and in wisdom, he was able to walk blameless before his captors, while living out his faith, and declare the Word of the Lord with boldness. He never compromised or saw being the minority as a threat. The truth which he grasped (and I pray we in America can grasp this as well) is that when one walks with the Lord, they are in the majority. What God says is final and inalterable; it is not up for a vote, nor can it be undermined by popular opinion. He cannot be swayed by the masses, and even the most wicked, reprobate rulers exercise their authority according to His eternal purposes. When we stand with God, we are in the majority. We don’t have to battle for control – it already belongs to the Lord. It is this resting in God’s sovereignty that sets Daniel apart from what we see playing out before us today on cable news and pop culture religion – Daniel knew that despite his present situation, God was, and always is, in control. The outcome was never in dispute. We think that unless we’re in control, that God is not in control, and that for God to be in control, we must be in control. This in part was the purpose of all the visions he’d received – to know that God is in control, and the worldly governments serve to fulfil His purposes, without regard to how evil and godless they may be. Sin and evil may be predominant, but it is certainly not prevailing. But as grand as the revelations were that Daniel received, we have even greater revelation in God’s Word written for us, His Holy Spirit dwelling within us, and we have the fullness of the revelation of the Son. As sure as Daniel was in the sovereignty of God, we have a greater surety. Selah.
The high watermark of the book of Daniel is not the visions he received concerning the fate of ethnic Israel, the rise of worldly kingdoms, or his sparse writings about “the end,” but rather the coming of the Christ. Strategically wedged in the middle of the book in chapter seven, we read where Daniel writes,
“In my vision at night I looked, and there before me was one like the son of man coming with the clouds of heaven. He approached the Ancient of Days and was led into his presence. He was given authority, glory and sovereign power: all nations and peoples of every language worshiped him. His dominion is an everlasting dominion that will not pass away, and his kingdom is one that will never be destroyed.”
Jesus claims to be this very Messiah 550 years later in Mark 14:61-62, using the exact same language of the Son of Man coming in the clouds in reference to Himself. That the center point of the book of Daniel looks to Christ is easy to miss, but the beauty of Covenant Theology passed down to us in the Reformed tradition is that it brings to fore the work of Christ, viewing the Scriptures from a redemptive – historical lens. This helps us see the mighty hand of God at work in His creation to bring about the redemption of the elect. To read the Scriptures, particularly prophetic and apocalyptic books (like Daniel), with an eye toward attempting to surmise the details of what “the end” means, is to miss the bigger point. The inordinate and unsound preoccupation with the end times is what I call the “Last Days Craze.” Speculation and conjecture over passages of Scripture God has purposely left vague has become a cottage industry in Western Evangelicalism. It sells books, fills conference halls, and provides absolutely no clarity, despite its attempt. Daniel was denied clarity on the things he saw, and even our Lord Himself only skimmed the topic…
Our primary interpretive principle when reading the Bible is first, what does it mean to those contemporary to the writer, not what does it mean to us. When we dismiss the immediate historical context of prophetic and apocalyptic writing, appropriating what was written to our own cultural context, then what we end up doing is reading news headlines into the Biblical text. Once we start down that path, it leads down a rabbit hole of endless guesswork and hypothesizing, looking at current events and trying to reverse engineer them into the Bible. The Bible was never meant to be read that way and attempting to read it as such only undermines the comfort and certainty Scripture was given to us for in the first place. Further, it obscures the work of Christ and the hand of God operating in time for His own glory. We must read Daniel, yea, the whole of Scripture, through a Christocentric lens, not an eschatological one. Hence, the framework for reading Daniel is not an undo emphasis on “the end,” but the anticipation of the coming Son of Man, the King who will have an everlasting Kingdom and an everlasting dominion – in contrast to Israel, Babylon, or the other kingdoms of this world Daniel saw in his visions – they would all pass away, but a King and a Kingdom were coming that would last forever. Indeed, Christ’s own parting word to His disciples was to take heart, that He had overcome the world and they were to continue His work, proclaiming Him, making disciples of of all nations. They were not to cower in fear, monitoring current events, worrying about tribulation or an Antichrist. Though the Kingdom of Christ will grow, it will not be without difficulty or conflict, and we know that tribulation has been the calling card of the Church since its inception. It is unavoidable, and it is guaranteed. Even though it is assured, it cannot stop the spread of the dominion of the Son of Man. This is the comfort Daniel was given, and the comfort we can take as well!
But you, Daniel, shut up the words and seal the book, until the time of the end. Many shall run to and fro, and knowledge shall increase.”
Then I, Daniel, looked, and behold, two others stood, one on this bank of the stream and one on that bank of the stream. And someone said to the man clothed in linen, who was above the waters of the stream, “How long shall it be till the end of these wonders?” And I heard the man clothed in linen, who was above the waters of the stream; he raised his right hand and his left hand toward heaven and swore by him who lives forever that it would be for a time, times, and half a time, and that when the shattering of the power of the holy people comes to an end all these things would be finished. I heard, but I did not understand. Then I said, “O my lord, what shall be the outcome of these things?” He said, “Go your way, Daniel, for the words are shut up and sealed until the time of the end. Many shall purify themselves and make themselves white and be refined, but the wicked shall act wickedly. And none of the wicked shall understand, but those who are wise shall understand. And from the time that the regular burnt offering is taken away and the abomination that makes desolate is set up, there shall be 1,290 days. Blessed is he who waits and arrives at the 1,335 days. But go your way till the end. And you shall rest and shall stand in your allotted place at the end of the days.”
Shawn was born and raised in Dallas and is a graduate of Texas A&M University. He lives in McKinney with his wife, Simri, and their three kids: Avery, Asher, and Sutton.
The book of Daniel is an incredible journey that leaves us wanting to hear more even as we are amazed by what we have heard. Daniel was given eyes to see and ears to hear visions of what God would do in human history, some of which have unfolded over time and others are still to come. Though shaken at times by what he saw, God reassured Daniel that he was a man greatly loved (Daniel 9:23, 10:11, 19). As we come to the end of the book, Daniel longs to know more, “O my Lord, what shall be the outcome of these things?”
God told Daniel to “shut up the words and seal the book,” certifying its authorship and authority, and we remember all that Daniel had already seen. He lived at a time of exile—this was no “vacation.” Many of God’s people thought they were forgotten, forced to live under the oppression of other “gods” who were unequivocally wicked. Exile was a consequence for their own prior idolatry.
To this day, we tell the remarkable stories of God's faithfulness during this time of exile: Daniel in the lion’s den; Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace. They went through so much in their own time, and God gave visions of even more to come. So we return to Daniel’s prayer: “What shall be the outcome of these things?”
We read in Daniel 12:10, “Many shall purify themselves and make themselves white and be refined, but the wicked shall act wickedly. And none of the wicked shall understand, but those who are wise shall understand.” God’s grace is the wisdom to see that Jesus is the long-awaited Deliverer, the “one like a son of man,” who was the ultimate sacrifice that purifies, washes white, and refines all who believe and become heirs of that everlasting Kingdom that shall not be destroyed (Daniel 7:13-14). The wicked remain blind to the truth of Jesus and act wickedly. It is by grace that we see Jesus through the eyes of faith.
May we trust in God’s sovereignty in and through every situation throughout every generation, listen to His voice through His Word by His Spirit, and obey whatever He shows us. Like Daniel, we have the gracious calling to proclaim the Word of God with joy to our own generation. And this Word, the Lord Jesus Himself, gives us the confidence to hear and trust the final word Daniel received, “But go your way till the end. And you shall rest and shall stand in your allotted place at the end of the days” (Daniel 12:13).
All praise to God!
I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship. Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that by testing you may discern what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
One of the most profound and life-changing Gospel realities is that God is not only concerned about what we do (external actions), but why we do it (heart motives). Today’s passage from Romans depicts this principle in a powerful and concise way. Concerning verse one, R.C. Sproul explains, “The word therefore links what has been previously said to what is about to be concluded. In Romans 12, the ‘therefore’ refers to all the apostle has stated in the previous chapters regarding Christ’s saving work on our behalf. The word drives us forward to the only proper conclusion we can draw from His work. In light of the gracious justification that Christ has achieved for us, the only reasonable conclusion we can reach is that we ought to present ourselves totally to God as walking, breathing, living sacrifices” (The Holiness of God).
In other words, as is the pattern in Paul’s other letters, he does not tell us what to do without first telling us what Jesus has already done. If you ask people who are not Christians in Dallas what they think Christianity is all about, they will often say they think that it’s about living and behaving a certain way. Having worked for several churches, the same misunderstanding can be true inside the church as it is outside of the church: while they might not affirm it with their words, Christians (myself included) often live like they believe God’s acceptance of them depends on their performance, not Jesus’ performance. Paul smashes this misunderstanding and invites us to live by grace, not by performance.
For religion, the motive for obedience is pride or fear. For the Gospel, the motive for obedience is grateful joy. As Herman Bavinck once said of people who are captured by the good news of the Gospel, “Gratitude and joy drove them to do good works before the thought that they had to do them even crossed their mind.”
And it gets even better. In verse two, Paul shows us that the Gospel not only gives us full, final, and forever forgiveness, but it also provides us with resources to change and grow during our lives.
We live in a culture that is obsessed with self-help books and resources aimed at helping us become the best version of ourselves. We are a culture that is seeking change in all sorts of different ways. New Testament scholar Jonathan Pennington says that even as Christians, we seek “alternative gurus,” people like Joe Rogan and Oprah who gives us a vision of what a flourishing life looks like. While there certainly is wisdom in learning from other voices, seeking an alternative guru to give us a vision of the good life and advice on transformation is often rooted in us believing that the truth of Scripture is irrelevant to the situations, issues, and relationships in our daily lives.
However, Paul says that real change is available to us as our minds are renewed. This looks like our lives changing as our minds are changed by the Word of God. Far from being irrelevant to the things of daily life, this is the most relevant resource for the flourishing life that God intended for His people. As Howard Hendricks used to say, we read the Bible not just for information, but for transformation. Additionally, we don’t read the Bible so that God will love us, but because He already does. And ultimately, we read the Bible to know the One Who first loved us and saved us. What greater privilege could there be?
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ.
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us in Christ with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places, even as he chose us in him before the foundation of the world, that we should be holy and blameless before him. In love he predestined us for adoption to himself as sons through Jesus Christ, according to the purpose of his will, to the praise of his glorious grace, with which he has blessed us in the Beloved. In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of his grace, which he lavished upon us, in all wisdom and insight making known to us the mystery of his will, according to his purpose, which he set forth in Christ as a plan for the fullness of time, to unite all things in him, things in heaven and things on earth.
In him we have obtained an inheritance, having been predestined according to the purpose of him who works all things according to the counsel of his will, so that we who were the first to hope in Christ might be to the praise of his glory. In him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of his glory.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Precious God and Father of King Jesus,
You have blessed us in Christ
With all that we are,
All that we have,
And all things belong to You.
Why then do we fear to give away
What cannot finally be kept?
We have bought into bondage,
Believing that freedom can be bought.
How many marvels of Your grace have we missed,
Busying ourselves after the mirage of success?
What precious things have we lost
in the allure of more and more?
O, let Your blessing linger in our hearts
And kindle a flame of gladness in giving.
You chose us in Christ before we could ever choose,
Lovingly purposed us to become Your children,
Graced us with grace upon grace,
Displaced our disgrace,
And lavished us in love.
As beneficiaries of far more than we
Could ever hope or imagine,
Make us into living celebrations
of Your awe evoking, stunning beauty.
Amen.
Since therefore Christ suffered in the flesh, arm yourselves with the same way of thinking, for whoever has suffered in the flesh has ceased from sin, so as to live for the rest of the time in the flesh no longer for human passions but for the will of God. For the time that is past suffices for doing what the Gentiles want to do, living in sensuality, passions, drunkenness, orgies, drinking parties, and lawless idolatry. With respect to this they are surprised when you do not join them in the same flood of debauchery, and they malign you; but they will give account to him who is ready to judge the living and the dead. For this is why the gospel was preached even to those who are dead, that though judged in the flesh the way people are, they might live in the spirit the way God does.
The end of all things is at hand; therefore be self-controlled and sober-minded for the sake of your prayers. Above all, keep loving one another earnestly, since love covers a multitude of sins. Show hospitality to one another without grumbling. As each has received a gift, use it to serve one another, as good stewards of God's varied grace: whoever speaks, as one who speaks oracles of God; whoever serves, as one who serves by the strength that God supplies—in order that in everything God may be glorified through Jesus Christ. To him belong glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Thom’s mom was a potter. He was my high school friend and I spent considerable time at his place. This was in no small part because he had a hot tub on the deck of his quirky house in the foothills of Southern California. Thom’s parents were brilliant aging hippies, and his mom “threw clay.” As you might imagine, the house was filled to the brim with her creations, and there were always more being fired in the kiln.
I came to learn that the kiln was a dicey prospect for the pottery. Often the carefully crafted art would crack irreparably, be discarded and forgotten. But when everything was just so, the clay would dry, the glaze would harden, and another piece would be ready for display.
Peter tells his small congregations that suffering is the kiln that burns away the dross of frivolity. Those congregations were being persecuted, and the law of the land had even begun to encourage it. Being a Christ follower was becoming a culturally dicey proposition. And Peter says something stunning. It is the suffering that more fully unites believers to Christ, and completely changes their view of death and life. It makes them ready to display the Gospel.
Christian folks, says Peter, are not going to fit in anymore. The old crowd that frittered away the time in selfish sinful pursuits wouldn’t feel quite as attractive, quite as alluring. And the old crowd would notice. Then the suffering would begin.
But then Peter says something breathtaking. Our suffering with and for Christ produces hearts and minds that make us want to be self-controlled and sober minded. Rather than generating despair or anger or fear, our suffering begins to give us an eternal perspective, an eternal value system. We no longer chase after things that will be transitory or worthless. It’s a stunning message. Back in Jerusalem, James had already been preaching and writing about the exact same idea.
Count it all joy, my brothers, when you meet trials of various kinds, for you know that the testing of your faith produces steadfastness. And let steadfastness have its full effect, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking in nothing. James 1:2-4
In John’s letters to his congregations, this former “Son of thunder” apostle says it this way,
Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them. For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and its desires pass away, but whoever does the will of God lives forever.1 John 2:15-17
Peter then answers a question that must certainly have come to mind as his letter was read out loud to the folks in his church. “Well, if being a Christian believer means we no longer rush into the debauchery and selfishness that we came out of, what exactly ARE we supposed to do?”
Turn outward, says Peter. Love one another. The Lord God Almighty has given you everything. He has lavished his eternal love on you in Christ, and you are His people forever. Then the practical fisherman Peter tells his congregations what he means when he says love one another.
Think about what God has given you. What experiences have you had, what material goods do you own, where has He sent you? Absolutely all of that can be put to use in Kingdom work. If you’re tempted to shrug or worry that you have no gift, no Kingdom-worthy work to do, Peter gives a clear answer in his usual down-to-earth way. Offer hospitality, speak like a believer, look for ways to serve those the Lord has brought your way. And no part of your life is exempt.
Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God’s grace in its various forms. If anyone speaks, they should do so as one who speaks the very words of God. If anyone serves, they should do so with the strength God provides, so that in all things God may be praised through Jesus Christ. To him be the glory and the power forever and ever. Amen. 1 Peter 4:10-11
This same focus on loving one another is the clear message that Paul teaches all the churches in his letters. It’s a particularly remarkable message to the church in the city where he would one day be martyred.
Let love be genuine. Abhor what is evil; hold fast to what is good. Love one another with brotherly affection. Outdo one another in showing honor. Do not be slothful in zeal, be fervent in spirit, serve the Lord. Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer. Contribute to the needs of the saints and seek to show hospitality. Romans 12:9-13
You have been through the kiln of suffering. So has Jesus. You have been ostracized and belittled. So was Jesus. You have been given eternity and the joy of salvation through the finished work of Jesus. Now, like Jesus, give yourself away in a generous display of God’s transformation of you from a lump of clay to a dazzling example of His work of art.
19 “Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, 20 but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. 21 For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
22 “The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light, 23 but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!
24 “No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.
David is a graduate of Texas A&M University—Corpus Christi where he holds a BBA in Management, as well as a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary—Houston. He lives in Dallas with his wife, Robyn. He's looking to plant a church in the Uptown area.
Whenever we think of Pharisees, we think of those who posit themselves as being ‘holier than thou,’ but it’s actually much more complex than that. Jesus starts this chapter by drawing a contrast with what true religion looks like compared to what was practiced and taught by the Pharisees. We could easily divide this chapter up to our present passage as such:
In our current passage, Christ exposes the Pharisees’ true focus – worldly gain – under the pretense of spirituality. Though the Pharisees were often the objects of Christ’s most harsh criticism, there were, however, fundamental agreements that existed between them. They were not all wrong in all places. For example, Jesus agreed with them on the resurrection as well as their interpretation of the precepts of the Torah. But if they had so much right, then how could they get so much wrong? I believe an examination of their history will provide key insight as to where they went off the rails and why Jesus uses them as an example of what not to follow.
The term ‘Pharisee’ comes from the Greek ‘Pharisaioi,’ which is derived from the Hebrew ‘Perusim’ meaning “separated ones.” According to scholars, this sect emerged from the Hasidim, a group of devout separatists known as the “righteous” or “pious.” Though information about the Pharisees is limited, their rise to prominence only lasted about 220 years, from ca. 150 BC – 70 AD, and it would appear they formed as a response to the historic idolatry that plagued Israel’s history. As such, they were devoted to the observance of the Jewish religion and known for their commitment to their no-nonsense approach to the observance of the law through strict interpretation. This devotion to the Mosaic law led to the development of an extensive set of oral traditions for the sole purpose of maintaining rigorous religious fidelity and purity. Though there is disagreement among ancient sources as to whether they were a political party, a philosophy school, a sect, or a voluntary organization, what is agreed upon was their strict devotion to maintaining ritual purity. Their rise to prominence was in their firm attitude in their adherence to the Torah, along with keeping themselves set apart both socially and theologically from the Jewish aristocratic Hellenistic sympathizers as well as the uneducated commoners. So great was their devotion to the Torah that even though their direct influence subsided after the destruction of the temple in 70 AD, almost all forms of modern Judaism trace their lineage through the Pharisees.
So how did they run afoul of Christ? They were devoted to the Word of God, they were against all the wrong things, and they were influential. How did they miss it? Simply put, they fell victim to their own institutionalization. Their commitment to the Torah became commodified and monetized, and their devotion became a pretext to maintaining their stations in life. They were given a voice and a platform, but in the end, they wanted it for themselves and for their own benefit, not the Lord’s.
Jesus explains this passage by drawing a series of contrasts -the earthly treasure to the heavenly; the healthy eye to the diseased; light with darkness; and two masters – God and money. Perhaps the most telling is how Jesus illustrates his point in verses 22 and 23. Here, Jesus uses the eye figuratively as the representation of our ability to focus. In other places, the term ‘healthy’ is translated ‘simple, ’single,’ or ‘sound.’ From the original language, we could also use the terms “without ulterior motive” and “unambiguous.” Christ is warning against divided allegiances - spiritual astigmatism with the inability to focus on the eternal to keep the temporal in view. Calvin writes, “Those who are devoted to riches are alienated from the Lord. For the greater part, men are wont to flatter themselves with a deceitful pretense when they imagine that it is possible for them to be divided between God and their own lusts. Christ affirms that it is impossible for any man to obey God and, at the same time, to obey his own flesh. This was, no doubt, a proverb in common use: No man can serve two masters. He takes for granted a truth which had been universally admitted and applies it to his present subject: where riches hold the dominion of the heart, God has lost his authority. True, it is not impossible that those who are rich shall serve God; but whoever gives himself up as a slave to riches must abandon the service of God: for covetousness makes us the slaves of the devil.”
The sad truth is that one may be deeply religious and yet still fall victim to serving mammon, just like the Pharisees. They absolutely were pious, yet their piety and unrivaled devotion were no barrier to the sinful desire for riches. Ultimately, this desire for earthly treasure undermined their original purpose – avoiding idolatry and maintaining fidelity to God. And this is the lesson for us as we examine stewardship in this current series: Are we, like the Pharisees, unfaithful servants who seek to seize upon that which we’ve been entrusted with, or are we faithful servants, who merely superintend that which belongs to our Master?
6 But godliness with contentment is great gain, 7 for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. 8 But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. 9 But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. 10 For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs.
11 But as for you, O man of God, flee these things. Pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, steadfastness, gentleness. 12 Fight the good fight of the faith. Take hold of the eternal life to which you were called and about which you made the good confession in the presence of many witnesses. 13 I charge you in the presence of God, who gives life to all things, and of Christ Jesus, who in his testimony before Pontius Pilate made the good confession, 14 to keep the commandment unstained and free from reproach until the appearing of our Lord Jesus Christ, 15 which he will display at the proper time—he who is the blessed and only Sovereign, the King of kings and Lord of lords, 16 who alone has immortality, who dwells in unapproachable light, whom no one has ever seen or can see. To him be honor and eternal dominion. Amen.
17 As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. 18 They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, 19 thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.
— 1 Timothy 6:6-19
9 Honor the LORD with your wealth and with the firstfruits of all your produce; 10 then your barns will be filled with plenty, and your vats will be bursting with wine.
— Proverbs 3:9-10
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
I grew up in a good home, but it did not follow the teachings of Jesus. We were taught that to find security and happiness in life, you must have money. And the more money, the better! Never did it cross my mind that these things were untrue, much less the “root of all kinds of evil.” It was merely common sense and what all people should strive for. But true to Paul’s teaching here, the love of money and the desire to be rich eventually did lead to ruin and destruction for our family. Paul wasn’t exaggerating; look at the world around you to see the devastation that living for riches and wealth brings. Not only that but these desires and longings are never-ending; there is no such thing as satisfaction or contentment because you will always want more than what you have, and there will always be something more to attain. As Paul promises, it will pierce you with much pain.
Paul is brutally honest about this desire for wealth that every human experiences, even believers, and its consequences. He never says money is evil, he says the love of it is. And he explains that placing your hope on the uncertainty of riches will never bring gain but loss. When a desire for riches and wealth guides you, it will always lead to brokenness and heartache. So he urges believers to pursue something other than money…contentment in God alone. Setting your hope on God, “who richly provides us with everything to enjoy,” is what will bring great gain. So instead of desiring to be rich, we desire more of God. Instead of craving the things of the world, we crave more of God. Instead of loving money, we love God. It is all about our mindset towards what we have, which will shape what we long for. We take our eyes off of the things of the world, and we fix them on God, who will provide us with all that we truly need.
In verses 11-12, Paul tells believers to flee from the desire to get rich, the love of money, and the longing for more wealth. Turn and run from it! Instead, pursue the things of God, fight for them, and take hold of that which is yours in Christ. The desire for riches and wealth is in and around all of us. So we must constantly fight to renew our minds in this area, to seek God first.
Then Paul addresses those who already have wealth, which, by the way, are most of us in this country. He says that our mindset towards what we have should never be arrogance and superiority over others. And our hope should never rest on what we have and the assumed security our wealth provides. But instead, we fix our hope only on God, who is our ultimate provider. With this mindset, we can be rich towards others and be generous with what we have because we know it was given to us by God. As it says in Proverbs 3:9, we can then honor God from our wealth. We should desire and long for this because it will bring us true life and satisfaction. May we always be humble enough to accept our weaknesses in this area and our need for God’s help to honor Him with what we have!
1 We want you to know, brothers, about the grace of God that has been given among the churches of Macedonia, 2 for in a severe test of affliction, their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity on their part. 3 For they gave according to their means, as I can testify, and beyond their means, of their own accord, 4 begging us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints— 5 and this, not as we expected, but they gave themselves first to the Lord and then by the will of God to us. 6 Accordingly, we urged Titus that as he had started, so he should complete among you this act of grace. 7 But as you excel in everything—in faith, in speech, in knowledge, in all earnestness, and in our love for you—see that you excel in this act of grace also. 8 I say this not as a command, but to prove by the earnestness of others that your love also is genuine. 9 For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
The Bible is full of surprises. From creation to consummation, it reveals counter-intuitive and counter-cultural truths about who God is, what He has done, and the transformation He works in the lives of His people. One short but powerful story of transformation that is particularly relevant for us today is the story the Apostle Paul shares about the surprising generosity of the early Christians in Macedonia (2 Corinthians 8:1-9). In this passage, there are three ways these Christians provide us with a model of surprising generosity.
First, the Christians in Macedonia gave despite their own extreme poverty (vv. 1-2). Like the widow Jesus praises in Luke 21:1-4, the Christians in Macedonia had little to give. Still, they gave what little they could because they saw the need of their fellow Christians suffering persecution and poverty in Jerusalem. Instinctively, we tend to meet our own needs first and are slow to acknowledge and engage the needs of others. And culturally, we tend to aspire to a certain standard of living before we consider our ability to give to others. But the Christians in Macedonia were surprisingly joyful in their affliction and generous in their poverty. As Paul puts it, “their abundance of joy and their extreme poverty have overflowed in a wealth of generosity (v. 2).”
Second, the Christians in Macedonia gave at their own initiative (vv. 3-4). It is kind to give if asked and obedient to give if commanded. But these Christians did not need a prompt of any kind; they heard the need with their ears, responded to the need with their hearts, and then opened their hands to meet that need. We live in an age of instant communication and multi-layered interconnectedness. And ironically, our lives have become more individualistic and compartmentalized. But Paul says the Christians in Macedonia “begged us earnestly for the favor of taking part in the relief of the saints (v. 4).”
Third, and perhaps most surprising of all, the Christians in Macedonia gave of themselves (vv. 5-8). They didn’t merely give their resources; that much would have been helpful at a practical level. Instead, they gave of themselves. There was a personal, heartfelt quality of care that reflected the greatest gift we could ever give: genuine love (v. 8). A few years ago, my family was preparing to move. While I was at work, a friend called my wife and asked if she could drop by and help. She arrived with coffee and moving boxes an hour later and stayed for two hours to help pack up the kitchen. While the coffee and boxes were helpful, this friend’s initiative and the extended time she gave brought us such deep encouragement. By giving of herself, she proved her love for us was genuine.
While the generosity of the Christians of Macedonia is beautifully and surprisingly generous, it does beg the question: where did they learn such generosity? Surely, they learned this from Jesus Himself. This is why Paul concludes the story saying, “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that though He was rich, yet for your sake, He became poor, so that you by His poverty might become rich (v. 9).” In His divine initiative, Jesus took on extreme poverty and humility and gave of Himself – in body and blood – for our sake. The Macedonians were not inventing a new model of giving; they were simply reflecting to others the gracious generosity Jesus Christ showed to them at the cross.
If we want to live a life of surprising generosity, we must look through the Macedonians to Jesus Christ Himself – His incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection, and reign. And in looking to Jesus, we see not merely a model of generosity; rather, we meet the person whose generosity saves and transforms all who believe.
And He went throughout all Galilee, teaching in their synagogues and proclaiming the gospel of the Kingdom and healing every disease and every affliction among the people. So His fame spread throughout all Syria, and they brought Him all the sick, those afflicted with various diseases and pains, those oppressed by demons, those having seizures, and paralytics, and He healed them. And great crowds followed Him from Galilee and the Decapolis, and from Jerusalem and Judea, and from beyond the Jordan.
Seeing the crowds, He went up on the mountain, and when He sat down, His disciples came to him.
And He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Matthew 4:23-5:3
“Everyone then who hears these words of Mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.”
And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at His teaching, for He was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.
Matthew 7:24-29
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
Recently I heard of a young child’s response to a parent’s decision, “I don’t see why I can’t have some rule over my own life!” Inside all of us is a tendency to resist or criticize authority. Presented with the truth of God’s absolute sovereignty alongside a hard circumstance, who hasn’t wondered “why this” or “why me?”
Jesus, in His life on earth, would be repeatedly challenged about the authority He exercised, though that authority was always evident. Matthew’s record of Jesus’ work on earth begins with a glorious explosion of amazing acts that fulfilled God’s words through His prophets and announced, in Jesus’ own Person, the coming of God’s Kingdom. Even the Lord’s beginning in Nazareth and Capernaum, in “Galilee of the Gentiles,” recalls Isaiah’s prediction that “the people living in darkness have seen a great light” (Isaiah 9:1-2; Matthew 4:12-19). Jesus would continue to live out the prophets’ visions of Messiah’s grace and glory.
The Lord taught in the Galilean synagogues, explaining from the Scriptures God’s nature and His redemptive purpose. He also announced the good news—the gospel—of the coming of the promised Kingdom. Standing before those assemblies, Jesus brought that Kingdom to them because He was the King, who would manifest God’s reign of grace through power but also through sacrifice.
Jesus lived and traveled among the people, and He healed their sicknesses, relieved their pain, released the limbs of paralytics, and liberated those possessed by demons. In this compassionate work, He again fulfilled prophecy but also displayed the magnificent hope of God’s Kingdom: life, wholeness, restoration, renewal, liberation, purity. He traveled throughout the region—among the Jews, yet outside the boundaries of Judea. As the King came, barriers would be broken, God’s people would be assembled, Satan and his forces defeated, damage removed, life made new. This was the beautiful authority of Jesus Christ.
Matthew’s description of that demonstrated authority is background to the magisterial Sermon on the Mount. As Messiah the King, Jesus fulfilled the words of God’s prophets and brought in God’s Kingdom. As God’s Son, He authoritatively revealed the eternal Father and His eternal truth. As Savior, He rescued those experiencing the pain and ruin of sin and the viciousness of Satan. As the people came to Him, they heard Him, and recognized, Matthew said, that “He was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes.” (Matthew 7:28-29) That same authority speaks today, from the One who rules the universe, and who died to save His people.
Jesus’ teaching in the Sermon on the Mount is assuring; He promises comfort to those who mourn, and satisfaction to those who hunger for righteousness. He blesses those who face persecution, assuring them of reward in heaven. He calls His people the salt of the earth and the light of the world. His authority is His people’s security. But Jesus’ teaching is also often startling. His commands may be counterintuitive to us who still, even inside our own heads, cry, “Can’t I have some rule over my own life?” Jesus has better things for His people. The Kingdom life Jesus describes is radical transformation from within, from Him, that will change and renew how we manage conflict, regard money, cope with concerns, pursue prayer, and much more. His people follow Him, for Jesus still demonstrates His goodness, in His full and beautiful authority.
Seeing the crowds, He went up on the mountain, and when He sat down, His disciples came to Him.
And He opened His mouth and taught them, saying:
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
“Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
“Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
“Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
“Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on My account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Where are you from? That’s a common question of polite conversation. It seems safe and unthreatening. But citizenship can be tricky business. There’s way more involved than the passport you hold or the accent your parents have. What does it mean, after all, to be “from” somewhere? In the chaos and calamity that grab the headlines these days, the idea of home country doesn’t seem much like home. The world is watching an aggressive attempt to erase a nation. What becomes of Ukrainian citizenship if there is no Ukraine?
And citizenship also carries the notion of representation. Meet someone at a lovely French café, proudly stumble out the words in your best French accent, “Yea, I’m from Texas.,” and you are instantly representing not only yourself, but your eighth-grade French teacher, the Lone Star state and the USA. In an important sense, every citizen of every land is an ambassador of that land. What someone thinks of America may be largely based on what someone thinks of you.
Jesus preaches about citizenship in His first and longest recorded sermon. In the famous Sermon on the Mount, Jesus Christ lays out in striking clarity and stunning anti-cultural detail what it means to be a citizen of the Kingdom of heaven. It’s worth remembering at least three important details.
First, citizenship is a conferred right. You may live in Liverpool, have an accent like John Lennon and eat cucumber sandwiches. But until England says you’re a citizen of England, you aren’t. So it is with God’s Kingdom. When you are Christ’s, He has conferred upon you all the rights and privileges of His Kingdom. That status comes from outside of you, based on nothing inside of you.
But citizenship is also something you grow into. The passport and the papers change your status, but time and purpose change your behavior. You’ve known or heard of folks who’ve moved here from somewhere there, been granted citizenship but never actually become Americans. They’ve never been to Walmart or eaten at Chik-Fil-A. Their speech, friends, food, and fun all stayed the same. During the early part of the 20th century, that’s how Lower Manhattan wound up with Little Italy and San Francisco got China Town.
Lastly, to grow into the characteristics of the Kingdom of heaven means growing out of the characteristics of the kingdom of the world. To be poor in spirit, to be able to embrace mourning and meekness, to be rid of anger, and to fight against lust means you will be fitting in less and less. You will have the growing sense of being a stranger in a strange land, of being a citizen of a different home.
The Apostle Paul writes of this transformative change in citizenship in almost every letter, nowhere more clearly than in his note to the church in Ephesus.
And you were dead in the trespasses and sins in which you once walked, following the course of this world, following the prince of the power of the air, the spirit that is now at work in the sons of disobedience— among whom we all once lived in the passions of our flesh, carrying out the desires of the body and the mind, and were by nature children of wrath, like the rest of mankind. But God, being rich in mercy, because of the great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in our trespasses, made us alive together with Christ—by grace you have been saved— and raised us up with Him and seated us with Him in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus, so that in the coming ages He might show the immeasurable riches of His grace in kindness toward us in Christ Jesus. For by grace you have been saved through faith. And this is not your own doing; it is the gift of God, not a result of works, so that no one may boast. For we are His workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared beforehand, that we should walk in them. Ephesians 2:1-10
The Lord Jesus sat on a hillside and told His disciples some things that were almost unfathomable to them, and to us. So much of what they had learned from their culture and their leaders would be turned on its head. Over the next 36 months or so, they would watch their Lord pour out love for His enemies, kindness to sinners, and food for the hungry. They would hear Him rebuke religiosity and demand truthfulness. He would fit in less and less. Then they would see Him executed as a criminal precisely because He was not primarily a citizen of this world.
So Pilate entered his headquarters again and called Jesus and said to Him, “Are you the King of the Jews?” Jesus answered, “Do you say this of your own accord, or did others say it to you about me?” Pilate answered, “Am I a Jew? Your own nation and the chief priests have delivered you over to me. What have you done?” Jesus answered, “My Kingdom is not of this world. If My Kingdom were of this world, My servants would have been fighting, that I might not be delivered over to the Jews. But My Kingdom is not from the world.” Then Pilate said to Him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to My voice.” Pilate said to Him, “What is truth?”
After He had said this, He went back outside to the Jews and told them, “I find no guilt in Him. But you have a custom that I should release one man for you at the Passover. So do you want me to release to you the King of the Jews?” They cried out again, “Not this man, but Barabbas!” Now Barabbas was a robber. John 18:33-40
The citizens of the Kingdom of heaven represent their King. And on that hillside the King Himself promised that His people would be both reviled and rewarded. Exactly what He also received. So rejoice and be glad you citizens of heaven.
“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on My account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you. Matthew 5:11-12
“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
What comes into your mind when you hear the word, “blessed?” What kind of person is truly well off? When we think of what it means to be blessed or well off, it is natural to visualize things like a lot of money, a successful career, a big house (or houses), exciting trips and vacations, status in the community, or romantic dreams being fulfilled.
In addition to that, a lot of people in our culture do not see following Jesus as part of the answer, often due to hearing messages from churches more focused on morality and behavior than the good news of the gospel. Talented country artist Josh Ritter’s 2015 album called “Sermon on the Rocks” explores religious themes based on his experience with a legalistic church environment before he departed from Christianity. One of the main songs, “Getting Ready to Get Down,” is a portrayal of a fictional girl who finds freedom and joy apart from her legalistic upbringing as she embraces self-expression, the value of our day. Further, many professing Christians in the Bible belt hold to what Dallas Willard calls “gospels of sin management,” the notion that Christianity is only relevant to what happens when one dies, but not to real-life today.
Jesus flips every one of those assumptions upside-down in the Sermon on the Mount in Matthew 5-7. He redefines what true flourishing looks like and what it really means to be well off. He shows that Christianity is not about joylessly following a list of rules to earn God’s approval or the approval of a church, but about receiving His free gift of grace. He demonstrates that Christianity is of course relevant for when we die, but the way of Jesus is also the most relevant way of life today.
Jesus lived on earth in both a Jewish and Greco-Roman context, and both Jewish and Greco-Roman thought were concerned with the question, what is the good life? In other words, what does it mean to flourish as a human? With that philosophical backdrop in mind, Jesus entered that conversation with His Sermon on the Mount and provided his own answer.
He starts out with the word “blessed,” which in Greek is makarios and can be translated to mean blessed, happy, or well off. Christian philosopher, professor, and Bible scholar Jonathan Pennington states that “flourishing” is the most helpful word to capture what makarios conveyed in Jesus’ context. In his insightful book, The Sermon on the Mount and Human Flourishing, Pennington writes, “The Sermon is Christianity’s answer to the greatest metaphysical question that humanity has always faced—how can we experience true human flourishing? What is happiness, blessedness, shalom, and how does one obtain and sustain it?” Far from being joyless or irrelevant then, Christianity is the path to joy (Psalm 16:11) and the most relevant belief system for life today (not just life when we die, as relevant as it is to that as well).
But who is the flourishing person? In the first characteristic listed in the Beatitudes, Jesus answers that it is the one who is poor in spirit. This is what launches the rest of the sermon. In The Message of the Sermon on the Mount, John Stott explains that this phrase refers to people who know they’re in need of God’s help and understand their spiritual bankruptcy apart from Him. The reward for that is getting a relationship with God and belonging in His Kingdom solely by His grace. How different than how we often define what it means to be a flourishing person!
However, it is easy to interpret the Beatitudes as a to-do list for God to accept us and the conditions for us to earn His blessing. Is this describing a works-based salvation? No, because that would contradict the main message of the Bible that we are saved entirely by God’s free grace in Christ. Far from being a works-based salvation, the Beatitudes are not a prescription of things we need to do, but a description of what someone who is affected by God’s free grace begins to look like and an invitation to true human flourishing in a relationship with God. This is the impact that God’s grace has on people; we begin to change not because of us, but because of the effect of God’s love. This is where true flourishing begins, and this is what Christianity is all about.
Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
Lord, who throughout these forty days
For us didst fast and pray,
Teach us with Thee to mourn our sins,
And close by Thee to stay.
(From a hymn for Lent by Claudia Frances Hernaman)
In the season of Lent, the 40-day period before Easter, the church pays special attention to repentance of sin, fasting, and prayer, in anticipation of the coming joy of the celebration of Christ’s victory over sin and death. This encourages us to reflect more deeply on the second beatitude, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted” (Matthew 5:4).
Scripture highlights the importance of mourning our sins when we approach God for forgiveness. “The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart, O God, You will not despise” (Psalm 51:17). Paul wrote to the Corinthians that he rejoiced that they had the right kind of grief for their sins: “For godly grief produces a repentance that leads to salvation without regret, whereas worldly grief produces death” (2 Corinthians 7:10). When we grieve our sins and turn to the Lord, He blesses us with His forgiveness.
The Beatitudes ultimately describe Christ Himself – how could anyone be more blessed, more happy, than Christ? But what did Jesus mourn? As the verse from the hymn above suggests, Jesus mourned our sins. The sorrow for our sins was upon Him, so that we might have forgiveness. Our deepest woe is our sin, our separation from God. Jesus took that separation upon Himself, and cried out from the cross, “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” On the cross, Christ bore the burden of all the sins and griefs of His people. Lamentations 1:12 refers to Jesus: “Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like my sorrow, which was brought upon me, which the Lord inflicted on the day of His fierce anger.”
At the Last Supper, on the night that He was betrayed, Jesus said to His disciples: “Most assuredly, I say to you that you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice; and you will be sorrowful, but your sorrow will be turned into joy” (John 16:20). Though the weeping and lamentation of the disciples that night was on account of their physical separation from Christ at His death, and though the first joy that came later was initially on account of His physical return, they soon came to see the deeper meaning of their Lord’s physical resurrection. Now they and all disciples enjoy reconciled fellowship with God because of the finished work of Jesus Christ. “Surely He has born our griefs and carried our sorrows.” Christ’s sorrow leads to our joy! “By His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:4-5).
Next week is Holy Week, the time of the year when as the Church we meditate most deeply on the suffering and death of Christ. George Herbert, the 17th-century English priest and poet, wrote an extended poem in the form of a lament spoken by Christ from the cross. He took as his starting point the verse from Lamentations cited above: “Is it nothing to you, all you who pass by? Look and see if there is any sorrow like My sorrow.” As we mourn our sins, and contemplate the suffering of Christ on their account, I encourage you to read the entire poem. Four stanzas are included below.
From “The Sacrifice”, from The Temple (1633) by George Herbert
Oh all ye, who pass by, whose eyes and mind
To worldly things are sharp, but to me blind;
To me, who took eyes that I might you find:
Was ever grief like mine?
O all ye who pass by, behold and see;
Man stole the fruit, but I must climb the tree;
The tree of life to all, but only me:
Was ever grief like mine?
Lo, here I hang, charg’d with a world of sin,
The greater world o’ th’ two; for that came in
By words, but this by sorrow I must win:
Was ever grief like mine?
Such sorrow as, if sinful man could feel,
Or feel his part, he would not cease to kneel.
Till all were melted, though he were all steel:
Was ever grief like mine?
Then He said to them, “My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with Me.”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
“Were you there when they crucified my Lord?” we sang slowly, slowly, as if each word was weary with sorrow. I linger in the sanctuary after the service as others leave, sitting here until all is silent. I know my disposition to distraction, to hear the familiar story and simply move on, unmoved in spirit. I want the words to sink in.
I see a cross laid on its side behind the pulpit. The wood is rough, thick, heavy. Black and purple cloths adorn its length in a spiraling shroud; the dark fabric drapes off the top and floats down, fluttering barely above the floor. An oversized ring of interwoven thorns hangs without a head to prick and crown at the pinnacle of the center-beam. “Were you there when they nailed him to the tree?” we sang, and I wonder at the word “spiritual” noted in the hymnal. There is not much distance, it seems, between the cross and a lynching tree in the minds of slaves singing a suffering hope.
“For God so loved the world,” we read in the Gospel, but how often do we stop to consider what it means? As any mother or father of a wayward child knows, to love even one person is enough for devastating heartbreak. What, then, must it mean for God to love the world? It means at least this: He gave His only Son. And this giving, we must remember, is a flesh and blood suffering unto death. They spit in Jesus’ face, struck, slapped, and stripped Him. “And it was the third hour when they crucified Him” (Mark 15:25). Human beings possess an awful capacity for cruelty, and I am not exempt.
If God loves the world—and we rightly confess that He does—then He knows the truth of the world in all its overwhelming beauty and horror, entered into the sorrow, suffered, and died the curse of our sin. “Oh! Sometimes it causes me to tremble . . . tremble . . . tremble.” Sometimes it doesn’t. So I remain here and watch for Sunday to come.
Now after the Sabbath, toward the dawn of the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And behold, there was a great earthquake, for an angel of the Lord descended from heaven and came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothing white as snow. And for fear of him the guards trembled and became like dead men. But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you seek Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has risen, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples that he has risen from the dead, and behold, he is going before you to Galilee; there you will see him. See, I have told you.” So they departed quickly from the tomb with fear and great joy, and ran to tell his disciples. And behold, Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came up and took hold of his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Everything had changed, and no one knew it. On that Sunday morning nearly 2,000 years ago, “Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb,” (Matt. 28:1), and they expected to find a closed tomb and a dead Jesus. Based on their expectations, their conversation focused on rolling away the stone, and in their hands they carried spices to anoint Jesus’ body. The folly of their focus soon became apparent, for the stone had been rolled away and Christ had risen. What the women (and other disciples) thought was a moment of defeat and mourning was actually the moment of victory and celebration. The women were walking around in the dawn of a whole new world, for “if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation” (2 Cor. 5:17). When Christ rose from the dead, He was the firstfruits of a new humanity and a new creation (1 Cor. 15:20). But on that resurrection Sunday, almost everyone in the world walked around oblivious to the earth-shaking reality. Everything had changed, and no one knew it!
As we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus Christ again this year, can we see that we’re not so different from Mary Magdalene and her friends? If we consider our conversations and what we carry, are we profoundly shaped by the reality of the risen Christ? Or are we walking around sad, distracted, and ashamed, not realizing that death has died and new life is bursting forth everywhere? If our hearts are sluggish in the glorious light of the resurrection, what do we do? A text like Matthew 28 invites us to the holy fear and intimate worship that flow from an encounter with Jesus. We worship a God so holy, powerful, and beautiful that He and His representatives must consistently tell us, “Do not be afraid” (Matt. 28:5). This same transcendent God—who deserves our reverence—also pursues an intimate connection with us, even in our sinful unbelief and small expectations. When we approach Him and take hold of His feet (Matt. 28:9) or spend time with Him, He does not turn us away. Without reverence, our relationship with the Lord becomes sentimental. Without intimacy, our relationship with the Lord grows cold. When is the last time we were in awe of the Lord? Are we ever so amazed at Him that He must tell us, “Do not be afraid?” When is the last time we enjoyed deep fellowship with the Lord? Do we ever spend time with Jesus just because we love Him?
The resurrection is an invitation to come and see. “He is not here, for He has risen, as He said. Come, see the place where He lay” (Matt. 28:6). Have we taken time to come and see? Can we see what Jaroslav Pelikan saw: “If Christ is risen, nothing else matters. And if Christ is not risen, nothing else matters”? The resurrection is also an invitation to go and tell. “Then go quickly and tell His disciples that He has risen from the dead” (Matt. 28:7). When we witness something amazing, we naturally want to tell people about it. Our joy grows as we share it with others. So have we witnessed something truly amazing? Have we experienced the transforming presence of Jesus Christ? Our King has won the victory over sin and death, and we have life in His name. This Easter, many people in the world walked around oblivious to the earth-shaking reality. If everything has changed, don’t we want everyone to know about it?
Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
As you read the Lord’s perhaps familiar words, is it hard to abandon the idea of “meek” as shy, retiring, even timid? What does this really look like?
I have a friend, a former co-worker, who is friendly, outgoing and fun. She helps others with eagerness and encouragement, and she is equally able to remain in the background or step forward to lead. I have never heard her say a negative word about another person. Notably, I have never heard her even imply expectation of praise or other reward for herself. This is remarkable to me, not only because of her consistent graciousness, but because she did not grow up with an atmosphere or with examples of supportive kindness. But as a young woman, she met and believed in Jesus Christ, and her life was changed. Her demonstration of meekness comes not from training but from transformation by the Holy Spirit. There is no need for assertiveness or complaint on behalf of herself, because in Jesus, everything she needs is already hers.
Jesus, who exemplified the perfection of meekness, did not mean “blessed are those who sit in the back of the room and don’t say anything.” He was not describing debilitating self-deprecation or fear of failure. He did mean submission, first to God, with trust in Him that allows us to put others first.
Insight into ourselves will accompany this meekness—knowledge of our sin that every day makes us dependent on our Redeemer. As we know Him better we will love Him more profoundly, and that love energizes obedience, and His Spirit, as we ask Him, remakes us to seek His agenda and His likeness.
This spirit-deep change motivates sacrificial actions toward others. Paul wrote to the Philippians, “Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others. Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus, who, though He was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied Himself by taking the form of a servant, being born in the likeness of men. And being found in human form, He humbled Himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Philippians 2:3-8) We are called to this meekness because it characterized Him.
Furthermore, we are called to meekness with blessing. Human culture sees the promotion, the bonus, the awards going to the self-confident. Jesus counters that it is the meek—those humbly following Him—who will have everything. Those who live for Him will demonstrate His life-giving power in the conflict-wounded, sin-corrupted world now, but another heaven and earth will be our inheritance, the world recreated, where “the dwelling place of God is with man.” (Revelation 21:3-4) This is the destiny of the meek, in the magnificent might of Jesus.
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
What would you expect to get in a trade for Babe Ruth? In 1919, the Boston Red Sox traded the Great Bambino to the New York Yankees for $25,000. The Red Sox did not receive any players in the deal; just the cash, which, adjusted for inflation, would be less than $1 million today. The Babe went on to hit over 700 home runs, and with him, the Yankees won the World Series four times. Many consider this the worst trade in sports history, and who can blame them?
What would you expect to get in a trade for the family inheritance? In Genesis 25:29-34, Esau traded his birthright as Isaac’s firstborn son for a bowl of Jacob’s stew. It’s shocking to think that a man would give away so much for a few minutes with lentil stew. It’s one of the worst trades in Scripture. But there’s a trade far worse than what the Red Sox and Esau did, and we’ve all made it.
At the heart of sin is a trade. Our hunger—for money, food, power, sex, success, or approval—often leads us to make insane value judgments. Paul says that we exchange the truth of God for a lie and worship and serve the creation rather than the Creator (Romans 1:25). Sin is the darkest exchange: There’s no trade worse than trading God for something else. Apart from Christ, sinners lack the righteousness of God. We’re not in a right relationship with Him, and we can’t do anything to make it right.
What should we expect to get in a trade for our sin? The Bible makes it clear that “the wages of sin is death” (Romans 6:23), that all we should expect in return for our sin is the wrath and judgment that unrighteousness deserves. As much as that offends people, that is fair. A holy God cannot make peace with sin. But there is an even more shocking trade in the Bible that changes everything. Paul describes it in 2 Corinthians 5:21 – “For our sake He made Him to be sin who knew no sin, so that in Him we might become the righteousness of God.” On the cross, the Father made His Son—who knew no sin—to be sin, so that those who are in Jesus Christ might be covered in His righteousness. This Great Exchange involves a double imputation: our sin was imputed to Christ, and His righteousness is imputed to us. For those who trust in Christ, this trade means life and peace, but for Jesus it meant death and anguish. How do we respond when we’re reminded that the Lord would make this trade for us? Are we not moved when we realize that He experienced the judgment that we deserve so that we might experience the favor that He deserves? At the cross, we behold the wondrous mystery, “that He might be just and the justifier of the one who has faith in Jesus” (Romans 3:26).
Deep down, we all know that something’s not right. And we try everything under the sun to make things right, to weave a righteousness that will cover our nakedness. Today, the Lord invites us to rest in the good news of Jesus Christ. If we are in Christ, the Lord is our righteousness (Jeremiah 23:6), He has made us right with Him (Romans 5:10), and now He invites us to participate in His work of reconciling all things to Himself (Colossians 1:20). Are we ready to give up the tireless pursuit of our own righteousness? Are we ready to rejoice in the righteousness that Christ offers? Are we hungry and thirsty for it?
Blessed are those who hunger and thirst
for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.
Matthew 5:6
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The barbershop was crowded and chaotic. Two women, who I took to be sisters, had brought themselves and the associated six children for haircuts. The teenage girls among them fondled the many hair-care products, the moms looked like they needed naps, and the smallest of the crowd enjoyed making mayhem. He was, as many three-year-old boys exemplify, moderately out of control. I heard the warnings from his mother, all of them. Apparently, he did not.
In an instant, the tike’s mother snatched him from the ground and swooped toward the door. The startled little guy quickly clasped both hands over his bottom and cried out, “No mommy, don’t spank me!” By the set of her jaw and the speed of her departure, it seemed his pediatric cry for mercy was not going to bring the desired result. Justice demanded a paddling. Even I thought so.
When the two of them came back inside, barely five minutes later, mom was calm and relaxed, and the little boy was calm and not tearful, carried gently in mom’s arms. He had indeed received mercy. He had not received what he justly deserved. In that tiny moment of parenting, mom knew that mercy was needed. She knew there was more than behavior at stake, more than angry punishment required. She dearly loved the little fellow, and that shone through. Even I thought so.
Jesus taught His disciples, and us, that there is a blessedness to being a merciful person. He establishes from the very beginning of His ministry that as His people live Kingdom lives, mercy will characterize them. But what does that mean exactly? How does that look beyond a small vignette in an East Dallas barbershop?
Mercy is the Godly amalgam of forgiveness and compassion. And Scripture is filled with both pointed teaching and examples. Even in the garden of Eden, God’s response to the first humans’ disobedient failure was mercy based on the relationship between God and mankind. Adam and Eve deserved to be destroyed, wiped out and replaced. But God, being rich in mercy, allowed them to survive and even promised them a day of redemption. God is characterized by His mercy. The Bible uses words like “long-suffering” and “slow to anger” and “His mercies are new every morning.”
So to understand what Jesus is emphasizing on that hillside in Galilea, we must first recognize that God has poured out His forgiveness and His compassion on us. God has shown us eternal mercy through the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ. So now, when you are poor in spirit and have received the Kingdom, when you’ve hungered and thirsted for righteousness and been satisfied, and when you have received comfort in times of mourning, God has shown himself merciful to you.
Paul the Apostle puts it this way, stunningly.
For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable. For just as you were at one time disobedient to God but now have received mercy because of their disobedience, so they too have now been disobedient in order that by the mercy shown to you they also may now receive mercy. For God has consigned all to disobedience, that He may have mercy on all. Romans 11:29-32
Not long after the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus was at a dinner party with some folks who weren’t from the upper crust, folks who knew their need of God’s mercy.
And as Jesus reclined at table in the house, behold, many tax collectors and sinners came and were reclining with Jesus and His disciples. And when the Pharisees saw this, they said to His disciples, “Why does your teacher eat with tax collectors and sinners?” But when He heard it, He said, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. Go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy, and not sacrifice.’ For I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.” Matthew 9:10-13
Jesus quotes the Old Testament prophet Hosea to the Old Testament experts to emphasize that part of representing a merciful God is to be a merciful person. They didn’t get the lesson.
And that brings the questions home to us. Am I, before the Lord, a person who looks upon those around me with a heart of compassion? Do I seek to be slow to anger and quick to forgive? Am I characterized by the unwavering knowledge that God, in Christ, has poured out His mercy on me? And do I, in that knowledge, live a mercy-filled life?
He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.
And what does the Lord require of you?
To act justly and to love mercy
and to walk humbly with your God. Micah 6:8 (NIV)
Finally, we must be careful not to hear Jesus’ teaching as some sort of religious quid pro quo. We never earn God’s mercy. The greatest blessing we can receive is a living, growing, Spirit-filled relationship with God Almighty. To be blessed for all eternity in the presence of God, through Christ is, in fact, very great mercy. And Scripture sings out with the glorious reality that having received God’s mercy, and then living our lives reflecting that mercy to those around us, will be one of the reasons we’ll hear Jesus say,
His master said to him, “Well done, good and faithful servant. You have been faithful over a little; I will set you over much. Enter into the joy of your master.” Matthew 25:21
Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
We are easily satisfied with substitutes. In some cases, we even seek them out. We convince ourselves that the “off-brand” is almost as good as the real thing, just cheaper, more readily available, or less bothersome than the genuine article. I currently frequent a well-known grocery chain which has a well-known habit of providing exactly those sorts of substitutes. The supposed-to-be-better little crackers called Wheat Thins are not sold there. But I can buy a box of crackers that look exactly the same except with the name Thin Wheats emblazoned on the box. I can’t keep from smirking every time.
Sadly, we often settle for substitute sanctification in much the same way. We prefer to take the shortcut, the easy way, or the less painful journey, but still receive a promised blessing. We are prone to gravitate toward culturally defined but substitute standards rather than the truths we learn from Scripture. This is particularly true when we hear the Lord preach about and exemplify becoming people of mercy.
Godly mercy, to which God’s people are called, has its foundation in compassion. When we look at the world through the eyes of our Savior, we will see the need for mercy all around us. And to see that with a heart of compassion means we are moved by that seeing. Our heart is stirred by the brokenness in the same way that Christ’s heart was stirred. He lived with inexpressible joy always in communion with His Heavenly Father, and yet was called a man of sorrows, a man who wept at His friend’s tomb and over His beloved Jerusalem. Think about the number of times, right before a miracle, we learn that Jesus had compassion on the blind man, the hungry multitude, or the grieving widow. And that compassion moved Him to action, He was moved to show mercy.
The cheap substitute for compassion is pity. Pity holds the pitiful at arm’s length. We may give a little, but rarely actually give of ourselves or take the risk that true mercy requires.
Godly mercy, which we are told to emulate, is also characterized by forgiveness. And forgiveness is always intended to be restorative. This is pointedly seen in a lesson most of us first learned in the flannel-board and finger-puppet phase of our childhoods. You remember the paralyzed man on the pallet being air-dropped by his friends, smack-dab into the middle of the room. Listen to Jesus teach about the connection between forgiveness and healing. Jesus shows mercy to the broken man by forgiving him, and thus healing both body and soul.
On one of those days, as He was teaching, Pharisees and teachers of the law were sitting there, who had come from every village of Galilee and Judea and from Jerusalem. And the power of the Lord was with Him to heal. And behold, some men were bringing on a bed a man who was paralyzed, and they were seeking to bring him in and lay him before Jesus, but finding no way to bring him in, because of the crowd, they went up on the roof and let him down with his bed through the tiles into the midst before Jesus. And when He saw their faith, He said, “Man, your sins are forgiven you.” And the scribes and the Pharisees began to question, saying, “Who is this who speaks blasphemies? Who can forgive sins but God alone?” When Jesus perceived their thoughts, He answered them, “Why do you question in your hearts? Which is easier, to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven you,’ or to say, ‘Rise and walk’? But that you may know that the Son of Man has authority on earth to forgive sins”—He said to the man who was paralyzed— “I say to you, rise, pick up your bed and go home.” And immediately he rose up before them and picked up what he had been lying on and went home, glorifying God (Luke 5:17-25).
We certainly do not have the authority to forgive sins in the same way, but we do have the teaching of our Lord that we are to exemplify His Father by being slow to anger and quick to forgive. Think about the way Jesus treated the woman at the well and the woman caught in adultery. His mercy poured onto both of them like a cool and gentle shower onto their parched and wounded souls. He forgave them. It makes me ask, “Who should I forgive?”
These days, tolerance masquerades as forgiveness. But at its core, tolerance cares not one whit for the soul or even well-being of the person being tolerated. Sadly, it seems we often hide behind the charade of tolerance to keep from doing the hard work of hard conversations and “others-centered” forgiveness.
Finally, mercy is strength. It is the outpouring of blessing in the name of and because of a saving and ongoing relationship with the King of Glory. To relinquish our demand for recompense and to seek the good even of our enemies is strongly and decidedly Christ-like. And that’s what showing mercy is really all about. True mercy, offered in the name of Jesus, is invoking the very power of God, the very strength of our Creator on behalf of another, whether there’s an immediate and visible payoff for us or not. Mercy is not weakness.
There is no more breath-taking and life-giving example of strong, compassionate, forgiving mercy than the prayer of our Lord on earth’s darkest day.
Two others, who were criminals, were led away to be put to death with Him. And when they came to the place that is called The Skull, there they crucified Him, and the criminals, one on His right and one on His left. And Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” And they cast lots to divide His garments. And the people stood by, watching, but the rulers scoffed at Him, saying, “He saved others; let Him save Himself, if He is the Christ of God, His Chosen One!” The soldiers also mocked Him, coming up and offering Him sour wine and saying, “If you are the King of the Jews, save yourself!” There was also an inscription over Him, “This is the King of the Jews” (Luke 23:32-38).
Can you fathom it? Jesus prays for God His Father to show mercy to the very ones who were at that very moment torturing the Messiah to death. Indeed, blessed are the merciful.
Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
Blessed are the pure in heart. Very few people read that verse and identify with it. If we are honest with ourselves, we can think back on the last 24 hours of our lives and pinpoint multiple times when our hearts were anything but pure. I surely can. Even when trying our hardest, we can’t force ourselves to be pure in heart at all times, making this verse either incredibly discouraging or one of those verses we avoid. This is why we must understand Jesus’ words in the context of all of Scripture.
Ever since sin entered the world, Scripture has been clear that our hearts are corrupt. In Genesis, the Lord judges the earth due to the continual evil in the hearts of man (Genesis 6:5), and then later the prophet Jeremiah records the Lord’s own words describing our hearts as being deceitful and desperately sick (Jeremiah 17:9). Matthew and Mark both record Jesus explaining that evil thoughts and actions come out of the hearts of man. It is clear that the hearts we have are anything but pure! So what are we to do with this verse?
First, we learn how to respond to the fallen state of our hearts by looking at how Paul dealt with the state of his own heart. Paul always looked his sin and falleness straight on, never avoiding or ignoring it. He acknowledged it, wrestled with it, and grieved it. Paul came to the end of himself and cried out in Romans 7:24 that he was wretched and stuck in a body of death. Paul knew there was nothing he could do to make his dead heart pure. This is always to be our first step, to be honest about our sin and inability to save ourselves. To recognize that our hearts are not pure and that we can’t make them pure. And then like Paul, to humble ourselves repeatedly before God confessing the evil in our hearts. If you desire a pure heart then you must start here and return to it time and time again.
But we can’t stop there. Like Paul, we must then responded with “but God.” When faced with his sin, Paul always reminded himself of what God did to save him from his “body of death,” making him alive when he was dead in sin (Ephesians 2:5). Paul knew that only Jesus could make his dead heart pure. And so like Paul, we preach the Gospel to ourselves continually. When we are faced with our impure hearts, we confess it to God and then remind ourselves of what He has done for us in Christ. We fix our eyes on Jesus, as the author of Hebrews urges, who lived and died with a pure heart so that those who believe in Him could do the same.
Through the prophet Ezekiel, God explained to His people that one day He would cleanse them of their sin, give them a new heart and put His Spirit in them so that they will be able to live for Him (Ezekiel 36:25-27). This is what He did for us through Jesus. He gave us a new heart and put His Spirit in us to enable us to live for Him. As we confess our sins, humble ourselves before Him, abide in Him and what He has done for us, trusting Him, His Spirit purifies and empowers us. Through His Word and the Holy Spirit dwelling in us, God purifies us of evil motives, deceit, malice, and sin so that we can live for Him. This is what sanctification is. Our selfish motives are replaced with motives that are purely for the Lord, His glory, and Kingdom.
The truth is we can’t make our hearts pure, only Jesus can, and has, and does. So be encouraged because Jesus says blessed are those whose hearts have been purified because through this they will see God. This is a promise for us today, that as we allow God to purify our hearts it will enable us to see Him working in our lives and the world around us. And it is also a promise for us in eternity, that those who have put their faith in Christ will one day have pure hearts and will see God face to face.
Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
This past Sunday we celebrated the Ascension of the Lord. Jesus Christ’s bodily ascension into heaven culminated His saving work, yet often we treat it as an afterthought, as the less-important epilogue to the more-important story of the crucifixion and resurrection. It’s the part of Luke’s Gospel that we read only every now and then if we make it all the way through the rest of it.
Christ’s ascension is essential to our salvation. Jesus ascended into heaven to take His seat at the right hand of God as ruler of the earth, and to send us the gift of His Spirit. Hear the words of Jesus Himself, from the night of the Last Supper: “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid…if I do not go away, the Helper will not come to you. But if I go, I will send Him to you…When the Spirit of truth comes, He will guide you into all the truth” (John 14:27, 16:7, 16:13). Through Jesus’s ascension into heaven He sent us the gift of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit applies to us the redemption purchased by Christ, by working faith in us, and uniting us to Christ. If Christ had not ascended into heaven, the Holy Spirit would not have come to us.
In Romans, Paul wrote that “all who are led by the Spirit of God are sons of God…you have received the Spirit of adoption as sons, by whom we cry, ‘Abba! Father!’ The Spirit Himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God, and if children, then heirs—heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ, provided we suffer with Him in order that we may also be glorified with Him” (Romans 8:14-17). The Lord, by His ascension into heaven, opened heaven to us, so that we are now children of God.
Paul also connects Jesus’s ascension to our life in union with Him, and what the fruits of that union ought to be. He writes to the Ephesians that he prays “…that you may know what is the hope to which He has called you, what are the riches of His glorious inheritance in the saints, and what is the immeasurable greatness of His power toward us who believe, according to the working of His great might that He worked in Christ when He raised Him from the dead and seated Him at His right hand in the heavenly places, far above all rule and authority and power and dominion, and above every name that is named, not only in this age but also in the one to come. And He put all things under His feet and gave Him as head over all things to the church, which is His body, the fullness of Him who fills all in all” (Eph. 1:18-23). Also to the Colossians: “If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth” (Col. 3:1-2).
If Jesus ascended into heaven to establish His reign over His Kingdom, and to unite us to Him through His Spirit, then in the Beatitudes He tell us how to live as sons of God in that Kingdom. “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of God…blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons of God.” Jesus Himself is our peace, who has made us one with Him and reconciled us to God. Through Him we have access in one Spirit to the Father (Eph. 2:14-18). The peace that we are called to make is the peace of Christ’s Kingdom, through living out a life in union with Christ, and being filled with the fruits of the Spirit. There is no peace outside of union with Christ through His Spirit, and the peace that is to rule in our hearts is the fruit of His Spirit. Jesus Christ, the risen and ascended Lord, is our Prince of Peace. We are united to Him, and He calls us to spread the peace of His Kingdom. Praise be to God for His indescribable gift!
“Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
“Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
We didn’t blend in. Our brightly colored ski jackets and flashy knit caps stood out like spilled bottles of paint. We were from America. And none of the Moscow citizens doubted that as we all rode down in silence on the seemingly endless escalator. There was no hiding that we were foreign. Surrounded by the sea of humanity in the Moscow Metro, we were different. We didn’t just blend in.
As Jesus ends the beginning of His first sermon, He continues to preach about what it will mean to be a Christ follower, to be a disciple. He has already said startling and unsettling things. He has emphasized the anti-cultural traits of mercy and meekness, of the mournful and the pure in heart. Then it’s as if His eyes shifted from the crowd to the twelve. He says pointedly that the disciples will be persecuted and reviled. Jesus tells those men that the not-fitting-in for the rest of their lives will be hard. They will stand out. They will be hated. And for that, He says, they have reason to rejoice and be glad. How does that make any sense at all?
Three times in three verses Jesus speaks of persecution, almost promises it. But He also pointedly tells His listeners that the persecution which brings reward is not just aimless or unfounded hatred. The followers of Jesus will be persecuted specifically because they are followers of Jesus. And they will be persecuted because their lives are lives of righteousness. Their hunger and thirst for righteousness have been satisfied, their lives will bear witness to it, and they will be reviled. It will be their very righteousness that makes them targets, that makes them enemies.
Righteousness means living our lives in accordance with God’s will. It means, by the wisdom and power of the Holy Spirit, shaping our will, values, and conduct to conform to God’s character. The Old Testament prophets spoke God’s word to God’s people. And Jesus reminds the disciples that a fallen culture often recoils at such prophecy. The prophets bore persecution. So will the Christ-followers who walk in the righteousness of God by patterning their lives after God’s Son.
Then the Lord says that the persecution brought by living righteously will generate blessedness, rejoicing, and gladness in the believer. We will walk in step with the Spirit knowing more and more that God has given us both the will and the ability to do so. We will rejoice in demonstrating God’s character and drawing ever closer to Jesus. And the Lord will reward our faithfulness.
The reward of righteousness and its consequent persecution is that we will be welcomed into the Kingdom of heaven. And that welcome begins right now.
Years after the Sermon on the Mount, the missionaries Paul and Silas demonstrated the reality of this promise in a dark prison in the city of Philippi.
About midnight Paul and Silas were praying and singing hymns to God, and the prisoners were listening to them, and suddenly there was a great earthquake, so that the foundations of the prison were shaken. And immediately all the doors were opened, and everyone's bonds were unfastened. Acts 16:25-26
Singing hymns in prison? Rejoicing in persecution? Paul answers the questions in his letter back to the believers in Philippi.
I want you to know, brothers, that what has happened to me has really served to advance the Gospel so that it has become known throughout the whole imperial guard and to all the rest that my imprisonment is for Christ. And most of the brothers, having become confident in the Lord by my imprisonment, are much more bold to speak the word without fear. Philippians 1:12-14
Believers in the Lord Jesus Christ are empowered to live their lives in a manner worthy of their calling. Those lives are often marked by not fitting into a culture that rejects the Lord. And all of Scripture reminds us that the Kingdom of heaven is at hand. And beginning now, the reward of eternity in the presence of Jesus animates our lives, strengthens our faith, and encourages us to bear the persecution of the world.
Only let your manner of life be worthy of the gospel of Christ, so that whether I come and see you or am absent, I may hear of you that you are standing firm in one spirit, with one mind striving side by side for the faith of the Gospel, and not frightened in anything by your opponents. This is a clear sign to them of their destruction, but of your salvation, and that from God. For it has been granted to you that for the sake of Christ you should not only believe in Him but also suffer for His sake, engaged in the same conflict that you saw I had and now hear that I still have. Philippians 1:27-30
May the Lord grant us mercy to suffer well for the sake of the Kingdom!
You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people's feet.
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
My first job in high school was at the YMCA, and one of the first tasks I had was coaching at the youth summer football camp. I remember one particular week when I was coaching 4th graders. We had just been given our scrimmage teams, and as someone who was (and still is) too competitive, I immediately evaluated my players in the hopes of having the best team of the week and achieving 4th grade YMCA football coaching glory. As I looked at my players hoping for future 5-star recruits, I quickly came to the disappointing realization that, on the surface, my team looked unathletic, small, and not a big threat to win any games. However, once the games actually began, it turned out to be the best team I ever coached because of their discipline, intelligence, and team-first mentality as they cruised to win every game. It was a clear coaching lesson to me that oftentimes, looks can be deceiving and power can come from unexpected places. They had everything they needed to make an impact on the field; their coach just didn’t realize it at first because it is easy to overvalue the wrong things.
The same concept can be true in the Christian life. After hearing Jesus’ teaching on the Beatitudes in Matthew 5:3-12 which emphasizes things like humility, love, and trust in God as the essence of a flourishing person, it does not take us long to realize that this description of a person is radically different than the characteristics our society values in people (things like appearance, power, success, and human approval). Thus, similar to my initial doubt about my 4th grade football roster because of external appearance, it raises the question, how could disciples of Jesus who embody these countercultural qualities make any difference at all in a competitive, power-hungry world that rewards values that are quite different than those in Jesus’ value system? The people in the Beatitudes don’t seem like winners who influence society.
In the next part of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus gives us a surprising answer by teaching that the character of a disciple of Jesus leads to the influence of a disciple of Jesus.
In verse 13, Jesus calls His disciples to be like salt in the world, having a seasoning and preserving effect, which implies a decaying world. Martyn Lloyd-Jones once said, “Happiness is the great question confronting mankind. The whole world is longing for happiness, and it is tragic to observe the ways in which people are seeking it.” The things people think will bring life actually bring decay, but Jesus has graciously given life to His disciples. In a world that is upside-down, He has turned His people right-side-up and invited them to live abundantly (John 10:10). As such, we do not run from the world or neither are we contaminated by the world, but instead, we overcome evil with good as we live where God has placed us in the world (Romans 12:21).
This type of influence is only possible as Jesus changes our hearts from the inside out the more we are soaked in the good news of the Gospel. In one part of Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis describes the process of Christian change and writes of the seemingly small moments of change in our lives, “But from those moments the new sort of life will be spreading through our system: because now we are letting Him work at the right part of us. It is the difference between paint, which is merely laid on the surface, and a dye or stain which soaks right through.” In other words, Jesus’ intention is not mere surface-level behavior modification, but a heart that is transformed by a relationship with Him that changes us from the inside-out and sends us into the world “to follow Jesus in His mission to love people, places, and things to life” (as Scott Sauls has put it).
In verse 16, a summary verse of the section, we see that our influence depends on our character. Love, joy, and peace in Christ bring blessing to us, and God uses these things to bring salvation to others and glory to Himself. It’s not about following rules to earn God’s acceptance, but it’s a way of being in the world because God already accepts us, so we are living out of our identity as His beloved children. As promised in Ezekiel 36:26-27, the Holy Spirit changes our hearts, so it’s not about following rules, it’s that out of a changed heart that delights in Jesus and knows His delight for us, we obey Him and live differently and magnetically where He has placed us.
To bring this together with a previous devotional I wrote about Matthew 5:3, the Beatitudes (Matt. 5:3-12) are a description of a grace-affected person and an invitation to flourishing, and the salt and light statements (Matt. 5:13-16) are the spreading of this grace and flourishing to the world through our lives and words.
This reminds me of another work by C.S. Lewis, The Silver Chair in “The Chronicles of Narnia” series. Here is an interaction between Jill and Aslan the Lion:
"I daren't come and drink," said Jill.
"Then you will die of thirst," said the Lion.
"Oh dear!" said Jill, coming another step nearer. "I suppose I must go and look for another stream then."
"There is no other stream," said the Lion.”
There is no other stream than a relationship with Jesus Christ and knowing His love in the Gospel (John 7:37-38; John 14:6). As we drink deeply from the only fountain that will satisfy us, we will increasingly become sources of life with the people and in the places that God has placed us.
You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
In this passage, Jesus is speaking to normal people like you and me, not to the religious leaders or people of great influence. These were working-class people trying to make ends meet, raise families, and live out their faith. Like most of us, they did not have public platforms or widespread influence, so to be told they were the light of the world may have seemed a little far-fetched. Even more, Jesus doesn’t state it as a question, He states it as a fact. These were God’s chosen people, they had the Word of God in them which illuminates sin and truth and points us to God.
But then He presents a problem, that the light they carry should not be hidden. Imagine a city on a hill in the middle of the night, it can’t help but be a beacon of light for the weary traveler seeking shelter and sustenance. Similarly, you turn on a lamp in order for it to shed light on the darkness so you can see, you don’t turn it on to then conceal the light it provides. Luke records Jesus as saying, “No one after lighting a lamp covers it with a jar, or puts it under a bed; but puts it on a stand, so that those who enter may see the light” (Luke 8:16). In other words, it would be absurd, complete nonsense, to turn on a lamp and then slide it under a bed or throw a blanket over it! In the same way, Jesus tells them that they are light and light is meant to shine and illuminate, so don’t hide or conceal the light that is in you. That light inside of them is meant to shine before others and point them to God and to the truth.
This is what stands out most to me in this short passage, that the light in us is not just for us, it is for others as well. I can work out my salvation and grow immensely in my faith, but if I am not living out my faith in a way that others can see and know God’s truth, then I am concealing that light. Our faith is not meant to be private, Jesus is saying the exact opposite here. Our faith is meant to be displayed for all to see, lived out in our day-to-day lives, shaping the decisions we make, determining the things we value and prioritize, and heard through the words we speak and the things we talk about. Of course, Jesus does not mean we do it in an obnoxious or haughty way, but with a tone of humility, love, and service as He has just taught about in the beatitudes. We do it in a way that when others see the way we live they will see and know who God is and His love for them. The way we live should reflect the teachings of Jesus for all to see and point them to the Savior.
Of course, we will continue to sin and fall short, but even our confession and repentance shines God’s light! When we are honest about our sin and failures and let the world see even that, they will see the mercy and love of God and be pointed to our God who desires for them to know that same grace. What Jesus is saying here is that as we walk in the light we will shine that light to the world around us, pointing them to the source of that light and bringing Him glory. What a privilege it is that He includes us in illuminating the world with His light. Are you humbly walking in God’s ways, living out His truth, and letting your light shine before others so that they will know God? It is never too late to embrace this truth in your life and let your light shine before others.
“You are the salt of the earth, but if salt has lost its taste, how shall its saltiness be restored? It is no longer good for anything except to be thrown out and trampled under people’s feet.
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
William Borden (1887-1913) was the heir to the Borden Dairy Estate. When he graduated from high school at the age of 16, his parents sent him on a trip around the world. But his parents did not anticipate what would happen. As William traveled through parts of Asia, the Middle East, and Europe, the Lord gave him an increasing burden for the lost and dying people he encountered. Eventually, the teenage millionaire wrote home to his parents: “I’m going to give my life to prepare for the mission field.” A friend was shocked that William would choose to “throw himself away as a missionary,” but he was not deterred. In preparation for the mission field, Borden attended Yale University and Princeton Theological Seminary. He longed to become a missionary to Muslims in China, so he went to Egypt to focus on language study before going to China. While he was studying in Cairo, he contracted spinal meningitis and died in Egypt at the age of 25.
The world might call the story of William Borden a tragic loss. I imagine the Lord would call it a glorious gain. Etched into Borden’s tombstone in the American Cemetery in Cairo are these words: “Apart from faith in Christ there is no explanation for such a life.” When people saw William Borden, they really saw the light of Christ shining in Him. By God’s grace, William’s life begs the question: “Why would he do that when he could do this?”
In some way, every Christian life should beg the question. When Peter exhorts us to always be ready to give an answer to anyone who asks us for the reason for the hope that we have (1 Peter 3:15), he assumes that we will be different…and that people will be asking why. Being close to Jesus Christ changes people, and that change was evident in Peter after Pentecost. In Acts 4:13 we read, “Now when [the Jewish leaders] saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that they were uneducated, common men, they were astonished. And they recognized that they had been with Jesus.” Apart from faith in (and proximity to) Jesus, people couldn’t explain how Peter was living. Do our lives beg the question?
William Borden and Peter weren’t trying to be the light of the world. Through their union with Jesus, they were the light of the world. Their roots were deep in Him, and the fruits were growing for all to see. We don’t need to try to shine brighter; in Him, we are the light of the world. As we abide in Jesus, the light won’t be hidden; and as we live in Him, our lives will beg the question. When the questions come, people may focus on WHAT they see in us, but that is the opportunity to tell them WHO makes us different.
Brothers and sisters, don’t forget the joyful privilege of being the light of the world. No, “let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
“Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not an iota, not a dot, will pass from the Law until all is accomplished. Therefore whoever relaxes one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever does them and teaches them will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.
David is a graduate of Texas A&M University—Corpus Christi where he holds a BBA in Management, as well as a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary—Houston. He lives in Dallas with his wife, Robyn. He's looking to plant a church in the Uptown area.
Perhaps one of the most difficult tightropes the devout have to walk is that of weighing tradition with biblical fidelity. One would hope that the two are the same, but most often they are not. Though our Reformed and Confessional distinctive could be seen as a tradition within itself, we hold to practices that are not expressly biblical, yet they can be traced back to the early church which incorporated these as forms of worship. Such things as our Word-centered liturgy, having the scriptures sung, prayed, read, and preached. You won’t find this commanded explicitly anywhere in your Bible, but it is good, safe, and historic. That is, it is useful in keeping the primacy of the Word central to our worship service. In such a manner, tradition is good. But the problem arises when a tradition is developed apart from the scriptures and placed on par with or even elevated above the scriptures where fidelity to the tradition is seen as fidelity to God. At this point, the tradition is no longer the religion of the Bible, but a completely different religion altogether, and this is what we read of in Matthew 5. In this passage, the issue was a conflict between the Word of God and the traditions of men; Christ upheld the Word but disregarded traditions.
Scribes were known for their technically tedious approach to the law, arguing such things as whether or not it was permissible for a person with a wooden leg to wear it on the Sabbath, while the Pharisees were committed to oral traditions passed down. In their thinking, fidelity to oral tradition was fidelity to the scriptures. These two groups used the language of the scriptures and referenced it but had their own private meanings. When a religious Jew of the time would have referred to the scriptures as the Word of God, they did not mean the bible proper, but the scripture as interpreted by generation after generation of rabbis. Though not the intent, what happened was that rabbinical interpretation superseded the Word itself. Rather than going to the text, the Jews would go to the text produced by the rabbis as if it were the scriptures. These rabbinical interpretations of the Bible were eventually collected in written form and published in a vast set of books called the Talmud. Now, I have copies of these volumes, and they’re massive in size. There are two versions – the Jerusalem Talmud and the Babylonian Talmud, which was produced while in exile. Regarding the matter of the law, the Jews referenced it in a variety of ways.
First, they had the Moral Law, as summarized in the Ten Commandments - the highest form of the law as far as the Jews were concerned. After all, it was the law written by God’s own hand, delivered to Moses on Mt. Sinai. Sometimes, they spoke of the law as the Pentateuch, or Torah – the five books written by Moses. Further, when we read the term, “the law and the prophets,” this typically signified the entirety of the OT, including the historical books and the poets. The most widely used and most common reference, however, the law in the time of Christ was called the “Oral Law,” which then became the scribal law or rabbinical law. Ultimately, the problem with rabbinical interpretation is that it clouded and misapplied the law, reducing it to a set of petty rules and regulations – none of which could please the Lord, and all of it man-made. It’s obvious that Jesus had absolutely no patience for the oral traditions and disputed their teachings, as we read in Mark 7:5 – 8 (“teaching as doctrine the traditions of men”).
So, what did Jesus mean when He said He came to fulfill the law and the prophets, not abolish them? Here, Jesus is setting Himself in opposition to the Scribes and Pharisees, implying it was they who abolished the law through their tradition. When Jesus said He had come to fulfill, what He didn’t mean is that He came to give us another set of rules apart from the law of God that will assist us in keeping the law. The reality is that He was never a threat to the law of God - He was a threat to the oral traditions. The Jews were guilty, nevertheless, of various kinds of abrogation of the law. The Sadducees destroyed the prophets, the Pharisees the law, the Scribes, in part, both the law and the prophets. But Christ not only preserved the Old Testament in all its entirety but fulfilled it in its deepest meaning. That is, He was the reality of all they had pointed to, not just the type or symbol. He brought doctrine to completion, and He interpreted the scriptures more fully to bring about their true spiritual meaning. In Him, we see the scriptures exhibited perfectly in His life. Christ fulfilled the Moral Law, by perfectly loving the Father as well as His neighbor; He fulfilled the Ceremonial Law by being the sinless priest who offers the unblemished sacrifice, setting His people right with God once and for all, and He fulfills the Civil Law in His public offices of Prophet and King. As Prophet, He revealed the direct, underived Word of God, and as King, He rules over His people, defending them from His and our enemies in perfect justice. 19th-century Anglican theologian Christopher Wordsworth writes,
“Christ fulfilled the law and the prophets by obedience, by accomplishment of types, ceremonies, rites, and prophecies, and by explaining, spiritualizing, elevating, enlarging, and perfecting the moral law, by writing it on the heart, and by giving grace to obey it, as well as an example of obedience, by taking away its curse; and by the doctrine of free justification by faith in Himself, which the law prefigured and anticipated, but could not give.” By contrast, the traditions of the Scribes and Pharisees were an abrogation of the law rather than an adherence. To summarize Paul in Romans three, the law was never intended to be a means of justification, but rather serves to point us to grace. None can keep the law perfectly, for if we break one law, we’ve broken them all. What the law does is reveal to us God’s holy requirements and then expose our utter inability to keep it, thus driving us to Him for mercy. As Augustine writes, “Ante Christi adventum lex jubebat, non juvabat; post, et jubet et juvat.” (“Before the coming of Christ, the law commanded, but did not help; after, He commands and helps.”)
It is not in the attempt to keep the letter of the law that justifies us, but the spirit of the law, which is revealed by the Holy Spirit in the life of Christ. The law commands us to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, and strength but does not empower us to do so. That only comes by His Spirit who empowers us. The law commands us to love our neighbor as ourselves, but it does not enable us to do so. That again must come through Christ. The sad part is that even 2,000 years post-Christ, the religious still construct extra-biblical traditions, seeking to justify themselves, and effectively negating the work of Christ. Perhaps the greatest theater of our day in which extra-biblical, self-justifying tradition is on display today is politics. The measure of one’s faith is not determined by one’s commitment to the sinless nature of Christ, His penal, substitutionary atonement, His bodily resurrection, or the inerrancy of scripture. One can subscribe to none of that, and still be considered part of the religious right or the religious left. In the political theater, one’s religious fidelity is based upon where one stands on whatever the hot-button issue of the moment is. Such things as Critical Race Theory, immigration rights, LGBTQ rights, abortion, or gun rights – the list is endless, and ever-evolving. Fidelity to a political issue is not fidelity to the Gospel.
When the church elevates secular tradition and heritage to the same plain as scripture, then what we have unknowingly done is refashioned God’s law into one of our own making that we can keep. Biblical obedience and trusting in Christ do not have a political or secular equivocation, nor is it expressed differently in the world than in the church. The Kingdom of God is sufficient and comprehensive. Our only tradition is fidelity to the teaching of Christ passed down by the Apostles, and that which makes clear the heart of God and His Son, our Lord Christ. When we develop extra-biblical traditions and then base our justification on our adherence to these traditions, then what we’ve shown is that we are thinking like Scribes and acting like Pharisees. Selah.
“You have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not murder; and whoever murders will be liable to judgment.’ But I say to you that everyone who is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment; whoever insults his brother will be liable to the council; and whoever says, ‘You fool!’ will be liable to the hell of fire. So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison. Truly, I say to you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The story was frightening and sad. It had been one more explosion of his hair-trigger rage. Now he quietly and condescendingly explained that he was justified in smashing his dining room chair. His long-suffering wife had hidden from the fierce outburst but then had called me for help. Her unrepentant husband, a part-time theologian and would-be preacher, had no remorse. After all, even Jesus had broken furniture when He cleared the temple of the moneychangers. If Jesus could vent His anger, why shouldn’t he? The marriage didn’t survive.
Maybe you’ve heard the same kinds of arguments to justify unjust anger. Or maybe trying to parse out righteous anger from unrighteous anger has been a distracting discussion. But Jesus makes clear in His Sermon on the Mount that those who are citizens of the Kingdom of Heaven shouldn’t be complacent or self-righteous in the matter of their own anger. He says so by reminding the disciples that murder is merely the visible fruit of a heart filled with fury. And it’s the disciple’s heart that the Lord came to renew.
As with the rest of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus teaches startling things about a topic that the teachers of the Law believed they completely understood. The Law was good and right and true, but abiding by the law on the outside and being a lawbreaker on the inside would always lead only to self-righteousness and never to true righteousness. It was a hard lesson for them. It’s a hard lesson for us.
So Jesus emphasizes three foundational ideas about anger in this part of His sermon.
First, unaddressed and unresolved anger is equivalent to hatred. The Lord highlights the reality that such anger will inevitably ooze out in the way we speak, in the way we belittle, and in the way we murder the character of our anger’s target. So Jesus reminds His disciples, and us, that there really is no such thing as hidden anger. We don’t just get over it. In fact, Jesus says, the judgement deserved by murderers is also deserved by those with smoldering anger. Can you imagine the disciples glancing furtively at one another as they squirmed on that hillside?
Secondly, the Lord makes clear that it is the believer’s responsibility to be intentional about seeking resolution and reconciliation. We are not to cross our arms, lift our chests, and wait to be appeased. Anger toward us requires prayerful action, just as does anger from us. “First, be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.” Both the angry and the aggrieved are to be on guard about our own feelings and mindful of the feelings of those around us. Then, the believer is to act by moving toward rather than away. Matthew brings up the same idea later in his Gospel.
If your brother sins against you, go and tell him his fault, between you and him alone. If he listens to you, you have gained your brother. But if he does not listen, take one or two others along with you, that every charge may be established by the evidence of two or three witnesses. Matthew 18:15-16
Paul writes to the church in Ephesus about the matter.
Therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another. Be angry and do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil. Ephesians 4:25-27
Who do you need to talk to?
Finally, that business about leaving your gift at the altar and going to the brother reminds us that our anger impedes our worship. If nothing else, unresolved angry conflict is a distraction. But worse, as Paul says, the devil delights in destroying the unity and love among believers. Our unresolved smoldering anger is the raw material for the devil’s nefarious handiwork.
Jesus’ little brother James helped lead the church in Jerusalem. And his part of the Bible is probably the earliest New Testament book. Guess what James brings up in the first chapter of the first book of the New Testament?
Know this, my beloved brothers: let every person be quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; for the anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God. Therefore put away all filthiness and rampant wickedness and receive with meekness the implanted word, which is able to save your souls. James 1:19-21
Quick to hear, slow to speak, slow to anger; may those be more and more true in my life and yours. Soli Deo Gloria!
So if you are offering your gift at the altar and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar and go. First be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift. Come to terms quickly with your accuser while you are going with him to court, lest your accuser hand you over to the judge, and the judge to the guard, and you be put in prison. Truly, I say to you, you will never get out until you have paid the last penny.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
I heard of a physician who suggested that there are four things to say to a dying person: “Thank you. I love you. Forgive me. I forgive you.” Why is it that words whispered near death feel so intimately alive? We are all terminal patients, and the language of reconciliation reaches out to the deepest human longing to be made well.
Drag a match scratching along a gritted strip; watch the spark flair and flame out a small, consuming charge; blow the burning stick out quickly in a harmless white puff or let it linger, flick it on fuel, and the fire blazes. Resentment rages in the mind and flows through the body: the heart races, constricted breath builds, the face knuckles down, and the mouth explodes murderous words. “What causes quarrels and what causes fights among you?” James asks. “Is it not this, that your passions are at war within you?” (James 4:1).
The language of death dominates our everyday discourse. I hear friends say, “You’re killin’ it,” as a commendation. Even peace is spoken in words of war: “Kill ‘em with kindness.” What must rage within the human soul to talk about life in terms of death? “For the mouth speaks what the heart is full of” (Luke 6:45 NIV). Who can give us a language worthy of living and free us from the dialectic of death?
If we take Jesus at His word, which I seriously do, then the command for reconciliation is not simply a rule to follow but is the language of living, the calling of new creation. Jesus commands what He gives through His calling:
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come. All this is from God, who through Christ reconciled us to Himself and gave us the ministry of reconciliation; that is, in Christ God was reconciling the world to Himself . . . (2 Corinthians 5:17-19).
Reconciliation does not pretend that everything is “OK,” that nothing wrong happened after all. “It’s fine,” we say. No. Reconciliation faces the full force of harm inflicted and overcomes resentment and violence with good (Romans 12:21). The cross definitively answers Cain’s old blood-stained cry, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9).
The question is will we learn to speak a language worthy of living? Will we listen to Jesus’ command, rightly shudder at its utter seriousness, and receive His blessing to become a human fully alive? Will we reach out to the world’s deepest longing with the language of reconciling love, a life-giving fire more fierce than death?
“It was also said, ‘Whoever divorces his wife, let him give her a certificate of divorce.’ But I say to you that everyone who divorces his wife, except on the ground of sexual immorality, makes her commit adultery, and whoever marries a divorced woman commits adultery."
Bill Bogart served as the part-time role as Director of Marriage Ministry at Park Cities Presbyterian Church and was called into relational ministry after a 30 year career in banking. He and his wife Brenda work with engaged and married couples sharing the truth of God's design for marriage and the work He has done redeeming their lives individually and together in marriage. Bill and Brenda have 6 children and one 9 month granddaughter, Annie.
God hates divorce. So do we. We just never thought we would have to go through divorce to get to this conclusion. We praise God that He used this experience to show us His heart and bring us to a better understanding of His design for marriage.
Bill’s Story
I never thought I would experience divorce, but I did….20 years ago. The dream of a growing family celebrating life together was shattered. It was traumatic. It was a violent tearing apart of a one-flesh relationship that God had designed to remain together. PCPC’s DivorceCare program likens divorce to an open, gaping wound that never heals. That pain led Brenda and I to devote our married life to help others heal from divorce and equip existing marriage relationships to be healthier.
In Jesus’ teaching on divorce in Matthew 5, He begins by saying, “It was also said...” These words underscore the false narrative that the Pharisees taught – a worldly, contractual view of marriage that suggests marriage can be dissolved when personal needs in a relationship are not met. In Matthew 19, Jesus elaborates by saying Moses allowed divorce to accommodate man’s hardness of heart. Jesus then points to eternal truth when He says, “But I say to you...” With these words, He points us to God’s plan for marriage – not a contractual view but a covenantal view. A covenant is a permanent, unchangeable commitment. God’s covenant with us is that He will never leave or forsake us. And He uses marriage as a mirror for this relationship He has with His Church. As He will never leave us, we are to not leave each other in marriage. In this way, marriage exhibits the character of God, who constantly pursues us and never lets us go. Through my journey, God has revealed that marriage is more about Him, displaying His character of grace and forgiveness, and not solely about me, my desires, and happiness.
Brenda’s Story
I met my first husband on my 15th birthday. Thirty years later, to the day, I was standing before a judge in a Dallas courtroom with my attorney getting “unmarried” from the man I had built my life around. The one who had taught me how to drive a car, the boy I had loved as a young girl, birthed babies with, built a home and business with, lost a baby with, buried friends and loved ones with, laughed and cried with.
I really never thought I would be divorced. I even looked down on people who were. I avoided them in the grocery store, not knowing what to say. Would I have to choose sides?
Today, I am 17 years into a healthy second marriage and a thriving life but thinking about my divorce still brings tears. It was tragic, brutal, and by far the most devastating event of my life. It is like a coffin that never closes. I am constantly reminded that my family broke, and I lost something I could never put back together.
God has redeemed this hurt and provided healing through working in our DivorceCare, Foundation groups, re|engage, and UNION ministries. I have learned many vital things I never knew about God’s design for marriage. When a marriage goes bad, it’s so easy to blame the one who leaves. And believe me, I did my share of blaming. But these years in marriage ministry are teaching me where I was wrong. And because I brought my broken self into my current marriage, serving here has saved me from repeating my folly.
I am thankful to be part of a church family committed to the ministry of marriage. God’s plan for marriage is exciting and complex; it is difficult and thrilling. It’s not always easy, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be. I now know that I have always been the biggest threat to my marriage. This means working on “me” (and not my spouse) is the best thing I can do to avail myself of God’s plan to transform me into the likeness of His Son.
“And we all, with unveiled face, beholding the glory of the Lord, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another. For this comes from the Lord who is the Spirit.” 2 Corinthians 3:18
The following PCPC ministries are available to all who seek God’s presence in the midst of divorce, engagement, and marriage:
UNION – Preparing engaged and seriously dating couples for marriage.
Foundation Groups – Home groups teaching biblical principles to newly marrieds.
re|engage – Brings couples together to learn about God’s design for marriage and apply biblical principles for building a healthy relationship.
DivorceCare – Pointing separated and divorced individuals to God for healing.
“You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall not commit adultery.’ But I say to you that everyone who looks at a woman with lustful intent has already committed adultery with her in his heart. If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell."
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
One of the most deceptive and destructive lies that attack both Christians and non-Christians is the lie that God is not good and, therefore, His ways will not ultimately lead to our joy and flourishing. This lie was the essence of the serpent’s original temptation in Genesis 3:1 when he asked Eve, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” It was an assault on God’s character as he called into question God’s goodness and the truthfulness of His Word. The first sin resulted from Adam and Eve being deceived into believing that God isn’t good, His Word isn’t true, and the good life is not found in listening to and obeying Him. It is the same for us today, as sin can be traced back to not trusting God’s goodness. Martin Lloyd-Jones once said, “Happiness is the great question confronting mankind. The whole world is longing for happiness, and it is tragic to observe the ways in which people are seeking it.”
It is often easy to stumble into one version of this lie when it comes to how we read, think about, and present the commands of Scripture. This version of the “God is not good” lie manifests itself when we wrongly interpret His commands as a list of dour rules we have to check off the list so God will be happy with us but that ultimately does not guide us into a meaningful and full life. However, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is not giving us a list of rules to follow that rip us away from an abundant life, but an invitation to true flourishing and happiness as we are changed by a relationship with the God who is good, loving, and gracious. This is why He says, “The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy. I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).
One of the main principles that Jesus establishes in the Sermon on the Mount is that righteousness, what it really means to be a good person and therefore thrive as a human, is not just about our actions but about what is in our hearts. If we are being honest, we all know it is possible to do morally good actions but to either not do it for the right reasons, to hide our real motives, or to fake being nice or pure when deep down we are angry or lustful. What Jesus teaches is that true morality, goodness, and righteousness are not about externally following a list of rules but about clinging to and imitating God out of love for Him and others. In other words, for Jesus, righteousness is relational and comes from the inside out.
In verses 27-30, Jesus applies this concept to the real-life example of adultery and lust. When it comes to the area of human sexuality, it is common to believe that “as long as I don’t have sex outside of marriage, then I am righteous.” However, Jesus radically raises the bar when He claims that lustful thoughts are equal to adultery in the sense that if you boil down adultery to its essence, it begins with lust in the heart. While they have different worldly consequences, they are in essence the same thing. True goodness does not just maintain physical purity but also purity of thought that people might never see. This humbles us because when we look under the surface, we might find ourselves guiltier than we think we are or than we externally project ourselves to be.
Our current culture’s response to that is to reject God’s original design for human relationships, marriage, and sexuality, and we are suffering the consequences. “There is a way that seems right to a man, but its end is the way of death” (Proverbs 14:12). Fire is an amazing gift as it provides warmth and light. However, when fire exceeds its boundaries, it causes destruction. The same thing is true of human sexuality. When embraced and enjoyed in the way in which the Giver and Maker of these good gifts designed them to function in the context of a covenant relationship between a man and a woman, the gift of sexuality brings blessing. When we doubt His goodness, we use His good gifts in a way that He did not design them to be used, which ends in disaster.
Whether we find ourselves humbled by Jesus’ teaching or caught up in the current of our culture, what do we do? Jesus gives an extreme answer in verses 29-30 to demonstrate how serious we are to take sin in our hearts and lives. God hates sin because He loves people, and sin kills people, so Jesus uses deliberate overstatement to emphasize the importance of pursuing purity.
The truth is that by God’s standards, none of us are pure. We desperately need a Savior, and the good news of the gospel is that the same one, who got up on a mountain and proclaimed the importance of heart-level purity, would later go up to another mountain to lay down His life on the cross so that impure people could be forgiven and made pure by His sheer grace. Jesus is the only pure person to ever live, and the good news of the gospel is that He took our impurity and covers us in His purity. And only when we are captured by the sight of His love and how much it cost Him to cleanse impure people will we actually begin to be changed into the kinds of people who are pure and loving from the inside out and, therefore, people who truly thrive.
To paraphrase an illustration from Dallas Willard, if I go to visit Boston, I do not have to worry about avoiding London or Paris. This is obviously because going to Boston took care of not being in London or Paris. Similarly, when I value and love people because I’m filled with the love of God, as demonstrated in Jesus (Romans 5:8), these things that Jesus describes in verses 21-47 are naturally the result. I don’t have to worry about not being angry or not lusting when I increasingly become a person who is filled with God’s love. My best efforts cannot produce that; only a relationship with Jesus can. This is the result of being soaked in God’s love. If we are soaked in God’s love, then godly actions and behaviors will follow.
In the end, overcoming temptation is not a matter of self-control and strong will but a matter of being deeply changed by God’s love in the gospel.
“To see the Law by Christ fulfilled,
To hear His pardoning voice,
Changes a slave into a child
And duty into choice.”
33 “Again you have heard that it was said to those of old, ‘You shall not swear falsely, but shall perform to the Lord what you have sworn.’ 34 But I say to you, Do not take an oath at all, either by heaven, for it is the throne of God, 35 or by the earth, for it is his footstool, or by Jerusalem, for it is the city of the great King. 36 And do not take an oath by your head,
for you cannot make one hair white or black. 37 Let what you say be simply ‘Yes’ or ‘No’; anything more than this comes from evil.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“You can’t handle the truth!” With these five words from the iconic courtroom scene in A Few Good Men, Colonel Nathan R. Jessep (played by Jack Nicholson) says so much about the human condition. Ever since the serpent accused God of being a liar…and Adam and Eve believed the lie and ate the fruit…and they refused to be simply truthful about what happened (Genesis 3), we’ve all struggled to handle the truth. We mishandle it by bending, twisting, and shading it. And we can’t handle the truth that, left to ourselves, we are all liars who would spend our days deceiving and being deceived.
In Matthew 5:33-37, Jesus confronts our deep struggle with the truth. In His culture, He addressed the practice of taking oaths and swearing by various people, places, and objects. These practices are uncommon in our culture, but the underlying heart issue is the same. We manipulate the truth to our advantage, and our lies make us untrustworthy and undependable. Our “yes” isn’t always “yes”, and our “no” isn’t always “no”. And for the One who came “full of grace and truth” (John 1:14), who is the Way, the Truth, and the Life” (John 14:6), this is evil. We trade the truth of God for a lie.
Can we see it? Do we see that we’ve played fast and loose with the truth? Let’s take some time to reflect prayerfully on some questions.
How have we twisted the truth?
How have we resorted to half-truths?
When have we withheld important information in order to help ourselves?
When have we said we would do something, but we didn’t do it?
When have we said we wouldn’t do something, but we did it?
How have these lies affected the people in our lives?
How have these lies affected our relationship with the Lord?
Why have we chosen to lie?
When we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us. It’s a humbling realization, but we must either acknowledge that we are liars or we make God a liar. When we see the darkness in our hearts, God’s Word invites us to step into the light, confess our sins, and receive His forgiveness and cleansing (1 John 1:5-10). As the Lord works in us, He begins to convince us of the folly of our ways and the wisdom of His. We can acknowledge that we have chosen self-preservation over honesty and self-justification over holiness. And we see the beauty of the gospel in a whole new light.
During His years on earth, Jesus Christ was perfectly faithful and true (see Revelation 3:14 and 19:11). He lived the life of integrity that we couldn’t live, and He died the death that we deserved to die. We accused Him of being a blasphemer and a liar. But rather than defend Himself and plead His case, He willingly went to the cross so that He could defend us and plead ours. Only because of His grace can we handle the truth about ourselves that we’re more sinful than we could have imagined and more loved than we could have dreamed. Have we been humbled and strengthened by His grace? Are we abiding in Him and seeking to build our life upon the foundation of His Word? Are we relying on His grace to make us simply truthful?
Do your best to present yourself to God as one approved,
a worker who has no need to be ashamed,
rightly handling the word of truth.
2 Timothy 2:15
“You have heard that it was said, ‘An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth.’ But I say to you, Do not resist the one who is evil. But if anyone slaps you on the right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if anyone would sue you and take your tunic, let him have your cloak as well. And if anyone forces you to go one mile, go with him two miles. Give to the one who begs from you, and do not refuse the one who would borrow from you."
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
A competitor undermines your work, making you appear incompetent. A difficult neighbor constantly raises complaints and demands. The neighbor’s contractor then does damage to your property. Some kind of response seems obvious, to prevent more harm—and for the sake of justice! But what about Jesus’ words, ”do not resist the one who is evil”?
Isaac, the patriarch, was a successful farmer and rancher with high government connections in Gerar of the Philistines (Genesis 26). Isaac had entered Gerar during a famine in Canaan, heading for Egypt, just as his father Abraham had tragically done (Genesis 12:10-18). But God stopped Isaac. He confirmed to Isaac the covenant He had made with Abraham and commanded, “Sojourn in this land, and I will be with you and will bless you, for to you and to your offspring I will give all these lands…I will multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven ... And in your offspring, all the nations of the earth shall be blessed….” (Genesis 26:2-4)
Isaac stayed but dishonored God with a lie about his wife being his sister, which was discovered by Abimelech, Gerar’s king. Still, God protected Isaac; and gave him tremendous productivity until Abimelech asked Isaac, because of his wealth and “might,” to move farther away. Isaac moved into a valley where his servants dug for water, but local herdsmen raised disputes over the water rights. Rather than fighting, Isaac chose to move again and dig another well, but the locals argued over that one too. Again, Isaac relocated rather than retaliating. Only in the third location was there no opposition. Isaac said, “Now the LORD has made room for us, and we shall be fruitful in the land.” (Genesis 26:32)
What about Isaac’s decisions here? Was he too passive? He was the same person who, as a young man, climbed onto an altar when God directed his father Abraham to offer him as a sacrifice, though God would provide a ram as a substitute (Genesis 22). That event pointed ahead to God’s gift of His own Son, who would die to atone for the sins of His people. Though Isaac was a sinner who failed God in many ways, perhaps again, here he is a forward look toward the Savior. Possibly he fleshes out here in the incident of the wells Jesus’ description of a spirit of non-retaliation. (Matthew 5: 39).
When someone wrongs us, it feels necessary to respond with at least a subtle form of retaliation. With a critical word, we could ignite distrust of the one who undermined us. We may pointedly distance ourselves from the person from whom we felt some slight. We might give just a hint of negative feedback toward a teacher or coach who unfairly did not advance our child. Yet Jesus said, “do not resist.” Why? How? Like Isaac, we must know and trust:
God guarantees our security and destiny through His Son.
God, through His Son and in His Spirit, guarantees His presence with us.
God’s presence guarantees full provision and certainty of justice.
Old Testament lives like Isaac’s articulate and illustrate God’s promise and purpose, which would culminate in Jesus the Redeemer. Isaac was a man of the covenant by God’s sovereign mercy and, though imperfect, a believer in the covenant-keeping God. Isaac’s final stop in this story was Beersheba, where God came to him and reconfirmed His covenant. The leaders of Gerar then came to Isaac requesting a “sworn pact,” saying, “We see plainly that the LORD has been with you.” (Genesis 26:23-31)
"You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I say to you, Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, so that you may be sons of your Father who is in heaven. For He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? And if you greet only your brothers, what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect."
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
An over-arching theme of Jesus' teaching in the Sermon on the Mount is how God calls us to live isn't about outward living for the sake of obedience but about the inward state of our heart that flows out through the way we live. This is why He makes the point here that those who love and pray for their enemies are living out of their status as children of God. As the adopted sons and daughters of God, we have submitted our hearts to the authority and goodness of God and therefore follow His ways, knowing they are far better than our ways and that they are the only avenue to a full and abundant life. Jesus even asks them what reward will they have for doing what feels natural and only loving those who love them? Rather, the true reward comes through the humility and sacrifice of choosing to love someone who has hated us, who has sought to hurt us, who has slandered, betrayed, or ignored us.
"Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you" are, ironically, extremely controversial words. When we hear them, we are filled with an array of feelings, thoughts, and also questions. Mostly, questions intended to make this "command" more do-able for us…Who is my enemy? What exactly does Jesus mean by "love?" What kind of prayers do I need to pray for those who hurt me? We look for loopholes and ways to get around something so unreasonable and contrary to our flesh.
The Pharisees and Scribes did the same when they were confronted with the command, "Love your neighbor as yourself." As they considered who is their "neighbor", it seemed obvious that those who hurt and set themselves against them were not their neighbors. So, they concluded that we are to love our neighbor but hate our enemy. Surely that makes the most sense and seems quite reasonable! In my heart, it does as well.
A question they would not have thought to consider is, "What do you mean by love?" Because the Greek language had several words for love, when Jesus used the word "agape," they knew exactly what He meant. Agape love is not the kind of love you have for family, your spouse, or for your close friends. It wasn't about attraction, emotions, or feelings. Agape love is the kind of love God has for us. It is sacrificial, undeserved, full of grace, and seeks the highest good of the other. And because it is not a feeling, it is action-oriented. Agape love doesn't stay neutral and keep its distance but intentionally and actively sacrifices for the other and seeks the good of the other. That is why agape love will always result in genuine prayers for the other.
I am slightly relieved by this that I don't need to feel love for someone who has sought to hurt me. Because, to be honest, I'm not even sure I am capable of it no matter how hard I try! But He is also saying not to hate them, not to harbor feelings of aversion and hostility towards them, or even dislike or disgust. Instead, we are called to consider how God sees them and want something better for them, to be free of the bondage they are in that would cause them to hurt us. To desire that they too know the agape love of God. We are called to feel a desire for their wholeness in Christ, that they are blessed and not cursed, just as God blesses all, the just and the unjust. When we do this, we are reflecting God's heart instead of man's. And again, prayer is one of the primary avenues through which we do this.
It is also important to recognize that Jesus does not differentiate here between enemies who are believers versus unbelievers. What He says applies to all people who have set themselves against us. Paul and other New Testament writers are very clear about the reality of this in the Body of Christ, where strife, division, jealousy, gossip, and all sorts of hurt take place. When this happens to you, know that Jesus' words especially ring true in how you are to respond to a fellow believer who has hurt you. As children of God, we must cherish and love God's people just as He does and seek the very best and highest for them despite how they have hurt us, caring for the Bride of Christ in the same sacrificial way He has cared for us. And the only way we can possibly do this is by abiding in Him and allowing the Spirit to work in us so that His love can flow out in the way we live.
“Beware of practicing your righteousness before other people in order to be seen by them, for then you will have no reward from your Father who is in heaven.”
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
We all like to be praised. If I reflect on my motives for doing something especially selfless, I often find myself casting sidelong glances to see if anyone is appreciating my “selflessness”! Jesus said, though, that if we practice righteousness to be seen by men, our reward is already paid in full – we will have the praise of men, but that is all. Sometimes, sadly, this is exactly what we choose to desire. John’s gospel says of those who hesitate to wholly follow Christ, “for they loved the glory that comes from man more than the glory that comes from God.” (John 12:43) His condemnation often justly applies to us.
So then, what can we do with our desire to be recognized? Does this word from Christ mean that we should simply be content to not receive praise? Is virtue really its own reward? In a sense, yes, it does. If following Christ means that I must deny myself and take up my cross, and that if I would save my life, I will lose it (Matthew 16:24-25), then yes, I must be prepared to sacrifice my desire to be praised by men.
However, worldly recognition is not the only kind there is. Speaking of enduring through suffering, Paul writes: “Though our outer self is wasting away, our inner self is being renewed day by day. For this light momentary affliction is preparing for us an eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison.” (2 Corinthians 4:16-17) Our reward, the “eternal weight of glory,” is the praise of the Lord Himself. We will hear from the mouth of our loving Father, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant…Enter into the joy of your master.’ (Matthew 25:21) We must take our need for praise, and direct it to the Lord, and receive His recognition. His blessing must be enough.
And what a blessing it will be! Hear some of the words of the angel to the persecuted churches in the book of Revelation:
“To the one who conquers I will grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God; I will make him a pillar in the temple of My God. Never shall he go out of it, and I will write on him the name of My God, and the name of the city of My God, the new Jerusalem, which comes down from My God out of heaven, and My own new name. I will grant him to sit with Me on My throne, as I also conquered and sat down with My Father on His throne. The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the book of life.” (from Revelation 2 & 3)
Jesus does call us to do righteous deeds. The Pharisees were not condemned for praying, for fasting, and for giving to the poor; they were condemned for doing it for their own glory. Jesus instructs us to pray, fast, and give to the poor, but that these are done unto God, and not unto men:
“Then the King will say to those on His right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by My Father, inherit the Kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed Me, I was naked and you clothed Me, I was sick and you visited Me, I was in prison and you came to Me.’” (Matthew 25:34-36)
Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! May we hear those words “Well done, good and faithful servant,” as we enter into our eternal reward, the inheritance that is imperishable, undefiled, and unfading.
“Thus, when you give to the needy, sound no trumpet before you, as the hypocrites do in the synagogues and in the streets, that they may be praised by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you give to the needy, do not let your left hand know what your right hand is doing, so that your giving may be in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.”
Reynolds serves as the Resident for Young Adults at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He attended the Kanakuk Institute after graduating from Baylor University. Reynolds’s passions include discipleship, the outdoors, and intellectual formation.
How often do we offer our time, talents, and treasure to others anticipating an exchange? We give to get praise. But this is not true generosity; it is a selfish exchange, a sham, and reveals a desire for self-glorification. With giving, as in the rest of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus presses past outward behavior to the heart, the desires that lie beneath our behavior. God does not simply call us to forsake selfish desires and behaviors: He calls us to something better; He calls us to Himself; He calls our hearts to reflect His heart.
So, how and why should we give? Jesus sheds light on the answer to this question by setting up the hypocrites as counterexamples. The hypocrites give publicly “that they may be praised by others.” In other words, the hypocrites give to get. When we seek the praise of man, we absorb, rather than reflect, the glory of God.
But, brothers and sisters, this is not the way we learned Christ! We are children of the light, children of Him in whom there is no darkness (1 Thessalonians 5:5; 1 John 1:5). As children of the light and image bearers of God, we are not called to absorb but to behold and reflect His light (2 Corinthians 3:18). We give to others to reflect the giver of all good gifts, not only in what we do but in how and why we do it (James 1:17). We are called to reflect God’s heart.
So then, how are we to give? Jesus says we are to give “in secret,” without seeking or expecting the praise of man. This secrecy is not the secrecy of deceit, but the secrecy of solitude and communion with God, the secrecy of the silent place in which God speaks to the Psalmist’s “secret heart” (Psalm 51:6).
Finally, why do we give? God gives graciously out of His abundant love and mercy: “He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust” (Matthew 5:45). God gives because of who He is, and we, likewise, give because of who He is. As children of the light, we give to reflect the Light of the World.
The reward of man’s praise is empty and fleeting, but we seek a greater reward: communion with the living God. Communion with Him is both our present and eternal reward. May we all behold and delight in the glorious splendor of His majesty and may the Psalmist’s words ring true for each of us: “Whom have I in heaven but You? And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides You. My flesh and my heart may fail, but God is the rock of my heart and my portion forever” (Psalm 73:25-26).
“And when you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites. For they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
“And when you pray, do not heap up empty phrases as the Gentiles do, for they think that they will be heard for their many words. Do not be like them, for your Father knows what you need before you ask him.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
He was a kid who lived on the circle up the hill, and we were school buddies. With the heady maturity of fifth-grade boys, we walked to school, played sandlot football, shot baskets, and talked of things like rockets and outer space. So, I invited him to church. It was a soft lob because the invitation was to join my family on Wednesday evening for the weekly church dinner. We wouldn’t have to endure anything like Sunday School or even a church service. It would be easy.
There we stood in the fellowship hall, dutifully lined up as instructed. Then came the hard part and the surprise. The matronly kitchen commander stood at the front of the line, said for us to bow our heads, and began to bellow out a blessing so all in the hall could hear. My friend, un-bowed and un-muffled, looked at me and said, “What are we doing?” In what seemed like a whispered asthmatic shouting match, he asked louder, “Why is everyone putting their head down?” My instantaneous exhaled response was not an evangelical milestone. “Shhh,” I shout-whispered. “I’ll tell you later!” That was 55 years ago, and so far, there’s been no follow-up conversation.
Prayer is a mystery. Finite humans converse with an infinite God. And we enter that conversation precisely because that infinite God desires it. But it seems, if we’re honest about it, many of us never really outgrow our fifth-grade questions. What are we doing after all when we pray?
First and maybe most importantly, prayer is the life-long foundation of a relationship with the God of creation. We are created to be in relationship with God. Remember how the language of Genesis glows with the vocabulary of relational closeness? God breathed life into Adam, described almost as mouth-to-mouth incarnation. God sought to walk in the cool of the evening with His companion couple. Jesus was clear that prayer without relationship can often be more show and sham than a conversation among beings who love one another.
Secondly, prayer is a definitive manifestation of Christ-likeness. Jesus was a man of prayer. He prayed publicly and privately. He prayed at meals and at funerals and in the garden on the night in which he was betrayed. He prayed for the forgiveness of those who drove the nails into His flesh. There really is no scriptural way to accommodate a belief that we are growing up in Christ if we are not growing more and more into people of prayer.
The disciples certainly recognized the importance of prayer in Jesus’ life. And they specifically asked Him to teach them how to do it. Sadly, it seems many folks treat prayer as needful only in the public square of a church crowd or maybe only in a moment of crisis. Prayer can become a self-aggrandizing “look at me” proposition rather than a purposeful Christ-like response to God’s majesty and goodness.
Prayer is also a clear act of obedience. The Scriptures are filled with admonitions to pray in every and all circumstances. As far as our relationship with God goes, the first act of our obedience was to offer prayer to God as we confessed our need for Jesus. We prayed for God to do His redeeming work in us, to indwell us with His Spirit, and to make us new. That moment of our salvation was the beginning of a life intended to glorify God in part by our ongoing commitment to fervent and frequent prayer. Ongoing conversation is how all relationships stay fresh and continue to grow. Would it be any different in our single most important relationship?
We should also note that we are sometimes quick to say something like, “Prayer really works!” or “I believe in prayer.” And that’s where we run up against the true mystery of biblical praying. It is the Lord who works in and through the prayers of His people. And mostly, He works on His people in the context of their prayer lives. We are blessed as we prayerfully and joyfully live out the vicissitudes of our creatureliness.
So here’s a challenge. This week think of six people in your life for whom you will pray. Make it two family members, two acquaintances, and two folks you don’t really like very much. As you pray for yourself, pray for your six every day for a month. But be careful. Be careful to pray for them and not just about them. Pray for their good, for their faith, for their families. And don’t tell anyone. It’s a Christ-like thing to do, you know. And you can also know that while you pray for those six folks every day, the Lord Jesus loves you and is praying for you!
Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice. Let your reasonableness be known to everyone. The Lord is at hand; do not be anxious about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Philippians 4:4-7
Pray then like this:
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
It is impossible to relate to someone if we do not have an accurate understanding of who he or she is and what he or she is like. We can apply this to any of our relationships in life. In our relationship with God, this means that we must relate to Him based on how He reveals Himself to us in His Word. This seems simple enough, but the philosopher Blaise Pascal once offered this memorable and convicting line: “God made man in His own image, and man returned the favor.” In other words, we often project onto God our own viewpoints, assumptions, and biases instead of letting the fullness of His Word tell us who He is and what He is like.
In Matthew 6, as Jesus is teaching His disciples to relate to God through prayer by giving them the model prayer, He begins the prayer by giving His disciples four powerful words that capture who the God of the Bible is and how He relates to His people: “Our Father in heaven” (verse 9a).
We might find ourselves far too familiar with these words, so let’s examine them again and pray that God ignites them in our hearts today and fills us with a desire to commune with Him. Praying and talking to God as Father “conveys the authority, warmth, and intimacy of a loving father’s care, while ‘in heaven’ reminds believers of God’s sovereign rule over all things” (from the ESV Study Bible). This means that the truth that is the foundation of all prayer is that the powerful Creator of all things is our loving, caring Father.
In my favorite book on prayer, With Christ in the School of Prayer, Andrew Murray writes of these four words, “The words are the key to the whole prayer, to all prayer. It takes time, it takes life to study them; it will take eternity to understand them fully. The knowledge of God’s Father-love is the first and simplest, but also the last and highest lesson in the school of prayer.”
Read that quote again and read it slowly. Why are these four words from Jesus so powerful?
Because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, He desires a conversational relationship with us. Prayer is not just a way to ask God for things (although it does include that), it is a way to commune with the greatest Being that exists. As Kyle Worley explained on the Knowing Faith podcast, “The ancient gods were usually notable because they could execute force on behalf of a subservient people. Whereas the God of the Bible reveals Himself as Father and fulfills that revelation by inviting people not merely into following the power of His force, but welcomes people to enjoy presence of His fellowship.” What greater privilege could there be than that?
Because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, what other response could there be than wonder and awe? We are made for wonder and awe, whether it’s when we are captured by the view of a beautiful sunset or blown away by the bigness of the mountains or ocean. David looked at massive and beautiful scenery like this and said to God, “When I look at Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have set in place, what is man that You are mindful of him, and the son of man that You care for him?” (Psalm 8:3-4). The truth that this same God who created everything also cares intimately for him moved David to awe and wonder.
Because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, we can live with deep, heart-level peace even when things around us do not make sense.
Because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, humility is cultivated in our hearts as we are reminded of God’s bigness and our smallness, His gracious provision and our dependence.
Because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, our identity is not in temporary, earthly things but in our permanent status as beloved children of the King. It is not in what we do, but in who He says we are.
Because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, our priority is to live for His agenda and plans, not our own.
Finally, because God is our loving, caring Father who rules over everything all the time, we are even more thankful for the gospel because we know that Jesus was forsaken on the cross so that we might be welcomed in as beloved children of the King and Creator.
Pray then like this:
“Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
Often when I pray, whether early in the morning during an extended quiet time or briefly throughout the day, my prayers are focused on me. When I need help or wisdom, I pray. When I have messed up and need forgiveness, I pray. When my kids are driving me nuts, I pray. When I am facing something difficult or confusing, I pray. Rarely do I spend time during these prayers focused on who God is or what He has done. And when I do it’s often simply the gateway to get to what I actually want to pray about…me! “Lord, You are great and mighty, so show Your power in my life!” or “Lord, Your love is everlasting, so help me to feel Your love!” But in Matthew 6:9, there is no comma, there is simply a period. Jesus says, “pray then like this,” and He begins the prayer by simply focusing on who God is without an attached request. The requests do eventually come, but not until praise has been given and a reminder of who God is.
It could be easy to assume that this was just a formality, that Jesus was simply opening His prayer as one would a letter. That when we pray, it is important to say who we are praying to first and say something respectful. However, in the context of Matthew 6, this could not be the case. The reason Jesus was teaching on prayer was because of those whose prayers were a formality meant to be seen by others, full of empty words and phrases. Instead, Jesus is teaching us to pray in an intimate and personal way, first to God as our Father in heaven, and second to God who is holy and set apart from all of creation. These two descriptors of God are contradictory, one highlights our intimate relationship with Him while the other highlights how distinct He is from us. Yet both are necessary for us to recognize when we come before Him in prayer, we come before Him as our loving Father who desires a relationship with us while also recognizing that He is the holy Ruler of all things.
Many of the Psalms demonstrate this for us. Psalm 100 both praises God for being the Creator of all the earth while also reminding us of His goodness, faithfulness, and lovingkindness to us as His sheep. In Psalm 8, David is overwhelmed by this when he says, “When I look at Your heavens, the work of Your fingers, the moon and the stars, which You have set in place, what is man that you are mindful of him, and the son of man that You care for him?” (verses 3-4). Similarly, in Psalm 104, God is praised for how He rules over all creation yet also cares uniquely for every single creature on earth. Many other Psalms proclaim this amazing mystery (such as Psalm 113, 115, 121, 136, 150…) and show us how to do this when we pray.
As we begin to pray, it is transformative for us to first recognize both these characteristics of God because it sets our minds on what is truly most important. What I have experienced is when we begin our prayers focused on ourselves, our burdens, or our needs, it drags our focus lower and lower away from God, focusing our hearts and minds on the hopelessness we feel or on the perceived limitations and dead ends we are up against. Even beginning our prayers focused on God’s commands and imperatives can fill us with shame, regret, and hopelessness. Conversely, when we begin our prayers focused on who God is, it raises our eyes off of what is going on in our lives and on the ways we are falling short. It then sets our eyes on the only One who can give us hope and perspective, God, who is both our loving Father and the Creator of the universe.
So next time you pray, begin by fixing your mind and heart on who God is, what He has done for you, and His love for you, and let that shape how you then see your life and the petitions you are bringing before the Lord. If you aren’t sure how to do this, then you could use the Psalms as a guide. Or, you could simply begin with the words of Jesus, “Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your Name,” and pray them from a heart that truly believes that is who He is in your life.
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.’”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
It’s not easy writing about the Kingdom. We so easily say the words “Jesus Christ,” but we so quickly forget that the Christ is the Messiah, the long-awaited KING. We don’t spend our days living in the reality of kings and kingdoms. We’re Americans after all: our founding story is about breaking away from monarchy! Some of us are enchanted with the royal family, but most of us feel disconnected. All of this seems true on the surface, but what if, underneath it all, we’re more in tune with kings and kingdoms than we realize?
When we put all our hopes in a friend, spouse, parent, or child; when we idolize a politician, business leader, influencer, entertainer, or athlete; when we raise up a spiritual leader to a place that no man or woman deserves; when we look to money, success, power, or sex to bring us deep and abiding peace—do we realize that we’re looking for a king? We long for someone to give us the life for which we long.
When we groan over a devastating diagnosis; when we see people wasting away in poverty; when we hear that there are still millions of human beings suffering in slavery; when we hope that the next election will heal our country’s deep wounds; when we ache for wars to cease; when we kneel by the hospital bed and hold a loved one’s hand—do we realize that we’re looking for a kingdom? We long for shalom, that deep, soul-satisfying peace that all is right with the world.
So, in our sin and in our longings, in our misguided agendas, and in our deepest hopes, our hearts are crying out for the Messiah, the King of kings, and for His Kingdom. We chase counterfeit kings and build counterfeit kingdoms, but our empty pursuits scream that there is a real King and a real Kingdom. We long for a King without succession and a Kingdom without end. The Bible calls us to seek the King and His Kingdom, but we’re consistently reminded that He sought us first. The King has come, and He is coming again.
The Kingdom comes as the King reigns more and more in the lives of His people. By His grace, when we are poor in spirit (Matthew 5:3); when we mourn over our sin (Matthew 5:4); when we repent and believe in the gospel (Mark 1:15); when we hunger and thirst for righteousness (Matthew 5:6); when we seek to love God with all that we have (Matthew 22:37); when we love one another as He has loved us (John 13:34-35); when we live as salt and light (Matthew 5:13-16); when we love our enemies and pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44)—the invisible Kingdom becomes visible. The King Himself said, “The Kingdom of God is not coming in ways that can be observed, nor will they say, ‘Look, here it is!’ or ‘There!’ for behold, the Kingdom of God is in the midst of you” (Luke 17:21). Of course, there are outward manifestations of the Kingdom in the world, but Jesus is reminding us of the mystery of this Kingdom: it is in the midst of us—even inside us.
Do we realize that we’re looking for a king, and He has come, and He’s coming again? This very moment, King Jesus is on His throne, and His Holy Spirit is working in and through His body, the Church.
Do we realize that we’re looking for a Kingdom, and it has come, and one day it will come in all its fullness? The vision of the new heaven and the new earth is God’s people in the unveiled presence of God in a world with no tears, no death, no mourning, no crying, and no pain. And the message from the King on the throne is breathtaking: “Behold, I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:1-5).
“Your Kingdom come” is not such a strange request after all. It’s one of the deepest longings of our hearts. Lord Jesus, Messiah, King of kings, teach us to pray. Your Kingdom come: continue the work that You established through Your life, death, and resurrection! Your Kingdom come, not just in our world, but in our hearts! Your Kingdom come, on earth as it is in heaven, until the day when earth and heaven are one! “Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!” (Revelation 22:20).
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.’”
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
What does it mean to pray, “Your will be done”? Jesus Himself prayed this on the night before His death. After He had celebrated the Passover with His disciples, when Judas was in the act of betraying Him, Jesus went with His disciples into the Garden of Gethsemane where “He began to be sorrowful and troubled. Then He said to them, ‘My soul is very sorrowful, even to death; remain here, and watch with Me.’ And going a little farther He fell on His face and prayed, saying, ‘My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from Me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as You will.’” (Matthew 26:37-39) He returned to the disciples, found them sleeping, rebuked them, and returned to pray: “My Father, if this cannot pass unless I drink it, Your will be done.” (Matthew 26:42)
“Your will be done” – Jesus Himself prays the words He taught His disciples. If the Son of God Himself relies on the providence of His Father, how much more ought we? Jesus, sorrowful unto death, prayed from the darkest night a soul can know. The cup of God’s wrath was about to be poured on Him, and Jesus knew this. The first time Jesus prayed, He pleaded with God to let that judgment not be laid upon Him, if that were possible, but also prayed, “Yet not as I will, but as You will.” The second time, He prayed, “Your will be done.” In Greek, this is phrased as an imperative statement, the grammatical construct normally used for commands. Jesus puts it in the strongest way possible. He did not say “may Your will be done” or “let Your will be done”, but something closer to “Do Your will!” (There is no precise English equivalent). Jesus is both troubled to the uttermost and relying on His Father’s will to the uttermost. Therefore, for us, though we will have troubles in this world that seem insurmountable, we will never be as troubled as Jesus. If He entrusted His life into the hands of His Father, then the same One who cares for a sparrow and numbers the hair on our heads also holds our lives in His merciful hands.
In the garden, Jesus prayed, “Your will be done”; having accepted God’s will on the cross, He prayed, “Into Your hands I commit My spirit” – saying essentially the same thing. We can see His trust in the Father through the rest of Psalm 31. Though Jesus only quotes verse five directly, it is safe to assume that He was meditating on the whole Psalm as He hung on the cross. Though originally a prayer of David, these verses apply completely to Christ as well, perfectly voicing His suffering.
Be gracious to me, O LORD, for I am in distress;
my eye is wasted from grief;
my soul and my body also. (v. 9)
Because of all my adversaries I have become a reproach,
especially to my neighbors,
and an object of dread to my acquaintances;
those who see me in the street flee from me. (v. 11)
For I hear the whispering of many—
terror on every side!—
as they scheme together against me,
as they plot to take my life. (v. 13)
But note how the Psalm ends (verses 22-24):
But You heard the voice of my pleas for mercy
when I cried to You for help.
Love the LORD, all you His saints!
The LORD preserves the faithful
but abundantly repays the one who acts in pride.
Be strong, and let your heart take courage,
all you who wait for the LORD!
Even in the agony of the cross, Jesus knew how it would end – “The Lord preserves the faithful.” Even the very words that Jesus spoke aloud from the cross – “Into your hand I commit my spirit” – are directly followed in the Psalm with “You have redeemed me, O LORD, faithful God.” Though He experienced the Father turning His face away – “My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me?” – Jesus believed that God would not abandon Him forever. Like Jesus, when we are in distress and we are overwhelmed by darkness, we can pray, “But I trust in You, O LORD; I say, ‘You are my God.’ My times are in Your hand; rescue me from the hand of my enemies and from my persecutors!” (Psalm 31: 14-15). Like Jesus, we can pray, “Into Your hands I commit my spirit.” Like Jesus, we can pray, “Thy will be done.”
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.’”
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
After college, I followed God’s call on my life to serve high schoolers through the ministry of Young Life. After interviewing, they sent me to the small town of Rockport on the coast of Texas. I was an eager and passionate young woman sent to a town I had never heard of, full of people I had never met. Although I was technically an intern, I was the only staff member there and served as the “acting” director of Young Life, leading and working alongside volunteer leaders and committee members. As you can imagine, it was not as glamorous as I had hoped, but instead was an incredibly hard two years. I was thrown into the fire and felt it almost daily. I loved the kids and the ministry with all my heart, but every aspect of my life there was hard.
From the moment I arrived in Rockport, a pastor with a love for Young Life took me under his wings and mentored me. We would meet regularly, and he would teach and encourage me from the wisdom he had gained in his many decades of ministry in the same town. It was invaluable, and I drank it up. While every meeting with him was rich, there is one that will remain seared in my memory for the rest of my life. One morning after I arrived at his church office to meet, he stood and told me to follow him. We wound through the hallways of the church office and through the Sanctuary doors. The lights were off, and it was silent. We walked to the very front of the Sanctuary. He turned and kneeled at the first row, elbows on the seat, and began to pray out loud. I knelt beside him and listened. He was teaching me how to pray. Twenty-two years later, the details of his prayer are forgotten, yet I can still remember the phrase he prayed over and over, “Not my will, but yours be done, Lord.” In every single situation, he prayed for. And I could tell he meant it.
This strong, gifted, godly man, who had been leading one of the biggest churches in that town, humbled himself daily on his knees, submitting his will to the Lord’s. As He sought the Lord’s wisdom and strength, he recognized that as much as he wanted his own will and plans accomplished, as much as he may have trusted in his own abilities and ideas, God’s will and plans are always better. His will is perfect (Romans 12:2), His ways are higher than our ways (Isaiah 55:8-9), and while our spirit may be willing, our flesh is weak, so we will always be tempted to live for our own desires rather than God’s (Matthew 26:41). Like my mentor, we must learn daily to lay down our will and pray for God’s will to be done in and through our lives.
Praying for God’s will to be done on earth as it is in heaven means taking a posture of earnestly waiting and longing for God’s redemption on earth. It is a letting go of our will, of what makes the most sense to us, of what we want our lives to look like, of what others think about us, and what the culture and world around us say. Open-handedly releasing those things to God in order for our mind and will to be transformed, away from the world's influence, so that we can receive His purposes and plans. His good, acceptable, and perfect will (Romans 12:2).
When prayed genuinely, this means you are asking God to work in and through your life in a way that will bring Him glory, turn others to Him, lift Him up as the King of kings and the only true God, cause Christ to reign in human hearts, and result in God’s redemptive presence being felt on earth, just as it is in heaven. Praying this way transforms how we see our life, our struggles, and other people. For me, as a young twenty-something in a hard circumstance, it gave me eternal purpose and perspective in each situation I faced. Instead of praying for what I wanted or thought was best, I began praying for God’s will to be done so that others would know Him and He would be glorified. It truly changed the way I saw my struggles and opened my eyes to God’s eternal purposes, even in the smallest details.
How could this look in your prayer life? Think of the most recent things you have prayed for—a decision you need to make, your work, your family, your friends, your finances, your health, your needs or wants, or a person who has hurt you. Did you pray for God’s will to be done and not yours, no matter what that means? Did you pray that in that situation, God would be seen as the only true God and glorified in the hearts of others? Did you pray that no matter the outcome, others would come to know the grace and mercy of Christ and God’s presence would be felt on earth? Was your primary motive Kingdom-minded? If not, then turn to God and ask Him to transform you, to renew your mind, so that you will desire and long for His Kingdom and His will above your own. Let that shape how you pray. And then wait expectantly, watching for God to carry out His will and eternal purposes in ways you would have never imagined!
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.’”
David is a graduate of Texas A&M University—Corpus Christi where he holds a BBA in Management, as well as a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary—Houston. He lives in Dallas with his wife, Robyn. He's looking to plant a church in the Uptown area.
Over the past few weeks, we’ve been looking at Christ’s teaching on how to pray. He does not begin to speak on this out of the blue, as it were, but if you look at the text starting in Matthew 5:1 (aptly titled “Sermon on the Mount”), what Jesus is doing is setting the stage for the spiritual reality of life under grace in the new covenant. With the Beatitudes, He teaches the eschatological reality of Kingdom life; with the “Salt and Light” discourse, He teaches that true spiritual life is not something private and kept to oneself. He then sets His sights on how the Pharisees and scribes had completely misapplied the law, drawing a contrast between His teaching and theirs, with His series of “You have heard it said, but I say unto you,” discourse.
Starting in chapter six in verse five, Jesus further calls out the Pharisees and scribes’ ritual of prayer (only to be seen of men), referring to them as “hypocrites,” as well as the Gentiles’ performance-driven practice. All of what the people had been exposed to regarding the spiritual life – especially prayer – was all directed toward a behavior, never touching the heart of God. Here, Jesus corrects that.
We see this with the model of prayer. The first few verses begin with hailing the Lord in His majesty and glory, acknowledging His infinite and transcendent being as well as His supreme sovereignty over all creation. The last few verses then address our fallen condition, how we relate to the Father, our fellow fallen creatures, as well as the sin we are subjected to in this life. This prayer is just as counter-intuitive today as it was when Christ first taught it. That is, our normal posture in prayer is to first approach God with our needs and desires, as though He must be made aware of our circumstance. But what Jesus teaches is not that God’s glory is derived from our well-being, but rather that our well-being is derived from God’s glory. It’s easy to get this backwards – that somehow, if God comes through for us, THEN He will get the glory, but that’s not what Jesus teaches here. Christ is teaching that God’s glory (vs. 9, 10) is first and foremost to be acknowledged in prayer, that we approach Him with the honor and sanctity due Him, being thankful – not in order to get Him to do something – but because of who He is. Our primary concern in prayer ought to be first and foremost His glory, not our private concerns. The verse we’ve examined this week is a transition from the focus of our prayer from God’s glory to humble expression of our need and dependence upon Him. So let us closely examine what Christ was getting at in this verse.
“Give us this day our daily bread,”
“Give…”
Upon first observation, we see that we are confessing a need that we cannot possibly meet, hence, we begin our request with “give.” The term, “give,” traces back to Old English Germanic roots from which we also have the word, “gift.” This refers not only to what it is being bestowed, but even the act itself – a gracious condescension from a Higher (the Lord), to a lower (us). In context, approaching the Lord thus expresses that we are not looking to or relying upon our own ability, talent, or perceived worthiness. If all be a gift from God, then this precludes any deserving on our part. The Lord owes us nothing, but rather His giving to us is a reflection of His goodness, not ours. Jesus teaches us to pray in such a manner admitting that we are not self-sufficient, autonomous beings, but we are wholly and absolutely reliant upon the Father’s ability to provide for us.
“Give us…”
Christ further teaches us to pray for God to give to “us.” Just as our prayer is initiated as a corporate expression with “Our Father,” our requests are likewise corporate when we pray “give us.” That is, all those children who refer to Him as their Father. Notice just how antithetical this is to our individualistic Western Evangelical culture – prayer is often taught as a mechanism one can use to manipulate God into giving you what you want – if you have faith. What the “give us” does is get us out of ourselves and challenges the thinking that God is all about our creature comforts. His care and concern for His children cannot be reduced to what He can do for you, but rather what He does for all His own. Together, “Give us” teaches us to look to the Father in trust and dependence, acknowledging the Lord as our ultimate source, not what we may have at hand or even what we feel we can produce – it all comes from the Lord.
The comfort here is twofold. First, just because we may not possess all we think we need; it does not mean we do not have access to it. We have been given access to the Father who possesses all things and gives to us that which we need. Second, it teaches us that our provision is not in our wealth, as wealth - even tremendous wealth - can pass away, but the Lord is an inexhaustible resource!
“…this day…”
Trusting the Lord is a lifelong endeavor, and here, the Lord frames it in such a way that our feeble humanity is able to grasp – just for today. Not for the next year, or even the next week, but “this day.” What a beautiful thing it is when we trust the Lord for the day and see His faithfulness! If the Lord is faithful for today, this gives us confidence in Him that He will provide for tomorrow! This, in turn tends toward gratitude. I believe the Lord reduces our request down to a single day because He knows our sinful predisposition toward self-sufficiency. Wealth can give one a false sense of autonomy – that we are totally self-sufficient. When we approach wealth in such a manner, then it becomes our god. Now, wealth in itself is not a bad thing, but the danger is that it can easily become our sole focus in life; obtaining it as well as protecting it. Oddly, wealth and poverty are but two sides of the same coin; what unites them together is that one never has enough. Contentment is illusive, and the ability to truly enjoy life and the Lord is taken away. As Solomon puts it, those who are greedy allow their greed to drain their very life from them (Proverbs 1:19).
“...our daily bread...”
The plurality of the plea corresponds to the corporate nature of the care of the Father for His children; our Father…give us…our daily bread.. What our Lord here speaks of are the temporal blessings needed in support of this life – food, clothing, employment, etc.
Notice with me a few things. First, no specific amount or measure is stated as exactly what that portion of our daily bread is. I believe no specific measure is given because we do not have the ability know what it is we need daily – only God knows. We may know what we want, but assessing our daily need is God’s responsibility, and herein lies the temptation most face – we posit our wants as needs. I believe Christ instructs we are to pray for our daily bread to teach us contentment. That is, being content with our daily bread keeps us from the temptations of greed and lust and all the misery that comes with it. Israel was not content with manna, but desired quails, and in this, murmuring and complaining were given birth. In such a manner, they tempted the Lord’s wrath. When we are discontent with what the Lord provides, we likewise tempt the Lord with our ingratitude and entitlement, for if we know anything, it is that a man’s life does not consist in the abundance of his possessions.
Second, if we are to ask for our natural provisions daily, then it would follow that we are to pray daily. We are to trust the hand of the Lord daily, as all things come from Him, and not to put trust in what we’ve stowed away. Here, the words of Solomon most certainly ring true where he hails the folly of trusting in uncertain riches (Proverbs 11:28, 23:4, 5). Don’t we know of those whose wealth vanished away in time? But those who trust in the Lord shall be as steady as Mount Zion, which cannot be removed, but abides forever (Psalm 125:1).
Third, praying for our daily bread assumes that God knows what we will need before we even ask for it. Christ teaches as much a little further down this passage. The idea is that just as a parent knows what their children need, how much more the Lord! Just as a parent loves and provides for their children, how much more the Lord!
17th century Puritan preacher Thomas Watson sums it well, writing,
“If we pray for temporal things, how much more spiritual? If we are to pray for bread, how much more for the bread of life? If for oil, how much more for the oil of gladness? If to have our hunger satisfied, much more should we pray to have our souls saved. Alas! What if God should hear our prayers, and grant us these temporal things and no more, what were we the better? What is it to have food and want grace? What is it to have the back clothed and the soul naked? To have a south land, and want the living springs in Christ’s blood, what comfort could that be? O therefore let us be earnest for spiritual mercies! Lord, not only feed me, but sanctify me; give me rather a heart full of grace than a house full of gold. If we are to pray for daily bread, the things of this life, much more for the things of the life that is to come.”
So let us take heart with these words, confident yet grateful for the Lord committing Himself to provide that which we need!
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
For if you forgive others their trespasses,
your heavenly Father will also forgive you,
but if you do not forgive others their trespasses,
neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.’”
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
A teenage boy in our family recently received a greeting card with $10 inside. His father, watching as he opened it, smilingly teased, “Oh, I think you owe me $10!” The boy replied, “I probably do.”
Jesus’ direction to pray, “Forgive us our debts,” should be no surprise; we constantly require the forgiveness of our loving Heavenly Father for careless words, neglected prayer, or perhaps the same selfishness indulged in again and again. We depend every moment on our Father’s provision of payment for our sin-debt through His Son’s death on the cross, and so we acknowledge our sins in confession, contrition, and trust.
But the attached phrase, “as we also have forgiven our debtors,” though probably familiar, should be startling, especially with its emphatic explanation, “But if you do not forgive others their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses.” Is forgiving others a requirement for God’s forgiveness—for our salvation? Forgiveness of others’ sins is not a condition for our salvation, but it is an assumption about the effect of salvation. Redeemed people are forgiving people; the realization of the immense love and mercy that brought us salvation leaves no room for refusing to forgive others.
Why then is forgiving so hard? It’s hard because people do inflict deep, destructive wounds, sometimes permanently altering life circumstances. Forgiveness is hard because we want justice for wrongs done, and it’s difficult to avoid thinking, “They don’t deserve it.” It’s hard because being hurt carves craters within us that become reservoirs of resentment. As time passes, that resentment may become almost unconscious, covered over with shadows, but still there, deep inside us. And those places of inner darkness are inconsistent with the light of the gospel in which our Father intends us to live. (1 John 1: 5-9)
So how is change possible? Almost always, Scripture connects commands to forgive others with God’s forgiveness of us. Ephesians 4:32 says, “Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you.” (ESV) Forgiving links with being forgiven. If we are struggling with forgiving another person, we must run to the Savior who died for us and contemplate that great grace. Ask Him, by His Spirit, to show that grace to us in such an overwhelming way that we can think of little else—so that the awareness of His grace floods past the sense of wrongs done to us. This is a miracle, but grace is miraculous, and so is the work of the Holy Spirit who changes us to be increasingly like the Savior who, as nails were viciously driven into His hands, prayed, “Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.” (Luke 23:34 ESV)
What about damage done to us, making us fearful or tentative, taking from us materially, or removing rightful opportunity? Should we not desire justice? The sovereign God is perfectly just, and His righteousness will prevail. He acts through human government when that is necessary. But just as we have real peace in His forgiveness of us, as we forgive others, wells of resentment are drained, and we are free to think and act in the light of His presence and purpose. Have the cruel acts or words of another person left you injured? God’s great love that forgives us from our sin is also fully powerful to heal and renew us when we are sinned against. This is the reality of His character and His mighty grace.
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
Whether it’s germs, a trap, or the wind, just because something isn’t visible doesn’t mean it’s not impactful. In fact, invisible things often impact visible things in powerful ways. The same principle is true of the Christian life. Scripture teaches us that there is an unseen spiritual realm that is having dramatic effects on each of our lives, whether we are aware of it or not. Paul tells us that there is a spiritual battle going on, not with or against people, but between Satan and forces of evil that fight against God and His people (Ephesians 6:12). Wisdom looks like living in light of this reality. As part of His teaching on prayer in the Sermon on the Mount, this is why Jesus teaches us to pray, “And lead us not into temptation” (Matthew 6:13a), because there is a real enemy who is really trying to deceive and tempt us.
However, we often do not live in the awareness that there is a spiritual battle taking place every day, which makes us even more vulnerable as the most effective attacks come against those who are not expecting them. In his introduction to The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis writes, “There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them.” In our context, we tend to lean on the side of not paying enough attention to the realities of spiritual warfare and temptation.
The truth of Scripture is that we have a real enemy who is actively seeking to destroy us (1 Peter 5:8), and he does so progressively through enticing temptations. As someone once told me, he doesn’t tempt us with broccoli but with cake and ice cream. In other words, he uses things that are attractive and appealing, but under the surface, they each are built on lies about God’s character and what He accomplished for us in the gospel. This means that temptations are not just about our behaviors but about our desires.
There are three desire-level (not just behavior-level) temptations that we all face in different ways that I want to briefly mention here. I encourage you to talk to a friend about where you see these in your life:
(1) The temptation to believe that God is not good: This lie was the essence of the serpent’s original temptation in Genesis 3:1 when he asked Eve, “Did God really say, ‘You must not eat from any tree in the garden’?” It was an assault on God’s character as he called into question God’s goodness and the truthfulness of His Word. The first sin resulted from Adam and Eve being deceived into believing that God isn’t good, His Word isn’t true, the good life is not found in listening to and obeying Him, and therefore His ways will not ultimately lead to our joy and flourishing. It is the same for us today, as sin can be traced back to not trusting God’s goodness as we seek to satisfy our spiritual thirst for other things (Jeremiah 2:13).
(2) The temptation to live for self: We were created to love God and love others, but sin turns us inward. In Ecclesiastes 2, as Solomon engages in an experiment to find out what in life will truly satisfy him and give him a sense of meaning, he pursues and experiences every type of pleasure and success that humans typically believe will make them happy. At the end of it, his conclusion is that it still left him empty (Ecclesiastes 2:10-11). If you look at the preceding verses, you will notice that the words he repeats over and over again are “I,” “me,” and “myself.” In the same way today, whether it’s in social media, chasing success, or experiencing pleasure, the enemy tempts us away from God by feeding us the lie that life is a story that is all about ourselves and that placing ourselves at the center of the universe will actually satisfy us.
(3) The temptation to abandon and forget the gospel: One of the titles Satan is given is “the accuser” (Revelation 12:10) because one of his chief aims is to accuse God’s people of their sins so that we might not believe in His unconditional love and mercy for sinners. This manifests itself in how we try to present a perfect image to others, hide our weaknesses and flaws, and compare ourselves to one another. To quote Lewis again from The Screwtape Letters, Screwtape counsels his demon protégé Wormwood by stating, “It is funny how mortals always picture us as putting things into their minds: in reality our best work is done by keeping things out.” The enemy wants the good news of the gospel and the beauty of who Jesus is to be kept out of our minds, and by getting us to focus all our attention on ourselves, our sins, and our circumstances, he often does just that.
What do we do about these things? The humbling truth is that we are powerless to withstand temptation and defeat the enemy, and that should create a sense of desperation within each of us. Every single one of us has given to these temptations in different ways. Every one of us has failed to overcome temptation.
The good news of the gospel is that there is someone who succeeded where we fail. In Matthew 4, Jesus was tempted by Satan and yet stood firm and did not give in. Even though He was tempted as we are, His entire life was one of perfect obedience. In the greatest moment of suffering and temptation anyone has ever experienced, He did not walk away from the cross but stayed faithful to the rescue mission He was called to. Why did He do that? Out of flawless obedience to His Father and out of indescribable love for you and me. Paul writes, “And having disarmed the powers and authorities, He made a public spectacle of them, triumphing over them by the cross” (Colossians 2:15). He defeated the enemy, forgives sinners, and covers with His perfect righteousness people like us who fail to stand firm in temptation. As the old hymn says, “Well may the accuser roar, of sins that I have done; I know them all and thousands more, my God He knoweth none.”
And the truth is that only when we get this will we actually have the strength to stand firm in our temptations. The gospel is the ultimate proof that God is good and works for our best interest, even if it doesn’t make sense to us in the moment. The gospel is the ultimate healer of pride and self-focused living because as we see Jesus’ humility, it transforms us into people of humility who respond by loving God and loving others. The gospel is the ultimate weapon against the accuser’s taunts against us for our sins as it fixes our eyes on the beauty of Jesus. The gospel is what transforms our desires as we are shaped by the incomparable worth of Jesus (this is what happens during corporate worship as we are shaped by the worth of someone better than anything the world can throw at us).
Let us end by being encouraged with Hebrews 4:15-16: “For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.”
“Pray then like this:
‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name.
Your Kingdom come, Your will be done,
on earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.'"
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Whenever we finish a study, we’re wise to take a moment to review and ask a few questions. What has the Lord taught us? By His grace, how do we want to change? After two months of walking through the Lord’s Prayer, is our communion with God in prayer growing? Samuel Chadwick (1860-1932) once wrote, “The one concern of the devil is to keep Christians from praying. He fears nothing from prayerless studies, prayerless work and prayerless religion. He laughs at our toil, mocks at our wisdom, but he trembles when we pray.” How often are we tempted to prayerless study, prayerless work, and prayerless religion? How often do we seek to live the Christian life without Christ?
To commune with God in prayer is one of the greatest privileges we have as His children. Whenever we neglect this great gift, the Lord’s Prayer provides a pathway for us to return and enjoy this fellowship. Let’s walk through this prayer of prayers one more time.
Our Father in heaven, hallowed be Your name. Jesus calls us to relate to God as the beloved children of His perfect heavenly Father. Are we experiencing the wonder of knowing and praying to God as “Father”? Do we long for Him to cause His name to be hallowed in our lives and in His world?
Your kingdom come, Your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. In prayer we acknowledge there is a true King—and we are not He—and a perfect will—and it is not ours. Do we long for the Lord’s kingdom to come, for His will to be done, for earth to be more like heaven and less like hell? What “kingdom” prayers are we praying in this season?
Give us this day our daily bread. In prayer we declare our dependence on the Lord for everything, even daily bread. Do we take for granted the countless examples of God’s provision? Do we bring our simple requests and express genuine gratitude?
And forgive us our debts, as we also have forgiven our debtors. In prayer we confess that we are sinners who need the grace that Jesus freely offers. Does the good news of Jesus Christ become personal for us in prayer? In the Lord’s forgiveness are we finding the resources to forgive others?
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. If we are united with Jesus, He has delivered us, He is delivering us, and He will ultimately deliver us. In light of His mighty deliverance, do we long to live by His grace and for His glory?
These are only a few reflections on the inexhaustible riches of this prayer. The Lord has given us another day to pray His word back to Him, or to use it is as a model as His Spirit leads us in prayer. May our hearts cry with the disciples, “Lord, teach us to pray” (Luke 11:1).
“And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you."
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
Tense excitement must have filled the air as the assembly of Jewish men, women, and children camped on the banks of the River Ahava in Babylon, ready to travel west toward Jerusalem, back to their homeland. One delay had already happened, as their leader, Ezra the priest and scribe, recruited temple servants and Levites to join the expedition.
Then Ezra announced a three-day fast for prayer to the LORD, who more than 7 decades before had ended His people’s forced exile in Babylon. Now the Persian King Artaxerxes was permitting another group of Jews to return to Jerusalem. Ezra insisted that first they must fast and pray for God’s protection in the dangerous 1,600 mile march (Ezra 8:21-23). They should pray, but why fast? Why take more time and why avoid food and water that were needed for energy?
What about fasting? Why should believers fast now?
Only one official fast, on the Day of Atonement, was commanded by the LORD in the Mosaic Law (Leviticus 16:29-30). However, the Lord Jesus began His own journey of ministry with a 40-day fast in the wilderness (Matthew 4:1-11). And while He did not command fasting, Jesus indicated that He expected His people would, but warned His followers not to use their fast to impress others (Matthew 6:16-18).
Fasting is hard! It’s uncomfortable, and we may for a while be distracted with thoughts of food. But as we look away from what physically satisfies us, we may lift our eyes to God, our soul’s satisfaction. Like Moses, we may ask to know Him more fully, even to see His glory (Exodus 33:13, 18-23; 34:28). Or like Ezra, we may come in real weakness, asking Him for a provision or protection that only He can give.
God brought Ezra’s expedition safely to Jerusalem, but soon Ezra learned that some of those already living there had defied God’s warnings and intermarried with the pagan inhabitants of the land. The devoted priest fell to the ground in grief, pouring out his despair, and confessing the people’s sin to the loving and holy God. And as Ezra continued to mourn, he fasted (Ezra 9:1-10:6).
Ezra himself was not personally guilty of the sin he confessed, but he knew its destructiveness for his nation. Just as fasting from food, sleep, recreation, or a dominant routine will free us to look up to God, we may also receive a clearer vision into ourselves and deeper insight for recognizing and confessing sin. We often fast before medical testing or surgical procedures, to ensure precision. As we deliberately deny ourselves expected pleasures and come humbly before the Lord and His Word, His Spirit leads us to repentance and energizes change.
Some years after his journey from Babylon, Ezra stood before the people, not to grieve but to read God’s Word to them at their own request (Nehemiah 8:1-8). The people were convicted of their failure to fully honor God’s Law and began to weep as they listened. Governor Nehemiah joined Ezra to tell the people, on that day, to go and enjoy the Feast of Tabernacles, for feasting and rejoicing were also God’s will and gift. “And do not be grieved,” Nehemiah said, “for the joy of the LORD is your strength” (Nehemiah 8:10). The people celebrated, then confessed and fasted again, and worshiped their merciful God (Nehemiah 9:1-5). Fasting releases us to look up to God’s glorious reality, to look into ourselves with repentance, and to look ahead for renewal and joy in God’s purpose.
There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.
And the Spirit of the Lord shall rest upon him,
the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and might,
the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.
Isaiah 11:1-2
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
John 1:1
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
John 1:14
When Jesus comes, He brings the wisdom of God. The prophet Isaiah told us 700 years before Christ came that the Messiah would have the spirit of wisdom. The Apostle John says the Messiah is the Word, and the Word became flesh. The Word means truth that can be understood in human terms, and the spirit of wisdom is how it is communicated.
J.I. Packer in “Knowing God” says Scripture reveals that:
"Wisdom is the power to see and the inclination to choose the best and highest goal, together with the surest mean of attaining it. Wisdom is, in fact, the practical side of moral goodness."
In the Greek world of John’s day, wisdom was understood as the way the universe was governed by its structure and process. The Hebrew writers saw wisdom as divine (see Proverbs 8:11-31). Paul put these two thoughts together and wrote “to both the Jews and Greeks, Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God” (1 Corinthians 1:24).
The wisdom we see in Christ, how He lived among us in the flesh, enables us to enjoy and live in His grace and truth. This wisdom keeps us in harmony with the purposes and plans of God.
Because Christ has come, we too can choose the best and highest goal to give God glory. Christ’s power and wisdom has been made available as glorious gifts (James 1:5, 17).
And his delight shall be in the fear of the LORD.
He shall not judge by what his eyes see,
or decide disputes by what his ears hear,
4 but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
and he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth,
and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.
5 Righteousness shall be the belt of his waist,
and faithfulness the belt of his loins.
3 Now Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro, the priest of Midian, and he led his flock to the west side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. 2 And the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed. 3 And Moses said, “I will turn aside to see this great sight, why the bush is not burned.” 4 When the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” 5 Then he said, “Do not come near; take your sandals off your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” 6 And he said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.
7 Then the LORD said, “I have surely seen the affliction of my people who are in Egypt and have heard their cry because of their taskmasters. I know their sufferings, 8 and I have come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the place of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. 9 And now, behold, the cry of the people of Israel has come to me, and I have also seen the oppression with which the Egyptians oppress them. 10 Come, I will send you to Pharaoh that you may bring my people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” 11 But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” 12 He said, “But I will be with you, and this shall be the sign for you, that I have sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall serve God on this mountain.”
13 Then Moses said to God, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ what shall I say to them?” 14 God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.” And he said, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Moses didn’t expect anything significant to happen that day. He had run away from home, fled the scene of the crime, and settled into working for his father-in-law. Not exactly the prelude to a life-changing encounter. He didn’t come to Horeb to look for the Lord; the Lord came there to look for him. Of all the ways that the Lord could have revealed Himself to Moses, He chose a burning bush. Why? At this pivotal moment, why did the Lord appear to Moses as a bush that burned but was not consumed?
We’ve all experienced fire, but we’ve never experienced this kind of fire. Because fire needs fuel. As long as a fire is burning, it’s using fuel. When the fuel runs out, the fire goes out. But not this fire. It seems to have the fuel within itself, so the bush is not consumed. No wonder this miracle gets Moses’ attention. He turns aside, and then the Lord calls to Him by name. The Lord is teaching Moses something stunning. The Lord is holy, set apart from sinners, and self-existent. Only He can say, “I AM WHO I AM,” in the absolute sense. In the presence of that kind of burning glory, we are right to hide our faces (Exodus 3:6). The burning bush was not consumed, but how will we not be consumed if we get too close to this fire?
What a strange tension: The Lord invites Moses to turn aside, but then He tells him, “Do not come near” (Exodus 3:5). He desires a personal relationship, and yet there is danger. Again, the metaphor of fire is helpful. We don’t learn about fire by reading books. We learn by seeing it and experiencing the way it warms our bodies. Depending on how we relate to fire, it can be a life-saving blessing or a life-threatening curse. If we pray, “Come, O Lord,” are we sure that His coming is good news for us? Are we ready to meet the one who is “a consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:29)?
One key to understanding Exodus 3 is the mysterious relationship between the angel of the Lord (Exodus 3:2) and the Lord Himself (Exodus 3:4-7). Commentator Alec Motyer writes: “There is only one other person in the Bible who is both identical with yet distinct from the Lord; one who, without abandoning the full essence and prerogatives of deity or diminishing the divine holiness, is able to accommodate Himself to the company of sinners; and who, while affirming the wrath of God, is yet a supreme display of His outreaching mercy. The angel of the Lord cannot be understood except as a pre-incarnate appearance of Jesus Christ Himself. This is Jesus Christ before He was born as a human being.”
To think that Jesus walked the earth before He was born in Bethlehem is breathtaking. When we read Exodus 3 alongside the Gospels, we begin to see what Moses couldn’t. Around 2,000 years ago, the Lord Himself came to earth. The great I AM, the self-existent one, became flesh and dwelt among us. Because of His great love for us, He came to pursue us and restore the broken relationship. Just as He heard His people’s cry in their slavery in Egypt, He heard our cry in our slavery to sin. When we couldn’t go to Him, He came down to deliver us. In the true and greater Exodus, Jesus didn’t defeat Egypt; He defeated sin, death, and Satan. On the cross the Son experienced the fire of His Father’s wrath. He was consumed, so that when we cry out to Him—“Lord, save us!”—we receive grace and welcome instead of wrath and rejection. When Jesus is with us by the power of His Holy Spirit, we can be a burning bush that’s not consumed, and we can pray that other people will turn aside to see this strange sight!
As we move through Advent, are we rejoicing and bowing before the Lord who has come? Are we waiting and longing for Him to come again?
O Lord, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.
10:33 Behold, the Lord GOD of hosts
will lop the boughs with terrifying power;
the great in height will be hewn down,
and the lofty will be brought low.
34 He will cut down the thickets of the forest with an axe,
and Lebanon will fall by the Majestic One.
11:1 There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch from his roots shall bear fruit.
2 And the Spirit of the LORD shall rest upon him,
the Spirit of wisdom and understanding,
the Spirit of counsel and might,
the Spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD.
3 And his delight shall be in the fear of the LORD.
He shall not judge by what his eyes see,
or decide disputes by what his ears hear,
4 but with righteousness he shall judge the poor,
and decide with equity for the meek of the earth;
and he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth,
and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.
5 Righteousness shall be the belt of his waist,
and faithfulness the belt of his loins.
6 The wolf shall dwell with the lamb,
and the leopard shall lie down with the young goat,
and the calf and the lion and the fattened calf together;
and a little child shall lead them.
7 The cow and the bear shall graze;
their young shall lie down together;
and the lion shall eat straw like the ox.
8 The nursing child shall play over the hole of the cobra,
and the weaned child shall put his hand on the adder’s den.
9 They shall not hurt or destroy
in all my holy mountain;
for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.
10 In that day the root of Jesse, who shall stand as a signal for the peoples—of him shall the nations inquire, and his resting place shall be glorious.
11 In that day the Lord will extend his hand yet a second time to recover the remnant that remains of his people, from Assyria, from Egypt, from Pathros, from Cush, from Elam, from Shinar, from Hamath, and from the coastlands of the sea.
15:12 And again Isaiah says,
“The root of Jesse will come,
even he who arises to rule the Gentiles;
in him will the Gentiles hope.”
13 May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope.
Reynolds serves as the Resident for Young Adults at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He attended the Kanakuk Institute after graduating from Baylor University. Reynolds’s passions include discipleship, the outdoors, and intellectual formation.
We all long to be satisfied. Restless and broken, we seek rest and healing. Indeed, we hope for these things. And we all allow temporary satisfaction to distract us from, or obscure, He who ultimately satisfies, our true Hope. Even this Advent season, as we consciously remember the coming of Christ and look to His promised return, we are easily distracted and constantly drawn to the temporary: time off from work, time with friends, with family, the enjoyment of beautiful decorations and good food. None of these are bad, in fact, they are all good. Further, we are called to truly enjoy these things as good gifts given by God. But, at the same time, they are not ultimate. As C.S. Lewis notes in The Weight of Glory, “we are far too easily pleased,” not just by the objects of our sinful desires, but by the good gifts of God as well. We mistakenly look to these things alone for satisfaction and rest, rather than through these things to their Source, the One who promises and provides ultimate satisfaction and rest.
In 1 Samuel, the people of Israel place their hope in the temporary power, protection, and prestige of earthly kings. Yet, even David, the greatest of these kings, fails to bring lasting safety and satisfaction to the people of Israel. Amidst Israel’s misplaced hope and David’s inadequate reign, God lavishes grace upon His people with a promise that from David’s line a king will rise who will reign forever (2 Samuel 7).
Isaiah refers to this promised king, the Messiah, as “a shoot from the stump of Jesse” and “the root of Jesse” (vs. 1, 10). He is the Shoot “from the stump of Jesse,” which means he is of the line of David and, therefore, the rightful king of Israel. And yet, he is so much more. He is the one who brings complete and lasting peace to all creation (vs. 7-9). Who is this promised king, able to accomplish what David could not? He is not only the Shoot, but also the Root of Jesse (v. 10). He is not only the promised Messiah, the promised savior from the line of David, but also the Source of the entire Davidic line, indeed, the entire race of men and all things. He is the One through whom all things were made (John 1:3). He is God made manifest; God with us.
He came once as a humble Shoot, but he will come again as the recognized Root and Source of all, the acknowledged, eternal king of Israel. J.C. Ryle paints this picture well:
“He came the first time in weakness, a tender infant born of a poor woman in the manger at Bethlehem, unnoticed, unhonoured and scarcely known.
He shall come the second time in royal dignity, with the armies of heaven around Him, to be known, recognized and feared by all the people of the earth” (Expository Thoughts on Mark).
David brought real peace and prosperity to Israel, but it was temporary and incomplete. He points us to the one who will make all things whole; he is a shadow of He who is to come, of Christ. There is only one true King of Israel. He is the Shoot and the Root; He is the Promise Maker and the Promised One. He is the God of Hope: at once, the Author, Origin, and Object of our Hope. Therefore, God calls us to hope for and enjoy the good things in this season, understanding that they “are a shadow of the things to come” and that “the substance belongs to Christ” (Col. 2:17). He calls us to enjoy them as reflections of and avenues to our ultimate source of satisfaction in Himself, as one expectantly enjoys the first rays of light heralding the fullness of the dawn.
"May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope."
O come, Thou Key of David, come,
And open wide our heavenly home;
Make safe the way that leads on high,
And close the path to misery.
"And David said to him, 'Do not fear, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan, and I will restore to you all the land of Saul your father, and you shall eat at my table always.'”
Sam is the Assistant Pastor of Missions at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He previously served as an overseas missionary in Rome, Italy, with Agape Italia and helped launch student movements across the country. He completed his theological education at Reformed Theological Seminary in New York City and pastoral ministry training at Redeemer Presbyterian Church’s City to City training program. Sam and his wife Kimberly have three daughters: Eloise, Evelyn, and Emory.
In our Christmas journey through the ancient prayers of longing for Jesus, we have been entering into the request for the key of David to come. As a newcomer to Dallas and to Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC), I have had a lot of time to consider what does it mean to belong. We moved across country this summer to follow God here to Dallas, and it has been a season of everything being new. I have been reminded how new people are sort of hyper-socially aware of what it means to be in or out—to be known or unknown.
As we long for the celebration of Jesus’ first coming, reminding our minds and hearts of its significance, and, as we wait for Him to come again, I am grateful to worship a God who knows our hearts better than we ourselves do. Our Creator knew that we would be in this messy place of wanting deeply to belong to something that is outside of ourselves. To be a part of a Kingdom that doesn’t come from self-proclamation, but one that comes from the establishment of a King that is both over creation and yet also chose to enter into creation.
Even as we use the word Kingdom to describe who and what it is we as Christians belong to, I am aware of our need to allow God’s Word to help us define what that Kingdom is like. God reminded me of the scene from 2 Samuel 9 when David encounters his former rival, Saul’s grandson Mephibosheth (2 Samuel 9:1-12). In this scene, God is using David to show us a glimpse of what our true eternal King in Christ is like. The setting is that David has arisen to the throne with the announcing of the Lord. What would have been expected of a king of his time would have been to wipe out the family of the rival king to ensure there would be no challenges to his reign. David begins the scene by asking if there was anyone in the house of Saul whom he could bless, so we know from the beginning this is a counter-cultural move. One of Saul’s old servants, Ziba, arrives to tell David that there is a crippled son of Jonathan, named Mephibosheth. His disability came at the age of 5 as a result of a frenetic escape. His nurse was trying to flee from David for fear that he would wipe out the household of Saul to secure his reign. Now years later, still lame, after a period of hardship, probably even dealing with the social ramifications of being a lame male at a time when this would have brought great dishonor to himself and his household, Mephibosheth has been summoned to see the king whom his family once feared would bring death and destruction to their line.
Even though David pronounced his intent to bless Mephibosheth, imagine the fear he would have had to appear before the king. He was wise to fall on his face before the king (9:6) and essentially beg for his existence, to beg to belong to this new world order where David was the head. And yet David begins with “Do not fear, for I will show you kindness for the sake of your father Jonathan, and I will restore to you all the land of Saul your father, and you shall eat at my table always.” Because of what someone else has done, David is pronouncing blessing on Mephibosheth, restoration of all that has been taken from him, and the fellowship and provision of dining at the table of the king forever.
Perhaps most telling in this narrative is Mephibosheth’s response. He could have immediately celebrated, said “Woohoo, and let’s go!” But instead, he acknowledges his unworthiness of such a blessed proclamation, saying “What is your servant, that you should show regard for a dead dog such as I?” (9:8). God allows us to see this, because He wants us to see what an appropriate response to being invited to eat at the King’s table forever looks like. It’s to say that not just that I have done nothing to earn this, but that in who I am, I am not worthy to be here. If we were to talk about where we all belong, we don’t belong at the table of the King. We are not entitled to any of this, and yet, when we are offered it, the key to belonging there is not in who we are, but in who the King proclaims us to be. We needed a dead dog so that we could be invited to the table. That dead dog was not us; it was the King Himself, Jesus who took on our dead state, that we might have the life that the Son of God merited on our behalf.
But the story doesn’t end there…we don’t get the details of what changed for Mephibosheth, but the narrative repeats David’s blessing. It goes into the details of the magnitude of what this means for Mephibosheth and how David is giving from his own possessions and servants to ensure the blessing. And we know the result: “Mephibosheth ate at David’s table, like one of the king’s sons” (9:11). Mephibosheth didn’t stay like a dead dog, but he accepted the offer to eat at the king’s table “like one of the king’s sons.”
Even though we are tempted to believe it, belonging does not come from ourselves. It comes from the work of the King, who has paid it all that we might be seated at His table, like sons and daughters, forever. The table has been set, and, by result, it is set for all who would accept the invitation of the King to sit there. All of us who know Jesus, like dead dogs have been invited, and I pray that we would remember it is because of the sacrifice of the King that we have a place at the table. As we sit at many tables this Christmas season, I pray that we would see what Dale Ralph Davis saw from this text, “it asserts that life under the covenant gives you a firm place to stand and ought to evoke a sense of security, privilege, and wonder from you.” May it be a place to pray and ask God how He might use you to tell about the table of the King that you sit at.
8 And in the same region there were shepherds out in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were filled with great fear. 10 And the angel said to them, “Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. 11 For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12 And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.” 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying,
14 “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among those with whom he is pleased!”
15 When the angels went away from them into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has made known to us.” 16 And they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby lying in a manger. 17 And when they saw it, they made known the saying that had been told them concerning this child. 18 And all who heard it wondered at what the shepherds told them. 19 But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart. 20 And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The Shepherds
(a story by Mark Fulmer)
I may be the most famous person you’ve never heard of. At least in the world you come from, my story is well known. But not my name. In fact, it’s likely, at this time of year, every one of you has some sort of commemorative scene or book or statue that’s supposed to be… me. But after a couple of thousand years, a couple of billion people, and countless villains and heroes, it’s no wonder that time has erased the reality of that moment, of that morning, of …me.
I am a shepherd. And I know that as soon as I tell you that, your mind closes. You’ve heard it a hundred times. Your children and grandchildren have dressed in bath robes and played my part. You have “live nativity scenes” with someone who is supposed to be me, but it’s always a grown man with whiskers and a cup of hot chocolate. Time has erased the reality. But since I’m here, and you’re here, let’s chat for a while. It will be brief, you’ve much to do.
The way you would describe us, the way that best captures what our lives were really like, is that we were gypsies. Now I don’t mean racially, but culturally, we were gypsies. My family didn’t OWN the animals. We were hired by a landowner to watch HIS animals. Trouble is, the landowner, every landowner, assumed we stole them. Fact is, hunger drives you to do a lot of things you’d rather not do. And it’s not so much that we were out with the sheep on that night, as though the rest of the time we were in our houses. We were always out with the sheep. At least it’s true that we were always out. Sometimes there were no sheep. But we were always out.
And that’s the summary of it. We were out. The Roman folks thought we were thieves, or worse. And the Jewish folks thought we were unclean. In fact they had a law that said because we stayed with animals that were used in their temple sacrifices, WE couldn’t go into the temple. Our place was outside, in the women’s and Gentiles court. Well, none of the shepherds that night were either. But it’s not really true to think of us as outcasts so much. To be an outcast, someone has to notice you, someone has to regard you if they plan to cast you out. We were really invisible, no named nobodies, with nothing to offer society except to protect the animals they valued more than us. Not outcasts; ignorable sub-humans.
And there we were, “out in the field, keeping watch over the flock by night.” What that means is that we were having an ordinary night in an ordinary way. The sheep and goats were accounted for, we had a small fire, and one of the other shepherds was standing up, out by the edge of the animals. It was the most dangerous time, actually, between the dusk and the darkness. It’s the time when the wolves and the dogs and the wildcats are most active. They are hard to see in that half-darkness. They hunt silently, and then you hear the horrible sound of a lamb screaming as it’s carried into the desert. Then the silence comes again. I hate that time of day.
Except for the sentry, all of us were asleep. The fire had long since gone to embers. That’s why when it happened, I thought it was sunrise. It’s the light I remember most. The light woke me before the sound. For just a few seconds it was that awkward neverland of thinking you’re dreaming about having a dream. But then came the sound. No way to describe it really. It was a voice of sorts; loud, and beautiful, and scary and joyful. And we understood it. It was the sound of talking, sort of. But more than talking. It’s really like the message went straight into us. Our ears and brains must’ve been hearing and thinking, but the message went straight in. And it said we shouldn’t be afraid! I remember thinking, “Too late!!”
The sound, the voice, was coming from a man. But you know it wasn’t a man, and we knew then it wasn’t a man. He was huge, and he was regal, and he was, now don’t laugh, he was glowing. And when he said we shouldn’t be afraid, at that instant, in that moment, we weren’t. The fear just burned off, evaporated like the morning mist that hangs in the low spots of the desert. He told us about the baby, and a manger, and that the baby was the Messiah, Christ, the Lord. And he told us we should go find the baby. What he didn’t tell us was what to do when we found the baby. Then for a minute or two there were thousands upon thousands of …angels, I guess. They sang, all of them, all at once. And then they were gone. All at once.
It took us no time at all to get the camp secured and head into Bethlehem. But the next couple of hours were pretty rough. The town was absolutely packed with people, and caravans, and animals. A bunch of shepherds rushing around in town at dawn looking into strangers’ cattle stalls were not exactly welcomed like messengers from heaven. We took more than one kick, a couple of pails from the innkeeper’s slop jars, and no small number of threats. We didn’t belong there, shepherd gypsies who live in the desert with the animals.
But we found Him. All of the mangers, and all of the inns, and all of the people, and all of the threats, and all of the uncertainty and all of everything completely vanished when my uncle turned around and whispered to us, “It’s Him. He’s in here!” And so, He was. Then His mother motioned for us all to come inside. No one else had done THAT. And as we squeezed in, I remember the smell. It smelled like hay, and manure, and wood and dust. It smelled like sheep and goats. It smelled like home. In His presence, it smelled like we belonged.
The Baby was there all right, and so were a few of the folks from the inn. And we didn’t wonder what to do. We took off our hats, and we got down on our knees, and we told the Baby’s father and mother what had happened. And the most peculiar thing of that most peculiar day, was that they seemed to know we were coming. And they seemed relieved when we told them our story. Not surprised, but relieved. It’s as if we had confirmed a message they had received, and they welcomed us to confirm a message we had received.
Now what do we do? Well, we went back to camp. We went back to shepherding. We went back to our ordinary lives. But you must know, that everything had changed. Absolutely everything was new, and fresh, and filled with hope. The Messiah had come. To us! FOR us! Shepherds on the edge of town! God had chosen the very ones no one else even saw to first tell the news of Messiah. To tell the news to the Baby’s parents, in a cattle stall, in the presence of the King. We were unafraid.
I know what happened to that Baby. I was actually with my family of shepherds years later on the edge of Jerusalem. It was dusk when I heard it. It was that haunting sound. The sound of a lamb screaming, “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani?”
Fifth Antiphon
O glorious Dayspring, come.
The bright eternal light
and sun of righteousness,
on those who sit in darkness
and death’s cruel shadow, shine.
“because of the tender mercy of our God,
whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high
to give light to those who sit in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace” (Luke 1:78-79).
“In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:4-5).
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
I put my daughters to bed by candlelight on Christmas Eve. All the electric lights are off. The little flame flickers gold in the dark. I listen to my wife sweetly singing, “Silent night, holy night . . .”. We lay the girls in bed and pull the blanket up just below their chins. Tuck. Tuck. They are so excited about Christmas morning that they can hardly stand it. We pray. “Good night, sugar,” I whisper, “I love you.” My wife and I lean close and kiss their cheeks, which are soft, smooth, squishy, and warm. “Merry Christmas,” we say, and “I love you” once more, stepping quietly to the door. Turning around, candle in hand, I blow out the flame; a thin, gray whisp twirls upward. All is dark. “Watch for the light, little ones,” I say, easing the bedroom door shut.
My wife and I are tired, but we stay up. We stuff the stockings with candy and fruit and little toys, and I leave a trail of mandarin oranges from the girls’ bedroom to the fireplace. Why? Because I remember as a child wondering at the trail of candy and fruit that lead from my bedroom on Christmas morning; Santa must have had a hole in his bag. My wife and I talk about how cute the girls are, all excited about Christmas, and set out the gifts. Before climbing exhausted into bed, I pause to admire the presents beneath the tree, looking so pretty, glowing silver and gold; fitting for a king, I suppose.
I wake before dawn. It’s dark and cold, as I feel it should be on Christmas morning, and I build a fire in the hearth. Flames flick and lick split logs, crackling, and oaken incense lifts like a morning offering. I make a pot of coffee. The girls will be up soon. They’ll be giggling and squealing giddily by first light. It will be great fun to watch them open presents. But it is quiet now, and the world is still under the night’s shadow.
Darkness. I think of those who weep at Christmas from loneliness, for the death of a loved one, or for the death of a marriage. I think of my uncle, the car wreck, the coma, and my aunt’s faith, “God is my strength, and I shall not fear.” I think of those sick with cancer, and the little ones caught in war at Christmas. I think of the forgiveness of sins, my sins, and my darkness.
O Lord, lighten this darkness of mine.
You are my light and my truth; whom shall I fear?
Send out Your light and Your truth; let them lead me.
Christ, the light of the world, my God, my exceeding joy,
I wait for You. I watch for You.
I want to remember that it happened once. Behind all the gift-giving, carols, and family traditions is a time and space truth, fact in history, tender and merciful. A light dawned upon those who sit in darkness and death’s cruel shadow. I want to see the light again that made me believe, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that life is for love and joy and peace; which, of course, it is. I look for a glimpse of the beam that, after all these years, still shines out of Bethlehem for those who watch like children, full of faith and humility. The day breaks. The Savior is born in a manger, Jesus, God with us. Watch for the light, little ones.
We hope you have a great New Year! Every Thought Captive will resume on Friday, January 13, 2023.
"Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal, but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
With these instructions to His disciples, Jesus contrasts setting our desire on the things of God as opposed to the things of men. In this way, He carries on the same theme from the beginning of the chapter (which it will be helpful to be reminded of, as this was last the subject of Every Thought Captive back in September!) In Matthew 6:1 and following, Jesus warned against practicing righteousness before men, to be seen by them and to reap the earthly reward of their praise.
Though Jesus refers to literal earthly possessions in verse 19, He is carrying on this same theme of the warning from earlier in the chapter – if we set our hearts on the things of this world, we will have our reward in them, and in them only. As things destroyed by moth and rust, and subject to being lost or stolen, they make for a poor reward. Later in the book of Matthew, Jesus says a similar thing to a rich young man, who was convinced of his own righteousness: “If you would be perfect, go, sell what you possess and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; and come, follow me.” (Matthew 19:21) After the young man leaves, sad, on account of his great wealth, Jesus tells His disciples, “Everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or children or lands, for my name's sake, will receive a hundredfold and will inherit eternal life.” (Matthew 19:29)
For some, like the rich young man, our identity may be tied up in our possessions, and if we would be faithful, we should let them go. But for most of us, we are called not to a life of poverty but to a life of contentment with God’s providence: “Keep your life free from love of money, and be content with what you have, for he has said, ‘I will never leave you nor forsake you.’” (Hebrews 13:5) If we try to find our security in earthly things, we will never have enough. Our possessions will be an idol, which will never satisfy.
Paul is similarly clear in his letter to Timothy:
“But godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world. But if we have food and clothing, with these we will be content. But those who desire to be rich fall into temptation, into a snare, into many senseless and harmful desires that plunge people into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evils. It is through this craving that some have wandered away from the faith and pierced themselves with many pangs.
As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.” 1 Timothy 6:6-10, 17-19
We see Paul preaching the same thing: be content; riches are a snare – do not set your hope on them; set your hope on God and His rich providence; be rich in good works, storing up treasure in heaven.
We should not love the world or the things in the world in a way that supplants in our hearts the desire for God. The desires of the flesh, the desires of the eyes, and the pride of life: these turn our hearts from what they should truly be set on - the “eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison, as we look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.” (2 Corinthians 4:17-18)
This is the treasure that matters: the fullness of joy in the presence of God, and the pleasures forevermore at His right hand. (Psalm 16:11) The treasure that we have is our salvation, for which we must deny ourselves, take up our cross, and follow Christ, losing our lives for His sake and finding them again in Him. For what does it profit us to gain the world but lose our souls? (Matthew 16:24-26).
The eye is the lamp of the body. So, if your eye is healthy, your whole body will be full of light, but if your eye is bad, your whole body will be full of darkness. If then the light in you is darkness, how great is the darkness!
No one can serve two masters, for either he will hate the one and love the other, or he will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and money.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
A simple Sunday School song always had a chilling effect on me. While its intent was probably to encourage, the mixed message creeped me out.
O, be careful little eyes what you see.
O, be careful little eyes what you see!
For the Father up above is looking down in love
So be careful little eyes what you see.
What if my little eyes accidentally see something they shouldn’t and the looking down Father conks me for it? What is it exactly that I’m not supposed to see? Then there’s that whole business in the same part of the Bible about gouging out your own eye. Are my little eyes ever safe? Such were the ruminations of an overly analytical elementary Sunday School customer. And I was the preacher’s kid!
Jesus is talking about wealth, possessions, and loyalties. This shouldn’t come as a shocker for us. The Bible contains more than 2,300 verses about money, wealth, and possessions. That’s four times more verses than those on heaven, hell, and salvation combined. Money is one of the Lord’s most talked about topics.
And in this part of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus is drawing a sharp contrast between our loyalty to wealth and our loyalty to God. The Lord uses a metaphor that was common in his day in Israel. The eye was often described as being “good” or “bad.” Having a “good eye” was the way to describe someone who lived their lives with compassion and generosity. A “bad eye,” or more correctly an “evil eye,” was often used to describe someone who was greedy, miserly, or selfish.
After Jesus tells His disciples not to store up treasures on earth and that the things they treasure announces their heart’s loyalties, He makes plain to them that putting the needs of your pocketbook first is not the way of a true disciple. He says pointedly that we must not be more loyal to money than we are to God.
Now, we don’t need to fret like a second-grade singer worried about having careful eyes, but it is appropriate to ask ourselves a few litmus-test questions.
First, am I a generous person? If I can help financially, or by loaning my car or lawnmower or books, am I quick to be open-handed? Or is my real-life attitude one of thinly veiled stinginess? Is my eye turned toward the things of God enough that I can say about all my possessions, “It’s just stuff”?
Secondly, do I look with an “evil eye” of covetousness? Can I be invited to someone’s house and enjoy the party without secretly wishing I had more? How much do I wish I owned someone else’s lake house, ranch, or home in Colorado?
Lastly, is my loyalty to and friendship with others at all influenced by their wealth? Am I unduly impressed if someone is known as a millionaire or billionaire?
The apostle Paul reinforces Jesus’ teaching about wealth and possessions.
As for the rich in this present age, charge them not to be haughty, nor to set their hopes on the uncertainty of riches, but on God, who richly provides us with everything to enjoy. They are to do good, to be rich in good works, to be generous and ready to share, thus storing up treasure for themselves as a good foundation for the future, so that they may take hold of that which is truly life.
1 Timothy 6:17-19
James, the brother of Jesus offers a similar warning and says this pointedly to the church.
My brothers, show no partiality as you hold the faith in our Lord Jesus Christ, the Lord of glory. For if a man wearing a gold ring and fine clothing comes into your assembly, and a poor man in shabby clothing also comes in, and if you pay attention to the one who wears the fine clothing and say, “You sit here in a good place,” while you say to the poor man, “You stand over there,” or, “Sit down at my feet,” have you not then made distinctions among yourselves and become judges with evil thoughts? Listen, my beloved brothers, has not God chosen those who are poor in the world to be rich in faith and heirs of the kingdom, which He has promised to those who love Him? But you have dishonored the poor man. Are not the rich the ones who oppress you, and the ones who drag you into court? Are they not the ones who blaspheme the honorable name by which you were called?
If you really fulfill the royal law according to the Scripture, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” you are doing well. But if you show partiality, you are committing sin and are convicted by the law as transgressors.
James 2:1-9
The desire to honor the Lord with our money and possessions is a life-long journey for followers of Jesus and maybe one of the greatest challenges for a believer living in a materialistic city like Dallas. Perhaps we should trade in our worn out versions of "O, Be Careful Little Eyes” and replace them with the simple prayer from the Psalms.
Turn my eyes from looking at worthless things;
and give me life in Your ways.
Psalm 119:34
“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air: they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? And which of you by being anxious can add a single hour to his span of life? And why are you anxious about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin, yet I tell you, even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is alive and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will he not much more clothe you, O you of little faith? Therefore do not be anxious, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the Gentiles seek after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them all. But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.
Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble."
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
Telling someone not to be anxious is like telling someone not to breathe, feel, or blink. Anxiety is our natural response to real or perceived pain or the threat of pain. Because we live in a fallen world full of pain and threats, anxiety is unavoidable. The real issue is how we should respond to anxiety. When left to ourselves we respond internally with a myriad of negative feelings and thoughts, imagining and fixating on future scenarios that further intensify those negative feelings. Then, in our flesh, we respond to anxiety by either staying stuck in that dark place or by taking things into our own hands, which often makes things worse and creates even more anxiety.
But Jesus offers an alternative response for those who are followers of God. Throughout the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus has been teaching how those who follow God should respond to life differently than the rest of the world because of who God is to them. In verse 24, Jesus has just made the point that we can only live by one “master,” not multiple. Now in verse 25, He begins to explain that if God is your master, then you should “therefore” respond to anxiety differently than if He weren’t your master.
When Jesus says, “Do not be anxious,” He is saying that for those who follow God there is a choice to not be anxious. Much of what Jesus says here is nothing new, He is simply urging those who follow God to remember what they already know and believe but need to put into practice. Something I am sure we each struggle with daily.
Through the examples of how God cares for birds and lilies, Jesus reminds us that God is sovereign over all things, big and small. No matter what is causing our anxiety, God is sovereign over it, He is present in it, He is already at work, and He has purpose in it. God has a plan for each of our lives, and it involves the good and the not-so-good.
Jesus also connects anxiety to our faith in verse 30. To respond with faith means to trust in God’s goodness, care, provisions, and faithfulness to those who love Him. When we live by faith, we remember that we can trust God with all things, that He will always care for and provide for us, and that He has the power to do anything according to His will.
When we are anxious and remember that God is sovereign and that we can trust Him, we can then turn to Him in prayer and give Him all of our apprehensions. Paul affirms this in his letter to the Philippians when he encourages them to “not be anxious about anything” but instead to pray and lay it all before God (Philippians 4:6). We are to let it go, not to the wind, but into the hands of a loving and faithful God who knows our every need. This is the choice we have as those who follow God and look to Him as our master.
Jesus points out here that the things we seek that cause us to be anxious are things that non-believers seek after. “Is not life more than…?” (verse 25) As followers of God, we should seek something different, higher, and better. Jesus explains that we are to “seek first the Kingdom of God and His righteousness.” In the same way that Jesus had just told them to lay up treasures in heaven and not treasures on earth (verses 19-21), He now says to seek the things of God and not the things of the world that cause anxiety. When our eyes are fixed on what is eternal, what truly matters in the eyes of God, and on God’s commands and Word, our minds are renewed and transformed.
Paul explains to the Philippians that when we do this, something amazing happens that only God can do. “The peace of God which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 4:7) Jesus even promises here in verse 33 that “all these things will be added to you,” meaning that our eyes will be opened to see God working and providing in ways we couldn’t see when we were blinded by our anxiety and fears.
If you are battling anxiety, then I encourage you to take this passage and replace the fears listed here with your fears. Say out loud “Do not be anxious about…” and list what is causing you to worry. In prayer, let these things go, place them in the hands of your God and Father, and trust Him with them. Then fill your heart and your mind with His truth and His eternal perspective, allowing His peace to guard your heart and your mind in Christ Jesus. And remember, as Paul said to the Corinthians, that it is when we are weakest that God’s power is perfected in us, and we lean on His grace which is sufficient for us (2 Corinthians 12:7-10).
"Judge not, that you be not judged. For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you. Why do you see the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the log that is in your own eye? Or how can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when there is the log in your own eye? You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother’s eye.
Do not give dogs what is holy, and do not throw your pearls before pigs, lest they trample them underfoot and turn to attack you."
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
Jesus has just finished His teaching in Matthew 6 on what it means to have God as a gracious Father, and now in chapter 7, He is moving to teach about God as Judge. For a lot of people, seeing God as both Father and Judge sounds contradictory. We tend to think that He is either one or the other, but not both. But our text tells us He is both. For non-Christians, this can be a terrifying thought, because they reject God’s Fatherly grace and will encounter Him only as Judge. But for Christians, doesn’t having God as a gracious Father inform how we view Him as Judge? Our text is meant to show us that when we see God as Judge, it should cause us to deal with our own sinful hearts before being critical of other’s sin.
Do you live according to your own standards? Have you ever broken the standards that you put on others? Why are we more critical of others than we are of ourselves? Could it be that we are all trying to escape judgment, so we feel better about ourselves when we see others falling short? Why are we so quick to point out the faults of others, instead of clearly seeing our own faults?
What Jesus is teaching in Matthew 7:1-6 is very misunderstood and usually misquoted. We tend to think that Jesus is commanding us not to make any judgments of people when He says, “Judge not, that you be not judged” (Matthew 7:1). But Jesus is not forbidding all judgments; He is forbidding hypocritical condemnation of others, without first assessing your own sin. We are not to judge others, because God is the Judge, and God will judge our lives on how we live our lives, and our hearts attitude and actions towards others – “For with the judgment you pronounce, you will be judged, and with the measure you use it will be measured to you.” (Matthew 7:2) Because God will judge YOU, Jesus warns, “Don’t judge others.”
Jesus further explains what He means with a vivid illustration in verses 3-4, basically saying, “Do you see that man with a huge plank in his eye, going up to that man with a speck of sawdust in his eye – what is that man trying to do? How ridiculous is it to try to take a speck out of somebody else’s eye when you have a huge log in your own eye? Deal with the greatness of your sin before you try to point out other people’s sin. The sin in your life towards God is far greater than any sin you see in somebody else’s life, and the fact that you’re pointing out the speck of sin in others is proof that you have a plank in your own eye.”
Jesus is pointing out our hypocrisy when we judge others, without clearly seeing how great our own sin before God is. Our sin is so great and deceptive, that we can be blind to it, so we act like we are better than we really are to hide from others and from God, which is the true nature of our sin and guilt. So, we point out the sin of others in order to feel better about ourselves. But why are we trying to feel better about ourselves? Because we know we are guilty before the Judge! We know we don’t measure up to God’s standards, and we fear facing God’s judgment. But Christian, shouldn’t knowing God as Father inform how we view Him as Judge? Because what kind of Father is He?
He is a gracious Father who steps off the judgment seat to be judged in your place! The Father sends His Son to the “pigs and the dogs,” who think they are better than Him, and they trample the Holy One under their feet. Jesus stood before hypocrites to become all of our hypocrisy and sin. Jesus took all of the judgment for all of our sin and was crushed for it, so we would not be.
Friends, when you see Jesus was judged for you, that on the cross He received all of the punishment for what your sin deserves, so that His Father could pardon and forgive you - shouldn’t this make you see not just how great your sin is, but how loving your heavenly Father is towards sinners? If God the Judge treats you this way, shouldn’t it lead you to be more compassionate towards others in their sin, rather than being critical of others? Shouldn’t the mercy, grace, and forgiveness that we received from God, cause us to be more merciful, gracious, and forgiving of others? Do not judge others, but instead, see more clearly how The Judge was judged for you, and then you can truly help others in their sin.
Hebrews 4:14 - 5:10:
"Since then we have a great high priest who has passed through the heavens, Jesus, the Son of God, let us hold fast our confession. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weaknesses, but one who in every respect has been tempted as we are, yet without sin. Let us then with confidence draw near to the throne of grace, that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.
For every high priest chosen from among men is appointed to act on behalf of men in relation to God, to offer gifts and sacrifices for sins. He can deal gently with the ignorant and wayward, since he himself is beset with weakness. Because of this he is obligated to offer sacrifice for his own sins just as he does for those of the people. And no one takes this honor for himself, but only when called by God, just as Aaron was.
So also Christ did not exalt himself to be made a high priest, but was appointed by him who said to him,
'You are my Son,
today I have begotten you';
as he says also in another place,
'You are a priest forever,
after the order of Melchizedek.'
In the days of his flesh, Jesus offered up prayers and supplications, with loud cries and tears, to him who was able to save him from death, and he was heard because of his reverence. Although he was a son, he learned obedience through what he suffered. And being made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation to all who obey him, being designated by God a high priest after the order of Melchizedek."
John 1:16- 18:
"For from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known."
John 13:23:
"One of his disciples, whom Jesus loved, was reclining at table at Jesus’ side"
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
Consider a kingdom. It can be a kingdom of ancient times, or it can even be a kingdom in our present day. Either way, consider a kingdom where a king sits in total power and authority over his dominion and people. The king is not simply a figurehead, but his power rules over all. At his command, nations rise and fall, and the judgment and discipline of the people are at the mercy of his grace or wrath.
Now imagine yourself in the narrative. You live within the kingdom and in the shadow of the king’s reign. There is no direct access to the king—there are walls, doors, laws, and social parameters. There is a ladder of people above you, people who work within the walls and for the king. Yet even those with higher status than you do not enjoy companionship with the king. He is untouchable, unapproachable. The king rules but at such a distance that there is not even the semblance of relationship or the assurance that he cares for his people. The king is on his throne, but his heart is far from his people.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, this is not our reality. By God’s astonishing grace, we live within a Kingdom that is a far cry from the one we just imagined. The Bible gives us a picture of a very different Kingdom and a very different throne. To be certain, a righteous Judge sits upon the throne, but His rule is not marked by judgment or harshness. The writer of Hebrews calls it “the throne of grace” (Hebrews 4:16). And from this throne of grace, the King’s abundance flows to us in the form of mercy and grace to help us in our time of need. Our great King rules sovereignly over all. There is nothing outside of His reign and dominion. And yet His heart is close to us. He is neither distant nor unapproachable. He is near, compassionate, relatable, and merciful. He does not treat us as our sins deserve, and His love for us is so deep that He meets us in our filth and rags, yet He refuses to leave us as we are. Our Sovereign King is on His throne, and His heart is for us.
For those in Christ, this Kingdom is not a fairy tale. It is a merciful reality. We belong to the King. “Know that the LORD, He is God! It is He who made us, and we are His; we are His people, and the sheep of His pasture” (Psalm 100:3). To belong to Him! What mercy! What grace!
So as subjects of a most merciful King, in a Kingdom laced with grace upon grace (John 1:16), how should we respond? With confidence! We should respond with confidence that our King looks upon us with eyes of mercy and a heart of compassion. So let us draw near. And let us do so with confidence, knowing that Jesus is on the throne, and our place is by His side. There is no barrier, and He is not far. We have His ear and an invitation to draw near to the One who has drawn near to us.
He is ours.
We are His.
We have access to His throne and belong by His side.
So let us draw near to Him with confidence as we cry, “Abba, Father!”
"Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives, and the one who seeks finds, and to the one who knocks it will be opened. Or which one of you, if his son asks him for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a serpent? If you then, who are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask him!"
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
Our inboxes have recently been deluged with spectacular images from outer space. And those images always seem to carry a caption about humans inching a little bit closer to knowing how life began. Just in the last few weeks, the news came that the Webb Telescope and its scientist handlers have spotted molecules that are “biologic compounds,” which have been frozen for billions of years. I thought when I read that, “It sounds like that piece of chicken in the back of my freezer.”
I have a hard time grasping the concepts of light-years, curvature of the time-space continuum, and what’s beyond the edge of outer space. It all seems too vast and incomprehensible to even imagine or ponder.
The same is often true with our theology. The Scripture speaks of an infinite God, outside of time and creator of everything, including the time-space continuum, worm holes and quarks. How do we rightly think about such a God? And even more daunting, how do we approach such a God?
Jesus teaches us to approach God in prayer, and to know Him as a loving father. In the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus refers to God as our Father seventeen times in three chapters. In John’s Gospel alone, Jesus refers to God as Father more than one hundred times! And Jesus’ clear message in the Scripture above is that God is our heavenly Father, and He loves us with a steadfast fatherly love. Now Jesus didn’t invent the idea of God as a heavenly father. The Old Testament often speaks of God as a father to Israel and rejoices in that steadfast fatherly love.
So on that hillside in His sermon, Jesus is reminding His followers that we are to pray honestly for what we desire. What God wants is a truthful relational conversation with us. What do we desire? What is on our minds and hearts? That’s what God wants to hear from His children.
In Jesus’ day, seeking and knocking were Rabbinic metaphors for persistent prayer. Together they communicate having an ongoing, relational prayer life. Much like Matthew in his telling of Jesus’ sermon, Rabbi turned Apostle Paul exhorts Jesus’ followers to seek and knock:
“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thessalonians 5:16-18)
And in his letter to the church in Rome, Paul summarizes the life of a Christian:
“Rejoice in hope, be patient in tribulation, be constant in prayer.” (Romans 12:12)
So we are to ask for what we desire, and we seek and knock in ongoing conversation with the God of the universe. Our life with Jesus is relational, not operational. So we ask our Father to make us more and more like Jesus. Then as we relate in prayer to God the Father through Jesus the Son, we enter the joy of their relationship. And we stop seeing God as merely a heavenly Amazon website ready to receive our order.
Still, prayer remains a mystery, every bit as mysterious as the far reaches of outer space. We may be able to describe it, study it, and practice it for a lifetime. But the “How does that work?” and “What effect are my prayers actually having?” questions remain inscrutably in the providence of God.
What we can know with confidence is that God is our loving Heavenly Father who, just as in the garden in the beginning, desires to be in relationship with His image- bearers. And His son, who came into the world because God the Father loves us, teaches His followers to ask, seek, and knock. When we pray, we run to our Father’s lap. He embraces us, and He longs to meet us in prayer.
“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are.” (1 John 3:1)
"So whatever you wish that others would do to you, do also to them, for this is the Law and the Prophets."
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Where would we be if the Lord treated us the way that we treat others? We can be in such a hurry. We can read a verse like Matthew 7:12—or a devotional about it—and go on our way. But we don’t want to miss what Jesus is saying and what it means for every day of our lives. So let’s pause, close our eyes if we must, and consider: Where would we be if the Lord treated us the way that we treat others?
If we’re honest, we know that we would be hopeless if the Lord treated us the way that we treat others. But the glory of the gospel shines here, and countless verses radiate that light. As we consider a few, let’s put ourselves into the story. “He” is the Lord who loved us like this when we didn’t deserve it. And "we" are the ones who received, not our just deserts, but His shocking grace. How does the Lord treat us?
"He does not treat us as our sins deserve or repay us according to our iniquities."
(Psalm 103:10) (NIV)
"But He was pierced for our transgressions; He was crushed for our iniquities; upon Him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with His wounds we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the LORD has laid on Him the iniquity of us all."
(Isaiah 53:5-6)
"But God shows His love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."
(Romans 5:8)
Jesus shares His Golden Rule in the context of His Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7). Just minutes before He spoke these words in Matthew 7:12, He shocked His audience by saying that He had not come to abolish the Law or the Prophets but to fulfill them (Matthew 5:17). Most people think of the Golden Rule as more of a Golden Suggestion or a Golden Nice Idea. But if Jesus came to fulfill the Law and the Prophets, and if He says that treating others the way we wish to be treated is the essence of that, then He came to fulfill this. And He has.
Every moment of His life, Jesus treated others the way He wished to be treated. And that was true, even and especially as He died on the cross. As sinners who rebelled against a perfectly holy, perfectly loving God, what did we deserve? As the perfect, spotless Lamb of God, what did Jesus deserve? Now behold the cross. Who was nailed there? Not us, but Jesus! He suffered what we deserve so that we would receive what He deserves! But amazingly, Jesus didn’t just live a perfect life and die for people who couldn’t. He also sent His Spirit to renovate and rule in the hearts of those who trust in Him. Why would He do that? So that we might be united with Him and begin to enjoy the kind of life for which we were created. We forget that the Lord made us for relationships, to be in unbroken fellowship with Him and with others. By the power of His Spirit, we begin to live that life now—however imperfectly—and we await the Day when the Golden Rule will be our Golden Reality. In the meantime, how do we follow Jesus in the way that we treat others? We pray for grace to keep our eyes fixed on Him (Hebrews 12:2). Because as we look to Him, the way He treated us more and more shapes the way we treat others. Brothers and sisters, do we see the golden opportunity to point people to Jesus in the way that we love?
"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another: just as I have loved you, you also are to love one another. By this all people will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another."
(John 13:34-35)
“Enter by the narrow gate. For the gate is wide and the way is easy that leads to destruction, and those who enter by it are many. For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few."
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
When my family first moved to Dallas, I had a commitment requiring me to go to Arlington several times a week. Talking to people here about that commute, it seemed everyone had their own favorite way to get from Dallas to Arlington. Metroplex citizens loved to advocate their individual ways.
We are all people used to choosing. Not surprisingly, this characteristic moves into the spiritual realm, and probably the majority view today is that there are many pathways to God and to eternal life. But this is not the view of Jesus, who said, “For the gate is narrow and the way is hard that leads to life, and those who find it are few.”
More than 800 years before Jesus, a distinguished military man confronted that radical reality. 2 Kings 5 records the story of Naaman, a commander in Syria’s army. Though highly respected, Naaman was a leper. But he heard from an Israeli servant girl that there was a prophet in Israel who might heal him. Naaman obtained a letter of introduction from Syria’s king and went to see Elisha the prophet.
Elisha did not meet with the impressive Syrian but sent a messenger directing Naaman to wash 7 times in the Jordan River. Then Naaman would be “clean,” restored from the deadly corruption of his disease (2 Kings 5:10). But Naaman was angry. Elisha had not even performed a ritual over him! And Damascus had its own rivers he could choose for washing! He was unimpressed, but his servants persuaded him to try.
God’s prophet offered Naaman no options. Naaman washed in the Jordan, and his flesh became “like the flesh of a little child, and he was clean.” (2 Kings 5:14) God’s grace reached this man through the prophet’s words; there was one way to his renewed life. With God’s light, Naaman said, “I know that there is no God in all the earth but in Israel…” (2 Kings 5:15). The Syrian commander articulated God’s unique reality, and Naaman’s story illustrates that there is one way to God’s gift of life.
Naaman also seemed to desire to follow God who gave him life. He asked Elisha for the LORD’s pardon for times he might be forced to enter an idol’s temple back in Syria.
Naaman’s story really happened, and it also points toward God’s salvation in His Son, the Way to flourishing life. Naaman’s plea to Elisha also witnesses that the way of true life is not easy.
Those who believe in Jesus are cleansed and saved for eternal life —and as Jesus said, that “way” will not be easy. The temptation to default to the world’s ways is always present. It’s easier to think and talk about prayer than to pray. It’s easier to be silent than to speak for Jesus. It’s hard to give, hard to trust while suffering, hard to love, hard to repent and rely on Him for change. And yet this, through Jesus alone, is the pathway to full life.
“Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves. You will recognize them by their fruits. Are grapes gathered from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? So, every healthy tree bears good fruit, but the diseased tree bears bad fruit. A healthy tree cannot bear bad fruit, nor can a diseased tree bear good fruit. Every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. Thus you will recognize them by their fruits."
Reynolds serves as the Resident for Young Adults at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He attended the Kanakuk Institute after graduating from Baylor University. Reynolds’s passions include discipleship, the outdoors, and intellectual formation.
Hearing Jesus’ words in Matthew 7:15-20, we tend to obsess over one of two things – false prophets or fruit. We might read this section of the Sermon on the Mount and fixate only on “false prophets,” asking: Who are they? How will we know who they are? How will we prove who they are? How will we make sure we are not deceived ourselves? Or we might focus on fruit, wondering: What is fruit? How do we produce fruit? What constitutes “bad fruit” or “good fruit?” While some of these are good questions, they can easily lead us to fixate on recognizing false prophets and fruit—knowing them—and lead us to forsake our primary purpose—knowing Him. We must ask, are we captivated by Him, or by them?
This passage comes near the end of Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, where He describes what evidence demonstrates members of His Kingdom: those who “enter by the narrow gate”—enter by Him, those who bear fruit, those who “do the will of [His] Father” and are known by Him, and those who build their house on the Rock – who hear and obey. Throughout the Sermon on the Mount Jesus consistently pushes past outward behavior to the heart, but He returns to outward behavior as a window to the heart. Members of Christ’s Kingdom are revealed by what they do. This is good news because, likewise, those who are not of Christ’s Kingdom, in this case false prophets who seek to obscure the truth of the gospel and lead others astray, are also revealed by their actions.
Jesus calls us to be “wise as serpents and innocent as doves,” not ignorant of the truth that there are those in our midst, “in sheep’s clothing,” who seek to twist and use the truth to their own selfish ends (Matthew 10:16). Therefore, He calls us to “beware,” but also to fear not, because we “will recognize them by their fruits.” False prophets are dangerous, but they cannot truly disguise what they are. Often, fearing false prophets, we become preoccupied pointing to others rather than to Christ, the one true Prophet, who did not simply proclaim but in fact was the very Word of God. By knowing Him, we will know them, but we must never confuse the order. False prophets will be revealed by their actions. As Paul says, “they will not get very far, for their folly will be plain to all” (2 Timothy 3:9).
Now, Jesus’ words here should also lead us to consider our own lives and actions. If we are honest, we all try to justify our own sinful actions and condemn those of others. This is exchanging the truth of God for a lie, and we must repent (Romans 1).
However, praise be to God that Jesus’ words here are not a template for spiritual performance, or a “how to” manual for entering the Kingdom of heaven! Jesus is not saying “bear fruit,” and then you will be a “healthy tree,” and you will enter the Kingdom of heaven. Life is about knowing Him and the inevitable result of a life in Christ, the Vine full of living water, is fruit! It is not our fruit, but the inevitably born fruit of the Spirit. It is only by knowing the true Prophet that we can discern false prophets and fruit, for apart from Him we can do nothing (Galatians 5:22; John 15:5).
“Now may the God of peace himself sanctify you completely, and may your whole spirit and soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.”
(1 Thessalonians 5:23)
"Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the Kingdom of heaven, but the one who does the will of My Father who is in heaven. On that day many will say to Me, ‘Lord, Lord, did we not prophesy in Your name, and cast out demons in Your name, and do many mighty works in Your name?’ And then will I declare to them, ‘I never knew you; depart from Me, you workers of lawlessness.’"
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
This passage is one of the most frightening in the New Testament. Will Jesus say of me, “I never knew you”? “The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it?” (Jeremiah 17:9 KJV) – but is my heart so deceitful that I could convince myself that I know Christ, only to hear Him say, “depart from Me”? The answer is yes, it is. But our hope rests in something greater than our hearts.
The gospel teaches that our salvation is secure in Christ. “My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of My hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all, and no one is able to snatch them out of the Father's hand.” (John 10:27-29)
The Westminster Larger Catechism gives a summary of the Bible’s teaching in Question-and-Answer numbers 79 and 80. They are long, and the language is not easy, but it is worth reading them through.
79. May not true believers, by reason of their imperfections, and the many temptations and sins they are overtaken with, fall away from the state of grace? True believers, by reason of the unchangeable love of God, and His decree and covenant to give them perseverance, their inseparable union with Christ, His continual intercession for them, and the Spirit and seed of God abiding in them, can neither totally nor finally fall away from the state of grace, but are kept by the power of God through faith unto salvation.
80. Can true believers be infallibly assured that they are in the estate of grace, and that they shall persevere therein unto salvation? Such as truly believe in Christ, and endeavor to walk in all good conscience before Him, may, without extraordinary revelation, by faith grounded upon the truth of God’s promises, and by the Spirit enabling them to discern in themselves those graces to which the promises of life are made, and bearing witness with their spirits that they are the children of God, be infallibly assured that they are in the estate of grace and shall persevere therein unto salvation.
In other words, we trust in God’s unchangeable love, and not our own changeable hearts; Jesus Himself prays for us, and the Holy Spirit abides in us. They hold us secure, and not our own efforts. We can trust in God’s promises and the Holy Spirit’s testimony that we shall not fall away from Christ.
But how do we know that we really believe in Him? How do we know if we’re deceiving ourselves? Jesus says that those who will be cast away are the “workers of lawlessness.” In fact, this whole section, though applicable in general to all Christians, is also specifically related to the previous section of the sermon on the mount: how to recognize false teachers. “You shall know them by the fruits,” Jesus says. A healthy tree bears good fruit, but a diseased tree bears bad fruit. As trees planted by the living water, we bear the fruit of the Spirit: love, joy peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. The Holy Spirit’s presence bears itself out in our lives.
It is easy to say, and even “believe” the right things. “You believe that God is one; you do well. Even the demons believe—and shudder!” (James 2:19) We absolutely must believe in hearts and confess with our tongues that Jesus Christ is Lord! But faith does not stop there. James also writes, “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves. For if anyone is a hearer of the word and not a doer, he is like a man who looks intently at his natural face in a mirror. For he looks at himself and goes away and at once forgets what he was like. But the one who looks into the perfect law, the law of liberty, and perseveres, being no hearer who forgets but a doer who acts, he will be blessed in his doing.” (James 1:22-25) John too relates the words of Jesus: “If you love Me, you will keep My commandments.” (John 14:15)
This is not to say that our works save us. They do not! But our obedience is a sign that our faith is alive.
This is also not to say that we look to our works for our assurance of salvation. We do not! We look to the Father, who made us His children, and gives us His Spirit.
“See what kind of love the Father has given to us, that we should be called children of God; and so we are… Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when He appears we shall be like Him, because we shall see Him as He is.”
“By this we shall know that we are of the truth and reassure our heart before Him; for whenever our heart condemns us, God is greater than our heart, and He knows everything.”
“Whoever keeps His commandments abides in God, and God in him. And by this we know that He abides in us, by the Spirit whom He has given us.” (1 John 3:1-2, 19-20, 24)
When you suffer doubt and fear, do not look into your own heart, to ask yourself “Am I really faithful? Am I truly sincere? Is the Holy Spirit in me.” Not one of us will ever find total faith and complete sincerity in his own heart. We will only find rest and assurance in the person of Christ. Look to Him, and long for Him.
"'Everyone then who hears these words of Mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of Mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it.'
And when Jesus finished these sayings, the crowds were astonished at His teaching, for He was teaching them as one who had authority, and not as their scribes."
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
The words Jesus has just spoken in the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5-7) are not only counter-cultural; they are counter-human nature. Instead of preaching a message of self-preservation and self-promotion, He preached a message of self-denial and humility. He calls us to be peacemakers at all costs, forgiving, and putting others first, even our enemies. Instead of preaching a message of outward lifestyle change for others to see and praise, He preached a message of true heart change that only God can see but will produce true fruit in our lives. God’s way is not about following the rules, but it is about being changed from the inside out by earnestly seeking Him, which results in a life lived according to the love we have been shown by God. He taught that private prayer and humble dependence on God are at the center of living out His words. And He warned them not to live for the things of the world, not to strive for them, or to let them cause anxiety or worry in their hearts, because life is more than those things. Rather than living for anything in this world, we are to seek Him and live according to only one master, our loving Father in heaven.
As Jesus concludes this teaching, He gives the crowd a warning and an encouragement through the analogy of two home builders. Both had the same knowledge and understanding of how to build a home, yet one chose not to apply what he had learned and the other did, resulting in two very different outcomes. When the storms came, one house stood strong while the other fell. And just as there were only two options for the home builders, there are only two options for us as well. It is a fact of life that storms will come that can’t be prevented. We will face struggles of all kinds and walk through many trials, big and small. And Jesus says, how our lives look on the other side of those storms will be determined by what we do with what we have heard from Him. Will we hear these words of Jesus and act on them, or will we go on to live how we see best, forgetting what we have heard?
For the one who built his house on the sand, who did not heed what he had heard, the storms hit, and the house fell. Sand was never meant to be a firm foundation for anything. By its very nature it is meant to shift and to be easily moved by wind, wave, and even bare feet. In the same way, you and I are tempted to build our lives on things that were never meant to be a firm foundation and therefore will fail us. When we let our social standing, a spotless reputation, or what others think define us and determine our happiness, we have asked too much of it, and it will eventually fail us. When we strive to have more, to find our worth and meaning in our homes, cars, clothes, and travel, we defy the purpose of those things and expect from them what they cannot give. When our jobs, successes, titles, and promotions consume our hearts and minds, we are given false hope and false assurance that everything will be ok, until it’s not ok. Then we are left hopeless, confused, angry, and in despair. Seeking revenge, holding grudges, and always seeking our own fair treatment will never satisfy. Jesus even says that our best efforts at righteousness done for the wrong reasons will result in no reward.
Just like sand, these things will eventually fail, because they were never meant to bear the weight of our lives. Only one foundation was made for that. Jesus is warning us to stop and consider: what are we striving for, what defines us, what gives us worth and meaning, and what are we living for? What is the foundation of your life, and how do you live day to day? Is it sand? Or is it rock?
The home builder who applied what he had learned was careful, intentional, and patient as he dug down to the bedrock, ensuring his home would have a sure foundation. When the storms came, the house endured because it had been built on the rock, the only firm foundation that could hold the house up. This is the encouragement you and I both need to hear. When we make the often difficult and counter-cultural decision to be doers of God’s Word, not just hearers, we are promised to endure the storms of life. The storms will still hit us, yet those who have chosen to live according to God’s Words will stay standing. James tells us that those who study God’s Word, abide by it, and do it will be blessed in what they do (James 1:25). Looking back over these three chapters we have been studying for over a year, are you a wise doer of these words of Jesus? Or are you merely a foolish hearer?
I have found that the only way I can be a wise doer of God’s Word is with help. I can’t do it alone. And it’s a daily choice. It involves daily listening, studying, meditating, writing things down, talking about it with others, seeking further understanding through the many resources available to us, confession, repentance, prayer, and the help of the Holy Spirit. And then doing it again the next day. This is how the wise man lives. Are you choosing to live wisely today? If not, stop, re-dedicate this day and this moment to Him, and seek Him earnestly. Like the wise builder, re-consider what you have heard and learned from Jesus, and apply His words to every situation in your life. And remember Jesus’ promise that when you do this, you will be founded on the rock, and you will stand strong against the storms of life.
The saying is trustworthy: If anyone aspires to the office of overseer, he desires a noble task. Therefore an overseer must be above reproach, the husband of one wife, sober-minded, self-controlled, respectable, hospitable, able to teach, not a drunkard, not violent but gentle, not quarrelsome, not a lover of money. He must manage his own household well, with all dignity keeping his children submissive, for if someone does not know how to manage his own household, how will he care for God’s church? He must not be a recent convert, or he may become puffed up with conceit and fall into the condemnation of the devil. Moreover, he must be well thought of by outsiders, so that he may not fall into disgrace, into a snare of the devil.
Deacons likewise must be dignified, not double-tongued, not addicted to much wine, not greedy for dishonest gain. They must hold the mystery of the faith with a clear conscience. And let them also be tested first; then let them serve as deacons if they prove themselves blameless. Their wives likewise must be dignified, not slanderers, but sober-minded, faithful in all things. Let deacons each be the husband of one wife, managing their children and their own households well. For those who serve well as deacons gain a good standing for themselves and also great confidence in the faith that is in Christ Jesus.
And He gave the apostles, the prophets, the evangelists, the shepherds and teachers, to equip the saints for the work of ministry, for building up the body of Christ, until we all attain to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to mature manhood, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ, so that we may no longer be children, tossed to and fro by the waves and carried about by every wind of doctrine, by human cunning, by craftiness in deceitful schemes. Rather, speaking the truth in love, we are to grow up in every way into him who is the head, into Christ, from whom the whole body, joined and held together by every joint with which it is equipped, when each part is working properly, makes the body grow so that it builds itself up in love.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Surprise. Confusion. Fear. Sadness. As news of the tragedy in Nashville unfolded, and as we learned of the connections to our own church through the Scruggs and Dunlap families, perhaps you felt some or all of these emotions. I know I did. If left to ourselves, those emotions could paralyze us or swallow us up. But in God’s grace, He has not left us to ourselves. God Himself has drawn near in the incarnation of Jesus Christ and the indwelling of His Holy Spirit. And He has also given us His Body, the Church, to guide us through every emotion and every tragedy.
When Paul Goebel preached about the roles of Elders and Deacons this past Sunday, he reminded us that the Church is not a business, a building, an organization, or an institution. Rather, the Church is a people. So consider for a moment the different people at Park Cities Presbyterian Church who God gave us this week. God gave us church members and staff to communicate what had happened. God gave us Deacons to graciously welcome and vigilantly protect us. God gave us Pastors and Elders to lead us to God’s throne of grace in prayer and to remind us of the promises of God’s Word. God gave us musicians to wrap truth in beauty, soothing and strengthening our souls. God gave us brothers and sisters in Christ to embrace us, weep with us, and pray with us. God gave us each of these people, with their various gifts and roles, and used them to guide us through these hard days.
In his influential book, You’re Only Human, theologian Kelly Kapic writes, “The church, at its best, realizes God’s relational design for humans, not simply promoting programs but promoting shared lives…God created us for community and interdependence…It takes the whole church to be the one Body of Christ (p. 189-190).” Whether in days of tearful tragedy or days of vibrant mission, we all need one another. We need leaders like Pastors, Elders, and Deacons. And we need one another, each with valuable gifts to contribute as a part of the Body. It is God’s design for our guidance and our growth. As the Apostle Paul says in Ephesians 4:16, “When each part is working properly [it] makes the body grow.” Have we grown this week? It may not feel like it today, but I dare say the answer will prove to be “yes.”
Violent and shocking tragedies like this may be rare, but make no mistake: more tragedies will come. And if left to ourselves, they will paralyze us or swallow us up. So remember this, dear brothers and sisters: you need the Body, and the Body needs you. The only way forward is with God, together as saints.
"The next day the large crowd that had come to the feast heard that Jesus was coming to Jerusalem. So they took branches of palm trees and went out to meet Him, crying out, 'Hosanna! Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord, even the King of Israel!' And Jesus found a young donkey and sat on it, just as it is written,
'Fear not, daughter of Zion;
behold, your King is coming,
sitting on a donkey’s colt!'
His disciples did not understand these things at first, but when Jesus was glorified, then they remembered that these things had been written about Him and had been done to Him. The crowd that had been with Him when He called Lazarus out of the tomb and raised him from the dead continued to bear witness.
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
In Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis writes about Jesus, “You can shut Him up for a fool, you can spit at Him and kill Him as a demon or you can fall at His feet and call Him Lord and God, but let us not come with any patronizing nonsense about His being a great human teacher. He has not left that open to us. He did not intend to.”
We see this dynamic at play in Jesus’ “triumphal entry,” a story so familiar to a lot of Christians around the time of Holy Week that we can easily lose how profound and life-shaping it really is. There are a few powerful elements for us to dwell on this week:
(1) His bold claim: When the people come out to greet Jesus as He arrives in Jerusalem, they shout out “Hosanna,” which means “God save us,” and they wave palm branches, which usually signified victory over one’s enemy. This is no less than a declaration of hope that Jesus is the promised Messiah from the line of David, and Jesus accepts this declaration! This is a claim with massive implications. Why is this so amazing? Usually, when a person makes an outrageous claim about himself, he is not humble. We see this all the time in the world of politics and sports today, for example. However, with Jesus, He’s so tender, kind, and gentle with the poor, prostitutes, vile sinners, children, and people of other races. What amazing humility and grace, and yet at the exact same time, He unmistakably makes the paramount claim to be the Messianic King, showing that salvation is found in no one else but Jesus (Acts 4:12), and absolute sovereignty belongs to Jesus.
(2) His surprising approach: These triumphal entries were usually done by kings, warriors, and armies who had achieved great military victories to deliver their people, but these victors would have ridden upon great horses, not lowly donkeys. If we really think about this, it’s a shocking sight to see King and Savior Jesus ride in upon a baby donkey. In fulfilling the prophecy of Zechariah 9:9, Jesus demonstrates that He is coming to rule and save not by assuming power and using force, but by laying down His privileges to serve and ultimately die a substitutionary death. The people misunderstood this nature of the Messianic King (John 12:16). Today, in a Christian culture that foolishly treats Christian leaders like celebrities and emphasizes our “impressive” feats for God, this humbles us and shows us that our hope and identity are not in which Christian celebrity we identify with or in what we do for Jesus. It is only in what the humble, serving, crucified Jesus did for us. God meets us not in the big and impressive things we often seek, but in the humble and servant Savior King who speaks to us in the Scriptures and demonstrated His love for us on the cross. It also shows us that we often don’t understand what we really need from God, and that we might not understand what God is doing in the short term, but that God always gives us what we truly need. If we understand this, we don’t have to live an anxious, discontent life that our culture breeds.
(3) His hopeful future: In the context of the prophecy that Jesus is fulfilling in this text (Zechariah 9:9-10), Zechariah predicts that the king who brings salvation, humble on a donkey, will speak peace to the nations and will rule to the ends of the earth. This points to something much bigger. Much of the crowd believed that as the Messianic King, Jesus was coming to bring political success and make everything right for them. The truth, however, was that He was really coming to make them right with God and to bring those who trust in Him into His eternal Kingdom. This draws our attention to the future. In his commentary on Matthew, concerning this same story of the triumphal entry, Don Carson explains, “This even points to the peace of the consummated Kingdom. Jesus is the Lord of all, and under His hand nothing but harmony and peace comes about.” In the Gospels, the crowds were often looking for hype, but Jesus didn’t come to bring hype; He came to bring hope.
Why does all this matter for us today? If we’re being honest, we might find ourselves in a similar place that the people in the story were in, wanting comfort and power, or trying to meet God in the hype of frenetic Christian activity, celebrity, noise, and accomplishment. Or maybe we’re tempted to make this world our home and are discouraged by what we see every day. The remedy is a right view of Jesus who is both powerful and humble, King and Savior.
John Owen writes, “One view of Christ’s glory by faith will scatter all the fears, answer all the objections, and disperse all the depressions of poor, tempted, doubting souls. To all believers it is an anchor which they may cast within the veil, to hold them firm and steadfast in all trials, storms, and temptations, both in life and in death.” May Jesus’ bold claim, surprising approach, and hopeful future be our meditation this Holy Week, and may that shape us to be gospel people in the world today.
"But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb, and as she wept she stooped to look into the tomb. And she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had lain, one at the head and one at the feet. They said to her, 'Woman, why are you weeping?' She said to them, 'They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid Him.' Having said this, she turned around and saw Jesus standing, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, 'Woman, why are you weeping? Whom are you seeking?' Supposing Him to be the gardener, she said to Him, 'Sir, if you have carried Him away, tell me where you have laid Him, and I will take Him away.' Jesus said to her, 'Mary.' She turned and said to Him in Aramaic, 'Rabboni!' (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, 'Do not cling to Me, for I have not yet ascended to the Father; but go to My brothers and say to them, ‘I am ascending to My Father and your Father, to My God and your God.’ Mary Magdalene went and announced to the disciples, 'I have seen the Lord'—and that He had said these things to her.
On the evening of that day, the first day of the week, the doors being locked where the disciples were for fear of the Jews, Jesus came and stood among them and said to them, 'Peace be with you.' When He had said this, He showed them His hands and His side. Then the disciples were glad when they saw the Lord. Jesus said to them again, 'Peace be with you. As the Father has sent Me, even so I am sending you.' And when He had said this, He breathed on them and said to them, 'Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven them; if you withhold forgiveness from any, it is withheld.'
Now Thomas, one of the twelve, called the Twin, was not with them when Jesus came. So the other disciples told him, "We have seen the Lord.' But he said to them, 'Unless I see in His hands the mark of the nails, and place my finger into the mark of the nails, and place my hand into His side, I will never believe.'
Eight days later, His disciples were inside again, and Thomas was with them. Although the doors were locked, Jesus came and stood among them and said, 'Peace be with you.' Then He said to Thomas, 'Put your finger here, and see My hands; and put out your hand, and place it in My side. Do not disbelieve, but believe.' Thomas answered Him, 'My Lord and my God!' Jesus said to him, 'Have you believed because you have seen Me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have believed.'”
Sam is the Assistant Pastor of Missions at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He previously served as an overseas missionary in Rome, Italy, with Agape Italia and helped launch student movements across the country. He completed his theological education at Reformed Theological Seminary in New York City and pastoral ministry training at Redeemer Presbyterian Church’s City to City training program. Sam and his wife Kimberly have three daughters: Eloise, Evelyn, and Emory.
Like a Monday after a week of vacation, the day after your birthday, or after the honeymoon period of a new job or relationship, we are tempted to let our hearts grow dull to the truth and beauty of the resurrection after a week of Easter preparation and celebration. This past Sunday, we celebrated the truth of the resurrection as handed down to us by the church, who witnessed it first-hand. We opened ourselves up to the beauty of who Jesus is so that He may move us from the dull reality of our sin and misery of life without Him to the abundant life we have in Him. The truth and beauty of Jesus have been moving His Church since its inception, but the question that comes to mind this week is will we continue to allow this truth and beauty to move us?
This is why God provides us the means of grace to continually remember what He did for us on the cross. The ministry of the Word, worshiping God regularly, and fellowship with other believers are all ways that God reminds us of the Easter truth on a regular basis. But one practice that may not immediately come to mind as a way to remember the truth and beauty of the resurrection is to remember our "sentness" as those who follow Christ.
Sentness is one of the themes of John’s gospel, and as Jesus appears to those who have been closest to Him in His earthly life, we see the culmination of this theme in some of His last words to His disciples before He ascends into heaven.
“‘Peace be with you. As the Father has sent Me, even so I am sending you.’ And when He had said this, He breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit.’” (John 20:21-22)
Our sentness reminds us of the truth and beauty of the Resurrection because it first starts with worship of who Jesus is, the sent One. In order to be sent, we need to remember that Jesus was sent first by the Father, AND, in the same way, Jesus is sending us. Jesus is sending us to our families, to our neighborhoods, to our jobs, to our community organizations, and for some missionaries, to the nations. And as Jesus sends us, He also gives us God Himself in the gift of the Holy Spirit being with us.
As you seek to find ways to remember Jesus and what He did for you on the cross, don’t forget the power that comes with remembering your sentness. Jesus paid the price of His life to be sent and to send us, therefore, let us honor Him with how He sends us today into a city and world that need Him.
"Therefore, holy brothers, you who share in a heavenly calling, consider Jesus, the apostle and high priest of our confession, who was faithful to Him who appointed Him, just as Moses also was faithful in all God's house. For Jesus has been counted worthy of more glory than Moses—as much more glory as the builder of a house has more honor than the house itself. (For every house is built by someone, but the builder of all things is God.) Now Moses was faithful in all God's house as a servant, to testify to the things that were to be spoken later, but Christ is faithful over God's house as a son. And we are His house, if indeed we hold fast our confidence and our boasting in our hope."
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
We knew they meant business the day the roof came off. The plans had been reviewed and approved. The contractor had the “subs” lined up and the permit posted. But all of that seemed theoretical until the sledgehammering began, and the roof gave way. We were remodeling. There was no turning back now.
Many, many months later we moved back in. The house that had been ours was still our house. It was an old house really, built the same year I was born. But now it seemed entirely new. It was better than before, yet what it was before had allowed the newness to take shape. It was our new, old house.
The author of Hebrews is explaining how Moses was a servant of God, and a rightly revered Old Testament hero. But he was also a forerunner of something better. Moses had served in the house, but now the Son of the house had come. Something new had taken shape.
Moses followed God from the day of the burning bush to the bank of the Jordan River. He was neither a sinless nor patient man. But he was chosen as the mediator of the relationship between God and God’s people. He was a gifted but entirely human mediator. And as mediator, Moses had acted as a priest. He had brought the words of God to the people and represented the people before God. Moses also served as a prophet. He was the servant who was, “to testify to the things that were to be spoken later.” Moses was a mere man, and yet he was also a picture of Jesus.
Jesus, says Hebrews, is counted worthy of more glory than Moses. He is a Son and not just a servant. As a Son, He is over all of God’s house. Jesus is also called an apostle. It’s the only time in the New Testament that this term is applied to Jesus. But since the word means, “a person who is sent,” it applies perfectly to the Lord. An apostle does not take that title for himself but is called by God to be one who is sent. He is sent by God for God’s purpose. Jesus makes this plain as He prays for His own apostles.
"For I have given them the words that You gave Me, and they have received them and have come to know in truth that I came from You; and they have believed that You sent Me. I am praying for them. I am not praying for the world but for those whom You have given Me, for they are Yours." (John 17:8-9)
Jesus is also the true high priest who has come. He is the high priest who is the very Son of God. Just as God had sent His servant Moses to His people, now God had sent His own Son. Something better has happened; someone perfect and permanent has come. Jesus is the long-awaited consummation of the promise of God to His people.
"This makes Jesus the guarantor of a better covenant.
The former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office, but He holds His priesthood permanently, because He continues forever. Consequently, He is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through Him, since He always lives to make intercession for them.
For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens." (Hebrews 7:22-26)
Hebrews also makes pointedly clear that the followers of Jesus are “the house” over which Jesus is the faithful Son. We often say that the Church Universal is not a building, but instead is the collection of Christ’s ones from every age and every tribe. And it is that collection, that church over which Jesus is ruling and reigning.
In Paul’s letter to the church in Corinth, he teaches about the cosmic, eternal remodel of the people of God.
"From now on, therefore, we regard no one according to the flesh. Even though we once regarded Christ according to the flesh, we regard him thus no longer. Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has passed away; behold, the new has come."
(2 Corinthians 5:16-17)
During those many days the king of Egypt died, and the people of Israel groaned because of their slavery and cried out for help. Their cry for rescue from slavery came up to God. And God heard their groaning, and God remembered His covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel—and God knew.
Now Moses was keeping the flock of his father-in-law, Jethro, the priest of Midian, and he led his flock to the west side of the wilderness and came to Horeb, the mountain of God. And the angel of the LORD appeared to him in a flame of fire out of the midst of a bush. He looked, and behold, the bush was burning, yet it was not consumed. And Moses said, “I will turn aside to see this great sight, why the bush is not burned.” When the LORD saw that he turned aside to see, God called to him out of the bush, “Moses, Moses!” And he said, “Here I am.” Then He said, “Do not come near; take your sandals off your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” And He said, “I am the God of your father, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob.” And Moses hid his face, for he was afraid to look at God.
Then the LORD said, “I have surely seen the affliction of My people who are in Egypt and have heard their cry because of their taskmasters. I know their sufferings, and I have come down to deliver them out of the hand of the Egyptians and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey, to the place of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. And now, behold, the cry of the people of Israel has come to Me, and I have also seen the oppression with which the Egyptians oppress them. Come, I will send you to Pharaoh that you may bring My people, the children of Israel, out of Egypt.” But Moses said to God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” He said, “But I will be with you, and this shall be the sign for you, that I have sent you: when you have brought the people out of Egypt, you shall serve God on this mountain.”
Then Moses said to God, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is his name?’ What shall I say to them?” God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.” And He said, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’” God also said to Moses, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘The LORD, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has sent me to you.’ This is My name forever, and thus I am to be remembered throughout all generations.
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
Walking with a group of friends after our church’s high school meeting, I remember one boy who, while telling some funny incident, laid his Bible on the concrete steps to free up his gesturing hands. A girl exclaimed, “Don’t put your Bible on the ground!” This young man was from a family of preachers and would later become one himself; the girl who spoke had only recently come to believe in Jesus—but her senses were heightened about what was holy. She didn’t think the Holy Bible should be on the ground. We may differ about the treatment of printed Bibles—but what are our thoughts, our approach, and our behavior towards holiness, the holiness of God?
God is completely other than all that exists. He is unique, whole, and perfect. He is full of radiant glory. He is absolutely morally pure and all of this comes together in God’s holiness.
On a mountain, Moses encountered God in a flaming bush. He heard God’s voice call his name, but as he approached, God said, “Do not come near; take your sandals off your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.” (Exodus 3:5) God’s presence required a warning to Moses and an active response. And when God identified Himself: “I am the God of your father; the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob,” Moses covered his face, “for he was afraid to look at God.” (Exodus 3:6)
Isaiah cried out, “Woe is me, for I am lost,” when he experienced a vision of the holy LORD. (Isaiah 6:5) Peter, after Jesus’ miraculous catch of fish, fell down before Him and said, “Depart from me, for I am a sinful man, O Lord.” (Luke 5:8) Saul of Tarsus fell to the ground as the glorified Jesus appeared to him. (Acts 9:3-5) A genuine encounter with God’s holiness brings awe and rightful fear in sinful human beings. And by His grace, the holy God ultimately calls His people to repentance.
Moses heard God’s promise of liberation, which He said would culminate in service or worship (NIV) of Him as Israel left oppressive Egypt. God’s holiness calls for worship. Revelation 15:4 records the song of Moses and the Lamb: “Who will not fear, O Lord, and glorify Your name? For You alone are holy. All nations will come and worship You...”
As God’s people worship, we must also love and pursue holiness. God says, “You shall be holy, for I the LORD your God am holy.” Holiness is not our nature, and our world disdains it. But this is possible because of Christ’s death “in order to present you holy and blameless…before Him.” (Colossians 1:22) 2 Corinthians 7:1 challenges us to be “bringing holiness to completion in the fear of God.”
God is still the radiant, redemptive God who met Moses on the mountain. Let us reverently repent, fervently worship, and love Him in His holiness. And let us pursue holy life in His grace and power.
And the Lord said to Samuel, “Obey the voice of the people in all that they say to you, for they have not rejected you, but they have rejected Me from being King over them.”
The Son of Man must suffer many things and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.
Then Pilate said to Him, “So you are a king?” Jesus answered, “You say that I am a king. For this purpose I was born and for this purpose I have come into the world—to bear witness to the truth. Everyone who is of the truth listens to My voice.” Pilate said to Him, “What is truth?”
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
My daughter stood at the back door of our home staring out the window. I sat at the kitchen table eating breakfast: oatmeal with almond butter, some fresh blueberries, and a fried egg. It was the Thursday before Easter. “Daddy, come look!” she said. “The flowers bloomed.” I got up and walked to her side. Looking out, I saw the pretty yellow petals of an Iris awake in soft morning light. “And just in time for Easter,” I said without thinking. “Maybe the flowers bloomed,” she said, “because they want to be put on the cross.” I knew what she meant. Our church invites children to cover a cross with flowers in the courtyard on Easter morning. Families line up for pictures in front of it. But my mind went further. What if every flower of springtime blooms to bless their Creator and King?
Be that as it may, we live in a time when such a thought rarely, if ever, and perhaps only through the eyes of a child, enters into our minds. Life comes as a rush and tumble, and it doesn’t take someone telling us God isn’t real to live like it. It is simply assumed. Our society has stripped the world of its spiritual substance, setting humanity at the center of things. The crisis of our culture is the consequence of irreverence. When God is rejected, slavery ensues (1 Samuel 8:17).
For the Creator and King of the cosmos is the God of freedom. “I am the Lord your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, out of the house of slavery” (Exodus 20:2). Liberation precedes law as grace undergirds reverence. “You shall have no other gods before Me” (Exodus 20:3) is the condition whereby true freedom can be known and enjoyed. Reject God, and human freedom is left up for the taking (1 Samuel 8:10-18).
Is not addiction, loneliness, and consumerism a kind of captivity? Without God, humanity has lost the freedom of a reason for living that cannot be bought or achieved, of truth more weighty with wonder than mere science can measure, of an identity deeper than image, of strength that is both gentle and kind, of hope that can hold great joy and sorrow, of beauty that bathes the beholder in goodness, of love that never fails. We have rejected God and lost our true freedom.
The grounds for recovery in our own lives and the life of the world begin with reverence. And reverence comes by grace. For the God who created the heavens and earth, who so loved the world, is the God who was rejected, killed, and raised on the third day. Jesus was crowned King on the cross, and maybe the flowers bloom before Easter because they want to adorn Him. Maybe the whole creation is calling for us to praise Christ the King with the freedom of the glory of the children of God (Romans 8:18-21).
Then Moses said to God, “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is His name?’ what shall I say to them?” God said to Moses, “I AM WHO I AM.” And He said, “Say this to the people of Israel: ‘I AM has sent me to you.’”
Then Moses answered, “But behold, they will not believe me or listen to my voice, for they will say, ‘The LORD did not appear to you.’” The LORD said to him, “What is that in your hand?” He said, “A staff.” And He said, “Throw it on the ground.” So he threw it on the ground, and it became a serpent, and Moses ran from it. But the LORD said to Moses, “Put out your hand and catch it by the tail”—so he put out his hand and caught it, and it became a staff in his hand— “that they may believe that the LORD, the God of their fathers, the God of Abraham, the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob, has appeared to you.” Again, the LORD said to him, “Put your hand inside your cloak.” And he put his hand inside his cloak, and when he took it out, behold, his hand was leprous like snow. Then God said, “Put your hand back inside your cloak.” So he put his hand back inside his cloak, and when he took it out, behold, it was restored like the rest of his flesh. “If they will not believe you,” God said, “or listen to the first sign, they may believe the latter sign. If they will not believe even these two signs or listen to your voice, you shall take some water from the Nile and pour it on the dry ground, and the water that you shall take from the Nile will become blood on the dry ground.”
But Moses said to the LORD, “Oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent, either in the past or since you have spoken to your servant, but I am slow of speech and of tongue.” Then the LORD said to him, “Who has made man’s mouth? Who makes him mute, or deaf, or seeing, or blind? Is it not I, the LORD? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth and teach you what you shall speak.” But he said, “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.” Then the anger of the LORD was kindled against Moses and He said, “Is there not Aaron, your brother, the Levite? I know that he can speak well. Behold, he is coming out to meet you, and when he sees you, he will be glad in his heart. You shall speak to him and put the words in his mouth, and I will be with your mouth and with his mouth and will teach you both what to do. He shall speak for you to the people, and he shall be your mouth, and you shall be as God to him. And take in your hand this staff, with which you shall do the signs.”
Moses went back to Jethro his father-in-law and said to him, “Please let me go back to my brothers in Egypt to see whether they are still alive.” And Jethro said to Moses, “Go in peace.” And the LORD said to Moses in Midian, “Go back to Egypt, for all the men who were seeking your life are dead.” So Moses took his wife and his sons and had them ride on a donkey, and went back to the land of Egypt. And Moses took the staff of God in his hand.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
It was the night before my term would begin as a counselor at a Christian camp for inner city kids. I remember parking my car and walking down into camp. Counselors and campers were running everywhere, and I felt like a fish out of water. This was not North Dallas. This was not the youth ministry I had known. I was overwhelmed. My cabin wouldn’t be open until tomorrow, so I slept that night on the wrestling mats in the gym. This was my own kind of wilderness, and I woke up the next morning feeling hungry and desperate. I opened my Bible to Exodus 3 and 4, and it felt like the Lord spoke to me out of my own burning bush.
If you’re scoring at home, note that Moses basically goes five rounds with the Lord. He would do anything to avoid going back to Egypt, facing his own people, and then confronting Pharaoh with the Lord’s message to let His people go.
Round 1: “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh and bring the children of Israel out of Egypt?” (3:11)
Round 2: “If I come to the people of Israel and say to them, ‘The God of your fathers has sent me to you,’ and they ask me, ‘What is His name?’ what shall I say to them?” (3:13)
Round 3: “But behold, they will not believe me or listen to my voice, for they will say, ‘The LORD did not appear to you.’” (4:1)
Round 4: “Oh, my Lord, I am not eloquent, either in the past or since you have spoken to Your servant, but I am slow of speech and of tongue.” (4:10)
Round 5: “Oh, my Lord, please send someone else.” (4:13)
We tend to turn men like Moses into heroes, but here in Exodus Moses is clearly more human than hero. He is an ordinary man through whom the Lord would do extraordinary things. Shouldn’t we be encouraged that Moses feels like a fish out of water for the mission ahead of him, but the Lord meets him there?
We too feel our inadequacy when the Lord calls. “Who am I?”, we ask, and the Lord reframes the central issue: “But I will be with you” (3:12). We too wonder about the identity of this glorious God who calls us—“What is His name?”—and the Lord again and again reveals Himself to us (3:14). We too doubt that people will believe us, but the Lord gives us spectacular signs. [In our case, not a staff that turns into a snake, but a cross and an empty tomb that signal God’s intention to turn sinners into saints.] We too focus more on our limitations and inabilities—“I am not eloquent”—and the Lord reminds us of what is more important: “Who has made man’s mouth?” (4:11). We too can throw up our hands and ask for the Lord to send someone else, but the Lord doesn’t strike us down or give up on us (4:14-17).
During that term as a camp counselor, I learned a lesson the Lord continues to teach me to this day. We’re always tempted to focus more on who we are and what we can do, but life and ministry are all about who God is and what He has done for us in Christ. When we focus more on our doubts and limitations than His truth and perfections, we are paralyzed. But when He lifts our eyes and opens our ears, what we see and hear changes everything. We’re no longer stuck in the mud. We’re liberated and empowered to focus on Him, forget ourselves, and go where He calls.
Where is the Lord calling us to go in this season? Where does He want us to serve His purposes, to shine His light in darkness, to fight for those who can’t fight for themselves, and to hold out Jesus? It certainly feels overwhelming, and we’re tempted to pull out our questions and excuses. “Who is sufficient for these things?” Paul asks in 2 Corinthians 2:16. The implied answer is, “Left to ourselves, no one.” But by God’s grace, that’s not the end of the story. Paul continues, “Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God, who has made us sufficient to be ministers of a new covenant” (2 Corinthians 3:5-6).
Brothers and sisters, confident that our sufficiency is from Him, and knowing that He will be with us, may we go where the Lord is calling us.
And the LORD said to Moses, “When you go back to Egypt, see that you do before Pharaoh all the miracles that I have put in your power. But I will harden his heart, so that he will not let the people go. Then you shall say to Pharaoh, ‘Thus says the LORD, Israel is My firstborn son, and I say to you, “Let My son go that he may serve Me.” If you refuse to let him go, behold, I will kill your firstborn son.’”
At a lodging place on the way the LORD met him and sought to put him to death. Then Zipporah took a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin and touched Moses’ feet with it and said, “Surely you are a bridegroom of blood to me!” So He let him alone. It was then that she said, “A bridegroom of blood,” because of the circumcision.
Matt grew up in South Florida and first sensed a call to pastoral ministry while a high school student at Park Cities Presbyterian Church (PCPC) in Dallas. After graduating from St. Mark’s, Covenant College, and Westminster Seminary in California, he spent four years serving as the assistant pastor of a PCA church in Savannah, GA. In 2014, he returned to serve at PCPC as the Assistant Pastor of Spiritual Formation.
Matt and his wife Erin have three children: Lydia, Hudson, and Samuel.
Consider the choices before you when a friend asks, “How is your day going?” You could give a straightforward answer such as “good.” You could turn the question around and say, “My day has been fine, thanks. How about yours?” You could rehearse some of the positive activities and accomplishments of your day, “It’s been great: I had a delicious meal with a good friend, and I completed a big project at work.” But how many of us would answer the question by describing our fears and failures? Can you imagine saying, “I’ve really been struggling today: I’ve been anxious about my finances, and I was harsh and angry towards my child.” Whether in a personal conversation or a published memoir, most of us would be tempted to edit out such vulnerable confessions.
As the author of Exodus, Moses had editorial privilege over how he told his life story. And it would have been easy and understandable for him to omit his moments of fear and failure. But God wisely guided Moses to include many of such moments. Even in these early chapters of Moses’ story, we hear him question God, “Who am I that I should go to Pharaoh?” (Exodus 3:11) We hear him argue with God, “They will not believe me or listen to my voice.” (Exodus 4:1) We hear him tell half-truths to his father-in-law, “Please let me go back to my brothers in Egypt to see whether they are still alive.” (Exodus 4:18) And here in Exodus 4:21-26, we read about Moses’ life-threatening enmity with God and his failure to circumcise his son, “The LORD met him and sought to put him to death. Then Zipporah took a flint and cut off her son’s foreskin and touched Moses’ feet with it.” (Exodus 4:24-25) These autobiographical confessions are not merely included for the sake of an accurate historical record, but also to remind us that God calls sinful people to be His sons and servants, transforming them by grace along the way. That was Moses’ story, and it is our story too.
While Moses was certainly vulnerable in sharing this story, he was not particularly detailed. If you are a careful and curious reader of the Bible, you may still find yourself asking important questions such as:
“Why did God seek to put Moses to death?”
“How did God seek to put Moses to death?”
“Why did Moses not circumcise his son when he was eight days old?”
“Did Moses agree to allow Zipporah to circumcise their son?”
“Why did Zipporah touch Moses with their son’s bloody foreskin?”
“What is the significance of Zipporah’s words about Moses being a bridegroom of blood?”
“Did this event strengthen or weaken the relational bond between Moses and Zipporah?”
Moses says almost nothing to help us answer these questions, and no other biblical authors give any explanation of this particular story. As a result, scholars often have contrasting answers for these questions. We can speculate, but it will not bear much fruit for us.
But there is one significant question that I believe does have a clear, compelling answer and illustrates a truth that is critical for our faith. The question is this: “Why did God spare Moses’ life?” At first glance, we may be tempted to say that God spared Moses’ life because Zipporah obeyed God. But delayed obedience by a spouse doesn’t solve the problem of personal sin; Moses himself was still guilty and still responsible. So why did God spare Moses’ life? God spared Moses’ life because of the shedding of blood, which pointed forward to the perfect atoning blood of Jesus Christ on the cross.
While we view blood as repulsive and unsanitary in many ways, it is important for us to grasp how central blood was (and is) in the story of redemption. When Moses’ son was circumcised, the blood shed not only pointed backwards to the way God instituted circumcision as a sign of the covenant for Abraham and his descendants (Genesis 17:9-14). This circumcision also pointed forward to the bloody Passover night God when would deliver Israel from Egypt (Exodus 12), to the bloody confirmation of the covenant with Israel (Exodus 24), and to the bloody sacrifices that would be offered in the tabernacle (Exodus 30). All of these bloody signs and sacrifices highlight the severe consequences of sin and the indescribable gift of Jesus Christ’s blood being shed for us on the cross. As Peter writes, “You were ransomed from the futile ways inherited by your forefathers, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot.” (1 Peter 1:18-19)
Moses didn’t earn his place as a son of God. He didn’t work his way up the chain of command in Israel by faithful obedience, political skill, or dynamic leadership. Moses was redeemed by God, adopted as a son, called to leadership, and given success in his efforts only by God’s grace poured out through the blood of Jesus Christ on the cross. And so as we consider the life of Moses, we are called not to pattern our lives after him but to entrust ourselves to the holy and gracious God Moses was saved by and served. And one day we will join Moses, Zipporah, and all of the saints and angels in singing to Jesus Christ, the Lamb of God, “Worthy are You to take the scroll and open its seals, for You were slain and by Your blood You ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation!” (Revelation 5:9)
The LORD said to Moses and Aaron in the land of Egypt, “This month shall be for you the beginning of months. It shall be the first month of the year for you. Tell all the congregation of Israel that on the tenth day of this month every man shall take a lamb according to their fathers’ houses, a lamb for a household. And if the household is too small for a lamb, then he and his nearest neighbor shall take according to the number of persons; according to what each can eat you shall make your count for the lamb. Your lamb shall be without blemish, a male a year old. You may take it from the sheep or from the goats, and you shall keep it until the fourteenth day of this month, when the whole assembly of the congregation of Israel shall kill their lambs at twilight.
Then they shall take some of the blood and put it on the two doorposts and the lintel of the houses in which they eat it. They shall eat the flesh that night, roasted on the fire; with unleavened bread and bitter herbs they shall eat it. Do not eat any of it raw or boiled in water, but roasted, its head with its legs and its inner parts. And you shall let none of it remain until the morning; anything that remains until the morning you shall burn. In this manner you shall eat it: with your belt fastened, your sandals on your feet, and your staff in your hand. And you shall eat it in haste. It is the LORD’s Passover. For I will pass through the land of Egypt that night, and I will strike all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, both man and beast; and on all the gods of Egypt I will execute judgments: I am the LORD. The blood shall be a sign for you, on the houses where you are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and no plague will befall you to destroy you, when I strike the land of Egypt."
Then Moses called all the elders of Israel and said to them, “Go and select lambs for yourselves according to your clans, and kill the Passover lamb. Take a bunch of hyssop and dip it in the blood that is in the basin, and touch the lintel and the two doorposts with the blood that is in the basin. None of you shall go out of the door of his house until the morning. For the LORD will pass through to strike the Egyptians, and when He sees the blood on the lintel and on the two doorposts, the LORD will pass over the door and will not allow the destroyer to enter your houses to strike you. You shall observe this rite as a statute for you and for your sons forever. And when you come to the land that the LORD will give you, as He has promised, you shall keep this service. And when your children say to you, ‘What do you mean by this service?’ you shall say, ‘It is the sacrifice of the LORD’s Passover, for He passed over the houses of the people of Israel in Egypt, when He struck the Egyptians but spared our houses.’” And the people bowed their heads and worshiped.
Then the people of Israel went and did so; as the LORD had commanded Moses and Aaron, so they did.
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
Israel is miserable and suffering under the oppression of bondage to Egypt, so they cry out to God. The Lord hears and responds, calling Moses to lead His people to freedom according to the promises He made to their ancestors Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. He tells Moses what His plan is, what the outcome will be, and then sends him to set the plan into action by telling Pharaoh to let His people go to the wilderness to worship and sacrifice.
Just as God said would happen, Pharaoh says no. Pharaoh does not believe the God of Israel is sovereign over him, and furthermore, he thinks the Israelites are just being lazy and trying to get out of work! So he oppresses the Israelites even more, which causes them to be angry with Moses and Aaron and despondent over their situation. Like Pharaoh, God’s people won’t listen either. But neither response will sway the plans God has for His people and what He has promised to do.
In the face of their unbelief, God shows them who He is. He carries out a series of plagues that take away the Egyptians’ comfort, sustenance, livelihood, well-being, health, ability to work, their future, and everything they have on which to depend. He does it ALL so that they will KNOW He is the one sovereign God. Repeatedly with each plague, God tells both Pharaoh and the Israelites why He is sending these plagues…
“…so that you may know that there is no one like the Lord our God.” 8:10
“…that you may know that I am the Lord in the midst of the earth.” 8:22
“…so that you may know that there is none like Me in all the earth.” 9:14
“…to show you My power, so that My name may be proclaimed in all the earth.” 9:16
“…so that you may know that the earth is the Lord’s.” 9:29
“…that you may know that I am the Lord.” 10:2
Stop and consider these words, what God Himself says is important to Him, that all people KNOW He is Lord over everything. All the time, everywhere, over all things, He is the Lord, and there is nothing that can take His place. Whether Egyptian or Israelite, He desires they all know Him and His sovereignty over all things. Think of the trials you are facing in your life right now. Or the trials someone you love is facing. What difference would it make to be 100% certain that God is sovereign over them all? That He has a plan, and He will carry out what He has promised? That He is all powerful to do anything, and you can trust Him?
But here we see that it’s not just about knowing; it’s also about faith and action. We must take what we know about God, believe it to be true, in faith submit to His sovereignty, and act on it. We see this in the different responses of Pharaoh and the Israelites. Pharaoh saw and experienced the same wonders as the Israelites. He was undoubtedly impressed at the power of God, but he did not believe or submit to Him as Lord. The Israelites were far from perfect followers of God; they often doubted Him, grumbled, and rebelled against Him, and yet they responded with belief and action. What set the Israelites apart from the Egyptians in the end was that they believed God’s words. They believed He was sovereign over ALL things, and they demonstrated it by doing what God had commanded.
Before the final plague is carried out, Moses gives the Israelites instructions for the Passover meal and then tells them to eat the meal dressed and fully ready to leave. He says to do it in haste - with urgency and eagerness showing they believe God is sovereign and that what God said will truly come to pass! Despite their doubting, anger, and despair over the trial they were facing, they chose to believe and submit to His sovereignty. In God’s plan for them, not only did these plagues and Passover instructions save their lives, they ultimately saved their faith and drew them back to Him. And that is the same for us. Our trials are also part of God’s plan to draw us to Him and strengthen our faith.
I can guarantee it wasn’t any easier for the Israelites than it is for us. Like the Israelites, how God calls us to live doesn’t make sense in the world we live in now. It is wild and outlandish to believe what we are told in the Bible. To make decisions shaped by the Word of God sets us apart and makes us look foolish to those who don’t believe, even to some who say they believe too. But if you truly believe in God’s sovereignty and believe His Word to be true, then that is how you are called to live. What would it look like for you today to apply this to what you are facing? How might God be drawing you to Him now so that you will know Him better and believe in His sovereignty and power in your life? How are you being challenged to trust in faith and act on God’s Word and commands?
When the king of Egypt was told that the people had fled, the mind of Pharaoh and his servants was changed toward the people, and they said, “What is this we have done, that we have let Israel go from serving us?” So he made ready his chariot and took his army with him, and took six hundred chosen chariots and all the other chariots of Egypt with officers over all of them. And the LORD hardened the heart of Pharaoh king of Egypt, and he pursued the people of Israel while the people of Israel were going out defiantly. The Egyptians pursued them, all Pharaoh’s horses and chariots and his horsemen and his army, and overtook them encamped at the sea, by Pi-hahiroth, in front of Baal-zephon.
When Pharaoh drew near, the people of Israel lifted up their eyes, and behold, the Egyptians were marching after them, and they feared greatly. And the people of Israel cried out to the LORD. They said to Moses, “Is it because there are no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? What have you done to us in bringing us out of Egypt? Is not this what we said to you in Egypt: ‘Leave us alone that we may serve the Egyptians’? For it would have been better for us to serve the Egyptians than to die in the wilderness.” And Moses said to the people, “Fear not, stand firm, and see the salvation of the LORD, which He will work for you today. For the Egyptians whom you see today, you shall never see again. The LORD will fight for you, and you have only to be silent.”
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
The Christian life is a war with many battles that need to be fought. Christians have been freed from sin’s enslaving power, but we are not completely freed from sin’s influence. Sin still seeks to recapture us and lead us away from God in an attempt to destroy us. Therefore, the Christian life is a battle for what controls and influences your heart. You are either being ruled and controlled by God, or you are being ruled and controlled by something else. And the question that Exodus 14 raises is: can God win the battle for your heart?
The book of Exodus gives us the pattern for redemption, and the first thing we need to see is Israel’s deliverance through the sea shows us that our salvation is solely secured by God. Salvation is something given by God, not something gained through human effort. Salvation is something we trust in, not something we try to get. Look at the actions of God and of Israel in verses 13-14 – Israel stands by, they see, and they are silent. God does all the fighting. God does all the defeating and delivering. Salvation is given to you when you stop trusting in yourself and start trusting in the power and strength of God to fight and accomplish it for you.
In verses 1-2 – God led Israel to a place where they are trapped on all sides! Mountains are on either side of them, the sea is in front of them, and Pharaoh and his chariots are pursuing them from behind. Israel is completely trapped with nowhere to go, and God led them to this point! Why? So that Israel would learn that only God’s power can save them. And when God fights for them and destroys Egypt in the sea, all Israel can do is stand by and watch in silence at the greatness of God’s power. Only God can successfully secure our salvation! But we need God to keep us secure in His salvation.
Israel has already been freed from Egypt’s slavery. God’s wrath has already passed over them. They have been delivered out of one kingdom and brought into another, but they are not completely out of danger yet. Pharaoh is still pursuing Israel in order to recapture and destroy Israel. When Israel sees that they are trapped, they complain to God and long to go back to Egypt (verses 11-12). Israel has already been freed from Egypt, but they are still influenced by Egypt!
Is this not true of Christians as well? We have already been rescued and redeemed by the work of Christ, but we are not home yet. We still have sin’s power and influence seeking to recapture and enslave us again. Israel’s experience in the wilderness is a mirror of our experience: Israel was freed from Egypt, but their hearts still desire Egypt. They still long to go back to the things that enslaved them, and so do we! This is why the Christian life is a fight for faith. Because of sin’s power and influence, we all still struggle to believe in the power of God. Like Israel, we need to learn how to STAND on ground already won! The real fight that we all struggle with is not to FORGET who God is and all that He has done to save us from sin’s power and penalty.
We need to fear not! See, stand, and be silent at the foot of the cross, over and over again. We constantly need to look at the place where all of our sin was placed on Jesus, the place where Jesus paid the ransom price for what our sins deserved, and the place where Jesus experienced God’s displeasure and frown so that we would always have God’s delight and smile. In His life, death, and resurrection, Jesus sets us free not just from sin’s penalty but sets us free from our fears: The fear that God is mad at you. The fear that God’s grace will run out. The fear that God doesn’t love you anymore. Fear not! Stand, see, and be silent as you hear Jesus cry out from the cross – “It is finished!”
Then Moses and the people of Israel sang this song to the LORD, saying,
“I will sing to the LORD, for He has triumphed gloriously;
the horse and his rider He has thrown into the sea.
The LORD is my strength and my song,
and He has become my salvation;
this is my God, and I will praise Him,
my father’s God, and I will exalt Him.
The LORD is a man of war;
the LORD is His name.
Pharaoh’s chariots and his host He cast into the sea,
and his chosen officers were sunk in the Red Sea.
The floods covered them;
they went down into the depths like a stone.
Your right hand, O LORD, glorious in power,
Your right hand, O LORD, shatters the enemy.
In the greatness of Your majesty You overthrow Your adversaries;
You send out Your fury; it consumes them like stubble.
At the blast of Your nostrils the waters piled up;
the floods stood up in a heap;
the deeps congealed in the heart of the sea.
The enemy said, ‘I will pursue, I will overtake,
I will divide the spoil, my desire shall have its fill of them.
I will draw my sword; my hand shall destroy them.’
You blew with Your wind; the sea covered them;
they sank like lead in the mighty waters.
Who is like You, O LORD, among the gods?
Who is like You, majestic in holiness,
awesome in glorious deeds, doing wonders?
You stretched out Your right hand;
the earth swallowed them.
You have led in Your steadfast love the people whom You have redeemed;
You have guided them by Your strength to Your holy abode.
The peoples have heard; they tremble;
pangs have seized the inhabitants of Philistia.
Now are the chiefs of Edom dismayed;
trembling seizes the leaders of Moab;
all the inhabitants of Canaan have melted away.
Terror and dread fall upon them;
because of the greatness of Your arm, they are still as a stone,
till Your people, O LORD, pass by,
till the people pass by whom You have purchased.
You will bring them in and plant them on Your own mountain,
the place, O LORD, which You have made for Your abode,
the sanctuary, O Lord, which Your hands have established.
The LORD will reign forever and ever.”
For when the horses of Pharaoh with his chariots and his horsemen went into the sea, the LORD brought back the waters of the sea upon them, but the people of Israel walked on dry ground in the midst of the sea. Then Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a tambourine in her hand, and all the women went out after her with tambourines and dancing. And Miriam sang to them:
“Sing to the LORD, for He has triumphed gloriously;
the horse and his rider He has thrown into the sea.”
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
More and more often in recent days, it seems, believers are feeling overwhelmed by the weight of darkness in a sin-stricken world. We cry out to God to hear us, but He seems silent. Evil appears to grow around us and even inside us. How do we know He hears us?
The Scripture for today is Exodus 15:1-21; we’ll get there eventually, but for now, let’s start at a place that may at first seem to be unrelated: Psalm 77. Here is the complete text.
Psalm 77
To the Choirmaster: according to Jeduthun. A Psalm of Asaph:
I cry aloud to God,
aloud to God, and He will hear me.
2 In the day of my trouble I seek the Lord;
in the night my hand is stretched out without wearying;
my soul refuses to be comforted.
3 When I remember God, I moan;
when I meditate, my spirit faints. Selah
4 You hold my eyelids open;
I am so troubled that I cannot speak.
5 I consider the days of old,
the years long ago.
6 I said, “Let me remember my song in the night;
let me meditate in my heart.”
Then my spirit made a diligent search:
7 “Will the Lord spurn forever,
and never again be favorable?
8 Has His steadfast love forever ceased?
Are His promises at an end for all time?
9 Has God forgotten to be gracious?
Has He in anger shut up His compassion?” Selah
10 Then I said, “I will appeal to this,
to the years of the right hand of the Most High.”
11 I will remember the deeds of the LORD;
yes, I will remember Your wonders of old.
12 I will ponder all Your work,
and meditate on Your mighty deeds.
13 Your way, O God, is holy.
What god is great like our God?
14 You are the God who works wonders;
You have made known Your might among the peoples.
15 You with Your arm redeemed Your people,
the children of Jacob and Joseph.
16 When the waters saw You, O God,
when the waters saw You, they were afraid;
indeed, the deep trembled.
17 The clouds poured out water;
the skies gave forth thunder;
Your arrows flashed on every side.
18 The crash of Your thunder was in the whirlwind;
Your lightnings lighted up the world;
the earth trembled and shook.
19 Your way was through the sea,
Your path through the great waters;
yet Your footprints were unseen.
20 You led Your people like a flock
by the hand of Moses and Aaron.
The psalmist, like us, cries to God and knows that God will hear him, but he feels that He is silent in response – “I cry aloud to God, aloud to God, and He will hear me…Has His steadfast love forever ceased? …Has God forgotten to be gracious?” (verses 1, 8, 9) The psalmist’s recourse is to rehearse the mighty acts of God and, in particular, the Exodus: “You with Your arm redeemed Your people.” (verse 15 and following. Verses 16-20 are a poetic depiction of the passage of the people of Israel through the Red Sea.) The psalmist looks back to God’s saving work in the past for assurance that God will not abandon him in the present. He sees that as God saved His people from Pharoah and the Egyptians in the crossing of the Red Sea, He will save the psalmist himself.
We may not often consider it this way, but as Christians, the Exodus of Israel out of Egypt is our own history too. Firstly, we have been grafted into God’s people (Romans 11), and so the whole story of the people of Israel in the Old Testament is also our story. But there is something even more central to us as Christians: the Exodus itself, and the crossing of the Red Sea in particular, foreshadows the second and greater Exodus that is our salvation in Christ. Passover prefigures Christ’s death on the cross. In the crossing of the Red Sea, the waves of God’s wrath overwhelm Jesus Himself, and we ourselves pass through safely to the other side. Viewed another way, Christ has conquered the ancient enemies of death and sin and, as a new Moses, has led the people of God out of their former captivity.
In fact, the Apostle Paul goes so far as to say that Christ was Himself present to the people of Israel in the Exodus: “For I do not want you to be unaware, brothers, that our fathers were all under the cloud, and all passed through the sea, and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea, and all ate the same spiritual food, and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual Rock that followed them, and the Rock was Christ” (1 Corinthians 10:1-4). As passing through the Red Sea was a kind of baptism for the people of Israel, our new baptism as Christians is in the death of Christ: “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into His death? We were buried therefore with Him by baptism into death, in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life” (Romans 6:3-4). We have been baptized into Christ, and we share in the victory that He won for us.
When Moses sings the song of the victory of God, he is also singing the song of God’s ultimate and complete victory: “Your right hand, O LORD, glorious in power, Your right hand, O LORD, shatters the enemy.” When we feel discouraged and think, “Will the Lord spurn forever, and never again be favorable?” (Psalm 77:7), we must recall that we have been baptized into Christ. He has the victory! Like the people of Israel, though we may feel that God has “taken us away to die in the wilderness,” whether that wilderness is the darkness of evil in the world or sin in our lives, though we may feel that our backs are to the sea and all our enemies pursue us, we must look back to the saving work of Christ, and His commitment to his people, whom He passed through the waters of the wrath of God to save.
At the end of his song, referring to “the people whom You have purchased” (Exodus 15:16), Moses says, “You will bring them in and plant them on Your own mountain, the place, O LORD, which You have made for your abode, the sanctuary, O LORD, which Your hands have established. The LORD will reign forever and ever” (Exodus 15:17-18). We have here in the early days of God’s people a foretaste of the eventual and complete Kingdom of God, more completely revealed by the Apostle John:
“Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them, and they will be His people, and God Himself will be with them as their God.” (Revelation 20:1-3)
Whatever our circumstances now, this is our story – Christ has already won the victory, and we have a home already in the new city of God, where He will reign forever and ever.
Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God so that at the proper time He may exalt you, casting all your anxieties on Him, because He cares for you. Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world. And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. To Him be the dominion forever and ever. Amen.
Sam is the Assistant Pastor of Missions at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He previously served as an overseas missionary in Rome, Italy, with Agape Italia and helped launch student movements across the country. He completed his theological education at Reformed Theological Seminary in New York City and pastoral ministry training at Redeemer Presbyterian Church’s City to City training program. Sam and his wife Kimberly have three daughters: Eloise, Evelyn, and Emory.
It’s a Monday morning, and you have taken many steps to get yourself to your office, to get your kids through the carpool line, or to be motivated to get some work done at home. Ready for your week, you see the first human being that you will see that week, and you hear “the question:” “How are you?” The question is a simple enough question, and one that has a plethora of socially acceptable responses: “fine,” “good,” if you are feeling very chipper “splendid,” and if things are really abysmal “ok.” For the most part, the interaction is supposed to be a warm and polite greeting and an acknowledgment that even though humans are in a place together, we all show up differently. But, in this everyday example, I feel the tension of our inability as humans to share when things are hard. Whatever you want to call them, sufferings, problems, or trials, we all have them. Our surface-level response to them reveals that we don’t just have a hard time as we walk through them but also as we try to reflect on them and relate to others about our problems.
If we want to continue to remember God’s story of rescue of the Israelites at the Red Sea and how He moved them from fear to freedom, and if we are to understand what happens next in the narrative after the Israelites move out of Egypt on the journey to the promised land, then taking a look at our own views of trials in life will be necessary. Humility is the thrust of this passage, as that is the command Peter uses, and his phrase “under the mighty hand of God” is probably referring to the Exodus event, connecting the believers to whom he was writing to the sovereignty of God to save us His people. But before the sentence is even over, Peter not only points to the sovereignty of God, but he also then reminds us of God’s care for us. We can cast our anxieties on Jesus because He cares to hear them. God doesn’t just place us on roads of suffering, but He sends us there that we may learn to walk with Him on the road of suffering.
Then Peter talks about the lion, the devil, who is prowling around, trying to devour us. If the devil is principally the liar, the one who deceives, then the lion’s teeth and claws are the lies we believe about suffering. I think a common lie is “I must have done something wrong in my life to deserve this trial.” Now this one is a bit complicated, because all our choices do result in consequences, but the root of the lie is not really about us knowing whose fault the suffering is. The result of this lie is not clarity about the cause of suffering, but rather isolation from God and others. We think that because we have done something to cause this situation to be, we can’t ask God and others for help.
Another common attack of the lion is “suffering isn’t even supposed to be a part of life, so I am just going to shape my mind and life so as to eliminate suffering from it.” In our quest for greatness, as modern men and women we have decided that we can overcome suffering by avoiding it at all costs and labeling the suffering as part of some antiquated system of thinking that can be taken down through new ways of thinking and avoidance. The lie here is that suffering can be avoided if we think harder, organize our lives better, or just say no to anything that brings us pain. The lion devours us here in that he robs us of living life under God’s control, and it just doesn’t work.
The truth that Peter is encouraging us to remember is that as Christians we are called to be united in our sufferings, knowing that in comparison to an eternity spent with Jesus these sufferings are “for a little while.” As God makes all things right, He will ultimately “restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish us.” Restore means to make things that are wrong right or to make things right. Confirm refers to making real that which we have believed all along. Strengthen here is about preparing us for something greater. And establish is what God does when He places us in His Kingdom that reigns forever.
There is an extremely rare verb that Peter uses in 1 Peter 5:5 that sets up this passage. Peter is using some Greek grammar rules to modify a verb so that this version of it only occurs in one place in the New Testament. He is trying to describe how it is we are supposed to humble ourselves, and in English, we translate it “clothe yourselves.” I think Peter is creating a unique verb, because he is remembering a unique experience with a unique person, and he must find a unique way of referring to it. Peter saw humility being clothed when Christ took off His robes with which He would wash the feet of the disciples. Peter saw humility being clothed when Christ had His clothes being divided amongst the Roman soldiers as He hung nearly naked on a cross. So our humility is not merely a moral perseverance, but it is remembering our Savior who not only showed us what humility looked like but took off His own righteousness so that we may be able to wear it. That’s humility and one that can’t be merely performed but must be received as we clothe ourselves in Christ.
Remembering our stories of how God has brought us from a place of fear to a place of freedom allows us to exchange our view of sufferings as something to be escaped from into something that God can use to strengthen our faith and to meet us in. It reminds us of our salvation, and it encourages us to remember that the final rescue is coming when He will restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish us forever. I think we are supposed to share our sufferings with God and with God’s people. It gives us a chance to return to true thinking about suffering and allows God’s grace to minister to us when we need it most. May God use our sufferings for His greater purposes in our own lives and in the places He sends us to.
Then Moses made Israel set out from the Red Sea, and they went into the wilderness of Shur. They went three days in the wilderness and found no water. When they came to Marah, they could not drink the water of Marah because it was bitter; therefore it was named Marah. And the people grumbled against Moses, saying, “What shall we drink?” And he cried to the LORD, and the LORD showed him a log, and he threw it into the water, and the water became sweet.
There the LORD made for them a statute and a rule, and there He tested them, saying, “If you will diligently listen to the voice of the LORD your God, and do that which is right in His eyes, and give ear to His commandments and keep all His statutes, I will put none of the diseases on you that I put on the Egyptians, for I am the LORD, your healer.”
They set out from Elim, and all the congregation of the people of Israel came to the wilderness of Sin, which is between Elim and Sinai, on the fifteenth day of the second month after they had departed from the land of Egypt. And the whole congregation of the people of Israel grumbled against Moses and Aaron in the wilderness, and the people of Israel said to them, “Would that we had died by the hand of the LORD in the land of Egypt, when we sat by the meat pots and ate bread to the full, for you have brought us out into this wilderness to kill this whole assembly with hunger.”
Then the LORD said to Moses, “Behold, I am about to rain bread from heaven for you, and the people shall go out and gather a day’s portion every day, that I may test them, whether they will walk in My law or not. On the sixth day, when they prepare what they bring in, it will be twice as much as they gather daily.” So Moses and Aaron said to all the people of Israel, “At evening you shall know that it was the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, and in the morning you shall see the glory of the LORD, because He has heard your grumbling against the LORD. For what are we, that you grumble against us?” And Moses said, “When the LORD gives you in the evening meat to eat and in the morning bread to the full, because the LORD has heard your grumbling that you grumble against Him—what are we? Your grumbling is not against us but against the LORD.”
All the congregation of the people of Israel moved on from the wilderness of Sin by stages, according to the commandment of the LORD, and camped at Rephidim, but there was no water for the people to drink. Therefore the people quarreled with Moses and said, “Give us water to drink.” And Moses said to them, “Why do you quarrel with me? Why do you test the LORD?” But the people thirsted there for water, and the people grumbled against Moses and said, “Why did you bring us up out of Egypt, to kill us and our children and our livestock with thirst?” So Moses cried to the LORD, “What shall I do with this people? They are almost ready to stone me.” And the LORD said to Moses, “Pass on before the people, taking with you some of the elders of Israel, and take in your hand the staff with which you struck the Nile, and go. Behold, I will stand before you there on the rock at Horeb, and you shall strike the rock, and water shall come out of it, and the people will drink.” And Moses did so, in the sight of the elders of Israel. And he called the name of the place Massah and Meribah, because of the quarreling of the people of Israel, and because they tested the LORD by saying, “Is the LORD among us or not?”
Leslie and her husband, David, have 3 children and 4 grandchildren who are the joy of her life. She loves to be outside any chance she gets, especially if that involves hiking, walking, or gardening.
When I was growing up, my parents had a small refrigerator magnet that said, “God has not lost His recipe for manna.” Even though I didn’t fully understand that concept as a child, I grew to understand my parents’ trust in God, that He would provide our family’s needs. I watched my parents turn to the Lord when times were tough financially, and I saw the amazing things God did to provide for our family. As a child, I didn’t feel the pressure, the need, or the fear that my parents felt, but seeing how they responded modeled trust in God to me. Their trust taught me to believe God saw us, heard our prayers, and acted on our behalf, often in surprising ways. One of the ways we saw a miraculous provision was a package for our family dropped anonymously at my grandparents' door while we were having Christmas Eve dinner. In the package were five $100 bills!
God also taught the Israelites to trust Him when He delivered them out of Egypt. In this Exodus passage, we see the Israelites experiencing hunger and thirst in the desert. Their response is to grumble and test God. They accuse Moses of bringing them out to die in the desert. They irrationally remember Egypt and slavery as something they would like to go back to, forgetting their horrible misery and God’s miraculous deliverance through the Red Sea. We do the same thing. In our need and pain, we accuse and grumble against God. Tim Keller said, "We often ask, 'What has God done for me lately?'” We forget the deliverance and provision God has shown us in the past. Especially, we forget His lavish mercy and grace shown to us in Jesus. We forget how much God loves us, demonstrated in that while we were sinners, Christ died for us.
Despite the Israelites’ grumbling, God had mercy on them. He heard their grumbling. He provided them with miraculous daily bread - manna - “bread from heaven.” God faithfully gave them manna every day for 40 years. He also provided much-needed water from the rock. Water gushed from the rock. Both of these provisions are beautiful pictures of Jesus Himself, who said, “I am the bread from heaven. I am the bread of life.” (John 6:33, 35) and “If anyone thirsts, let him come to me and drink.” (John 7:37) In God’s abundant and faithful provision, He is showing them He is always with them, giving Himself to His children.
Why does God give them this test of hunger and thirst? Moses explains in Deuteronomy 8:3, “And He [God] humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.” And in Exodus 16:6, “So Moses and Aaron said to all the people of Israel, ‘At evening you shall know that it was the LORD who brought you out of the land of Egypt, and in the morning, you shall see the glory of the LORD, because He has heard your grumbling against the LORD.’”
Did they believe God was as essential to them as bread and water? Do we believe He is that essential to us each day? Just like we eat meals three times a day, we need to feed on Him every day. We can’t eat all our meals on Sunday and none during the week. God uses painful circumstances to teach His people to trust Him and trust His ways. He wants our need to cause us to see Him as our provision. He wants our needs to show His sufficiency. “Can God spread a table in the desert?”(Psalm 78:19) YES! “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies.” (Psalm 23:5) He is the One who satisfies our hunger and thirst. He is the One who says “Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with Me.” (Revelation 3:20)
“Your words came, and I ate them, for they were my joy and my heart’s delight.” (Jeremiah 15:16) “Open wide your mouth, and I will fill it.” (Psalm 81:10) He knows the best way to provide, and He always gives us Himself. What has God done for me lately? Everything. He gives me Himself every day.
On the third new moon after the people of Israel had gone out of the land of Egypt, on that day they came into the wilderness of Sinai. They set out from Rephidim and came into the wilderness of Sinai, and they encamped in the wilderness. There Israel encamped before the mountain, while Moses went up to God. The LORD called to him out of the mountain, saying, “Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the people of Israel: ‘You yourselves have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles’ wings and brought you to Myself. Now therefore, if you will indeed obey My voice and keep My covenant, you shall be My treasured possession among all peoples, for all the earth is Mine; and you shall be to Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation.’ These are the words that you shall speak to the people of Israel.”
So Moses came and called the elders of the people and set before them all these words that the LORD had commanded him. All the people answered together and said, “All that the LORD has spoken we will do.” And Moses reported the words of the people to the LORD. And the LORD said to Moses, “Behold, I am coming to you in a thick cloud, that the people may hear when I speak with you, and may also believe you forever.”
Kenna Gaw is a Resident for Middle School at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. She graduated from TCU with a degree in Youth Advocacy and Educational Studies with an emphasis on Criminal Justice and afterwards attended the Kanakuk Institute. Kenna’s passions include encouraging young girls in their faith and identity in Christ, wake surfing on the lake, and learning how to cook. Kenna is newly married to her husband, David.
The Israelites were expectant to go somewhere better than Egypt, and then the Lord led them to the wilderness, which arguably was just as bad or even worse. This is where God decided to deliver His covenant to Moses to share with His people. In this, they would be reminded of God’s faithfulness, His commands, and His promises.
This is so often our story of grace as well; we submit our lives to God and things don’t magically get perfect. They actually seem to get worse sometimes. I went through a season where God allowed me to spend nine months getting to study His Word and be surrounded by others who were seeking to do the same thing at the Kanakuk Institute. But for me, that is where my journey with anxiety really began. In an environment where I was growing closer to the Lord more than ever, I was feeling the weakest I had ever felt, because my anxiety was crippling to me in every aspect. This allowed me to truly depend on God, knowing I had nothing to bring to the table, and He still loved me the same. This allowed me to trust in the promises of who God says He is, who I am in being His, and to cling to that truth over the anxiety that I felt. This allowed me to ask God the hard questions and wrestle, knowing that I could cling to the promises that He is unchanging, and He will never leave me or forsake me. Because of this season that was a wilderness for me, where God showed me more of Himself, I know Him and love Him more deeply. It was in the wilderness that God revealed His faithfulness and continued to do so for the Israelites. No matter where we are or how bad circumstances may seem, we look to a God that has proved to be faithful over and over again.
And who does God say He is? Further ahead in Exodus 34 is my favorite text in the Bible. Verses 6-7 say, “The Lord passed before him and proclaimed, ‘The Lord, the Lord, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children's children, to the third and the fourth generation.’” This is the character of the God we seek, the God that knows us, loves us, and sent His son to take our place so that we may be saved through His Son's righteousness. Thanks be to God! This is the God who calls us His own and in whom our identity rests securely. May we remind ourselves daily that this is the One who we live for and who we are fully known and loved by.
We also can notice an important detail here in the text – the Israelites were not saved after they obeyed God; they were saved before it. We know reading further in the text that the Israelites' faith probably wouldn’t be marked by the word “faithful” either. But would ours? What is comforting in our failures to trust and sometimes even failures to believe is that God is who He says He is, whether we believe it or not, and He is faithful, whether we are or not. He remains the same. Hebrews 13 says that Jesus Christ is the same, yesterday, today, and forever. The God we serve is never changing, always faithful, always reliable, and perfect in every way. We can hold fast to the faithfulness of our God because He is the hope we look to, and not ourselves. May we seek His face and His kingdom before anything else, in all aspects of our hearts and lives.
Lastly, how do we get to this point of knowing we need a faithful God like this? John Newton once said, “No one ever recognized he was a sinner by being told.” We must be shown our sin; we won’t receive it just by being told. I grew up in an incredibly God-fearing home, and I did not truly see my need for a Savior until college. I don’t know when that moment was for you, but what I do know is once you truly meet Christ, it changes everything. As believers, we get to experience grace and freedom unlike anything else because of the free gift of salvation that God has given us through His son. Because God has allowed us to receive salvation through Christ alone, we see our sin, and instead of it crushing us, we get to experience the fullness of God, His forgiveness, and His redemption from our own sin. We can rest in the truth that it doesn’t depend on us, but He alone sustains us. He remains our faithful Father and will continue to fulfill every single one of His promises. We can rejoice in getting to know Him more daily, being fully loved by, and delighted in by our holy, perfect, almighty God for all our days.
When the people saw that Moses delayed to come down from the mountain, the people gathered themselves together to Aaron and said to him, “Up, make us gods who shall go before us. As for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.” So Aaron said to them, “Take off the rings of gold that are in the ears of your wives, your sons, and your daughters, and bring them to me.” So all the people took off the rings of gold that were in their ears and brought them to Aaron. And he received the gold from their hand and fashioned it with a graving tool and made a golden calf. And they said, “These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!” When Aaron saw this, he built an altar before it. And Aaron made a proclamation and said, “Tomorrow shall be a feast to the LORD.” And they rose up early the next day and offered burnt offerings and brought peace offerings. And the people sat down to eat and drink and rose up to play.
And the LORD said to Moses, “Go down, for your people, whom you brought up out of the land of Egypt, have corrupted themselves. They have turned aside quickly out of the way that I commanded them. They have made for themselves a golden calf and have worshiped it and sacrificed to it and said, ‘These are your gods, O Israel, who brought you up out of the land of Egypt!’” And the LORD said to Moses, “I have seen this people, and behold, it is a stiff-necked people. Now therefore let Me alone, that My wrath may burn hot against them and I may consume them, in order that I may make a great nation of you.”
But Moses implored the LORD his God and said, “O LORD, why does Your wrath burn hot against Your people, whom You have brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and with a mighty hand? Why should the Egyptians say, ‘With evil intent did He bring them out, to kill them in the mountains and to consume them from the face of the earth’? Turn from Your burning anger and relent from this disaster against Your people. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, Your servants, to whom You swore by Your own self, and said to them, ‘I will multiply your offspring as the stars of heaven, and all this land that I have promised I will give to your offspring, and they shall inherit it forever.’” And the LORD relented from the disaster that He had spoken of bringing on His people.
Then Moses turned and went down from the mountain with the two tablets of the testimony in his hand, tablets that were written on both sides; on the front and on the back they were written. The tablets were the work of God, and the writing was the writing of God, engraved on the tablets. When Joshua heard the noise of the people as they shouted, he said to Moses, “There is a noise of war in the camp.” But he said, “It is not the sound of shouting for victory, or the sound of the cry of defeat, but the sound of singing that I hear.” And as soon as he came near the camp and saw the calf and the dancing, Moses’ anger burned hot, and he threw the tablets out of his hands and broke them at the foot of the mountain. He took the calf that they had made and burned it with fire and ground it to powder and scattered it on the water and made the people of Israel drink it.
And Moses said to Aaron, “What did this people do to you that you have brought such a great sin upon them?” And Aaron said, “Let not the anger of my lord burn hot. You know the people, that they are set on evil. For they said to me, ‘Make us gods who shall go before us. As for this Moses, the man who brought us up out of the land of Egypt, we do not know what has become of him.’ So I said to them, ‘Let any who have gold take it off.’ So they gave it to me, and I threw it into the fire, and out came this calf.”
The next day Moses said to the people, “You have sinned a great sin. And now I will go up to the LORD; perhaps I can make atonement for your sin.” So Moses returned to the LORD and said, “Alas, this people has sinned a great sin. They have made for themselves gods of gold. But now, if You will forgive their sin—but if not, please blot me out of Your book that you have written.” But the LORD said to Moses, “Whoever has sinned against Me, I will blot out of my book. But now go, lead the people to the place about which I have spoken to you; behold, My angel shall go before you. Nevertheless, in the day when I visit, I will visit their sin upon them.”
Then the LORD sent a plague on the people, because they made the calf, the one that Aaron made.
Ross is the PCPC High School Resident for freshmen and sophomore guys. He is a former PCPC Covenant Child and current member of the church. He is pursuing his calling of pastorship at Reformed Theological Seminary - Dallas. Ross loves his wife Margie, his family and friends, God’s Word, and all things story (reading, writing, acting, etc.)!
This is a brutal and terrifying story.
Moses delays with God up on the mountain for forty days, receiving the ten commandment tablets and instructions for the Tabernacle. Meanwhile, the people on the plain down below become impatient and - after being miraculously delivered from Egypt, provided for in the wilderness, and witnessing the glory of the LORD on the mountain - entreat Aaron to make an idol for them to worship instead of God. Aaron complies, and the golden calf is made, worshiped, and celebrated with a sumptuous feast and afterparty. God’s anger, rightfully, burns hot, and He announces a plan to destroy His people and start over with Moses like He did with Noah, fulfilling His promises to the patriarchs through Moses’ children. But Moses intercedes for the people and appeals to the LORD’s mercy and faithfulness, and the LORD relents. However, the people are still visited with the punishments of executions, plague, and literally drinking the consequence of their sin.
I’m not gonna lie, this is a God that I often forget is THE God, and not one whom I want to mess with. It makes me cold and clammy with fear to read about His wrath against such a seemingly simple sin as idolatry… especially when the accompanying activities are ones that I so often devote my time and energies to: feasting and fun! This is a sobering reminder of the holiness of God: “You are not a God who delights in wickedness; evil may not dwell with You.” (Psalm 5:4) Yet, praise the LORD, every reminder of the good fear of the LORD is meant to lead us into thankful worship and peace in the gospel: “But with You there is forgiveness, that You may be feared.” (Psalm 130:4) “But this I call to mind, and therefore I have hope: The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness.” (Lamentations 3:21-23)
It is here that the fulfilled and better promises of the New Covenant in Jesus’ blood become sweeter to me than the old wine of the Mosaic Covenant. For we all, like the people down on the plain, have gone and often still go astray after idols, like sheep without a shepherd. But we have the Good Shepherd, the better intercessor than Moses, who continually pleads for our innocence at the right hand of the Father because of the Triune God’s love for us. He holds up His nail-scarred hands as a reminder that He was executed in our place for our sins. He indicates His pierced side as proof that He took our illnesses and bore our plague. Through His death and resurrection, He testifies that He drank the wrath of God - the consequence for our sins - down to the very dregs, and when He was through, wiped His mouth and said, “It is finished.”
What a marvelous, beautiful, and kind Savior we have in God. Please join me in praising Him today for His gospel of forgiveness that encourages me to endure in the fear of Him through consistent communion with Him, and comforts me in my failures to do so with the good news that I - unlike the people of Israel who served as examples for us - will never taste the fruit of my sin, because God ate it Himself and in exchange gave me the fellowship meal of Himself. “Oh, taste and see that the LORD is good! Blessed is the man who takes refuge in Him!” (Psalm 34:8)
Soli Deo gloria.
Now Moses used to take the tent and pitch it outside the camp, far off from the camp, and he called it the tent of meeting. And everyone who sought the LORD would go out to the tent of meeting, which was outside the camp. Whenever Moses went out to the tent, all the people would rise up, and each would stand at his tent door, and watch Moses until he had gone into the tent. When Moses entered the tent, the pillar of cloud would descend and stand at the entrance of the tent, and the LORD would speak with Moses. And when all the people saw the pillar of cloud standing at the entrance of the tent, all the people would rise up and worship, each at his tent door. Thus the LORD used to speak to Moses face to face, as a man speaks to his friend. When Moses turned again into the camp, his assistant Joshua the son of Nun, a young man, would not depart from the tent.
Moses said to the LORD, “See, You say to me, ‘Bring up this people,’ but You have not let me know whom You will send with me. Yet You have said, ‘I know you by name, and you have also found favor in My sight.’ Now therefore, if I have found favor in Your sight, please show me now Your ways, that I may know You in order to find favor in Your sight. Consider too that this nation is Your people.” And He said, “My presence will go with you, and I will give you rest.” And he said to Him, “If Your presence will not go with me, do not bring us up from here. For how shall it be known that I have found favor in Your sight, I and your people? Is it not in Your going with us, so that we are distinct, I and Your people, from every other people on the face of the earth?”
And the LORD said to Moses, “This very thing that you have spoken I will do, for you have found favor in My sight, and I know you by name.” Moses said, “Please show me Your glory.” And He said, “I will make all My goodness pass before you and will proclaim before you My name ‘The LORD.’ And I will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will show mercy on whom I will show mercy. But,” He said, “you cannot see My face, for man shall not see Me and live.” And the LORD said, “Behold, there is a place by Me where you shall stand on the rock, and while My glory passes by I will put you in a cleft of the rock, and I will cover you with My hand until I have passed by. Then I will take away My hand, and you shall see My back, but My face shall not be seen.”
Reynolds serves as the Resident for Young Adults at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He attended the Kanakuk Institute after graduating from Baylor University. Reynolds’s passions include discipleship, the outdoors, and intellectual formation.
Do you long for the presence of God?
Moses knew God’s presence among them is what made Israel distinct (Exodus 33:16). He knew that God, not the land He promised or the things in it, was Israel’s promised portion (Exodus 29:45-46). Without God’s presence, both Israel and the land God promised would lose their meaning. They were God’s, and He was theirs.
Do you ache and yearn to see His face, to know Him—not the blessings He brings or the gifts He bestows—but He Himself and the glorious splendor of His majesty? Is He the One who hears your cries in the dead of night, when the grief, the pain, the loneliness, the stress, the weariness, and the weight of this broken world seem too much to bear? Do you long to see Him as your most intimate Friend, the One who knows you more deeply than anyone ever will and loves you more completely, more fully, than anyone ever could? Do you see Him as your portion forever (Psalm 73:26)? Whether we feel or acknowledge this at any given moment, the blessed truth is that He is! Take a moment to reflect.
On Mount Sinai and in the Tent of Meeting, Moses knew the presence of the Lord. Knowing God, he longed to know Him more. He sought His glory—His face. God’s presence defined Israel and shaped Moses’s life and longing.
Moses did not see the face of God, but we are the children of the New Covenant and have the unspeakable opportunity of beholding the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ (2 Corinthians 4:6). Moses stood on a rock, and God hid him in the cleft of the rock, but we stand on the Rock—Christ and His finished work—and our lives are hidden in the cleft of Christ (Colossians 3:3). Yet, even now, “we see in a mirror dimly,” but the Day is coming when we will see Him face to face (1 Corinthians 13:12) — “No longer will there be anything accursed, but the throne of God and of the Lamb will be in it, and His servants will worship Him. They will see His face, and His name will be on their foreheads. And night will be no more. They will need no light of lamp or sun, for the Lord God will be their light, and they will reign forever and ever.” (Revelation 22:3-5)
Let us long to see His face on that Day.
The LORD said to Moses, “Cut for yourself two tablets of stone like the first, and I will write on the tablets the words that were on the first tablets, which you broke. Be ready by the morning, and come up in the morning to Mount Sinai, and present yourself there to Me on the top of the mountain. No one shall come up with you, and let no one be seen throughout all the mountain. Let no flocks or herds graze opposite that mountain.” So Moses cut two tablets of stone like the first. And he rose early in the morning and went up on Mount Sinai, as the LORD had commanded him, and took in his hand two tablets of stone. The LORD descended in the cloud and stood with him there, and proclaimed the name of the LORD. The LORD passed before him and proclaimed, “The LORD, the LORD, a God merciful and gracious, slow to anger, and abounding in steadfast love and faithfulness, keeping steadfast love for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin, but who will by no means clear the guilty, visiting the iniquity of the fathers on the children and the children’s children, to the third and the fourth generation.” And Moses quickly bowed his head toward the earth and worshiped. And he said, “If now I have found favor in Your sight, O Lord, please let the Lord go in the midst of us, for it is a stiff-necked people, and pardon our iniquity and our sin, and take us for Your inheritance.”
And He said, “Behold, I am making a covenant. Before all your people I will do marvels, such as have not been created in all the earth or in any nation. And all the people among whom you are shall see the work of the LORD, for it is an awesome thing that I will do with you.
Observe what I command you this day. Behold, I will drive out before you the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites. Take care, lest you make a covenant with the inhabitants of the land to which you go, lest it become a snare in your midst."
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
One afternoon in 1960 or 1961, President John F. Kennedy visited Albuquerque, New Mexico, traveling in a motorcade up Central Avenue. As a child my husband lived less than a mile from the route, and, hearing where the President would be, his mother rushed her four children into the car and raced to Central, because this was a chance, even in Albuquerque, to see the President in person. The motorcade moved fast, but my husband remembers his glance at that famous, smiling profile—in person.
Moses knew God well. He met with God regularly in a tent outside Israel’s encampment. The LORD’s presence would appear near the tent’s entrance in a pillar of cloud. The people worshiped as God spoke to Moses “face to face, as a man speaks to his friend.”
The Israelites had sinned terribly by worshiping a golden calf while Moses was with God on Mt. Sinai. Now God announced He would not accompany them to their land, but would send an angel to guide them. God had brought Moses out of Egyptian slavery, across the Red Sea, past the people’s cries and complaints, and even through the catastrophe of the golden calf. Yet this was the worst crisis of all—that God would not personally go with them.
Moses pleaded with God to not send them at all if He wouldn’t go with them. Moses began his entreaty, however, by asking, “now show me Your ways, that I may know You,” seeking deeper knowledge for greater favor with God.
God agreed to remain with His people, but now within Moses, even in his nation’s great need, a holy passion ignited, and he asked God, “Please, show me Your glory.”
What is your great need from God today? Is there a new emergency? Is there a career conflict; is a relationship crashing? Is there a health crisis? Do you need God to act, and so that is your intense prayer? Yes! But, like Moses, the sudden or accumulating needs in your life may be the backdrop for new light on God’s character and a new desire for that light within you.
God called Moses up to Mt. Sinai again, and in wondrous response to Moses’ prayer, appeared before His overwhelmed servant, protecting Moses in the cleft of a great rock. With Moses seeing only His “back,” God manifested His glory, His multiplied, magnificent goodness. And as He did, He spoke, identifying Himself as merciful and gracious—withholding the blame and punishment His people deserve and granting them favor they don’t deserve. God said He is not some cruel tyrant but is slow to anger. He overflows in faithfulness and love that keep covenant, despite the failures of those He loves. He forgives sin. He does not tolerate sin, but He forgives it. His perfect justice establishes consequences of sin, sadly observable through generations; yet His grace reaches so much farther!
How can God be perfectly gracious and perfectly just? He would place the guilt of all His people’s sin on His perfect Son on the cross, fulfilling justice and accomplishing His people’s redemption. No other love could be so full and so good.
Could your pressing need, which God wants you to express to Him, be also the context for a new open window to His character and His glory, revealing Him in ways you have never seen before?
Heavenly Father, show us Your ways so that we may know You. In grace, show us the manifold marvels of Your beautiful, excellent, pure goodness. Show us Your glory.
The LORD spoke to Moses, saying, “Send men to spy out the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the people of Israel. From each tribe of their fathers you shall send a man, every one a chief among them.”
At the end of forty days they returned from spying out the land. And they came to Moses and Aaron and to all the congregation of the people of Israel in the wilderness of Paran, at Kadesh. They brought back word to them and to all the congregation, and showed them the fruit of the land. And they told him, “We came to the land to which you sent us. It flows with milk and honey, and this is its fruit. However, the people who dwell in the land are strong, and the cities are fortified and very large. And besides, we saw the descendants of Anak there. The Amalekites dwell in the land of the Negeb. The Hittites, the Jebusites, and the Amorites dwell in the hill country. And the Canaanites dwell by the sea, and along the Jordan.”
But Caleb quieted the people before Moses and said, “Let us go up at once and occupy it, for we are well able to overcome it.” Then the men who had gone up with him said, “We are not able to go up against the people, for they are stronger than we are.” So they brought to the people of Israel a bad report of the land that they had spied out, saying, “The land, through which we have gone to spy it out, is a land that devours its inhabitants, and all the people that we saw in it are of great height. And there we saw the Nephilim (the sons of Anak, who come from the Nephilim), and we seemed to ourselves like grasshoppers, and so we seemed to them.”
Then all the congregation raised a loud cry, and the people wept that night. And all the people of Israel grumbled against Moses and Aaron. The whole congregation said to them, “Would that we had died in the land of Egypt! Or would that we had died in this wilderness! Why is the LORD bringing us into this land, to fall by the sword? Our wives and our little ones will become a prey. Would it not be better for us to go back to Egypt?” And they said to one another, “Let us choose a leader and go back to Egypt.”
Then Moses and Aaron fell on their faces before all the assembly of the congregation of the people of Israel. And Joshua the son of Nun and Caleb the son of Jephunneh, who were among those who had spied out the land, tore their clothes and said to all the congregation of the people of Israel, “The land, which we passed through to spy it out, is an exceedingly good land. If the LORD delights in us, He will bring us into this land and give it to us, a land that flows with milk and honey. Only do not rebel against the LORD. And do not fear the people of the land, for they are bread for us. Their protection is removed from them, and the LORD is with us; do not fear them.” Then all the congregation said to stone them with stones. But the glory of the LORD appeared at the tent of meeting to all the people of Israel.
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
In Numbers 13 and 14, the Lord sent twelve men “to spy out the land of Canaan” (Numbers 13:2), and “at the end of forty days they returned” (Numbers 13:25). Ten of the twelve men reported that the land was good, but they added that the people of the land were strong, and the cities were fortified and large (Numbers 13:27-28). This majority report made sense from a human perspective. The ten spies simply shared what they saw as they looked around at the land, the people, and the culture. It was a good location, yes. But in their estimation, it was simply too hard to move into the neighborhood. The Israelites were in the wilderness, but they were standing on the threshold of the Promised Land…and they chose unbelief over belief. The ten didn’t even mention the Lord in their report. The fruit of the land was alluring, the people of the land were intimidating, but the Lord of the land was forgotten. Only Caleb and Joshua offered a dissenting voice. They saw the same land and people, but with eyes of faith they saw more. They remembered the Lord—His promises, His presence, and His power (Numbers 13:30, 14:6-10). By trusting in His faithfulness, these two men were faithful in a faithless generation.
The wilderness is never easy. Ever since Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden, the world has felt more like wilderness than paradise. The wilderness is the space between promise and fulfillment, the wasteland where we’re tempted to doubt God’s promises and think crazy thoughts. In the wilderness, the Israelites started to like the idea of returning to Egypt (Numbers 14:1-4). In the wilderness, Satan tempted Jesus to abandon His mission (Matthew 4:1-11; Luke 4:1-13). Humans have always failed the test of the wilderness, but where we failed, Jesus succeeded, both in the desert and on the cross. Imagine all of humanity coming together to offer a majority report at the cross. We doubted, rejected, and slandered the Son of God. And yet this one Man was faithful, even to death. Jesus provided the ultimate minority report about the God of perfect love and justice. This God has done everything necessary to rescue His people and bring them into the promised land of His presence forever. Do we believe this?
In the wilderness of this world, we’re tempted to believe the majority report of the people around us. We absorb and then echo the slander of the world. God is not here. God is not good. What we do in life does not matter. Like the Israelites, we see the life the Lord is offering, but we lose sight of the Lord and focus on all the obstacles. God becomes small, and people and problems look like giants walking the earth. What are the “giants” that fill up our vision and lead us to give a report that doesn’t even mention the Lord and King of all the earth (Joshua 3:13, Psalm 47:7)?
How do we not lose heart when the majority sees things so differently? Joshua and Caleb—and especially Jesus—remind us that the Lord is always working through a faithful remnant. We may feel like a voice crying in the wilderness, but that doesn’t mean we’re wrong. As we look to the Lord, He can give us the courage to cling to His promises and to remain faithful in the wilderness. He can give us the conviction that the wilderness is not our permanent address. The Scriptures allow us to “spy out the land,” and the glory that is to come is greater than anything Canaan had to offer. Soon Jesus will return and make all things new. On that day, the folly of unbelief and wisdom of belief will be obvious. And until that day, we have the privilege of being a light in this dark world. Of all people, shouldn’t we be filled with dissenting hope?
Why are you cast down, O my soul,
and why are you in turmoil within me?
Hope in God; for I shall again praise Him,
my salvation and my God.
Psalm 42:5
Now Korah the son of Izhar, son of Kohath, son of Levi, and Dathan and Abiram the sons of Eliab, and On the son of Peleth, sons of Reuben, took men. And they rose up before Moses, with a number of the people of Israel, 250 chiefs of the congregation, chosen from the assembly, well-known men. They assembled themselves together against Moses and against Aaron and said to them, “You have gone too far! For all in the congregation are holy, every one of them, and the LORD is among them. Why then do you exalt yourselves above the assembly of the LORD?” When Moses heard it, he fell on his face, and he said to Korah and all his company, “In the morning the LORD will show who is His, and who is holy, and will bring him near to Him. The one whom He chooses He will bring near to Him.
The LORD spoke to Moses, saying, “Speak to the people of Israel, and get from them staffs, one for each fathers’ house, from all their chiefs according to their fathers’ houses, twelve staffs. Write each man’s name on his staff, and write Aaron’s name on the staff of Levi. For there shall be one staff for the head of each fathers’ house. Then you shall deposit them in the tent of meeting before the testimony, where I meet with you. And the staff of the man whom I choose shall sprout. Thus I will make to cease from Me the grumblings of the people of Israel, which they grumble against you.” Moses spoke to the people of Israel. And all their chiefs gave him staffs, one for each chief, according to their fathers’ houses, twelve staffs. And the staff of Aaron was among their staffs. And Moses deposited the staffs before the LORD in the tent of the testimony.
On the next day Moses went into the tent of the testimony, and behold, the staff of Aaron for the house of Levi had sprouted and put forth buds and produced blossoms, and it bore ripe almonds. Then Moses brought out all the staffs from before the LORD to all the people of Israel. And they looked, and each man took his staff. And the LORD said to Moses, “Put back the staff of Aaron before the testimony, to be kept as a sign for the rebels, that you may make an end of their grumblings against Me, lest they die.” Thus did Moses; as the LORD commanded him, so he did.
And the people of Israel said to Moses, “Behold, we perish, we are undone, we are all undone."
Now if perfection had been attainable through the Levitical priesthood (for under it the people received the law), what further need would there have been for another priest to arise after the order of Melchizedek, rather than one named after the order of Aaron? For when there is a change in the priesthood, there is necessarily a change in the law as well. For the One of whom these things are spoken belonged to another tribe, from which no one has ever served at the altar. For it is evident that our Lord was descended from Judah, and in connection with that tribe Moses said nothing about priests.
This becomes even more evident when another priest arises in the likeness of Melchizedek, who has become a priest, not on the basis of a legal requirement concerning bodily descent, but by the power of an indestructible life. For it is witnessed of Him,
“You are a priest forever,
after the order of Melchizedek.”
For on the one hand, a former commandment is set aside because of its weakness and uselessness (for the law made nothing perfect); but on the other hand, a better hope is introduced, through which we draw near to God.
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
The people of Israel are wandering in the wilderness, and they rebel yet again in Numbers chapters 16-17. Led by Korah and his sons, Dathan and Abiram, 250 chiefs come to Moses and complain. This delegation is not just a disgruntled fringe, but rather represents the whole congregation: they are “chosen from the assembly, well-known men.” They present their two-fold case to Moses. First, they say, “You’re no better than us! God is in the middle of all the people; we’re holy too. What makes you so special?” And second, “We’re still wandering in the desert. There’s no milk and honey here.”
Moses then invites Korah and the 250 chiefs to approach the tabernacle and offer incense to the Lord. They come the next morning and present the bowls of burning incense, but when the glory of the Lord descends upon the tabernacle, He does not receive their offering. The Lord instructs the people to stand back from the dwellings of Korah, Dathan, and Abiram, and the ground opens up to swallow them. Fire comes out and consumes those who are offering incense.
Instead of repenting, though, the people double down into their rebellion, grumbling now that Moses “has killed the people of the Lord.” Moses then intercedes to God for the people, as a plague is already spreading among them. Aaron stands between the living and the 14,700 dead, offering incense in his own censer, stopping the spread of the plague. To demonstrate still further that the Lord had chosen Aaron to be His priest, He causes Aaron’s staff to bud, flower, and bear ripe almonds, setting it apart from the rest of 12 staffs left in the temple overnight.
It is easy to believe ourselves superior to the people of Israel. It seems obvious, we feel, that their arrival to the land of milk and honey is inevitable. We would never question Moses. We would certainly never usurp the place of Aaron and offer bowls of burning incense ourselves.
Yet the sins of the people of Israel in Numbers 16 are the ones that we commit most commonly – envy and discontentment. If we look at what lies underneath their specific complaints (“We’re just as holy as Aaron, so why does he think he’s so special?” and “Why are we still here in the wilderness?”), we can see clearly that they both constitute a rebellion against God’s providence. They protest both the station that God gave them – as Levites and members of the congregation, not priests – and the circumstances in which God placed them – yet a little while longer wandering in the wilderness.
We do this all the time! Whenever we complain about anything, we reject God’s providence. Even when we think that it is seemingly harmless, like when we gripe about the weather (something all of us are tempted to do these days!), what we are actually doing is saying “This thing, God, that you just gave me, is bad. You should not have done that.” In contrast to this, the Puritan writer Jeremiah Burrows writes that Christian contentment “freely submits to and delights in God’s wise and fatherly disposal in every condition.” (The Rare Jewel of Christian Contentment) Along with discontentment, it is very easy to slip into envy. Envy says, “You’re no better than me; why should you have that and not I?” and “If I can’t have that, neither can you!” It is very easy for us to resent others for having something that we want, whether it is wealth, status, or anything else.
Joyful submission to God’s sovereignty is the antidote to both discontentment and envy. Whenever you meet with circumstances that seem bad to you, rejoice! If someone has something that you do not, and you’re tempted to resent it, leap for joy instead! I conclude with two questions and answers from the Heidelberg Catechism on the providence of God, in an encouragement to receive all things from Him with gratitude.
Q. What do you understand by the providence of God?
A. The almighty and ever present power of God by which God upholds, as with His hand, heaven and earth and all creatures, and so rules them that leaf and blade, rain and drought, fruitful and lean years, food and drink, health and sickness, prosperity and poverty—all things, in fact, come to us not by chance but by His fatherly hand.
Q. How does the knowledge of God’s creation and providence help us?
A. We can be patient when things go against us, thankful when things go well, and for the future we can have good confidence in our faithful God and Father that nothing in creation will separate us from His love. For all creatures are so completely in God’s hand that without His will they can neither move nor be moved.
From Mount Hor they set out by the way to the Red Sea, to go around the land of Edom. And the people became impatient on the way. And the people spoke against God and against Moses, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this worthless food.” Then the LORD sent fiery serpents among the people, and they bit the people, so that many people of Israel died. And the people came to Moses and said, “We have sinned, for we have spoken against the LORD and against you. Pray to the LORD, that He take away the serpents from us.” So Moses prayed for the people. And the LORD said to Moses, “Make a fiery serpent and set it on a pole, and everyone who is bitten, when he sees it, shall live.” So Moses made a bronze serpent and set it on a pole. And if a serpent bit anyone, he would look at the bronze serpent and live.
Nicodemus said to Him, “How can these things be?” Jesus answered him, “Are you the teacher of Israel and yet you do not understand these things? Truly, truly, I say to you, we speak of what we know, and bear witness to what we have seen, but you do not receive our testimony. If I have told you earthly things and you do not believe, how can you believe if I tell you heavenly things? No one has ascended into heaven except He who descended from heaven, the Son of Man. And as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life.
Pete is back to Texas after 14 years in enemy territory (Oklahoma). Born in Dallas but raised in Houston, he moved to the foreign country of Connecticut for high school then attended Penn State University, where God developed in him a heart for His Word and His people.
Pete attended Dallas Theological Seminary and Redeemer Seminary and was ordained in 2001. He served as the RUF campus minister at Baylor University for almost eight years. In 2009, Pete planted Redeemer Presbyterian Church in Edmond, Oklahoma and served as Senior Pastor there for 14 years.
He is married to Kristen (SMU alumni), and they have three children: Rebecca, David, and Jonathan. Other “family” members include a very co-dependent yellow lab named Maverick and a cat named Yoda.
What I love about Israel’s time in the wilderness is that we get a picture of what the Christian life is like. Israel’s story is our story, and their experience is our experience. Just like Israel, Christians have been rescued, redeemed, and re-created, but we are not home yet. Our lives are spent wandering around this broken, fallen world as “aliens & strangers” awaiting our true home. Until we get there, we still have sin’s influence (indwelling sin) seeking to recapture and enslave us again. So, the Christian life is hard. Every day is a fight for faith. We live in a place where things are not the way they should be, and yet we long for them to be the way they ought to be. So, the normal Christian life is a struggle to trust and believe in the reality of who God is, and all that He has done to save us.
Have you ever wondered why God didn’t immediately glorify us when we trusted in Jesus? Instead, He leaves us in the wilderness to deal with indwelling sin – why? The writer of Deuteronomy tells us why God had Israel wander in the wilderness for 40 years, “And you shall remember the whole way that the LORD your God has led you these forty years in the wilderness, that He might humble you, testing you to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. And He humbled you and let you hunger and fed you with manna, which you did not know, nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man does not live by bread alone, but man lives by every word that comes from the mouth of the LORD.” (Deut. 8:2-3)
God led Israel in the wilderness to humble them and to test them, not because He didn’t know what was in their hearts, but so that Israel could discover what was in their hearts. He did this so they could see how sinful their hearts were and how dependent they really were on God for everything. But sometimes, just being told that the human heart is poisoned with sin is not enough. We have to see and feel it, and in Numbers 21:4-9, we see and feel it!
Israel has been wandering in the wilderness for over 30 years. They are tired and worn out. They’ve been eating the same manna every day, and they long for something different. Who God is and what God has done for them is not good enough anymore, so they grumble against God and Moses in verse 5, “Why have you brought us up out of Egypt to die in the wilderness? For there is no food and no water, and we loathe this worthless food.” For over 30 years, Israel has grumbled and complained against God, and yet every time God has been gracious and merciful to provide Israel with what they need. But they still doubt God and grumble, believing God and His provisions are not enough. So, in verse 6, because Israel keeps turning away from God seeking satisfaction in other things, God sends poisonous serpents into Israel to make their sin more real to them, and it works! The people realize how poisonous their sin is, and how it deserves death. Verse 7 says, “The people came to Moses and said, ‘We have sinned, for we have spoken against the LORD and against you. Pray to the LORD, that He take away the serpents from us.'”
Israel realizes trying to find life in things other than God is not just poisonous but is actually killing and destroying them. So, they cry out to Moses to intercede for them, and he does. God has mercy on them. How? By way of a bronze serpent. Why a bronze serpent? Because Israel needs a substitute serpent, death, or poison to be healed. Verse 9 says, “All who looked upon the substitute serpent lived.”
In John 3:9-15, we find out that Jesus is what that substitute serpent pointed to! Jesus becomes the curse in order to heal us. John 3:14-15 says, “As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in Him may have eternal life.” Jesus takes the place of the poisoned person. Jesus becomes our sin. He becomes our curse. He becomes the serpent and suffers the penalty for what our sin deserves. When we look at “the Son of Man lifted up” on the cross and trust that He took our place, suffering what we deserved, we find healing for our sin-sick souls. We find the peace and satisfaction that our hearts long for. We find life from the One who gave up His life for us. Look to Jesus and live!
That very day the LORD spoke to Moses, “Go up this mountain of the Abarim, Mount Nebo, which is in the land of Moab, opposite Jericho, and view the land of Canaan, which I am giving to the people of Israel for a possession. And die on the mountain which you go up, and be gathered to your people, as Aaron your brother died in Mount Hor and was gathered to his people, because you broke faith with Me in the midst of the people of Israel at the waters of Meribah-kadesh, in the wilderness of Zin, and because you did not treat Me as holy in the midst of the people of Israel. For you shall see the land before you, but you shall not go there, into the land that I am giving to the people of Israel.”
Then Moses went up from the plains of Moab to Mount Nebo, to the top of Pisgah, which is opposite Jericho. And the LORD showed him all the land, Gilead as far as Dan, all Naphtali, the land of Ephraim and Manasseh, all the land of Judah as far as the western sea, the Negeb, and the Plain, that is, the Valley of Jericho the city of palm trees, as far as Zoar. And the LORD said to him, “This is the land of which I swore to Abraham, to Isaac, and to Jacob, ‘I will give it to your offspring.’ I have let you see it with your eyes, but you shall not go over there.” So Moses the servant of the LORD died there in the land of Moab, according to the word of the LORD, and He buried him in the valley in the land of Moab opposite Beth-peor; but no one knows the place of his burial to this day. Moses was 120 years old when he died. His eye was undimmed, and his vigor unabated. And the people of Israel wept for Moses in the plains of Moab thirty days. Then the days of weeping and mourning for Moses were ended.
And Joshua the son of Nun was full of the spirit of wisdom, for Moses had laid his hands on him. So the people of Israel obeyed him and did as the LORD had commanded Moses. And there has not arisen a prophet since in Israel like Moses, whom the LORD knew face to face, none like him for all the signs and the wonders that the LORD sent him to do in the land of Egypt, to Pharaoh and to all his servants and to all his land, and for all the mighty power and all the great deeds of terror that Moses did in the sight of all Israel.
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
In mid-August school begins; teachers and students return to classes and scheduled activities. I remember hearing from a first-year teacher about his anticipation of the first parent-teacher evening. He planned his presentations and reviewed his class lists. But not one parent came. What a disappointment!
What has disappointed you? Has a professional effort failed, or has a friend betrayed a confidence? Often our disappointments are with ourselves! We know God’s will is best, but we often still feel disappointment when we pray, ask, and God does something different.
When you read the account of Moses’ death in Deuteronomy 34 and find that God refused Moses’ entrance into Israel’s Promised Land, do you feel disappointment on Moses’ behalf? After all, this was Moses, who in God’s power spoke for God before Egypt’s Pharaoh. This was God’s man, who struggled with the Israelites’ complaints over and over on the wilderness journey, and then saw them refuse to enter when they finally arrived. This was Moses, whose life so often pointed ahead to Jesus the true Redeemer, typifying Him and His sacrifice as he pleaded with God to “blot him out of his book” rather than destroying the people for worshiping a calf idol. (Exodus 32:32) And now he must die outside Canaan’s borders.
Moses sinned when he disobeyed God at Meribah, striking the rock and implying he would bring water from it. God said, “Because you did not believe in Me, to uphold Me as holy in the eyes of the people of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land that I have given them.” (Numbers 20:12) God intended Moses to lead Israel to believe and worship Him in His holy reality. (Exodus 3:10-18) When Moses surrendered to anger and pride before the people, the LORD acted in discipline.
We have no record of how Moses felt. We do know that all God does is loving and right. When we read the final narrative of Deuteronomy, we don’t see Moses struggling alone toward another mountain’s summit. Moses stands strong with clear eyes, looking over the landscape of promise, with the LORD Himself as guide, seeing every soaring cliff and green valley of the place God promised His people from ancient times.
Moses’ death is mysterious, but he did not die alone. The LORD personally buried Moses’ body in a secret place. Scripture records that when Satan invaded and tried to seize Moses’ body, God deployed the archangel Michael to repel him. (Jude 9-10)
The writer of Hebrews includes Moses in his cavalcade of those who lived by faith. (Hebrews 11) He said Moses “considered the reproach of Christ greater wealth than the treasures of Egypt, for he was looking to the reward.” (Hebrews 11:26) Moses believed in and chose God and His promises, and those promises would be fulfilled perfectly in Christ. The reward Moses sought most was God Himself and His unfailing intentions for all His people, in which there will be no disappointments. Hebrews says, “And all these, though commended through their faith, did not receive what was promised, since God had provided something better for us, that apart from us they should not be made perfect.” (Hebrews 11:39-40).
So how do we regard the end of Moses’ life or our disappointments? God’s designs for His people are better than we understand, prepared for us with overflowing grace in Christ. We, with Moses, join together in God’s promises and good purposes, and He is always with us.
The revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave Him to show to His servants the things that must soon take place. He made it known by sending His angel to His servant John, who bore witness to the word of God and to the testimony of Jesus Christ, even to all that he saw. Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of this prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it, for the time is near.
John, to the seven churches that are in Asia:
Grace to you and peace from Him who is and who was and who is to come, and from the seven Spirits who are before His throne, and from Jesus Christ the faithful witness, the firstborn of the dead, and the ruler of kings on earth.
To Him who loves us and has freed us from our sins by His blood and made us a kingdom, priests to His God and Father, to Him be glory and dominion forever and ever. Amen. Behold, He is coming with the clouds, and every eye will see Him, even those who pierced Him, and all tribes of the earth will wail on account of Him. Even so. Amen.
“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is and who was and who is to come, the Almighty.”
I, John, your brother and partner in the tribulation and the Kingdom and the patient endurance that are in Jesus, was on the island called Patmos on account of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, “Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus and to Smyrna and to Pergamum and to Thyatira and to Sardis and to Philadelphia and to Laodicea.”
Ashley graduated from TCU with a Bachelor of Science in Psychology and earned a Masters of Arts in Religion from Westminster Theological Seminary. She has taught the Young Women’s Bible study and currently helps lead the Family Foundations Sunday Morning Community. Ashley’s greatest passion is studying and teaching God’s Word and encouraging women in their faith. Ashley is married to Michael and has two daughters.
When Mark Davis first announced we would be studying Revelation as a congregation, he said he would attempt to answer the question, “Why did God give us Revelation?” We must ask this question because without considering why God gave us Revelation, we are quick to think of it like a puzzle we must figure out, a fantastical curiosity to be entertained by, a book to fuel conspiracy theories, or even a theological war zone. On our own, we are prone to handle it like a mystical horoscope and miss out on all that God has to offer us in it. But it is meant to encourage us and strengthen our faith.
Our very first clue as to why God gave us Revelation is found in the third verse, “Blessed is the one who reads aloud the words of the prophecy, and blessed are those who hear, and who keep what is written in it…” (Rev. 1:3). While there are certainly extremely hard and confusing things in Revelation, it is not meant to bring confusion, terror, or sadness, but blessing! Be careful to notice that it doesn’t say we are blessed when we “crack the code,” but instead we are blessed by reading, hearing, and keeping God’s Word…just as with all of Scripture.
As we approach Revelation, there are three big-picture themes we must keep in mind that make all the difference. The first is that it reminds us of the spiritual reality we live in. In our day-to-day lives, it is all too easy to forget the “spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places” that Paul tells us about in Ephesians 6. Even more, we forget the power and greatness of God and what Jesus accomplished for us. Revelation reminds us that there is a great battle between good and evil, between Satan and God. We must choose whom we serve as Joshua said (Josh. 24:15) and live according to our status as those whose names are written in the book of life (Rev. 13:8).
Secondly, Revelation is meant to comfort us, to provide hope, and to encourage allegiance to Jesus. Scripture never shies away from the reality of our fallen world and the fact that we will always face persecution, evil, and trials in this world. However, embedded throughout Revelation, amongst the trials and evil, is a call to the saints to press on, to hold on to the hope we have in Christ, to persevere, and to endure. Instead of inducing fear, Revelation is meant to strengthen our hearts so we can stand firm in what we believe.
And lastly, Revelation is a victory story of good conquering evil, light overcoming the darkness once and for all, and the consummation of all things in Jesus. In other words, as Mark Davis said this past Sunday, “God wins.” Revelation serves as a promise to those who follow its words and have put their hope in Jesus, that eternal life is on the other side of this broken world we live in. Full and final redemption will come. God’s purposes and plans can’t be thwarted, both in the spiritual realm and in the physical world.
How encouraging it is to know that God loved us so much that He inspired John to write this book unveiling to us, “His servants” (verse 1), that we can take heart, because He is sovereign and victory is His…and ours! As we take to heart the words within this book, we will be blessed.
Here is one last word as we dive into studying Revelation with these things in mind. What if we took Mark’s question and made it more personal asking, Why did God give you Revelation? Why does God have you at PCPC this fall studying the book of Revelation? Could it be that there is something very specific and personal that God has for you in the book of Revelation for this very time in your life? Perhaps there is something hard you are facing, and you need to be reminded of the spiritual reality we live in every day, or of the amazing truth of God’s final victory over Satan and evil. Maybe you are in need of some encouragement to persevere in the face of persecution, evil, or trials of all kinds and to be reminded that you are living for something so much bigger and eternal. Well, I’m right there with you and so grateful we get to do this together!
I, John, your brother and partner in the tribulation and the kingdom and the patient endurance that are in Jesus, was on the island called Patmos on account of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, “Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus and to Smyrna and to Pergamum and to Thyatira and to Sardis and to Philadelphia and to Laodicea.”
Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands One like a Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around His chest. The hairs of His head were white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, His feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and His voice was like the roar of many waters. In His right hand He held seven stars, from His mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and His face was like the sun shining in full strength.
When I saw Him, I fell at His feet as though dead. But He laid His right hand on me, saying, “Fear not, I am the First and the Last, and the Living One. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades. Write therefore the things that you have seen, those that are and those that are to take place after this. As for the mystery of the seven stars that you saw in My right hand, and the seven golden lampstands, the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches."
Ross is the PCPC High School Resident for freshmen and sophomore guys. He is a former PCPC Covenant Child and current member of the church. He is pursuing his calling of pastorship at Reformed Theological Seminary - Dallas. Ross loves his wife Margie, his family and friends, God’s Word, and all things story (reading, writing, acting, etc.)!
When you come to church on Sunday, do you know what is happening spiritually? After reading this passage, I realize I rarely do. When the Bible is read and taught, the Holy Spirit in us hears a loud voice like a trumpet announcing, “Listen and believe what you hear in this book I’ve sent you.” Then our Spirit sees who is speaking, and He is among us, like a man but more, wearing a long robe symbolizing kingship and a golden sash symbolizing high priesthood. His hair is snow white symbolizing wisdom. His eyes are like fires symbolizing holiness, His feet are like polished and pure bronze symbolizing steadfastness, and His voice roars like a waterfall or the ocean symbolizing might. In His right hand, He holds a star symbolizing an angel for our church, His tongue is a sharp two-edged sword symbolizing His powerful Word, and His face shines like the sun symbolizing righteousness.
When our spirit sees Him, we feel that we should be dead from our unholiness. But He tenderly touches us and says, “Don’t be afraid. I am the Creator and the Judge, the One who has life. I died, and behold I was resurrected to eternal life, and I give you eternal life too. Believe therefore the things that you’ve heard, those that are and those that are to take place after this.”
That is what is happening spiritually when we come to church on Sunday. Do you want to hear Jesus, see Him, and feel His touch? Come to church on Sunday. Do you know someone who wants those things? For whom do you want those things? Invite them to church on Sunday. After all, that is what a spiritual lampstand does: it burns and banishes the darkness of ignorance and fear by revealing the transcendent majesty and grace of the One who lit it.
I, John, your brother and partner in the tribulation and the kingdom and the patient endurance that are in Jesus, was on the island called Patmos on account of the word of God and the testimony of Jesus. I was in the Spirit on the Lord’s Day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet saying, “Write what you see in a book and send it to the seven churches, to Ephesus and to Smyrna and to Pergamum and to Thyatira and to Sardis and to Philadelphia and to Laodicea.”
Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw seven golden lampstands, and in the midst of the lampstands One like a Son of Man, clothed with a long robe and with a golden sash around His chest. The hairs of His head were white, like white wool, like snow. His eyes were like a flame of fire, His feet were like burnished bronze, refined in a furnace, and His voice was like the roar of many waters. In His right hand He held seven stars, from His mouth came a sharp two-edged sword, and His face was like the sun shining in full strength.
When I saw Him, I fell at His feet as though dead. But He laid His right hand on me, saying, “Fear not, I am the First and the Last, and the Living One. I died, and behold I am alive forevermore, and I have the keys of Death and Hades. Write therefore the things that you have seen, those that are and those that are to take place after this. As for the mystery of the seven stars that you saw in My right hand, and the seven golden lampstands, the seven stars are the angels of the seven churches, and the seven lampstands are the seven churches."
Ross is the PCPC High School Resident for freshmen and sophomore guys. He is a former PCPC Covenant Child and current member of the church. He is pursuing his calling of pastorship at Reformed Theological Seminary - Dallas. Ross loves his wife Margie, his family and friends, God’s Word, and all things story (reading, writing, acting, etc.)!
When you come to church on Sunday, do you know what is happening spiritually? After reading this passage, I realize I rarely do. When the Bible is read and taught, the Holy Spirit in us hears a loud voice like a trumpet announcing, “Listen and believe what you hear in this book I’ve sent you.” Then our Spirit sees who is speaking, and He is among us, like a man but more, wearing a long robe symbolizing kingship and a golden sash symbolizing high priesthood. His hair is snow white symbolizing wisdom. His eyes are like fires symbolizing holiness, His feet are like polished and pure bronze symbolizing steadfastness, and His voice roars like a waterfall or the ocean symbolizing might. In His right hand, He holds a star symbolizing an angel for our church, His tongue is a sharp two-edged sword symbolizing His powerful Word, and His face shines like the sun symbolizing righteousness.
When our spirit sees Him, we feel that we should be dead from our unholiness. But He tenderly touches us and says, “Don’t be afraid. I am the Creator and the Judge, the One who has life. I died, and behold I was resurrected to eternal life, and I give you eternal life too. Believe therefore the things that you’ve heard, those that are and those that are to take place after this.”
That is what is happening spiritually when we come to church on Sunday. Do you want to hear Jesus, see Him, and feel His touch? Come to church on Sunday. Do you know someone who wants those things? For whom do you want those things? Invite them to church on Sunday. After all, that is what a spiritual lampstand does: it burns and banishes the darkness of ignorance and fear by revealing the transcendent majesty and grace of the One who lit it.
To the angel of the church in Ephesus write: "The words of Him who holds the seven stars in His right hand, who walks among the seven golden lampstands.
'I know your works, your toil and your patient endurance, and how you cannot bear with those who are evil, but have tested those who call themselves apostles and are not, and found them to be false. I know you are enduring patiently and bearing up for My name’s sake, and you have not grown weary. But I have this against you, that you have abandoned the love you had at first. Remember therefore from where you have fallen; repent, and do the works you did at first. If not, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place, unless you repent. Yet this you have: you hate the works of the Nicolaitans, which I also hate. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who conquers I will grant to eat of the tree of life, which is in the paradise of God.’"
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
Can we remember the love we had at first? When we first fell in love with football or fishing, dancing or dolls, reading or music, we could spend hours doing that thing, but it only felt like a few minutes because we loved it. When we first discovered a passion for teaching, law, medicine, real estate, or marketing, we studied, prepared, and applied ourselves, but it didn’t feel like work because we loved it. When another person first caught our eye, we wrote letters, bought gifts, and spent countless hours together, but it seemed like nothing because we loved that person. When we remember the love we had at first, the natural question is, “What happened to that love?” Where did the playful child, the passionate worker, and the captivated lover go? There are different answers to that question, but one thing’s for sure: We all want to find our way back to the love we had at first.
Can we remember the love we had at first? That’s really the question Jesus asks the church in Ephesus in Revelation 2:1-7. In addressing seven churches in the ancient world, Jesus is addressing His Church at that time and at all times. When He speaks to His people in Ephesus, Smyrna, Pergamum, Thyatira, Sardis, Philadelphia, and Laodicea, He’s also speaking to His people in Dallas, New York, London, and Beijing. If we’re wondering what Jesus might write to His people today, all we need to do is open Revelation 2 and 3 and see what He wrote to His churches nearly 2,000 years ago. The Lord loves us so much that He encourages us, and He challenges and rebukes us. He celebrates our work, our endurance, and our standing up against evil (Revelation 2:2-3). But He has this against us – that we have abandoned the love we had at first (Revelation 2:4). Can we remember when we first came to know Jesus, when a relationship with Him was new and exciting; when we loved Him and loved others out of the overflow of our hearts; when we could spend hours in the Word or in prayer, but it felt like a few minutes; when it was more delight than duty? What happened to that love? Let’s take time this week to ask ourselves that question. How have the world, the flesh, and the devil conspired to dull our love for Jesus?
When we see the loss of love in our lives, we can be discouraged. But Jesus doesn’t cut us open to hurt us; He does it to heal us. He calls us to remember from where we have fallen so that, by His grace, we can get up again and repent (Revelation 2:5). Jesus calls us to change our minds, to turn around, and to walk in a new direction. If our work for Jesus is strong but our love for Him is weak, He invites us to do the works we did at first. We’re not working to earn our salvation. We’re not doing just to do. We’re doing the things that help cultivate a heart of love for the Lord and for people. And if we know how love works, that makes sense. At first, passion can be enough to fan the flame of our love. But as time goes on and passion wanes, it takes work to cultivate love. Will we give ourselves to the labor of love this week, knowing that Jesus Himself has given Himself to us, and He holds us in His hand (Revelation 2:1)? Will we remember the love we had first, and by His grace, enjoy it once again?
And to the angel of the church in Smyrna write: "The words of the First and the Last, who died and came to life.
'I know your tribulation and your poverty (but you are rich) and the slander of those who say that they are Jews and are not, but are a synagogue of Satan. Do not fear what you are about to suffer. Behold, the devil is about to throw some of you into prison, that you may be tested, and for ten days you will have tribulation. Be faithful unto death, and I will give you the crown of life. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. The one who conquers will not be hurt by the second death.’"
Will grew up in Dallas and is a graduate of Highland Park High School, the University of Oklahoma, and Dallas Theological Seminary, where he earned a Masters in Christian Education. Before joining PCPC in 2017, Will served in the youth ministries of several churches, as a counselor and Program Director at T Bar M Sports Camp, as a Bible teacher at Cornerstone Crossroads Academy, and as the Executive Director of Armour Up Ministries. In ministry, his passion is teaching God’s Word in the context of relationships, and seeing Scripture fuel a love for Jesus and His mission in someone’s heart and life. He is also passionate about the Oklahoma Sooners.
What defines a successful church? In our culture today, as a wise pastor once told me, many people would answer this by saying “buildings, budgets, and butts in seats.” We are enamored with the big, exciting, and visually impressive. We love busyness, platforms, and big plans. As a high school minister, one of the first questions I am often asked by people who are interested in learning more about our ministry is, “How many students do you have coming each week?” or other numbers-based questions. Many authors have joined this interest, writing books about how a church can grow, or what are the keys to building and running a “successful” church. Our cultural values have infected the church in many ways.
Our passage today blows up that cultural definition of worldly success. If a person or family was “church shopping” in the ancient world, Smyrna Presbyterian Church would almost certainly not be the final choice. Cool new building? Nope. Huge budget? Known as a very poor church. Where all the people with high status in the community go? Actually a small group of believers in a city that threatened, opposed, and slandered them.
And yet the church in Smyrna was one of two (out of seven) churches that received only encouragement and no rebuke in the book of Revelation (Philadelphia was the other one). Smyrna was a beautiful harbor city that was wealthy and had a population of about 100,000. Some ancient historians indicate strong Jewish persecution of Christians in Smyrna (including Polycarp, who was martyred in Smyrna in AD 168 and whose death was assisted by Jews who gathered wood for the fire in which he was burned). According to verses 9-10, this church was experiencing slander and opposition, and many of its people would soon face prison and even persecution “unto death.” In verse 9, it is stated that this church was physically poor. And yet, in parentheses in verse 9 we see four crucial words that shape the entire letter to the church in Smyrna: “But you are rich.”
How is it possible for Jesus to say this to a church that was physically poor and experiencing persecution in a way that continued to threaten its people’s financial income? Because even though they were materially poor, they were spiritually rich. The church in Smyrna had a relationship with the eternal God who sent Jesus to die and come back to life (v. 8). That same Savior intimately saw them and was sovereign over everything they were experiencing. They would live with Him forever in fullness of joy, which they are doing right now (Psalm 16:11). In other words, they had true riches, riches that could never be taken away from them, because they had a relationship with the One who is so gracious that, “though He was rich, became poor for our sake, so that by His poverty we might become rich.” (2 Corinthians 8:9)
The church in Smyrna was not “successful” because of its size, wealth, or popularity. In fact, the only churches in the book of Revelation to receive only a commendation without a rebuke are the poorest (Smyrna) and the smallest (Philadelphia). It is important to note that this does not mean that these things in themselves indicate success or that size and material resources necessarily indicate failure. However, it does mean that size and material resources do not equal success for a church, but those are the types of criteria our culture typically uses to evaluate a church. On the other hand, this church was faithful to Jesus and the Gospel, even at the cost of great material loss. Jesus calls them spiritually rich. In possessing nothing, they actually possessed everything.
This reminds me of some friends in West Africa who faithfully follow Jesus and love their neighbors, while 96% of people in their country are not Christians. PCPC High School has had the opportunity to visit and partner with these brothers and sisters in Christ over the past two summers, and I have been deeply impacted and inspired by their simple faithfulness to the Gospel. They treasure Jesus, and the overflow of that is love for their neighbors and a passion to tell them about the eternal hope and joy they have. While they don’t have many resources and often make great personal sacrifices, they demonstrate that Jesus is enough and that at its core, the church is called to be a Gospel-proclaiming, Gospel-shaped community. The results are in Jesus’ hands. A successful church is simply a Jesus-centered church.
So, what does it mean to succeed? Ian Duguid writes:
Human beings are remarkably poor judges of success and failure. On the one hand, we often use the wrong measuring sticks. The people whom we judge as ‘successful’—the rich, the powerful, the influential, and the attractive—receive no special adulation in God’s Kingdom. Meanwhile, those we look down on as failures—the poor, the broken, and the unimportant people—are often those for whom it seems God has a special concern. According to Jesus, it is possible to gain the whole world—to succeed against almost every human yardstick—and still fail at life because you lose your soul in the process (Matthew 16:26). At the same time, Jesus declares that it is possible to lose all your possessions, relationships, and status, and yet succeed in what really matters—in your relationship with God (Mark 10:28–30)…My only hope and boast rest not in my faithfulness but in the fact that whether I am rich or poor, prominent or obscure, weak or strong, my faithful Savior has loved me and given Himself for me.
When we realize that Jesus was successful and strong for us, we begin to lose our desire for the pursuit of worldly success. We are free to let Him be our all in our weakness and failure. A church in which Jesus is everything is a church the world needs.
And to the angel of the church in Pergamum write: "The words of Him who has the sharp two-edged sword:
'I know where you dwell, where Satan’s throne is. Yet you hold fast My name, and you did not deny My faith even in the days of Antipas My faithful witness, who was killed among you, where Satan dwells. But I have a few things against you: you have some there who hold the teaching of Balaam, who taught Balak to put a stumbling block before the sons of Israel, so that they might eat food sacrificed to idols and practice sexual immorality. So also you have some who hold the teaching of the Nicolaitans. Therefore repent. If not, I will come to you soon and war against them with the sword of My mouth. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches. To the one who conquers I will give some of the hidden manna, and I will give him a white stone, with a new name written on the stone that no one knows except the one who receives it.'"
Kenna Gaw is a Resident for Middle School at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. She graduated from TCU with a degree in Youth Advocacy and Educational Studies with an emphasis on Criminal Justice and afterwards attended the Kanakuk Institute. Kenna’s passions include encouraging young girls in their faith and identity in Christ, wake surfing on the lake, and learning how to cook. Kenna is newly married to her husband, David.
What defines truth? Our culture would answer that by telling you to speak "your truth," meaning whatever you think or feel is what is true for you. Our sixteenth President of the United States, Abraham Lincoln, was known for his courage in standing against slavery. While others opposed him and deeply believed that slavery was okay, Abe fought for the justice of the voiceless and as we know, issued the Emancipation Proclamation that declared slaves forever free within the Confederacy. We look back today, and it is easy for us to say that slavery was not okay, and it was unjust. Yet, those who stood for it were just believing their own truth. This is where the idea our culture has of speaking "your truth" is not as loving and freeing as its story paints it to be.
As Christians, it is so important to know what we believe. We believe that Jesus is the only way, truth, and life. John 8 also says that if the Son sets you free, you are free indeed. So, what our lives are called to reflect is that the Word of God is our only truth, that He alone sets us free, and that should shape the way we think, believe, and love. So, if our culture believes one thing, and we believe another, where is our place as Christians here? The response is not one of judgment or condemnation, but it’s a response of a heart that delights in sharing the good news. When I got engaged in December, to my now husband, I was ecstatic to call my friends and family back home and share that news with them. How much more excited should I be, and should we be to share the good news of the gospel that has changed our eternity with others?
Yet when we scroll on social media, listen to that Spotify New Music Friday drop (sorry Apple Music), go to our schools, attend our places of work and even in our own homes, we see other news and alluring stories being shared, ones that oppose the truth of God’s Word. We must face the question, what then is the truth? We are in a culture where we are told different stories, ones that promise us false hope, a misplaced identity, and are contrary to the one true story told by the Word of God. As believers, we hold fast to the belief that the Bible is the inherent Word of God, that every word of God proves true, and that because God is who He says He is, His Word and His promises can be fully trusted.
At the Church of Pergamum, they had love, but they did not have truth. Instead of God and His Word being their ultimate foundation, they replaced God with an idol. They worshipped the Roman emperor himself. Our church and our city do not have a physical idol placed on a hill that we go to and worship, and we sure aren’t worshipping a Roman emperor. Yet, could we look at our lives and honestly say that the Word of God shapes every single aspect of our lives and is the only recipient of our worship, or does the world get our praise, attention, and affection?
Lastly, in this passage, the Word of God is referred to as a literal two-edged sword. This is because Scripture is both our authority and our judgment. We can look at that without fear, because we know as believers there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. We are covered by the cross and seen as holy, righteous, and blameless. So judgment is the righting of wrongs, which is the restoration of all things. How beautiful it is to picture one day all things being made right. In the book A Gospel Centered Life, Tim Keller says, “Because the gospel is endlessly rich, it can handle the burden of being the ‘main thing’ of a church.” The gospel is not just a story, it is the greatest story of all time. It’s a story that has changed our lives and eternities forever. It’s a story where Jesus turned the double-edged sword of judgment on Himself so that He could speak over you a new name, a name that says, “You belong to Me.” Because of Christ, you are no longer defined by your sins, your failures, or the sins committed against you. You are a beloved daughter or son of the Holy and perfect, loving, almighty God, and you are His forever.
As the Church, our call is that this story would be spread to the ends of the earth until Jesus comes again. Where in your life, or to whom, can you spread the good news today?
And to the angel of the church in Thyatira write: "The words of the Son of God, who has eyes like a flame of fire, and whose feet are like burnished bronze.
'I know your works, your love and faith and service and patient endurance, and that your latter works exceed the first. But I have this against you, that you tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess and is teaching and seducing My servants to practice sexual immorality and to eat food sacrificed to idols. I gave her time to repent, but she refuses to repent of her sexual immorality. Behold, I will throw her onto a sickbed, and those who commit adultery with her I will throw into great tribulation, unless they repent of her works, and I will strike her children dead. And all the churches will know that I am He who searches mind and heart, and I will give to each of you according to your works. But to the rest of you in Thyatira, who do not hold this teaching, who have not learned what some call the deep things of Satan, to you I say, I do not lay on you any other burden. Only hold fast what you have until I come. The one who conquers and who keeps My works until the end, to him I will give authority over the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron, as when earthen pots are broken in pieces, even as I Myself have received authority from My Father. And I will give him the morning star. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’"
Will Peters was born in Dallas and raised in Paris, Texas. He has felt a call to ministry since his freshman year of high school. Will is a graduate of Texas Christian University and is pursuing a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary. He currently serves as the Ministry Leader of Middle School at PCPC. Will is married to Leah, and they have a dog named Teddy.
Where does your mind wander throughout the day? We each have so many different concerns and questions that can make us anxious. How are my kids doing at school? What will my coworker say in my meeting? What do I need to feel happy and safe?
The church in Thyatira was struggling to hold onto the teachings of Jesus and trust Him for their provision. They misunderstood what “the good life” really meant. For some to experience their definition of the good life, they would compromise their faith. What began as an attempt to provide for their families turned into a comprise that infested the church. Instead of trusting in God for their food and their clothing, people in Thyatira turned to trade guilds for comfort and provision.
To add to this sin, they began to listen to the voice of a woman in the community named Jezebel. She offered them a “better way to live.” Instead of being cast out or persecuted for their faith, Jezebel encouraged the church of Thyatira to live two lives. They could participate in the world by eating idol meat and engaging in sexual immorality. The people were encouraged to do these things and still worship God. What may have started off as an easy way to avoid hardship became a snare.
Jesus calls out the church for becoming slaves to comfort. Instead of taking a stand for their faith as the apostles did, they leaped at the opportunity to be comfortable. Jesus gives the church time to repent, and instead of returning to their Provider, they double down and refuse. Ultimately, Jesus warns them that He will let them pursue their comforts, and it will bring tribulation. They will die if they do not repent, which Jesus is calling them to do. They cannot experience life without finding it in Jesus.
In Matthew 16:24-27, Jesus says:
If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with His angels in the glory of His Father, and then He will repay each person according to what he has done.
We, like the church of Thyatira, have a choice to make. What do you love more than Jesus? We chase so many things in the world because we think they will bring us joy, but in the end, only Jesus can satisfy our hearts. C.S. Lewis once said, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” We do not desire heaven as much as we ought to, and the Lord in His kindness allows us to see that. His word tells us that all the things of the world will eventually fade, and only Jesus is able to fulfill the longings of our hearts.
This is why Jesus tells the church at the end of this letter that they must hold fast to the confession that Jesus is better than this world. This means that they could miss out on worldly comforts, like status and power. They could also miss out on more significant physical provisions for their families. Jesus reminds them that by holding fast, they will get to be stewards of the Lord's Kingdom, which is infinitely better. More importantly, they will get Jesus Himself, the Bright Morning Star who will make all things new.
When we begin to let our minds wander to the Kingdom of God and to the splendor of the King, then worldly things become less bright. Only Jesus can change our hearts to think this way, and only Jesus can make us whole regardless of what the world tries to offer.
And to the angel of the church in Thyatira write: "The words of the Son of God, who has eyes like a flame of fire, and whose feet are like burnished bronze.
'I know your works, your love and faith and service and patient endurance, and that your latter works exceed the first. But I have this against you, that you tolerate that woman Jezebel, who calls herself a prophetess and is teaching and seducing My servants to practice sexual immorality and to eat food sacrificed to idols. I gave her time to repent, but she refuses to repent of her sexual immorality. Behold, I will throw her onto a sickbed, and those who commit adultery with her I will throw into great tribulation, unless they repent of her works, and I will strike her children dead. And all the churches will know that I am He who searches mind and heart, and I will give to each of you according to your works. But to the rest of you in Thyatira, who do not hold this teaching, who have not learned what some call the deep things of Satan, to you I say, I do not lay on you any other burden. Only hold fast what you have until I come. The one who conquers and who keeps My works until the end, to him I will give authority over the nations, and he will rule them with a rod of iron, as when earthen pots are broken in pieces, even as I Myself have received authority from My Father. And I will give him the morning star. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’"
Will Peters was born in Dallas and raised in Paris, Texas. He has felt a call to ministry since his freshman year of high school. Will is a graduate of Texas Christian University and is pursuing a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary. He currently serves as the Ministry Leader of Middle School at PCPC. Will is married to Leah, and they have a dog named Teddy.
Where does your mind wander throughout the day? We each have so many different concerns and questions that can make us anxious. How are my kids doing at school? What will my coworker say in my meeting? What do I need to feel happy and safe?
The church in Thyatira was struggling to hold onto the teachings of Jesus and trust Him for their provision. They misunderstood what “the good life” really meant. For some to experience their definition of the good life, they would compromise their faith. What began as an attempt to provide for their families turned into a comprise that infested the church. Instead of trusting in God for their food and their clothing, people in Thyatira turned to trade guilds for comfort and provision.
To add to this sin, they began to listen to the voice of a woman in the community named Jezebel. She offered them a “better way to live.” Instead of being cast out or persecuted for their faith, Jezebel encouraged the church of Thyatira to live two lives. They could participate in the world by eating idol meat and engaging in sexual immorality. The people were encouraged to do these things and still worship God. What may have started off as an easy way to avoid hardship became a snare.
Jesus calls out the church for becoming slaves to comfort. Instead of taking a stand for their faith as the apostles did, they leaped at the opportunity to be comfortable. Jesus gives the church time to repent, and instead of returning to their Provider, they double down and refuse. Ultimately, Jesus warns them that He will let them pursue their comforts, and it will bring tribulation. They will die if they do not repent, which Jesus is calling them to do. They cannot experience life without finding it in Jesus.
In Matthew 16:24-27, Jesus says:
If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross and follow Me. For whoever would save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it. For what will it profit a man if he gains the whole world and forfeits his soul? Or what shall a man give in return for his soul? For the Son of Man is going to come with His angels in the glory of His Father, and then He will repay each person according to what he has done.
We, like the church of Thyatira, have a choice to make. What do you love more than Jesus? We chase so many things in the world because we think they will bring us joy, but in the end, only Jesus can satisfy our hearts. C.S. Lewis once said, “If we find ourselves with a desire that nothing in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that we were made for another world.” We do not desire heaven as much as we ought to, and the Lord in His kindness allows us to see that. His word tells us that all the things of the world will eventually fade, and only Jesus is able to fulfill the longings of our hearts.
This is why Jesus tells the church at the end of this letter that they must hold fast to the confession that Jesus is better than this world. This means that they could miss out on worldly comforts, like status and power. They could also miss out on more significant physical provisions for their families. Jesus reminds them that by holding fast, they will get to be stewards of the Lord's Kingdom, which is infinitely better. More importantly, they will get Jesus Himself, the Bright Morning Star who will make all things new.
When we begin to let our minds wander to the Kingdom of God and to the splendor of the King, then worldly things become less bright. Only Jesus can change our hearts to think this way, and only Jesus can make us whole regardless of what the world tries to offer.
And to the angel of the church in Sardis write: "The words of Him who has the seven Spirits of God and the seven stars.
'I know your works. You have the reputation of being alive, but you are dead. Wake up, and strengthen what remains and is about to die, for I have not found your works complete in the sight of My God. Remember, then, what you received and heard. Keep it, and repent. If you will not wake up, I will come like a thief, and you will not know at what hour I will come against you. Yet you have still a few names in Sardis, people who have not soiled their garments, and they will walk with Me in white, for they are worthy. The one who conquers will be clothed thus in white garments, and I will never blot his name out of the book of life. I will confess his name before My Father and before His angels. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.’"
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
If people took a trip to Dallas, what would they see? If they had never been here before, what would they notice? What would stand out to them? If they came from an entirely different culture, what would they see as they walked around and interacted with the locals? I imagine it would look something like this.
For the most part, they would notice beautiful yards – meticulously manicured with cut grass and seasonal flower beds. It is October, so many front porches would billow with pumpkins of every size, shape, and color. Some streets and some neighborhoods would look straight out of a magazine. The yards seem as lovely as the people who fill the homes. The people are polished and polite. They know the right pleasantries to say as visitors pass by. They are clean-cut and kind. Visitors would likely pass right through town and have nothing but lovely things to report.
If we’re honest, we like it this way. We value the appearance of having it all together. Yet there is a lot going on beneath the surface that people don’t see. The clean outward appearance is often a façade hiding our brokenness, anxiety, and addiction. We are lonely and wayward, but no one knows. Behind a beautiful appearance, there is a deep ache.
The church at Sardis was a picture of bounty and success. They had a great reputation. On the outside they looked the part, but on the inside, they were crumbling. Jesus’ charge to the church was to wake up and to remember: to remember the gospel, to push aside the appearance of having it all together, and to be transformed from people who were whitewashed tombs to people clothed in the white robes of Jesus.
What would it look like for us to admit that we are no different from the people of Sardis? We have the reputation of polished perfection, but on the inside, we can be dry bones. What if we lived in our neighborhoods authentically, honest about our mess, and grateful for our Savior? What if we moved into our schools, grocery stores, and workplaces with a heart of mission, longing for our neighbors to know the life-giving love of Jesus?
Friends, we are a beautiful mess. But so often the beauty camouflages the broken. Yet the Lord, in His kindness, brings beauty from ashes. Wake up! Repent! Be made new. There is freedom in stepping out of the whitewashed tombs of our culture and into the perfect white robe of our Savior.
And to the angel of the church in Philadelphia write: "The words of the Holy One, the True One, who has the key of David, who opens and no one will shut, who shuts and no one opens.
'I know your works. Behold, I have set before you an open door, which no one is able to shut. I know that you have but little power, and yet you have kept My Word and have not denied My Name. Behold, I will make those of the synagogue of Satan who say that they are Jews and are not, but lie—behold, I will make them come and bow down before your feet, and they will learn that I have loved you. Because you have kept My Word about patient endurance, I will keep you from the hour of trial that is coming on the whole world, to try those who dwell on the earth. I am coming soon. Hold fast what you have, so that no one may seize your crown. The one who conquers, I will make him a pillar in the temple of My God. Never shall he go out of it, and I will write on him the name of My God, and the name of the city of My God, the New Jerusalem, which comes down from My God out of heaven, and My own new name. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.'"
Ross is the PCPC High School Resident for freshmen and sophomore guys. He is a former PCPC Covenant Child and current member of the church. He is pursuing his calling of pastorship at Reformed Theological Seminary - Dallas. Ross loves his wife Margie, his family and friends, God’s Word, and all things story (reading, writing, acting, etc.)!
“I know that you have but little power, and yet you have kept My Word and have not denied My Name.” (Rev. 3:8) In Jesus’ darkest hour, when He could have summoned 72,000 angels to overpower His enemies and establish His kingdom on earth through force, (Matt. 26:53) instead He hung on a cross to fulfill the Scriptures by dying for the sins of the world. (1 Cor. 15:3) As He died, He did not deny His Name: Jesus Christ, the Son of God. (Mark 14:61) His last words were Scripture! (Luke 23:46) Therefore, because He did not abandon God’s Word or deny His own Name, God raised Him from the dead and brought Him into His presence where there is life, fullness of joy, and pleasures forevermore. (Ps. 16:11)
Do you feel that you have little power? Is there a trial you are enduring, a person you are begging God to save, or a brother or sister you are calling to repentance seemingly in vain? Do you feel your powerlessness to endure, save, and help? You are not alone. The persecuted church in Philadelphia had little power too. But they had two things: Jesus’ Word and Jesus’ Name. As Jesus comforted them through John - that was enough.
Hold fast to what you have: Jesus’ Word and His Name. They’re the only things that will make you endure. They’re the only things that will save the lost. They’re the only things that will sanctify His children. They’re the only things God uses to display His glory and to humble His enemies at your feet after a time of testing. And they’re the only things that will bring you into His presence at the end, where you will finally have your faith turned to sight and know beyond all shadows of doubt, that He loves you.
Grace and peace to you in the Name of our Lord Jesus Christ.
And to the angel of the church in Laodicea write: "The words of the Amen, the faithful and true witness, the beginning of God’s creation.
'I know your works: you are neither cold nor hot. Would that you were either cold or hot! So, because you are lukewarm, and neither hot nor cold, I will spit you out of My mouth. For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind, and naked. I counsel you to buy from Me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see. Those whom I love, I reprove and discipline, so be zealous and repent. Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with Me. The one who conquers, I will grant him to sit with Me on My throne, as I also conquered and sat down with My Father on His throne. He who has an ear, let him hear what the Spirit says to the churches.'"
Sam is the Assistant Pastor of Missions at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He previously served as an overseas missionary in Rome, Italy, with Agape Italia and helped launch student movements across the country. He completed his theological education at Reformed Theological Seminary in New York City and pastoral ministry training at Redeemer Presbyterian Church’s City to City training program. Sam and his wife Kimberly have three daughters: Eloise, Evelyn, and Emory.
As we continue digesting the Scripture from Revelation 3 and the letter to Laodicea, I was reminded of the power of God’s Word and what it was meant to do in our lives. Hebrews 4:12 came to mind, “For the Word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing to the division of soul and of spirit, of joints and of marrow, and discerning the thoughts and intentions of the heart.” This is a comforting thought. It is only God’s Word that has the power to both cut us open and put us back together. A human’s words may sting, may harm, and may wound. God’s words are a loving beckoning to something better, a kind invitation to His plans for us, and a reproof as He continues His work of sanctification in our lives.
One way lukewarmness manifests itself in our lives is in our pursuit of lives of comfort. The thing about comfort is that in one sense God has made us to feel safe and secure. As image bearers, we were wired to be comforted by God. He created us with that need and for that need to be met in Him. We get into trouble when we search for comfort in things that are not of the Lord. We make an idol of comfort when we start to shape our lives around avoiding pain and challenging things, and we allow something much less than God to provide a safe and secure place for us, instead of God himself.
As God calls us to be aware of lukewarmness, it is all too easy to do so in a way in which we are relying on ourselves. It’s all too easy to respond in a moralistic way. This looks like telling yourself to “stop it,” to be a better person, or to do more for God. This is relying on our own works and missing God. When our moralism ultimately fails, we run back to the money, the unhealthy relationships, or the job that we think keeps us safe, instead of running into the arms of the only One who can keep us safe. No, we don’t loosen the grip of comfort by telling ourselves to stop it. Our first step is acknowledging that we can’t fulfill the need of our heart’s longing, but that God provided His Son to meet that need.
Christ lost His safety of being with God the Father so that we may be brought back to the safety of a relationship with God. Christ left the security of being at the Father’s side to bring us securely into His presence by the sacrifice of His blood.
For those who know the security of being God’s beloved, to hear of lukewarmness should cause us to pause, reflect, and ask hard questions of ourselves. But it ultimately doesn’t shake us. Our comfort comes from being in Christ, and the Holy Spirit continues to convince us of our identity as His sons and daughters. We relish in His love for us, as He disciplines us toward His eternal purposes for us. In that we can rejoice.
After this I looked, and behold, a door standing open in heaven! And the first voice, which I had heard speaking to me like a trumpet, said, “Come up here, and I will show you what must take place after this.” At once I was in the Spirit, and behold, a throne stood in heaven, with One seated on the throne. And He who sat there had the appearance of jasper and carnelian, and around the throne was a rainbow that had the appearance of an emerald. Around the throne were twenty-four thrones, and seated on the thrones were twenty-four elders, clothed in white garments, with golden crowns on their heads. From the throne came flashes of lightning, and rumblings and peals of thunder, and before the throne were burning seven torches of fire, which are the seven Spirits of God, and before the throne there was as it were a sea of glass, like crystal.
And around the throne, on each side of the throne, are four living creatures, full of eyes in front and behind: the first living creature like a lion, the second living creature like an ox, the third living creature with the face of a man, and the fourth living creature like an eagle in flight. And the four living creatures, each of them with six wings, are full of eyes all around and within, and day and night they never cease to say,
"Holy, holy, holy, is the Lord God Almighty,
who was and is and is to come!”
And whenever the living creatures give glory and honor and thanks to Him who is seated on the throne, who lives forever and ever, the twenty-four elders fall down before Him who is seated on the throne and worship Him who lives forever and ever. They cast their crowns before the throne, saying,
“Worthy are You, our Lord and God,
to receive glory and honor and power,
for You created all things,
and by Your will they existed and were created.”
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
In Revelation 4, the Lord Jesus carries John up into heaven, where he witnesses saints and angels worshiping and singing around the throne of God. There are many things that overwhelm us when we reflect on John’s vision in this chapter: a rainbow like an emerald, flashes of lightning, peals of thunder, and the four living creatures around the throne of God Himself. The most overwhelming aspect of John’s vision, though, is something that we do not often consider.
G. K. Beale, in his commentary on Revelation, writes about John’s vision in chapter 4: “John intended the readers to see what is told of in the vision as a heavenly pattern that the Church is to reflect in its worship” (p. 312). Also, we read in Hebrews 12:22-24, “But you have come to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels in festal gathering, and to the assembly of the firstborn who are enrolled in heaven, and to God, the Judge of all, and to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, and to Jesus, the mediator of a new covenant, and to the sprinkled blood that speaks a better word than the blood of Abel.” The author of Hebrews affirms not only what Beale suggests, but even something beyond it. Here is the wonder of wonders of Revelation 4: when we, the Church, gather in worship, we ascend to the throne of God. We stand before the throne of the living God in the heavenly Jerusalem.
John described being overcome with awe earlier in chapter 1: “I was in the Spirit on the Lord's Day, and I heard behind me a loud voice like a trumpet…Then I turned to see the voice that was speaking to me, and on turning I saw…One like a Son of Man…When I saw Him, I fell at His feet as though dead.” (from Revelation 1:10, 12, 13, 17). Note that John was in the Spirit “on the Lord’s Day,” on Sunday. John is worshiping on earth, on the island of Patmos, on the Lord’s Day, when he is caught up into heaven, to witness the reality of the Church’s participation in worship in heaven, before the throne of God. And this overwhelms him. He falls down as though dead.
This is our reality as well, and we should be awestruck by it, like John. This is why worship is different from any other time. Sunday morning worship is joyful, not somber, but it is not casual. We do not ascend to “the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem” to stand in His presence casually or flippantly. The reality of what we participate in should overwhelm us! But what can we do, practically, to treat the time of Sunday morning worship with the (joyful!) seriousness that is required of us?
My younger children have been participating in the Communicant’s Class, over the course of which the curriculum covered the fourth membership vow, “Do you promise to support the church in its worship and work to the best of your ability?” One recent lesson discussed Sunday morning worship: “Because of the significance of corporate worship, it is important that we do everything we can to prepare ourselves for the Lord’s Day worship service. What are some practical steps you can take to help prepare yourself for this special time?” Here are some of the things my family and I talked about. They are not rules, but for us they have been helpful practices.
- Pray for our pastors throughout the week, especially for those who are preaching on Sunday.
- Pray for our own hearts, to receive God’s Word with humility.
- Read the Scripture in advance of the service. (The eThis Week and Order of Worship goes online on Thursday afternoon.)
- Come to church rested and mentally prepared. We try to avoid staying out late, or staying up late, on Saturday night.
- In the service itself, participate wholeheartedly! Sing loudly and engage in the responsive readings vigorously.
- Also in the service itself, don’t let yourself become distracted. For example, if you use a Bible app on your phone, make sure to save texting until after the service. Related to this, we don’t use worship as a time to eat breakfast! Finish the cup of coffee before coming into the Sanctuary.
- If there are other things that try to demand our family’s time on Sundays in a way that keeps us from church, we reprioritize. Again, this is not a rule, but it was for us a helpful practice. We decided, for example, that if there was a baseball game for one of our boys early enough on Sunday afternoon that we would have felt stress having to rush out right after church, we would just skip it.
- Finally, if something limits our options Sunday morning – a sick child, etc. – we prioritize Sunday worship. We love children’s and youth ministries, and our children participate weekly, but I’m sure they would say with me: if somehow only one thing is possible on a Sunday morning, we choose corporate worship.
I conclude with Psalm 96. As you read, consider what it means to come into the presence of God in worship, with joy and awe, in light of the reality of Revelation 4. Consider our worship alongside the saints and angels before the throne of God, in His heavenly court.
Oh sing to the LORD a new song;
sing to the LORD, all the earth!
Sing to the LORD, bless His name;
Declare His glory among the nations,
His marvelous works among all the peoples!
For great is the LORD, and greatly to be praised;
He is to be feared above all gods.
For all the gods of the peoples are worthless idols,
Splendor and majesty are before Him;
Ascribe to the LORD, O families of the peoples,
ascribe to the LORD glory and strength!
Ascribe to the LORD the glory due His name;
Worship the LORD in the splendor of holiness;
tremble before Him, all the earth!
Say among the nations, “The LORD reigns!
Yes, the world is established; it shall never be moved;
Let the heavens be glad, and let the earth rejoice;
let the sea roar, and all that fills it;
let the field exult, and everything in it!
Then shall all the trees of the forest sing for joy
before the LORD, for He comes,
for He comes to judge the earth.
He will judge the world in righteousness,
and the peoples in His faithfulness. (Psalm 96)
Then I saw in the right hand of Him who was seated on the throne a scroll written within and on the back, sealed with seven seals. And I saw a mighty angel proclaiming with a loud voice, “Who is worthy to open the scroll and break its seals?” And no one in heaven or on earth or under the earth was able to open the scroll or to look into it, and I began to weep loudly because no one was found worthy to open the scroll or to look into it. And one of the elders said to me, “Weep no more; behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has conquered, so that He can open the scroll and its seven seals.”
And between the throne and the four living creatures and among the elders I saw a Lamb standing, as though it had been slain, with seven horns and with seven eyes, which are the seven Spirits of God sent out into all the earth. And He went and took the scroll from the right hand of Him who was seated on the throne. And when He had taken the scroll, the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders fell down before the Lamb, each holding a harp, and golden bowls full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints. And they sang a new song, saying,
“Worthy are You to take the scroll and to open its seals, for You were slain, and by Your blood You ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and You have made them a Kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth.”
Then I looked, and I heard around the throne and the living creatures and the elders the voice of many angels, numbering myriads of myriads and thousands of thousands, saying with a loud voice,
“Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, to receive power and wealth and wisdom and might and honor and glory and blessing!”
And I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and in the sea, and all that is in them, saying,
“To Him who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor and glory and might forever and ever!”
And the four living creatures said, “Amen!” and the elders fell down and worshiped.
Kevin graduated from Rice University with a Bachelor of Arts and earned a Master of Theology degree from Dallas Theological Seminary. He is married to Ashley and has four kids, with whom he served overseas in cross-cultural ministry for about a decade. Kevin played professional baseball out of college, including a stint in the Major Leagues with the St. Louis Cardinals. He currently serves as the Director of Missions at Park Cities Presbyterian Church.
In 1732, two young German missionaries heading for the West Indies stood beside one another on the stern of a ship drifting away from shore. Their eyes were fixed on their loved ones who had tearfully gathered to share their final goodbyes, certainly grappling with the young men's perilous plan. Isn’t it all too risky? Isn’t this a fool’s errand? David and Johann intended to sell themselves into slavery to be witnesses for Christ. Their aim was to reach African slaves and live the balance of their days working in sugar cane fields in the blazing heat. With their arms linked and hands lifted high, they shouted to their friends and family what would become the anthem of a missionary movement, “May the Lamb that was slain receive the reward of His suffering.”
This anthem finds its biblical roots in the throne room scene of Revelation chapter 5. The scene begins in the preceding chapter, where God is presented as the “One seated on the throne,” receiving unceasing worship from prostrate celestial beings. The throne is central, and all of the happenings and occupants of heaven are described in relation to the throne: “on the throne”, “around the throne,” “from the throne,” “before the throne,” and “on each side of the throne.” The sovereign Lord reigns, and His worshipers cry out that God is worthy because “[He] created all things, and by [His] will they existed and were created" (4:11).
In chapter 5, Jesus Christ enters the scene and is described as the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, and the Lamb that was slain. Jesus alone is worthy to open the scroll, which will bring the divine plan to its long-awaited culmination. The reason Jesus alone is worthy to take the scroll and to open its seals is not for His role in creation but for His role in redemption. The four living creatures and the elders fall down before the Lamb in worship, crying out, “Worthy are You to take the scroll and to open its seals, for You were slain, and by Your blood You ransomed people for God from every tribe and language and people and nation, and You have made them a Kingdom and priests to our God, and they shall reign on the earth" (5:9-10).
The verb ransom means to make a payment to secure the rights of a person. In other words, the sacrifice of the Lamb is a ransom through which God has purchased a global, diverse people for Himself. The verb tense indicates an action completed in the past. The blood of the Lamb is the completed payment for the secure salvation of God’s elect.
So, why should we bother sharing the good news with a culture that’s adrift? Why should we partake in mission trips to foreign lands? Why should we engage in spiritual conversations with neighbors in Dallas who are so different from us? Is it even worth it? Will it have any effect?
The answer is simple. The blood of the Lamb ensures a worldwide harvest of souls. We don’t know who they are, but our task is to join God in His work of gathering His people through prayer and the proclamation of His Word. The Lamb of God will receive the reward of His suffering. Will you join in gathering them?
Now I watched when the Lamb opened one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures say with a voice like thunder, “Come!” And I looked, and behold, a white horse! And its rider had a bow, and a crown was given to him, and he came out conquering, and to conquer.
When He opened the second seal, I heard the second living creature say, “Come!” And out came another horse, bright red. Its rider was permitted to take peace from the earth, so that people should slay one another, and he was given a great sword.
When He opened the third seal, I heard the third living creature say, “Come!” And I looked, and behold, a black horse! And its rider had a pair of scales in his hand. And I heard what seemed to be a voice in the midst of the four living creatures, saying, “A quart of wheat for a denarius, and three quarts of barley for a denarius, and do not harm the oil and wine!”
When He opened the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature say, “Come!” And I looked, and behold, a pale horse! And its rider’s name was Death, and Hades followed him. And they were given authority over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by wild beasts of the earth.
When He opened the fifth seal, I saw under the altar the souls of those who had been slain for the word of God and for the witness they had borne. They cried out with a loud voice, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before You will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth?” Then they were each given a white robe and told to rest a little longer, until the number of their fellow servants and their brothers should be complete, who were to be killed as they themselves had been.
When He opened the sixth seal, I looked, and behold, there was a great earthquake, and the sun became black as sackcloth, the full moon became like blood, and the stars of the sky fell to the earth as the fig tree sheds its winter fruit when shaken by a gale. The sky vanished like a scroll that is being rolled up, and every mountain and island was removed from its place. Then the kings of the earth and the great ones and the generals and the rich and the powerful, and everyone, slave and free, hid themselves in the caves and among the rocks of the mountains, calling to the mountains and rocks, “Fall on us and hide us from the face of Him who is seated on the throne, and from the wrath of the Lamb, for the great day of Their wrath has come, and who can stand?”
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
Recently a Christian friend mentioned that a series on Revelation would soon begin in a Bible study she attends. “I’m not going to it,” she said. “I’ve studied Revelation before, and I just don’t want to do it again.” She added, “I just don’t want to dive into all that again.” She meant, not the difficulty of interpretation, but the fearful, repeated depictions of God’s judgment and wrath in Revelation. Alongside promises of beautiful future restoration, Revelation does predict God’s judgment and His fearful wrath against all who rebel against Him. Even many Christians find that difficult.
After the great scene of worship in chapter 5, in Revelation 6 the Lamb begins to open the 7-sealed scroll, unfolding God’s righteous design for the outcome of history.
Horsemen appear, showing conquest, war, famine, and death. Voices of martyrs plead for justice. As the sixth seal is unlocked, there is an earthquake, the sun is darkened, stars are falling, heavens are “rolled up,” islands are removed, and human beings are calling for mountains to hide them from the wrath of the Lamb.
There it is—the wrath of the Lamb. How can the Lamb, the Savior-King, act in wrath?
We find almost the same question in the first book of the Bible. Abraham the patriarch heard from God about the great evil of Sodom and Gomorrah, the Canaanite cities chosen by Abraham’s nephew Lot for his home. The LORD said, “Because the outcry against Sodom and Gomorrah is great and their sin is very grave, I will go down to see whether they have done altogether according to the outcry that has come to Me. And if not, I will know.” (Genesis 18:20-21) God’s judgment is founded on His clear, thorough perception and His perfectly just character.
Abraham began to negotiate with God; he was horrified at the thought of God’s “sweeping away” the cities where his nephew lived. The LORD agreed to spare the cities if even 10 righteous people could be found there. Abraham asked the question many ask today when reading Revelation, “Shall not the Judge of all the earth do what is just?” (Genesis 18:25) Isn’t the wrath of God too cruel? Isn’t God loving? Is this fair?
God saw Sodom and Gomorrah as He sees everyone everywhere. Genesis 19 describes a society of perverse, violent sin. In mercy, He saved Lot, as the LORD “rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah…out of the heavens.” (Genesis 19:24)
God’s judgment is His perfectly insightful and just disposition of all things, including both reward for obedience and punishment of sin. God’s wrath is His active response to those who rebel against Him, and who reject His grace in His Son. What then do God’s judgment and His wrath mean for us today?
God’s fierce action against evil reminds us He created the universe good in every sense: magnificent, ordered, and moral, and this in turn reminds us He will make everything new.
God’s great punishment of sin will be His visible defense and vindication of His people, especially His suffering people.
God’s abhorrence of sin calls us to self-examination and repentance by His Spirit.
God’s action in judgment reminds us that life on earth, our lives, are meaningful.
How is it that the slain Lamb who saves also comes in wrath? God “has fixed a day on which He will judge the world in righteousness by a man whom He has appointed; and of this He has given assurance to all by raising Him from the dead.” (Acts 17:31)
Praise Him.
After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Leslie and her husband, David, have 3 children and 4 grandchildren who are the joy of her life. She loves to be outside any chance she gets, especially if that involves hiking, walking, or gardening.
The throne is once again the center of all that is happening. God is sitting on the throne, the multitude is standing before the throne, the Lamb is in the midst of the throne, and all the angels, elders, and four living creatures are all around falling down before the throne. Everything happening is in relation to the throne. Revelation 6:17 asks a good question, “Who can stand?” before this throne? Who can stand before the Lamb on the great day of His wrath?” Incredibly, Revelation 7:9 tells us that there is a vast, innumerable multitude standing before the throne and the Lamb! Who are they? How can they stand there? What are they doing?
Who are they, and how can they stand?
Revelation 5:9 says that the Lamb has ransomed this vast number of people by His death on the cross and with His blood, which was the price He paid for them. They are from every nation, every tribe, every people, and every language. No one can count the number of people– except the Lamb. He knows each one, and He has sealed each one with His Spirit. 2 Corinthians 1:22 says that God “has also put His seal on us and given us His Spirit in our hearts as a guarantee.” Revelation 9, 14, and 22 also tell us that God has put His seal on those the Lamb has purchased. Now they belong to Him. Now He is always with them. Now they serve Him. Now they worship Him because the salvation of God has been given to them. Those who stand before the throne of God are those who have been sealed with His name on their foreheads. They have been cleansed by the blood of the Lamb. Because they belong to Him and have His name on them, they will be able to withstand all the distress and tribulations of life until He returns. They will be able to stand before His wrath because they are sealed by Him and covered in His blood.
What are they doing in Revelation 7:9-12?
They are crying out in loud voices and worshiping God and the Lamb with all their hearts in the vast company of believers and angels. They are serving Him “day and night in His temple” (Revelation 7:15), and He is sheltering and shepherding them. “He will guide them to springs of living water and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes” (Revelation 7:17). The multitude can’t be counted, but God knows every tear and wipes each one away.
There are still millions of people who have not heard the gospel that will be in that multitude before the throne! Let’s pray together for the lost to hear the good news of Jesus Christ. Let’s pray for one another to share this good news and for God to send workers for the harvest! “How then will they call on Him in whom they have not believed? And how are they to believe in Him of whom they have never heard? And how are they to hear without someone preaching? And how are they to preach unless they are sent? As it is written, ‘How beautiful are the feet of those who preach the good news!’” (Romans 10:14-15)
After this I saw four angels standing at the four corners of the earth, holding back the four winds of the earth, that no wind might blow on earth or sea or against any tree. Then I saw another angel ascending from the rising of the sun, with the seal of the living God, and he called with a loud voice to the four angels who had been given power to harm earth and sea, saying, “Do not harm the earth or the sea or the trees, until we have sealed the servants of our God on their foreheads.” And I heard the number of the sealed, 144,000, sealed from every tribe of the sons of Israel:
12,000 from the tribe of Judah were sealed,
12,000 from the tribe of Reuben,
12,000 from the tribe of Gad,
12,000 from the tribe of Asher,
12,000 from the tribe of Naphtali,
12,000 from the tribe of Manasseh,
12,000 from the tribe of Simeon,
12,000 from the tribe of Levi,
12,000 from the tribe of Issachar,
12,000 from the tribe of Zebulun,
12,000 from the tribe of Joseph,
12,000 from the tribe of Benjamin were sealed.
After this I looked, and behold, a great multitude that no one could number, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, with palm branches in their hands, and crying out with a loud voice, “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” And all the angels were standing around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, saying, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.”
Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, clothed in white robes, and from where have they come?” I said to him, “Sir, you know.” And he said to me, “These are the ones coming out of the great tribulation. They have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
“Therefore they are before the throne of God,
and serve Him day and night in His temple;
and He who sits on the throne will shelter them with His presence.
They shall hunger no more, neither thirst anymore;
the sun shall not strike them,
nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their Shepherd,
and He will guide them to springs of living water,
and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
As we wind our way through Revelation, it’s easy to lose the forest for the trees. We get fixated on angels or horsemen or the meaning of 144,000, and we lose the big picture. Revelation 7 gives us so much to imagine and debate, but it also gives us an exclamation that summarizes the whole message of the Bible. It’s what David declares in Psalm 3:8. It’s what Jonah proclaims from the belly of the fish (Jonah 2:9). And here, in Revelation 7:10, it’s what “a great multitude that no one could number” cries out as they stand before the throne: “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!” This is a fitting summary of the Bible because it reminds us that the Lord is sovereign in planning, purchasing, and applying salvation to His people. Truly, salvation belongs to the Lord. The great multitude around the throne has no doubt that salvation is by His grace and for His glory.
But, we might ask, if salvation belongs to the Lord, how can we know that it belongs to us? Or to ask it another way, how can we know that we belong to the Lord? Most of us have been in a situation where we needed to prove ownership—of a car, a pet, or an account. We had to provide evidence that we are who we say we are and the thing in question belongs to us. In the ancient world, proof of ownership was often communicated through seals. You could find a seal or symbol on a coin (Matthew 22:20-21), a letter, an animal, or other objects. The seal was a way of saying, “This belongs to me.” In our time, our signature often serves as the proof of ownership or the promise to fulfill an agreement. New Testament authors like John and Paul borrow this concept of “sealing” to illustrate what happens in salvation.
We can know that we belong to the Lord—that salvation belongs to us—because the Lord has sealed us. John uses this word explicitly or implicitly 15 times in Revelation 7:3-8. One angel tells four other angels not to bring God’s judgment until they have “sealed the servants of our God” (Revelation 7:3). Paul explains the seal in Ephesians 1:13-14 when he writes, “In Him you also, when you heard the word of truth, the gospel of your salvation, and believed in Him, were sealed with the promised Holy Spirit, who is the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it, to the praise of His glory.” For the one who believes in Jesus Christ, the seal is not an external marker, like a symbol, letter, or brand. It’s not a signature on a piece of paper. The seal is “the promised Holy Spirit” who indwells those who believe in Jesus. Every human is stamped or sealed with the image of God, but the Christian experiences a more astounding reality: being sealed with the very presence of God. As Lord of all the earth, God doesn’t need to prove His ownership to anybody, but the seal of the Holy Spirit provides us with wonderful assurance. It means that we are His. Because we are His, we are assured that Jesus will save us from the wrath that is to come (1 Thessalonians 1:10). Because we are His, we can rest as sons and daughters in the perfect love of our Abba, Father (Galatians 4:6). Because we are His, we can be confident that the Lord will fulfill every promise He has made to us. For the Holy Spirit is the down payment, “the guarantee of our inheritance until we acquire possession of it”. The seal of the Holy Spirit means that we belong to the Lord, and He belongs to us. As we wrestle with questions, heartache, and even death, do we know the invincible joy of belonging to God? By His grace, will we join the song: “Salvation belongs to our God who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb!”?
When the Lamb opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven for about half an hour. Then I saw the seven angels who stand before God, and seven trumpets were given to them. And another angel came and stood at the altar with a golden censer, and he was given much incense to offer with the prayers of all the saints on the golden altar before the throne, and the smoke of the incense, with the prayers of the saints, rose before God from the hand of the angel. Then the angel took the censer and filled it with fire from the altar and threw it on the earth, and there were peals of thunder, rumblings, flashes of lightning, and an earthquake.
Now the seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared to blow them.
Mark Fulmer is an elder at Park Cities Presbyterian Church, and along with Steve Vanderhill, teaches the New Creations Sunday School class.
The billboards seem to have sprung up everywhere. If you’ve been driving in Dallas lately, you’ve surely seen them. Slogging along at 25 MPH on Central Expressway or LBJ, you’ve also had lots of time to ponder the provocative question that emblazons the signs: “Are we living in the end times?” the billboard shouts. And there’s a picture of a pastor who seems to be ready to answer the question.
Well, the answer is “YES.” We’ve been living in the end times since the Lord’s ascension. The real question is more like, “Do current world events signal the end of humanity as we know it?” That’s much harder to get onto a billboard, even if there’s plenty of time to read it from the car.
The book of Revelation has much to say about the end of humanity as we know it. It’s certainly not the only place in the Bible that the topic is addressed, but the apocalyptic vision given to the apostle John gives us pictures of what will be going on in the “end times.”
In this part of John’s vision, he is allowed to watch and hear three important movements in the symphony that will close history.
First, Jesus finishes the preparatory work of unsealing. All of history has been hurtling toward this moment. Now, imagine that you really are attending a symphony, but you get there early. Folks are walking about, stagehands are scurrying on and off, and at first glance, it seems like nothing in particular is going to happen. Then you hear the oboe play the A440, and all the other instruments check their tuning. Then there’s silence! When the final symphony described in Revelation was about to begin, the silence lasted half an hour. Can you imagine?
Secondly, the distinction between the eternal and the temporal begins to disappear. John sees the herald angels receive their instruments. These angels have been serving God Almighty since before the foundation of the world and are now preparing for the denouement of human history. The trumpets are ready. Another angel is given the material for the offering. It will be for the golden altar that stands before the throne of God. And look! There is heavenly incense, but it’s mixed with earthly prayers. The prayers of God’s people “here below” are part of the glorious offering gathered in “heaven above.” Soon, there will be no such distinction. Soon, the temporal will be completely replaced with the eternal.
Thirdly, John sees the beginning of the end. Old, stained earthly history is consumed in a cataclysmic conflagration as the Lord God begins to make all things new. The new heavens and the new earth will be brought forth from the worshipful offering of heavenly incense and the prayers of the saints.
Are we living in the end times? Yes, we are. But the Lord Jesus told us not to try to figure out the day or the hour. Rather, His people are to live in the reality that at any moment the Lamb who was slain could return as the King of Glory. He will rule and reign in the new heavens and new earth. John sees that the prayers of God’s people are a critical part of that eternal reality. So, what are we to do to be ready in these end times? Pray without ceasing!
“Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.” Matthew 24:44
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through Him, and without Him was not any thing made that was made. In Him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.
The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through Him, yet the world did not know Him. He came to His own, and His own people did not receive Him. But to all who did receive Him, who believed in His name, He gave the right to become children of God, who were born, not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.
And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen His glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth.
“Behold, I am coming soon, bringing My recompense with Me, to repay each one for what he has done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.”
He who testifies to these things says, “Surely I am coming soon.” Amen. Come, Lord Jesus!
Ross is the PCPC High School Resident for freshmen and sophomore guys. He is a former PCPC Covenant Child and current member of the church. He is pursuing his calling of pastorship at Reformed Theological Seminary - Dallas. Ross loves his wife Margie, his family and friends, God’s Word, and all things story (reading, writing, acting, etc.)!
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” The light of the life of Christ doesn’t just shine on those already dwelling in light. It comes to those “sitting in darkness” (Isaiah 42:7) and “waiting for consolation” (Luke 2:25). I think we can easily forget that as we move through pretty decorations, excited faces, and songs about “The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.” The good news of Advent comes to those who need good news.
Have you replaced the light of the life of Christ - born, risen, and returning - with some other worldly light “that will be turned into darkness” (Joel 2:31) at Christ’s second coming? Have you made the holiday get-together, the vacation, or the peace and quiet after the festivities your hope? As the people of God, we have one hope: that we will dwell with our Lord in everlasting life and righteousness after He has wiped away every tear from every eye and abolished death, mourning, crying, and pain forever (Revelation 21:3).
So - if you are not blessed with suffering (Matthew 5:4) which prepares your heart for Advent this season - what should you do? How do you and I get or recapture Christ’s second Advent as our greatest hope? Well, just like we develop expectations for this Christmas by remembering past Christmases, we learn to look forward to Christ’s second Advent by looking back at His first Advent.
“We have seen His glory… full of grace and truth.” Do you remember Jesus’ glory which shone in His grace and truth? Do you remember how He healed everyone who ever came to Him or was brought to Him with a spiritual or physical illness, disability, or disease (Matthew 8:16-17)? Do you remember how He preached good news and guided the poor and the rich into the blessed Kingdom of heaven (Matthew 9:35-36)? Do you remember how He compassionately protected and delivered His followers from frightening and needy circumstances (Mark 4:39 & 6:42)? Do you remember how He forgave every sin someone repented of, and how He praised the people who were the most humbly honest about what horrific sinners they were (Luke 7:36-50)? Do you remember how He raised the dead and promised that whoever believes in Him will be raised to reign in eternal life with Him in the world to come (Luke 22:28-30 & John 11:23-26)?
Christ’s second coming will be the worst day of all time for those that are not waiting for Him (Matthew 25:1-13). But for those who are waiting for Jesus, His second Advent will be the best day of all time. All the heavenly things we’ve read about and gotten tastes of in this dim life will become our bright and forever-present reality. Every illness, disability, and disease will be healed, every question will be answered, every unjust situation will be judged and restored, every sin will be forgiven, and every dead body of every meek Christian will be raised to everlasting glory.
What a gospel! What a Savior. Hallelujah. Come, Lord Jesus!
Now the LORD said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.”
So Abram went, as the LORD had told him, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran. And Abram took Sarai his wife, and Lot his brother’s son, and all their possessions that they had gathered, and the people that they had acquired in Haran, and they set out to go to the land of Canaan. When they came to the land of Canaan, Abram passed through the land to the place at Shechem, to the oak of Moreh. At that time the Canaanites were in the land. Then the LORD appeared to Abram and said, “To your offspring I will give this land.” So he built there an altar to the LORD, who had appeared to him.
After these things the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision: “Fear not, Abram, I am your shield; your reward shall be very great.” But Abram said, “O Lord GOD, what will you give me, for I continue childless, and the heir of my house is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “Behold, You have given me no offspring, and a member of my household will be my heir.” And behold, the word of the LORD came to him: “This man shall not be your heir; your very own son shall be your heir.” And He brought him outside and said, “Look toward heaven, and number the stars, if you are able to number them.” Then He said to him, “So shall your offspring be.” And he believed the LORD, and He counted it to him as righteousness.
And He said to him, “I am the LORD who brought you out from Ur of the Chaldeans to give you this land to possess.” But he said, “O Lord GOD, how am I to know that I shall possess it?” He said to him, “Bring me a heifer three years old, a female goat three years old, a ram three years old, a turtledove, and a young pigeon.” And he brought Him all these, cut them in half, and laid each half over against the other. But he did not cut the birds in half. And when birds of prey came down on the carcasses, Abram drove them away.
As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell on Abram. And behold, dreadful and great darkness fell upon him. Then the LORD said to Abram, “Know for certain that your offspring will be sojourners in a land that is not theirs and will be servants there, and they will be afflicted for four hundred years. But I will bring judgment on the nation that they serve, and afterward they shall come out with great possessions. As for you, you shall go to your fathers in peace; you shall be buried in a good old age. And they shall come back here in the fourth generation, for the iniquity of the Amorites is not yet complete.”
When the sun had gone down and it was dark, behold, a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch passed between these pieces. On that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your offspring I give this land."
But now that faith has come, we are no longer under a guardian, for in Christ Jesus you are all sons of God, through faith. For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither slave nor free, there is no male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. And if you are Christ’s, then you are Abraham’s offspring, heirs according to promise.
Cam is from Oklahoma but has found her home in Texas at PCPC as the Ministry Leader for Young Women. She is currently pursuing a master’s degree at Reformed Theological Seminary. Cam loves finding ways to be creative, teaching God’s Word, watching movies, and spending time with her friends.
Genesis 17 describes a common ritual practice that would occur to ratify a covenant in the Ancient Near East; the two participants would dismember animals, lay them side-by-side, and then walk between the pieces to symbolize that their own death would be like that of the animals if their end of the agreement is broken.
But notice, in this passage, there is only one who partakes in “passing between the pieces,” God. In doing so, God signed the contract for both parties. God swears on His Own life the covenant will be kept contingent upon God’s faithfulness to Himself. Abram’s ability to remain faithful to the covenant or not would never actually hinder God from giving him all that He promised in Genesis 12, because there is only one true promise keeper, God. This is a recurring theme seen throughout the rest of the Old Testament story: God always keeps His promises.
Do you believe God always keeps His promises? Many characters in the Old Testament narrative had to wait an extended period of time before the fulfillment of something God had promised them. Other characters did not get to participate in a promise God made to them in the way they perhaps thought they would. And some characters did not even live to see God’s promise come to fruition.
The culmination of God’s promise keeping becomes incarnate on a dark night in Bethlehem. God condescended to be with us, Emmanuel, who put on flesh to carry a cross unto death. Christ’s death was the death that Abram, and every single one of us, deserved to die for our unfaithfulness to our Creator. However, Christ’s resurrection proved that even death could not stop God from keeping His promises. For those of us who are in Christ, we have great hope in this truth. Because of His finished work, we have died to death with Christ and have in turn been raised to life in Him. We are the promised seed of Abraham (Galatians 3:29), eternally part of God’s family–heirs with Christ and the future recipients of a promised inheritance awaiting us in heaven.
“For all the promises of God find their Yes in Him (Christ).” (2 Corinthians 1:20a) We can believe the promises of God to be true in our lives because God has been, and will always be, faithful to Himself to keep His promises.
When we look back to the first Advent of Christ, we see the culmination and fulfillment of every promise God made in the Old Testament. As we look forward to the second Advent of Christ, we hope in the realization of God’s ultimate promise to redeem humanity and fully reconcile His children to Himself. Since we walk in the period of time between these two events, we are able to view both of Christ’s Advents simultaneously. Looking back to His first coming, we see that the Lord is faithful and keeps His promises. As we look to His second coming in light of His first, we can have the utmost confidence that what God has told us will come to pass–that He will dwell with us for eternity (Revelation 21:3). Because of this, we can have immense hope during this Advent season, fixing our eyes on Christ who is the ultimate fulfilment of all God’s promises, both past and future.
And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a Son, and you shall call His name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to Him the throne of His father David, and He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of His Kingdom there will be no end.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Imagine an early morning before work. It’s still dark out. Think of the one-bedroom apartment of a young married couple. It has been at least 30 years since it was a cool place to live in the city, but it is nice enough, and the rent is right. A man in his late twenties stands in the kitchen. A small round table for two is against the wall just off the living room. Recessed lighting glows fluorescent white.
The man’s wife walks out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. She wears athletic shorts, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes, ready to get a workout in. She stops within reach and, almost imperceptibly, trembles. The whites of her eyes are tinged red and pooling wet. A burning edge of gold, mingling green and brown, flames around the rim of narrowed pupils. Her lips quiver.
She says, “I’m pregnant.”
In an instant, without a trumpet blast or marching troop, an immense wall of fear and unfulfilled hope comes tumbling down. A feeling like seeing your bride walk through the back doors of the church on your wedding day or the punchline of a good joke, and tears fill the little apartment. The man laughs. “It’s still very early,” she says. “But the test is positive.” He holds his wife, smiling uncontrollably.
The man who laughed is myself, and I think of this now as Christmas draws near: a pregnancy, laughter, and tears. Christmas comes, I think, with a sharp edge, touching as sadness, because we long to be fully known and embraced, to say I’m sorry and be forgiven and to love more fiercely than death. We want all our dear ones home for Christmas. But they won’t be. And death still hurts love. And some rifts are so deep they will never mend. And there is a chest and gut pin-prickling fire of the fear that if you really knew me you would leave me. Unless. Unless, the story is true.
The story of Christmas is the fact of the impossible made possible by divine promise, paid in person. God came for us in real time, our time, and for all time in and through an utterly unique pregnancy, fully human and fully divine. This freedom of God in action accomplished something for us we could never achieve on our own. Where laughter and tears come by surprise there is the memory of Christmas, that Jesus Christ came to save us.
And while they were there, the time came for her to give birth. And she gave birth to her firstborn Son and wrapped Him in swaddling clothes and laid Him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the inn.
Brett Bradshaw serves as the Director of Christian Formation at Park Cities Presbyterian Church in Dallas, Texas. Andrea is his wife whom he delights to love. Ellie, Emery, and Haven are his precious daughters, the little ones who are a daily glimpse of the Kingdom of God.
Picture yourself in a doctor’s office, the stark white floors, the aseptic scent, and air conditioning. Framed diplomas hang on the walls with all their honors coded in Latin and calligraphy. Lying on a small table is a stack of magazines with young women on the covers, smiling and snuggling their babies.
She sits on the edge of the examination table, feet dangling, swollen like half-filled water balloons. 39 weeks pregnant, every inch of her body aches, and last night, she didn’t sleep, skin itching so badly that she could hardly stand it. The doctor sits on a rolling stool, very still, quiet, face tilted down. The silence stretches the boundaries of decorum or, at least, the husband’s capacity to wait.
“What are you thinking?” he says.
“I’m praying,” the doctor says. Pause. Just long enough to take it in. “We need to have this baby.”
“Like when?”
“Now.”
“So can we go home and get our bags first?”
“No. We are going to induce, right now.”
The doctor explains the symptoms, the possible diagnosis, and how if we wait for test results to confirm it could be too late.
“I’m going to call labor and delivery to find you a room,” the doctor says. “If you have something to eat, I would eat it now.”
“I have a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” she says.
Hours later, trembling and tired, she lies in a hospital bed and submits herself to the delivery. Her husband sits beside her. Time to give birth.
“Daddy, are you ready?” the doctor says. Her eyes are magnified through glasses, bright like she knows something so good it must be seen. “She’s here.”
Without time to breathe and beyond all thought, tears come. The surgical mask grows wet and sticky. A little purpling thing is held by hands in blue gloves. Scrunched, waxy, and smudged in blood. Eyes wide open. Little fingers and toes. And, for a moment, the veil between time and forever seems very thin indeed.
“Hi, baby,” he says. “I’m your Daddy.” Then a shrill and piercing sound becomes the most painfully beautiful song.
“You’re OK. Daddy’s here. Mommy’s here. I love you.”
Christmas comes to us again saying remember the time when “the time came for her to give birth” (Luke 2:6). Remember the time when time’s time had come, and “God sent forth His Son, born of a woman” (Galatians 4:4). Remember the time that God was tucked up tight in a swaddle, lying in an animal trough, because the whole house was packed. Remember the time of your children’s lives, all your precious ones, the time of your very breath; for it is, in truth, a gift of divine love. Remember it’s Christmastime, and Christ has come. Are you ready?
This will be the last Every Thought Capitive of 2023. Look for our next ETC on January 5, 2024. Hope you have a Happy New Year!
Comfort, comfort My people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her
that her warfare is ended,
that her iniquity is pardoned,
that she has received from the LORD’s hand
double for all her sins.
And when the time came for their purification according to the Law of Moses, they brought Him up to Jerusalem to present Him to the Lord (as it is written in the Law of the Lord, “Every male who first opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord”) and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the Law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.” Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, waiting for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ. And he came in the Spirit into the temple, and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for Him according to the custom of the Law, he took Him up in his arms and blessed God and said,
“Lord, now You are letting Your servant depart in peace,
according to Your word;
for my eyes have seen Your salvation
that You have prepared in the presence of all peoples,
a light for revelation to the Gentiles,
and for glory to Your people Israel.”
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
“Do not try to console me!” exclaimed a boy in my family after a disappointing exam score. At that moment soothing words irritated rather than helped. It was what it was!
A new year is opening. But does some constraint reach into those yet-to-be-lived days? Are grief, loneliness, or a sense of failure clouding expectation? Have you hoped for change in a person or situation – or in yourself – so long, that you are tempted to think, “It is what it is?”
Thousands of years ago a man named Simeon lived with expectation. We don’t know his age or occupation, but we know Simeon was devoted to God and would have known the prophet Isaiah’s direction from God to “Comfort, comfort My people,” to “speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the LORD’s hand double for all her sins” (Isaiah 40:1-2).
Isaiah looked far ahead of his own time to the LORD’s coming to His people, to Messiah, who would accomplish His people’s deliverance, far beyond any political victory. Messiah would accomplish their deliverance from sin’s penalty and from sin’s hold over them. And that rescue would eventually be followed by a majestic day when He would return in power to renew and rule over the world.
This truth framed Simeon’s expectation and how Simeon approached a new year, or a new day. God had also given him a special, gracious insight; through the Holy Spirit, Simeon knew he would see Messiah. He took God fully at His word, and he would go every day to the Temple in Jerusalem to see if, that day, he might meet “the Consolation of Israel,” the promised Deliverer, Redeemer, Shepherd, and King. Simeon went to the Temple because he knew this Great One, as an infant, would be brought there to be presented to God. This expectancy and faith in God and His Word buoyed Simeon’s spirit and repulsed frustration.
In Simeon’s time as in ours, evil seemed triumphant. Israel’s people were held under the iron grip of the Romans. Violence could break out at any time. Religious leaders who should have also been expecting Messiah seemed eager only to maintain their positions. But Simeon knew that “it is what it is” would become the reality God had revealed, and every day he expected God to do all that He said.
And so, on the day when Mary and Joseph came to present Jesus to His Father in the Temple, God brought Simeon to them. He held Him in his arms, and praised God, “for my eyes have seen Your salvation.” God poured out gracious revelation through Simeon, that this salvation was “prepared for all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles, and for glory to Your people Israel” (Luke 2:29-32).
Your loving Father in heaven has a new year and new days for you of healing and renewal despite the sorrow, sickness, and rebellion in the world. He will keep His promises even as hardship enters our lives. His consolation is not just sweet words but covenant certainty. He has fulfilled His promise, and the Savior has come. Forgiveness and new life are real. Live and hope in them! Messiah Jesus calls us to come to Him when we “labor and are heavy laden,” and He gives rest. Expect to see through Him all God’s promises fulfilled. And keep looking—He is coming back, and maybe this is the day.
Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, wise men from the east came to Jerusalem, saying, “Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw His star when it rose and have come to worship Him.” When Herod the king heard this, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him; and assembling all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Christ was to be born. They told him, “In Bethlehem of Judea, for so it is written by the prophet:
'And you, O Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,
are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;
for from you shall come a ruler
who will shepherd My people Israel.'
Then Herod summoned the wise men secretly and ascertained from them what time the star had appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, “Go and search diligently for the child, and when you have found Him, bring me word, that I too may come and worship Him.” After listening to the king, they went on their way. And behold, the star that they had seen when it rose went before them until it came to rest over the place where the Child was. When they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly with great joy. And going into the house, they saw the Child with Mary His mother, and they fell down and worshiped Him. Then, opening their treasures, they offered Him gifts, gold and frankincense and myrrh. And being warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they departed to their own country by another way.
Now when they had departed, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, “Rise, take the Child and His mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there until I tell you, for Herod is about to search for the Child, to destroy Him.” And he rose and took the Child and His mother by night and departed to Egypt and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, “Out of Egypt I called My Son.”
Kari received her Master’s in Biblical Counseling from Dallas Theological Seminary in 1997 and spent four years in private practice as a counselor. She has been the Director of PCPC Women for the past 15 years, where she loves serving women of all ages and and stages of life. Kari loves being with family and friends, and while God has given her many talents, "accessorizing" is certainly close to the top of that list.
My sister has a pet peeve: nativity scenes that include the wise men. By far most of the nativity scenes we see during the Christmas season include the baby Jesus, Mary, Joseph, a couple of shepherds, and an angel – which should all be there as they were the key characters present when Jesus was born. Yet, most of the nativity scenes include three wise men. As we study Scripture, it is pretty easy to tell that the wise men did not arrive in Bethlehem until about two years later. Matthew 2:11 refers to Jesus as a “child” and not as a “baby.” It also says that rather than in a manger, the wise men found baby Jesus in a “house.” It is also why King Herod, upon hearing of the threat of another king being born, ordered all the baby boys in the vicinity of two years old and under to be killed. My sister is correct about the error in most nativity scenes; however, the wise men tell us a great deal about the lengths those who care most about seeking Christ will go to in order to know God.
We typically see three wise men in the nativity scenes, although there could have been an entire entourage of wealthy, learned men who traveled a very long way from the East. We do not know exactly where that was, but we do know these wise men were also astronomers who studied the stars. They had noticed a very large star in the sky and were led by God to mount their camels and head in the direction of that star to find out who this newborn King was.
Perhaps the Magi had a copy of the Jewish Scriptures, and they told them when the Messiah would come:
“A Star shall come out of Jacob; a Scepter shall rise out of Israel.” (Numbers 24:17)
“And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.” (Is. 60:3)
“A multitude of camels shall cover you, young camels of Midian and Ephah; all those from Sheba [the Magi’s homeland] shall come. They shall bring gold and frankincense and shall bring good news, the praises of the LORD.” (Is. 60:6)
When this star appeared before them, and they seemed to have learned the King of the Jews would come, they were compelled by God. They were moved by Him to set out on this very long pilgrimage to find and worship this new born King that was prophesied.
They even had enough understanding of what God was doing in sending His Son that they brought with them gifts for the Child, which symbolized their understanding of this King of the Jews:
You are probably familiar with the rest of the story. When they arrived in Jerusalem, they came to the Roman King Herod first, seeking his knowledge about this supposed birth of the King of the Jews. Scripture says Herod and all of Jerusalem were rattled by their question. So, Herod called in all of the learned Jewish spiritual leadership of the day to see if they knew anything about this Baby’s birth. They easily pointed to the prophecy in Micah 5, which said the Baby would be born in Bethlehem. Then Herod privately talked with the Magi, getting a little more information as to the timing of this star’s appearance, and asked them to come back and tell him where the child was once they had found him so he too, could worship him. And apparently, he told them, “Bethlehem is 8 miles southwest of here, so be on your way.” The star guided them to Mary and Joseph’s house, and upon seeing little Jesus they fell to the ground, worshiping Him with a joy we can only imagine! After the gifts were exchanged and probably a robust evening of eating and enjoying the moment in history, the men were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, so they went back home via another route.
What baffles me as I read this story is that the most learned Jewish men, those who gave spiritual leadership to the Jews in Jerusalem, cared so little about checking out the truth of the prophecy that they quoted so easily to Herod. What a contrast their actions are to those of the Magi. The Magi had only pieces of Scripture to go on and an unusual star that caught their attention, and yet they traveled probably over a year to get to see baby Jesus. The Jewish leadership and scriptural experts didn’t care enough to walk 8 miles to Bethlehem even though their knowledge of God’s Word clearly told them this would happen.
One of Satan’s favorite tactics is to trick Christians into believing we know God when in reality, we just know a lot about God. None of us are immune. Knowledge, even knowledge of Scripture, can puff us up when mixed with pride and not love (I Corinthians 8:1). We can go to church every Sunday, join Bible studies, never fail to be present, do all the homework, have all the answers, read lots of Christian books, and listen to Christian podcasts, but if we aren’t alert to the craftiness of Satan, these means of Grace will not change us by teaching us more about our Lord and Savior, Jesus.
What are some of the signs we are not growing in our knowledge of God?
Even though I am writing these things, I find it very convicting. I am often tempted to know more about God and not grow in my personal knowledge of Him. And yet, it’s absolutely amazing that the God of the universe wants a personal relationship with me!
How do we stay in pursuit of the knowledge of God without becoming arrogant and prideful, and thus not caring about seeking God, as the religious leaders in Jerusalem apparently had done?
A friend I respect deeply challenged me to read the classic book, Knowing God, by J.I. Packer. Packer offers four practices we can implement to guard our hearts against such deception from knowledge:
“First, listening to God’s Word and receiving it as the Holy Spirit interprets it, in application to oneself; second, noting God’s nature and character, as His Word and works reveal it; third, accepting His invitations and doing what He commands; fourth, recognizing and rejoicing in the love that He has shown in thus approaching you and drawing you into this divine fellowship.”
May we be men and women who humbly and passionately seek after a deep knowledge of God the Father by following His Son, Jesus, who has made a way through His death and resurrection for us to know Him and make Him known. Wise men and women seek Him with all of their hearts.
The next day again John was standing with two of his disciples, and he looked at Jesus as He walked by and said, “Behold, the Lamb of God!” The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus. Jesus turned and saw them following and said to them, “What are you seeking?” And they said to Him, “Rabbi” (which means Teacher), “where are You staying?” He said to them, “Come and you will see.” So they came and saw where He was staying, and they stayed with Him that day, for it was about the tenth hour. One of the two who heard John speak and followed Jesus was Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother. He first found his own brother Simon and said to him, “We have found the Messiah” (which means Christ). He brought him to Jesus. Jesus looked at him and said, “You are Simon the son of John. You shall be called Cephas” (which means Peter).
The next day Jesus decided to go to Galilee. He found Philip and said to him, “Follow Me.” Now Philip was from Bethsaida, the city of Andrew and Peter. Philip found Nathanael and said to him, “We have found Him of whom Moses in the Law and also the prophets wrote, Jesus of Nazareth, the son of Joseph.” Nathanael said to him, “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Philip said to him, “Come and see.” Jesus saw Nathanael coming toward Him and said of him, “Behold, an Israelite indeed, in whom there is no deceit!” Nathanael said to Him, “How do You know me?” Jesus answered him, “Before Philip called you, when you were under the fig tree, I saw you.” Nathanael answered Him, “Rabbi, You are the Son of God! You are the King of Israel!” Jesus answered him, “Because I said to you, ‘I saw you under the fig tree,’ do you believe? You will see greater things than these.” And He said to him, “Truly, truly, I say to you, you will see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of Man.”
Kenna Gaw is a Resident for Middle School at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. She graduated from TCU with a degree in Youth Advocacy and Educational Studies with an emphasis on Criminal Justice and afterwards attended the Kanakuk Institute. Kenna’s passions include encouraging young girls in their faith and identity in Christ, wake surfing on the lake, and learning how to cook. Kenna is newly married to her husband, David.
At the start of every new year, my family has a tradition of picking a “word for the year.” We all gather and share with one another what word we’ve picked and why, and then at the end of the year, we reflect on how God used that word in each of our lives. Regardless of what word is picked, the one question we seek to answer is “What are you seeking?” What do you desire out of another year of life that God has given you?
This year, I have chosen for my word to be “behold.” This one is different than any of the others I have picked in the past. This year, I want to focus on remaining fixed on Christ in every single aspect of my life and to rest in the promise that He alone sustains me. It is so easy to get caught up in placing our worth in fleeting things, worrying about what tomorrow holds, letting fear drive us, or dwelling on the thoughts and opinions of others. My hope in “beholding” this year is that I will slow down and seek Christ alone in every aspect of my life. I pray this will mark the rest of my years. When behold is mentioned in the Bible, it is saying, “Be sure to see.” I want to behold the Lamb of God and fall deeper in love with my Heavenly Father more and more each day that He gives.
In John 1:35-51, we see Jesus calling His disciples. When He does this, what does He ask them? “What are you seeking?” John’s gospel refers to seeking thirty-eight times. God knew we would need to be reminded over and over again. What stands out to me in this passage is that Jesus specifically called these men to come and walk alongside Him, and they not only believed that He was who He said He was, but they simply stopped their lives to follow Him.
If someone were to look at my life, or yours, would they be able to say the same? Looking at your life, what would they see? Would they see someone who is willing to have their plans disrupted by the things of God? Would they see someone who has been radically changed by the grace and love of our God? This world is constantly throwing things at us to seek, whether it's affirmation through others, scrolling through social media, finding worth in how well we perform or how much we make in our jobs, basing our value on our relationship status, or finding praise through what we look like. There are so many things that could fall on this list. We all have them. Take a moment to think about the things that you are finding yourself seeking outside of Christ. Look at that list, and think, have these ever fully satisfied me forever and ever? The answer? No.
But, we are not without hope. We have an eternal and secure hope. Thanks be to God.
What His word tells us is this: “But whoever drinks of the water that I will give him will never be thirsty again. The water that I will give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:14). In Rankin Wilbourne’s book, Union of Christ, he says:
“Apart from Him you can do nothing (John 15:5).” But united to Him, you can drink the sweet waters of the far country, even as you wander in a dry and thirsty land. For Christ will “make it a place of springs” (Psalm 84:6), even rivers of living water.
God is actually giving us beyond what we could ever dream of. I wish that I could have told my younger self that the fullness of joy that I was so desperately seeking was not found in Jesus + _____. Fullness of joy is found in Christ alone. Would this be true of us, that we would behold the Lamb, and spend the rest of our days seeking first His Kingdom and His righteousness.
Now the seven angels who had the seven trumpets prepared to blow them.
The first angel blew his trumpet, and there followed hail and fire, mixed with blood, and these were thrown upon the earth. And a third of the earth was burned up, and a third of the trees were burned up, and all green grass was burned up.
The second angel blew his trumpet, and something like a great mountain, burning with fire, was thrown into the sea, and a third of the sea became blood. A third of the living creatures in the sea died, and a third of the ships were destroyed.
The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters became wormwood, and many people died from the water, because it had been made bitter.
The fourth angel blew his trumpet, and a third of the sun was struck, and a third of the moon, and a third of the stars, so that a third of their light might be darkened, and a third of the day might be kept from shining, and likewise a third of the night.
Then I looked, and I heard an eagle crying with a loud voice as it flew directly overhead, “Woe, woe, woe to those who dwell on the earth, at the blasts of the other trumpets that the three angels are about to blow!”
Will Peters was born in Dallas and raised in Paris, Texas. He has felt a call to ministry since his freshman year of high school. Will is a graduate of Texas Christian University and is pursuing a Master of Divinity from Reformed Theological Seminary. He currently serves as the Ministry Leader of Middle School at PCPC. Will is married to Leah, and they have a dog named Teddy.
What would it take for you to be convinced you are wrong? For many people, it takes more than facts. We have to be convinced of our sin both with our heads and our hearts. Then comes the painful process of confessing those sins to God, and to the people we have wronged. As Christians, the Holy Spirit convicts us and points us to truth, even when our hardened hearts slow down the process. Imagine how different this is for non-Christians. Without the hope and conviction of the Holy Spirit, they are left to their own shame as a motivator for repentance. Some may not repent because they do not see their sin as bad.
In the book of Exodus, Moses acts on behalf of God to free God's people from slavery under Pharaoh. It takes many plagues and judgment from God before the Israelites are free. Why does it take so long? Pharaoh has a hardened heart and will not repent of his sin. He thinks of himself as a god and will not surrender to the God of the universe. However, God brings judgment on Egypt to stir Pharaoh's heart. Even after this, Pharaoh chases the Israelites to bring them back and is killed in the Red Sea.
In the book of Revelation, God is bringing judgment on the unbelieving people of the world. This judgment is meant to show the seriousness of sin, and the need for repentance. God is only taking a third of the land in this judgment, giving people time to repent before the final judgment envelops the entire earth.
How do we respond to God bringing judgment into our own lives? Do we get angry at God and try to shove Him out of our life? Scripture tells us that God uses judgment to bring repentance. Peter warns the church that the world will be judged and that Christians will face a different type of judgment (1 Peter 4:17). Unlike non-Christians, God is not condemning His people for their sin. Instead, as a loving Father, He may be disciplining us to point us to the truth. Have you ever been so consumed by something that you needed someone to point you away from it? God does the same thing for His people. He disciplines His children out of love to get them away from things that are destructive.
Ultimately, God brought that judgment on Jesus, because He knew we could not face the weight of our sin and judgment. Instead of feeling ashamed when we sin or being angry with God when difficult trials or circumstances happen, we can lovingly run to God knowing that Jesus experienced every hardship in this life, yet He did not sin (Hebrews 4:14-16). God loves His children and wants them to experience the blessings that come from a loving relationship with God, which includes discipline. The Gospel of John calls this pruning. Jesus is the vine, and we are the branches (John 15:2). Jesus cares for us, and in doing so, He prunes His people so we can bear fruit. Pruning is painful, and it can make us question if God cares for us in our suffering. However, if Jesus left us in our sin, it would lead to death and destruction in our lives.
The people in Revelation 8 needed to be awakened from their sinful slumber. It required extreme judgment because of the hardened hearts of the people. We need to be reminded in our everyday lives that this world is not our home or our hope. God uses different means to remind us of that truth. He brings friends and family to point to the truth, as well as His Word. Do you spend time abiding in the Word of God? Is it shaping your heart? If not, we need to repent and seek God through His word and prayer. We do not like to be wrong, so we can be stubborn and double down in our sin. God uses many different means to show us that we are wrong and that we can only find hope and satisfaction in God.
Reflect on what is helping and hurting your relationship with God. Pray for your non-believing friends and lovingly share the Gospel with them. We do not change hearts, but we can pray and point people to the love of God. We are slow to embrace change, and our unbelieving friends, family, and co-workers may not want to change either. Jesus calls us to love everyone as a neighbor. We are to bring them into our lives – sharing meals with them, inviting them into our children’s youth league teams, and thinking of ways to invest in them. Unbelieving people need to see the hope of the gospel, and we as the church need a daily reminder of the love of God.
In the end of Revelation, Jesus will come in judgment and make all things new. He will wipe every tear from our eyes and do away with death (Revelation 21:4). Until then, we have to live in a world with pain. Do we believe God can use pain to bring healing in our lives? Do we believe that through Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection, we have been given new life? If so, let us draw near to a God who loves, and even in judgment, brings us closer to His love.
And the fifth angel blew his trumpet, and I saw a star fallen from heaven to earth, and he was given the key to the shaft of the bottomless pit. He opened the shaft of the bottomless pit, and from the shaft rose smoke like the smoke of a great furnace, and the sun and the air were darkened with the smoke from the shaft. Then from the smoke came locusts on the earth, and they were given power like the power of scorpions of the earth. They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any green plant or any tree, but only those people who do not have the seal of God on their foreheads. They were allowed to torment them for five months, but not to kill them, and their torment was like the torment of a scorpion when it stings someone. And in those days people will seek death and will not find it. They will long to die, but death will flee from them.
In appearance the locusts were like horses prepared for battle: on their heads were what looked like crowns of gold; their faces were like human faces, their hair like women’s hair, and their teeth like lions’ teeth; they had breastplates like breastplates of iron, and the noise of their wings was like the noise of many chariots with horses rushing into battle. They have tails and stings like scorpions, and their power to hurt people for five months is in their tails. They have as king over them the angel of the bottomless pit. His name in Hebrew is Abaddon, and in Greek he is called Apollyon.
The first woe has passed; behold, two woes are still to come.
Then the sixth angel blew his trumpet, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar before God, saying to the sixth angel who had the trumpet, “Release the four angels who are bound at the great river Euphrates.” So the four angels, who had been prepared for the hour, the day, the month, and the year, were released to kill a third of mankind. The number of mounted troops was twice ten thousand times ten thousand; I heard their number. And this is how I saw the horses in my vision and those who rode them: they wore breastplates the color of fire and of sapphire and of sulfur, and the heads of the horses were like lions’ heads, and fire and smoke and sulfur came out of their mouths. By these three plagues a third of mankind was killed, by the fire and smoke and sulfur coming out of their mouths. For the power of the horses is in their mouths and in their tails, for their tails are like serpents with heads, and by means of them they wound.
The rest of mankind, who were not killed by these plagues, did not repent of the works of their hands nor give up worshiping demons and idols of gold and silver and bronze and stone and wood, which cannot see or hear or walk, nor did they repent of their murders or their sorceries or their sexual immorality or their thefts.
Ross is the PCPC High School Resident for freshmen and sophomore guys. He is a former PCPC Covenant Child and current member of the church. He is pursuing his calling of pastorship at Reformed Theological Seminary - Dallas. Ross loves his wife Margie, his family and friends, God’s Word, and all things story (reading, writing, acting, etc.)!
Why does God cause or allow suffering?
It’s not popular to believe, but the Bible teaches that God causes or allows suffering. The Sovereign Lord allowed Job to suffer, He sent Jesus to die, and in Revelation 9 He causes or allows two pandemics to wipe out a third of humanity by having His angels blow trumpets that trigger these cataclysmic events. But why?
In Revelation 9:20 we have a window into God’s purposes for suffering. “The rest of mankind, who were not killed by these plagues, did not repent.” In Luke 13:1-5, Jesus reacts to two tragedies—a natural disaster and a dictator’s massacre— in the same way: “Unless you repent, you will all likewise perish.” God causes or allows suffering so that people will repent.
Does this mean that all suffering is corrective punishment for sin? No! According to Job, Jesus, and Revelation 9, God sends suffering and even death to His fully forgiven children so that they will learn to love Him more and love Him only; and so that others who see their hope in suffering will realize their own hopelessness and repent. For the lost, suffering is often the only thing that wakes them up to the reality of their need to repent and believe in Jesus.
If we or someone we know is suffering, it is not an accident. And if we or they are Christians, it is not a punishment. Jesus has fully paid for His people’s sins, and He cried, “It is finished!” from the cross. In our suffering, God’s jealous love is drawing those who suffer and those who witness that suffering into deeper relationship with Himself. This difficult teaching becomes profoundly encouraging when we realize that God is working all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose (Rom. 8:28). This was the anchor for Joseph, who told his murderous brothers so many years later, “As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive” (Gen. 50:20). In the midst of suffering and evil, we can trust that the Lord loves us and is working out His good purposes.
Father, thank You for the honor and the gift of suffering. Help us, like Jesus, to endure suffering by the power of the Spirit. Remind us that, because of our Lord’s suffering, nothing can separate us from Your love for us in Him. May we suffer in such a way that others might see the worth of Christ and turn to Him. We praise You for rescuing us from eternal suffering and welcoming us into the eternal joy of Your fellowship. In Jesus’ name, amen.
In my distress I called to the LORD,
and He answered me.
Deliver me, O LORD,
from lying lips,
from a deceitful tongue.
What shall be given to you,
and what more shall be done to you,
you deceitful tongue?
A warrior’s sharp arrows,
with glowing coals of the broom tree!
Woe to me, that I sojourn in Meshech,
that I dwell among the tents of Kedar!
Too long have I had my dwelling
among those who hate peace.
I am for peace,
but when I speak, they are for war!
Robby Higginbottom was born and raised in Dallas, Texas. Beginning in high school, he sensed the Lord calling him to pastoral ministry. Robby is a graduate of Highland Park High School, Duke University, and Redeemer Seminary. He currently serves as Pastor of Community at PCPC. Robby is married to Ann, and they have two children: Will and John.
“Then close your eyes and tap your heels together three times and think to yourself, ‘There’s no place like home…there’s no place like home…there’s no place like home.’” These are the directions that Dorothy receives at the end of The Wizard of Oz. All she wants is to get home, and this is the roadmap. If only it were that easy for us to get home!
Psalm 120 is the opening track in the Songs of Ascent (Psalm 120-134). This is a whole album of pilgrim songs in the key of homesick. They express the heart of God’s people who know that they are not where they want to be and that there’s no place like being home with the Lord. The melody line begins with a longing for home in Psalm 120 and concludes with a focus on the desired destination (the house of the LORD, the holy place, Zion) in Psalm 134. In Psalm 120, the author calls to the Lord in his distress (v. 1), and the cause of that distress seems to be the people and the places which feel so far from home (vv. 2-7).
Can we relate to this sense of dislocation, to this longing for someone and somewhere else? We try to make our home in this world, but it never feels like our forever home. When we experience this disorientation, it often gives birth to what many call “nostalgia.” We want to go back to the home where we grew up, to the time when family seemed to get along, to that season when everyone was around and everything was right. We hear a certain song, and it takes us back and brings a tear to our eyes. We see a picture of someone, and our heart aches. A holiday comes around, and we want to get back to somewhere, but we can’t just close our eyes and tap our heels.
Sometimes nostalgia gets a bad rap. If we’re only talking about childhood homes, glory days, and holiday traditions, we can understand that. But what if the longing is never really about these things? What if there’s a deeper longing beneath the longing? And what if that longing isn’t there by accident, but because the Lord made us in His image—and that includes a memory of home? What if we are homesick, not for some earthly home, but for a home where the LORD God walked in the garden in the cool of the day (Genesis 3:8)? What if we’re longing, not for a place in our favorite city, but for a place in “the city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God” (Hebrews 11:10)?
In The Weight of Glory, C.S. Lewis suggests that there’s something deeper going on with our nostalgia:
Apparently, then, our lifelong nostalgia, our longing to be reunited with something in the universe from which we now feel cut off, to be on the inside of some door which we have always seen from the outside, is no mere neurotic fancy, but the truest index of our real situation. And to be at last summoned inside would be both glory and honor beyond all our merits and also the healing of that old ache.
In the Songs of Ascent, we hear the psalmists expressing that ache, and in the Person of Jesus Christ, we see God Himself coming to save us and bring us home. When we’re suffering, He says, “Let not your hearts be troubled.” When we’re doubting, He says, “Believe in God; believe also in Me.” And when we’re homesick, He says, “In My Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would I have told you that I go to prepare a place for you? And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to Myself, that where I am you may be also” (John 14:1-3).
With a hope like that, how could we not be homesick? Jesus has already cracked the door open, and one day He will return to walk through it with us. Let’s not stop longing for a home where we will trade faith for sight, hope for reality, and homesickness for home. That’s glory and honor beyond all our merits. That’s the healing of our ache. That’s grace. And doesn’t that remind us of another song?
Through many dangers, toils, and snares, [we] have already come;
‘Tis grace that brought [us] safe thus far, and grace will lead [us] home.
Then the voice that I had heard from heaven spoke to me again, saying, “Go, take the scroll that is open in the hand of the angel who is standing on the sea and on the land.” So I went to the angel and told him to give me the little scroll. And he said to me, “Take and eat it; it will make your stomach bitter, but in your mouth it will be sweet as honey.” And I took the little scroll from the hand of the angel and ate it. It was sweet as honey in my mouth, but when I had eaten it my stomach was made bitter. And I was told, “You must again prophesy about many peoples and nations and languages and kings.”
Sam is the Assistant Pastor of Missions at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He previously served as an overseas missionary in Rome, Italy, with Agape Italia and helped launch student movements across the country. He completed his theological education at Reformed Theological Seminary in New York City and pastoral ministry training at Redeemer Presbyterian Church’s City to City training program. Sam and his wife Kimberly have three daughters: Eloise, Evelyn, and Emory.
I am struck by the engagement with the senses the text elicits. The idea of chewing on a scroll makes me cringe a little bit. If you have ever eaten something you were not expecting to, you know the surprised feeling I am talking about. And that combined with the chewing motion on a piece of paper, gives you the sensation that after the initial shock, you really have to work hard to eat a scroll. As John is relaying this vision to us, we are meant to see ourselves in the story. We are meant to imagine what it tasted like, what it smelled like, and what the experience would have been like. The metaphor is meant to elicit a response.
As Pastor Mark explained on Sunday, our response is to the sweetness and the bitterness of fully giving ourselves over to the Word of God. I think one reason God has us meditating on the sweetness and bitterness of the scroll, of the prophecy coming true, and of God’s Word, is because we are tempted to either overemphasize the sweetness or bitterness of the Word. However, here we have a picture of both of those sensations happening together. The prophecy here is sweet, because it shows God’s enduring love of His children and His patience in judgment. The prophecy is bitter, because we see God’s wrath is too much for the world to endure, and those who are called to God’s purposes will experience trials in this life. The sweetness of the scroll is made sweeter in light of the bitterness. Yet for now, in the interlude, we are meant to hold them both in tension. We remember the One who held the sweetness of grace and the bitterness of truth in tension throughout His earthly life, culminating in His death on the cross.
And how does the chapter end, after we are meant to chew the truth of the scroll and to ingest it into our bodies? It ends with a recommissioning of the prophet. As we fully digest the sweetness of knowing God, and the bitterness of being called to serve Him in a fallen world, John is sent out again to do the work of the Kingdom coming. We can easily remember Jesus’ words to His disciples just before ascending to heaven:
And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to Me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you. And behold, I am with you always, to the end of the age.” Matthew 28:18–20
As we are commissioned, let’s remember that what we have been commissioned to is not easy. The bitterness that comes is bitter for a reason. Having conversations about spirituality in a world that can sometimes not seem to care that much about deeper things can feel exhausting, intimidating, and isolating. And, as we do so, we may be putting our reputation at risk simply because of the name of Jesus. And yet, we can carry with us the bitterness and the sweetness at the same time. Bitter because of the struggle and sweet because Jesus is with us in it. Bitter because of the potential for mockery and sweet because of the confidence we have going with God.
Nathan Davy is the Associate Director of Music and Organist at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. He is married to Laura Davy, and they have five children. When not making music he enjoys running, reading, gardening, and playing chess.
Though Revelation 11:1-13 is a difficult passage with much potentially confusing imagery (lampstands, olive trees, and symbolic numbers), the message of this chapter is simple: the Lord will preserve His Church through persecution as we witness to a sinful world.
Then I was given a measuring rod like a staff, and I was told, “Rise and measure the temple of God and the altar and those who worship there, but do not measure the court outside the temple; leave that out, for it is given over to the nations, and they will trample the holy city for forty-two months. And I will grant authority to My two witnesses, and they will prophesy for 1,260 days, clothed in sackcloth.”
- Revelation 11:1-3
John draws from imagery in Zechariah and Ezekiel for his description of measuring the temple.
The measuring of the temple in both contexts leads to the presence of God in the midst of it. In both places also the measuring of the temple signifies God’s protection. Ezekiel 40-48 contains long and detailed descriptions of the measurements of an eschatological temple, but in the center is this verse: "The Spirit lifted me up and brought me into the inner court; and behold, the glory of the LORD filled the temple." – Ezekiel 43:5
G. K. Beale, in his commentary on Revelation, explains it like this: “In the prophecy of the new temple in Ezekiel 40-48…God promises that His presence will be reestablished forever. In Rev. 11:1 the focus is now on the whole covenant community forming a spiritual temple in which God’s presence dwells.” Zechariah prophesies for the people of Israel during the rebuilding of the temple following the Babylonian exile. One of the central themes of Zechariah is the dwelling of God in the midst of His people: “Sing and rejoice, O daughter of Zion, for behold, I come and I will dwell in your midst, declares the LORD. And many nations shall join themselves to the LORD in that day, and shall be My people. And I will dwell in your midst, and you shall know that the LORD of hosts has sent Me to you. And the LORD will inherit Judah as His portion in the holy land, and will again choose Jerusalem.” – Zechariah 2:10-12
We have corroboration that the temple represents the Church, or stated another way, that the people of God make up His dwelling place in passages earlier in Revelation (Revelation 3:12), as well as other places in the New Testament (1 Corinthians 3:16 and 6:19, 2 Corinthians 6:16, Ephesians 2:19-22, 1 Peter 2:4-9). With this in mind, we can understand this passage with an assurance of God’s presence.
A time period of 42 months throughout the Old Testament signifies a time of tribulation or a period of judgment (1260 days is another way of expressing this same time period – 360 days times 3.5). For example, compare the “time, times, and half a time” from Daniel, the Exodus wanderings (there were 42 encampments in the wilderness, and with the understanding that the people of Israel were in the wilderness for two years prior to the 40-year wandering, they were in the wilderness for 42 year total), and the judgment of Israel and the evil King Ahab by Elijah, who withheld rain for 3 years and 6 months. Beale writes, “The three and a half years reveals two perspectives about the saints’ destiny: they undergo tribulation, but are nonetheless protected from ultimate spiritual harm.” They are preserved until the coming of Christ in order to fulfill their calling to be a witness.
These are the two olive trees and the two lampstands that stand before the Lord of the earth. And if anyone would harm them, fire pours from their mouth and consumes their foes. If anyone would harm them, this is how he is doomed to be killed. They have the power to shut the sky, that no rain may fall during the days of their prophesying, and they have power over the waters to turn them into blood and to strike the earth with every kind of plague, as often as they desire. And when they have finished their testimony, the beast that rises from the bottomless pit will make war on them and conquer them and kill them, and their dead bodies will lie in the street of the great city that symbolically is called Sodom and Egypt, where their Lord was crucified. – Revelation 11:4-8
The two witnesses represent the Church in its prophetic role. “Prophetic” in this context refers not to predicting the future, but rather to confronting sin by preaching against it. The world’s response is hatred of the testimony and the testifiers. (“Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God?” – James 4:4; “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on My account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.” – Matthew 5:11-12) That the witnesses refer specifically to the Church universal in its prophetic role is a matter of interpretation. It is not absolutely required in a plain reading of the text, but is justified given context, and especially the thematic similarities to Moses and Elijah. Also, compare the language that John uses in representing the churches at the end of Revelation 1. The Greek word for lampstand there is exactly the same word used here in chapter 11.
The temple measurements harken back to Zechariah 2; similarly, the olive tree and lamp imagery refer to Zechariah 4. In that context the olive trees and lamps are the two “anointed ones” who stand in the newly-built temple of the Lord, and represent the leaders of the people, the covenant heads of the nation.
Already the 42 months had brought Elijah and Moses to mind, but here in verses 4-8 are more references to these same two prophets: the plagues (specifically turning water into blood), and the shutting of the heavens to prevent rain, mentioned earlier. Sodom is the symbolic type of wickedness and perversion, judged by God; Egypt is the symbolic type of oppressors and persecutors of the people of God, also brought under God’s judgment. Verse 8, “where their Lord was crucified,” calls to mind the words of Jesus Himself in Matthew 23:34-37, in the context of His seven woes to the leaders of Israel:
Therefore I send you prophets and wise men and scribes, some of whom you will kill and crucify, and some you will flog in your synagogues and persecute from town to town, so that on you may come all the righteous blood shed on earth, from the blood of righteous Abel to the blood of Zechariah the son of Barachiah, whom you murdered between the sanctuary and the altar. Truly, I say to you, all these things will come upon this generation. O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the city that kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to it! (See also Luke 11:47-52)
In all cases, we see the hostility of the world to those who are the witnesses of God, whether Moses, Elijah, all the prophets, or Christ Himself. The world, in fact, seems to win. The two witnesses have been slain. Pharoah hardens his heart again and again, and Israel remains captive. Elijah complains to the Lord in 1 Kings 19:10 “For the people of Israel have forsaken Your covenant, thrown down Your altars, and killed Your prophets with the sword, and I, even I only, am left, and they seek my life, to take it away.” Jesus, the Son of God, was crucified, died, and buried, and he was laid in a tomb.
For three and a half days some from the peoples and tribes and languages and nations will gaze at their dead bodies and refuse to let them be placed in a tomb, and those who dwell on the earth will rejoice over them and make merry and exchange presents, because these two prophets had been a torment to those who dwell on the earth. But after the three and a half days a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood up on their feet, and great fear fell on those who saw them. Then they heard a loud voice from heaven saying to them, ‘Come up here!’ And they went up to heaven in a cloud, and their enemies watched them. And at that hour there was a great earthquake, and a tenth of the city fell. Seven thousand people were killed in the earthquake, and the rest were terrified and gave glory to the God of heaven. – Revelation 11:9-13
When the church seems utterly defeated, and “the wicked world rejoices,” when the two witnesses lie dead, when Moses and Elijah do not see any salvation for the people of Israel, when Christ lies dead in the tomb, and the disciples hide in fear, then is salvation at hand. The two witnesses are brought back to life. God leads Israel out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm. God preserves a remnant in Israel, seven thousand, “all the knees that have not bowed to Baal.” This shows that when the saints pray in Revelation 6:10, “O Sovereign Lord, holy and true, how long before You will judge and avenge our blood on those who dwell on the earth,” the Lord hears and answers, and the answer is our victory. Our victory is utterly complete. We should not read the first half of Revelation 11 without reading the second half:
Then the seventh angel blew his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, saying, “The kingdom of the world has become the Kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever.” And the twenty-four elders who sit on their thrones before God fell on their faces and worshiped God, saying,
“We give thanks to you, Lord God Almighty,
who is and who was,
for You have taken Your great power
and begun to reign.
The nations raged,
but Your wrath came,
and the time for the dead to be judged,
and for rewarding Your servants, the prophets and saints,
and those who fear Your name,
both small and great,
and for destroying the destroyers of the earth.”
- Revelation 11:15-19
The nations may rage, the people may plot, the kings of the earth may set themselves against the Lord and against His anointed, but our God has given His Son the nations as His heritage, and through His Son has given us all things.
The second woe has passed; behold, the third woe is soon to come.
Then the seventh angel blew his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, saying, “The kingdom of the world has become the Kingdom of our Lord and of His Christ, and He shall reign forever and ever.” And the twenty-four elders who sit on their thrones before God fell on their faces and worshiped God, saying,
“We give thanks to You, Lord God Almighty,
who is and who was,
for You have taken Your great power
and begun to reign.
The nations raged,
but Your wrath came,
and the time for the dead to be judged,
and for rewarding Your servants, the prophets and saints,
and those who fear Your name,
both small and great,
and for destroying the destroyers of the earth.”
Then God’s temple in heaven was opened, and the ark of His covenant was seen within His temple. There were flashes of lightning, rumblings, peals of thunder, an earthquake, and heavy hail.
Ann Higginbottom grew up in Dallas and is a proud graduate of Texas A&M University. She met her husband Robby after college, and they enjoy raising their children in their hometown close to all family members. Ann is an author and photographer (www.annhigginbottom.com) and also devotes much time to Kershaw's Challenge, a charity that focuses on caring for vulnerable children worldwide.
The magic that comes with parenthood never ceases to amaze me. Learning to see the world through the eyes of a little one filled with wonder, awe, and innocence quickly takes effect. Becoming a mom to two wonder-filled boys has changed me in the most remarkable and humbling ways.
Our oldest son has become a voracious reader in recent years. Much to our delight and shared enjoyment, his imagination has been captivated by lengthy books in a well-known fictional series. As the series has progressed, we have watched him celebrate with the characters in victory and ache or groan with them in distress or defeat. The series is a wild and engaging ride. With each twist and turn, he will come to me with questions and concerns. Of course, I meet him in those moments, but here’s the catch: I know how the story ends. I’ve seen it – I know with full confidence how the very last word on the very last page in the very last book will play out. And so I can encourage him to hold fast and to stay the course. From my “knowing” perspective, I am sure that every heartbreak, betrayal, and seeming defeat will turn out okay in the end. I know how the story ends.
Perhaps you can relate through the lens of a beloved book or story. When we know the ending, shouldn’t that sustain us through the middle? The Apostle John pulls back the curtain in Revelation 11 to reveal a most spectacular moment in his vision – the sounding of the final trumpet. With the final blast comes a shout of celebration, a sound of victory, and this staggering truth – that God the Father is faithful to fulfill every one of His promises. John is showing us the end of the story. And it is so much greater than any story we have read. As we sit in the middle of God’s story, the book of Revelation tells us how the story will end. And this should bring deep encouragement to our souls. We long for His coming Kingdom and in fact, every longing this side of heaven points to that even deeper desire…for Christ to return and make all things new.
Yet as we wait for a New Heaven and a New Earth, let us encourage one another with this certain hope: Jesus is already on the throne. And His Kingdom will reign forever and ever. So we find ourselves situated in the “already but not yet.” Already He reigns. Already He rules. His Kingdom is forever and will outlast every diagnosis, every disease, every broken relationship, and every moment of suffering. Darkness will flee. Sin and death will be no more. Already He is King. And soon…very soon…the final trumpet will blast. We know how the story ends.
A dear friend reached out to me last month, on the anniversary of my mother’s heavenly homegoing. This precious friend also shares the scar of loss, so her words are quick to my heart. Knowing the anniversary was that day, she sent a note simply saying, “If only the trumpets would sound today!” My heart swelled with the thought, and I could not help but laugh with encouragement. One day, the trumpet will finally sound, and we will be standing at the burning edge of dawn, united with the saints who have gone before us, as we gather around the throne of our risen, reigning King. May we live today like those who know how the story ends.
And a great sign appeared in heaven: a woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars. She was pregnant and was crying out in birth pains and the agony of giving birth. And another sign appeared in heaven: behold, a great red dragon, with seven heads and ten horns, and on his heads seven diadems. His tail swept down a third of the stars of heaven and cast them to the earth. And the dragon stood before the woman who was about to give birth, so that when she bore her child he might devour it. She gave birth to a male child, one who is to rule all the nations with a rod of iron, but her child was caught up to God and to his throne, and the woman fled into the wilderness, where she has a place prepared by God, in which she is to be nourished for 1,260 days.
Revelation 12 is a major turning point in the letter John wrote to the Church. As stated from the beginning, Revelation is not written to confuse but to encourage (1:3). Yet, it is complex because it is a comprehensive climax of the whole biblical story.
To regain our perspective since we are in the middle of John’s visions, return to chapter 1:15 where Jesus gives John a three-part outline:
1. Write what you have seen – The Vision of our Glorious King – Chapter 1
2. Write the things which are – Letters to the seven churches – most likely under John’s ministry – Chapters 2-3
3. Write the things which will take place after these things; the vision of God’s judgments upon the earth and Satan – Chapters 6-20. And finishing with the consummation of the New Heaven and Earth.
Chapters 1 through 11 focus largely on the outward struggle between the Church and the world. God’s righteous judgment is delivered on the world through seven seals and seven trumpets. After each seven, there is a reaping of souls or an opportunity to repent (7:3 and 13-14).
In Chapter 12, we are given our first glimpse of the spiritual battles behind all the evil that has occurred on earth (see Ephesians 6:12). This vision is prior to all that John has seen so far. It is the apex of all spiritual warfare; the battle between Satan and Jesus. This battle began in the garden of Eden in Genesis 3:14-16. Satan is cursed and told there will be hatred and hostility between him and the woman and her seed. Seed is identified as One who would crush Satan’s head, in other words, Christ.
From Genesis 3, the rest of the biblical story is Satan trying to stop this One from coming. He pushed sinful people, slavery, rebellions, enemies, evil leaders, yet God kept a godly line safe until it was time for Jesus to come.
This is now what Chapter 12 reveals: the battle between Satan and Jesus. John is given two visions of two people who are both identified. Mary is the one who gives birth to Jesus who will rule all nations. Satan is the great red dragon who tries to kill Jesus using the evil King Herod.
In verse 5, John is shown a vision of Jesus’ ascension, skipping over His earthly ministry which is not the focus of this revelation. So, we are left on earth with the woman representing God’s people. Mary and Joseph were literally the ones who fled into Egypt for protection, but the vision is obviously bigger than Egypt for two reasons. One, a time frame given that is symbolic of a period of protection, or even if literal, it could be the remaining time in the last phase of God’s judgment on Satan.
The second reason, and more important, is the beauty of two connecting thoughts: “A place prepared by God” and “so that there she might be nourished.”
“A place prepared by God” is a place of blessing, peace, and care. Jesus used the same words when He told His disciples, “I go to prepare a place for you”. And here this place is defined as a place where she, which is plural, might be nourished. The word used is of a child being fed or nursed. It is also used to signify one who is lavished or being well-fed.
We are also reminded this was in the wilderness, a place where you don’t expect to be nourished lavishly. We also can recall that the children of Israel journeyed in the desert wilderness. Yet, God provided bread, meat, and water every day for two million people for forty years. He kept them safe from all disease and did not let their clothes wear out. Let the magnitude of that care sink in. This is the way God nourishes.
So, how does this apply to us?
God will nourish us by:
God will protect and nourish us in whatever wilderness we find ourselves.
And I saw a beast rising out of the sea, with ten horns and seven heads, with ten diadems on its horns and blasphemous names on its heads. And the beast that I saw was like a leopard; its feet were like a bear’s, and its mouth was like a lion’s mouth. And to it the dragon gave his power and his throne and great authority. One of its heads seemed to have a mortal wound, but its mortal wound was healed, and the whole earth marveled as they followed the beast. And they worshiped the dragon, for he had given his authority to the beast, and they worshiped the beast, saying, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?”
And the beast was given a mouth uttering haughty and blasphemous words, and it was allowed to exercise authority for forty-two months. It opened its mouth to utter blasphemies against God, blaspheming His name and His dwelling, that is, those who dwell in heaven. Also it was allowed to make war on the saints and to conquer them. And authority was given it over every tribe and people and language and nation, and all who dwell on earth will worship it, everyone whose name has not been written before the foundation of the world in the Book of Life of the Lamb who was slain. If anyone has an ear, let him hear:
If anyone is to be taken captive,
to captivity he goes;
if anyone is to be slain with the sword,
with the sword must he be slain.
Here is a call for the endurance and faith of the saints.
Then I saw another beast rising out of the earth. It had two horns like a lamb and it spoke like a dragon. It exercises all the authority of the first beast in its presence, and makes the earth and its inhabitants worship the first beast, whose mortal wound was healed. It performs great signs, even making fire come down from heaven to earth in front of people, and by the signs that it is allowed to work in the presence of the beast it deceives those who dwell on earth, telling them to make an image for the beast that was wounded by the sword and yet lived. And it was allowed to give breath to the image of the beast, so that the image of the beast might even speak and might cause those who would not worship the image of the beast to be slain. Also it causes all, both small and great, both rich and poor, both free and slave, to be marked on the right hand or the forehead, so that no one can buy or sell unless he has the mark, that is, the name of the beast or the number of its name. This calls for wisdom: let the one who has understanding calculate the number of the beast, for it is the number of a man, and his number is 666.
Neatice grew up in Albuquerque, New Mexico, and graduated from the University of New Mexico. She is married to Terry and has 2 sons, 2 daughters-in-law, and 3 grandsons. Neatice is privileged to teach the PCPC Women's Early Morning Bible Study; her passion, along with her family, is God's Word and the joy of seeing God's people transformed by His Spirit through that Word.
Last week, I received what appeared to be an “Evite” from a former co-worker. It seemed normal, and I clicked on the “open” tab, but the “invitation” didn’t open. I contacted the named sender, and she responded that she knew about it and it was a phishing scam—a fraud.
Though we actively guard against it, deceit persists in the world—and the worst deceit is that which leads men, women, boys, and girls away from trusting Jesus Christ as their Savior.
During the final week of His life, Jesus spoke to His disciples about conditions in generations to come, including spiritual counterfeits and deceit. He said, “false christs and false prophets will arise and perform great signs and wonders, so as to lead astray, if possible, even the elect.” (Matthew 24:24-25)
The Lord would reveal climactic deception through visions given to the apostle John. Revelation 13 pictures a beast out of the sea—a stunning figure with Satan’s power who attains global authority, leading the world to worship Satan. He would attack the Lord’s people and be allowed to conquer them (Revelation 13:7), that is, to so persecute and overwhelm them that their presence and influence seem gone.
Another beast would appear from the earth. This beast “deceives those who dwell on the earth, telling them to make an image for the beast…” and causes “those who would not worship the image of the beast to be slain.” (Revelation 13:15) John’s visions predict fierce persecution of Jesus’ people in the world; but though Satan is allowed to act freely for a determined time, the Lord still reigns.
What do these prophecies say to us today? Certainly, we, His people, are called to stand, to resist falsehoods promoted by Satan. How does he deceive, and how do we stand?
One way Satan’s forces deceive even Christians is with distraction. We are busy with our careers, our friends, our ministries, our family activities, all good and important matters. We buy things and go on spring break—enjoying God’s goodness. But do we increasingly know the Lord Himself well so that philosophies and agendas that counterfeit His ways (sometimes using His own words!) are obvious and we are not fooled? As we know Him, our faith is strengthened. John wrote, “And this is the victory that has overcome the world—our faith.” (1 John 5:4)
Satan deceives also through dominance—using what seems effective and beautiful—in political, social, artistic, or even religious spheres. We’re drawn to ally ourselves with success, sometimes forgetting that only Christ, His people, and His Word endure. Could you be drawn to follow what dominates now instead of what will endure forever? We resist with deepening love for Christ, as we know Him through His Word and His Spirit.
Satan also draws us away with disturbance. It’s hard to be sick or to feel defeated, and even harder when trouble comes to someone we love. We are dismayed when we pray, and God does not rescue or reward us as we’ve asked. But we stand with hope in our Savior who loves us and died for us.
God’s enemy has many strategies of deception. On our own—Jesus said it—we would fail. He said even the elect, His redeemed people, would be deceived “if it were possible.” We are called to follow our Savior with faith, love, and hope and to run to Him hard when trouble and temptation strike. We resist deceit because we are His, held firm by the One who is the Truth.
Then I looked, and behold, a white cloud, and seated on the cloud one like a Son of Man, with a golden crown on His head, and a sharp sickle in His hand. And another angel came out of the temple, calling with a loud voice to Him who sat on the cloud, “Put in Your sickle, and reap, for the hour to reap has come, for the harvest of the earth is fully ripe.” So He who sat on the cloud swung His sickle across the earth, and the earth was reaped.
Then another angel came out of the temple in heaven, and he too had a sharp sickle. And another angel came out from the altar, the angel who has authority over the fire, and he called with a loud voice to the one who had the sharp sickle, “Put in your sickle and gather the clusters from the vine of the earth, for its grapes are ripe.” So the angel swung his sickle across the earth and gathered the grape harvest of the earth and threw it into the great winepress of the wrath of God. And the winepress was trodden outside the city, and blood flowed from the winepress, as high as a horse’s bridle, for 1,600 stadia.
Kenna Gaw is a Resident for Middle School at Park Cities Presbyterian Church. She graduated from TCU with a degree in Youth Advocacy and Educational Studies with an emphasis on Criminal Justice and afterwards attended the Kanakuk Institute. Kenna’s passions include encouraging young girls in their faith and identity in Christ, wake surfing on the lake, and learning how to cook. Kenna is newly married to her husband, David.
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